#i freaking did better without the memory pair but still nowhere close.... UGH

[zaynes-left-chesticle]

YESS!! I just FINALLY just got through stage 40 of the Directional Ice trials with HIGHLY under-ranked memories courtesy of the memory pair... and beat stages 41 and 42 as well!!!

Now my next question is wHY T'F CAN I STILL NOT BEAT OPEN TRIAL STAGE 38?!?! FFS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[disgruntledspacedad]

The Rules of Engagement (5/5)

part of the 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: 5.7k

warnings: 18+ - drugs, violence, language, alcohol, smut.

a/n: many many notes at the end. unbeta’d as always.

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

MASTERLIST

Javi clicks off the radio as soon as the car starts, and you spend the first half of the ride in silence. For a while, he seems to be focused intently on driving, but you know him well enough to see the wheels turning in his head. Sunglasses hide his eyes, but still, there’s something about that little frown that suggests that his thoughts are far from lunchtime traffic. 

It doesn’t bother you - your mind really isn’t on the road, either. 

“I can’t figure it out.” You’re startled to find that it’s your voice breaking the silence. 

“Can’t figure out what?” Javi takes a deep drag from his cigarette. He’s still not looking at you.

“Who did this, and why.” You swallow past the emotion that wells in your throat, firmly redirecting your thoughts to facts and evidence. “It wasn’t an accident, Peña, I’m ruling that out now. Somebody planted a bomb in Emilio’s store.” 

Javi purses his lips tightly. 

“And call me crazy, but I can’t help but think that it has something to do with Escobar.” Your voice is rising now as you warm to the argument. “Like, this is his MO, right? Bombing civilian small business, terrorism, chaos…” you trail off, furrowing your brow as you rest your forehead against the cool window. “Just… why here? Why Bogotá?”

Why Emilio? 

Javi’s face freezes. He’s quiet for a long time. You watch him warily from the corner of your eye. To the casual observer, he’s all calm stoicism, snuffing his cigarette and reaching both hands to finger the steering wheel. But you know better - you read the subtle stiffness in his shoulders, the carefully shuttered expression, the white knuckle grip that suggests that he’s far more stressed than he’s letting on.

Something wild throbs in your chest and you have a sudden, irrational suspicion that he might know more than he’s saying. The moment stretches, and just as you’re ready to panic, Javi huffs a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know,” he admits in a low voice, and the bubble of uncertainty shatters. “But I’m going to find out.”

There’s something cold in his tone, a controlled, a calculated malice that threatens vengeance, and you rest your forehead against the window, wondering at the profound sense of reassurance you draw from his words.

Out of nowhere, a truck swerves in front of you, and Javi leans hard on the horn, cursing and flipping off the driver out the window as you weave past him.

You can’t help a small smile at that - Javier Peña, taking out his worries on the unassuming drivers of Bogotá.   

Again, silence stretches between you.

“I think it’s time you told me about your morning.” Javi’s voice is soft, but still, you know it’s not a request. 

“There’s not much to tell,” you confess. Again, not entirely true, but you haven’t even begun to process it all, and the details are overwhelming to contemplate. “I volunteered to stay over at headquarters. They wouldn’t put me in the air two nights in a row, but still, I wanted to know what was happening.”

His lips twitch at this. 

“It was quiet. I left around seven, I think. I’m not entirely sure. Figured somebody would call me with news. And then…” You pause, swallowing hard. “I was almost home. At the corner of 70.” 

You remember waving to Emilio, the way his eyes had lit up when he’d spotted you, his toothy grin. He’d been so proud, introducing you to that guaro.You blink, bracing yourself against the yawning pit of grief that threatens to open in your chest. Not now. Please.

“Then the store exploded.”

You and Javi draw a deep breath at the same time. The ensuing silence is stifling. 

“Then what?” he prompts you gently.

You glance up, noticing that he’s parked the car. Neither of you move.

“I stumbled back,” you continue haltingly. You just want this conversation to be over. “It’s all kind of a blur, from there. It was really weird, like… like being in a time warp, or something.”

He nods grimly, like he understands.

“I decided to go to your place…” you’re nervous, confessing this part to him. As tense as he is, as awkward as things have been, any reference of your previous liaisons feels like stirring hot shit with a stick. “I just, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You didn’t wait for the police to arrive?”

Desperation and indignation rise in you. “Javi, I’d just witnessed my fucking apartment go up in flames, okay? Excuse me if I didn’t perform to your exacting standards!”

He presses his lips together in a firm line, and oh, fuck. You realize that you’ve just called him by his name again - something you’ve made a point not to do since that horrible morning in the shower.

Ugh.

You drop bonelessly against the passenger seat, all of the fight leaking from you. This fucking day… god, just, fuck this day.

“I’m sorry.” Javi’s voice is so whisper-quiet that it almost doesn’t register. 

You take three deep breaths, in and out, in and out, in and out.

“It’s fine,” you say, once you’re grounded again. “But I’m - I’m just done talking, okay?”

“Yeah.” Javi opens his door with a deep sigh. “Okay.”

♠

Javi lets you in, and you go straight for the sofa, settling awkwardly with your hands in your lap.  

God, now what? You’re right back where you started - no home, no job to do, and no answers. Exhaustion and helpless resignation swallow you whole, and you sit like that for a long moment, staring into the middle distance and fighting the urge to rest your head in your hands. 

After a while - you’re not sure how long - you notice the absolute silence permeating the apartment. Javi hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken. You’d totally forgotten he was there.

You glance up.

He’s draped against the front door with his arms folded defensively across his chest, frowning fiercely at nothing. 

“Hey.” You aren’t aware that you’ve moved until you’re standing in front of him.

His eyes flutter shut and he exhales, long and slow, tilting his head back against the door so that he’s facing the ceiling, and okay, now you’re seriously freaked out. 

