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aerynwrites · 4 years

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Cuts and Bruises - Javier Peña x Reader

Author’s Note: Okay so i had A TON of fun writing this one! If y’all can’t tell i freaking love the whole ‘person A takes care of injured person B both emotionally and physically’ and I just...UGH. Also have I mentioned how handsome this man is? No matter what role he’s playing? Okay I’m done now. I hope you all enjoy and I would love to know what you all think! <3 P.S. to the requester, I took some liberties with the request, I hope you don’t mind!

Requested?...Yes! Can you do a javier peña x reader (she’s also dea) where she shows up at his apartment drunk because she’s stressed about the job, but when she gets her face,knees,and arms are scratched up because she tripped outside so he helps clean are up and takes care care of her. He sits with her until she falls asleep.Can it be a brother/sister relationship? Let me know if you have any questions (Requested by @kaelyn-lobrutto24)

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Pretty descriptive mentions of shooting someone? death, injury, angst,

////

You knew that taking this job in Colombia would be difficult and, frankly, you were surprised that you were even assigned to this position being a new agent. But your supervisor in the states was constantly singing your praises to the higher ups and apparently his good word is what landed you were you were now. In the beginning of your time here in Colombia, you had immediately clicked with Steve, since both of you were relatively new to the scene. However, Javier took much longer to warm up to you. You didn’t hold it against him, you knew this job was dangerous and difficult, so you didn’t blame him for not wanting another rookie around. But you proved yourself to him after a few weeks and he warmed up to your bubbly personality, falling into a protective older brother roll in your life. So, that is where you were now. Except now, in this very moment your hand was wrapped firmly around your pistol and blood speckled across your face and chest.

You had just killed someone...a kid no less.

You remembered seeing his head snap back as you shot him, warm sticky blood splattering onto your skin. You stood stock still, eyes wide, as his lifeless body crumpled to the ground in a heap. Your breathing was ragged, the heavy smell of blood and tang of metal on your lips the only thing you are able to process. You hear yelling, someone faintly calling your name past the ringing in your ears and you see Javier appear in your line of sight, his large hand covering your smaller shaking ones still holding the pistol in front of you.

“Hey-“ he called, gently lowering your weapon and pulling it from your grasp, “(Y/N), look at me, hey,” you finally ripped your eyes from the kid, no older than fifteen lying motionless on the floor of the drug lab and met Javi’s concerned ones.

“I-I-“ you couldn’t even get the words out before Javier was pulling you into his side and out of the house back to the police cars waiting out front.

He opened the passenger side door and helped you sit on the edge of the seat before pulling a rag from the glove compartment and wiping at your face gently, “Are you okay?” he asked gently as he continued to wipe the blood from your face.

You nod slowly, looking down at your red stained shirt, “It’s n-not mine,” you feel your lip wobble as your throat constricts, “He was just a kid,” you whisper.

Javier’s gaze snapped up to yours at your words, the tone all too familiar to him, “Hey, you need to listen to me,” he said firmly, tilting your chin to look at him instead of your hands, “He was going to kill you. You did what you had to do, end of story.”

You watched, eyes empty, as the group started to pile into their cars and head back to the embassy. Apparently, you all had gotten what you came for.

You looked back to Javier and shook your head, pushing back the tears that were fighting to come out, “That doesn’t make it any better Javi.”

He just looks at you, dark eyes soft and full of concern, he rests his hand on your knee and gives it a small squeeze, a comforting gesture. He takes in a breath to say something, but you just turn in your seat to face the front of the vehicle, eyes not meeting his as you buckle your seat belt.

“I just want to go home.”

Javier doesn’t bother mentioning the reports you need to fill out, you can do those later. Instead he just lets out a quiet sigh and nods, closing the door and walking over to the driver’s side, sliding in and starting the ignition.

