hello! as a member from the swiftpascal non-existent club, I decided to make some fanfiction with pedro's characters, based on RED songs. I'll be updating until Red TV comes out - november 12.
if you want to be on the taglist, please let me know.
you can also read my other works on my masterlist | cover art by @raresciences <3
this daydream is dangerous - din djarin (18+)
the sound of 'i need you' - max lord
your demons, they all look like me - javier peña
falling in love in the cruelest way - pero tovar (18+)
you took the time to memorize me - marcus moreno
no one can hurt you now - joel miller
the only real thing you've ever own - frankie morales
this fic is the seventh from my 'red (folklord's version)' project, which contains multiple pedro pascal characters fanfictions based on songs from RED, by taylor swift. this one is inspired by 'all too well' (plus champagne problems, and tis the damn season, if you are swiftie enough to notice)
my masterlist | words: +3000
warnings: implicit smut, angst !!!! and scarf robbery.
this was the most difficult thing I ever did, but i'm very proud of it! hope you all enjoy as much as I did :)
In November 1999, autumn seemed brighter than ever.
"Tonight the music seems so loud!" Frankie yells as he grips the steering wheel.
"I wish we could lose this crowd!" You follow him. You guys are screaming so loud you could hear it outside the car.
You are distracted by the orange and brown leaves that fall into your lap, along with the wind that ruffles your hair. You look at Frankie's disposition, so sweet, so peaceful.
"Baby, it's better this way, we hurt each other with the things we want to say!" Frankie continues, shifting gears.
"We could have been so goood together! We could- Frankie is red!" You yell at him, and then he hits the breaks.
You look at each other scared, and then you start laughing. You lower the music volume.
"I think we'd better not do this anymore, or you'll lose your driver's license."
“But it wasn't George Michael's fault.” He leans over, kissing you on the cheek. "I was looking at you, singing all out of tune. Do you know how many accidents you can cause by being that beautiful?"
"Shut up!" You laugh and pat him on the shoulder.
Suddenly Frankie started driving again and you remembered why you were there. You were in his hometown to meet the Morales family. You were sweating with the fear that they would not like you.
"I know there’s a certain reputation about Latina mothers" He takes your hand. "But don't worry, they're all sweets if you don't break their kids' hearts"
"Then she'll love me!" You laugh and clasp your hand in his.
Another ten minutes later and you had arrived at his sister's house.
When you walked through the door, the air was cold, but the house was very cozy. His sister asked you to take off your coats and shoes. Frankie helped you and hung up your scarf.
You had dinner and some wine. His mother was the kindest person in the world. Hours later, you were all very intimate, looking at Frankie's childhood albums.
She showed you a picture of him as a kid, from when he was on the tee-ball team
"It was the thing he loved most in this country" His mother commented. "I was happy when he found this, it felt more at home."
You ran your fingers over the boy in the green suit with the round glasses. When you looked at him, you noticed that he was wearing a hat similar to the one in the photo.
"Frankie, is it the same hat? Did your head grow into its shape?"
Everyone laughed, and Frankie's cheeks turned red.
A few more sips of wine, and you knew about his entire childhood, all the way to his pre-teen years. It was beautiful to see him looser, this side of him so family that you loved. You put your arm around his shoulder, covered by the plaid shirt, and yawned.
It was time to leave, but since Frankie had been drinking, his sister made a bed in a small room under the stairs. It was small, but it was enough for you both. Frankie even hit his head on the ceiling, and you guys laughed until your stomach hurt.
You lay in bed, side by side, watching the hanging golden lights. You ran your hand over his chest, feeling his heart.
"Thank you for letting me know this part of you." You were sincere. He smiled.
"For you to laugh at my hat?" He laughs and when he realizes he's still using it, he covers his eyes with the flap.
"Exactly!"
"I'm kidding." He kisses your forehead. "If you're going to be my future then, you have to know about my past."
"Wow, Frankie! How long have you been thinking about that sentence?" You stare at him, eyebrows arched in surprise and irony.
"Since I saw you and knew you were going to meet my mom. And she was going to show you all these horrible pictures."
"Not horrible!" You pat him on the shoulder. "You were a chubby kid with round glasses, fancy enough to sleep in a twin-size bed!"
"True. You know what I used to do?"
"What?"
"I used to dance around the kitchen in the refrigerator light."
"Why?" You question him, curious.
"Because the night was my only time alone. And my mom would wake up when I turned on the light, so I just opened the fridge."
"And the music?"
"Very low."
You lay down on his chest, feeling his breathing. He keeps a hand into your waist, touching it gently.
"Frankie?"
"Uh?"
"Let's do this?"
A second later, you were in the kitchen. Everyone was asleep, so you took off your shoes so you didn't make any noise. He held your hand and guided you through the pitch that was in the house. When you arrived in the kitchen, Frankie gently opened the fridge door. The light formed a rectangle over the floor, the balcony, and the wall.
Another rectangular thing was his sister's stereo. You were impressed. For the 90s, it was the latest technology. Frankie pressed start and turned the button slowly so the music was as low as possible.