“Javi?”

“I can’t do this anymore,” he whispers.

“Can’t do what?”

He grimaces like the sound of your voice is painful. “Please don’t make me.”

You take a half step closer, alarm bells screaming in your head. You have never, ever heard this man beg, not once in all the time you’ve spent together. “Don’t make you… Javi, what?”

His gaze flicks to yours, and you suck a sharp breath. 

Javi looks absolutely wrecked. His eyes are wide and dark, brow furrowed deep, and he’s staring at you with so much longing in his expression that little sparks of electricity go zipping across your skin. 

“God, Ears, baby, I was there,” he rasps. He takes one quick little step forward, as if to reach for you. “I went to your place as soon as I heard, as soon as the plane landed…”

You brain skitters to a stop. 

Oh, Christ. He hadn’t told you that. You don’t even have time to wonder about it, though, because Javi is still speaking, words pouring out of him as if revisiting the memory has cracked him wide open. 

“And it, it was a fucking crater, okay? And nobody had seen you, nobody had heard anything, and they had the fucking - the fucking body bags -” His voice cracks, and he presses his fists to his eyes, as if to hide his face while he gathers himself. 

Horror floods you. You’re starting to put it all together now. You’d been so distracted by your own terrible day that you’d not once thought to ask about Javi’s. You imagine him at the bomb site, picking his way through ash and rubble, flashing his badge at firemen and emergency responders, firing off questions, watching them load up body bags…

Oh, fuck.

Javi shakes his head sharply, as if dispersing the memories, and when he looks up, his eyes are red-rimmed and wet. “Querida,” he breathes, pinning you with an expression of open desperation. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Oh. 

It takes a lot to scare Javier Peña. You know this. He’s a fearless man. He has to be.

But this morning, Javi had been terrified. You recall his voice over the phone, tense and clipped, the blustered sigh of profound relief, the clattering footsteps as he’d raced up the steps, his eyes, not quick and efficient, but frantic as he’d taken you in, alive and healthy and wearing his clothes.

“I’m right here,” you whisper, unable to articulate just how profoundly you mean that. You’re still reeling from the implications of it all.

“I know,” Javi chokes. He blinks hard, almost like he’s baffled by it. “You’ve been right here the whole time.” He hitches a breath. “And goddammit, baby, I can’t sit here and listen to you say my name without wondering what the hell else I’m losing.”

Reality shifts and realigns in an instant. Fear and disbelief give way to fierce longing, and your voice comes out as a choked whisper. “Come here.”

Javi does, haltingly at first, as if wondering if you really mean it. You fall into his arms, and he pulls you close, reverently, as if you are the most precious thing in the world. He presses his forehead carefully to yours, catching your jawline with his palms and threading his fingers through your hair. 

“God, baby,” he rasps. “When I saw you… When I heard your voice…”

“I’m okay,” you remind him, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I’m okay.” 

He sighs deeply, and a bubble of tension you weren’t even aware of bursts at the sound. You melt into him, and he holds you tightly for a long, long time, swaying your bodies gently back and forth, your head tucked against his chest. 

You tilt your face to him, pressing your lips to his skin, and he huffs brokenly, his body still wrapped around yours like he’s reluctant to create any space between you. He’s shaking as he takes your face in his hands, pausing just long enough to fix you with a wild-eyed, pleading glance.

“Okay?” he breathes. 

“God, yes,” you gasp. “Yes.”

And just like that, Javi’s kissing you like a man without air, awkward and starving, catching the back of your neck with one hand, the other roaming beneath your shirt to stroke at your ribcage.

There’s nothing gentle about it. A month’s worth of desperation has been building in both of you, and now, Javi’s frantically mapping your body with his lips and tongue, peppering little licks and kisses and soft nips down your jaw and neck while you scramble awkwardly for the buttons of his shirt. You struggle to keep your fingers under control as one gigantic hand finds your ass and squeezes. You gasp, inadvertently popping his last button. 

Damn, you liked that shirt. 

Undeterred, you push it aside, finally free to explore his chest and back and belly for the first time in far too long. Javi’s skin is warm beneath your fingertips, his body smooth muscle and soft heat as he leans into you. His hands are snaking beneath your shirt now, one brushing the bare skin of your torso as it wanders up to grasp at your bra, the other gripping at the hollow of your hips. You arch into his touch, groaning low into his mouth, and he bucks in response, cock straining at his jeans, denim deliciously rough against your palm.

“What do you want, baby?” he gasps into the hollow of your throat. Those gorgeous hands have migrated back to your ass now, clutching with a greediness that leaves you panting. 

“Just…” God, you can’t even think, your brain flickering in and out, overloaded with pleasure and pent up emotion and Javier Peña. “Just you, Javi. Now. Please.”

He whimpers, his erection digging rock-hard into your belly, and the sound nearly brings you to your knees - cool, collected, suave Javier Peña, keening for you. 

Javi hikes you up so quickly that you yelp, hips pinning you as he drives you into the wall. You brace yourself for impact, but he’s already anticipated that - one hand cups the back of your head, cradling you protectively, the other reaching past your thighs to clench at your pussy.

You moan, rocking into him, bracing your elbows against the wall to grant him access. You shimmy your hips, and he hitches your skirt up with a fist, dragging your soaking panties to the side as he buries his fingers inside you.

“Oh,” you gasp.

Javi’s fingers pulse deep into your core, once, and then again, that come-hither curl of them driving you wild as he pumps through your juices. You scramble back, opening yourself as best you can with your limited mobility as he presses his knee beneath your leg to hold you in place. 

God fucking damn, there’s something about being pinned to the wall by this man that leaves you trembling and leaking.

