#oh and I might be going to Colombia in a month and a half???

[corpish]

my life rn feels like a movie but like I have NO idea who the screenwriters are bc every twist is wild

[lavendertales]

Love in the dark: Part II**

pairing: Javier Peña x wife!reader

summary: when another argument ensues between you and Javier, you take things out on each other in the only way you know how.

word count: 4.6k

WARNINGS: this chapter is more from Javi’s perspective, so... talk of trauma & PTSD; dom!Javi, doggy, choking, hair pulling, some dirty talk (smut’s in second half)

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

gif: @djarsdin​ 

series masterlist | AO3 

“Tell me about Colombia.”

The question drops like a boulder on his head, even though he’s heard it plenty before and he’s answered it even more.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Not a moment later, he wishes he hadn’t.

He sees your face all the time. Somehow, he sees your face more often when he closes his eyes than in real life. Maybe it’s because when he closes his eyes, he sees the woman who captured his heart in the most unexpected and loving way. And when he opens his eyes… she’s barely there.

Though verbally he might say shameful things to you, he doesn’t blame you for your anger, your exhaustion. They come from a place of grief and pain as well. No, he blamed himself. He never took proper care of himself and in the past couple of years, it began to show.

The smallest things set him off in inexplicable ways; a can that wouldn’t open, hot coffee poured over his hand, ash from his cigarette staining his favorite tie… he felt this white, hot rage seeping through his every pore, boiling in his veins, and he lashed out. Loud noises seemed to be a trigger too, but at least that he could associate with the gunshots, screams and explosions back in Colombia.

He didn’t think to figure things out thought. He just assumed—God knew how—it will all go away and you’ll both be sweet to each other again.

But it didn’t go away. It kept boiling at the surface, tipping over when he lashed out and you ended up in bed together, sweaty, exhausted, and no closer to resolving the issue than you were half hour before.

It was the same routine: small things became a trigger, one of you started arguing with the other, anger-fueled sex ensued and by the very end, a cigarette was lit and alcohol was poured in a glass. The same thing the next day. And the next. And so on.

He can’t remember when the last time he kissed you was. It makes his heart ache to realize that he hadn’t kissed you in… oh God, how long has it been? And how was that even possible? You slept together, your bodies were entangled together as one, and yet—he didn’t kiss you.

It must’ve been months now. It was just a quick fix, some rough fucking that, in the end, didn’t solve anything.

When he reopens his eyes, he’s in the same office, the same Ms. Pearson looking at him, anticipating an answer from his side.

“Colombia was… hell,” he says, his voice grave like sand on paper. “There was too much blood, too much pain, too much corruption that neither one of us could expose. It went too deep and far for us DEA agents to do anything about it. After we ended Escobar and his cartel, the Cali cartel rose to power and things got… even messier, somehow. They did things with more precision, but the lengths they went to in order to protect themselves… they were monsters.”

“That couldn’t have been easy.”

He doesn’t say anything, but closes his eyes again, just momentarily, so he can see your face again. The woman who owns his entire being. Then, he breathes in and out, steadily.

“Does that help?” Ms. Pearson asks. “The deep breaths, closing your eyes… some self-soothing technique, I assume.”

“Oh. That. Yeah, it—it helps.”

“Can I ask, what do you see when you close your eyes? Do you relive those moments back in Colombia?”

Javier scoffs. “No. The only time I relive those is when I sleep.”

“Nightmares?”

“Yes.”

Ms. Pearson writes down something, but Javier pays that no mind.

“So? What do you see?”

“I see her. Whenever I close my eyes… she’s there. Smiling at me. Telling me that I can do this, that I can move on, that I can… breathe.”

“You reminisce the way your wife was, in other words.”

“More or less.”

“Why do you think that is? Your wife is right there with you, in the same house, the same bed… yet you dream of the way she was.”

He exhales loudly, staring into the ground. “I guess… I miss the way we were. Before our grief consumed us.”

“What do you grieve for, Javier?”

He frowns in the slightest, unsure of what to respond. Deep down, he knows he needn’t do much searching. The answers are all buried in the same box at the back of his mind, the box that carries all of his pain, his past issues and fears.

“Me,” he finally says with a knot in his throat. “The person I used to be, much simpler and carefree, I guess. My mom. The life I could’ve had had I not left for Colombia.”

“From what I hear, though, you are seen as a hero.”

He chuckles mockingly, rubbing his hands on his pants. “People say what they want to believe.”

“I take it you don’t feel that way.”

“I got more than I bargained for and I failed.”

Ms. Pearson nods, remaining silent for a while. Javier, for a while, starts to overthink everything.

“Do you think that this internalized pain you still carry from Colombia, all this resentment for the image this town painted for you, have anything to do with the way you are lashing out?”

Javier nearly laughs in her face, but refrains himself from doing so.

“I don’t see any other reason why I’d be hurting the love of my life.”

She nods understandingly a few times. “How were things right before you met her?”

There’s no need to reminisce about that. Javier has those times tattooed on his brain for him to view every day, like a sadomasochistic montage of what his life used to be like before he wrecked it.

“It was… dark. Seemed hopeless and futile. I was so damn tired, so… sick and tired of getting close to achieving something meaningful and then having it ripped from my hands. And then I met her.”

He remembers the day perfectly. You were such perfect fit into that imperfect scenario, he almost couldn’t believe it.

It was pouring like crazy for hours, and Javier had what could only be described as one of the worst days ever. He had been late that morning, went to grab a cup of coffee from one of his favorite little places on the corner and realized he left his wallet. The waitress offered to pay for his coffee instead, gesture fortified by her wink and shy smile down his way. He promised to return the next day and pay her back. Then, some nasty, hyperactive kid clashed with him, causing him to lose balance and spill said coffee all over the floor. His mother heard him cuss—both in English and in Spanish—and he was asked to leave.

Connections were down, it seemed, as his phone wouldn’t work, and it started raining cats and dogs, leaving Javier out in the street, in a suit, without an umbrella. Exhausted and done with every single thing that had went wrong that day, he started laughing, looking up to the sky and blaming whoever it was up there that was supposedly in charge—if at all.

He waved off to the cabs passing by, one of them speeding right past him and splashing some dirty water on his suit, making matters even worse. Minutes went by when a cab finally stopped, Javier didn’t even wait and practically jumped in the backseat.

Then, he saw you.

To this day, Javier swears his heart skipped a beat when he took that first glance. He never felt anything like it.

According to you though, his face didn’t give it away. He simply stared at you, wet and grumpy and confused. He failed to look past the mesmerized look in your eyes though, the shimmer and the glitch as you observed him and encouraged him to have a seat next to you.

“Tough day, huh?” you asked.

“Very.”

It was seldom of Javier to be speechless and there he was, in that moment, with you, out of words and out of breath.

“Where do you need to go?”

He gave you and the driver the address, thinking it was best for him to go home under those circumstances. He was surprised when you asked the driver to go to that address first. He wasn’t really used to people’s kindness just like that, out of the blue.

He was used to roughness, pain, problems on end, and every bit of kindness both shocked him and scared him. People always had ulterior motives, and he hadn’t really met anyone that could be different.

There was something bizarre about his body’s reaction to being so close to yours. You were a complete stranger, and yet—he felt lighter. By simply standing next to you, he felt lighter, like all of his problems had vanished. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, unlike all of the things he believed—or didn’t.

“I take it you don’t work by that sketchy coffee shop we picked you at,” you said all of a sudden, turning towards him with a little smile.

“The coffee’s good. Better than most places.”

You snickered, looking far ahead now and providing Javier with the opportunity to sneak a peek at you.

You were dressed formally as well; wearing a pencil skirt and a white shirt tucked in, red lipstick and a flicker in your eyes that was equal parts playful and devilish.

Just like that, he fell for it.

“Aquí estamos,” the cab driver announced.

Javier looked out the window, noticing his building. He felt somewhat disappointed that he arrived so fast, and you could discern that look on his face as well. You smiled wider at him this time, causing his heart to experience trepidations so fast he could’ve fainted.

“Thanks for the ride,” he thanked the driver, handing him the money and staring right at you.

“Here.”

You snuck your hand at your feet and revealed an umbrella that you handed him. Flabbergasted, Javier could only stare back.

“You look like you could use it,” you smiled.

“I can’t take it. How am I supposed to return this to you?”

“Well, I suppose we could meet at that coffee shop you like so much, tomorrow at noon.”

You shook his hand and told him your name as he revealed his. Long after he got out of the cab and walked through the rain with your umbrella, that touch burned his skin still.  It remained imprinted on his mind and on his body alike, and he knew right then that you were no ordinary woman.

“How was it? Javier?”

Ms. Pearson’s voice gradually brings him back to reality. He blinks a few times, taking a while to recover.

“She was… a breath of fresh air. I don’t know. When I met her… I’ve never felt anything like it. I knew I had to see her again, I knew that I wanted to be with her no matter what. It’s like I was slowly drowning, and she was a life vest. She was so kind and patient… loving… she still is. She’s the most passionate, fiery person that I know.”

“She helped you fight.”

“She was the reason I fought. I guess, to some extent, she still is. Except…”

“You fight each other.”

“Yes.”

There’s sadness in his voice and on his face and he wishes he could’ve had a drink to at least numb some of the pain.

“How’s that tip working for you?”

He falters. “Not so great. We try our best, but somehow we still bicker.”

“That’s fine. It’s not magic. It won’t instantly stop the fights. What’s important is that you keep trying and making use of it.”

Javier nods, keeping the remainder of his insecurities buried alongside his other fears.

He cannot bring himself to say out loud that he’s trying to stop in order to prevent irreparable damage to your heart. He just can’t, because he promised he will fight. And he wants to. He really wants to.

It’s me. I’m too far gone.

“What about the nightmares?” Ms. Pearson asks, once again bringing him back with his feet hooked in reality.

“What about them?”

God, how he wishes he could’ve at least smoked a cigarette right about now.

“What are they about?”

He falls prey to silence once more, feeling the unmistakable throbbing of a headache bubbling up. Head buried in his hand, he sighs, struggling to compose his thoughts.

“Colombia mostly,” he answers. “Flashbacks, different scenarios… sometimes I dream of her, too.”

“You do?”

“Yes. She either dies or—or worse. And I never make it on time. She always gets hurt.”

“You’re afraid of anything happening to her.”

“Of course. I’m not dumb though, I realize the irony here.”

“What irony would you say that is?”

He sighs, visibly more frustrated. “I have nightmares about my wife dying or being raped or tortured, which means I can’t stand the idea of anything or anyone hurting her, yet here I am in this toxic ass marriage, being the one who hurts her.”

Ms. Pearson purses her lips together, and Javier despises that look. It’s pity, plain and simple.

“I don’t wanna hurt her,” he continues. “I’d never—I just don’t know how to fix things. I try to keep it all in, and then I try to let it all out… I’m failing either way, I’m—I’m a failure.”

She notices Javier’s forehead sweating, his fingers restlessly tapping on his legs.

“I fail at every fucking thing I do. I try, I swear I do, I just—it’s hard. I knew I sucked at relationships, but being a husband? I tried so hard to be as good as I can, for—for her, but I didn’t realize I’m this bad. I—I keep hurting her.”

“Javier.”

“I’m the one who hurts her the most and—she’d be better off without me.”

“Javier—“

“Do you know I haven’t even kissed her? I don’t even know how long it’s been since I last kissed her. I haven’t—“

“Javier, stop. Take a deep breath. Slow, steady.”

He doesn’t realize he’s been rambling on. He locks eyes with Ms. Pearson and follows her advice.

Breathe in… breathe out.

Breathe in… breathe out.

Breathe in…

“Have you had panic attacks before?” she asks.

“Panic—what? No.”

“This doesn’t seem to be the first time.”

He frowns, trying to look back on the past year since things really went downhill, but there is nothing that crosses his mind. All he can recall are fights that ended in either drinking on his own or fucking his frustration out.

Neither ever helped solve the core problem.

“Does it feel suffocating?”

“Sometimes. Like I’m—drowning.”

“Have you ever taken medication for anxiety or anything of the sort?”

“Yeah, I think so. Yeah, I did, uh—paroxetine. Somehow made me angrier and more sleepless.”

“Did you withdraw suddenly?”

“Yes. It didn’t really work, so I stopped it. I’m not fond of pills in general.”

“I understand. All those years working against drug owners and distributors must’ve taken its toll on you.”

He says nothing, though mentally, he could not have agreed more. The only pills he ever agreed on taking were some vitamins you insisted were good for his overall well-being and the occasional one against headaches. Anything else inspired fear. And, he supposed, also triggered very unpleasant memories.

“Tell you what,” Ms. Pearson says. “I won’t prescribe any medication since you’re against it. Instead, when you feel like drowning, I want you to take deep breaths and clear your mind. Does that sound good?”

“Great.”

“And keep using that tip, okay? It takes practice.”

It takes a lot for him not to roll his eyes at the doctor, but he manages not to.

“Alright, we’ll give it a shot.”

When he gets home, you’re in the kitchen. The house smells of roasted chicken and baked potatoes, but also of you. Your perfume is seemingly infiltrated in the walls, in every piece of furniture, in his nostrils as well.

He walks in cautiously, but there’s no need for it: you’re doing the dishes as the radio plays in the background. You welcome him with a little nod and smile, thus encouraging him to take a seat at the dinner table.

“How was it?” you ask.

“Therapeutic.”

You roll your eyes at him, washing the dishes still.

“We’re not really supposed to talk about—“Javier starts, digging into the food.

“I know. But it’s the one thing we can talk about without being angry.”

Javier shrugs, knowing you have a point. He makes sure to eat the string bean as well, knowing how bent out of shape you get when he doesn’t get his daily intake of veggies and fruits.

“Talked about my PTSD,” he says with his mouth half full. “Panic attacks.”

“I told you that’s what they were.”

“You did. And per usual, I didn’t give a damn.”

You stop the water, turning towards him. “Don’t start. Please.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Neither of us wants to and yet it still happens.”

Finishing the dishes is by far better than watching Javier devour the food or engage in dangerous conversations.

But when Javier adds his plate to the sink, just as you were finished, something inside of you snaps.

“Javier,” you say in a serious tone.

“Hm?”

You huff, reaching to remove the sauce from the corner of his lips, and he freezes. It’s the closest he’s gotten to kissing you in months and suddenly, a whole other craving emerges.

“When you do stuff like putting your plate in the sink when I am done, it makes me feel like all I’m good for is housework,” you say.

He understands and follows your lead, even if he loathes it.

“I hear what you’re saying, and I am sorry. Last thing I would want is to make you feel unwelcome in your own home.”

“Thank you.”

“But when you say stuff like that, it makes me feel like a lousy husband.”

You take a deep breath, feeling anger overcome you.

“It’s not my job to make you feel like a man,” you say.

It’s bold and risky, you know it, but it’s the truth. And you know Javier knows it, too. The question remains, would he accept it?

“Can’t even use a fucking tip to save our asses, huh,” he grins.

“We could if you’d really try.”

“It’s my fault. Isn’t it?”

You shrug, but you don’t step away from him.

“Say it,” he instigates. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Fine. Why yes, Javier, it is your fault. It is your fault for not taking care of your fucking trauma earlier and lashing out like this. It is your fault for thinking you can handle all of this by yourself and not once thinking, ‘hey, I should talk to my wife about this’!”

Javier’s breath tickles your face as he stares you down. He doesn’t fight you back like he usually does and something about that makes you tremble. Not in fear though; you were never afraid of Javier. If anything, he made you feel like his arms were the safest place in the world.

You just had gotten so used to the fighting and its subsequent aftermath that anything new made you shiver.

Trauma.

“You never let me in, not completely,” you say. “When we said ‘for better or for worse’, I assumed your shit would be my shit as well. And vice versa.”

“Gross.”

You might’ve chuckled if you wouldn’t be so fired up.

“If that makes me a bad husband, then—“

Now you laugh. A hollow and pained sound emerges from your chest.

“Stop victimizing yourself. You are not a bad husband. But I suppose you wanted to hear that, you wanted the reassurance like you always do because I somehow end up picking the pieces of yourself.”

He wets his lips as he devours your figure, inspecting you up and down. You know that look all too well, the one of insatiable hunger and desire, and it is still one of the most attractive views you have ever witnessed. Even you share a fraction of his craving, heat pooling in your belly exponentially.

“How much do you hate me right now?” he asks.

You falter, breaths hitched inside your chest. “Little bit, not gonna lie.”

“Yeah?”

His hand travels south, cupping your ass in a tight grip. You gasp, allowing your body to go numb in his arms. Then, you welcome his presence like a tall glass of cold water after a torrid day, his lips pressed harshly on yours. You melt into the kiss, falling apart in the sweetest yet most morally ambiguous ways. You both know how this ends; you both know this isn’t therapy, this isn’t really helping, but it is undeniable that your bodies long for one another.

“Don’t lie,” he says coyly, leaving a wet trail of kisses down your jaw and neck as he presses you into the kitchen counter. “You like this as much as I do.”

“Never said—I didn’t.”

You’re losing consciousness with each hot breath transformed into a hasty kiss, but indeed, there is no denying. You like your husband impulsive and in charge. It always has been part of his charm, what made you fall for him.

“You like it angry and rough,” he continues, hands at the hem of your t-shirt, boldly tugging. “You’re just as feisty as me. And needy. And dirty.”

A smile forms from the corners of your lips as your hands find his belt and start pulling.

“Dirtiest woman I’ve ever met,” he tells you just as he kisses you again.

The kisses turn sloppy and greedy; one moment Javier is grinding in between your legs, the other he’s bending you over the kitchen counter, pulling down your shorts and giving your ass a good smacking. He watches the flesh redden, smiling like a madman, then kneads the sensitive flesh with his calloused hands, closely listening to your whimpers.

You can barely breathe, but it’s more a statement of the blood boiling in your veins rather than the hot weather. You hear him working against his jeans, your cunt aching and getting wetter with each second you spend waiting.

He smacks your ass again, leaning over to grab the back of your neck and kiss your earlobe and cheek. “Still hate me?”

“Shut up.”

He grins, searching in his pocket for a condom. He wastes no more time in ripping the little packet and placing the condom on his erection. God, it hurt to even do that. You always managed to get him ridiculously hard, to the point where he could’ve came with a single stroke.

He knows he’s probably not gonna last long. And, judging by how soaked he feels you when he rubs his digits against your slit, you won’t either.

He doesn’t care.

He moans brokenly as he parts your thighs for more access, his cock pushing past your soaked lips in what can only be described as forbidden bliss. It feels somehow wrong to be doing this when you’re undergoing marriage counseling, especially considering this is only a means for physical release and is in no way, shape or form aiding your problems, but fuck, it feels too good to withdraw from it.

“Oh God,” you gasp, breasts squished on the countertop as your body welcomed Javier’s.

“It’s just me here, baby.”

He pushes himself inside you as far as he can, body trembling as he does so. It’s the most intimate feeling he had ever experienced. He slides out only to push back in with one swift motion, causing you to moan out loud.

“Oh, that’s right,” he teases, starting to fuck into you with speed. “You like it from behind, don’t you?”

“You’re—such an asshole sometimes, I swear—“

“Is that so?”

He curls your hair in his fist, to the best of his abilities, pulling your upper half to meet with his face as he starts to rail you. Grunts and moans fill the kitchen, with Javier sneaking glances at how well you’re taking him, how your body feels as if it was made to fit him and only him.

His other hand reaches to slap your ass yet again; Javier is basically using your body as counterweight for him to fuck into and you’re enamored by the filthy way he’s handling you.

“How come you get so wet then, hm?” he asks. “Look how good you—take me. Fuck, baby, just like that…”

You can only moan brokenly, struggling to breathe properly. You grunt when Javier snakes a hand to grab your neck, letting your hair flow down your back as he rocks your body.

“Filthiest woman—I have ever met,” Javier says through a wicked smile.

His orgasm is nearing, he can feel it in his whole body, yet he fights it; he needs to feel you first.

“Fuck—J-Javi—“

“That’s right—say my name. Say… my fucking name…”

Sanity begins to slip away from him and body threatens to explode at any moment, but none of that matters.

“Hear that?”

“Mmm—“

“Answer me.”

He applies some pressure to your throat and you smile. You fucking smile in ecstasy, ears picking up the glib sounds emerging from the way his cock was going in and out of you, balls slapping against your ass as sweat begins to drip down your bodies.

“Y-Yes.”

“You hear how wet you fucking are? How—how good you take me?”

“Yes—“

His grunts fill the kitchen, whole body shaking as his orgasm finally hits him, unable to keep it at bay. His cock twitches inside of you, and your walls start to clench around him, feeling as if you were swallowing him whole and milking him of every drop of his seed. Javier moans, arching your back so he can kiss your earlobe and cheek, and at last, your lips.

Your full, delicious lips he hadn’t kissed in so long.

And even now, it fails to feel like a real kiss. There’s nothing sensual about it; it’s needy and desperate, even in post-coital bliss.

“Don’t leave—“

“What?”

He stops, though you feel his cock twitching and throbbing deep inside you even so. You struggle to catch your breath as you’re being bent upwards at Javier’s filthy will.

“Don’t leave yet,” you plea again. “When you pull out… we’ll be right back at each other’s throats.”

“Aren’t we doing that right now?”

You chuckle as Javier grunts, burying himself to the hilt in you.

“You think I’d leave the best pussy I’ve ever had?”

He holds the back of your neck in a tight grip, arching you all the way so his mouth bites your earlobe, his hot breath tickling your senses.

“I don’t know,” you breathe and smile. “You might.”

He starts to snap his hips against yours again, pace furious and greedy like those times back in Colombia when all he had were five minutes into some questionable place.

“Nah,” Javier smiles in his blissful mania, chasing another orgasm from you and him both. “Could never—you’re the best—fucking thing… best pussy in the world…”

Then you’re back to square one, with Javier pounding into you and your problems in the same place.

But tomorrow is another day to worry about that.

previous | next 

[deadinside-butstill-horny]

The Night We Met

Part One - The Night We Met

Pairing: Javier Peña/ Female Murphy!Reader

Words: 5.3k

Summary: Murphy's sister travels to Colombia after realising Steve might not quite be A-Okay and meets the Javier Peña.

Content Warnings: 18+ Smut-ish (I wouldn’t wanna read it out to my mom), dry humping, dirty talk in Spanish which reader doesn’t understand so does it really count?, gratuitous love of the black shirt from the torture scene.

AO3

MASTERLIST

Author Note: So here is my return to writing! The word count got away from me but I loved every second of it. Always after prompts, so drop me a message on here if you'd like to see anything in particular. If it's in my wheelhouse, you'll definitely see it.  

Pedro in the black shirt in this scene is what inspired me to write this, I can’t lie. 

If you were brutally honest with yourself, this spur of the moment decision may have been a mistake. 

Other people could make these choices and not have that nagging feeling in their gut from the second they booked their fuckin' airline ticket. You had attempted to grab life by its metaphorical horns and go and sort this shit show out by yourself, but after your momentarial bravery was used up, all that was left was a crippling anxiety that threatened to send you into a full scale panic attack if you thought too hard about the fact you were following your big brother to Colombia.

Yes, Colombia. You, a U.S. national with no particular interest in hunting Pablo Escobar, had decided to vacation in sunny, crime ridden Bogotá on a whim. 

You were fuckin’ dumb. 

Sarcasm aside, you weren’t actually here on vacation, you were going to check on Stevie. Your brother, one of the DEA agents assigned with taking down Escobar. 

You’d been worried about him for a few months, it had sounded like he was dealing with heavy shit in South America, you knew that was the job, but he was still your brother.

His calls had gotten less and less frequent until he stopped returning them all together and the only reason you knew he was alive were your pep-talks with your sister-in-law, trying to help her keep her shit together, but hell, you weren’t a therapist or a miracle worker. So when Connie rang asking to stay at your place you had obliged and she had returned to Miami a mere shell of her former self. 

After a mammoth amount of prodding over the course of two days you managed to wring the truth out of her, not the nuggets of information she had given you over the phone in hushed whispers during her time in Colombia but the whole messy story; the communist Elisa Alvarez, Steve’s kidnapping and the cold edges your brother was developing. 

It was all you could do not to book the tickets there and then, but you held out and supported Connie in the ways Steve couldn't have, taking care of Olivia when you could and just trying your hardest to be there for her. Your presence alone seemed to be enough to help her through the days that followed.  A week and a half after her return, you booked your flight to Colombia in secret. 

You had to check on Steve. 

He hadn’t answered a single one of your many many calls. You packed light and told Connie the morning of, and whilst she didn’t like it, she understood. You supposed that a part of her was relieved to know her husband would have someone in Colombia that wasn't there to kill him. 

So here you sat, two hours into your flight to the paradise destination; Bogotá. Your brother's address scrawled on a scrap piece of paper in the one hand and a glass of cheap whiskey in the other.  The alcohol did little to to calm your nerves, this was a dangerous place for a cop, let alone a fuckin’ clueless civilian. 

When the plane finally touched down, you stood from your seat emptying the last few drops of whiskey which had tried to evade you onto your tongue, you picked up your backpack and queued to leave the plane.

The second you left the aircraft the humidity hit you like a brick wall, it was like all of the fresh air had been sucked out of the atmosphere. On a normal evening you would appreciate such a warm climate, but now the heat meant frustration to your tired brain and it only added to your baseline levels of anxiety as your hairline and upper lip were drenched as you walked through the arrivals gate.

Cards on the table; you didn’t have much of a game plan, you spoke no Spanish and stuck out like a sore thumb. You had the address but no means to get there, you didn’t relish the idea of getting in a taxi as a woman alone in a foreign country, but with little to no other options you went to hail one of the cabs that sat outside the airport.

Your fears turned out to be for naught, well not quite naught as the man had raked his eyes across your body for a large percentage of the trip in his mirror, but he had the good grace not to kidnap or murder you, which for you meant it was a successful journey, how low you had set the bar was just occuring to you.

After paying the gentleman he dropped you outside what appeared to Steve’s apartment building. You take a moment on the pavement to recollect yourself ready for your reunion. Peeling your denim jacket off, you decide instead to wrap it around your waist, tying the sleeves securely. With a harumph, you grab the handle of your suitcase, and drag it behind you. Your success thus far gives you a second wind of determination.

Though apparently dumb luck can only get you so far, because after heaving your suitcase up a flight of stairs and rapping on the door of apartment 20 until your knuckles ached, it began to dawn on you, you had no clue if this was even the right building.

“Fuck.” you mutter to yourself, you should’ve rang Connie or tried Steve again when you landed, but you’d been so single minded in carrying out your plan all common sense had apparently abandoned you. So with a million different scenarios of things you could’ve done better playing out behind your eyes you dragged your suitcase to the small lobby of the building, where the front door stood.

You huffed and dropped onto the bottom step in surrender, not quite sure where to go from here. 

Weeks of anxiety and worry finally took their toll on your body as reality set in, and as it did so you couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer stupidity of the situation you’d put yourself in. A light chuckle escaped your body as you held your face in your hands,you rubbed at your eyes as a way of refreshing yourself before sighing and leaning back.