It was Careless Whisper again.
When the saxophone started, Frankie pointed with two fingers at you and started rocking his hips. You covered your mouth so you wouldn't laugh too loud. In a second, he had his hands around your waist and made you follow the same pace.
When George sang "I take your hand", so did he. He swung his arm over your head, then hugged you.
He held you in front of him, his head in the crook of your neck, so drunk into your perfume. Your right hand was intertwined with his, and the other held the small curls forming on the back of his neck. He guided you from one side to the other.
It was one of those moments when you realize that you would never be that happy again. To be with Frankie felt like… the climax of human life. Especially to be loved and to love in that powerful way.
"So I'm never gonna dance again, the way I danced with you...." Frankie sang in your ear as you laughed. You couldn't stop smiling.
When the song ended and you guys stayed glued, you felt a real heat come over your body. It was a different heat, a completely new sensation. You turn to face him, and Frankie rests his hands on your hips.
You rest both hands on his plaid shirt and feel his heart through the fabric. His brown eyes sparkled and reflected the orange light from the fridge. You felt sure.
That was it. The certainty that was missing - until this time.
"Frankie..."
"Uh?"
"I want… if you want to, of course…"
He arches an eyebrow, not really understanding you. "What, love?"
"You can make me your own... tonight." You swallow it dry. "Physically."
He widens his eyes but doesn't say anything, just brings his hand to the back of your head and pulls you in for a softer kiss.
That was the most intense night of your life. You and he had many after, but this is the one that gave meaning to all the others. It was an impossible decision to go back, and it was proof that you would remember Frankie for all your life.
(...)
You held his hand as you walked along the road full of autumn leaves. You held some bags with some stuff for Christmas, your favorite holiday. You were about ten minutes ago talking about the kind of cookies you were going to make, but Frankie wasn’t actually listening.
"Frankie, are you listening to me?" You asked.
"Oh... yes, yes I am." He replied. You looked at him angrily and stopped walking.
"What's it?" You say, and he arranges his cap in a way that worries you. He was stressed.
Frankie swallows hard. "I need to tell you something."
"Yes?"
"I was admitted. To the Air Force Academy."
You look at him in astonishment. Frankie faces his feet.
"This is amazing!" You try to say, but all you feel is a pain in your heart. He notices. "It was always your dream!"
"Yes..." He continued with his eyes down.
"Frankie, what's the problem?"
"It's across the country."
You let go of his hand slowly. That moment felt like the final verse of a song when everyone who listens understands how significant it all was.
You stare at him. The brown eyes, so bright, now glistening with his tears. You see his pouty lips, and the lump on your throat just gets bigger.
"We can do this! Baby we can" He tells you proudly, but you hear a cracking voice.
"Frankie, you don't understand, we'd have to depend on the phone, and the time zone, and everything else, I-"
"We can. If we want, we can." He takes both of his hands and brings them to his chest. "I…I love you and I don't want to have to decide between my dream and you…"
"Are you really sure you want this?" You question him, letting go of your hands. "That sounds like your dad's doing."
"I made the decision. I want to be a pilot, you know very well." He raises his voice when you bring up one of your insecurities.
"Frankie..."
"What? You're mad at me and now you're going to pretend you don't know my dreams, my ways? Are you invalidating everything I've ever told you to convince me of something?"
"It's not about that!" You scream. "Don't put words in my mouth! You know damn well what this is going to mean, and that's what I'm scared of!"
"So what do you want me to do?" He folds his arms and arches an eyebrow.
"I think…we need to think this through." You are honest, and you try to take his hand but he pulls away.
"Alright."
(...)
In his sister's house, the corridors are emptying. They will soon be filled with Christmas ornaments. You hold Frankie's hand, but nothing feels the same.
He was going to make a decision that night, in the same kitchen you danced. His pocket was heavy, and his heart burned with despair.
"Hey..." You arrive in the kitchen. He is sitting at the counter drinking champagne. The trembling hand almost dropped the bottle.
You fit between his legs and look him in the eye. "I thought about that..."
"Me too." He pushes you away and jumps off the counter, straightening his hat. "Let me speak first."
"Alright." You think it’s weird, but you agree.
"Listen, I know we can work out. You're my first love, and I have more faith in us than anything in this world! That's why I found a way for you to… come with me."
Frankie pulls something out of his back pocket, and when you finally see it, it's a little black box. Holy shit...
You can't say anything. In the next instant, he drops to his knees, but he is so shaky he has to put both knees on the floor. When the box opens, you can see the glow of the ring stone reflecting the light from the refrigerator.
"You...?" He can barely form the right words. And you can barely think straight.
Your silence cuts through him like a death in a thousand cuts. His head is heavy with regret and hate, but he can't give up. He mutters your name under his breath as if begging you to answer.
"Frankie... I'm going to college. I received their letter yesterday."
He remains intact, feeling like a crumpled-up piece of paper. The hands collapse into his lap.
"Love……please…" He whispers.
"Frankie…I can't, I…I'm not ready."