Groaning, Javi sinks his mouth onto yours, and you arch up to meet him, sucking sloppily on his lips, his stubbled jaw, whatever you can get to. You tug his hair hard, mostly for leverage, and he gasps, throwing his head back in a way that allows you access to his neck. You love Javi’s neck - it’s delicious, all fascinating gentle dips between tight tendons, and you relish the opportunity to explore each of its arcs and hollows with your tongue.

He shudders as you nip and suck and bite at him, grinding your body against his as you clench your legs around his waist. 

You’re both panting at this point, skin slick with sweat. It’s hard to know where you end and Javi begins, but it’s so, so good, feral and desperate and heated, and somehow, he’s still managing to pulse his thumb at your clit.  The motion sets a fucking fire in you, slow, deep waves of hot pressure building in your core.

“More, Javi,” you beg against his clavicle, shimmying your hips against his hand. Any other day, you’d be content to stay here, caught between him and the wall as he wrings your orgasm from you with the pads of his fingers. But there’s something else building in you, a desperation that has both nothing and everything to do with physical release, and you just need him closer. “I- I need -”

Javi growls, gently dropping you to the floor as he shucks out of his jeans. You help him along with trembling fingers, giggling incoherently as your heads brush clumsily in your haste. You take the opportunity to shrug out of your shirt and bra, and then Javi’s pinning you with a gaze that’s almost predatory, dark enough to send shivers of anticipation curling down your spine. 

You back against the wall and raise a brow, daring him to come get you.

He does, hoisting you up easily - he really is stronger than he looks. One knee hikes beneath your thigh, his opposite hand clenched behind your ass, thumb digging deep into the hollow of your hip. You absently notice that he’s once again braced his opposite hand between your head and the wall, threading his fingers through your loosened braid, but you don’t have time to consider it, because he’s thrusting into you, quick, shallow pumps that leave you gasping for air.

It’s mind-blowingly amazing, and a wild, wanton part of you wonders why the hell you haven’t done this before - just kick off your clothes and go at it like animals in the hallway. You sink deeper onto him, angling your hips just-so, and oh fucking christ, he’s rubbing right against your clit, hard and fast and sloppy in the very best way.

You throw your head back, spasming around him, scrabbling at his shoulders for purchase. He’s still wearing his fucking shirt, and you cling to its open edges with enough force to rip. Javi hisses, rhythm faltering as he slips from you. For a moment, you pause like that, him holding you with shaking thighs, your lungs and skin burning, heaving breaths mingling hot on each other’s faces, but then he’s realigning himself, shifting his angle a little. You shimmy up the wall, desperate to accommodate. 

The second round is even more brutal than the first, choppy and shallow. Your abs are burning; it’s a difficult position to maintain, but that familiar fullness is building achingly delicious in your core, so you hold out, gasping. Javi’s breathing raggedly, sweat dripping from his forehead as he presses it against yours, eyes wide and unfocused as he thrusts into you. 

He’s trembling with exertion.

“Fuck!” He’s slipped again. You sink to the floor, reaching for his wrist.  He looks at you, face twisted in a resentful snarl. 

“Javi,” you gasp, kissing him before he can react. What you’re doing is hot as fuck, but it’s not working right now. You’re both too tired, too desperate and shaky, and you need release. “Take me to bed.”

“Hmm,” he moans into your mouth. It must be agreement, because pulls back - you shudder at the loss of contact - and then hoists you over his shoulder in a move that makes your head spin. You giggle a little, breathless and giddy and almost incoherent with need.

Javi carries you through the apartment like that, you clinging to him like a koala bear with your legs locked around his waist and your head draped over his shoulder. He drops you lopsided on his unmade bed. Automatically, you flop over onto your stomach and gather your knees to your chest, remembering how he loves to take you from behind. 

“No,” his voice is strained. A hand, surprisingly gentle, tugs at your shoulder, and you go with it, twisting so that you’re on your back again, sideways in the bed. “I need…” Javi’s panting, dark eyes burning a hole in you. “I need to see you, baby.” His voice breaks, his expression vulnerable, almost apologetic. 

A rush of affection overtakes you, and you reach for him, pulling him close for another deep kiss. Javi straddles you, palming himself in preparation, and you have the foresight to shove a pillow under your ass - if you’re going to be doing this face to face, then you want him as deep as possible.

When you glance up, he’s watching you open-mouthed, absently tugging at his leaking cock like he just can’t help it.

God, he’s beautiful. 

He sucks a startled breath, looking at you in wide-eyed wonder, and oh fuck. You’d said that out loud. 

“Javi,” you whine, yanking him closer. You don’t have time to feel awkward, goddammit. You just need him. For real. Inside you. Right now.

You both shudder as he sinks deep into you. He stays still for a moment, and you clench against him desperately, urging him to move, dammit, but he’s holding off. 

“Baby,” he rasps, glancing down at you, red-faced. “I’m not - I’m not going to last.”

That confession alone makes something swell tightly in you, and you buck your hips in response. “It’s okay,” you rasp, trying hard be good, to hold still, to not overwhelm him.  “I won’t, either.”

He rocks against you, a tiny pulse, just enough to fucking tease, but it must be an unconscious thing, because he’s still looking you in the eye like he’s afraid you’ll reject him, or condemn him.

“Javi, please,” you keen, patience thoroughly spent. You reach up, digging your fingers into his shoulder blades and tugging hard. “I don’t care. I just need you. All of you.”

That gets him moving.

Javi rocks against you, setting up an achingly slow, almost careful rhythm, his left hand still cradled around the back of your neck to brace your head as he draws himself to the hilt, then nearly all the way out again. It’s gentle and sweet, but dammit, you want more. You pull your knees to his elbows to encourage him deeper, digging your heels into his back. Javi gets the message, because he twitches and groans, curling around your body and bracing himself against your shoulders, abruptly driving into you with a force that punches the air from your lungs - hard, fast, and deliciously brutal.