You must have sat with your head in your hands for around three hours before anyone of note arrived, you had received strange looks from residents in their comings and goings as they stepped around you, your expectant looks turned to disappointment when you realised they weren’t Steve. In fairness, you, a gringa sitting on the stairs at 2am, most likely wasn’t a daily occurrence to these homeowners.

By the time he came through the door, your eyes were closed and your head was leant on the bannister, trying to get what little rest you could. Your eyes opened a crack to see a man and a woman enter the building and turn right, the man had his arm around her as he stared at you in confusion, the look was so quick you may have missed it if you blinked, but they were talking in low whispers of Spanish and from the looks of things he didn’t give you a second thought. 

So you extended him the same courtesy and shut your eyes once again, you heard the metal jangling of keys going into the lock, the sound of smacking lips and then the door was closed. You figured that was the end of it, instead you heard hurried footsteps coming towards you, your eyes shot open as he rounded the corner.

“Estás bien?” The man questioned. It took you a moment to realise he was talking to you, as you took him in you were struck by your stupidity, how could you have dismissed this man so quickly even in the throes of a mental breakdown. His chocolate brown eyes bore into your own as you realised he was waiting for a response. 

“Uh… no hablo... español?” you pretty much asked him, cringing internally at your butchering of the most basic sentence of this gorgeous strangers language, his lips quirked at your mumbles making his mustache raise on one side with his smirk. Now, you’d never been a fan of a mustache, Steve and your father had both taken to styling their facial hair in such a way, and as a rule of thumb they were a big no-no. But my god. This man made that mustache his bitch and that bitch worked for him.

“You’re American?” He questions, smirk dropping along with his eyebrows in confusion as his brain processes the information.

“Oh thank god and Jesus fuckin’ christ above. You’re American!” Your timid nature had given way to pure unadulterated relief. “Stevie, Steve Murphy, he lives in this building, yeah?”

“Yeah… Stevi...Steve lives here- I’m sorry, who the hell are you?” He asks with a puzzled look and a shake of his head, there’s an air of distrust about him for some strange reason. 

“I’m Y/N Murphy, I’m his sister.”

“Sister? Mierda... does he know you’re here?” 

“Nope,” You pop your P as you shrug at the man before you with false nonchalance. “He’d have to answer the phone to me or Connie to know that now, wouldn’t he?”

“Steve.” The stranger sighed, annoyed. 

“Sorry, who are you?” You asked, yourself becoming more bemused by the man by the second. 

“I’m Steve’s partner, Javier.” He held out his hand which you were more than happy to take in a shake, his tan hand was soft yet strong as it held your own captive within it. “C’mon in I’ll give him a call, God knows what time he’s planning on getting back.”

“Uh, I don’t want to interrupt…” You mumble, waving your free hand vaguely towards where you knew the woman was waiting for him, making him smirk once again. 

You were beginning to think that the sarcastic raise of his mouth was just his default resting face.

“You’re not interrupting anything.”

Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘cause I’d think it to. This is how people die in America, let alone fuckin’ Colombia, but if it's a choice between dying at the hands of a gorgeous man who seems to know your brother or a stray that wonders in through the non-descript lobby door then you’d rather go out with a nice view, even if he did have a girlfriend.

If you had to gamble, you’d say you had a damn good chance of making it out of this apartment alive. 

So you nodded and used the hand he hadn’t released yet to pull yourself up into a standing position. He wasn’t particularly tall but he still towered over you, your eyeline gave you a great view past his black shirt which was unbuttoned quite liberally, you assumed that was courtesy of the woman he’d entered with. 

“Thank you,” you nodded at him with a genuine smile of relief. He didn’t reply, only grabbed the handle of your pull along suitcase before extending his arm towards his apartment and motioning to wordlessly say, after you. 

Now you know how people say when you can feel a stare? You had the sensation before, but as you leaned over to pick up your backpack from the bottom step, you felt his eyes laser focus on your denim clad ass. You turned your head in disbelief and found his eyes still lingered there for a moment before meeting your own. Unbelievable. Part of you was flattered, the other part was bemused that he had a beautiful woman in there waiting and here he was ogling you.

You rolled your eyes, instilled with a new confidence as you turned and walked towards his apartment, you felt his eyes follow your form once more. 

Steve’s hot partner was an ass man... Good to know. 

...

As it turns out Javier’s girlfriend, or what you we’re starting to think was more of a one night stand, was not happy with the situation at all, you came to this discovery as Javier pointed you to the sofa before beginning arguing with her in hushed Spanish, the beautiful woman huffed and sent a dirty look your way before storming out and slamming the door behind her, with enough power to make it shake in its bearings. You raised your eyebrows at Javier from your seat. He shook his head with a sigh and began lighting up a cigarette, he turned and offered you one. 

“No thanks, I quit.”

“Woman with an iron will?”

“Not quite,” You whisper, shaking your head.

He smiles before clearing his throat and moving over to pick up his landline. Javier presses a combination of buttons, before putting it to his ear and blowing the smoke from his lungs. His eyes met yours as the phone rang, he gave you reassuring wink. 

“Murphy? … Yeah…  you need to get back to your place now... You’ve got a guest.... No … come find out why don’t you?” Sarcasm dripped from his lazy tone, his voice was so smooth. It was like chocolate on gravel, you could listen to him talk for hours, which led your mind down that deep dark hole of what he sounded like during more carnal acts, he’d be a talker, for definite, what with all that confidence and swagger. “‘Kay… I’ll see you soon.”

Shaking your head you centred yourself, it had been a dry patch for you. You needed to calm down and not throw yourself at your brother's partner, even if he just so happened to be the first man you had any interest in to show you attention in months. 

“He’s on his way,” He confirmed what you already knew but you liked hearing him speak so you nodded in thanks. An awkward silence filled the air for a few moments, as you two perfect strangers shared one another's company.

“Drink?” He offered pointing at the bottle of whiskey on the counter.

“God, yes.” You all but moaned at the offer. Javier chuckled, and grabbed a second glass from his cupboard, before pouring you both a generous serving.  He walked around the back of the sofa, and passed you the glass of liquid gold and took a seat next to you. Close enough to initiate something, but not touching, quite a respectful distance. 

Initiate something? God Y/N, get your mind out of the gutter. This poor man had only invited you in because you were his partner's sister and he was doing the decent thing. 

“Uh… The television work?” You ask, pointing at the empty screen.

“I didn’t realise you could speak Spanish…” His voice was dripping with false surprise, mocking your earlier attempts at the language, though he reached across and switched the box on with the remote, he began flicking through the channels so quickly he almost gave you a headache.

“Oh yes, I’m very proficient, I just didn’t want to intimidate you earlier. Hola Señor Javier.”  You say continuing his ruse. He chuckles at your words, it's a deep warm noise that shakes his entire frame. You were definitely thinking about adding Javier’s voice to your top ten list of favourite sounds. 

He flicks through the channels, for a few seconds before sighing and dropping the remote in your lap. Taking your assignment seriously, you sit up, bringing yourself a few inches closer to the man next to you, purely accidentally of course and begin flicking through the channels as Javier had done moments before, though 3am TV scheduling left a lot to be desired. 

News, News, Colombian QVC, News, News, Soap opera. Bingo!

“Ah, now we’re talking.” You mumble, eyes stuck on the screen of the Colombian Soap opera playing. The two of you sat in silence once again as you slowly sipped on your drinks watching drama play out. 

You watched in silence for around ten minutes, not understanding a single word of what was being said. The scene was on two latino actors sitting in a bedroom. The woman was sat on the bed being confronted by the man in a serious tone. 

“What is she saying?” You question narrowing your eyes at the beautiful woman's tone. Javier, who had been watching your reactions the whole time as you got into the awful tv show scrambled as he tried to listen and translate the woman's words.

“Uh… her dads an alcoholic and she’s trying to support her son… that guy didn’t know about the son... I think… she was happy living a double life without the worry and she wants him to forgive her and start over…”  Javier translated, giving you the general cliff notes.

“Oh shit,” You gasped at his words, but your attention diverted to the screen where the two had continued their heated argument and began kissing or rather where the man was devouring her neck, “I’m getting vibes that he might be open to forgiving her.” 

You chuckled at your own joke, as did Javier. Though this time when his body shook his bare elbow touched your own. 

How was he so goddamn warm? 

All he was wearing was a black button down shirt. One that looked to be the wrong size it was so tightly fitted- not that you were complaining about the view. My God, were you horny today.

You took a gulp of your drink, trying to refocus for the third or fourth time this evening, trying so desperately to reign in your inner school girl and focus on the television, though that didn’t help as the actors were now eating one anothers faces on a bed. The silence was thick with tension, though that could’ve been entirely on you; one innocent touch of a man's elbow and you’re a blushing mess.  

Get a grip Y/N. 

The silence dragged on as you pretended to watch the soap opera you had absolutely no understanding of in a futile attempt to ignore the man next to you. You can only imagine what he thought of your levels of focus on the tv, as you stared at the box in the corner of the room like it was the greatest cinematic masterpiece of all time and you were getting ready to write a full-scale analysis on the work of art. 

Javier broke the tension in the room by finally asking the question that had been on his lips all evening.

“You came all the way to Colombia... Why?” Javier grabbed a cigarette off of the coffee table, placing his drink where the carton of smokes had been. He lit the stick and waited for your response, honestly, you were thrown. The question had come out of nowhere whilst you were still trying to analyse why exactly this man had such an effect on you when he was doing nothing but being a good host.  You hastened to think up a half coherent reply before you just answered truthfully. 

“Steve stopped answering the phone, I mean he’s always been shitty at checking in, even when he was in Miami. When he got here we’d have a catch up every week or so, we all know how dangerous it is for you guys over here, so we joked about calling it ‘the alive check’. For the last couple of months, I was checking in with Connie more than Steve but he’d still pick up once every week, without fail. Then four weeks ago the fucker stopped answering my calls all together and Connie showed up on my doorstep with Olivia in tow last week.”

“Look, you coming down here probably makes more problems than it solves, Steve’s a big boy if he doesn’t call to check in, it's probably ‘cause he’s busy...  He’s-” Something about Javier’s dismissive tone rubbed you the wrong way, call it sleep deprivation or blame the weeks of stress, but you were tired of being called paranoid. You were not an overbearing mother hen.

“My brother always answers my calls. Or at least he used to. I can’t begin to understand what you guys are going through, but I’m not losing my brother to some piece of shit Colombian drug dealer.” 

Javier raised his hands in mock surrender, cigarette still in mouth. “He’s actually more of a drug lord slash narcoterrorist, but-”

“How is he?” You interrupt Javier’s attempt at diffusing the situation with humor, turning to him on the sofa. You rearranged yourself, bringing your leg up so your knee touched his thigh as you gave him your full attention,  you plucked the smoke from between his lips and held it between your two fingers as you spoke. “Tell me Steve’s fine. Tell me I’m worrying for nothing and I’ll get back on that plane and leave tomorrow morning."

You take one drag and offer it back to him, he accepts it, deliberately looking you in the eyes as he places the cigarette in his mouth, attaching his lips to where your own had been seconds earlier.  He takes it from his mouth and stubs it on an ash tray that rests on the arm of the sofa, his focus is single minded on his task. The pressure in your lower stomach is mounting as you stare at the tanned man before you who is carrying out a menial task that has you more turned on than you’d ever admit. 

When the red tip is extinguished thoroughly, taking much longer than you thought it needed to, Javi turns to you, his mahogany eyes have you pinned in your tracks. You found yourself admitting they were gorgeous for the second time this evening, they were the type of brown you could never quite describe, they had so much depth, not quite a chocolate, not quite coffee, they were rich and deep pools. They reminded you of the forest, not the green leaves but the earthy brown, the strong beams of wood that held everything up around it.

Javier's hand emigrated forward slowly, your eyes followed the movement in your peripheral but you didn’t dare look away from the pools of molasses as he reached to grip one hand at your denim thigh, his eyes roamed your face for any sign of this being an unwelcome approach and when he found none his other hand began its climb to rest on your jaw, just below your ear.

You couldn’t say if you moved towards him or if he advanced on you, all you knew was he was on you now as the tips of your noses rubbed against one another.

“Quiero saborearte…” He whispered so lowly you barely even heard it before he leaned in that last inch and captured your lips in a single, chaste kiss. Your lips connected and you realised the heat you had felt from his arms had been nothing. Fire coursed through your veins upon contact, surging through your blood and going south to a pressure that built in your lower stomach. 

Your hand shot up to land on his collarbone, before you could even really consider your own actions you pulled apart until your foreheads were the only thing touching.  He was intoxicating, you could lose yourself completely in this man, he somehow smelt like cinnamon, whiskey and sweat, a combination you’d never thought would send liquid fire through your central nervous system.  You’d give anything to taste him properly, but this was wrong. So so wrong. This was your brother's partner, this was inviting complication to your door, when you were just here to check on Steve. You were here for Steve.

You were here for Steve... 

“... This isn’t a good idea.” You all but whisper, closing your eyes. Regret pulses through your veins at your self imposed restraint. 

“Never is.” He leaned forward and captured your lips. You didn’t have any fight left in you, exhausted and at wits end you embraced your spiral into stupidity instead and your hands glided across the clammy skin of his neck to grab at his short ink black hair. You wrapped your fingers around it to drag him closer to you, your lips clashed, all teeth at first but you didn’t care as his tongue began to fight against yours for dominance. 

He tasted as good as you imagined, he was the right combination of sweet and bitter, with undertones of whiskey and tobacco on his tongue. Your response to his assault on your mouth told him it was go time, Javier pulled you into his lap and his hands lowered to your ass. Your body was flush with his own as your breasts pressed against his chest, you could feel every solid line of his lithe body against your own. 

You licked at his honied tongue, before withdrawing and pulling his bottom lip into your mouth and sucking on the soft plush skin. His mustache tickled your upper lip, a sensation you weren’t used to but could so easily grow to love.  This made him tighten his grip on your backside in response and he let out a throaty groan at the meat he found there, Javier was definitely an ass man, you felt his bulge pressing against your core as you both began grinding against each other in earnest. You felt like a horny teenager as you grinded on a man you barely knew. 

You felt him grip at the bottom of your tank top and begin to lift it, except he stopped, and began to rub patterns on the stomach he exposed. Javier’s mouth descended from your lips to begin to suck and lick at your throat. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at his work as pleasure rippled throught your body. His hands slid the length of your body to grab at your chest, which conforming to every stereotype was heaving, he palmed your breast blindly as his face was still buried in your hair, sucking and kissing along to your ear, before he raised his mouth a mere inch and whispered  “Te follaré toda la noche niña.”

He said it with such surety that your body convulsed in on itself without even needing to know what the man above you was saying. You could only hope it was absolutely filthy and profanity ridden, because then at least, the sentiment would be shared. He bit at the lobe of your ear before his hands left your breasts and travelled to the hem of your tank top, getting ready to pull it over your head.

It was strange to say that you remembered your brother was on his way here as a man tried to take your t-shirt off, but that’s just the way it went. You knew if that top came off, dry humping would be the most PG action of the night and if Steve turned up and found you mounted on his partner, he probably wouldn’t be too thrilled. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from stroking the man's hair whose face was planted in between your tits as his hips rose against your own pushing his hardened length up against the seams of your jeans, you gasped as he hit that sweet spot. You let out a noise that sounded like a wail. You wanted nothing more than to lie back and let this man have his filthy way with your body. And you know, from the hour you’ve spent with this man it would be phenomenally filthy. The kind of sex that would ruin all men for you, but no. You had to be a good sister. Like a fuckin loser. 

Sighing, you threw your body sideways before you could change your mind and ended up on your back. Javier followed you, caging you with his frame as he covered your body with his own.  Gripping your face like he was a starving man and you were the only sustenance he’d ever need. It would be so easy to get lost in him, to give in to that magic tongue but you couldn’t let this go any further so you placed a hand on his chest.

Taking your cue he paused his tongues assault on your mouth and stopped, resting his forehead against your own. You were both breathing heavily trying to come back down to reality, his eyes were no longer the chocolate brown you’d been comforted by when you met, but rings of obsidian staring into your soul. You wanted this man, my god you did. But this would make more problems for Steve.

The two of you stayed that way for a while, foreheads and bodies pressed against one another until both of your breathing evened out. The silence dragged, heavy in the air as you two strangers both waited for the other to break it. 

“...Is Steve okay?”

“...No... He’s been fuckin’ mess ever since Connie left.” Javier sighed whilst closing his eyes and breathing deep. You raised your hands from his chest, which was difficult as he was crushing his body to yours and cupped his cheek, you joined your lips once more, much like the first kiss. This was sweet and there wasn’t a carnal appetite behind it but rather an understanding. 

The loud knock on the front door startles you both as you’d been so wrapped up in one another you’d not heard the steps leading to it. The two of you split apart like a pair of guilty teens caught in the act. You both stared at each other for a second before he nods at you and walks to the front door whilst rearranging his bulge discreetly in his jeans, this was something you pretended not to see as you sat back up right on the sofa. You had only a moment to fix yourself, as you pulled your tank top from where it was hooked by your breasts and ran your fingers through your hair so you didn’t look like you’ve just had the ravaging of a lifetime. 

Javier pulled open the door and you clutch your hands into your lap, not quite sure what kind of reception you were about to receive from your brother. You hear the two men greet one another in hushed whispers, you couldn’t make out Steve's voice much until you hear his voice clear as day “...what the hell was so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

You stand from your spot on the sofa and quickly realise the button on your jeans is undone; if you’re honest you don’t even know how he managed to do that without you noticing, even though it's not the time you take a solitary second to commend Javier on his artistry of disrobing a woman. Turning quickly you pull the rivet back through the hole and swing around as Steve crosses the threshold from the hallway.  

Steve looks from you, to Javier and then back to you once more in complete surprise. It takes his brain a hot second to process that you’re here in front of him and in Colombia before he rushes you. Clutching you tight and hugging you to his chest. You hear something that sounds suspiciously like a sob leave your brothers chest before he collapses into you. The front door and Javier’s bedroom both in rapid succession, giving you the privacy you knew your brother would need after breaking down like this.

You couldn’t support Steve’s weight with your considerably smaller frame and the two of you fell to the ground as you held your broken brother. His body shook with silent sobs as he buried his face in your shoulder.

You said nothing as you held him and stroked his hair. In that moment you thanked your every instinct that screamed at you to come to Colombia. 

This had definitely not been a mistake. 

Part Two

[disgruntledspacedad]

The Rules of Engagement (3/5)

The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do. 

words: 3.4k 

warnings: 18+ for alcohol, language, smut, violence, body horror, general trauma. Please, please heed the warnings on this chapter, guys. It gets pretty intense.

a/n: Unbeta’d. I know I said this was going to be three chapters, but I lied. Sorry, my dudes - this one got away from me. Inspo credit goes to @tiffdawg​, as always.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Well, fuck. You bite back a massive sigh.

You really, really don’t want to walk through that door.

It’s been a month, and you life has changed profoundly.

For one, you’re not at the office as much anymore - Stechner had made good on his promise to consider you for more flyovers, and boy, has Centra Spike been busy. Some new vigilante group is terrorizing Medellín, and while it’s not Search Bloc’s priority to go after them, they’ve undeniably kept Pablo and his sicarios busy. The radio frequencies are hot right now, and you’ve been doing eight, sometimes ten flights a week. 

You absolutely love it. The hours are less predictable and definitely more shitty, but listening to a radio from the cockpit of a plane is much more fun that listening to a radio in a stuffy basement office, so you consider it a fair trade.

It keeps your brain busy, too.

Your social life has taken a massive kick to the nuts. Ana is back at university, and you miss her more than you thought you would. You’ve reverted to communicating with Emilio with gestures and smiles more than words. It’s nice because he’s nice, but you miss actual conversation, stilted as it was. Ana wasn’t all that bad, either.

And then there’s Javi.

You haven’t spoken to him since That Morning, not even a polite 'how are you?' in the hallway. Granted, you’re not seeing him as often anymore, given your new position and hours, but then again, you haven’t exactly sought him out, either.

The memory claws at you every time you relive it - and you relive it often. That anger, that wounded expression. The slammed door, his retreating footsteps. Each time you’re in that building, the walls seem to close in on you, and you have to stop yourself from looking for him, actively keep your gaze from roaming straight to his desk.

God, as if you could make it more awkward.

You’d had one nasty conversation with Murphy about a week after the incident - you’d told him in no uncertain terms that he could either mind his own business or fuck right off, you didn’t care which. He’d left you be, throwing his hands in the air and muttering something about how “you two deserve each other.”

Asshole.

Still, that aborted conversation haunts you - so many aborted conversations haunt you - and you wonder what would have happened if you’d just taken the bull by the horns and addressed the issue with Javi head on.

I’m sorry you caught me rubbing one off on the morning after you almost died, Peña. I can assure you, it won’t happen again. Your friendship means the world to me.

Yeah, right.

God, though, but you miss him.

You miss him so much it aches, a gaping hole that reaches right down to the core of you, but there’s nothing to be done about it. You’d fucked this one completely and thoroughly - any chance of restoring your friendship had drained away with the shower-water, and the more time you spend fretting over it, the more awkward - and pathetic - it would be to say anything.

So, you’d cut your losses, held your head high, and tried not to waste too much time wishing you’d have just kept your fucking fantasies to yourself.

Now, though, you’ve got no choice.

You’d been on Centra Spike’s early morning flight, just another routine scan over Medellín. The shift wasn’t intended to be more than a training run for you, but as luck would have it, the Medellín cartel’d had a busy night, and you’d been caught in the crossfire.

Your plane had just touched down half an hour ago, and now you’re standing on the front steps of the embassy building, fingering a shoebox cassette player loaded with a freshly taped recording full of juicy intel destined for the desk of DEA Agent Javier Peña - an entire, private conversation featuring none other than Verdugo himself.

You’d know that voice anywhere. You’ve studied it for hours, what few snatches you’d been able to glean from the embassy archives. It’s almost as if Verdugo is smart enough to steer clear of the city, or to just avoid phone conversations all together, the absolute fuckwad.

Until early this morning.

On the plane, you’d intercepted a new signal and tapped in on a whim, intending to practice your Spanish more than anything, but what you’d overheard was a fucking gold mine of information.

Verdugo is in Medellín. The sicarios are getting ready to move Escobar. He didn’t say where - fucking bastard knows not to spill all of the beans in one conversation - but apparently the plan requires a rendezvous in El Centro first. Verdugo is en route, and will be there until the next morning.

You’d worked frantically all night, tracing and retracing the signal, triangulating potential addresses, then back-tracking to account for environmental distortion. Each calculation had led you to the same place - an unassuming little house right smack in the middle of Medellín.

Bingo.

“You take it in, Aarons.” Torres had declined your offer to do the honors. “It’s your intel.”

So here you are, bleary-eyed and running on less than two hours of sleep, cassette player clenched tightly to your chest, summoning up all of your courage just to go speak with your ex... well, ex whatever-the-fuck Peña is.

‘This is your job,’ you remind yourself fiercely. ‘You can do this.’

As pep-talks go, it isn’t very effective.

Fuck it. You toss your head back, wishing you’d had time to at least grab a cup of coffee on the way in, and breeze around the corner.

“Agent Peña.”

He glances up lazily, thoroughly uninterested in whatever you have to say. When he realizes it’s you, he blinks once, dropping his cigarette in the ashtray and sitting up to eyeball you with a wary expression.

"What can I do for you?” he asks cooly.

You remember him saying that once before, but the context was totally different.

You shake it off. “Centra Spike has new intel that you’ll want to see right away.”

He purses his lips, tilting his head to indicate the growing pile of bullshit on his desk. “You can leave it here.”

Oh, so that’s how it is, then?

“I can’t.” You pin him with a stare, and he meets your gaze evenly, raising his eyebrows in silent challenge. You clear your throat and clarify. “I won’t.”

He scoffs as you carefully rest cassette tape on his desk, along with a map of El Centro. “We intercepted a four minute conversation with Verdugo this morning. He’s here.” You point to the safe house on the map, which you’ve already circled in red ink. “Feo and Limón are with him. They’re leaving early tomorrow.”

Peña frowns down at the spot where your finger rests. “And can you corroborate that information?”

Oh, the motherfucker. “I verified his voice personally, Peña,” you say carefully, doing your damndest to keep the annoyance from your tone. It’s well within his right to ask questions, after all. “It’s a direct match for the audio samples we have.” You tap the tape for emphasis. “You’re welcome to listen for yourself.”

He doesn’t make a move for a long time. Something hot and painful burns in your gut as you wait.

God, he knows you, knows you better than anybody else in on this goddamned continent.  He knows that you know your shit, that you want to catch Escobar as desperately as he does. And this evidence that you have spread across his desk, recorded on tape and marked plainly in red ink, is irrefutable, undeniable - it’s a huge break. He knows that, too.

His apathy is palpable, and it’s driving you up the fucking wall.

When he finally glances up at you, it’s with a doubtful little smirk on his face. “Hmm.”

And oh, wow, you’re shocked by just how much that hurts.

All your life, from the moment you were born into a family of brothers, you’ve had to fight tooth and nail to be taken seriously. It was a fact of life as early as you can remember - ‘look after your sister,’ or, ’she’s just a girl,’ or ‘wow, you’re really great at math, for a woman!’ You’d settled on your career as an analyst because you’d wanted it, not because you’d had something to prove, but still, the military is a male-dominated field, and from the start, the odds had been stacked against you.  Landing this CIA gig had been the achievement of a fucking lifetime. Still, the bar is set high in the Colombia, and it’s set that much higher for a woman. You’re well aware of this; you’re reminded every single day.

Point being, you’re used to defending yourself and your abilities; it comes as natural as breathing.  

But until now, you’ve never had to fight this battle with Peña. He’d taken you at face value from the moment he'd laid eyes on you, treating you like just another operative. Sure, he might take a crack at you every now and again, but that's all in good fun, and you’ve never been one to shy away from a laugh.

Christ, you never realized just how much that respect meant to you until suddenly, it’s gone.

“If you have something to say about my skills and qualifications, Agent Peña, then I suggest you say it.” You lean over his desk, speaking quietly, enunciating each syllable with deadly precision. “Otherwise, I think we both know that it’s in the best interest of Search Bloc and the Colombian people that we collaborate quickly, so we can put boots on the ground and land this motherfucker behind bars where he belongs.”

Peña’s eyes narrow, and he cocks his head, studying you. You meet his gaze, biting back a snarl. You won’t back down. You won’t allow him to intimidate you.

When he nods sharply and reaches for his phone, you know you’ve won.

♠

Ten minutes later, you’re situated in a conference room with Peña, Steve Murphy, Martinez, and a couple of the other higher ups of Search Bloc whose names you haven’t memorized. Your maps are spread over the table, your tape displayed for all to see, and every eye is on you.