He stands up, with the saddest eyes you've ever seen, but he doesn't dare look at you. You feel the tears so unnoticed, falling down your chin.
"I’m sure you don’t want to waste your dreams because of me… I’m such a mess, Frankie.” You say, into tears. “Is that asking too much?”
The tears fall into his face until the last drop hangs on his jawline.
“Frankie, please, tell me what you think!” You say, desperately.
His chock and anger provoke an answer that would haunt you for days:
“I think this thing was a masterpiece... 'til you tore it all up.”
He leaves the kitchen, towards the bathroom. You can't help but run away, scared and shivering, avoiding his family, who were all gathered on the sofa - no doubt waiting for an answer.
Running scared, you feel your legs fail with anguish. Tears fell so fast, you barely had time to wipe them away.
At the same time, Frankie was sitting by the bathroom sink. He didn't cry, he just sat there with this hurt, cause there was nothing else he could do.
(...)
"Hi..."
His voice echoed through the phone. You held it crookedly so he wouldn't hear your sighs. Did he have to call again? Just to break you like a promise?
"I just wanted to tell you that I mailed your clothes and things that were here."
So casually cruel in the name of being honest.
"Ok."
"Ok."
Frankie stared at the open suitcase… and your scarf. It was the only thing, among lingerie, CDs, and books, that he couldn't get rid of.
He tucked it away and forced himself to zip it up. Maybe it wasn't that bad, among so many memories he had of you, to still choose to repeat a few.
But deep down it hurts like hell that, every time he is going to look at this scarf, he’s going to remember that he had lost the only thing he had.
(...)
It’s Christmas 2019. You know he is long gone and that magic's not here anymore, but you can feel the familiar air of that city that you had so many memories of. This city, by the way, is beautiful, with lights everywhere. The cold cut your lips, and you hold your hands tight in your pockets.
Your mother was waiting for you in the central square, but you preferred to arrive early enough to walk a little. The children played with the falling snow, and the adults already looked exhausted. This is the damn season.
You finally arrive at the center of the square, where there is a beautiful tree decorated with golden tones. A little tacky, you'll admit, but what's a country town without a tad cheesy? You get lost in thoughts of the tree and how it got there until a child trips over your legs.
You go down quickly to pick it up, afraid she will be hurt. But she just smiles, her hands full of snow. The dark brown eyes seem to want to cry, but she is distracted by a man calling out to her.
"Next time I'll buy you a leash!" He says walking up to you and laughing. She gets up and he picks her up.
"Sorry, tio." She says softly.
"It's alright. Did you apologize to the lady?" He said as he brushed the snow off her hand.
You admire him for a moment. He has tanned skin, strong features, plus a contagious smile. And he looks you up and down as if he could take advantage of that situation.
"Sorry...lad." The little girl responds.
"It’s alright." You say.
"You know, kids are pretty spiritual. Maybe this was just a move of fate for me to get, you know...your number." He says, looking up and down. What a flirt.
"Pope. What are you doing?"
His voice echoes into you, bringing all your memories like flashbacks. Your brain couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening, but your heart surely knew. It was Frankie, and you were home again.
"Your daughter is very smart, you know-" His friend says.
His daughter.
You could freak out by now if it wasn't for the simple fact that he had another baby in his arms.
And he watches your eyes guide into the blanket that the kid was involved in, and his brown and tired eyes.
That’s what you had lost?
That’s what it could have been?
"That's... my ex." He says looking at his friend, swallowing dry.
"Which?"
"That one."
"That one? Oh...I better take Isa on the carousel then…” He holds her little hand but looks at you. “But if the past is past, you know..."
"Pope." Frankie looks at him angrily. Was he still jealous?
"I'm going, I'm going."
The silence echoes between you two. You can’t stop looking at what he had become. He feels your gaze into him and feels like an outsider. Are you feeling pity for what he is now? Or are you just surprised?
"Sorry about that." He finally says.
"He seems to be nice. Where did you meet him?"
"In the army."
"Army?" You ask him until his arched eyebrows bring you flashbacks. "Oh...sorry. I think I forgot about you long enough to forget why I needed to.”
"How are you?" He asks you while covering the baby's face because of the cold wind.
"I’m good." You lie.
"I know you."
He smiles, sadly. It’s funny how he is still the only soul who can tell which smiles you’re fakin'.
"I’m ok but… not fine at all." You feel the familiar lump in your throat. "What about you?"
"If you only knew the kind of things that happened to me…” He says. “The thing is… I'd like to be my old self again but I'm still trying to find it.”
You meltdown at his gorgeous smile and the grey patch on his beard. What a blessing, that he still feels comfortable with you by telling you this kind of thing.
"And where are you staying?" He changes the subject.
"At my parents' house.."
"Fine. Great. Ah, I've been at my sister's house since… Well, their mother will be over at eight and take them away.” He looks at the baby and searches for his daughter in the crowd. “I haven't slept in a few nights but I wouldn't mind if you were there."
"For old times' sake...”
"Yes..." He smiles, remembering how many days you spent intertwined, glued by the warmth of each other’s body and the coldness of knowing each other's soul. "By the way, it's a coincidence that you show up now because I found your scarf this week."