* * *

Javier walked out of the Embassy building several hours after dropping you off at your shared apartment building. He had walked you in, and triple checked that you were okay before he felt fine enough to leave you by yourself. It was the last thing he wanted to do. You had never fatally shot someone before, let alone a kid. He knows that he definitely should not be leaving you alone, but you heavily insisted you were okay and that you would see him after work. So, with a final curt nod and a quick hug he left you at home and returned to work to fill out the forms from the raid. Something that took way longer than it should have and left him parking his car at his apartment at…ten o’clock at night.

He sighed, running his hand through his hair before locking his car and walking towards the apartment building. He wanted to check on you as soon as possible. As he walked across the street towards the steps of your building the sight of a figure sitting on the steps caught him off guard. They were hunched over, hands rubbing furiously at their forearms and knees, and swaying unsteadily as they sat. he cautiously approached the figure, unsure of who they were without adequate lighting, but as he got closer his eyes widened in realization that it was you. Sitting on the apartment steps with several scrapes and cuts covering your hands, elbows and knees, and the faint smell of alcohol coming from your person. He jogged the last few feet towards you and crouched down to your level, pulling your hands into his own, examining the injuries.

“(Y/N), what happened?” he asked worriedly.

His voice finally seemed to garner a reaction out of you, and you looked up, head lolling to the side slightly, a lopsided smile coming onto your face, “Javi! You’re back!” you exclaim excitedly, trying to stand up but teetering dangerously to the side, forcing Javier to steady you and sit you back down. You were absolutely shit faced, and Javier felt a sense of guilt wash over him.

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone,” he lamented, “What are you doing out here at night?” he scolds lightly, “and drunk?”

You shook your head, “m’ not drunk,” you slur, “I just had a couple of drinks, ‘s all. But...” you trail off, looking down to your hands and knees once more, “I made an oops-y and tripped down the stairs,” you giggled.

Javier looked at your disoriented state and heaved yet another sigh before swiftly picking you up into his arms bridal style.

“Woah!” you exclaim, limbs flailing around like limp noodles, “Javi you’re so strong - woohoo!” you cheered as he carried you through the door and to his apartment, which was next to yours.

You started to drunkenly hum ‘here comes the bride’ quietly as Javier fumbled with his keys before opening the door and entering the apartment, kicking it shut behind him. You let out a sigh when he set you down on the couch and leaned back into it, eyes closing.

“I’m going to go get some stuff to clean you up, don’t move,” he says pointedly, aiming a finger at you.

You just give him a nod and he takes that as an okay and leaves the room.

As he is fumbling through his bathroom cabinet, gathering the items he needs, he hears a muffled thump come from the living room. He rolls his eyes and gathers the last of the first-aid items and quickly walks back into the room.

“What did I tell you about-“ he stops in his tracks.

He sees you, now sitting on the floor once again rubbing furiously at the blood covering your hands and knees, violent sobs racking your body. A stark contrast to your earlier bubbly drunken demeanor. He rushes over to you kneeling down in front of you, setting the items down and grasping your wrists firmly in his hands, stopping your ministrations.

“Hey, hey – (Y/N) what’s wrong, what happened?” he asks desperately, trying to figure out what was running through your mind.

“T-there’s s-so much blood-“ you gasp out between sobs, “I killed him – I killed him and now it won’t go away!” you wailed trying to wipe away the blood once more.

Javier felt his heart drop to his stomach at your broken cries, not knowing how to help you. He too had experienced the same guilt, but after years in the DEA and the consequent deaths that come with it, he had become numb to it all. So, to see you, the bubbly innocent woman he had some to see as a sister, so broken and destroyed…it hurt him more than anything.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone,” he says finally, letting go of your hands in favor of running a wet washcloth over your hands and knees to rid the blood from them, “I’m sorry.”

You don’t say anything as he continues to clean, sanitize, and bandage the small scrapes, the alcohol working as a wonderful numbing agent. When he was done, and you were finally clean and bandaged he pulled your hands into his own and flipped them over and back, showing you.

“See? The blood’s gone and we’re all better,” he said reassuringly, his eyes meeting your still watery ones.