“Verdugo is here,” you say, leaning over the map to indicate the marked house. “He and his entourage arrived late last night, and they’re planning to leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Plenty of time to get a team together.” Murphy interjects, glancing between you and Peña with open curiosity.

You narrow your gaze at him. Drama-mongering bastard.

Peña’s not moving. He’s standing with his hip cocked toward the desk, frowning down at the map with his fingers curled to his chin like he’s totally oblivious to everything happening around him.

You know he’s not, though. That’s Javi’s thinking face, the one he makes when he wants people to shut the fuck up and forget about him until he can work something out. You’re pretty familiar with that one.

The others are babbling in Spanish, discussing logistics and the likelihood of this being another trap.

It’s not. You know this deep in your bones. You’d heard that conversation in real time, had translated, triangulated it.

This is legit.

You’ve just decided to leave them to it when Javi snaps his eyes open.

“I agree with Aarons,” he announces out of nowhere. You’re startled by the confidence in his tone. Curious, you glance up, but it’s difficult to get a read on him. He’s pinning every person in the room except you with a hard stare. “We need to move out now.”

Several of the others make noises of protest, but Peña shuts them all down, one by one. Finally, his eyes flicker up to meet yours, just for a brief second, but there’s something different in his gaze, something new and heavily guarded.

You think it might be an apology.

“Let’s end this.”

♠

He’s on a plane to Medellín within an hour, wearing that stupid bullet proof vest. For just a split second, you wish that you were going, too. You don’t have enough experience, though - you’re not an agent; you haven’t handled a gun since basic. You’d be useless in a real fight, a liability, even.

Still, you feel some ownership in this operation, today more than ever. You don’t even try to kid yourself about Javi anymore, either. Those fucking feelings haven’t faded in a month, not a bit, not even after the awkward conversation you’d had in his office.

‘But he stood up for you, too, afterward,’ something whispers in the back of your mind. You replay that little glance in the conference room over and over as you watch Search Bloc board the plane.

He’s looking for you this time, standing on the ramp with his eyes shaded like he knows you’ll be waiting. He doesn’t nod and you don’t wave, but you make eye contact for a lingering moment, and again, there’s something in his expression that you don’t recognize.

Then the plane takes off down the runway, and you feel as if your heart is swooping away with it.

♠

You volunteer for the late shift at work, monitoring the radio lines in case something comes up. It’s an unusually quiet night, as if all of Bogotá collectively holds its breath, and you mostly spend it watching the clock, calculating the hours in your head.

One to land in Medellín. Two more to mobilize the men. Another half to get in location.

From there, your speculation gets fuzzy. There’s no way to predict the outcome once Verdugo is engaged. Javi’s told you a million stories, each more unbelievable than the last - car chases and rooftop shootouts, standoffs in the street, a fistfight in a church sanctuary, bodies of children littering dark alleyways… you cut off the recollections. They aren’t doing you any favors.

Verdugo is a dangerous man. Anything could happen.

By seven am, your brain is mush and your eyes are hyper-focused in that bleary way that happens when you’ve gone too long without sleep. Your third cup of coffee has gone cold, and people are starting to trickle in. You wave half-heartedly to Torres as you slip out of your headset, rubbing your fingers over your scalp to ease the tension that comes from wearing heavy earphones all night. A shower sounds nice, you decide, and maybe a quick nap afterward.

Somebody will page you with news.

Getting out of the building does a lot to wake you up. There’s something oppressive about the CNP headquarters that seems to abate when you step into the streets of Bogotá. The city buzzes with life even in the early morning, and air is warm in a way that seems to energize rather than sedate. Optimism is easier to invoke as you walk down the street in broad daylight.

Javi had looked at you, at least. He’d listened. He’ll call in to the office as soon as he can. Your intel was good, and they’ve flushed out the rat, he’d promised you that.

Everything will be okay.

You round the corner of CRA 70 and Circular, waving to Emilio, who is working the register of the pharmacy today.

“Orejas!” He shouts, reaching below the counter to hold aloft another bottle of aguardiente. “¡Mira! Solo para ti!”

You grin back at him, raising your voice to shout a greeting, and then, with absolutely no warning, the store explodes.

A loud boom.

A whoosh of impossible heat.

A massive orange fireball billowing from the windows.

Your body flying, flying through the air.

Bright blue sky, and then darkness.

♠

You find yourself lying flat on your back in the middle of the street. Your ears are ringing. There’s a pat-pattering in the air, soft like falling rain.

You blink hard.

It’s not rain, you realize dizzily.

It’s fucking ash.

The air is dark with it, hot and heavy. It coats your tongue and stings your eyes. It’s hard to catch a breath. Your throat hurts, your chest aches. You cough weakly. The smell is terrible, acrid and bitter like burned metal. You can taste it on your tongue.

Slowly, you tense your muscles. Your chest is still burning, but there’s nothing sharp to suggest a serious injury. Your back is sore, your head fuzzy.

You sit up, wincing a little, relieved to realize that you’ve just had the wind knocked from you. You’ll have some bruises tomorrow, but that’s all.

Sound slowly filters in. The hiss and crackle of flame. A shout in the distance. Further away, a wailing siren.

Reality slams into you all at once.

Emilio!

You stand, wobbling more than you think you should, but you push past it. Reality seems to pitch and roil, as if the ground is hitching its breath beneath you. Rubble coats the street, dust clouds the air.

Oh god.

A gaping, smoking crater is all that’s left of Emilio’s pharmacy. The windows are blown out of the businesses on either side, their outer walls bowing under the pressure. Your apartment on the top floor is demolished, the roof caving in, flames licking at the the collapsed floors.

You gasp one long, shuddering breath, taking it all in, and then you’re running, sort of, picking your way through hunks of concrete and twisted metal.

“Emilio! Emilio!”

Your voice is hoarse, the world hushed. Nothing sounds quite right. Your legs are shaking and you can’t catch your breath. Some of the rubble is hot to the touch, and you feel like you’re moving underwater, slow and awkward and stupid.

You approach what’s left of the store, and the smell hits you first. Like cooked meat - charred, greasy, heavy.

You press your hand to your mouth to stifle a scream.

You found Emilio. He’s pinned beneath part of the collapsed roof. You look away quickly, but not before you catch a glimpse of blackened flesh, of bone, blood, and pink frothy tissue.

Acid rises in your throat, and you stumble to your knees, stomach clenching painfully into your ribs as you vomit onto the street. It goes on and on, over and over for an eternity, tears and snot and bile and ash leaking mingled down your face until there is nothing left in you to expel.

The encroaching wail of a siren draws you to your senses. You glance up, suddenly painfully aware of your situation. The ceiling is arching above you, just to your right, and it’s creaking ominously. The fires are still burning, and your shirt is clinging painfully hot against your back. You stagger to your feet once again, dizzy, almost drunkenly. A small crowd has gathered, pointing and gawking, calling out to you in Spanish that you are far, far too overwhelmed to translate.

Gasping, you raise your hands and side-step away, careful of the debris that litters the street around you.

A firetruck arrives on the scene, squalling to a stop between you and the onlookers, and you leap at the opportunity, ducking down the nearest alleyway before anybody can follow.

♠

You aren’t sure how much time you waste in the alleyways of Bogotá.

Seconds?

Minutes?

The time after the explosion is all a blur, and you run until you literally can’t anymore, until you’re doubled over and wheezing, coughing, hacking, panting.

Some primal survival instinct clicks in your brain then, and suddenly, your mind is clear. You glance around, swiping at your cheeks and brushing the ash from your shirt.

Now what?

You take a shaking breath and think.

Okay, first order of business, you’re absolutely disgusting. You need a shower before you can even think about doing anything productive.

Your bathroom just went up in flames, along with all of your clothes. Your heart clenches as you think of Ana - she’s at university, so that’s out. The embassy has a nice bathroom, but no showers that you’re aware of.

There’s only one place you know to go, and that’s Javi’s apartment.

You glance up at the sky. The sun is still pretty low - it can’t have been more than an hour since you’d left work, and that was around seven am. Javi obviously isn’t home, and you don’t have a key, but if you hurry, there’s still a chance that you could catch Murphy before he leaves his flat.

It’s a long shot, but you decide there’s nothing to lose for trying.

[forever-rogue]

Javier Prompt, if you're willing!! Javier comes home late from work to find the apartment empty, and begins to panic because his pregnant significant other isn't there. He's been nervous the last few months, and it's only gotten worse. When the phone rings and she's on the other end asking for him to come pick her up, he just imagines the worst possibilities.

I’m just...so...soft at the thought of dad to be Javi. Like...just imagine it... 🥺

I also realized that I read this prompt a little wrong and changed it slightly, but I hope you still like it!

Javier Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

It was the heart of summer, the warmest time of the year, and Colombia was in the middle of a heat wave. It was a stifling heat, the kind that was pervasive and deep to penetrate deep into your bones no matter how hard you tried to find relief. Warm mornings turned to even warmer afternoons which led to balmy evenings. Normally, you’d be able to handle it fairly well, as the heat generally didn’t bother you that much. But the not so little fact that you were almost eight months pregnant during all of this did not help. It only served to make you more miserable and it was almost impossible to find any sort of relief.

Javier, your boyfriend and the most Nervous Nellie of a father to be, was attentive to your needs, finding all sorts of ways to ease your discomforts and make you feel better. You were pretty sure that he’d read more pregnancy books than you had, and there was a small growing library of them in the living room bookcase. As soon as you told him you were pregnant, something you had been reluctant to do since you had no clue how he would respond to this surprise, he had shifted into dad mood. Sometimes you were sure he was more excited than you were - the way his eyes had lit up when you had first announced the news and shown him the positive pregnancy test was forever burned into your mind. It was a treasured moment that you never wanted to let go of.

All the knowledge he gathered and all the little tips and tricks learned along the way had been helpful more times than not. But unfortunately, nothing could help you in this heat - no amount of cold showers and drinks and fans seemed to help. You could barely sleep at night, finding it hard to sleep any position with your large belly, and Javi’s warm body to you. He seemed to run warm as it was and it certainly wasn’t helping now..

The one little bit of relief you did find, however, came in the form of the frozen yogurt that Javier had found by chance at the supermarket, thinking you might like it. And you had; you’d almost devoured the whole container in one sitting, and it seemed to cool you ever so slightly. One late night, when you really couldn’t sleep, you’d gotten a hankering for the sweet dessert, and but also something sour. Imagine Javi’s surprise when he woke up to go to the bathroom and found you sitting on the couch watching late night television and eating pickles dipped in the frozen yogurt.

“Oh honey,” his voice was tired and thick with sleep as tried his best not to laugh at the sight. You looked up at him, with a small, sheepish smile on your face as you took another bite of the crunchy pickle. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your before plopping down on the couch next to you, “pickles and ice cream?”

“Froyo,” you corrected him, waving the pickle in front of his face and offering him a bite. He shook his head before wrapping an arm around your shoulder and watching as you dipped the pickle back in and coated it in the frozen yogurt before eating it, “you should go back to bed, Javi. You’ve been exhausted, my love.”

“I couldn’t sleep...again,” he admitted with a small sigh, “and then I found you gone, and then I saw the light on. Why...why on earth are you eating that?”

“Your kid was hungry,” you shrugged lightly, looking pointedly between him and your large stomach, “and I was hot, so I figured this could solve both of my problems.”

“Hey, that is half your kid as well,” he snorted with laughter as put his hand on your belly, rubbing it gently. The baby always seemed to know when it was Javier touching your stomach, moving softly and kicked at the feel of his touch and sound of his voice, “they’re moving.”

It always seemed to amaze him, each time the same as it had the first time, his face lighting up with joy and sheer love. You tried not to get emotional, but with your raging hormones, it was hard to keep anything in check, and you felt that familiar prickling start at the back of your eyes. Putting a hand on top of his, you turned to give him a smile, a tear inadvertently slipping down your cheek. Javi gently reached over and softly wiped it away before giving you a sweet kiss, “honey, don’t cry, it’s alright.”

“I know,” you said softly, feeling the water works preparing to well up, “it’s just...I love you so much, and I’m so excited and happy, but right now being pregnant sucks and I want it to be over and I don’t at the same time because I’m so nervous to meet the baby, our baby, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. I know you’ll be the best father, but I worry that I won’t be a good mother. I mean, look at me, I’m sitting here and eating frozen yogurt and pickles and crying.”

“Honey,” Javi put his hand on your cheek and leaned in closer to you, his lips brushing faintly against yours, “you’re alright, you’re going to be just fine. It’s just your hormones - I promise. You’re going to be an amazing mother - the best mother. I can’t even imagine what it must be like to be in your position right now, or how it feel at all, but you are incredible for everything you’re doing. I mean, think about it, you’re carrying our child right now. Do you have any idea what a feat that is, how amazing you are?”

“You’re just saying that because I’m pathetic and pregnant,” you sniffled lightly, but he cut you off with a firm kiss, his hand going to the back of your heading, holding you close. It warmed you up completely, in a different way this time, one that was not unpleasant and overbearing, but comforting, “Javi...”

“I know,” he whispered quietly, “I love too.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice but a mere, soft whimper. He nodded softly, nuzzling his nose against yours. Of course you knew he loved you; it was just all of these crazy hormones making you question everything.

“Really, mi amor,” he promised, “you, and our child, even if you’re resorting to silly things such as eating ice cream and pickles.”

“Froyo,” you laughed lightly, feeling a wash of reassurance flood over you. It was hard, especially this far along to remain positive, but it was always easier when you had Javi. He was your rock, your anchor, and helped you keep a level head through all of this, just like you often did with him. The two of you made a good pair, and you hoped that would translate into good parenting.

“Froyo and all,” he corrected, “I love every part of you. Always.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

On this particular evening, you were at home by yourself, boredom and warmth setting in as you couldn't find anything to hold your interest. You'd made dinner and saved some for Javi, who was working late. He'd told you when he left in the morning that it would he a long day, but a part of you had wished that something would happen and allow him to come home sooner.

But it was nearing ten in the evening and you weren't sure when he'd be back. He was on a stakeout with Steve, meaning it was anyone's guess. Feeling listless, you decided to go for a short walk. It would at least give you some exercise and maybe help to cool you down, should you find some sort of breeze.

You scribbled a note on the pad next to the phone, in the off chance that Javi would return before you came back. Perching the note up so it was easily visible, you walked, or waddled over rather, to your purse and grabbed a few dollars and your key before heading out.

It probably wasn't the best idea to go out, at night, alone, in the midst of everything going on in Colombia, but you really just needed to get out at this point. Surely Javi could understand that, right? But....perhaps he wouldn't.

He'd been such a mother hen lately, ensuring that everything was perfect and attending to your every need. While you didn't mind, not for the most part anyway, sometimes it was a little overwhelming. Being pregnant was enough of a chore, but having someone constantly underfoot wasn't any better. You loved him and he meant well, but sometimes you just needed a break.

Stepping out into the slightly cooler evening air, you let out a sigh of relief as you started your little trek around the block. Suddenly, a brilliant idea struck you; the supermarket where Javi had found your treasured frozen yogurt was close by. Making up your mind, you decided you'd pick up a carton of the stuff and a new jar of pickles.

»»————-　♡　————-««

When Javier arrived home, he was tired, exhausted even, and couldn't wait to get in bed and have you in his arms. It was late, later than he would have liked but his long day was finally over. He'd even come to the decision that he would be working fewer hours and staying out of the field when possible. It was going to a be a big change, but his main priority was you and your baby and he wanted to be around should anything happen. He had a feeling that you'd try and argue with him, but his mind was made up.

"Hermosa," he let out a long sigh as he tried to unlock the door, but stopped, eyebrows knitting together in confusion when he realized the door was already unlocked. Strange. Neither of you ever kept it unlocked, and you definitely knew better.

A tingle of nerves started at the base of his spine as he opened the door and walked inside slowly, unsure of what to expect. The television was on and the window was open, all signs pointing to the fact that you would be home.

"Honey?" his voice faltered slightly as he walked down the hallway and poked his head his head in the bedrooms and bathrooms, trying to see if he could find you. But you were nowhere to be found.

His heart started to race slightly as he reached for the gun in the waistband of his jeans and pulled it out, holding it at the ready. His mind immediately went into overdrive as a million horrid, dark thoughts appeared. Every single bad thought he possessed within the far recesses of mind were suddenly right up front.

What if someone had come and taken you? If someone had broken in? What if something had happened with you and the baby? What if, what if, what if?

There appeared to he no signs of a struggle, but he knew better than anyone that appearances could be deceiving. Your purse was still here and the smell of cooking lingered in the kitchen.

"Fuck," he said softly to himself, running a hand over his face in exasperation as he came to the conclusion that something had to have happened, "Fuck!"

He grabbed the phone, throwing the notepad face down onto the floor in his haste and quickly dialed Steve's number. Anxiously waiting for him to answer, he almost shouted in the receiver, "she's gone! I just got back but she's not here!"

It took Steve only a beat to figure out Javi was in distress about you and he tried to calm him down. Surely there must be there another explanation, "hey, hey, hey, I'm sure it's alright-"

"The door was unlocked, her things are here, TV on. It looks like someone got in here and just took her," it was hard to remain calm when not only could you possibly be at risk, but also the baby, "fuck! Has she talked to Connie at all? Does she know anything?"

He heard Steve mumbling something to Connie, asking her if you had mentioned anything to her or spoken to her. He let out a heavy sigh before returning to Javi, "Con hasn't heard anything. Javi, just relax, I'm sure there's a reasonable-"

"She's missing, Steve! She's almost eight months pregnant and you expect me to calm down!?" he didn't mean to sound as harsh as he did, but he was extremely stressed. He couldn't even remember the last time he had been this worried.

"Make whatever calls you need to and I'll be there to help," Steve hung up the phone as Javi nodded, trying to focus as he tried to make a game plan for how to find you.

»»————-　♡　————-««

After some time you'd finally managed to find your favorite flavor of frozen yogurt and a big jar of pickles, you made your way home, ready to dig in and wait for Javi.

The evening had cooled down further and you strolled back at a leisurely pace, not that you had much of a choice this far in, taking your time to get back. When you got into the complex and made your way to your shared apartment, you thought you heard some voices, and grew excited to think that Javi might be back.

Unlocking the door slowly you stepped in, mouth dropping at sight in front of you. Javi, Steve, and Connie were all around the kitchen table, pouring over what looked like a map, the phone next to them.

"Hey everyone," they were so immersed in their little discussion none of them had noticed you at first, "what's going on?"

Javi's dark eyes flicked up to meet yours momentarily before looking back down at the map. It took him a good few moments before he finally realized it was you, "honey! You're here...you're back! Where the hell have you been?"

"Yeah, of course I'm back..." you walked over to the table and set your bag down, "I live here? I went for a walk and stopped at the market for frozen yogurt and pickles."

"Why!?"

"Your kid was hungry as normal?" you said as if it was no big deal, "and I wanted to get out for a little bit."

"The door was unlocked," he come over to you and put his hands on your face, a clearly distressed look on his face, "the lights and the television were on and I could smell dinner, and you weren't home. I was so worried."

"I just left everything on because I was just going on for a little bit. And in case you came home before me, I didn't want everything all dark," your heart sank a little when you saw how upset he is, "I'm sorry, Javi, I honestly thought I'd be back before you."

"I was so worried! I thought someone had come and taken you or something had happened to baby!" he threw up his hands in exasperation. You knew he wasn't mad at you, he was just in general panic mode over anything related to you right now, "what was I supposed to think?"

"Javi, I left you a note where you would see it," you let out a small sigh as you spied the notepad on the floor, your note still face down. Making your over to it, you tried to pick it up, but quickly came to the conclusion that it was going to be a herculean feat. Connie quickly came to your rescue and swooped it up and studied it before handing it to you, "how did this get on the floor? I left it up so you would easily see it."

Javi came over and took it from your hand, quickly reading it over. He hung his head when he realized he must have knocked it over, "fuck. I must have done that and not noticed."

"If you'd been in the office I would have called you, my love," you put a hand on shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, "but I didn't know if you'd be there...so I just left the note."

He let out a soft groan before taking your hand and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, "I'm sorry, honey. I just...the door was unlocked and I worry. Especially with everything going on right now and you're so close. I...might have overreacted a little bit..."

"You think?" you teased him, wrapping your arms his neck, holding him as close as possible, with the exception of your stomach, "trust me, if someone was breaking in, I would put up a fight and someone would have heard my screaming. If anything was wrong with the baby, I would have gone to Connie."

"But honey-"

"Just because I'm pregnant doesn't I can't put a fight. Anyone tries to come for you or our baby, they're going to catch sight of these hands," you insisted, causing him, Steve, and Connie to break into laughter, "what?! What's so funny?"

"Hermosa," Javi met your eyes for a moment, putting his hand on your face as he gave you a soft smile, "baby, you're 34 weeks pregnant, you cry when you can't pick things up off the floor. You cried at a commercial last night. I don't think you're going to kick anyone's ass."

"Try me, Javier Peña, try me," you put your hands, and tried your best to give him a mean look, "I've got that crazy pregnancy strength!"

"I love you," Javi just laughed before giving a soft kiss, "so much. I’m so glad you’re okay."

"I love you too," you grinned at him, "sorry for worrying you. The one time you come early! If I had any clue I would have just waited. Sorry Steve, sorry Con. You got dragged into all of this because of me. I should have just told Connie and made her come with me."

"It's dangerous to go out alone," Javi reminded you and just pouted your lips at him.

"I just needed to go out and damn kid just wanted a damn snack," you laughed lightly at yourself, "now half the city is probably out looking for me."

"Try half the country," Steve corrected as you just looked at Javi and he sheepishly shrugged at you. He gave Connie a look and the two of them shared a nod, deciding it was time for them to go, "glad you're okay and it was just a misunderstanding. I think this should serve as a lesson to keep calm, right Javi?"

"Fuck off, Murph," Javi flipped him the bird but gave him a thankful smile nonetheless. You gave them a wave before crossing your arms over your chest and shaking your head at him, "I was worried, alright? Every single thought bad of what could have happened to you went through my mind. I would never forgive myself something happened to you, either of you, because of me."

"I know," you put your hand on his cheek and rubbing your thumb gently over his cheekbone, "nothing will ever happen to me or this bean. At least not because of you, probably because I tried over my own feet, which I haven't seen in months, thank you very much."

"You don't know that-"

"Javi, I do," you insisted firmly, "you take such good care of us all the time. You do everything. I know nothing will go wrong, we're safe and sound, here with you.”

“I cannot believe I was this worried about my wife going out and getting ice cream and pickles,” he let out a long sigh of relief as he watched you with a small smile. He took your hand and laced your fingers together, “you are...something else.”

“Firstly - froyo,” you reminded him with a laugh, “and secondly - not your wife.”

“Not yet,” he beamed at you with a little wink. He had plans for that, big plans, but he wasn’t about to tell you that yet.

“Oh yeah, is that so?” you played it cool but internally you were bubbling up with excitement.

“Yeah,” he promised, giving you a nod, “but that’s a discussion for another time. Now why don’t get your...dessert? Snack? Whatever you call and we can go to bed. I’m exhausted.”

“That’s what you get for panicking,” you traced you a finger down his nose before kissing it gently. He held you there for a moment, resting his forehead against yours, “I love you, Javi. Really.”

“I love you too, honey,” his voice was barely above a whisper, “even if you do stress me out.”

“Out of love.”

“Aye, dios mio,” he made quick work of scooping you up in his arms, making it effortless and like you totally weren’t heavily pregnant, “you’ve lost all privileges now. Time for bed.”

“Okay, but when you say it like that, it doesn’t sound like a punishment, it just sounds sexy,” you giggled as he started carrying you towards the bedroom, “and that’s how I got pregnant in the first place!”

“Honey...”

“And don’t forget my froyo and pickles!”

[maxiarapamaya]

Are you here to stay?

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Warnings: Mostly fluff, but there's some mild smut (+18) in there as a bonus.

Word Count: ~ 2900 words

It’s Christmas time! This is a 12 Days of Pedro Christmas fic. Yay! My secret santa is @dindjaringf​. You are such a talented writer, baby. I hope to bring you some smiles during this time of the year. Enjoy your Javier Peña fanfic. Hope you have a wonderful Christmas. All the love, @maxiarapamaya​.

Colombia, December 1988

You love Christmas. Since you were a little girl, as soon as Halloween was over, you were barely interested in Thanksgiving, so you would always ask your mom about Christmas: 

"Can we make a Christmas countdown and put it on the fridge, mom?" You asked your mother once, and even though she had a lot of stuff going on in her mind, she said yes, and helped you with your crafts, so you could have a cute little display on the fridge.

Every morning after that, you woke up - oh, she would not let you stay up late on weekdays -and went straight up to the calendar on the fridge, excited for the most wonderful time of the year.

Years later, when you had finally moved out of your mom’s house, Christmas would still be your favorite time of the year. You would be the first one to put up the decorations in the coffee shop owned by your mom, the one where you have been working hard every single day since you were a teenager: Las Americanas. 

You were proud of how far your mother had come. You were proud of her small business. You would happily go to work, especially during December, and be extra kind to clients, one free coffee here and there.

Things were nice and easy until you met him.

When you met Javier Peña in the year before, your world turned upside down.

Javier Peña did know about how much you loved Christmas, because that’s almost the time you met him at the coffee shop the year before. "You can keep the change." You heard from his lips. "Oh. Thanks. Merry Christmas!" you smiled. He looked a little puzzled back at you: "It's not Christmas yet, girl." He said, when he could have kept his mouth shut. He looked tired. 

"Well, it certainly isn't... But what harm is in celebrating just a little earlier? Have you heard about the Christmas spirit...?" You couldn't stop smiling. Until you noticed he was a cop or something like that, so you got a little tense. "Well, enjoy the rest of your day." And you promptly left him alone.

He kept coming every other day. Eventually, you found out his name. 

He noticed how you kept your distance, and he asked you to come a little closer so you could see how the gun's safety lock worked. You listened attentively. Sometimes, he would ask you to change the song when it was too romantic, or too upbeat for his taste. Your mom noticed him too but kept being discreet. She secretly wanted to you to get married and start your own family, as you were living alone in your apartment. Also, Peña looked like a nice guy. He would hold the door for the other clients, and he would always say 'thank you' which was a much-appreciated gesture for her: "He's a gentleman!"

Javier, or even, Javi, as you soon started calling him, would also let you know when you were not paying him enough attention. 

"Jealous, Javi?" You would walk pass his table, and slightly touch the top of his hand, without giving him a second glance. He didn't really know that he was.

"You know your coffee is not even that good, right, honey?" He said once, looking straight at you, wanting to get a reaction out of you. An angry look, a small, unhappy nod. Anything. 

"If you are less than satisfied, sir, maybe you could drop a suggestion in our box. It's been empty for months. We'd be glad to..." 

And he just got up, getting a little closer to you than you would be comfortable with, if you didn't know him for some time already. Almost a year had passed. 

"Maybe another time" and he left you alone. His coffee breath still in the air. You closed your eyes, feeling your whole body shivers. 