It’s exactly what you need.

You curl up against his chest, abs burning as you glance past your breasts to the place where your bodies are connected. The edges of his open shirt skim the sensitive skin of your ribcage, framing the view and drowning you in more sensation. Heat is pooling in you, tension building and sparking and curling your toes. There’s something surreal and wonderful about watching yourselves work in tandem, his hips and yours, pulsing and perfect.

Javi shudders, and you drag your eyes back to his face, not daring to miss a moment. Fuck, he’s gorgeous, and that expression alone, that little purse-lipped grimace of pleasure, is enough to drive you to the edge. Controlled, careful, restrained Javier Peña coming undone for you, rattled for you, staring at you like it hurts to draw a fucking breath in your presence… goddamn, you twisted little shit, you’re really liking that.

His rhythm is faltering now, thighs clenching erratically, breath coming in ragged little pants. You know that he’s close. 

You reach up to stroke his cheek. “Javi,” you whisper. His eyes find yours, glossy and wild. His mouth is open, his brow furrowed. “It’s okay, baby,” you tell him. He trembles in response, a full body shudder, his eyes flickering shut.

“It’s okay. Let go.”

His breath hitches, and he bucks wildly, collapsing against your chest with a low, broken groan. The hot heaviness of him pulsing into you releases a shockwave of pleasure down you spine. You gasp as your core clenches, spreading his heat, but it’s not quite enough, you’re not quite ready, and you grit your teeth at the loss of friction as he softens inside you. 

You watch his face twitch, relief and ecstasy and something else, something fierce and sharp that you can’t possibly name.

You groan, reaching your fingers down to your core, battering against him. You tug at your clit, index finger tap-dancing in that perfect circular motion that sends you straight over the edge as Javi flops bonelessly beside you.

Desperate for contact, you sink into him, still working to salvage that orgasm, concentrating hard on the rapid rise and fall of his ribcage with each chugging breath, the heat of his body wrapped around you like a second skin. His eyes flutter open, and there’s a look of quiet desperation on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he babbles, reaching for you with wide eyes. “Babe, I -”

“Shh, shh, shh, shh,” you reassure him, batting his hand aside with your elbow before he can interfere. The waves are crescendoing now, almost painful in their intensity. You’re so fucking close, words and reason are beyond you. “S’okay, Jav, I’m close… I just need…  need you to…. “

“What do you need, baby? Anything.”

“Just - just be here.”

Javi inhales sharply, then gathers you closer to him. “Yeah,” he murmurs, resting his face in the crook of your neck, peppering you with the softest of kisses. One hand rests firmly on your head, its thumb working little circles on your uninjured temple, the other trailing down your body to splay at the sensitive underside of your belly. “I’m here, baby,” he whispers raggedly into your ear. “I’m here.”

Oh god, oh god. The pressure fucking hurts, burning in your toes, clenching in your core, and just when you think that you’re useless today, that sex is absolute bullshit and you can’t possibly take anymore, that -

“You’re so…  my god, baby, you’re fucking perfect.”

It’s not Javi’s tone, broken as is is. It’s the frankness of the confession, the rawness. Javier Peña is not a sweet talker, especially not in bed. He’s not pandering to you. It’s more like the words have been dragged from him at gunpoint, pulled from the very deepest recesses of his subconscious, and it’s that honesty, that awed, reverent authenticity, that drives you over the edge.

It all happens in an instant. The bubble of tension in your core bursts abruptly, and you come with a choked gasp, mind blinking in and out as you ride out wave after wave of sweet relief. Javi is with you the whole time, cradling you in his arms as you shatter. 

It’s not the longest orgasm you’ve had, or even the most intense, but there’s something about him holding you, about sharing the same skin and air and listening to him murmur sweetly in your ear, that transcends any release you've ever experienced. You ride the waves of your orgasm, swearing to the heavens that you’re breaking apart, and somehow, you’re taking Javi with you like you never have before, splintering and reconverging in a way that’s intimate and vulnerable and precious beyond words.

You come back to reality, breathless and trembling, and the first thing you notice is Javi staring at you with something like reverence in his expression. 

“Hey,” he breathes, running a gentle finger down your cheek. 

“Mmm,” you curl into his chest, just breathing him in, all warm, sticky skin and stale cigarette and perfect man. 

You stay that way for a long time.

“I missed you,” Javi whispers hoarsely, pressing soft lips against your ear. 

“I know,” you choke, because you do. That rush of clarity that had effused you in the front hallway is only more potent now. You and Javi had been dancing around each other for months, each of you too stubborn and too afraid to admit to the other that your feelings ran so much deeper than you let on. It’s so obvious now, how stupid you’d both been, and how much you’d missed by being stupid. 

You’re horrified to feel tears tracking down your cheeks. God, reality has caught up with you all at once, exhaustion and fear and horror and relief all snarled up with post-coital vulnerability, and you curl deeper into Javi, tucking your face down in an effort to hide.

He notices, though. He always notices. “Baby?” Javi tilts your face up, tracking over you with concerned, dark eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Exposure turns your tears to choked sobs, and it’s all you can do to speak. “I’m fine,” you gasp, and it’s both the truth and a lie. You’ve never felt safer than you feel now, or more connected to another human than you are to Javier Peña in this moment. 

And that’s the thing. There’s still so much left to say. So many emotions, so many worries, so much grief. It all wars for dominance in you, everything at once, and you’re not even sure what the fuck you’re crying about until all of the sudden, you’re choking on words.

“Emilio,” you gasp. “He - he -”

Javi draws a sharp breath of understanding, wrapping strong arms around you as you cry. 

“He was… he was gone… and there was nothing I could do!”

“Oh, baby,” Javi murmurs into your ear, rubbing tiny circles into the bare skin of your back. “I know. I know. I’m so, so sorry.”