You opened your mouth to speak, but all that came out was another broken sob and you leaned forward laying your head on his shoulder, “No, it’s not-“ you gasp, and Javier’s arms come up to pull you into his lap in a tight embrace, “he was just a kid – a kid Javi.”

You continued to sob into his shoulder, tears dampening his shirt as you buried your face deeper into it, looking for any way to escape the guilt running through your veins. You wrapped your arms around him, fisting handfuls of his shirt in your hands.

“I know,” Javier said quietly, a hand rubbing up and down your back slowly, “I know, sweetheart, but it will get better. I promise.”

And somehow, despite the aching guilt that still resided within you, you believed him, and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

/////

Permanent Tags: @Lord-wolfgen @petalduck

#javier peña #Javier pena x reader #narcos #narcos x reader

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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I, A Russian Immigrant [Trixya] by ArtificalMandy

Katya’s a foreign, rich girl, and Trixie’s a poor, native sweatshop girl.

EARLY JUNE

Well, we’re off to America. Where’s that? I don’t know. I only know it’s far away. Really far away. You have to ride and ride on a big boat until you get there. And when you get there, mama says they undress you and look you in your eyes.

You have to be careful though because they don’t let just anyone in. If you’re paralyzed, blind, a prostitute, or answer “yes” to the question “would you kill the President of the United States?” they won’t let you in. But I can’t imagine why anybody would say yes to that. Sometimes, I practice opening my eyes real big in the mirror and saying “No” and then “I’m an American.”

Today our neighbor came over: “You’re really going to America? Just last year my brother and his wife went. The first few months we heard nothing. Then we get a letter, which reads- ‘America is a free country where everyone is miserable.’ Now, I ask you, why write this? Why not say like a human being- the what and the when and the how?”

Now, we have to do the worst part of leaving- saying good bye.

Mama and Papa take me between them even though I’m 12 and not a baby. Then we march from house to house. We spend the whole day doing that. It’s boring, and I wish people could say goodbye a little quicker.

I sit next to the neighbor boy by the stove, and I hate him because my parents like to tease me and call him my husband.

“Will you write to me?” he asks.

“Maybe.”

“Do you even know how?”

“In America anyone can learn,” I say to him and stick my tongue out. I know he’s jealous that I’m going to America, and he’s not.

++++++

LATE JUNE

Everyone always writes in books about seeing the statue of Liberty. I look out the boat, but there’s such heavy fog I can’t see anything. The whole New York skyline is gone.

It seems that America isn’t to everybody’s liking, which is strange to me. I see a girl throw up overboard, into the water. I tug on my mama’s hand and ask why. She won’t answer, so I follow the girl down to see where she lives. Everything in the lower decks smells like sickness and a little boy is crying that he’s hungry. I run back up to our room and close the door.

As we unload to Ellis Island, I watch the girl leave with the hungry boy. Is that her baby or baby brother? The girl can’t be more than four years older than me. How can you have a baby at sixteen? Well, mama had me at nineteen, but nineteen isn’t sixteen.

I hold my mama’s hand tight.

They let my parents through quickly. They barely examine us, and I think it’s because papa and I know some english. They don’t even ask me if I want to kill the President. I don’t see the girl or her boy, and I wonder if they’ve been sent back. Why do such thoughts trouble me on my first day to America? This is a wondrous land, and, even though it’s foggy today, I bet that it’s beautiful.

My mama buys me a picture book full of all the Presidents, and I feel patriotic. I beg her to buy me an American flag, and, as we walk to our new apartment, I wave it at anyone who will look. My papa shakes his head, but he laughs.

In the morning, I go to the window and gasp.

Oh! The country is better than I thought. Everything is buzzing with life, and it’s so bustling and busy that I don’t even feel homesick. I find my American flag and wave it proudly.

++++++

EARLY JULY

Today mama took me to buy some new clothes.

We went down the corner from our new apartment in NYC. There she bought me a skirt and blouse, a blue print with red buttons and a hat, which looked so pretty in my blonde hair. I took off my brown old things and threw them away. I hated Russia, and the old things. When I looked in the mirror, I said to myself-

“Wow, Katya, look at you now.”