"My scarf?"
"Yes. That first week. I couldn't get rid of it. Do you remember?"
Down the stairs, he was there, he remembered it all...
"Yes, I remember it all too well.”
------
taglist (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @la-lunaluna @raresciences @lokimischixf @hansolotr @voteforpedro09 @corrabell @lukanasky
i recommend to everyone to reads this, and that read it at christmas. because the energy from romantic comedy christmas that this story passed me was surreal!
javier peña x f! reader | part 2 - as time goes by 《 AU based on Casablanca (1942) 》
masterlist | word count: +5400 | read part 2 here
you finally meet Javier and confronts him about the visas, knowing fully well that Murphy did it first. the insistence and the love that remain create a nostalgia atmosphere, which ended up in a situation that makes it hard for you to leave.
warnings: 《 18+ 》 alcohol, explicit language, tons of angst, mutual masturbation, love bites.
ps: sorry this pic has no context I just love it sm!!!!
"Javi. We need to talk."
He lifts his head and stares at you with a look that makes you regret it.
"Javi. Please." You beg.
He gets up, still dizzy, trying to keep his balance. He leans against the piano and stares at you for a few minutes, searching for the right words. You hold onto the strap of your bag tightly, too scared of his reaction. But all he says is,
"Why did you have to come to Casablanca? There are other places."
"You were our last hope. I didn't even think before deciding to ask for your help. Believe me, Javi, it's true."
"It's funny about your voice, how it hasn't changed. I can still hear it: 'Javier my dear, I'll go with you any place.'" He tunes his voice to make fun of you.
"Please don't. Don't, Javi. I can understand how you feel."
"Huh!" He yells, clearly altered. "You understand how I feel. How long was it we had, honey?"
"I didn't count the days." You're sincere, but it only breaks his heart even more.
"Well, I did. Every one of them." He says almost in a whisper, embarrassed to admit so much emotion. But when he realizes you were sad too, Javier tries to bypass the dialogue to overlap again. He does this by teasing you, as he knows exactly what works:
"Tell me, who was it you left me for? Was it Steve, or were there others in between?" He says with a smile.
Your blood rises when you are offended like that. In a reflex, you pick up the glass from the top of the piano and pour the contents in his face, making Javier douse himself with whiskey. He wipes his eyes with his shirt sleeve and looks at you with even more hatred.
"How dare you talk to me like that, you filthy bastard?"
"Oh, classy girl…" He makes fun of you, folding his arms and leaning over the piano, scooping out the little bit of drink left between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "I thought you could never talk to anyone like that…"
"It's because I've never been so offended"
"And I wonder how you would react if you were abandoned"
You move closer to him, staring into those familiar brown eyes. Looking at him was nostalgia, a million times stronger.
"How spiteful you are. Bitter, torn. I refuse to believe that I broke down the wall that was Javier Peña. You're doing this to yourself."
"You dared to do to me what no woman has ever had." He says. You are surprised.
"Oh! So that's what this is about? Is it about your bruised ego? No whore can rebuild it?"
"It's not about my ego!" He screams.
"Then I don't understand you, Javier"
The silence remains for a few seconds. You dare not face each other.
You go around it, stopping in front of the piano keys and gently playing a rhythmless melody. He stares at you sideways, his big back shadowing you.
"It hurt me to see that you can still hear the song. That you don't remember anything. That you aren't haunted." He says softly, shy and embarrassed.
“You have no idea the kinds of memories I have. You haunt me in..."
“Uh?"
“The most inappropriate situations...” you whisper.
He positions himself behind you.
"So I did it. You had sex, but you weren't fucked anymore."
"Javier!"
You yell and try to get away, but he spins you by the arm until you face each other. Javier brings his strong hands to your waist, holding you in place.
"Don't pretend, classy girl. We both know who you really are.”
He was drunk, messed up, a wreck. It was obvious he had become a different man. You didn't know if it was because of you or years of exhausting work. But when did you stared into those brown eyes, almost black in the dim light, you knew there was still there the man you'd almost given your life to. The hands that hold you tightly, sliding up the curve of your ass and pull you up the piano, are still the same, strong and magnetic. These are the hands that you know more than yourself.
You feel the cold marble touching your thighs and your dress ride up, making an icy air invade your already damp parts. Javier slides you down enough that you're sitting all over the piano, your heels touching the ivory keys before weaving his hips and pulling him closer. You hold him by the dirty collar - his own fault - and he slides his hands over your thighs. You hold his chin with your index finger, so he looks at you, and you meet his teary eyes. You don't know if it's the thrill of being together again or the whiskey you dropped. Maybe his heart still beats for you, or the cold war between the two of you was already more biological than you thought. The purely sexual element ended as soon as it started. What you had was already something anatomical.
"I've been missing myself for a while," You say, before bringing your lips to his, in a kiss with a taste of future nostalgia.
And so you stayed for a few minutes, but you respected that Javier wasn't sober at all, and left without saying anything else. As if there was no more alcohol in your blood, Javier didn't beg you to stay either. Deep down, he regretted giving in so much.