“And, and…” You’re sobbing so hard that your chest burns, and it’s all you can do to breathe, but the dam has burst, and it’s all coming out now, whether you want it to or not. “Oh, god, Javi, I missed you, too.”

He chuckles a little at that, peppering your forehead with gentle kisses and thumbing the tears from your cheeks. 

“Steve was right,” he confesses, tucking your head under his chin. “We’re both idiots.”

This startles a wet giggle from you. You imagine Murphy confronting Javi like he’d confronted you, red-faced and indignant and insisting that you both deserve one another. “Yeah,” you sniffle through your tears. “He was.”

“He’ll be insufferable about it, too.” Javi’s holding your hand now, the pad of his thumb rubbing back and forth, back and forth over your knuckles. You sigh breathily into his chest, crying until your sobs turn to shudders, and then finally, until you’re wrung raw and thoroughly exhausted. 

Javi holds you the whole time.

You exhale raggedly, noticing for the first time just how slimy you are. “Ugh, gross,” you mutter, covering your face with your hand as you draw away from Javi, horrified. 

Jesus Christ, if you’d just slung snot all over Javier Peña’s bare chest… god, you think you won’t survive the humiliation.

But Javi doesn’t seem bothered. He sits up, glancing around his bedroom for a tissue. Finding nothing, he shrugs out of his shirt, offering it to you silently.

You stare at it, then him. 

“What?” he asks, incredulous. He’s still holding out the shirt, eyebrow cocked as if to question why you won’t just take it. 

 “Nothing,” you say. And that’s a lie. There’s something so uniquely Javi about the gesture, wanting you to wipe your nose with the shirt off his back. But that’s just him - genuine, resourceful, efficient. It’s cute and perfect and ridiculous, and it makes your chest swell and ache.

But you can’t quite put all of that into words right now, and you know he wouldn’t understand even if you tried, so you take the shirt from him with a grateful smile and blow your nose in it like a goddamn heathen. 

Javi wads it in a tight ball when you’re finished, chunking it unceremoniously on the floor. 

You roll your eyes, and he smirks at you, squeezing your hand as he climbs out of bed. After his cigarettes, you think. “Pretty sure you dropped them on the kitchen floor,” you call after him. 

“Yup,” he verifies from the hallway.

You take the opportunity to duck into the bathroom and clean up, and by the time you’re done, Javi’s waiting for you, propped up against the headboard with his eyes shut, smoke curling from his mouth. He pats the bed beside him, not looking up, and you snuggle under his arm, sighing contentedly. 

This is new, the cuddling, sharing his bed, burrowing against his side as he smokes, and you savor every detail. His skin is still slick with cooling sweat, and you can hear his heartbeat beneath his ribs where your head rests, slow and steady. Neither of you need to speak, each just drawing comfort from the presence of the other.

Afterglow, you decide, is a very good word for it.

“Javi?” you ask after a long, long time.

“Yeah?” he whispers. You wonder if he thought you were asleep.

“What is this?” You wave your hand, indicating the tiny space between his chest and yours. You know what it looks like, and you know what it is for you, but you can’t stand the thought of leaving anything uncertain between you, not after all of this.

Javi takes a deep drag of his cigarette. He holds that breath for a long time, but the silence doesn’t scare you, not anymore. That’s just Javi’s thinking face, the one you know so well.

After a while, Javi turns to face you fully. “This is me,” he starts slowly, reaching for your hands and lifting them to his chest, “deciding that I’m not going to miss any more opportunities.”

Your breath catches. That sounds - well, coming from Javier Peña, it sounds an awful lot like a vow. 

“I’m all in, Ears.” Javi kisses each of your hands in turn. “If that’s okay with you.” He glances up almost hesitantly, the question burning in his eyes.

There’s something about the gravitas of the delivery that hints that his words are more than they seem. Javi’s gaze is pinned to yours, dark and serious, and a shiver runs down your spine. You might be lacking some context, but Javi’s resolve is impossible to miss. 

You consider it for only half a second. You’ve known for a long time now that there’s a lot more at stake in Colombia than just your career. Hell, you’d known that from the moment you let Javi walk away from your apartment for the first time. And he’s made his position pretty clear, too. You bite back a loopy grin as you remember him blowing past Martinez at headquarters. 

Yeah, there’s no salvaging this secret.

"All in," you say, gripping his hands tightly and wishing you could be half as eloquent and intense and awesome as he is. “I like the way that sounds.”

It’s the honest truth. 

Javi breaks out into a soft smile that shows off that single dimple, leaning down and pressing his lips to your forehead. “Looks like we’re on the same page, then.”

“Yeah,” you try to answer, just as you are interrupted by a huge yawn.

Javi snorts. “Go to sleep, Ears,” he says fondly, pointedly throwing back the bed covers. You shoot him a petulant frown, and he rolls his eyes, undeterred. “Seriously, baby. This is just getting stupid now.”

“Whole day is stupid,” you mutter darkly as you climb under the blankets - not because he told you to, but because you want to.

“Oh really?” Javi teases. “The whole day?”

“Well,” you pretend to contemplate. “Guess the sex was alright.” You grin wolfishly at him from beneath the covers. 

His response does not disappoint. “Alright?” He presses a hand to his chest, wounded. “Christ, baby, kick a man while he’s down.” He side-eyes you, frowning. “Guess I really do need to up my game, huh?”

“Your words, Jav,” you mumble. The full force of your exhaustion has hit you with a vengeance, and talking is hard. 

“I will make it up to you baby,” he growls in your ear, suddenly serious. “You know I will.”

“Mmhmm,” you sigh. Any other time, that voice would have gone straight to your core, but now, not so much. “I do.”

“Good.” He drops a kiss on your nose, then slips out of the bed. The loss of his body heat is enough to draw you out of your stupor, just for a moment. 