It wasn't even a cold morning.

Soon, it was almost Christmas again. Your mom had traveled to the United States for the first time in a decade, and you were happy for her. But that also meant a sadder Christmas this time, and Javier noticed. 

"You should come!" You invited him, a little more excited than you wanted him to notice. "You can bring some cognac, we could make some hot cocoa." You hinted at him, but he was absolutely paying attention to something else in his pile of files. Sometimes, he would just bring work to the coffee shop, sitting quietly and alone in the farthest booth.

You sighed, knowing that half of the people that you invited would not come over. Including him. "I'll see what I can do." You saw the smoke from his cigar rise right in front of him, filling the air. You couldn't believe how excited you were for this 'maybe'. 

"Oh..." You let it slip. "Sure. Yes, you are busy, I understand that. But I invited you for Christmas and didn't ask you to come and help me save a cousin from trouble. It was an invitation, not a favor..." You did not know why you said that, but that's when you realized you had his complete attention on you. He was so focused you saw his cigar pending from his mouth. "I will go then." He said. And you smiled at him. "Oh... Thanks, Javi!"

When he got to your home, there were a dozen of people there, and he looked a little out of place. "I thought you were going to be alone..." He gave you the cognac bottle, and you laughed. "What? I never told you I was going to be alone, Javi! I said my mom would not be here, not that I didn't have anyone to spend Christmas with!" You smiled, and you noticed that for an instant, he looked a little hurt, but you pulled his hand and introduced him to a few people.

He was still annoyed by it; he wasn't even trying to hide it. He had one thing in his mind when he came, and one thing only. "Look..." He whispered, close to your ear. "I'll have to go very soon." He looked a bit anxious. "Oh, come on, Javi. We didn't even get to the best part yet!" 

He looked serious. "Well, I just came to see you, but in a couple minutes I'll have to leave." And now you were annoyed. 

Your hushed voices were not heard by the others, especially with the loud music. "Just promise you're coming back." You lightly touched his chest. You might have had one or two glasses of wine. Maybe three. 

"You know I can never promised you that." And then he left. And it was better if he had never come in the first place, because you missed him instantly. The moment he was gone, you knew Christmas wasn't going to be the same.

Hours passed, and you were finally able to exchange gifts with your friends, and you almost forgot about Javi. They helped you clean the kitchen, and soon, the Christmas decorations were the only trace something more than ordinary had happened in your apartment that night. 

The last one of your friends left, giving you a kiss on your cheek, and all by yourself, you realized how lonely and touch starved you felt. 

You closed the door, sighing, feeling disappointed. Not in the Christmas mood at all. You walked to your closet, changing your clothes, wearing something more comfortable, and sat on your armchair, in front of the TV. You were not paying attention to it, though, you were listening to music on the radio.

That's when you heard the knocks on your door. 

Your eyes immediately caught one of your friend's coats on top of a chair near the center table. You got it in your hand and opened the door. 

"Javi?" He was standing near the opposite wall. "Javi... You came back..." He closed the distance between you two, and soon enough the coat was on the floor, his hands were all over you, his mouth brushing the sensitive skin of your neck, and your own hands were all over him, too, brushing his hair, holding his face, kissing him over and over again. "Yes, yes, I did." You knew he did not want to lose any more of his precious time, so you just went with it.

He closed the door with his foot, and held you in his arms, taking you to your bedroom, where you could only dream of having him asking you to be on your knees, and asking oh so nicely to you to look at him, while he would hold your chin, and tell you what a good girl you were being, waiting patiently for him to come back... You couldn't help but smile at him: "Oh, Javi..."

Hours later, you were on his lap on your favorite chair, your robe open, close enough to him so you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. 

Javier traced with the tip of his fingers on your arms, pressing soft kisses on your neck and shoulders. Of course he didn’t bring you anything, but you bought him a watch on that same day. 

He was a preferred client, after all - you lied to yourself.

You saw it while shopping for presents, and you knew that watch looked like something Javier would use. He was using it now. You made sure the older one hadn’t been gifted by his grandfather or something, and he denied it. “You are not saying that just so I don’t feel upset, right, Javi?” You asked him, and he shook his head. Right now, the new watch was the only thing he was wearing. “What’s the deal with Christmas, by the way? Why do you love it so much?” He pressed his chin on your shoulder, and even though you were not looking at him, you knew he was looking at the TV.

“I really don’t know when it started, but I’m like this since I was a little kid. Christmas is like a really magic time for me, I love all of this… Cooking at home... Actually, carefully planning the meal for weeks, and then, making it all from scratch. I love to watch Christmas movies, oh, I definitely love to open the presents in the morning!” You said, smiling, and then he turned you so you could look at him. “You have to wait until morning?" He looked concerned.

“Well... Only because I'm a very obedient girl...” You teased him, giving him a kiss on his neck. You were so close to him, not only physically, but also you were both connected somehow. You didn't really know how to explain.

“Actually...” He stopped you, in a soft, unusual voice. “I bought you something, and I forgot to give you. Well… I didn't have time. Did I? It’s in my pocket.” He pointed to his jacket, hanging behind the door. “Go get it.” He said, almost throwing you out of his lap, and when you were about to protest, he gave you a smack on your ass.

“Dear lord.” You straightened up, walking directly towards the door, a smile on your face. Javier Peña had bought you a Christmas present. Why would he do that? You felt weirdly touched by that. And excited too.

You got to the jacket, and put it over your shoulders, over your robe. “Why?”

You asked him, as you got closer. There was a gun somewhere in there, you didn’t want to mess with that. “Why what?” He looked back at you, a shadow of confusion on his face. “Why did you bring me something?” 

You got near him, and instead of saying something, he put his hand between your legs, and suddenly, you forgot what you were about to say. 

“Because you were nice enough to ask me to come for Christmas, even knowing I'd say 'no'... You are such a good girl, you know?” He whispered. Knowing very well you would accept his answer, close your eyes, and melt with his touch. You lower yourself until you straddle him, your arms around his neck.

He stuck his hand on his jacket's pocket and took something from there. You stopped rubbing yourself on him and looked at what he had on his hand. 

“A new pair of hoop earrings.” You said, and then you had a vivid memory of that one time you interacted with him, you were trying to close your earring, swearing a little, because you knew that one was doomed. You just took it off, both of them, and threw them away in the bin. “Are you sure you were supposed to do that?” He frowned. “What? They were a favorite... But also, they were old as dirt. Anyway, are you going to have coffee or...?”

“And people don’t really believe you have a heart deep inside you.” You smiled, easily getting them out of the package, and putting them in your ears. 

“How do I look?” You asked, showing them off, playing with your hair a little. He didn’t answer. Instead, he cupped your face with his hands and kissed you. So tenderly, so softly. "Are you staying tonight, Javi?" You meant to sound casual. 

He didn't answer, but he looked at you with tender eyes. At that moment, precisely, you fell for him.

***

Christmas morning. You were both in the kitchen, near the small table. Javi and you.

You were close enough so you could smell his breath and grab his chest if you wanted. He touched your chin and held it so you could look straight into his eyes. “You smell so good in the morning.” He said, and you fell your whole body respond, you didn’t even know how. 

You knew you wanted him, you wanted him inside you again, rather fast. “Look at you...” He murmured, deeply. “Yes...?” His free hand went to caress your thigh and he squeezed it. 

You were pretty sure there was going to be a mark over there later, as your skin was so sensitive. “What?” You sighed. “What, Javi? What?” You were so drawn to him; you couldn’t even think properly. You could barely breathe.

Forget about being patient and obedient. You would keep asking 'what' until he gave you the attention you deserved, pretty much how he would try to get yours when you were both at the coffee shop.

He pushed you softly towards the table, so you could feel the wood edge on your back. "Spread your legs for me." He demanded, getting you on his arms, and placing you on top of the table. 

You obeyed immediately, falling back a little bit. Yes, daddy. You didn't have the courage to say it out loud, but there it was. Just an innocent thought. Wasn't it?

You wanted him to get on his knees, and lick you, you wanted him to push two fingers inside you with no time to warn you. You didn't need a warn.

You had time to think about all of that in your mind, but he didn’t fulfill your wish. He opened his fly and pushed your underwear to the side, and in just a few seconds, he was deep inside you, his arms around you, holding you in place, groaning in your ears. "Fuck, Javi..." You moaned in response.

It was feral, and ruthless, and you could barely think. 

Last night, both times you had sex, he was gentle and soft to you, he smelled like cognac and cinnamon, and you loved every second of it, but this time, after some rest, your own hands carving marks in his arms, you just moved your hips as he moved, and let him pull your hair as he wished. 

You let him take his hand to your neck and choke you as you came for the first time, while he was attentively looking at you. Only you. 

He put a finger in your mouth, and you sucked it, then he bit your ear and whispered that if you wanted him to think you were a good girl, you did have to keep showing him.

You promised you would if he let you come again. And so he did.

You were on his mind, and he was still inside you. He bit your neck when he came, and you crossed your legs behind his back. 

It was shockingly delicious. You couldn't stand still anymore.

"Merry Christmas." You murmured. Happily. "Oh... For you too." He smiled.

--- Few months later, when you started hearing the name 'Steve Murphy' more and more frequently, you casually asked Javi if you could meet him. 

Javi was reluctant at first, but eventually, he brought him to the coffee shop once, quickly introducing him to you, a little anxious maybe about your reaction or Steve's, like both of you mattered to him and he didn't really know why.

Steve Murphy looked attentively at you, like that was not the first time he heard your name, and he looked really curious. You knew he wanted to ask you some questions, but Javi wouldn't let him. 

When you left them both alone to get them more coffee and maybe some yuca bread, you were able to hear that Steve ended up teasing Javi, and you just secretly smile, knowing pretty well Javi had been talking about you.

[hopelikethemoon]

used to be lonely (Javier x Reader) [MTMF verse]

Title: used to be lonely Rating: PG-13 (language) Length: 2,400 Warnings: Angst, sexism, pregnancy talk.  Notes: Based on a prompt by @youhavereachedtheendofpie​. All of maybe today, maybe forever can be read here.  Summary: A month after “maybe” Javier comes to a conclusion.  Tag List: @grapemama​ @seawhisperer​ @huliabitch​ @pedropascalito​ @thewallpapergoesorido​ @twomoonstwosuns​ @gooddaykate​(lemme know if anyone else wants to be tagged in these)

You felt like shit. The worst of the morning sickness had passed as you entered your fourth month, but that didn’t mean you magically felt good. You weren’t sleeping terribly well at night and not being able to drink coffee was torture. Work was… fine. 

You’d had to tell your superiors about your ‘delicate condition’ and they hadn’t taken it well. Their first reaction had been to send you back to the states — which had been your worst fear. If you went back to your states, you knew that whatever you had with Javier would come to an abrupt end. Every day was a give and take, trying to find your place together. It wouldn’t survive distance and you wouldn’t let him leave with you if it came to that. 

Luckily they came around and put you on indefinite desk duty. You could live with that, even if it meant spending less time with Javier in the office. You were like two ships passing in the night most days. You’d get into the office, just as he was heading out on assignment and he’d return as you were heading home. 

Sometimes he’d ride the elevator with you, even though he was headed in the opposite direction, just so he could steal a few minutes alone with you. Four stories was never enough time. He’d rest his hand on the swell of your stomach, press a kiss to your temple before the opening doors would force him to pull away. Fleeting moments that convinced you that this could be something. Something that would linger long after the baby was born. 

You pinched at the bridge of your nose as you rested your elbows on your desk. The caffeine migraines wouldn’t give you a break. Every time you caught the scent of a fresh pot brewing in the breakroom, your body craved it. And Chris seemed to make a fresh pot every hour — just to torture you. 

“Hey Peña,” Chris started, tossing a crumpled up paper onto Javier’s desk to get his attention. “How’s things out in the field?”

“Fine.” He lifted his gaze and gave Chris a questioning look. 

Chris shrugged, “You know I was just wondering if things might be easier for you now.” 

You frowned, but kept your focus on the report you were typing. 

“Why would it be easier?” Javier questioned. You glanced at him, catching the way his teeth were clenched together, his jaw set hard. You both hated Chris. Nothing good ever came from his idle wondering. 

“Well, you know.” Chris threw another piece of paper towards the garbage can against the wall, missing it by a mile. “Without having a chick in tow. No offense,” He offered disingenuously when you glared at him. “You get to deal with all Colombia’s finest informants and I can’t imagine having a female partner helped you.” 

You drew in a deep breath, counting to ten instead of picking up your stapler and beating him to death. Though the mere thought of it was wholly satisfying. You exhaled slowly, flexing your fingers before you continued typing. Chris’ sexism didn’t even warrant a reply from you. No one gave a shit and it wasn’t a hill you wanted to die on. 

“Fuck off.” Javier bit out. “She was a damn good field agent and a competent one too.” That dig made you smirk. He’d been paired with Chris a half dozen times since you got stuck on desk duty and he always looked pissed as hell when he got back. Chris was a decent agent, but he was only there because he had a drinking buddy among the higher ups. 

You glanced up again, catching Javi’s eyes on you. You could never quite tell what that look meant — sometimes it felt like he was looking into your soul and other times like he was looking straight through you. But you knew Javier better than anyone else knew him — save for Steve. You had spent the better part of your past five years in Colombia at his side, day in and day out. But sometimes you just couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Especially when it came to you. 

“Don’t waste your breath on him, Peña.” You remarked, pulling the finished report out of the typewriter. “He’s just jealous that he didn’t get my job.” Javier had been insistent that they hold the spot open until after you delivered. He’d have to work with Chris and Daniel, but neither of them would be his official new partner. 

“Damn straight I am,” Chris scoffed. “It’s not like you’re going to be fit to go back in the field.” He vaguely gestured to his stomach. “You’re already getting fat.” 

“I’m having a baby.” You snapped as you stood up. “What’s your excuse?” You didn’t give him a chance to respond, heading out of the bullpen and down the hallway towards the bathroom. You didn’t trust yourself not to cry. Your hormones were all over the place and the prickly burning in your eyes suggested that he’d struck a nerve. 

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, splashing a little water on your face to soothe the flush that was starting to spread across your skin. You looked as good as you felt, which was shit. There were dark circles under your eyes, revealing just how little sleep you were getting. 

Someone knocked at the door.

“Occupied!” You called back.

“It’s me.” 

Your brows furrowed together as you turned back to the door, you unlocked it and pulled it open a crack. “What are you doing?” You questioned as you stared at Javier, your eyes flickering up and down the hall to make sure no one else was around. 

“Just checking on you.” He murmured, his expression soft as he looked at you. “You okay?”

“Just trying to prevent a murder.” You quipped, letting out a humorless laugh. 

Javier reached through the cracked door and took ahold of your hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. “We could probably get away with it, if we put some effort into the planning.” He said lightly. “Can I come in?”

You nodded your head slowly, pulling the door open wider. “This is risky.” You warned him as he stepped inside and locked the door shut. 

“Just a man checking on his partner,” Javier chewed on his bottom lip with his hands on his hips. 

You frowned, resting your hand on your stomach. “That’s a ‘bad news’ look.” 

He gave a stiff nod, his jaw rocking as he stared at you. “I’ve got to meet with an informant tonight.”  

“Okay.” You said calmly, even though you felt your pulse jump in your throat.

“Okay?” Javier’s head cocked to the side, like he was expecting another answer out of you. 

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “It’s your job, Javi.” 

He blinked slowly, before looking away with an incredulous laugh. “You could at least tell me that you’re hurt.” 

“By you doing your job?” You shot back, staring at him. “I don’t know what response you were expecting.” 

“Yeah,” He shook his head, his voice cutting to the bone. “I don’t fucking know what I was expecting either.” 

“I’m not in a position to be jealous, Javier.” You told him, biting down on the inside of your bottom lip. “This,” You gestured between you. “Is held together with a shoestring and the allusion of trust. 

“The allusion of trust?”

“Javier,” You crossed your arms across your chest. “Can we not do this?”

“I trust you with my life.” Javier breathed out, his eyes darting over your face. “So fuck that.”

You sighed heavily, “I trust you with my life too, but I don’t trust you with my heart.” You admitted, your lashes fluttering as you looked away. “Look, I need to get back out there before Chris comes up with a conspiracy story that neither of us need right now.” 

“Wait.” Javier urged and you turned back around to look at him. “Can I come over tonight? After?”

You gave a faint nod of your head, “I’d like that.” 

 ——

 Despite your best attempts at falling asleep, you were still wide awake on your sofa watching late-night reruns of a telenovela well past midnight. Javier hadn’t shown up, which you weren’t entirely surprised about. Disappointed? Maybe. But you knew how things went. You hadn’t gone into this with your eyes closed. You knew Javier, you knew what being with him meant. You didn’t let it get under your skin. Or at least, you didn’t acknowledge it when it did bother you. 

Sometime near one, there was a knock at your apartment door. You hauled yourself off the sofa, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders as you went to open the door. “Hey.” You smiled softly as your gaze settled on his face. 

“I didn’t know if you’d still be up.” Javier stated, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket as he shifted anxiously on his feet. “Can I—?”

“Yeah, come in.” You pushed the door open wider, stepping aside to let him in. You drew in a shaky breath, taking your time as you pulled the door closed, latching the security chain back. “How’d the meeting go?”

Javier pushed his fingers through his hair as you looked back at him. He shook his head, “I didn’t get anything out of her.” 

“Oh.” You pulled the blanket around you tighter as you walked back towards the sofa. “I’m sorry to hear that.” You curled up on the sofa, peering over the back of it at him. “Are you going to sit down?”

“Does it not bother you?” He questioned, staying rooted in one spot. 

You sank back against the arm of the sofa, rubbing at your forehead. “I just compartmentalize it, Javier. I don’t really have the privilege to be worried about it.” Your eyes flickered towards him, “I’d rather have you most of the time, than none of the time. If that’s my two options.” 

Javier’s shoulders sagged. “I see.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, before he moved around the sofa, settling down on the opposite side of it. He stared straight ahead at the T.V., but you knew he wasn’t watching it. His jaw was clenched, lips moving slightly like he was trying to formulate what to say.

The silence was smothering as it lingered between the two of you, oppressive like the thick heat of Colombia. 

“I didn’t fuck her.” 

Your brows shot upwards. You curled your feet beneath you as you sat up, staring down the length of the sofa at him. “Is that why you didn’t get the information?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t care.” 

“Javier, it’s your job.” 

“Fuck that.” He snapped, fingers curled into tight fists on his lap. “I’m done with that shit.” Javier turned to look at you, looking more wounded than you’d ever seen him before. “It’s not just work. Don’t you get that?” 

You blinked slowly, before looking away from him because you couldn’t take the pain in his eyes. “I do. But I also know…” You shook your head. “It’s not a game, Javier. This is our job, our livelihood. We can’t let whatever this is get in the way.”

“Whatever this is.” He scoffed, sinking back against the sofa and staring up at the ceiling. “You can be such a bitch sometimes, baby.” 

“Yeah, well you’re a jackass all the time so I think we’re even.” You bit back, throwing your blanket off as you stood up. “I’m going to bed. You can sit out here and sulk or whatever, be my guest.” 

“I love you.”

You stopped dead in your tracks. 

“What did you say?” 

“You heard me.”

“No.” You turned to stare at him. “What did you say?”

“I love you.” 

“Javier, we’ve been together for a month.” 

“No shit,” He dragged his hands over his face before he stood up and stalked towards you. “We didn’t just meet last month.” 

Everything felt like it was closing in on you. The telenovela sounded like white noise in the background, blending into the thrumming of your pulse in your ears, the steady flow of air through your nose. “You can’t just say that, Javier. You can’t just tell me you love me if you don’t really mean it.” 

“I do.” 

“How?”

“You’re all I think about.” Javier admitted, reaching out to grab your hands, holding you in front of him. 

“Is that why you couldn’t?” 

He nodded. “Yeah.”

You swallowed thickly, “Wow.” 

“I tried.” He admitted. 

“I figured.” You laughed a little, uncertain how to feel. “You smell like cheap perfume.” 

He chuckled. “I’ll shower.” 

You shook your head, “It’s fine.” You took a step closer to him, looking up at him with a quiet smile. “I swear to God, if you break my heart Javi.” 

“Are you going to say it back?”

You brushed your fingers along the curve of his jaw, “No.” You said lightly. “I’m going to make you wait.” Your hands settled at his shoulders as his own hands found your hips. “You’re going to have to work for it.” 

“I can live with that.” He smirked, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. His nose bumped against yours as he pulled back. “Just don’t make me wait too long” 

“You won’t.” You promised him, giving his shoulders three little squeezes. 

Javier inhaled sharply, looking down at you quizzically. You smiled a little more broadly nodding your head to confirm his suspicions. Your fingers found their way to the back of his neck and you drew him down to kiss him again. 

You let the kiss linger, your tongue teasing over his bottom lip. “I lied. Go take a shower.” You shoved him playfully in the chest. “I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

He stole another kiss, before he headed for your bathroom, glancing back over his shoulder at you.

You were already half asleep when Javi slid beneath the covers beside you. It wasn’t the first time he’d spent the night since you’d started your relationship, but it was the first time it felt like that was where he truly belonged. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, his arm wrapped around you, his palm spread out over your stomach. 

You used to be lonely too. 

But now, in Javier’s arms… there was a hope in your heart that maybe neither of you would have to feel lonely again. 

[heavenlysan]

Cruel Love (10)

Mafialeader!San | Detective!Reader | Soulmates | Choi San x female reader | NSFW | Explicit language | TW: Hints of domestic abuse |

Words: 3,5

Chapters:

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |

(Y/N’s POV)

I have to admit at first I didn’t want to drive, I’m a terrible driver my car and the FBI’s car had a lot of scratches everywhere and I didn’t want to leave San’s car the same way something tells me he wouldn’t care but I anyways drove as best as I could but keeping it that way was hard since I could feel San’s deep stare while driving, it was definitely making me blush and giving me a thousand thoughts but I tried to ignore it for as long as I could.

“You know you’re not supposed to distract the driver right?” I say with a smile, without taking my eyes off the road.

“I’m not doing anything” He teased

“You’re staring at me”

“I just think you look gorgeous with my hoodie”

I unglued my eyes from the road to look down at my body, shit I forgot I’m wearing his hoodie. “I’m sorry I kept wearing it” He laughs and I chuckle, he sounds more relaxed now but not completely.

“You don’t have to apologise to me” There’s a red light and I take advantage of that to look at him “Like ever”

San is so sweet and I can’t help but feel like shit, my initial idea was doing something good for him to release the noticeable stress he was carrying on his shoulders but while driving I got the stupid idea of taking him to the FBI and forget this beautiful fantasy ever happened. I hated myself for having that second idea so I pushed it back, really back on my mind and threw it in a trash can. Sooner or later I’m gonna have to give Irene all the updates but for now I don’t want to think about that. The light changes back to green and I get back to driving.

“You look tense princess” He says with a frown.

“Is it that obvious oh god” I ask while I touch my cheek as I feel it warming up “I’m a terrible driver” I confess ashamed.

“You’re doing great” I snicker shyly. Anyone else in the world would get nervous if the designated driver suddenly admits they’re bad at driving, why is he so calmed?

“I guess you haven’t seen my car” I say while looking at him for half a second and get my eyes back on the road immediately “But it’s okay we’re almost there" 

"We can play some music and maybe that’ll relax you” I’m hesitant, I think music distracts me even more but San’s hand is already turning on his radio.

“It’s all about finding the right song” The first seconds of around twelve songs passed but none of those convinced him he was about to give up and turn it back off but then he stopped in one and smiled at me “This one is perfect”

“The Beach Boys?” Wouldn’t it be nice was playing, in the corner of my eye I saw him and he looked pleased.

“Yeah why not” He playfully asks “We can sing it together”

“What?” My eyes go wide open along with a smile “You don’t wanna hear me singing”

“It’s only for relaxing purposes princess and wouldn’t it be nice to live together in the kind of world where we belong?” He starts singing and I listen in awe, he had to be sweet, caring, handsome and have a gorgeous voice didn’t he? “Come on this is a classic I know you know the lyrics”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we could wake up in the morning when the day is new? And after having spent the day together” I stop singing and laugh embarrassed “I can’t but you keep going”

“What? You sound perfect princess” He replies “Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray It might come true”

He keeps singing and clapping his hands and I actually pay attention to the song and I can help but feel upset a sigh leaves my body wouldn’t it be nice if I had met San under different circumstances. I stop the car abruptly and he looks at me surprised and confused.

“I need you to cover your eyes” I say softly he looks at me with squinted eyes but does as I say.

I drive just a little bit more and he grows impatient, are we there yet? He keeps asking and I keep saying no I have to admit he sounds… Adorable.

It looks like it didn’t rain around here and that’s a relief my plan would’ve been ruined a little if it had.

“Okay we’re here but don’t uncover your eyes yet” I say and I undo both of our seat belts.

I get out of the car and a nice breeze of fresh air hits me, this is one of my favourite places so I really hope he likes this. I open San’s door and I walk behind him covering his eyes so he doesn’t cheat.

“Okay here it is” I remove my hands from his eyes and he gasps.

“The ocean?” He looks around completely amazed.

“Yeah but that isn’t all the beauty of this place look up” San does as I say and he looks like an excited child and I smile at the sight of the stars reflected in his eyes “There aren’t buildings around here and as you can see it’s pretty dark and because of that the stars are more visible. And well you see, a sweet and handsome man once told me that after an orgasm you’re supposed to see the stars but I didn’t bring you here to have sex but I still wanted you to see the stars” He looks back at me and a soft smile grows in his face making his eyes slowly desapear.

“How do you do that princess” A confused expression shows on my face.

“Do what?”

“Make my heart flutter”

I felt shivers down my spine and butterflies in my stomach. San you make my heart flutter as well I thought to myself. If someone had told me that I would be feeling this way towards San when I had just started this case I would’ve probably laughed hysterically, and if someone had told me years ago that a man was going to look at me with such tenderness in his eyes and hold me and protect me like I’m the most precious diamond on earth I probably would’ve been sad and mad at them for making such jokes.

“There’s something I want to know princess” He lays his long black coat on the sand for us to sit “I just told you I’m the leader of a big Mafia aren’t you scared or curious about it, you look so calmed”

“Well yeah I’m a little curious, but when you told me about it it sounded like you were nervous about it I don’t wanna push you or something we have plenty of time” He looks touched at my words

“We can talk about it, I trust you enough, ask away”

To be honest I didn’t want more details, the more details I had the more details Irene had. But San wanted to talk about it and changing the conversation would be plain rude.

“How did it started” I say quietly

He sighs but doesn’t look bothered by my question “I didn’t build it on my own, I had a friend and we both worked as hitmen for his grandfather, I started getting closer with him and soon he considered me his grandson too and his right hand, I stopped being just a hitman to be involved in all the things he did as well” he takes a pause to look at me “But then age started doing things to him, he realised that he couldn’t work anymore and he left the big empire he created to the person he trusted the more, at that time we all thought it would be his grandson but he gave it to me”

“Did he die” I ask

“No, he’s still alive but he doesn’t remember a thing I think he still recognises some people but not so much” He says and his voice sounds sad I guess that man is someone San looked up to.