But he decided he wouldn't be the loser again. Not for a second time.
(...)
At night, in the dark office, Javier drinks water from a whiskey glass to fool his body and keep working. In front of him, looking out the window, Murphy lights a cigarette. He had just arrived to ask for visas.
“You must know it's very important I get out of here. You know what I did, the risks I took.”
“I'm not interested in politics anymore,” Javier says, taking another sip. He makes a face when he tastes the water. “The problems of the world are not in my department. I'm a bar owner now.”
“Funny you say that. We all know about your career, how you collaborated with Los Pepes. Then with Don Berna. Now you say that.”
“Los Pepes no longer exists. Berna is dead. What of it?”
"Isn't it strange that you always happened to be fighting on the side of the underdog?" Steve teases him.
“Yes. I found that a very valuable hobby, too.” Javier mocks. “But now I'm trying to be a respectable businessman”.
Steve approaches, burning his cigarette in Peña's ashtray. "Are you enough of a businessman to appreciate an offer of a thousand dollars?"
Javier looks him up and down, understanding his game. "I appreciate it, but I don't accept it."
The blonde put his hands into his pockets, leaning in to intimidate the Latino. "I'll raise it to two thousand."
"My friend, you could make it a million dollars, or three, my answer would still be the same."
"There must be some reason why you won't let me have them."
“There is. I suggest you ask your wife." Javier smiles.
“I beg your pardon?”
"I said, ask your wife."
"My wife?"
"Yes."
Silence hangs in the room. Javier runs his tongue over his teeth, proud. He didn't regret it one bit. He only thought about how you lived a life of truth and elegance, while he collapsed in secret on the transparency of his feelings for you. But when Steve stopped staring out the window and turned to him with a huge disappointment in his eyes, Javier remembered that he hadn't thought about the consequences of stating such a vulgar and bitter truth to one of his best friends.
"I'm not going to pretend I didn't know." He says, running a hand over his blond hair. "But I didn't think you would spit on me like that."
Javier felt bad. He walked around the table and sat down in the big chair, looking for a cigarette to light, but the pack was empty. It would be slutty to ask Steve for one now.
"Tell me, was it the times I was in Medellín?"
Javier doesn't respond.
"Did I really need to go all those times to Medellín?"
Silence.
Steve takes a pack of cigarettes from his jacket, and takes one out, placing it on the table. Javier looks at him, not sure if he should accept. In the past, the blonde would do this for him to put in his ear. The two of them used to laugh when the cigarette got lost in the paperwork.
But now, just silence.
“I'm just asking you one thing.” Steve breaks the silence, leaning over the table. “If you didn't use her, and I have faith you didn't, if out of some love or any feeling you have in there, or just out of a hope that you can fuck her again, give her a visa. You can leave me here, I would die peacefully here in Casablanca. But take her away. Let her enjoy the Rio sun until she forgets about me."
This time, he was the one who spat the words out, leaving Javier alone and with a weight on his heart again. The door slammed just as Javier swallowed and closed his eyes.
Two fates were decided at that moment.
(...)
Steve was reading a newspaper on the little table next to the TV. You pretended to pay attention to the program, but you couldn't. All I could think about was why he had come so quietly after seeing Javier. You finally decided to bring it up:
"Steve, why don't you tell me about Peña? What did you find out?"
"He has the visas. " He said, not looking at you." But no intention of selling them."
You knew it. From the way he looked at you when you left last night, he would curse you.
"Did he give any reason?"
"He suggested I ask you." Shit.
"Ask me?"
"Yes. He said, 'Ask your wife.' I do not know why he said that." Steve said it, folding the newspaper under the coffee table, still not looking at you.
As much as Steve did not fully provide love, he was your safe place, the man that if you woke up beside you knew you would be at peace. He was charming, endearing, and comfortable. Javier was also the first two things, but he was also crazy, toxic, complicated. The difference is that you knew you could survive without them both, but no day without Steve would hurt, it would just be different. On the other hand, each day without Javier would be a death by a thousand cuts.
Would Javier do that? Leave Steve, an old friend, in the crosshairs of Escobar's former partners just out of jealousy, revenge? You knew he wasn't crazy like that, much less so passionate. After hours of thinking about Javier's strategies, as soon as your husband left for a department meeting, you knew what you had to do.
Javier was not passionate, but he was provocative. He wanted you to beg.
That's what you were going to do.
(...)
You went to Casablanca and asked Samuel for Javier's address. It was a little difficult to convince him, but in the end, he gave you the address and a spare key, begging you to let Peña know it wasn't his fault. Now you were sitting in his living room, a house much bigger than La Luna Llena. His scent was infused everywhere.
But you came back into focus when you heard the key turn on the doorknob. Javier entered the room scared, with a gun in his hand, but quickly ducked when he saw you. He slammed the door with a bang and turned to you angrily.
"How did you get in?"
"Samuel. I was very invasive”
“Literally.”
He tosses the suitcase on the table along with the keys and the gun and puts his coat on the chair. You get up, going to him.
