Nᴏᴛ Iɴᴛᴏ Bᴏʏs (Jᴀᴠɪᴇʀ Pᴇñᴀ)
ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Javier Peña × Male Reader.
𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2,4 k.
𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: You had been working for the Medellín cartel from the United States for a long time, until the war against the cartel reached another lever of violence and your boss Pablo Escobar ordered you to move to Colombia. When you arrived, you met an interesting man that would cause a war of feelings inside you.
𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: spoilers for narcos, angst, mentions of drug, mentions of war, mentions of death, threatening, swearing, mentions of unholy places (yknow what i mean), mentions of making love (but like, with no love), subtle mentions of homophobe society, no physical descriptios of reader (only said that its a boy), no use of Y/N. (lmk if i missed any).
𝔸/ℕ: oh boy did it hurt to write this. didnt want it to go this way at first but i just kept writing and damn, i love what i wrote. sorry for yall, really. i promise next fic is gonna be much, much less heartbreaking. anyway, hope you enjoy this!
It happened. You told yourself it wouldn’t. But it did. And you were so fucked up.
You had known Javier Peña for some months. With the war against the drugs and the cartels going, everyone knew everyone. That was something you learned fast when you moved to Colombia. The very day you arrived, you were already being tracked by everyone in town, including the kids. Still, you tried to keep it on the low.
You had moved to Colombia as an order from your boss. Of course, and like everyone else was in that time, you were involved in drug activities, and were working for the Medellín cartel from the United States. Your job was as simple as keeping track of the extradited drugsters that got to the States from the cartel and visited them once in a while, informed them of the current situation in the cartel —of course, in secret code so the cops wouldn’t get any of that information—, and you kept sending money into their bank accounts for whatever purposes they wanted to give it when they got out from jail or whatever. At least it had been as simple as that, until your boss, Pablo Escobar, ordered you to move to Colombia. As you had heard —from Escobar himself, the news and all the rumors—, the war against drugs had gone to another level. You assumed that was why Escobar wanted you in Colombia, perhaps looking for that some extra backup you could give him and his men when they fucked up. Whatever it was, you just did what you did best: obey without questions. And the day right after Escobar told you to come to Colombia, you were already unpacking your baggage in your new appartment.
Of course, and as you expected, you had received orders that very day. Your new job consisted of organising the drug deliveries and making sure the were done just in time, and counting the money in case someone had to go take care of the fuckers that tried to trick Escobar. Soon, you were involved in most of his important plans, too. He had said that it was an… ascension for doing your job well.
That’s how you became one of his right hand men, too. You became as close to him as Quica and Limón, who you also became close to. Soon enough, the three of you were eating, drinking, partying and getting high together when Escobar didn’t need you. You even went to brothels together every now and then, when you had a night to rest from all the drug war thing.
It was one of those free nights in a brothel when you had met him for the first time.
You saw him walking out of one of the brothel’s rooms, still fixing his belt over his pants and with a lit cigarette positioned between his lips.
Those so good-looking lips.
You stood staring at him for a couple of seconds, checking him out. He didn’t seem to notice you looking at him until he got out of the brothel, when he glanced at you for a moment. That little glance was enough to make your heart flutter. You hadn’t given it much importance then, and just continued your night at the brothel with some random girl.
Or at least you hadn’t given it much importance until you met him again.
It was another one of your free nights. That time, though, you had decided to give Quica and Limón some space for themselves at the brothel while you just went to some bar and had a drink. You didn’t have much time alone with yourself since you came to Colombia, and you wanted to spend some time relaxing and having a chat with your inner thoughts. But it turned out, that night you weren’t able to spend alone time either.
The same man you had seen getting out of the brothel some weeks ago sat next to you at the bar. He called you “the guy that was looking at him when he got out of the brothel”, which was kind of embarrassing. Though you didn’t give much importance to anything about that conversation either when he got out his DEA agent badge and said that he knew who you were. Of course you were somewhat scared at first, he had the authority to take you to jail or even extradite you right there and then.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he tried to convince you to help him stop the drug war. He named some of the men he and his partners at the DEA had lost those last years because of the war against the Medellín cartel, and he numbered all the innocent deaths and every battle they had to fight only so it could result in more innocent people dead. Then he threatened you, saying he’d send you back to the States as one of those extradited drugsters you had been working for not so long ago, if you didn’t help him. He knew you were close to Escobar and his other right hand men, and he wanted to get from you as much information as posible.
You felt some pity for the man. He seemed a bit desperate, asking someone as you to help him get Escobar. And you felt bad because of how he looked when he named all the people he had lost because of his stupidity and desperation to do so. And you didn’t want to be extradited either —death didn’t scare you, but going to jail in the States did.
So you agreed.
You started giving Peña every information he asked from you. You told him everything Escobar and his family and men did, everywhere they went, all of their plans… You gave him all the information you had access to, which was basically all of it. And after some time of being his informant, you saw how much danger you were putting yourself at. Way too much danger to risk your life just for the money Peña gave you in exchange for all the information.
That’s how you realized you weren’t just doing it for the money anymore. You were doing it for him.
And it was weird. It hurt.
You met him every free night you had to update him about everything going on. And that’s just how it worked: you met, you gave him the information, and he headed off to get more of whatever other intel he could gather from someone else, who were usually sluts from some fancy brothel he liked. Watching him going to see and fuck one of those sluts he called informants made you jealous, something you couldn’t believe.
It kept going like that for a while, though soon, Quica and Limón started to suspect. You weren’t as close to them as you had been before the night you talked with Peña. You kept telling them it was fine, that there was nothing wrong and you were just having a bunch of bad days. And it seemed to work.