“But please don’t think bad of me princess, I know I was a hitman but I only killed bad people, real criminals, I always did my research and I never killed innocent people—”

I cut him off by placing one of my fingers on his lips I give him a quick smile and I rest my head on his shoulder while holding is hand “You really don’t have to explain that to me” I feel his shoulder relaxing as I let out those words “And what happened after that, it must have been a lot of pressure for you”

“It was, especially since my friend got really mad at me after his grandfather picked me and not him and that’s understandable but I had no control over that, I told him we could work together and make it even bigger but he left and made his own businesses” He rests his head on mine and sighs “After that Wooyoung, Seonghwa and Hongjoong joined me I felt bad since we were long time friends and I knew they had different plans for their lives but I needed men I could trust and they needed money so we worked together, later on Yunho, Mingi, Yeosang and Jongho joined, and we build it even bigger we got deals not only here but outside the country too, like Japan, Italy, Colombia, Mexico and many more and deals with politicians as well, I have control pretty much on everything around here and outside, my old man was scared to get this out of the country but we’re careful with everything we do and it has been going well so far”

I’m left without words, knowing all of this I think I can see and understand what I thought it was his dark side. He has this job not because he wanted to but because someone trusted him. Yeah he killed people but he only killed bad people, while being a detective I’ve known cops and judges who have killed or imprisoned good and innocent people and those cops and judges don’t get the punishment they deserve all because of their high positions those people are the real criminals.

“You still don’t look slightly concerned or scared” He saids and pulls me out of my thoughts.

“You want me to be scared of you?” He laughs as he shakes his head.

“No, I just expected a different reaction”

“It’s because I don’t have or had the best lifestyle and I don’t think I’m in the place to judge you or be scared of you”

“Being a sex worker isn’t something to be ashamed of princess” I wasn’t talking about that, or me being a detective.

“It’s not that, and I’m not ashamed about being a prostitute, I was talking about my past, I think I’ve killed a man” I take a second to process why I said it and why I said it as if it was nothing.

“You think?” He looks confused.

I don’t understand why but I keep going “Do you remember I told you about me being homeless for some time” He nods “And then how a man found me, I lived with him only for a few months, but it felt like an eternity at first I thought I was in love with him he took care of me and paid for my food and other stuff but” I start trembling a little but I force myself to endure it and stop “When I saw myself in the mirror and I finally noticed all the bruises I had I realised that that wasn’t love and I had to leave that place or else I’d end up dead” His chin trembled like he’s holding back tears and that pained my heart “One night I got him drunk really drunk, when he passed out in his room I set the place on fire and I locked all the doors so he couldn’t escape and I ran as fast as possible, so fast and so much that I ended up right here, I cried so much but it felt like a cry of victory not of sadness, I stayed here till the sunrise this place made me feel safe and at peace it became my secret and favourite spot” I sigh “I never went back or tried to find out if he died or survived, I survived and nothing else mattered”

The wind and waves is the only sound, he pulls me into his lap and I wrap my legs around his waist resting my arms on his shoulders. He’s lost at words just as I was after he talked about his life.

“You don’t have to carry that on your own any longer” He said while holding my cheek and he was right, I think at this point he already knows almost everything about me and it felt so relieving letting out all the secrets I held on my own for so long, it felt liberating.

“I just told you that I think I’ve killed a man but you don’t look scared of me Sannie” His sad puppy expression changes into a small smile.

I rest on my back with my legs still wrapped around San bringing him down with me, I give him a quick kiss and as I saw him and his sparkling eyes, his dimples, his gentle touch and my heart out of control I realised something. I like him… so much, and I don’t want to keep this going fuck Irene and this mission she and the FBI can go and fuck themselves, this is the only good and real thing that has happened in my entire life and I don’t want it to end, even if I end up in jail for not following my contract I won’t do this to San he doesn’t deserve this.

“What are you thinking princess?” He asks suddenly bringing me back

“Choi San I think I like you too” His eyes go wide open and his jaw drops, he gets up from our hold and he looks like he cannot believe what I just said, he points his index finger at himself and a soft almost inaudible me? leaves his lips. “Yes you, I like you”

He runs towards the ocean with his arms open “She likes me back” He yells with happiness and excitement as the waves touch him. I run to him and I jump onto his torso, he catches me and our bodies fit so well, Lucy was right and I finally found the missing piece of my puzzle. “Princess with those words you just made me the happiest man on earth” He kisses me, slowly, his hands are on my tights lifting me and I want to stay this close for longer. His lips feel so good pressed against mine, his tongue feels so good dancing with mine.

He walks back to our spot, with me still in his arms, the moonlight covering and protecting us, this doesn’t feel like the beginning criminal and undercover detective, right now this is just us, simply as that. I lie on San’s coat him by my side, he shifts his body to lie on his side, I cup his cheek bringing him closer to me I leave a kiss on his lips a long lasting one and move on to his neck.

“Don’t do that princess or else we’ll end up fucking right here” I laugh at his words

“That’s the point” A sensual grin appears on his face, I want to feel his touch and he understands my begging eyes, his wet hair drips water droplets onto my face. He kisses me rough and I can’t understand how just a kiss gets me on fire, I feel my entire body burning. He brings his hand to my neck and trails it down down the valley of my breasts, down my stomach just with his fingertips until he stops, he lifts my dress up and I no longer feel exposed or shy in front of him.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” He goes back to kissing me and his hand back to my stomach right above my underwear. His touch is so slow but he knows exactly what he’s doing. His hand reaches into my panties, and a soft moan comes from my lips and I feel him smiling between our kiss. His fingers move a little “You’re so wet princess, you feel so good” he says as I moan “I love that sound princess moan for me” His fingers go faster, I feel like I’m gonna explode my hands travel to his neck and to his hair, his fingers still inside me going in circles, I bring him closer to me kissing and leaving a mark on his neck, he groans, it’s like music to my ears. “I can’t get enough of you, y/n” it’s been a long time since he called me by my name, his voice sounds raspy and deeper, filled with lust. it sounds so hot when he says it. “I want to kiss every single inch of you” He whispers. I’m hypnotized by his brown eyes staring fervently into mine. He kisses me, his lips are demanding, soft and slow, he leaves a trail of kisses down to my neck, my chest, my stomach, his fingers suddenly stopping and I wanted to scream, I want more, but then I felt something even better, his tongue, this feels like paradise. I run my fingers through his hair, I’m desperate I want him deeper inside of me.

"San please” I cried, his hands squeezing my tights, his lips felt so good, his tongue felt even better, I was moaning out of control. I look down at San looking up at me and grinning, his hair wet and pressed down on his forehead, his tongue extended, my back arched and my legs twitching, I throw my head back and I feel this huge relief. It’s almost painful yet so satisfying. I push him so he rests on his back I get on top of him taking him by surprise he took the lead for too long now it’s my turn. I wanted to kiss him forever, I kissed his neck and he loved it as much as I do. The bulge in his thin boxers growing, I reach down caressing San, Fuck he whines, my fingers go around him and I wiggle them a little. I lean down, opening my mouth I take him in, his moans are desperate and I just can’t get enough of that sound and how I’m the one provoking it, his hips rock upward to meet my mouth. I push myself further, taking all of him in, and look up at him. His eyes are rolled to the back of his head and his breathing is slow and heavy, he looks heavenly.

“Fuck… princess” he gasps my hand moves up and down on the bottom of him as my mouth works the tip. I look up at him and I love the way he is losing control because of me. I pull away teasing him, I get it inside of me all at once it’s painful but I get used to it in a matter of seconds, he wraps his arms around me, He groaned low in his throat when I started grinding against him. I moaned against his lips, his tongue swiping across my top lip biting it down as he thrusts his hips up.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we could stay here forever.

[whitewallwhispers]

Little Lies

Narcos - Javier Peña - Series

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

A young writer moves to Colombia to perform research on the drug war for her latest novel. She’s willing to do anything for information, which leads her down a rabbit hole that begins to blur the line between pretending to be someone and becoming something she might not be ready for.

Despite the best efforts of D.E.A. Peña, she finds herself out of her depth and everything is falling apart.

Warnings: Mentions of burns, gunshot wounds, blood, stitches, and scars. Description of a panic attack. Strong language (pretty much every expletive under the sun).

My hope is that you can imagine this character as any race with any style of hair (as someone with short hair I get annoyed when every fic mentions long locks and ponytails).

Author’s Note: Javi doesn’t appear in this chapter, but don’t worry. He’ll be back.

Tag List (Open!): @fanfiction-trashpile | @sophster1881 | @theringostarfanclub | @thinemineours | @fatbottomedcurls | The OG: @courtneybgourtney​

It was a bleak and lonely two days at the hospital.

Only family members were allowed to visit, and she certainly didn’t have any of those nearby.

Or maybe, in fact, any that would want to see her at all.

It’d been nearly a month since she’d last heard from her parents. She thought about calling them to tell them what happened, but they’d probably either disown her at the first mention of selling herself or come to get her at the first mention of any of her injuries.

And if she had to leave, it’d be on her own terms.

Perhaps she should, though.

For fuck’s sake, her old contact tried to kill her. She’d been shot. She’d almost died.

And once again, that only placed her more firmly in debt to a certain D.E.A. agent. 

Javier Peña.

She’d have bled out in her apartment if he hadn’t come for her, would’ve bled out on the way to the hospital if he hadn’t thought to cauterize her wounds first.

First, he hadn’t been angry with her when he found out she’d been lying to him.

Second, he’d agreed to give her information she could use for her book.

Third, he’d saved her life.

When she first came to after she was admitted to the hospital, one of the nurses handed her a note. 

Call me when they release you. - Peña

She’d held onto it ever since, reading and re-reading it in the hours she was awake, turning it over and over in her left hand. Her entire right arm still hurt too much to be useful. It’d hurt for quite a while.

Both bullets had missed arteries, but just barely. The one in her hip must’ve gone through her human shield’s body first, because it didn’t make it deep enough to pierce her organs, instead lodging itself within the muscle. It would be too risky to operate to remove them, the doctors told her, so they’d remain inside her. She was to stay for another day on an IV drip of antibiotics to stave off any potential infections from the cauterization, then she’d be sent home with a week and a half’s worth of pills and that would be it. 

Her shoulder and hip would be scarred twofold. First, the long, crackling burns from where the knife had seared into her, black and charred around the edges. Then, in their centers, the rough-hewn stitches from when they’d investigated the bullet wounds to see if they were worth removing.

As she brushed her thumb across the words on the small scrap of paper she remembered Javi running his thumbs over her hip bones. Digging into the flesh. Leaving bruises.

Not anymore.

She’d miss it far more than she cared to admit.

It was probably time to go home. She’d have to go weeks without working for her body to heal, and she hadn’t saved enough yet to make that possible. And where would she live?

She couldn’t stay in her apartment. In fact, no one could probably live there anymore. Not now that it was riddled with blood stains and bullet holes and worse.

And she couldn’t ask anything more from Peña. He’d given her enough already - too much, in fact. At this point she could never repay him, in money or favors. All she’d done since they’d met was take. Take his information, his money, his time, his effort. He had enough on his plate with Escobar on the loose.

When she was discharged, she didn’t call him. 

There was a new keypad beside the door, and a new door in the frame. Newer, nicer than the old ones.

Perhaps I did the building a favor, she thought to herself grimly. She punched in her code and pulled at the door. It remained locked. She tried again. Still nothing. 

Of. Fucking. Course. 

She broke out in a cold sweat, beginning to panic. Next she punched in the code that connected to the landlady’s intercom. For a few moments there was nothing, then a crackle of static. 

“Yes?” Maria’s voice was terse, an unusual tone for her.

“Maria, it’s me. From Unit 3C. I just tried my code in the door box, and-”

“Oh, you’re back already! Listen, there’s something...you know what? I’ll come down.” Maria’s voice was once again as warm as ever, even when tinged with apprehension. 

“I, uh, okay,” she stammered.

It did nothing to calm her anxiety. So she stood and waited, nearly all of her weight on her right leg, her left hand stuffed in the pocket of the hoodie the hospital had given her, her right hanging limply at her side. All of what she wore had been donated to help patients who didn’t have access to other clothing. Even her underwear. She shuddered at the thought that it might be a hand-me-down.

Maria appeared then. But she didn’t open the door to invite her in - instead, she stepped outside and closed the front door behind her.

Fuck. That was a bad sign.

“How are you?” Maria asked kindly. She was a tiny little woman, her flyaway brown hair streaked with grey and pulled up into a bun and large, thick glasses that made her small, soft eyes look enormous.

“I’m fine, but I need to get my things from my apartment, and when I tried the door code -”

“All your things are gone,” Maria said, seemingly confused. “They came and took them.”

“They?” 

“Those men. They said they knew you, that they were taking them to you.”

“What men? Police officers?” She could feel bile rising in her throat. Please, please say police officers.

“No,” Maria shook her head. “Not police officers. They had already left.”

So that left only one answer: the cartel.

They knew where she lived. They’d know she killed, or at least played some role in killing Manuel and the others.

That meant she wasn’t safe - she had to leave. Now.

“Right, okay. Thank you for letting me know.”

Maria called after her, asking something about money for the repairs before she could move back in, but she was gone, limping away as fast as she could.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Where could she go?

What could she do?

All of her money was gone. Her manuscript, her clothes, her passport, everything. 

She was alone, completely alone, with nothing but the borrowed clothes on her back and the bottles of painkillers and antibiotics in her pocket. 

Her head began to swim, breathing becoming short and heavy.

A panic attack.

Her thoughts began to cave in on her, a cataclysm of fear and sorrow and hopelessness.

Before she knew it she was leaning against the wall of the nearest building, her breathing reduced to shuddering sobs, the entire world going dark around her. She crouched and held her head even though it made her hip and shoulder scream with agony. 

She didn’t know what else to do.

You’re going to die.

You fucked it all up.

Everything is your fault.

You should’ve bled out. You should’ve let them kill you.

You should die.

You’re going to die. 

On repeat. Over, and over, and over.

She didn’t know how long it was before she was able to open her eyes. Her breathing had slowed, as had her thoughts. Not from any conscious effort on her part, but from pure exhaustion. She was already weak, and her body didn’t have the strength to let her panic for long.

When she rose to her feet, she was completely numb inside, a low humming of emptiness emanating from her chest and running up her spine to her head, which suddenly felt unbearably heavy. A few people from the nearest houses looked on at her with confused curiosity. 

She began to walk. With no destination in mind. With no idea what the hell she was going to do or where she was going to go or how she was going to get home. At this point, she couldn’t even call her parents from a pay phone. She didn’t have a single penny or peso to spend. Perhaps she would try begging on the streets, perhaps, perhaps...perhaps…

Before she knew it her feet were leading her someplace where the streets and buildings began to look familiar, but even then, she couldn’t place why. Her limping had grown to more of a hobble as her hip protested each step with ferocity. The doctors had told her to go home and rest - lay down as much as she could, only get up when she had to. Ha. So far all she’d done was walk and stand and crouch and walk again.

Then she came to a stop outside of the door of a nondescript looking house in an okay neighborhood. A house with a red door and faint music flowing out from within. Several women stood on and beside the stoop - hair done, makeup perfect, clothing suggestive, several smoking.

“Hey, it’s you!” one of them called. Her hair was dyed a dull blonde and pulled up in a high ponytail that curled its way down to the small of her back. Her perfectly maintained brows framed her beautiful face - high cheekbones, large brown eyes rimmed by thick, dark lashes, a short, straight nose, and full lips.

Oh. 

So that’s where she’d gone.

The brothel where she’d interviewed the prostitutes. 

And there was Luciana, her main contributor, beckoning her over with a freshly manicured hand that held a half-gone cigarette aloft. 

“Come here! Where have you been? How’s your little book going?” The other girls made room for her as she approached. Slowly. With stilted steps.

“It’s been better,” she answered honestly. Luciana frowned.

“What’s wrong? You look hurt! Here, have a cigarette.”

She took it gladly and Luciana lit it for her, her precise brows furrowing in worry.

“What happened to you?”

The other girls crowded around. She recognized more of them as she gave herself time to take in the scene. Isabella, Sofia, Jimena, Guadalupe.

“Made a client angry. Got shot,” she answered simply. Luciana gasped.

“A client? I thought you were a writer?”

“I was. I used your advice to help me get men to talk,” she answered with a forlorn smile, “and it worked for a while.”

“What are you doing here, then?” It was Sofia who spoke next, placing what was meant to be a comforting hand on her shoulder. Unfortunately, it was the shoulder where she’d been shot. She winced.

“I don’t know. I’ve just been...walking.”

“You don’t look like you should be walking,” Guadalupe noted.

“Probably not. But I have nowhere to go. My apartment was shot up and robbed.”

Luciana gave her a sympathetic look but didn’t say anything - instead she whispered in Isabella’s ear, who nodded and headed inside the house.

“So you’ve been working…?” Jimena asked hesitantly. 

She nodded. “Yeah. At first for information, then for money as soon as things got...complicated.”

Complicated.

That’s all her life had been for months.

Complicated.

 “When did this happen?” Sofia began to run gentle fingers through her hair, trying to make it look presentable. It was a lost cause. 

“Two, three days ago? I’m not really sure.”

“Oh my God, and you’re already walking around? You need to sit! Come inside, sit, sit!” Guadalupe insisted. The other girls joined her in a chorus of worries. Before she could say anything she was being herded inside the house into a side room, separate from the main sitting area which hosted several gruff looking men eyeing them hungrily as they passed.

“Waiting for girls or beds to open up,” Jimena said with a smirk. “Sometimes, if we know they’re rich businessmen on their lunch break, we’ll make them pay up front and then just have them wait with a girl on their lap for an hour.”

It brought a smile to her face. It made her laugh. The first laugh she’d had in what felt like forever. The girls all but pushed her down onto a beaten chaise lounge on the far end of the small room as they closed the door on the leering customers.

The rest of the room was dark except for the sparse working lightbulbs that surrounded the mirrors of the outdated, well-worn theatre vanity. Given the number of makeup bags and hair curlers strewn across and beside it, she supposed this must be where the girls got ready before work and touched up between clients. It made sense that it was near the door - best to look as fresh as possible when greeting the men they’d be pumping for money. 

Isabella came in then, followed by a man who was sharply dressed and styled. His inky black hair was pomaded perfectly atop his head, his beard and mustache well manicured. She thought he might be wearing a hint of eyeliner, as his large, round eyes seemed too defined to be natural.

A single extravagant dangling gold and pearl earring was fastened to one ear, a modest, small gold hoop in the other. He wore a sharp Italian suit with a peacock feather patterned shirt beneath it. Freshly pressed. Expensive. He had simple gold cufflinks and well oiled leather shoes. A navy silk ascot was wrapped around his throat. He looked poised and polished, as if he were putting on a show - a show of wealth, to be exact.

He must run the place.

“Gio,” Luciana announced. “This is her.”

He surveyed her, his expression unreadable.

“You need room and board?” He asked, voice silky and lilted.

The blatant question took her by surprise.

“I, uh, yes,” she stammered, caught off guard.

“You have experience in this line of work?”

She nodded. “Not much, but some.”

“You’ve been injured recently?”

She nodded again, swallowing nervously. “Shot.”

His eyebrows went up at that, his hand coming to rest on his chin as he cocked his head to the side, observing her more intently. His fingers were laden with gold and jeweled rings.

“Where?”

“My shoulder and hip,” she answered, gesturing to her wounds. Where was he going with this?

“Hmm,” Gio hummed. “I don’t know if we can work with that.”

“She can do all the easy stuff,” Sophia piped up. “The hand stuff and blowjobs.”

Oh.

The girls were trying to get her work and a place to stay. It was so unexpected that she felt tears prick at the back of her eyes. Everything had been so awful, she’d felt so hopeless. And out of nowhere, with no cause, these women were trying to save her. 

Would she ever not be in someone’s debt?

“We’ll try her out tomorrow night. When the room closest to the stairs opens up, you can have it.” He gave her one final look over before turning towards the door. “Back to work, ladies.”

She didn’t know what to say. In a matter of minutes she’d gone from homeless and jobless to having a place to sleep, at least for one night, and the chance to earn a job.

“Thank you,” she stammered. “I don’t -”

“Don’t worry about it,” Luciana waved her off. “A spot opened up recently, and we already know we like you.”

She nodded, not knowing what else to do. Isabella took her by the arm then.

“Do you want something to eat?”

She hadn’t realized it until just then, but she was starving. 

“Yes, please.”

A few of the girls led her from the room, eagerly scurrying back to the kitchen, while others stayed in the sitting area, greeting the men who had been waiting for them.

[drkoestersmithrpg]

The Entire Chapter For Their First Time - one more chapter after this

Tony recovered quickly, pulling away.  Not wanting to answer any question Peter turned around in his arms and pulled him close again until they were chest-to-back again.  Then (in a move he might have fantasized about far too many 

times) he pulled Tony’s hand to his cock and showed him what to do.  Tony’s strong arm against his chest was the thing dreams were made of, and his hand, well, it was as talented as the man’s mouth. Peter knew it would be soon and he fought with everything he had not to make too much noise.  

Then Tony suddenly rolled himself on his back, moving Peter with him, and Peter had nothing left to fight with.

He yelped.  He flailed.  His hands tried to find purchase on the headboard but this position, held on top of Tony’s chest while being jerked off by one expert hand, it was hopeless.  He had nothing but Tony’s strong arm across his chest to hold onto, so he clung to that. He couldn’t even lay his head anywhere, there was no place for it to go.  All he could do was flounder helplessly and cry out wordlessly as he came.

“Yes, yes,” Tony was growling as he milked Peter’s cock for all it was worth.  He made a greedy noise and rolled Peter back to the bed where he attacked Peter’s chest with his tongue.  

The first time he had licked a stripe up Peter’s chest, but this time was different.  This time he was either trying to lap up everything *on* Peter’s chest, or else had been overcome with a sudden need to lick every bit of Peter’s chest – Peter had no idea.  He was also too stunned to ask.  His heart was pounding and his head was spinning and he wasn’t entire sure if he had ever come that hard in his life.

He was also not entire sure why Tony was making those noises – those hungry noises as he seemed hell-bent on licking Peter clean the way a rude child would lick gravy off a plate. As he caught his breath he was overcome with the very strange vision of the Big Bad Wolf and Little Red Ridding hood in bed together.  It was a ridiculous image, Tony eating him up, and he turned to tell Tony so but Tony wasn’t there.  Tony wasn’t there because Peter was sitting in his Differential Equations class waiting for a test he hadn’t studied for, cold because he had actually come to class dressed in his boxers.

And he didn’t care. He really didn’t give a fuck.  He grinned from ear to ear.  His life was good -- his life was very good – and one bad grade or one bad fashion decision wasn’t going to upset him now.  He was dating Tony Stark.  His dance card was full.

He woke up in Tony’s bed and found he wasn’t surprised at all.  In fact waking up in Tony’s bed was perfectly fine to him.

He looked around for Tony who was not there.  And that was ok – he had a vague memory of Tony coming to him with a warm washcloth in one hand and a bathtowel in the other.  When he hadn’t been able to raise Peter enough to get into the shower, Peter could almost remember that conversation, he had suggested Peter roll onto the towel.  He must have done so, because he was laying on it now.

Peter sat up.

Sitting naked in Tony’s gigantic bed in the sun-drenched room seemed perfectly normal, now, as if he had been doing it for years. Just 24 hours ago this had still been his Shangri-La-a, his Holy Grail, his Final Boss Battle.  Now it was, literally, a part of his past.

He covered his mouth with both hands.  He laughed to himself even as he was wiping tears from his eyes.  He actually found his breath catching.  He was glad the room was empty.  If Tony were here, it would sound like he was sobbing.  

He stood up exact where he was and walked across Tony’s bed.  At the edge he stepped off and walked up to the massive window that dominated the wall, the one that looked out over NYC.  He found a place to part the curtains and moved them.  For a long moment he stood; a nude prince looking down at his new kingdom.

His pulse was quickening and his stomach tightened.  He felt an odd sense of panic --  not a real sense of panic but an odd one, as if somewhere else there were a man, just like him, standing, just like this, and he was panicking.  It was a bizarre idea and he tried to analyze it.  It felt vaguely familiar and he wondered why.

He stood for a long time, looking down at New York City, until he finally placed it.  It was the mild panic he had experienced when he had final settled, completely, into his dormroom and May had, finally left.  Waving good-bye to her had made his stomach drop, and he hated himself for it. Here he was, achieving his dream, attending Colombia, and he was feeling what, homesick?  He ignored the sensation steadfastly until it went away.  

But it didn’t strike him as terribly odd, now.  This was just the odd sense of panic that came to him when he reached his goal, and he didn’t have a new one.  It was a little unfair, this weird little oh no! sensation that came to him when he should be experiencing the thrill of victory.  And it was unfair.

Peter Parker had spent exactly 13 months, two weeks and a day following his meticulous plan to get Tony Stark into bed and by god, he had succeeded.  This flutter in his stomach was simply the thrill of suddenly having no plans left. He had no idea what would come next.

And that, he realized, was all right.

What is a superhero’s life, after all, if not living dangerously?

He smiled and headed toward the bathroom.  Besides, he did have plans.  After his shower he would set out to find Tony.  That was what was next.  And that was just fine.

* * * *

He followed his nose into the kitchen, which smelled like eggs.  He could hear FRIDAY telling Tony something and Tony grousing.  When Tony saw him enter he  uncovered an omelet that had been warming on the stove.  He put it on the countertop with a frown.

“Bad news – Fury’s riding my ass to get back to the compound.  Nothing big, just Ironman stuff.  Won’t take but a couple of days.”

“Did I get you in trouble?” Peter asked, walking to Tony. (The omelet on the counter looked good, but Tony looked better.)

Tony met him halfway, putting his hands on Peter’s waist with a smile.

“Trouble’s my middle name.”

Peter put his arms around Tony’s neck and looked up with his best ‘innocent’ eyes.  “You told me your middle name was Edward.”

“Anthony Edward is my In-trouble name.  You only get to use that name if you’re going to spank me.”

“Tony,” he said plainly, losing his ‘innocent’ eyes. “If I spanked you I’d break you in half.”

He was rewarded with a wicked grin and a kiss. Tony’s hands moved behind him so he pressed his body forward, but then FRIDAY interrupted explaining that there was another 3 messages from Fury, the last marked ‘urgent.’

Tony growled in frustration, then pulled up enough to say “Let me make it up to you.  Give me … give me 4 days tops, and I’ll take you on a date.”  He grinned again and wiggled his eyebrows.  “If I take you on a date, then you’ll have to let me get to 3rd base.”

“Given what you did to me in the shower I don’t want to know what third base is, but I’m in.

“That’s not what I meant!” he said, putting his hand on Tony’s mouth to ward off the obvious.  “I mean ‘I’m game.’”  