"Javi, I had to see you."
“Do you use 'Javi' again? We're back in Colombia.”
“Please” You roll your eyes. "You can ask any price you want, but you must give me those visas."
Javier puts his hands on his hips. "I went through all that with your husband. It's no deal."
"I know how you feel about me, but I'm asking you to put your feelings aside for something more important." You insist.
"Do I have to hear again what a great man your husband is? What an important cause he fought for?"
"It was your cause, too. In your own way, you were fighting for the same thing."
"Yes. But I'm not fighting for anything anymore, except myself. I'm the only cause I'm interested in."
His coldness destroyed you. You couldn't let a past mistake put your husband in danger.
"Javi, we loved each other once. If Those days meant anything at all to you-
"I would not bring up Bogota if I were you. " Javier shouts, interrupting you.
You no longer have any idea what to do to convince him. Every second, Steve goes through your head and you know that if he could not save him, guilt will chase you forever.
"You want to feel sorry for yourself, don't you? With so much at stake, all you can think of is your own feelings. You're a, you're a coward, and a weakling!"
The last words shuffle due to the lump forming in your throat. You feel your body heat up, tears form in the corners of your eyes, but Javier doesn't move. And It hurts a lot more than you expected.
Rejecting you, for what you had done, was one thing. Harming someone you loved out of resentment was torture.
He turns to get a cigarette, and you realize it's the right time to use your last card up your sleeve.
"Now if you-" He stops short as he sees you holding a small revolver in your hand, pointed directly at him.
"All right. I tried to reason with you. I tried everything. Now I want those visas. Get. them. for. me.”
Javier remains unconcerned, which only makes your blood run higher. You feel your hand trembling on the icy metal of the gun. But Javier doesn't move.
“Put them on the table!”
“No."
”For the last time, put them on the table!” You yell.
“If Steve means so much to you, you won't stop at anything.” His voice is choked. He leans closer to you. “All right, I'll make it easier for you."
The tip of the gun touches his chest. You take a startled step back.
"Go ahead and shoot. You'll be doing me a favor.”
The sincerity in his voice takes you apart. The brown eyes glowing in the low street light find you and you know for the thousandth time you'd never have the courage to do what you threatened. Shivering, you put the gun down on the table and vent in messy words and sobs:
"Oh, Javi, I tried to stay away. I thought I would never see you again, that you were out of my life!"
He nods as if he understands you. When you realize it, he was already moving closer. The icy hands find your hips again, and yours touch his chest like that first time. It was a deja vu in a more painful version. Touching him, meeting his gaze, was a torturous time machine.
"If you knew how much I still love you!"
You clutched in his shirt and tears soaked your face. Javier wouldn't let go.
"So why did you leave me? Did you think a letter was enough?” You watch his eyes from tears too, but he swallows hard to get the words he wants. “I had so many questions. What I had done wrong to make you disappear, what I should have done, what I was, what I should have been! You messed me up, you drove me crazy!"
He tries to get out of your arms, but you hold his face. His eyes travel down your face to your mouth, and you smile at the realization, but you know you still have to justify things.
"Don Berna. Don Berna found out.”
Javier stares at you, pupils dilate.
“He told me you knew what you were doing, but that the day Pablo was killed he would find a way to blackmail you into continuing to collaborate with them. He left—" You stutter. "He left a bullet in the hotel, on my side of the pillow. I was the way. I couldn't see you ever again.”
Javier mumbles your name, still in shock. Your hands roam over his biceps, which are trembling just like his entire body.
“You. You loved me…"
"Javier…"
"You left because you loved me."
"Oh, Javi..."
After the revelation, you allow yourselves to indulge in an intense and painful kiss. Javier's tongue was hungry for you, spreading to every corner of your mouth in time with the icy hands running over your body. The wobbly feet tripped over yours, guiding you to the bed.
When you parted for breath, you watched Javier smiling. For the first time. It wasn't a strong smile, but it was sharp and breathless. In his eyes, the turbulence that enchanted you was gone. Inside him, there was only peace.
That's when you knew you were going to make love.
The rain began to fall slowly, like the first time. But this time it was a reunion. Even if you closed your eyes, you could still see every detail of his body.
You dropped your hands over his chest, slowly loosening his tie and unbuttoning his white shirt. Javier just looked at you, let you do everything. When the shirt fell to the floor, you irrationally stuck your lips to his skin.
Javier held tight to the hairs on the back of your neck as you knelt on the bed and brought your lips to his right nipple. You didn't know if he would like that, but when he let out a low moan you knew you had to go on.
"Like that..." He whispers. You ran your tongue over the smooth, now rigid skin, and tasted the woody scent. When you looked down and saw that his dick was already ticking, you smiled over his tanned skin.
His hands walked to the straps of your dress and slowly lowered them, revealing your bra-shaped breasts. His pupils dilated. You smiled, happy to feel wanted again. Happy to feel like a woman again.
Javier took you by the shoulders and guided you until you were laying on your back. His mouth moved to your neck, distributing thoughtful kisses. He was always careful not to leave marks, but not today. The longing was too huge for him to think rationally. And you didn't even care.
