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jessiebanethedragon · 3 years

Text

BOG to YYZ (Javier x reader)

Hey all! not too sure where this came from, but i was walking in the snow today and had this idea of bringing Javi home for the first time! I’m Canadian so it takes place in Canada, sorry it’s not more ambiguous i just felt compelled to belt this one shot out outta nowhere.

Please let me know what you think!

Javier x Canadian!Reader

Javier was such a beautiful sleeper, you lost count of how many sleepless nights you spent watching him softly snore. Those humid days in Bogata, and anxiety ridden nights in Medellin were overshadowed by him shirtless and passed out on your bed, those nights where he’d pull you closer and closer in his sleep for fear of you slipping away. And the dull ache in your neck from looking up at his face, finally calm while he slept.

Seeing him now feels so different, passed out in the window seat of the airplane, dress shirt unwrinkled and hand not hovering above his belt where he kept his gun. The Narcos were gone, Pablo Escobar no more.

“What will you do when we’ve caught him?” You’d asked one night, stuck in a cop car just outside of a narcos den, waiting for something to happen.

“What will you do maravillosa?” He retorted, pulling his sunglasses down to look into your eyes, even though in the dead of night he didn’t need them anyways.

“I’d like to see my family again.” You told him softly, thinking of the thick snowflakes and broad pine trees sent pangs of longing through your chest.

“You never talk about them.” Javier commented, lighting a cigarette and opening his window.

“You never talk about yours.” You quipped back, noticing his raised eyebrow even though he was staring at the Sicario den across the street. Your voice, he noted, was softer now, the same way it would soften when you whispered reassuringly to him after a particularly bad day.

“I don’t like my family.” He pressed, purposely leaving gasps in the conversation in hopes of getting you to talk.

“Well, i don’t really either, i guess my family isn’t really my family, it’s more close friends, and then their families, i don’t know, it just made sense to me when i was little, and i never thought about it I guess,” You were playing with your hands again out of nerves, and he was startled to realise, you wanted him to like your family.

“That’s what we’ll do then.” Javier told you firmly. Flicking his cigarette to the ground even though he wasn’t done with it yet. You began to smile at him before you caught movement from the building, two figures exiting out a side door. One hand flying to the car door and the other to your gun, moving to get out of the car, Javies hand stopped you.

“I mean it, when this is over we’ll fly out, I'll meet your folks, we can stay for a bit, put this whole mess behind us. I mean it Maravillosa.” You really smiled at that, and pulled him in for a quick kiss to seal the promise.

“Well then, let's catch these Batados then.” You smirked, and Javier didn’t even have it in him to tell you that you’d said Batted instead of Bastards.

Landing in Toronto in early January was something else entirely. The snow had settled firmly by late december and now all there was to greet people was frigid winds and dangerous ice. And yet you couldn't stop smiling at the familiar biting cold and puffs of air that could be seen as you exhaled.

Finding your excitedly waiting family was a mission all on its own. Becoming a fluster of hugs, hellos, and ‘we’ve heard so much about you’ to your boyfriend in a situation that you thought for sure wasn’t Javier friendly.

“Kiddos run ahead and get the car started for your auntie, it’s been a long time since she was in the cold.” You sister said, passing along the keys to her children who took off running through the car park.

“Thanks.” You said trying to subtly wrestle Javi into a beanie and out of his baseball hat. And pulling a face when he kept meeting you hands as you went to put the hat on.

“We saw the news,” your mum whispered. “Are you both okay?”

“He’s dead.” You stated, “that's all that matters, wasn't either of us who pulled the trigger anyways.”

“Your mum wanted to throw a party.” Your dad chuckled, oh how you missed his brashness. “Celebrate the asshole being dead.” Javier chuckled.

“That sounds like a party I'd be interested in.”

Javier hates the snow. He hates wearing the stupid jackets and having to preapre himself with various layers and accessories just to be able to walk out the front door. He hates having to clean off the car, and most of all he hates how dark it gets halfway through the afternoon. On top of that he never knows what in the hell your dad is talking about and he’s sick of trying to remember the difference between a Toonie and a Loonie. Why did he think this was a good idea? And why the fuck did he think he’d fit in with your family? But it’s you, and he’d do anything for you, so even on the days when he wants to take off back to columbia, leave like he did at the altar of his last meaningful relationship, he wouldn't do that to you.

You’re sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee that gets extended to him as he joins you, taking a sip and grimacing at the amount of sugar that's in it he hands the cup back.

“My mum says they're all going over to my aunt and uncles tonight.” You tell him, waiting to gauge his reaction.

“I thought you hated your aunt?” He says stealing your cup again after you’ve had a sip, still pulling a face at how sweet the beverage is.

“No this is my aunt who isn't really my aunt.” You explain.

“Ohhh, you mean the couple that lived next to you guys who are more like grandparents?” Javier asks, trying to keep names and people straight in his head. You make a noise of conformation as you take another sip of coffee.

“I can get us out of going.” You offer,

“Why would we do that?” Javier questions, confused, maybe he was missing something, or confusing them with someone else but as far as he knew you loved this side of your non-family.

“I don’t know, there’s gonna be a lot of people there, and it’s really different from Columbia and you hate the snow and…” You trail off.

“And?” he’s pushing you to continue talking. Damn DEA tactics, you think to yourself.

“And I think you hate it here.” You say flatly, months of fighting dirty in Columbia has hardened you, there's no such thing as letting it down gently anymore.

“I don’t hate it here.” He lies. “it’s just…” he stops for a moment. “It's just not Columbia.”

“Do you want to go back to Columbia?” You ask, you’ve been nervous to have this conversation, but you don’t show it, another perk of dealing with the world's most dangerous drug dealers, you’ve learned to hide your fears.

“No... yes, no. Maybe.” Javier admits, thinking back to that first day, when you showed up at the embassy, long sleeves and cardigan like it wasnt hot as hell outside. How you stumbled through spanish and furred your eyebrows every time he talked too fast.

“We can go, if you want.” Your voice brings him back to the moment. “We can go back to Columbia.”

“Maravillosa…” Javier sighs, pulling you into his chest.

“I don’t mind, honestly.” You tell him, scared he’s slipping further away the longer he stays.

“I don’t want to go back to Columbia.” He tells you with a kiss on your head.

“Promise?”

“sí prometo.”

Now this is Javier's kind of scene, you’re crowded around the fireplace in someone's garage passing around food and alcohol without a care in the world. He’s settled into a campfire chair, one arm over your shoulder with a beer in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth, courtesy of your extended family. They listen to all his plights in Colombia and respond with warm laughs and calming comments. This is something he could get used to, maybe not the snow, but when a friend of your dad's friend offers to take him hunting, Javier actually finds himself wanting to go, and not only to upstage Steve the next time he sees him. It’s so picture perfect that the Javier Pena who existed before he met you would’ve gagged at the sight.

And yet, when his phone rings, and he excuses himself to take it, standing outside in the horrible weather. Answering it with a “Pena”, and rubbing his forehead in anxiety as the voice on the other side begins to talk, he cuts them off.

“I’ll be in Bogata by the end of the week.” He tells the DEA agent on the other end of the line, he does it without thinking, without hesitating. And when he stomps out of the cigarette in the snow, he wonders how he is going to tell you that now, after everything he went through, after all his promises, he is going after the Cali Cartel.

Translations:

Maravillosa - Gorgeous

sí prometo - I promise

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