“Stay?” you call pathetically, just as the lamp flicks off. 

Oh. 

Javi settles back in beside you, wrapping his arms around your chest and nuzzling into the back of your neck with his nose. “Yeah, babe,” he whispers into your ear as you finally, finally drift off. “Not going anywhere.”

♠

Author notes/ confessions:

Whew, and that’s a wrap. Big, big notes here guys. I am incapable of being brief, apparently. 

First, I know a lot of you are chomping at the bits to know who the fuck bombed Ears’ apartment. I tried to place a few little clues here and there, but ROE takes place sometime between 2.06 and 2.07. To summarize, Los Pepes, the vigilante group targeting Escobar, is funded by the Cali cartel. In retaliation, Escobar starts bombing Cali cartel owned business - their drug stores in particular. This really heated up in Bogotá around December 1992, which is when ROE ends. 

Now, here’s the fun thing - Javi is absolutely already working with Los Pepes at this point - a relationship he initiated during the month that he and Ears were on the outs. Ears’ intuition in the car is correct - Javi does know, or suspect, more than he’s saying. This is a major plot point for a story that I have in the pipeline, but working that in here - god, guys, that’s too much, and ROE needed to end like 10k words ago, honestly. 

That being said, if anybody has interest in being a beta, or just letting me scream ideas at them, hit me up. This little “one shot” has turned into a full blown universe in my brain, and these ideas are dying to get out. 

The sex. Yeah, I know the sex isn’t great, but I wanted it that way. It was a strange choice on my part, both for Javi’s character and as a first foray into writing smut, but it just seemed appropriate. Sex is rarely ever as mind-blowing as depicted in fic, and besides, these two have had lots and lots of perfect sex. They’re a pretty equal match in that department, but this time is different. I wanted to put the emotions on display, rather than the physicality. It just makes sense that this time would be rushed, desperate, and messy. They are both emotionally and physically exhausted. Also, I really, really wanted to come full circle from the shower scene, where Ears never gets her completion, and also the scene on the sofa when Ears comforts Javi after a terrible day by saying, “I’m here.” There’s some sort of cathartic and earned about Ears bringing herself to completion while Javi just holds her. That being said, I know I owe Javi, and you guys, some smutty one-shots. I plan to deliver, I promise.

You’ll notice that I mention ears choking, coughing, sputtering, breathing, wheezing, feeling a tightness in the chest, aching… she’s got a small pulmonary contusion from being in such close proximity the blast zone. It’s a common injury in bombing survivors, and hers isn’t massive or life threatening, just inconvenient. Pulmonary contusion symptoms tend to develop hours or days after the injury, so she’ll steadily get worse, and when she does, the whole story of her experience with the explosion WILL come out. She’s still got a lot of trauma to process, both physically and emotionally, but Javi is gonna be there every step of the way (after he flips shit first, that is). I’ll let you guys imagine this one, though, because I have already dragged ROE out far longer than I really should have, and it’s mostly medical bs, anyway. 

Last of all, if you’re still here, thank you. From the bottom of my heart. I haven’t written in years, and this story pushed me far outside of my comfort zone. Your support, comments, likes, reblogs, reaction gifs - they all mean the world to me. 

@tiffdawg​, you are directly responsible for this dumpster fire. I hope you’re proud. :)

Much, much love, and a happy new year to each of you.

~ Jay

[eternaljouska]

Bear Hug - Hansol Vernon Chwe

Pairing: Idol!Vernon x Reader (The idol-ness doesn’t really show, though)

Genre: Fluff

Warning: nonexistent

Word Count: 1611

Note: The format is slightly different. I was planning to change it, but my friend said it’s better to keep it this way, so... yeah.

Also, @jookyunhoevercoupshoe​ here you go, i’m sorry, i promised to upload this yesterday, but you know what happened (?) Hope this is enough, even if the moment is too short. DON’T READ THIS WITH TOO MUCH EXPECTATION, PLEASE. THIS IS JUST A FEW SECONDS INTERACTION--5 MINUTES MAX. (Tell me if this is way below your expectation, tho, i’ll try to write something better in the future 🤧 i feel so insecure about this one, ugh)

Yes, he knows. Vernon knows it is very uncharacteristic of him to dress up like this. His fashion taste may fall into a questionable category, but that’s the way he is—free-minded, free-spirited, unbound to the lines the society draws around him. If someone knows him at all, they should be able to tell if the clothes strewn randomly on the bed are his or not, he would bet anything on that.

Or not. Surely, if he cares enough about his wellbeing, he would not involve himself in any more misleading pursuit such as that, moreover if it is initiated by the one and only Yoon Jeonghan. Just like how everything is, the bet started as something harmless, bordering foolish really, and then, the older man whined and raised the stake to make things a little more interesting. And here Vernon is: dressing up as a Teddy Bear in the middle of the crowded Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport as a consequence to his tough luck. He’s supposed to put his costume as soon as he passes through the immigration process. And mind you, it is not even a Teddy Bear onesie. It’s a full-blown mascot costume with the sponge or who knows what it is in its belly. It’s hot and heavy. And fortunately, Vernon speaks English fluently, which allows him the additional task of coming up to at least seventeen kids and giving each of them a balloon and a hug before joining his other members in their lounge.

Vernon is cautious. He asks the airport officials a few times to ascertain that it is completely okay to do what he’s about to do. He’s praying with all of his heart that it’s not, but the words that they told him were much looser than a no. Oh, good God, he’s already traumatized, and he hasn’t even exited the restroom. This is just so not him. He could see Seungkwan in it—Soonyoung or Seokmin, too, or any other member for that matter—but not him. How should he approach unknowing kids with a balloon and a hug and just leave immediately after? What if their parents question him? Oh, how he hopes he’s more than a mass of awkwardness starting to melt inside his burning costume.