“You might be both,” Tony joked, then let him go with a smack on the ass.

“Eat your omelet, help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge, I gotta pack.”  

“You can read the morning news from my tablet there, just ask FRIDAY for access” he said as he left the room, and Peter did exactly that.

But he had trouble eating his omelet.

It was difficult to eat when you’re grinning from ear to ear.

THIS is what dating Tony Stark was like.  Omelets and the morning news.  Kisses and spanking references as they breezed past each other during their busy mornings.  Even as he reveled in all this domesticity he could hear Tony calling to him from another room.

“What?”

“Mr. Stark would like me to ask you what your schedule is on Thursday,” FRIDAY asked him.

“Tell Mr. Stark if I blow off my Particle Physics study group I’m free after 4:00,” Peter said around a mouthful of omelet, then heard FRIDAY relay the information to Tony in the next room.

“Mr. Stark would like to politely request the pleasure of your company on Thursday evening at 5:00.”

“Mr. Stark would like to politely inform you he is going to rock your world.”

“Thank you FRIDAY.”

Peter kept smiling.  

After his breakfast he gathered up his clothing (mostly on the floor in the same room he had been eating in.)  He thought about telling Tony he would return his boxers later.

Then he grinned and decided to keep them.

Suiting up he called out to Tony before departing. Tony appeared, dressed in his suit and hastily tying his tie.  They met for a quick kiss goodbye and Peter left.

Welcoming home, grinning like an idiot, he had an odd thought:

Nat had been wrong.

Dating a comedian wasn’t hard work.

Dating a comedian wouldn’t be hard work at all.

--------------------------

NOW THAT YOU HAVE ENJOYED THIS DOMESTIC FIC you will find out tha tit was all a ruse, Tony is faking the emergency exit and has no messages from Fury, and as soon as peter leaves he goes and hides in his walkin closet and has a little panic attack.

[danniburgh]

Rushingly Bittersweet (Javier Peña x f!reader) part 23

Pairing: Javier Peña x ofc//f!reader with name.

Summary: After the fall of Escobar everything starts happening way too fast for Javier; his raise, his new office, his new team, the Cali cartel’s operation, the sudden arrival of a new agent that was transferred to his team for no apparent reason, the way he was falling in love with her almost unintentionally.

And he couldn’t seem to stop any of that.

Word count: +6.4k

Chapter warnings: lmao angst and then fluff, a brief mention of food, and drugs and a dog.

A/N: This chapter is set after season three. // aAAAAAA this is so long i dont even why but it took me like ALL day FUCK FUCK FUCK anyway thanks to all my babies that got me through the desperation of wanting this to write itself lmao, also two chapters and we are DONE with the main story holy shit

ao3 // fic index // Masterlist // fic playlist

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓 let me know if you wanna be tagged

←previous // next→

gifs: @pascalsky

Javier groaned when he sat up and moved his legs to get them out of the bed and looked at the alarm clock on his nightstand; three forty-eight in the morning. He turned on the lamp, reached at his nape and scratched with blunt nails and reached for the pack of smokes that he left on the nightstand before laying down to try to sleep with the other hand.

He pulled the last one out of the pack and stood up to throw the empty carton in the trashcan near the door; he eyed the empty pack from the day before in the bottom of the can with the cigarette clinging to his lips thanks to near dry spit making them sticky and let out a deep sigh.

It wasn’t working.

His tongue moved to shift the cigarette from his lips and he let it fall inside the trashcan, knowing it wouldn’t be the last one he put between his lips, but at least he didn’t light it.

Javier thought of getting out of the room and raiding his dad’s bar again, but he knew it wouldn’t do him any good.

It wasn’t working.

He knew it, and it couldn't be denied any longer. He wasn’t getting any younger and his old ways weren’t helping him forget as they used to ten or fifteen years before.

Javier walked back to the bed and sat on the edge, letting his half naked body fall backwards on the mattress and looking at the ceiling, he felt his hand twitch and he felt it empty without a nicotine stick firmly pressed between his index and his thumb but did nothing to calm it down.

Ten or fifteen years before: had it really been that long? Javier huffed at nothing and scratched his chest, leaving his hand there, uselessly wondering what would it be of him if he did something different; incidentally working through years and years of missteps, mishappens, mistakes, and shaping them in some other way that would have saved him from five months of poor sleep and constant drunkenness, five months of chain-smoking and lack of sharpness, five months of only remembering the bad things he had done and the bad things he deserved.

He huffed again because of course his retirement wouldn’t be him sitting on a porch to enjoy the evening Texas breeze and a glass of scotch; even if he had tried it.

It was having nightmares every third night he wanted nothing but to shove deep inside his head, but that then, reluctantly, he had to tell his new therapist his dad had forced him to go to.

It was having to remember all the men he saw dying every time he heard the words war or coke or shooting. Having to remember them changing and fighting and dying for a cause he wasn’t sure if he still believed in. Having to remember Carrillo every time he and Steve talked on the phone.

It was remembering you each time someone sent him a letter congratulating his work or asking for consultation or asking for an interview; because he had an idea of what you had been through and he was sure he didn’t deserve all that claptrap. He did nothing but cause chaos and destruction and death and even though his therapist said it wasn’t his fault he knew it was because he aided for it to happen.

But you? You did everything you could to find yourself a way to recover what was yours, and you still lost it.

Javier sat up again and after six exact seconds of consideration, he leaned forward and opened his nightstand drawer. He took the black tape he had been clinging to for five months and held it in front of him for a couple of minutes.

He chuckled at himself and gripped the small cassette, took from the drawer his tape player, pressed the red button for it to open, let the tape fall in the slit and closed it, turned it on and rewinded the tape, trying to make the calculations in his head of how many times he had repeated that process as the tape ran to the beginning.

He put the headphones on, laid down back on the bed and pressed play.

“Hi, Javi, uhm…”

God, how he missed you.

The phone rang again, fuck the phone, you thought, and hid your face under a pillow, trying to fall asleep again despite the clear signal that you were no longer sleepy.

And the phone rang again, you lifted your head from the cocoon of pillows and eyed the clock on your nightstand, who was calling you at five seventeen in the morning?

Grunting, you got out of the bed and walked out of the bedroom to the small space that made your living room, dining room and kitchen and got to the phone.

“Hello?” your voice was a deep groan, and you cleared your throat.

“Another letter came for you, when are you gonna change your address?” your dad’s voice broke through the receiver and you closed your eyes, breathing in and out the stress it was already provoking in you.

“I’ll get to it, dad,” you replied “are you gonna send it to me or can I go to the house?” you questioned, feeling already your lower lip tremble.

“I’ll send it, your mom doesn’t wanna see you yet,” he let out in a stern voice “sorry, pumpkin.” he whispered and hung up the phone.

You sat on the armrest of the loveseat next to the phone and let your tears fall from your eyes, not even bothering about cleaning them anymore.

You sighed and nodded to yourself, letting your tired gaze roam around your tiny living space and you missed the openness of your family house, the one you had come back to and were expelled from by an angry mother that felt ashamed of the truth you told them.

But you had to give it to her, she didn’t even know you went down to Colombia, or that you’d been having drug issues, or that they fired you.

She had told you she didn’t know who you were anymore.

Neither did you.

So you left, they couldn’t be more disappointed in you than you were in yourself, so you walked out as your mom wanted and tried to find a home for yourself as you still wondered what the hell were you supposed to do. There wasn’t a handbook or a protocol that taught people how to stop being a DEA agent, the government didn’t train people to go back to civility or even offered a program to forget all the shit you had lived in the places they had sent you.

You stayed in your hometown, unknowingly to your old friends and twenty minutes away from your parent’s home and didn’t leave your house unless absolutely necessary; Albuquerque wasn’t a small town, but it wasn’t big, and you were dreading walking past someone who knew you before you had lost yourself and tried to explain all your baggage, you didn’t have the time, or the energy. And you didn’t want people feeling sorry for yourself, with the woman in the mirror you had enough.

Everything seemed pointless, and you felt heavy all the time, as if you were carrying a chain ball in each foot and shackles in your hands while being dragged down by quicksand.

In the kitchen's corner you saw the last two boxes you still didn’t have energy to unpack after moving them across the continent and let out a teary sight as you stood from the armrest and walked to them.

You opened the first box and saw it filled with office clutter; pencils, markers, some notebooks and notepads, the brown journal you had been looking for to burn on your stove; a set of keys you weren’t sure what they opened and in the bottom, folded pieces of paper.

“Oh, no.” you muttered to the air of the warm kitchen and you doubted reaching in for it… The hesitation lasted two minutes but for you it was like two hours, you knew what it was, you knew why it was in that box and when you took it it felt hot and heavy. You were holding feelings in that letter, you were holding hours of shed tears and memories you didn’t want to have anymore. Memories that still haunted you whenever you smelled roasted colombian coffee and saw an ad of Malduros on tv.

You didn’t open it. You knew what was written there. And for a few seconds you thought of burning it on the stove instead.

“Well, I don’t want this, might as well send it.” you muttered under your breath, recognizing it would do you some good to stop holding to it, acknowledging it would do you some good to know he had it. If he wanted to rip it into millions of pieces or burn it or toss it in the trash or eat it, it was his problem.

You bit your lip as you walked to the phone; you hadn’t thought of him in a while. But as you sat on the loveseat all the shit you wanted to bury if not get rid of came back to your mind like a high wave of a rough sea; sharp, cold, gritty.

“Shit.” you gasped, trying to breathe in and out several times because you didn’t want to cry. It was too early for crying.

You grabbed the phone and thought who could have Javier’s address. God, even thinking of his name made your chest flutter and your stomach churn. You had fooled yourself into thinking he didn’t have an effect on you anymore, into even assuring five months was enough to forget him. What a fool.

You dialed the number of the only person you knew for sure knew the address by heart; the phone rang three times before it was answered.

“Hello?” a sleepy nasal voice greeted, and you smiled through the few tears that had accumulated in your eyes, grateful that he still had his embassy issued cell phone.

“Stod!” your smile was making your cheeks hurt, and you wondered in the back of your head when was the last time you had smiled.

“Who’s this? Flor?” he asked and you let out a stiff chuckle. You decided not to be a huge asshole and dump something heavy as your actual name that early in the morning, so you went with it.

“Yeah, sorry to call at this hour, did I wake you?” you played with the edge of the loveseat’s armrest.

“Kinda,” a noise of shuffle was heard “but it’s almost seven here, so I’m not that mad,” he teased, making you chuckle again “how are you? to what do I owe the honor?”

“Uhm, I–‌I’m calling to take advantage of you,” you said, hearing his chuckle through the line and a whisper of of course you did, “by any chance do you know Peña’s address in Texas?” you asked, closing your eyes and crossing your fingers, wishing for him to not ask:

“Why?”

“I–‌I have something of his...” you mumbled under your breath “I just found it and I wanna send it.” you said, which wasn’t technically a lie.

“Uh…” Stoddard hesitated, and you heard a faint of a pouring noise in the back that made you sigh, a cup of coffee would do you wonders, “well I do–I don't know if I’m allowed to just say it, y’know?” you frowned.

“Oh, come on, please?” you pleaded, your leg started bouncing because of the anxiety that was growing in your chest.

“What is it? is something important?” he asked.

“Super important,” you nodded even though he couldn’t see, “he needs it.”

“How do you know?” he questioned again, and you whined under your breath.

“Uhm, I ju–‌I just know, uhm…” since when were you a twitchy, nervous mess? “can’t you just tell me?”

“Not really, no.” he muttered in that voice that made you want to punch him and hug him at the same time.

You let out the air of your lungs and controlled your body.

You had promised yourself to tell the truth when it was necessary. So you were going to.

“Look, Stod, this is long to explain, okay?” you began, and he hummed affirmatively in response, “the only thing you need to know is that the thing I have here is very important that he gets because he needs to know that I kept it for him.” you said, closing your eyes again.

“Flor you just told me nothing.” he let out, his voice was being muffled and it sounded like he had something in his mouth.

“Fuck, Stoddard, I love him, okay?” you let out “and this thing I have is a letter that I need him to have so he knows I love him!” you panted and bit your lip when he didn’t answer.

You just had said out loud you loved someone, you just had said to someone you loved Javier Peña for the first time. Shit.

“Oh,” Stoddard said after a moment and you held your breath, “you have where to write?”

“You’re a fucking king!”

Six hours later, you wanted nothing else but to turn the fucking car around.

“This is a mistake, this is a fucking mistake!” you yelled inside your car, opening the glove box to toss there your sunglasses. The highway 285 was eternal, and you hated driving through it; it was empty, there was nothing but desert landscapes and the occasional tree, but you were halfway, just crossing the state border and there was nothing in the everlasting earth that would make you drive back home, not even your fucking hesitation, not even your self-doubt.

“What the fuck am I gonna say?” you asked yourself again, chewing on your lower lip and gripping the steering wheel, “am I just pulling on his driveway and knocking on his door and saying hi I’m sorry I broke your heart I have a letter for you? Fuck!” you saw the beginning of yet another town and you drove slowly looking for a gas station, “or better yet, I read this shit to him to complete the humiliation!” you turned your head for a second at the letter resting easily in the co-pilot’s seat and you groaned, finding a gas station. You were also hungry.

With the car’s tank full and a plastic bag filled with snacks for the remaining six hours, you sighed to yourself and started driving again.

“You’re doing this because you need closure,” you told yourself, shoving your hand into a bag of salted chips and bringing three to your mouth “if he doesn’t wanna see you, too bad, he’s gonna miss your haircut,” you mumbled, chewing at the same time “you leave the letter and let him decide what to do with it.”

With the highway 285 long behind you and the sky just beginning to turn orange, you had convinced yourself of your own reasons and you even had a plan to go back home as soon as you were done in Laredo. You also had promised yourself and all your Muertos, you wouldn’t react to Javier Peña if he didn’t react to you and as you had learned in your three-year station in México, you can’t break a promise you made to dead people.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you said when the marked map told you you were a block away from the Peña’s ranch house, you were chewing the last bit of a nearly melted chocolate bar you had bought hours ago as your nervousness betrayed you and you started chuckling at your impulses, “holy fuck, I wanna go home!”

But you were already there. The gate was open and there were two trucks parked on the driveway. So you sucked everything you were feeling, and you turned off the ignition. Fuck. It.

You breathed in and out several times before you unbuckled your seatbelt, grabbed the letter and opened the door. You did it again as you walked the gravel path to the house and were grateful it was already dark, so at least the night could help you hide until the last second.

You stopped walking, rationality coming back to you.

“What the fuck am I doing?” you whispered to yourself and turned around, shaking your head as you walked back to the car.

“Mija!” you heard behind you, you froze in place and stiffened at the sound of a thick accent in a rough and warm voice.

“Oh, no.” you said under your breath.

“It’s you!” you turned around, and you saw the face of the man you had only met through an old picture Javier carried with him at all times. “viniste.” (you came) behind him walked a black, large dog that ignored the man and huffed at you.

“I’m sorry?” your voice went out thin and high, and you wanted to chastise yourself for it. You had given yourself a seven-hour pep talk on the way, and you were already breaking.

“I told him,” the man rolled his eyes behind the glasses he was wearing and gestured for you to walk closer “Jesús Peña, nice to finally meet you,” he extended his hand to you and you took it and shook it, the dog got closer to you and smelled your legs, you tried to smile at him and at the dog but tears were already gathering inside your eyes “le dije que ibas a venir a buscarlo.” (I told him you’ll come looking for him)

“I’m sorry, Mr. Peña, I–‌I do–‌”

“Mr. Peña nada,” he interrupted, “call me Chucho,” you nodded and sniffed slightly “ven,” (come) he gestured again and started walking towards the house, “Pepe, métete.” (get inside) he called, and the dog trotted to his side.

“Wait, Chucho, wait!” you called him under your breath as you followed him, he didn’t stop.

“Come on in,” he opened the house door and waited for you to get inside. He nodded his head for you to walk in and you frowned.

“You don’t even know who I am, what ar–‌”

“I know enough,” he said solemnly, walked inside and you and the dog did too and he pointed to an armchair “siéntate, mija, he’s on the back.” he turned around and walked through an archway to what it looked like the kitchen and disappeared through a door, Pepe behind him.

“What the fuck.” you sobbed out, knowing you had little time to leave the letter you were clutching in your hands on the coffee table in front of you and walk out and leave for good. But you couldn’t move, you were in Javier’s house and you wanted to stop being there, but your body was frozen in place and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You wanted to scream at yourself, at your fucking impulses; you had all the opportunities to turn around and go back home, why didn’t you listen to your logical, rational, always right brain?

“Hi.” you heard behind your back and you covered your mouth with the hand that wasn’t holding the fucking letter.

You turned around and blinked the first two tears of what you already knew was going to be a sea of them.

He was wearing the red shirt. And God, it was his color.

Javier wanted to run away and hide.

He had just made peace with never seeing you again; he had just accepted that the only part he would have of you was that voice mail you had left him months before. But there you were, teary and gorgeous in front of him. Shaking and with your hands holding a piece of paper as if it were your lifeline.

His head was a contradiction, because he wanted to grab you and hug you all the same he wanted to grab you and shove you out of his house and his life.

“What are you doing here?” Javier asked, knowing deep inside him he wanted to tell you how good you looked and how much he liked your new hair. You let out a shaky breath at his deep voice. You had missed it.

It was the first time you saw him in five months, and the weight of your feelings for him fell again on your shoulders like a recently broken off boulder, heavy, rough edged and shapeless.

“I don’t know.” you answered truthfully, he sighed and deviated his eyes from you, you breathed in heavily and the only thing that got into your lungs was his essence. You cursed under your breath and he huffed, putting his hands on his hips and leaning to the side.

“How d'you found me?” he questioned, and you huffed through the tears.

“I have my resources.” you let out on a whisper. Trying to find his eyes, you needed to see his eyes.

“What do you want?” Javier asked again, and you deflated at the tone of his voice. The rational part of your brain yelled I told you so at your feelings and you knew it was right, you were expecting too much of yourself and of him.

“See you,” you bit your lower lip and Javier saw from the corner of his eyes how you scrunched up your nose, and he felt something inside his chest flutter, hating and loving all the same how much of you he still had stored inside his memory, “I have something for you.”

“Keep it.” he let out. You shook your head and raised your hand with the letter on it.

“Read it.” you half ordered, half pleaded, Javier chuckled and then shook his head, mimicking you.

“I don’t want it.” he knew he was lying to himself, he wanted to know what it was, he wanted to grip it and smell the paper and read it over and over but his body wasn’t responding to what his feelings were telling him and only responded, almost in automatic, to his prideful side, to that side of him that still resented you and himself.

“Alright then,” you said, standing straight after realizing you had regained the ability to read him even through your tears, and understanding there was something he was struggling with, “I’ll read it.”

“Stop.” Javier frowned and looked at you, his eyes pleading for you to do something you couldn’t decipher.

“I know, okay?” you said, trying to reassure him and yourself “I know I’m in no position to ask for shit,” Javier dropped his hands to the sides “but I just want ten minutes, just ten of your life, and you’ll never have to see me again if that’s what you want.”

You knew it was a risky thing to say, but you needed him to know, you needed him to understand you because you knew and he knew you did understand him. And he needed to know you. You and your version.

He said nothing, you took it as his queue to start so you breathed in deeply and unfolded the letter.

“Stop.” Javier said under his breath.

“No,” you wiped a tear off your cheek “I wrote this when I went back to Colombia after I got fired,” Javier looked at you and you saw his face quirk in something close to pain “uhm, before I wrote this I drove around Bogotá,” you recalled that last day in the city and how much it pained you to be there, “I went–‌I went to some of the places you told me you liked” you tried to smile and dropped your eyes to your shoes, trying to find something to cling to and compose yourself “even that little cafe you told me about, near the palace of justice, remember?” you sobbed out. And he called your name. Making you gasp.

“Stop,” you looked up at him and saw him frowning, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, “we don’t need this.”

“I do!” you let out, Javier brushed his lips with his thumb and felt his hand twitch in need of nicotine again “I need to tell you all this!” you wiped your tears away again “I need closure!” you cried out.

Javier felt his stomach turn around and all the blood of his body went to his feet. Fuck. 

How could he had been so stupid? he got into his own feelings too much and he forgot that you had cried your eyes out to him all those months ago when you handed him everything you were in a couple of manila folders. He had gotten wrapped by his own feelings and the hurricane your declaration had created in his life that he had forgotten just how much you were suffering as well. Because he might have thought about you; all the time, every day; he thought about your past and your reasons and motivations. He even thought of you naked on his bed in Colombia, under his body, moaning and gasping when he needed some release, but he forgot to think about your feelings.

“I didn’t come here to ask for forgiveness because I know I don’t deserve it,” you said and Javier felt the wetness of a tear escaping his eye and making its way through his cheek, “I’m trying to get closure, Javier, please let me try.”

Javier nodded.

You cried more when you saw him brush a tear off with his thumb and chew the inside of his mouth. You wanted to run away; you were sure he was better before you came to his house and disrupted his peace; you were hurting him again, and you wanted to kneel in front of him and ask him for what you said you weren’t seeking. He made you want so much.

You sniffed and dropped your eyes to the open letter in your hand, Javier didn’t move from where he was standing.

“No amount of guilt will or can change the past,” you began, Javier crossed his arms on his chest and saw movement to his side, “that much I know. I kno–‌know that it doesn’t matter,” you sniffed again and Javier turned his head to watch the dog casually walking towards him and sitting next to his boots. You saw it too, and you let out a sad chuckle.

“Ignore him.” he just said. You nodded.

“Uhm, it doesn’t matter how much I apologize, or how many I’m sorry’s I mouth, forgiveness doesn’t come for free.” you didn’t want to lift your eyes to see him, so you continued.

Javier only saw you reading him something he was sure you had poured your heart into, and he wanted nothing but to hear what you wanted to say to him, but he couldn’t focus into listening, because there you were, again in front of him doing what he never dared to do.

Opening your fucking chest, taking your heart out and giving it raw to him.

“...knowing and realizing and acknowledging just how much I love you.”

Javier drowned a gasp, as he fell in love with you all over again, you were doing what he didn’t have the balls to do, because in his sleepless sleep he wanted to look for you, in the middle of his idle nights, just after waking up after a nightmare, he wanted to find you and go to you and tell you whatever the fuck he could to be back with you. But he never did, he never did because he was a coward, because he feared his own feelings so fucking much.

He couldn't hear anything of it after your declaration of love. God, how much he loved you. You were standing there, with your eternally hopeful eyes filled with crystalline tears and several pages of written feelings. And he realized, there, with you in the middle of his living room, shifting to the next page, that even though you were extremely similar, you were also very different.

“...with you I found a reason to give up after all the shit I've lived in…” you muttered and he found the differences inside him; you were braver than him, you were smarter and more connected with what you felt; you weren’t scared of your feelings as he was. You went for what you wanted and even though it had been five months of that dreadful day when he saw his heart squeezed out of his body by your hesitant hand, that day he still replayed inside his head when the day was just over and his brain was floating between sleep and awakeness, he still wondered why you were bothering.

“There were so many things I thought…” you kept reading as he wondered if it was possible for the two of you to connect with each other outside of shared trauma and sympathy for each other’s experiences. But he answered to himself that even if you two weren’t as emotionally available as you needed to be to build a relationship or if you both were having a hard time adapting to be and live out of the system, maybe the love was real.

You stopped reading after noticing he was just standing there with his arms crossed and his eyes on you but not seeing you; you wiped the last of your tears and chuckled bitterly to yourself. Making him blink a few times.

“Fuck this,” you crumpled the pages in your hands and dropped them on the coffee table, shaking your head. Javier frowned, “it doesn’t matter what I read, I shouldn’t have come.” you said, drowning your sobs and gasping for air. He wasn’t paying attention, and nothing about it was making you feel any better about anything.

“What?” Javier whispered, dropping his hands to his sides.

“A’right, then…” you didn’t look at him and tried to control your breathing again “I guess that’s what I wanted to do,” you walked to the door and opened it, Javier wanted to ask what the fuck was happening, he wanted to grab your arm and stop you as he didn’t do it when you were leaving his office back in Colombia “I’m sorry to have bothered you, Javier,” he winced slightly involuntarily at the way you sobbed out his name “I’ll go.”

You walked out of the house covering your mouth with your hand to muffle your sobs, your rational brain was right, it was a mistake; it was a complete and utter mistake, and you were so ashamed of yourself for even thinking it would change anything. You walked to your car feeling the sharp, stinging sensation of a migraine settling in your head. You heard steps behind you and you turned around slowly, not wanting to put hope on the source being Javier.

“Mija,” you look at Chucho trying to catch up with you, “¿a dónde vas?” (where are you going?)

“I’m going home.” you said, shrugging at the man when he stopped in front of you.

“Why?” he asked, frowning.

“Because he said nothing, Chucho,” you bit your lip and looked at the Texan night sky and huffed at yourself, “he said nothing.”

“But he wants you, mija!” he assured you, and you shook your head several times.

“If he wants me as you say,” you pointed towards the house behind him, “then how come I’m not with him?” you reasoned, “he doesn’t want me.”

You dropped your eyes to the gravel path as Chucho sighed and raised his hand to squeeze your shoulder just enough for you to feel less sad. Just how a father would do.

Chucho glared at the house, the door open and Pepe standing in the threshold; his son had been back for months, he had been living next to him, eating next to him, working next to him and breathing next to him just as he did before he went away but he knew, just like a father could, he was not the same man that left.

He reminisced over the muchacho his son was before he left Laredo, so eager to get out of the small town he grew up in and that harbored his family home, so anxious to meet new horizons, so keen to find and explore new places and learn new things; he sometimes found himself missing that boy, he sometimes missed his Javi; the one that helped him build a paddock for his own horse, the one that washed his truck without asking and without failing each friday evening, the one that took care of his Mamá’s funeral at sixteen when himself was too sad to think about coffins or tombstones; because the man that came back to him after almost two decades too far away from home wasn’t the same.

He had seen and done things that Chucho never wanted to to ask about but he imagined, his Javier wasn’t the same. And Chucho knew why, but he also knew about you. Javi had talked about you way too much for his own good, as he did everything. And Chucho also knew why, he wasn’t letting the woman that made his son come back home run away.

“He does want you,” he said, slowly, with a low voice, as if it were a secret, “mijo… es un idiota a veces, but he loves you.” (he’s an idiot sometimes)

“You don’t know that.” you refuted.

“I do,” he gave you a smile that was barely visible under the white mustache “el te ama, y yo…” (he loves you, and I…) “I’m so grateful.” you shook your head as two thick tears left your eyes.

“I broke his heart.” you sobbed out.

“Y me lo trajiste a casa, Florecita” (and you brought him home to me, little flower) you sobbed harder, not able to control it anymore, and he brought you to him, and held you.

“He told you my fake name?” you asked between sobs.

“He told me what you look like.” he muttered.

“I’m so sorry.” you let yourself be wrapped by him and you hid your face on his shoulder.