Your legs entwined his narrow hips, and you noticed that he had already unbuckled his belt and had his pants on to his knees. His underwear and your pantyhose were between you both, but they only added friction. He kept kissing your neck, collarbone, and shoulders, leaving little wet bites every time he found enough skin to fit between his teeth. His taste pupils seemed to reach his hypodermis.
You felt his swollen cock press against your thigh. When you lifted your leg a little and he moaned, you faced each other, understanding.
He got up to take off his underwear, and you unzipped your dress.
Looking at Javier was like dying and seeing heaven with every blink. You would never get used to the fire that formed between your legs every time you saw that tanned skin, tummy, and pubic hair. And you knew that you would never get used to how wet you always ended up after staring at his large and red cock, dilating for you and you only. The way he looks at you while catching you thirsting over his manly is just… poetry.
But Javier's beautiful look changes. The wrinkles on his forehead appear, as taut as if he were on a mission. When your dress is on the floor and you're only in pantyhose and a bra, he walks his hands across the bed until he's face to face with you. You lean on your elbows to face him.
He stares at you for a few seconds, but his gaze goes back to your hip. Strong hands grip the waistband of the sock that marked your belly, and you lift your lower back to help. His knuckles travel over your skin as he removes your sock, over thighs, knees, and finally ankles. He throws the fabric on the floor and smirks.
“Classy girl…” He walks closer again. He seems so worried. "Are you sure?"
“Javi…”
When you say his name, you notice it oozes from between your legs a little. He notices, and smiles, happy at the effect he still has on you. You watch his cock throb.
“I know what your cunt wants, baby. I see it. I feel it.” He says, involving his cock with his hands. The wrist slowly walks from the base to the head. When he catches your throbbing cunt, a little bit of his pre-cum leaked over the top. "But would your heart beg for me?"
"Everyday." You say while guiding your own hand to your cunt. You open up the space with your index and ring fingers, placing each on the side of each minor lip. You rescue the liquid with your middle one and spread it to your clit. Javier stares at you, his heart-shaped mouth is slightly open and panting. His big hands worked fast into his cock, fucking his own fist. "What about yours?" You say breathlessly, circling your clit.
"I'm not... a lover."
Javier takes his right hand between your legs, and while you work on spiral movements, he places a finger into your entrance. You gasp at the coldness, but he doesn't stop. At the next second, Javier puts two fingers into you, twisting them around you so his digitals can find your sweet spot.
You scream his name, and he screams yours. You both smile and work your both hands at the same rhythm.
“But if you w-were…a lover…” You say between moans. "What would you... say?"
Javier spreads his two fingers inside you, making scissors move, and you roll your hips, fucking yourself into his hand. He almost lays down into the mattress, his weakling biceps from the movements and the climax running down through his body. You see his back muscles flexing, the head of his cock getting bigger and reddish.
“I would say that… my heart aches for you.” He throws his head back, blessing his climax and yours. You can't see anything anymore as you feel the muscles in your body weaken and twitch, your head getting too heavy and being thrown back too. Your body arches, your chest expands, as if you could scream Oh Lord, I love him. I love this man so fucking much. I missed him so fucking much.
And before your ear is covered by white noise, you can hear his rough, uncontrolled voice, scream wild:
“And I missed you so much!”
(...)
You had sex just one more time, amid the rush of the night that insists on ending. Despite the love you shared, the world was still the same, and the earth still turned. Murphy still had to go.
You were lying on your side, being the little spoon. Javier's hand held against your chest, his other arm tucked under your neck. He cupped his face in the crook of your neck, sniffing your hair. His leg was over yours. At your back, his racing, eager heart pounded. The rain was stopping. The few drops of water still trickled down the window's glass.
"Do you think, if we wanted…" Javier started to speak, after a few silent minutes. "Could we have more than that?"
Because your hands were intertwined, your wedding ring scratched part of his fingers. That's what made him think, that if the situation were different, maybe you could take that jewel off and accept him in its entirety.
"Of course. If you were more romantic." You play with him, laughing. Your shoulders shake against his chest.
"I could pretend." Javier continues, "Sometimes."
"What would you do?" You say and turn around, laying your back on the bed. Javier leans his head on his palm to look at you. As he thinks, his index finger circles your collarbone.
"I'd dance with you. Salsa, tango-"
"Bullshit!” You say laughing, but he looks serious.
"I would watch your weird movies."
"Would we go to the beach?" You suggest.
"Better. We would have sex in the sand.”
You get embarrassed and turn on your side too, hiding your face in the pillow.
“I wouldn't cook for you. But every time you came home from work tired, I would make you smile.” You keep going. Javier laughs. "Would you sing for me?"
"Never!" He screams. You both laugh. "But maybe I'd memorize poems and tell you when you were really mad."
“I have a better idea. You would know by heart. A communist.” You challenge him. He arches an eyebrow.
"If you're talking about Neruda, I've already filled this in."
You get up and sit on the bed. Javier rests his hands on his hips.
"Really?"