“Hi! Hi? Hi,” he says and repeats several times, trying out his various friendly tones in front of the mirror of the deserted restroom. “Okay, you can do this. Hi, want a balloon and a hug? Perfect. Okay. Let’s get it, Vern.”

“Hi!” he lets out in a tone way too high for his liking, which is met with what could be a horrendous scream of an unsuspecting boy if only he’d spared him a glance on his run to the stall. “Want a—oh, right, yes, you need to go to the restroom, aha, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Yes, Vernon, great first attempt. Proud of you, yeah, haha.

His second attempt is better, and his next few ones are decent.

There’s a girl walking timidly behind her father, her short arms clutching around her father’s leg. The wetness under her eyes is still visible. When they arrive in front of Vernon, her father mouths to him that Riley, his daughter, is scared, but she wants the balloon. Vernon nods his giant head a few times and walks slowly towards the girl. “It’s okay, Riley. Teddy bear doesn’t bite. Here, have a balloon.”

The girl looks up at her father who in turn urges her forward to pick her balloon of choice. Blue. She chooses a blue balloon. “Thank you, Mr. Bear,” she whispers before hiding behind her father’s leg once again.

For a while, Vernon just strolls around the airport, past the gift shops and nearing the gate where a little girl runs towards him and squeals in all excitement, “Can I get the pink one? Can I get the pink one?”

Vernon tries to kneel down to match the girl height, but that proves difficult with the compact belly he’s supporting. “Mia,” the girl’s mother chides from several feet away, causing the girl, Mia, to drop her smile and stop bouncing on her feet.

“I’m sorry. Can I get a pink balloon, please?” she asks again, peeking from underneath her bangs. And Vernon’s heart melts at that sight, in a rate quicker than his costume makes his body does.

“Of course! Here you go. Do you care for a hug? You can get a free balloon and a free hug!”

“I love hugs!” The girl jumps into Vernon’s hug, bumping his pillowy belly, with chuckles that help him come into term with his punishment. Well, this is a lot more fun than I expected. “Bye-bye,” Mia intones as she skips back to where her mother’s standing, a wide smile showing her neat teeth still placated on her face.

After Mia, there’s a big family seemingly on their way to their vacation. There are at least four children from that family alone, Vernon has lost count, for then there are a few others coming out of nowhere and circling him, creating quite the commotion of shouts of color. And with the last yellow balloon given to a kid named Jerry—or the way he adorably pronounced it, Jewwy—Vernon’s task is completed.

Vernon sighs, pretty content about what he’s done and given for the kids, but tired nonetheless. He drags his padded soles to the restroom where he first began his mission. He knows that there are other restrooms, obviously, but for sentimental purposes, he wants to use the same one. The restroom’s sign’s starting to get clearer as he gets closer to his destination when he feels someone poking on his back.

“It’s unfair that only kids get free balloons and hugs like that, you know.”

Vernon turns around only to face a young woman of his age standing with both hands folded in front of her, looking at him with half a pout on her lips. Vernon opens his mouth to say something, but words fail him. He’s lucky his huge bear head can hide his gaping mouth.

“I know you ran out of balloons, but can I at least get the hug?” she inquires. Vernon notices her fingers that are actively pinching the skin of her elbow. She’s adopted a tough appearance—expression, tone, and stance—when she first spoke up, but now, Vernon would say that she’s almost sheepish. “Well, I mean, it’s okay if—“

Without thinking further, Vernon finds himself opening his arms widely, welcoming the young woman in front of him. Seeing that it’s Vernon who initiates the hug, he didn’t imagine he’d be surprised when she dives into his embrace, but he does. Vernon takes an involuntary step back from the impact. The young woman’s hold on him is so tight that he can still feel the squeeze despite his thick costume.

The words are you okay? are hanging on the tip of his tongue, his heart goes erratic with growing worries, but the young woman beats him to it. “I’m sorry. I just need this.”

Vernon realizes at that point that his arms are still wide open, so he brings his hands together, closing in on her. “It’s okay. As long as you are, too. Okay, I mean.”

She laughs, but Vernon catches the hint of tears in her melodic chuckle. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he says, placing his hands on her shoulder to break the hug and allow him to see her face. She has her head ducked down, too occupied with the nudging show her boot has with Vernon’s big fluffy bear foot.

Understanding that she won’t do it on her own accord, Vernon moves his hand to cup her cheeks to raise her head, which somehow erases the frown on his forehead and frees his own laughter. Her cheeks—almost her whole face—is drowning between Vernon’s paw, and it makes her look too adorable for him to handle. And she, still with her pouty lips, struggles to bat away Vernon’s paw. When Vernon lets her cheeks go, she wipes her tears away and goes on to chastise him. “What are you laughing about, huh?”

“You,” Vernon answers shortly, half-aware that his word’s going to irritate her furthermore.

“What? That’s plain cruel, Mr. Teddy Bear! You’re supposed to be a Teddy Bear, not a Baddy Bear.” She blinks several times at the end of her sentence, probably noticing how weird that sounded.

Vernon scoffs, “W-what?”

A split second after that, the two young adults laugh uncontrollably, and Vernon’s thought flies to the timid girl earlier, Riley. She had called him Mr. Bear; she’s afraid of him and called him Mr. Bear. He wonders, is that her way of showing her ambivalence between Mr. Teddy Bear and Mr. Baddy Bear?

“Can I have one last hug?” she begins after their laughter died down. “I can’t visit the airport whenever I need a free hug, you know?”

“Sure.” Vernon’s head is emptied of any coherent thoughts as he wraps her in another tight hug. This is it. She’s going to walk away from him, and soon he’ll change into his normal clothing and everything stays in their memory, awaiting the time when memory blurs and reality dissolves into the dark of forgetfulness.