“Don’t be, without you I would’ve lost my only child.” you held him tighter.

“Please.” you pleaded for nothing and everything at the same time.

“You gotta fight for him, mija.” he muttered to your ear, and you shook your head, still leaning into him.

“I’m fighting for him!” you almost yelled “I’m here, aren’t I?” you lifted your head to look at the man and you gasped for air, dropping your hands to your sides “I drove almost thirteen hours non-stop all the way from Albuquerque just to be here!” you told him and the man stiffened as you lost your shit in front of him, you gripped your head between your hands “thirteen hours to read him that stupid letter and he didn’t say shit!”

“You did what?” you heard and lifted your head to see Javier standing behind his dad.

Chucho looked at Javier and then at you with your cheeks dampened with tears. He squeezed your shoulder again and turned to walk to the house.

“You were in Albuquerque all this time?” he said, and you nodded, noticing he was holding the letter in his hand “when you said you’d go you meant back there?” he frowned in confusion.

“Well, yeah, I have nowhere to stay so I might as well drive home.” you muttered, Javier’s frown deepened, and he stepped towards you.

“Stay here,” he said, “if you wanna leave you leave in the morning.” his voice was thin and low. You looked at his eyes and saw them reddened and wet.

“Did you read it?” you whispered out. He stepped towards you again, nodding.

“Stay.” he whispered back.

“You don’t want me.” you said under your breath as shook your head and he stepped closer.

“Who says that?” he asked, and you looked at the gravel path again.

“I won’t stay.” you felt Javier’s warm fingers graze under your chin and lift your head to him slowly.

“Don’t be so stubborn,” he chastised you with half a smirk forming on his lips “stay with us.” you shook your head again.

“You don’t want me here but you want me to stay,” you said, frowning at him “Javier you can’t have it bo–‌”

“I want you to stay,” he interrupted you “I want you to stay with me,” he whispered as his fingers moved to your cheek and wiped away a tear. “please.”

Javier had read your letter after you walked out and realized, at the prospect of you leaving for what it seemed like forever, at the possibility of you leaving him for good and he never getting to see you or your gorgeous face or your hypnotizing eyes or hearing your voice that did so many things on him, that the balance of his other losses leaned upwards when he weighed the probability of losing you.

Did he care about what you did? of course he did, it still stung sometimes deep inside his chest, it still filled him with something close to grief.

Was he willing to work it out and let it aside because he didn’t want to feel the agony and deep sorrow of not having you by his side he had been feeling for the last five months again? yes.

And the answer to that question inside his head startled him and shook him deeply.

You were there. God, you were there, there was no way he was going to let you leave.

Javier decided you could work it out later, he loved you way too much not to try. He didn’t even plan to love you the way he did, the way he discovered by reading that letter or remembering the man he was without you. He didn’t even plan to love you at all, but he did. He was madly, insanely, deeply in love with you.

Javier moved his hand to your shoulder and let the one holding the letter find its way to your waist. Find its way home.

“Don’t go.” he whispered again. He moved the last step to wrap his hands around you. You let out a low yelp at the feeling of his body so close to you, for a second you froze in place, your eyes closed and his warmth invaded your entire body as he hid his head in the crook of your neck. He inhaled your essence as you hugged him back and gripped him tightly against you.

Javier felt as if all his parts were being glued back together.

“Stay with me.” he whispered against the skin of your neck.

So you stayed.

←previous // next→

*THE LETTER*

Pepe:

pedrito's perma list: @queenofthefaceless​ @northernpunk​ @pascalesque​ @sleep-tight1​ @cheekygeek05​ @bii-aan-ckaa​ @letaliabane​ @starlightmornings​ @mouthymandalorianalso​ @supernaturalgirl​ @metalarmsandmanbuns​ @purplepascal042​ @asta-lily​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @missswriter​ @juletheghoul​ @pedro-pastel​ @agirllovespancakes​

Javi's babies: @pulplorrd​

RushBit tag list: @shestillwrites1​ @alliterative-albatross​ @absurdthirst​ @thoughtfulpandawasteland​ @wifeofdindjarin​ @lank-sextburg @the-ginger-hedge-witch​ @helloannbananalove​ @diogodxlot​ @pascalslittlebrat​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @pedritobalmando​ @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan​ @mamacitapascal​ @dobbyjen​ @callsigncatfish​ @feminist-violinist​ @jasmincita​ @pascalove​ @eury-dice3​ @gingaahhhh @athalien​

[forever-rogue]

Disappear Here - Part 2/4

A/N: Thanks for all of your support on part 1 you guys. You’re all the best and I love seeing all of your reactions and responses. I hope you enjoy part 2, and as always, feedack is welcome!  In case you were wondering this is loosely based on the song Disappear Here by Bad Suns. I recommend listening to it especially the acoustic version! xx

Based on this blurb

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: language; sexual tension (hehehe)

PART 1 | PART 3 | PART 4

ALTERNATIVE ENDING

SEQUEL

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-«« 

Waking up the next morning you felt like hell; you looked like hell. Probably just as bad as Javier had the night before. You hadn't even bothered going to bed, opting to slink back onto the couch and remained there, contorting into different positions in a while attempt to get comfortable. It hadn't worked.

By the time you finally woke up, neck stiff and head pounding, you were already late for work. But you didn't care, it wasn't like you had to punch a clock.You got up and dressed, silently deciding fuck it, and forgoing a shower, not doing anything to your hair or bothering to put any makeup on. What was the point anyway?

When you finally reached the embassy, an uneasy feeling settled into your stomach, causing a horrible lurching feeling to wash over you. You momentarily thought about turning away and scurrying back home. Surely the embassy had some sort of policy about mental health days?

But you knew that would much too suspicious, especially when just the day before you'd been yelling about getting your partners back, demanding some sort of recourse. Instead you swallowed your pride, along with the lump in your throat, and nerves in your stomach, and walked into your office. You could hear Javier and Steve rapidly speaking to one another, voices low. You hoped it wasn’t about you. 

Stepping inside you silently threw your bag onto desk, in a vain attempt to remain quiet and unnoticed. Steve immediately turned to you, a fond smile on his face as he looked you over. His expression was soft and gentle, just like he was at heart, and for a moment all of your troubles were forgotten. 

"Hey kid," he beamed as you he came over to your desk. You gave him a forced smile, followed up with a hug so you wouldn't seem too off. But it was stiff, mechanical, totally out of character for you. You were a hugger at heart, and Steve had gotten plenty of them from you in the months you'd know him, and he knew this was different, very different. 

"Murphy," you said quietly, "glad to see you back. It was almost too quiet without you. I missed; Connie and I were beginning to get worried.”

"I know, trust me. Noonan told us all about the ruckus you were causing yesterday. But tell me, what's wrong?" the shift in his voice was immediate and you groaned internally. Of course he'd notice something was right away.

"Nothing," you scoffed and gave him the best dose of fake laughter you could muster up, "you’re always so worried about everything. Such a dad at heart, Murphy. But nothing’s wrong, I assure you...I’m just...tired."

That earned a scoff from Javier. You both turned to him but he pretended to be entranced by some papers on his desk. His face was set into a stern expression, mouth in a thin line. 

"Are you sure?" he asked as he gave you the once over, "you look like hell."

"Gee thanks," you sighed as you sat down in your chair, “you really know how to woo a lady."

"Are you sure-"

"Just drop it," you gave him a pleasing look and it was like something inside him suddenly understood, “please.”

“Yeah,” he said as he took a step back and gave you a small nod as he headed back to his own desk. You quickly started to pull out some papers you could easily waste time on; you could practically feel Murphy’s eyes burning a hole into you as he continually glanced between you and Javier. He knew something was up, but then again, it didn’t take much to put two and two together. 

Normally the two of you were thick as thieves, two peas in a pod, bickering back and forth, constant banter. Now there was nothing but silence in the small office; stunted, tense, and thick. Almost as thick as the humid Colombian air in the heart of summer. So much for trying to remain inconspicuous. But, being the good man he was, Murphy didn’t mention a word or try and force conversation between any of you. He sat there in silence while the two of you brooded and worked on mindless paperwork. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Much to your dismay, the next several weeks went along in much of the same manner. It was, to put it quite simply, the worst. You got up in the morning, went along with your normal routine, dreading work, and then spent the next eight plus hours at the embassy. Unfortunately things were slow right now, painstakingly slow, which meant there wasn’t much field work to do, and you were stuck in the small office along with Steve and Javier all day. 

It was a far cry from how it used to be. Gone was the playful banter throughout the day, the long lunches at one of the many local restaurants, the general camaraderie. There appeared to be some tension between Steve and Javier, and there seemed to be some sort of something between them. The times they were talking it made you want to shrivel up and die, especially when it was Javier bragging about his latest conquest. You noticed his voice got a little louder when he brought the subject up. But you weren’t stupid; you heard all the girls he brought home - the joy of living across the hall from him.

You knew it was on purpose, it had to be; it made you want to get up and wipe the self satisfied smirk right off of his face. You could feel his eyes flicking over to you frequently; luckily Murphy seemed to be on your side on this at least, often telling Javier to shut up before giving you a gentle expression. You didn’t know how much longer you could take this.

Unsure of what to do, or how to even begin to approach Javier, you decided it was time to weigh your options. The only thing you had going on for you at the moment was the fact that you were a rookie and still fairly new to the whole world of the DEA. That mean you were still teachable, still able to adapt to another environment, and not too set in your ways. And you were going to play those cards to the best of your ability. 

So, one sweltering afternoon when Steve and Javi had decided to go out and take a break in order to get something cold and refreshing to drink, you slipped out of your office and across the embassy to in search of Noonan.

Just as you had last time, you barged right in, not bothering to knock or announce your presence. Besides, you had already set a precedent for how you entered a room, you might as well keep the tradition going. This time Noonan almost seemed to be expecting you, as she looked up from her papers, taking off her reading glasses and tossing them onto the desk.

“Agent L/N,” exasperation was evident in her part of her: posture, expression, voice. But you didn’t care - you knew you probably didn’t get on her nerves half as much as some of the other agents, “to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I-I...may I sit?” you were suddenly lost for words, feeling like a school child that had just entered the principal’s office to be reprimanded. Only you had brought this on to yourself. She pointed at the chair across from her desk from, indicating that it was okay for you to sit down. Nodding to her, you sunk into chair and started twiddling your thumbs, as you waited for her to say something else. Why couldn’t she just read your mind?

“Go on,” her lips were pursed in a thin line and you knew you were pushing your luck. Something had already been irritating her, and you were sure your little (or rather gargantuan) request would set her off. Perfect timing as usual. 

“I realize this is unconventional, and perhaps even out of the blue,” you started, going over the speech you had rehearsed in your head probably dozens of times before, “but I have a request, or I guess a favor to ask for.”

“Oh?” she triangled her hands under chin as she watched you closely, analyzing every last part of you.

“I’d like to put a in a request for a transfer,” you blurted and you immediately hated how the words sounded. Almost like defeat, which in a way, they were. You were tired and your heart had been very heavy lately, not just from your line of work but everything, and you really just wanted a break. You were definitely defeated.

“To a different department?” she raised an eyebrow at you, as she sat back in her chair, but not before a long sigh escaped her lips. All day she dealt with problems, and here you were bringing her another. 

“At the least,” you swallowed the lump in your throat as you tried to keep it together, “I was thinking, and I realize this is a huge thing I’m asking for you, but perhaps I could transfer over to Mexico? Or...I’d even take going back to the States. Or even Brazil...I’m open anywhere really.”

“Your Spanish is barely passable here in Colombia, you really think you’ll make it in Mexico, or Brazil? How’s your Portuguese?” there was no hint of even the slightest amusement in her voice. This was going to be a hard one.

“I know this is a huge request, but I’m begging you to consider, Ambassador,” you spied a fray on the sleeve of your blouse and started playing with it, trying to shake her stare.

“You’re a rookie, you’ve barely gotten your feet wet and you already want out? I don’t even know if any other branches have open spots right now,” for whatever reason, you could tell there was almost a note or sympathy in her voice. Almost. As if she silently understand what you were trying to convey without having to actually say it.

“I realize that,” you picked at the thread and pulled it, causing more of the soft fabric of your blouse to unravel, “and I figured that much. If there is nothing, I’m okay with going home.”

“You’ve been here for what, ten months, and you’re ready to call it quits?” she leaned across the desk and tried to analyze you; you hated the scrutiny of her stare. It reminded you of all the times you’d gotten in trouble as a child, “maybe you weren’t cut out for this life after all.”

“I guess not,” you agreed quietly, wishing you could find it in yourself to argue back and disagree with her.

“I thought you would be able to handle this,” ahh, there was that note of disappoint in her voice. She was the one who had agreed to take you on in the first place. If you were being honest, she was the main reason you had a job there at all, “I didn’t think you’d let feelings get in the way of the job. I thought you were all in, kid.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” when did you make it a habit of being a perpetual liar? You felt the need to defend yourself from her line of reasoning, even though she was right. You pinched the bridge of your nose as you tried to fight the stinging feeling that was forming at the back of your eyes, “I am all in. I’m here for the job-”

“Then why are you ready to run for the hills?”

“I’m not running away,” you insisted, “that’s why I’m asking for a transfer over everything else.”

“You’re letting feelings get in the way of doing your job,” she insisted, her gaze unrelenting and firm. She was right and she knew it, “that is not part of being all in. This is not the place or line of work for you to catch feelings and let it bet to your head, L/N. There are lives at stake, hell there’s a ton at stake, and you cannot comprise everything simply because your feelings were hurt.”

“I-I…”

“I thought you’d be able to separate personal feelings from your job.”

“So did I, Ambassador,” you were back to staring at your sleeves and wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole. It would be a lot less painful than this, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” she held up her hands and you nodded, “but perhaps listen to my words and heed them carefully. Do not catch feelings or whatever you want to call them for people you work with them on a close and personal basis. Especially someone like Javier Peña. He’s a good agent, he is, but he has a reputation for a reason. That should be enough to deter you. Are you really going to run away and comprise your whole career for one man who thinks with his penis before anything else?”

Her last statement made you laugh a little, because while it was funny, it was also true. But you didn’t really want to admit that she had hit the nail on the head, “that’s not…he’s not…”

“Please,” she raised an eyebrow at you, “I may be old, but I’m not stupid. Even I can admit that he is a good looking man and probably a decent lover. If the rumors are true.”

Did she have to make things this hard? If she was trying to steer you away from him, she wasn’t making it easy. But you couldn’t find any words to properly convey how you were feeling, so you remained silent and stared at the foot of her desk.

“Are you sure that this is what you want?” she asked and you paused. Did she mean your job or Javier? Either way the answer was yes, “to transfer out of here?”

You sat there for a moment and let out a long breath, trying to figure out what exactly you wanted. A lot hinged on your next set of decisions, “yes. If it’s possible.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do,” she gave you a curt nod before gathering a stack of yellowing documents. You stood up, knowing you were effectively dismissed. You wondered if she was going to mention anything to Steve and Javier before you received a transfer. You sincerely hoped she wouldn’t, but luck hadn’t been on your side lately. Either way, they’d know something was up when you either started packing up your things to leave, or you were just completely gone.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The following day you felt you were walking on eggshells. The usual tension that had been hanging around was laced with something else today. Almost like a poison, seeping into the room. Thankfully, Steve and Javier had a task that had pulled them out of the office, leaving you behind yet again with paperwork. They hadn’t even asked if you wanted to come. For once you were thankful.

The day had crept by, slowly, slowly, slowly, but finally the clock hit five, announcing that you could finally leave. You hadn’t heard from either Steve or Javier, but you figured they were fine. Nothing indicated otherwise, so you started to pack your bag, happy to escape to the refuge of your apartment. Maybe if you were feeling really crazy, you might even stop at the corner stop and pick up some wine.

But just as you went to turn off your desk lamp, you heard the door slowly creak open. As soon as you heard the first set of footfalls, you knew it was Javier. The door closed with a loud snap. You jumped slightly, but didn’t lift your eyes up from your bag, hoping he’d just forgotten something. Maybe he’d be there for a few moments and leave. 

But instead he only came closer to your desk. Of course. 

“You put in for a transfer,” it wasn’t a question so much as a statement. There was a hint of...something in his voice. You couldn’t quite place it; it could have been anger, or disappointment, or disbelief. He was firmly planted a few inches away from your desk, and you knew that if you tried to make any move to escape, he’d easily have you corned. There were a few odd beats of silence as he waited for an answer; you knew he wouldn’t accept anything less.

“Yes,” you admitted once the tension got to you. Drumming your fingers on your desk, you finally looked up at him and found his brown eyes staring back at you. The corners of his mouth were drawn into a hard line. When he didn’t say anything else for a few moments, you stood up and reached for your bag, deciding it as time to leave. There wasn’t much of anything to discuss after all. 

Javier was faster and his large hand caught your wrist and stopped you; it caught you off guard and you turned to him with a confused expression on your face, “why? You didn’t just ask for a department transfer. Noonan told us you asked about Mexico.”

Of course she did.

“Yes,” you repeated, pulling your hand out of his grasp. He was reluctant to let go, but he did anyway, “what does it matter to you? You’ve made it very clear that you don’t care. A-and that’s fine, you’re under obligation to care, so I don’t quite...follow.”

“Why the fuck are you just going to up and leave?” he asked as you sighed and shrugged your shoulders. He knew exactly why - he was the main reason why. Not that he was solely to blame, you were at fault too, and you were fully aware of that.

“Why not?” you gave him a hard gaze, “I haven’t exactly gotten the friendliest treatment around here lately. And the two of you continually leave me behind-”

“To protect you, you’re a rookie, kid!”

“And I’m always going to be one if you buffoons don’t let me come with you guys,” you threw up your hands in exasperation, “I’m not going to learn anything from just going paperwork all day. Maybe in Mexico they’ll actually give me field experience.”

“That cannot be the only reason you’re leaving,” there he was, getting down into the nitty gritty. You’d been avoiding this, hoping that perhaps it would never come up again and you’d just be gone soon.

“Obviously,” you snorted at him, putting your hands on your hips and standing your ground. Maybe Noonan was right, you couldn’t just let him get the better of you; it was time to grow a backbone, “maybe if you hadn’t been acting like a complete dick the past few weeks, I wouldn’t be as inclined to leave. Look, I-I’m sorry for how things turned out, and I blame myself for a lot of it, but you? You’ve been the worst.”

“I know,” he said as he hung his head with a small nod. At least he was willing to admit it, “I know I’m an idiot, a dick, whatever you want to call it. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say besides sorry.”

“Thanks,” you were quiet as you waited for him to say something else. There was a pang in your heart as you looked him over; he genuinely looked upset, you knew he was being sincere. It wasn’t fair that he looked so good, even when you were supposed to be distancing yourself from him. It was those jeans, those damned tight jeans that always got you, “I’m sorry too. I just wanted...I just want to be friends, Javi. We have to see each other every day, we should be able to get along.”

“Is that really what you want?” his question caught you off guard, but you caught yourself quickly. You knew what he was getting at; and you knew that he knew what you really wanted. Because he wanted it too. Why did this have to be so damn complicated?

“Yes,” you lied again, still clinging onto the vain hope that if you said that out loud it would be true. But no matter how many times you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t have feelings for him, it never worked. There was something about Javi that was magnetic, undeniable. Maybe it was those jeans, or that pink button up he loved to wear?

“Rule number one of this job,” he said quietly as he reached over and put his hand under chin, turning your face up to meet his, “to become a decent liar. It’ll save your life one day, I guarantee it. But you, kid, are a horrible liar.”

“Yeah?” you swallowed the lump in your throat as you met his eyes, “maybe you should learn to accept rejection. And let it go.”

“I will if you can look me in the eyes and tell me, and actually mean it, that you don’t want this. If you can do that, I will let this go and we can just be friends,” that in itself was a gargantuan task and he knew it. He had you right where he wanted to. And, if you were being quite honest with yourself, it was a bit of a turn on. 

Your pointed silence said it all. 

“This is a horrible idea,” you sighed after a few tense moments, settling down on the corner of your desk. You could feel his gaze burning into yours, those soft brown eyes trying to get inside your head and see exactly what you were thinking. Every rational fiber of your being was screaming no, no, no, at you, but you were tempted to let the lighter side win over for once. The soft side that you’d learned to hide; your heart.

“Absolutely terrible,” he agreed, taking a step closer to you, leaving an almost nonexistent gap between the two of you. Mere inches and his lips would be on yours again; mere inches and you could experience every part of him once again. You’d longed for him. Hard.

“We shouldn’t do this,” it was almost akin to a role reversal; he was the young green rookie and you were trying to be the hardened adult. It wasn’t working. Closing your eyes, you sighed and threw your head back, groaning in exasperation. What to do?

“You’re right,” he reached up and tenderly touched the side of your face, running a calloused thumb over your cheek. How’d you missed that gentle touch; it was so unlike Javi, but so like him at the same. He always had exuded a strange duality: hardened and tired over the years, but still softness and a hint of saccharine kindness reigned in his soul. You caught yourself and put your hand on his wrist, pulling his hand away and catching his eyes. It was now or never.

“Javi,” his name had barely rolled off your lips before you grabbed his face and pulled him close to your body, needy and hungry as you crashed your lips onto his. It didn’t take him long to respond; milliseconds probably. His large hands were all over you as he took control and you gave into his every touch, “let’s make a horrible decision.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[sparrow-in-boots]

youre proud the portuguese used to be major colonizers?? what do the british have to do with south america??? im. a little lost

Okay so, I’m going to assume you’re a gringo to be asking that question, and I’m also going to take this in good faith for yours and other people’s benefit because South American history is not really a subject in other countries’ educational system to put it very charitably.

First of all, I’m absolutely not proud of the Portuguese empire’s colonial legacy. On the contrary, I’m highly critical of it and its lasting consequences in all of its past colonies, and the atrocities that they perpetuated. What I meant was that to erase the Portuguese empire’s part in the colonization of South America, the differences between the past Portuguese and Spanish colonies in Central and South America, and how those differences shaped our current geopolitical situation is to erase half of the history of the continent. When I brought them up, it was to remind that they were in fact a major power in the world before the British Empire took that role, something that is quite often overlooked or downplayed like it was in that post I reblogged. I don’t say it as a point of pride, I say it as a reminder of a historical fact, awful as it is.

And, you ask what do the British have to do with South America, and I tell you, more than you might think. 

The British had been trading with Portugal in their colonies since the 16th century when they first started to dip their toes in the transatlantic trade. They first started sailing from West Africa and then started to make stops in the northeast of Brazil, before returning to England. At first, they came for pau-brazil, a type of wood native of South America that gives a very deep and rich red dye and it was all the rage before sugar came along and became the Portuguese colony’s main export as well as other raw materials like cotton and tobacco. Of course the Portuguese cracked down on those trades eventually, and also Britain had the Sieges of Boulougne going on, so they had to give it a break for a bit. 

So guess what? Around the late 16th century, the British empire sent down fucking pirates to press on the Spanish and Portuguese fleets. Privateers but, you get the picture. You’ve heard of Francis Drake, right? 

Yeah, that guy. He and some other notable names like Edward Fenton and Thomas Cavendish were sent to explore the waters between the Atlantic and the Pacific and find ways to circumvent the fleets to make the way around the globe, going through the Strait of Magellan. You know, the southern tip of South America. Also, to steal stuff from the Spanish and Portuguese colonies. Just to prove that they can and to clap back at the Spanish. And the ports of São Vicente and Santos in the southeast of current Brazil became an almost obligatory stop for English ships sailing in the south Atlantic to restock their ships for the rest of the journey. 

So the Portuguese started to get fed up with the English stopping by their colony and started to fend off the ships and arrest the sailors if they made port. So because they were pirates, they attacked the Portuguese colony. They assailed the Bay-of-All-Saints (current Bahia, Brazil) for two months, they raided and pillaged engenhos and towns on the southeast coast, and when they attacked Recife, they got so much loot from the city that they needed the help of Dutch and French ships to take it all with them. (an interesting source to dig through)

Also, where do you think our sugar went to? The engenhos (our version of plantations) sent the raw sugar to the Dutch who refined it and sold it across Europe, especially the British. Until the Dutch and the Spanish started to plant sugar cane in the Caribbean, Portugal had the sugar market pretty much cornered. That’s why the Guyanas exist and one of them have English as their main language, it was a Dutch colony and the British took control of parts of it from them, so they could trade with the native communities for prime resources, like wood, pau-brasil, native animals, cotton, tobacco, urucum (it’s another source fo red dye, google it), and so on. Guyana’s capital is called Georgetown??

Oh, shall I get to the fact that the majority of the gold you see in the interior of Buckingham Palace is from Brazil? I think I shall because, during the gold rush in Minas Gerais, Portugal was severely in debt from their wars with the Spanish and the Dutch. So much debt that what they got from exploiting their colonies, they spent it right away with industrialized goods. Goods from England. We in Brazil have an expression, “quinto dos infernos”. Literally “the Devil’s fifth”. It comes from the taxation of gold from the mines, one-fifth of what the miners extracted went to the Portuguese. To send someone to the Devil’s fifth is to tell them very emphatically to go fuck themselves. I think that explains how the people in the colonies felt about the taxes. It also caused revolts like Levante da Vila Rica and the Inconfidência Mineira, the last one being a major historical event in Brazil. So much so Minas Gerais’ state flag’s design is the same as was suggested by the rebels.

Libertas quae sera tamem is latin for “freedom albeit late”.

Oh, and you think pirates and privateers got involved just those first times? Think again! The tensions between the Spanish and British fleets in the Caribbean caused some major upheaval and even a war between the two of them, one battle affecting current Colombia, with the British attempting to siege several major ports from the Spanish. The war started cus the Spanish cracked down on illegal commerce in their colony by the British.

During the Napoleonic Wars, the British invaded the Vicoroyalty of Río de la Plata, (currently Argentina and Uruguay). The war was a good cover to attack one of France’s allies, but it wasn’t the first time the British had their eyes on the region, they’ve had previous attempts at trying to take control previously. The defeat of the British by the local populace with little to no help from the Spanish colonizers was also the last straw they needed to push for their independence.

Speaking of dwindling colonial powers, when Spanish and Portuguese ships kept failing to supply ships to meet the colony demands, it was the British who stepped in and filled the gap. After the Napoleonic Wars, the transatlantic trade basically belonged to the British, and if you’re paying attention, that greatly affected colonial and independence era South America. After Brazil’s independence from Portugal, the British were one of the new country’s main economic partner, mostly because it was their support when the royal family came to Brazil that pushed for independence. They even opened a mining company in Minas Gerais that ran for 125 years.

And these are just the things off the top of my head. The British Empire, like all the other European empires, had their fingers on many major events in Latin America as a whole as well as all over the world, but I tried to stay focused on South America. 