"I read for work." He justifies it. You see his chest rise and fall, agitated. "If I were a romantic, I would have read and think about you..."
“Javier…”
“En esta historia sólo yo me muero..." He begins. You get closer to him in disbelief. "Y moriré de amor porque te quiero."
[In this story only I die, and I will die of love because I love you]
Your eyes fill with tears so fast, you can barely see him. He's lying there nervously, lips trembling and hand desperately on your waist, fear coursing through his veins that you'll just leave again. As if for one last time, he gently says, as he works to swallow the lump in his throat that insisted on forming:
"Porque te quiero, a sangre y fuego."
[because I love you, dear, to blood and fire]
You throw yourself on his chest, lying down in despair. His scent enters your nose so fast your head aches as if your brain is working fast enough that every bit of him gets memorized. Like a bad song. Like constant déjà vu. Like an old sonnet known by heart.
“Javier, please…” You beg. “Give Steve the flight ticket. Let him go. I will justify. Or rather, I won't say anything else, I'll stay with you!"
Your desperate words were the best music for his ears. But he didn't know what to say. As if in a dream where his body paralyzes and his voice can't get out, Javier only managed to stroke your hair, gently.
(...)
The next day, Murphy hadn't spoken to you anymore, you didn't even know if he had seen how late you arrived. You drove to the airport, everything was normal as usual. You thought you would suffer every second, knowing it would be your last moments with Steve, but your heart has never been so peaceful.
Until you saw Javier.
Standing in a taxi, biting the corner of his mouth. When he sees you, he straightens up and opens his jacket, pulling out some papers.
“Mr. Murphy." He says and hands the ticket to Murphy, who smirks. "Mrs."
Javier tries to hand you the paper, but you refuse to take it. Staring at Steve, you find him smiling.
“Javier…”
“You're getting on that plane.”
You feel your chest splinter like armored glass, shattered but still in place, with each piece hitting harder and harder. Steve's figure disappears over the horizon, towards the plane.
“No, Javi, no. What has happened to you? Last night we said-”
“Last night we said a great many things. You're getting on that plane with Steve where you belong.” He interrupts you without making eye contact.
“Javier, please don't…” You walk up to him, and you don't care about Steve either. Your hands, fisted, hit his chest with what little strength you had. He holds onto your shoulders so you don't fall and you look him in the eye.
“If that plane leaves the ground and you're not with him, you'll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life.”
The words were firm and assertive as if he had already planned. There was no coldness, but no great emotion either. The tears that formed at the corners of his eyes were sour. Yours, in an unbearable saltiness, reached your chin in desperation you barely noticed.
"But what about us?"
“We'll always have Bogota.” His hands caressed your back one last time. "We got it back last night." Finally, Javier laughs. A shy smile, not enough to show teeth, but one you'd recognize anywhere.
In a less desperate moment, you wrap your hands around his broad shoulders and lean your face against his velvet suit. In a strong sigh, you breathe in his perfect woody scent, that mixture of cinnamon, whiskey, and cigarette, blended with your own tears.
"And I said I would never leave you."
"And you never will." Javi leans his cheek against your hair and says in a choked voice: “But here's the truth, I can be a lover. What...what I can't be the husband you need in this crazy, awful world. Someday you'll understand that. Now, now…”
He breaks the hug until you can face him. Javier brings his forefinger up to your chin, wiping away the tear standing there. Lifting your face until you meet his wet brown eyes, he whispers, "Here's looking at you, kid."
"Ready baby?" Steve yells, some distance away.
"You better hurry, or you'll miss that plane!" Javi says comfortably, in a smile that you know is just to comfort you. The words get lost on your tongue the instant you turn to walk toward Steve.
At that moment, there is a tense encounter between the present and the past, between the two versions that each of them knew, between the “classy girl” and the “baby”. But there was a part of you, which was more than the combination of the two men, it was who you found every morning as soon as you opened your eyes. And deep down, despite a broken heart and countless tears that drowned your rationalism, you knew that in that piece of yours, there was a choice.
In just one step, you decided that your future wouldn't be all about nostalgia. Between the red of intense flashbacks and the gray of comfortable boredom, you turned to the light you encountered yesterday as synaesthesia. Where the beauty of mingling between sour, bittersweet, and sweet itself, and navigating between all colors was the only possible choice.
He smiled with a cigarette between his lips. He placed his hands on his hips and looked you up and down.
Between smiles and tangled teeth, you chose him as an old Hollywood kiss.
-------
thank you so much for reading! ATGB was a life-changing work and I'm very proud of it!
thanks to Luna and Ester specifically, for beta reading and the endless support.
you can check out my other works here. I have some drabbles and a Din AU. hope it entertains you as much as this one did (i hope it did lol)
taglist (let me know if you want to be added): @la-lunaluna @raresciences @lokimischixf @hansolotr @lukanasky @voteforpedro09 @lafresamilk @beskarboobs
you don’t have to thank me, actually, i’m the one who appreciates you letting me be a part of this. i’m very proud of you, of you evolution as a writer and how agtb has changed his life. congratulations! 🥳