The Russian shopkeeper, Tanya, is a big woman, and she hugged me tight and told me I looked beautiful. I shook my head and said, “Speak only English. I’m an American now, so don’t speak Russian to me.”

++++++

LATE JULY

My papa’s so old fashioned. I hate him.

If I eat ice cream, he gets mad. Whenever he sees me licking away at a strawberry cone, he’ll snatch it away and say “What a horrible place this country for young girls. What a horrible place.”

Papa hates when I sneak off to movies. I tried to go with him to the movie house once, and he didn’t care for it all. “I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Let alone for my daughter. There’s no telling what thoughts they’re putting in your head, Katya.”

My mama just tells him to be quiet. After that she either takes me or I sneak out by myself because papa sees something bad in every moving picture. How is that possible? It’s beyond weird.

The weirdest thing he hates? Lettuce and celery!

“This is a house for people,” he says as I cover my mouth to stop myself from giggling. “Not for rabbits and cows! Ach!”

Today I put a piece of lettuce in his bed to annoy him and then I leave because I knew I can. Besides, it’s boring at home with mama. All she wants me to do is clean, clean, and clean. I didn’t come to America to wash floors.

So I sneak out to see another forbidden movie.

Instead of going straight there, I stop by the library. I can’t read anything besides picture books, but the librarian, Ms. Malanaphy, is kind towards me and gives me chocolate bars for coming. I settle in the back coach with a colorful picture book and bite off a piece of the chocolate when I see her.

She’s got big blonde hair, bigger and bushier than mine, and I can tell that she’s quite large. No, not large like Tanya large. I mean that she’s only a year or two older than me, but she’s got breasts and thighs. She’s wearing a modest dress, but you can tell that she’s womanly through it. At first I think she’s curled up with a book but then I realize she’s sleeping. Beyond weird.

“Hi,” I whisper because I don’t meet many girls my age. Or if I do, they don’t care to talk to me. I’m glad that I have my light blue bow in my hair because it brings out my eyes. My heart skips a beat as she sits up.

“Hello,” she yawns and flinches. Oops, I’m standing too close.

I hold out my candy bar and blush: “You want?”

She eagerly snaps off a big piece and shoves it in her mouth. Then, realizing how quickly she did it, she blushes.

“My name’s Katya Zamolodchikova. You?” I easily recite. I’ve been practicing on shopkeepers and with Ms. Malanaphy for weeks.

“My name’s Trixie Mattel.”

“How are you?”

She hungrily eyes the rest of my chocolate bar: “Good.”

“Do you want to go with the movies with me?”

Trixie shakes her head so fast that my heart drops.

I give her my candy bar and promise I’ll pay for the ticket. She eagerly nods, devouring it in three bites, and then follows after me. She’s a couple inches taller, and my eyes are level with her breasts. This is a weird thought, but I can’t help but stare at them. It’s just because I’m shorter and scrawnier. Mama says all girls develop differently, but I wish that I would grow now.

“Where do you live?” I ask her, and I hope I didn’t say it wrong because she just stares at me and shakes her head. It’s not a great conversation, but it’s the best company I’ll have all day.

“School?” I finally say when I remember the word. I’m starting classes this September.

“No, I work in a factory.”

“Oh.”

I don’t know what ‘factory’ means, but I can tell by her expression that she doesn’t like it very much.

We watch the movies together, and I stare at her hand. It’s close to mine, and I don’t know why I stare at it. Just that I do. Afterwards, I offer to buy us both ice cream, even though I shouldn’t spend all my allowance in one day, but Trixie shakes her head and says she has to go back to work. I ask her ‘tomorrow?,’ but she just waves.

I watch her go, and I have this funny feeling in my stomach. I hope I see her again.

#trixya #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #au #cisgirl au #lesbian au #coming of age #romance #rpdr fanfiction #submission #artificialmandy #i a russian immigrant

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