Colonizing powers in Europe of past and present have always had their fingers here because that’s what having colonies is. It’s exploitation and intimidation and always trying to get more and more, no matter who gets hurt or killed in the process. The plantations and engenhos were brutal, the mines were brutal, the entire system of colonization is brutal and revolting. Countless enslaved people, mostly black people, died in those places, so many even the slave trade couldn’t keep up with the demand for slave labor. It’s absolutely horrifying. And our countries have suffered and still suffer from external influences in our politics, especially by the US in more recent history, even if we keep fighting against thinly-veiled military intervention constantly. It really fucking sucks.

And you could have learned all this - and more! - if you just bothered to open a single Wikipedia article. Like, literally google “history of South America” or “Latin America-United Kingdom relations” and read. Bonus credits if you dig into the article sources and read them if available to you in English. But if reading is not your thing, there are several youtube channels out there who want to teach you stuff you don’t know and are a decent enough jumping point. Literally all I can say after all this is, educate yourself.

(I’ve leaned more on Brazillian history which is what I’m more familiar with, but if there are any fellow latines who want to correct me on something or add on to this, pls do so!)

[hopelikethemoon]

merry christmas, baby

Title: merry christmas, baby Rating: Explicit  Length: 3,000 Warnings: Period-typical sexism, smut (pregnancy sex, fingering, *squint* cock warming, girl-on-top), fluff.  Notes: Click this to check out the timeline for Maybe Today, Maybe Forever.  Summary: It’s Christmas time in Colombia.  Tag List: @grapemama  @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes@thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow​@hiscyarika​ @plexflexico​ @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501​@fioccodineveautunnale​ @roxypeanut​

Holidays were weird. Particularly gift-giving holidays like Christmas. The unfortunate holiday that was looming right around the corner. It was made all the more difficult by the fact that you were five months pregnant with your partner’s baby and you spent most of the day pretending to have a merely casual friendship. You were still trying to figure out what normal was for the two of you. 

Sometimes he would steal a kiss from you when you both ended up on the elevator together, with just enough fervor to leave you reeling for the rest of the day. Other times, it would be three days before he turned up at your apartment looking to spend the night with you.

You still hadn’t told him that you loved him too. You said it all the time, without so many words. Something about saying it terrified you. You still couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that he had been the one to say it first. You had loved him for a while; first as a partner, then as a friend, and now… as whatever he was. He wasn’t your boyfriend — that seemed far too juvenile for your taste. Lover sounded ridiculous, but it at least suited the situation well enough. 

“So,” Chris mused — which was never a good thing. “What are you doing for Christmas? Sit at home and wonder why the baby daddy didn’t stick around?”

You felt a flush creep across your chest and you glared across the office at him. “None of your business. Get the report done so I can send it off.”

“Hey Peña,” Chris ignored you completely. “Don’t you think she’d be less of a bitch if she were still getting some?”

“Why the fuck would I be thinking about that?” Javier snarled, “Get your mind out of the gutter Feistle.”

“I’m just saying.” Chris shrugged. “That’s how I keep my lady pleasant.”

“Fuck off.” You snapped, flipping him off before you started furiously typing. 

“You are a walking HR disaster.” Javier quipped, rising from his desk to bring the stack of his completed paperwork to you. He lingered, resting his hand on your shoulder. “Just breathe.” He squeezed your shoulder three times. 

You looked up at him and smiled softly. “Thanks.” Unwillingly you let Chris read anything into the encounter, you snatched the top file off the stack and skimmed over it. “Your ribbons need to be replaced.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He waved his hand dismissively as he made his way back over to his desk. “I’ll get to it.”

“Peña what are your Christmas plans?” 

“Dunno.”

“Are you spending it alone?”

Javier shrugged. “I guess it depends on how things go.”

Chris leaned forward, suddenly interested, “One of your lovely ladies?”

“Jesus Christ, Feistle.” Javier dragged his hand over the back of his neck. “This isn’t work.”

“They get expensed as work.”

Javier flipped him off. “We’re not going to be having a Christmas break if you don’t get your fucking reports in.” He glanced up at you, brows furrowed with a sympathetic smile.

You shrugged. There wasn’t much to be done about Chris’ antics. You couldn’t exactly file a report against him for the harassment, because they’d just let you go to cover their own asses. It was a pain in the ass to be the only female agent currently on the job. With Escobar handled, Messina had long since headed back to the states. 

You never had an issue with Javier or Steve. They had treated you like part of the team from day one, Javier especially. He’d always been especially encouraging about your efforts whenever you got briefed on the case. 

If you hadn’t gotten knocked up…

Javier wouldn’t be anything more than your friend and colleague. You’d still be hitting bars with him after work, helping him snag whatever woman had caught his eye that night. He hadn’t been a half-bad wingman himself, though sometimes he definitely set you up to fail.

Which, in light of recent events, made you wonder. 

You blinked as a wad of paper was thrown at your face. “I’m talking to you.” Chris said dryly. “Pregnancy brain?”

“I was contemplating how much effort it would take to put a human male into the paper shredder.” You countered with a smirk. “What did you need now?”

Chris stared at you. “You really need to get laid.” 

“That’s what you needed to tell me?”

“No.” He rolled his eyes. “I forgot what I was going to say now.”

“Of course you did.” You muttered under your breath. “Get the report done, Feistle. The sooner it’s in, the sooner we’re out of here.” 

 ———

Javier was a hard man to shop for. He didn’t need much, which was made apparent by the fact that he could spend three consecutive days at your apartment without needing to get anything from his, except for a clean shirt on the way to work in the morning. You had considered getting him a fancy engraved cigarette case, but he was trying to quit. He didn’t need another pair of aviators and a money clip seemed like a tacky gift. 

You ended up stumbling upon the perfect gift down in a street market near your apartment a week before Christmas. An antique edition of Don Quixote. Javier wasn’t exactly one to settle down for the evening with a nice book, but you recalled a brief conversation you’d had with him last year where he had offhandedly mentioned that it was a story that he and his father had bonded over. 

On the front page of the book, you wrote a short note. You only felt a little guilty for ruining an antique edition. 

 To Javi, 

Long before I knew that you would become the father of my child, you mentioned how much you loved bonding over this story with your father. Now that you are about to become a father yourself, I thought you might enjoy your own edition to share with our child. May she take away as many fond memories with you, as you did with your father. I still remember the way you lit up when you mentioned it and maybe, even then, I was falling in love with you. 

 I love you. 

 “You mean it?” Javier questioned as he traced his fingers over the words you had written. 

“Yeah.” You smiled softly at him. “Do you like it?”

“Baby, I love it.” Javier reached over and gave your thigh a squeeze. “Now I feel like my gift isn’t nearly as sentimental.” 

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” You assured him, resting your hand over his. “I’d settle for a back massage.” 

“I did get you something.” Javier leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, before he got up off the sofa and grabbed his leather jacket off the back of a chair in the kitchen. He presented you with a package wrapped in bright red Christmas paper. “I hope you like it.” 

You peeled back the paper to reveal an empty photo album, “Javi.” 

“The camera will get here next week. The shop couldn’t get it in time.” Javier explained as he perched on the arm of the sofa, watching you with a furrowed brow. “It seemed like a nice way to document things… for us.” 

“Thank you.” You gestured for him to come closer. “This…” You looked down at the empty album, flipping through a few pages as you imagined it filled with pictures. You and Javi, the baby, a lifetime of firsts and memories to be made. You hadn’t even considered documenting your pregnancy — your relationship.  You blinked quickly as tears slid down your cheeks. “Goddammit Javi.” 

“Baby, don't cry.” Javier brushed his fingers over your hair. “C’mere.”

You scooted closer to him, sniffling. “They’re happy tears. Promise.” You assured him. “And you thought this gift wasn’t sentimental.” You had never been much of a crier, but ever since your hormones had been put to the test with your pregnancy, you cried over everything. 

“Well without the camera, I figured a blank album didn’t seem like much of a gift.”

You swept another tear off your cheek. “It’s perfect, Javi.” You tilted your face to look up at him with a smile. It wasn’t just a blank album, it was the promise of filling the pages. “Javier,” You started, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip as you stared at him. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, baby.” Javier drawled out, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead, before dipping down to press a kiss to your lips.

Your fingers trailed around to cradle the back of his neck, playing with the soft hair at the nape of his neck. You didn’t let him pull back from the kiss, your tongue sweeping out over his bottom lip. He groaned against your mouth, lips parting enough to give you access. 

Javier curled his arm around your waist and hauled you onto his lap, his hands settling on your hips as you straddled him. Reluctantly he pulled away and leaned back against the sofa, searching your face. “You good for this?” 

You brushed your hair back behind your ears as you held his gaze. “Would you judge me if I told you I’ve been thinking about this since yesterday?” 

He arched a brow, a smirk playing over his lips. “Oh?” He rubbed his thumbs against your hip bones, before trailing them up along your sides. “Tell me more.”

“Well,” You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to feign a look of innocence as you rested your hands on his shoulders. “I had to take matters into my own hands last night, since someone didn’t come over.” You arched a brow. “Asshole.” 

Javier leaned in and kissed you, “I planned on coming over, but I ended up falling asleep on the sofa.” 

“A likely story.” You teased, dragging your fingers through his hair, letting your nails scrape lightly against his scalp. “You realize falling asleep on the sofa is an old man thing. God, you’re already turning into a father.”

He grumbled, “Oh, fuck off. You know I’ve been keeping God awful hours this week.” His hands returned to your hips, giving them a squeeze. 

“I know.” You tilted your head to the side as you met his eyes, “We can just sleep if you’d prefer.” You said softly as you trailed your fingers down the column of his throat. 

Javier shook his head. “And leave you to take matters into your own hands again?” He caught your hand and brought to his lips, kissing your palm. “Tell me.”

You felt a blush rise across your cheeks and you shifted forward in his lap until you were pressed against the hardened length of his cock. “I thought about your mouth.” You told him, dropping your voice into a low whisper. You traced your thumb over his lips, a shiver running down your spine as his tongue flicked out against your finger. “Is it bad that I started thinking about it at work?”

“Did Feistle’s line of questioning get you thinking?” He ran a hand up the length of your spine, before he rolled his hips beneath you, his cock grinding up against you and sparking heat low in your belly. 

You gave a short nod of your head as you rock downwards, a soft moan slipping past your lips as the movement caught against your clit. “I guess we can thank him for that.” You whispered as you leaned forward and kissed him, your lips slanting needily over his. You dragged your teeth over his bottom lip, your fingers dragging through his hair as you pulled back. 

“You should’ve called me.” Javier drawled out, tracing his pinky along the line of your cheekbone. You should’ve — you actually considered it, but ultimately you hadn’t wanted to seem desperate. Especially considering Javier had already planned to spend Christmas with you. 

“Well, you’re here now.” You smirked at him as you moved to slide off his lap. You didn’t feel particularly sexy in your current state, but the way that Javier looked at you had you convinced that at least he thought you were. 

You hooked your fingers in the waistband of your sleep pants, pushing them down your hips, before letting them slip down your legs, before shimmying out of your underwear. Your breath caught in the back of your throat as you watched Javier palm himself through his jeans, his eyes raking over your naked flesh. You peeled your shirt off, letting it join your discarded clothes.

Javier shifted forward to perch on the edge of the sofa as he smoothed his hands over the curve of your stomach. He dipped down and pressed a soft kiss to your skin, as one of his hands slid lower. “Did you think about this too, baby?” He questioned as he ghosted his fingers along your inner thigh.

You grabbed ahold of his shoulders to keep yourself steady as he dragged his fingers between your slick folds. “Fuck.” You widened your stance, drawing in an unsteady breath. “Don’t tease me Javi.” 

“No?” He brushed his thumb over your clit, but it wasn’t enough. 

“No.” You shook your head. “It’s not—” Whatever you were about to say died on your lips as Javier pressed two fingers into you slowly. Your eyes fell closed and your lips parted with a breathy moan. Though your second trimester was still fraught with the occasional upset stomach, it had done wonders for your libido. And Javier had been more than willing to give into your needs, despite his own hesitancy about doing something wrong. 

“Love the way you look.” Javier drawled out, his voice rough with his own desire as he watched your face. “So fucking pretty.” He dragged his fingers out of you before pressing back into you again, building a slow pace that was driving you wild. “Are you going to come for me, baby?” He questioned as his thumb rubbed tight circles over your clit. 

“Fuck, yes.” You told him, biting down on your bottom lip as you tightened your hold on his shoulders. “Javi.” 

“Just let go, baby.” Javier urged, pressing a kiss to your stomach as he looked up at you. He twisted his fingers, pressing them directly against that sweet spot within you. That was all it took to set you off, his name tumbling from your lips as your body clenched around his fingers. “That’s it.” 

He dragged every second of pleasure he could from you, working his fingers in and out of you until you weren’t certain you could keep upright. Javier guided you back onto the sofa to straddle him. You curled your fingers around the back of his head, kissing him like your life depended upon it as he worked to get his pants open. 

You lifted up on your knees, reaching down to curl your fingers around his cock to hold him steady as you settled down onto him. “Oh.” You breathed out as he gripped at your hips to keep you seated atop him. You were still so sensitive from the orgasm he’d pulled from you, your inner walls clenching around him. 

Javier tangled his fingers in your hair, tightening it just enough to make the pain merge with the pleasure of being filled with him. “You feel so fucking good.” He whispered close to your ear as he kissed a path down your throat. He rolled his hips beneath you, holding you close to him. The movement kept him buried within you, the slow grind of his movements making you moan. 

“You really love me?” Javier breathed out against your lips and all you could do was grin back at him. 

You brushed your nose against his, laughing softly. “Yes, dumbass. I love you.” Pointedly you rolled your hips, smirking when he groaned in response. 

“Dumbass?” Javier grabbed at your ass, holding you steady as he thrust up into you. “Awfully rude for someone wanting me to fuck them.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Are you going to stop?”

“No.” 

“I thought so.” You grinned, brushing your fingers through his hair as you met his eyes. “But if you don’t start moving, I’m going to have to kill you.” 

Javi chuckled, slowly rolling his hips beneath you. There was nothing hasty about his movements, he took his time — drawing out the pleasure until you were both trembling messes. His thumb found your clit, stroking it until you shattered around him, coaxing him over the edge. You pressed your face into the crook of his neck, breathing heavily as you came down from your high, his cock softening within you. 

“Merry Christmas, baby.” Javier whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple as he cradled you against his chest. 

For a fleeting moment you wondered what next Christmas would be like. Would the photo album be filled up with photos of the three of you? Would you set the timer to pose with your baby in front of a Christmas or would Javier be there to take it? The future was cast in shadows of uncertainty. You knew what you wanted. You were willing to settle if you had to. You’d do what you had to do to protect your baby’s future, but you wanted Javier there beside you along the way.

“Merry Christmas, Javi.” You said as you pulled back to look at him. Leaning in you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, letting it linger. “I love you.” 

“I’m gonna need you to keep saying that this weekend.” He smirked. 

“If you’re lucky I might say it for a long time.” 

“Luck has rarely been on my side,” He mused, smoothing his hands along your side. “But I’m hoping it might be this time.” 

“Me too.”  

[scarabocci]

Title: Only Six Months. Setting: Narcos. Synopsis: Ch. 1. Rating: 18+. Premise: An embedded NSA civilian working Communist Soviet-Russian influence in Colombia and a DEA agent pursuing Pablo Escobar cross paths; saber rattling and tension ensues. Why you should read it: female x Javier Pena (eventually).

Only Six Months: Ch 1.

     It took far longer than expected to get from my new residence to the office. I had a map and some written instructions, but I kept the map in my bag; it would give me away as someone who didn’t belong here. I had gotten these directions from someone who had never been here, someone who had gotten them from yet another someone else who had been here a few years ago. Half English, half Spanish, too. I ducked through the morning crowds of folks going to work, quirked a brow at people whose eyes lingered on me too long, and eventually made it.

     Finally where I belonged after eighteen hours of traveling, four hours of sleep, and an hour and a half lost on the streets, I turned in my travel papers to the gal meeting me here to help get me settled, and sat my bag down on the back of of a chair, my eyes looking over the desk that would be my home for the next six months. It was bare except for a stapler, a filing system, and a typewriter. An empty island amid much busier people, and was this office busy.

     People ran this way and that, shuffled between each other, holding papers and coffee and speaking both English and Spanish too fast for me to understand. This was busier than where I came from... Every place I had ever worked before had been calm, quiet, with directed bouts of energy. This came off to me as just... chaotic. What kind of office even was this? How did anything get done with people yelling and cursing at each other? It seemed unprofessional. It must have shown on my face, because the young woman addressed it indirectly.

     “Nervous?” she said. 

     “No,” I answered, briefly pursing my lips before I reached down into my bag to begin pulling out my files. “It’s just a bit loud in here. I didn’t think I’d be working in an open office like this. This presents problems of security for my team --- who can I talk to about getting a separate office for us?”

     The little blonde smiled and gave a nervous laugh, “Oh, I don’t know anything about that. I’m just a clerk. You have to meet with the ambassador once you’re all set up here, though, and you can probably ask her. She’s a real tough lady, but kind enough.”

     I had cast a stern gaze to the girl about half-way through her answer, one brow quirked with a frown. Her answer left some things to be desired. Why would it matter at all if the ambassador was kind? This was a question of security; whether anyone liked it or not, my team needed its own space away from other people who did not need to know what we were doing. Some might call me paranoid, but I knew better --- there were spies everywhere, both out and in. No one could be trusted. Not even these people in this office. And getting a separate office or at least some plywood to set up between our desks and everyone else’s was definitely not something I was going to ask the Ambassador, for Pete’s sake.

     I just didn’t know what to say to her, so I said nothing. I looked back down at my papers and stacked them neat on my desk before I changed my mind and pulled the key from the drawer, unlocking it, pushing my papers into it, and locking it once more before stashing the key in my pocket. I must have been giving off unfriendly vibrations because the young woman soon gave a twittering farewell and left me, giving me a bit of peace in this whirlwind, which only lasted a moment.

     “Already demanding more, huh? CI’s just never satisfied.”

     I quickly looked up with narrowed eyes towards the individual speaking to me. First of all --- no one here should know who I was or what I did. Second of all... his big fucking mouth was sharing sensitive information with an entire room of god knows who’s here. There were literally foreigners standing just feet away.

     “Why don’t you mind your business and let me mind mine,” I answered in warning, pulling my bag up off the back of my chair and placing the strap against my shoulder. I cast a wary eye around the office and lowered my voice, stepping closer to him so that he and only he would hear me, “How the Hell do you know who I am?”

     He gave a half smile, clearly enjoying this exchange in a way that I was not. He was playing with me. I decided that he had definitely done this dance before. He waited a few seconds to answer, turning his dark eyes down and up to take me in.  “You people are always the easiest to spot, no matter what you think. You’re the shifty paranoid ones, always looking around the room, never answering questions fully and ignoring people you think are beneath you, like just now when you didn’t answer young miss Lydia. I don’t know who you are, sweetheart, but I do know you just came here your first day and demanded an office of your own. That’s pretty arrogant for a rookie.”

     “I’m not a rookie, and I’m not having this conversation,” I answered firmly to close out this little chat. I did not like him approaching me like that out of the blue, and I definitely didn’t like that he seemed so confident in guessing what I did for work around here. He was right --- I was counterintelligence, but that was not something he should be shooting his mouth off about. I would have to address that, but not here.

     I didn’t know how things worked around here, but that was not going to work for me. As far back as my first days at my first agency, I had been a ghost. I appear, I do my work either alone or in a team, and then I vanish. No one knew my name or alias who didn’t have to. That was how this craft was done. 

    I pushed past him, intentionally knocking my shoulder into his, and made it three or so steps away before he called out to me with a taunting half-smile, leaning against my desk and crossing his arms casually.

    “Marie... Welcome to Bogotá.”

     I kept my face straight and turned back around, continuing on my way to meet with the Ambassador and Mil Group to present my mission. He used my name. Strike three. There were definitely leaks in this building, and I was going to find out who.

***

    When Marie walked away, Javier watched her in interest until she vanished outside the door before he cracked a smile. 

    “Hey Javi... stop sharking the new girl and let’s do some work,” said Steve, coming up behind him to clasp a hand onto his shoulder. 

     “I think she likes me, what do you think?” Javier joked, turning around and walking with Steve back to their work stations. Now back in their own little world, Agent Owen spoke up.

    “Forget it, man. Counterintel are always too fucking paranoid to have a good time with. She probably thinks you’re a spy, especially after that shit you just pulled. They definitely don’t fuck you lowly counter narcos,” said Owen.

      “We shouldn’t be talking about that at work you guys,” interjected Steve.  “She has nothing to do with our job here and if she gets it her way, you’ll never see her again. Leave her alone, we have shit to do. Javi, you’re still headed up to Medellin today, right?”

    “Yeah.”  Javier reached up to look for the cigarette behind his ear, pulling it out and leaning over the table with one hand on his hip to look over the map of the city again. He placed a finger down at an intersection,  “I’ll be here, Search Bloc will be moving the herd here, here, and a third team here...”

[wmua-amherst]

Happy New Year! Here are some of WMUA staff's favorite albums from 2019:

PR Director - Ariya Sonethavy

House of Sugar by (Sandy) Alex G and Anak Ko by Jay Som -- I think I overplayed these records in the second half of the year. House of Sugar is magnificent every time and I absolutely love how different each song is, though listening to it in order always feels like something new. The way he produces and manipulates instruments/vox is insane. Anak Ko is my go-to comfort record for the last few months and I've become very attached to it. I love the layers Melina Duterte produces with tracks that are sunny and warm but also moody. I'm also obsessed with the fact that both Alex G and Melina Duterte write and produce all their own tracks -- their songs fill me with big ultralight beams!

General Manager - Toby Cashook

When I first listened to Digital Shades Volume II, it's as if I had finished a surreal sci-fi Dungeons and Dragons adventure narrated by Panos Cosmatos. Having only known M83 as their electric-pop, “Midnight City”selves, this was a total vibe check. Anthony Gonzalez, the lead on this project, reminisced that this was an album that, for him, brought back a feeling of childlike adventure. Inspired by early-age videogames and similar source material, DSVII echoes those mediums that are so endearing and so close to our hearts. For me it was 'Oh Yes You're There, Everyday' and 'Feelings' that reminded me of that naive experience when exploring classic RPG and fantasy games like Bethesda's Skyrim or Nintendo's The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time open worlds for the first time. In a way, my naive sense of childlike wonder was restored. It was like old friends reuniting after seeing hadn't seen each other in quite some time. Similar in nature to Ben Prunty's Curious Merchandise, each song plays like a series of short stories, each describing a unique setting or situation that plays itself out in a satisfying way. 

DSVII leaves you wanting more. Within the chaos of our society, DSVII is a nostalgic album. It's a call to remember the simplicity in our lives that we once let go. It can be tiresome to imagine those moments, and yet listening to DSVII feels as though they've always been by your side. It's a throwback for sure, and I'm sure all of us could use that reminder. 

Programmer - Taylor Cassidy

I think my staff pick for 2019 is Better Oblivion Community Center by.... Better Oblivion Community Center, better known as Conor Oberst and Phoebe Bridgers. This release is from the earlier part of 2019, but it's one of the few albums of this year where I dove in and listened to more than just one or two tracks, and I enjoyed it all. Oberst's emo vocals and punk sensibilities complement Bridgers' songwriting and deeper voice, and they just really come together perfectly in this bizarre concept album about joining a cult. It's folk rock for people who had an emo phase and hate the word "folk" - a label which I guess suits me. Many of the songs are catchy despite being weird, creepy, or depressing and songs like "Dylan Thomas" have a really anthemic, singable feel. It was a release I was really anticipating and wasn't disappointed when I added it to my library.

Finance Director - John Matraia

Bandana by Freddie Gibbs & Madlib is the rap album of the year. Five years removed from their last collaborative album Piñata, it seemed improbable that the duo could top the 2014 classic. And while it’s hard to pick one over the other, it’s clear that both of these guys only get better with time. And more dynamic, too. Just look at "Palmolive” (with an incredible guest verse from Pusha T) or the heartfelt "Practice." On every track here, Freddie and Madlib are fighting to outdo each other, and the greatness that both artists strive for puts this tape over the top. Sure, maybe on a song like “Crime Pays”, Madlib’s mesmerizing instrumental just edges out Freddie’s greatness, and maybe Freddie steals the show on “Education.” But it’s tracks like “Fake Names” and “Cataracts” where both connect at the top of their game and prove that they’re the best in their respective lanes. Freddie claimed that this album was his “baby”, and this sentiment bleeds through on the uplifting intro track “Freestyle Sh*t”, where he reflects on everything he’s been through to reach this point. What follows this are thirteen tracks that serve as a victory lap for both artists, with Freddie making a case for the best rapper alive, and Madlib proving why he’s the best producer of all time. 

Communications Music Director - Alex MacLean

It’s so hard to pick just one record from this year, the amount of plainly great music that has come out this year is absurd. However, I’d like to make the case for one people might not have heard much about. Foam by Diviño Niño is a wiggly, catchy, summery bit of psychedelic pop, with lyrics in English and Spanish that are equally evocative and lovelorn in both languages. The Chicago-via-Colombia band runs through a wide array of sounds and styles with ease. It’s easy to put on and let it breeze tunefully by, but if you pay closer attention, the record’s clever songwriting and wonderfully quirky and detailed instrumentation begin to take hold on you, worming their way into your head. The beachy title track grooves with funky guitars and auxiliary percussion like Speaking in Tongues-era Talking Heads, and second track “Quiero”’s half-time chorus stops the song’s midtempo momentum in its tracks to let singer Camilo Medina make important declaration: “I don’t ever wanna change your mind / I wanna be with you the way that you are.” Elsewhere, “Maria” is an all-Spanish language breakup song about having your heart ripped from your chest and spit out by a girl named Maria (figuratively, of course), after which the singer decides to drink a lot and smoke 7 joints: “Chaqueta de liquor / Siete porros y un adios.” It’s an example of evocative lyricism that cuts to the emotional core despite its economy. There are lots more I enjoyed this year, but Foam is an underappreciated record that stuck with me.

Archival Music Director - Jamie Daitch

For me, 2019 has been the year of embracing country music, and no album pulled me closer in than the self-titled debut of the Highwomen, a supergroup composed of Brandi Carlile, Natalie Hemby, Maren Morris, and Amanda Shires. This is the best sort of collaboration,where every artist is giving their absolute best to the project to make an incredibly compelling whole. This album captures a large swath of feminine life experience, with sharp, detailed, emotionally complex writing that will give you new little details every listen. And you'll want to listen over and over again, with melodies that are just so catchy and song structures that hook you along for every ride. I can't think of an album I listened to more this year. If the closest you've come to country as of late is Kacey Musgraves's "Golden Hour" and Lil Nas X's "Old Town Road," then this is an album to try. The Highwomen demonstrates the unique strengths of country music better than anything else this year. Check it out!

Check our WMUA’s CURATED playlist for best picks of 2019: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3SgHBwTf6Tq1Ts5eMzwBzL?si=Q_9wsLgqRTKvRRdz3LnixA