Until one day, Escobar called you so he could have a private chat with you.
He said Quica and Limón had told him about you being off, not present, and distant with them. He said you were not focused on your job anymore. And he said that you were taking many breaks to go to the bathroom, and way too many free nights. Unfortunately for you, he was joking when he said he blamed it on some girl you were spending time with.
And then, he threatened you.
It was official. Your life was in serious danger. Your own boss had threatened you.
That night you went home shitting your pants. For the first time in the many years you had been working in the drug business, you were scared. And it was all his fault.
You pulled your phone out and messaged him, telling him you needed to see him and talk to him immediately. He showed up in your house shortly after, giving you a hurried “Is everythin’ okay?”.
“We have a problem. I have a problem and if we don’t do something, so do you”, you looked at him with a mix of anger and fear.
“Okay, okay, calm down. What’s wrong?”
“Quica and Limón know. Escobar knows. And he said he’d kill me if I don’t go watching my back from now on”, you saw him looking at the ground with a slight frown on his brow, as if he was thinking of what to do.
“Alright, we do have a problem”, was all he said.
“You gotta fucking help me, Peña”.
“Fine, uh…”, he thought for a couple of seconds. And for a moment, it seemed like he had an idea. “If you can wait a couple days, I’ll get you a passport to the States or somethin’…”.
“Are you fucking kidding me? I’ll be dead before you can get the passport. And Escobar will have men in the States to kill me when I get there anyway. I can’t go back”, you sighed, trying to find a solution for yourself.
“Stay at my place, or Steve’s. His wife can help you. We’ll protect you”.
“Oh, will you? ‘Cause really, I love the way you’ve been protecting me as your informant. You’ve protected me so fucking good that my boss found out about me and even my own friends want to end my life now”, you spat at him. “So yeah, you’ve been doing a great shit job at protecting me, Javier”.
That moment, the world seemed to stop. Peña looked at you with a mix of anger and shock —though it seemed more angry than anything else. It was then that you realized that you had, for the first time, called him by his name.
“Peña”, he said with a stern expression.
“Really? After all this, you’re mad that I use your name?”, you sighed. You were actually nervous —even afraid— about what would happen now, since he seemed more serious and angry than anything you had ever seen on him. “Look, just—”.
“You don’t get to call me that. What made you think you could?”, he gave you another hard look.
“I don’t know, it just came out—”.
“You don’t get to call me that”.
He stood looking at you with his eyes burning with anger. You had never been so afraid of how someone looked at you —not even with Escobar— until that very moment.
“I’m sorry”, was all you said, trying to match his seriousness. “I didn’t think you’d be this mad”.
He walked up to you all silent and still looking angry as hell. Your heart was beating pretty fast at the sight of how he towered over you, making you feel weak at the knees.
“No way”, he smiled sarcastically. “I’m gonna tell you somethin’ and I need you to pay attention, boy”, you gulped at his words, scared of what he would say. “You’re not one of those whores I fuck to get info from. You’re doin’ this for money, and I’m doin’ this to save the goddamn country. You wanna fuck a big man, go get him yourself at a brothel, I’m sure you’ll find one that wants to stick his dick inside a little boy like you”.
That crossed your limits. Your blood started to boil, and you heart was beating so fast you’d swear you felt it break at that very instant.
As you watched him walking to your door, you turned around to face him and gave him an even harder look than the one he was giving you before.
“So the great fuckboy Javier Peña leaves once again, heading off to one of his brothels to fuck whatever slut he can find tonight!”, you said with an exaggerated, dramatic tone. “You know, it’s so fucking sad seeing how you stick to one night stands because you’re afraid to start feeling something. And it’s sad that you’re pushing away the only person that will probably be the only one to ever feel something for you that’s not desperation to get fucked by you, just because you’re not into boys”, you spat out, being at the verge of tears. “So go on, have another night of fun with a girl that’s gonna fucking pretend she wants you just for your money and your big boy dick, while the only person that actually wants to be with you cries because you broke their fucking heart!”.
When you finally got to breathe again, you came to realize just how much you were crying. And meanwhile, Peña was looking at you with his emotionless expression.
“I’ll try to get you that passport as soon as possible”, were the words he ended the silence with, and then he left.
The weight of your conversation hung in the air for the rest of the night. It was something you weren’t going to forget easily. Of course you had imagined something like this would happen if you talked with Peña about your feelings for him, but you didn’t expect him to be so rude and hard. Though, thinking about it, that was right what you would expect from anyone else. At the end of the day, you were a man that had fallen for another man, in the 80s.
You just were so dumb to think that Peña was different, that you might have a chance. But of course, you didn’t. And you didn’t know why it had hurt you that much, knowing it was this way for everyone else.
And so, there you were now, curled up in your bed as you cried to the thought of him silently, letting your pillow muffle your quiet sobs and get soaked by your non-stopping stream of tears. That night again, you thought of how much you hated Peña for being so heartless, so selfish. And so brave, so handsome, so hot, so perfect, so… Peña.
And you thought about how much you hated yourself for having helped this man, knowing that all he gave you in return was a broken heart and some money you didn’t want. You knew he was a dangerous man, but damn, had you fallen hard for him. And damn, did you hate yourself for it.
That night, you cried yourself to sleep thinking about all this. You wished you hadn’t moved to Colombia. You wished you didn’t have anything to do with drugs or the cartel. You wished you didn’t know Javier Peña. And you wished you weren’t so in love with him.
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