“Thank you,” she whispers, very much as Riley did, and starts walking backward.

“Actually,” he half-shouts, too deep in his previous consideration to notice, “Would you like my nu—no, um, my company, yeah, my company’s contact. You know, for business inquiries.”

She chuckles, the trace of tears has long since gone away. “Sure, I’ll take that.”

Note: Leo @leojov , this is why I lowkey freaked out when you mentioned me and started talking about teddy bear.

[deanxreader-spn]

I Don’t Wanna Live Forever (’Eight’ Part 5)

A/N: After a long long long break I’m back Thank you for the flooding messages about the ‘Eight’ Series, I can’t wait to finish it off even better than it started. Love you all and I’m incredibly sorry for the long ass wait.

THIS IS AN AU SERIES SO JUST KEEP THAT IN MIND PLEASE!!! This is part five

Characters; reader(Kyra), Liam, Hayden, malia, kira, lydia, scott, theo, alison, carter white, stiles, mason,

(told in mixed POV’s)

word count: 1,709

pairing: Liam Dunbar x reader(Kyra) Liam x hayden (reader)kyra x carter

Other Parts to the Series

part one  part two  part three  part four

Playlist

Listen to I Don’t Wanna Live Forever by Zayn Malik and Taylor Swif when reading this part. The link is on the playlist page, link is literally directly above this. I do not own the Lyrics nor the song. I also do not own any characters other than the new ones by names that are not involved in Teen Wolf, aka Kyra, Gavin etc.

How I picture Kyra in the gif below!! (after she dyes her hair lmao spoiler)

(LYDIA POV)

7 Days after Kyra left.

I didn’t know what it was that was off, but something was definitely not right. Like the universe shifted and now we were left slightly on an angle as we stood, basically doing that MJ dance move where he almost touches the floor but not really. But the scariest thing about it was as if no one else noticed but me. I sat in my room for six days, no contact with anyone, it was worse than when Jackson left, Kyra was my best friend, she was there with me when Alison died. I think that’s what made us closer, the simplicity of two girls mourning the untimely death of their friend. Ever since we were inseparable, sure we were close with Malia and the other Kira too but when it came to it hands down I would always choose Kyra over the other two, not to sound rude or anything. 

I laid in the same spot on my bed for three hours on the seventh day, sure the others continuously attempted to reach out to me but it wasn’t important, what mattered was I had no contact from Kyra which probably tore me apart the most. I vaguely had the memory of  screaming at the top of my lungs while Stiles held me back when Scott broke the news to us. “Where is she.”  I had wailed repeatedly, then cried in Stiles’ arms as everyone looked on, including a pissed off and or jealous Malia. I didn’t care though, my best friend had died and the only girl to relate to me, who soon became even closer to me than Alison ever was, had abandoned me too. Now I was almost alone, Malia could fuck off, I needed anything but her scorn. As I was laying in my cocoon of tangled sheets, blankets and pillows, I heard the front door opened, and I knew immediately it was not my parents, but in all honesty I wasn’t alarmed, how was I to freak out when I couldn’t fee, just an empty numbness. “Lydia we’re coming up.” That was Stiles voice, why was Stiles here? Who was we? What was going on? I so badly wanted to yell at them to leave, but when I tried no sound came out. The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs should’ve caused me to get out of bed, but I didn’t move, I wouldn’t. I stared straight at the ceiling, not caring to glance at the group of people crowding my bed, I knew who was there without even looking, and I could guarantee Kyra wasn’t there. “Hey Lydia.” Kira’s voice broke through to me, I ached to leap up and into her arms but didn’t dare. Another voice this time, “You need to get up, you can’t do this it’s unhealthy and unneeded.” The way she said it was smug and condescending and created a snapping feeling within me, like I was a glowstick and the glowing chemicals were miking and creating something else that ripped through my body, who did she think she was? I sat up, pin straight, and turned to look directly at Hayden, the bitch who did NOT belong in this pack. I hated her with a seething rage, she did this. “You know what you need to do Hayden? You need to get out of our lives and cut the superior and smug tone...bitch” I sneered, making sure I murmured the last part, “Lyds don’t-” 

“No Stiles, don’t you dare ‘Lyds’ me. She has no right to be here, she’s not even dating anyone in the pack or friends with us, no one here turned her so why? Why is she here, give me one good reason why I should be all warm and fuzzy towards her. Oh, that’s right, you can’t give me a reason because they’re are none,” I cut him off, it felt so good to take my anger out on her. I turned towards Liam this time, “and if it weren’t for the snake you call ‘Hayden’ or ‘baby’ or whatever you call IT Kyra wouldn’t be GONE RIGHT NOW. SHE BROUGHT THEO TO SCOTTS HOUSE, SHE GOT THEO NEAR KYRA WHO HE BIT, OH AND SHE ALSO FUCKED THEO SO HAVE FUN WITH OUR ENEMIES SLOPPY SECONDS.” I began screaming, if you couldn’t exactly tell I wasn’t having the greatest period of my life. I felt the bed dip slightly and realized Stiles had sat down beside me, a dumbfounded look on his face. “Well she’s not wrong.” He muttered. I blew a stray piece of red hair out of my face that had fallen when I sat up but was too distracted to fix it and glared at Hayden, she looked shell shocked.

 “You slept with Theo?” Liam took a step back, his face showing clear disgust and betrayal. “How did you know that?” Stiles whispered to me, he looked confused, but when did Stiles not look confused. “I honestly just threw that one in to mix things up.” I murmured back, watching the scene unfold in front of me. “I-I......” She looked at me with hatred and confusion, basically saying ‘How the fuck did she know that?’ “Well you hit the nail right on the head.” He choked back a laugh, but covered it up with a cough. “UGH.” Hayden shrieked as she stormed out of the room and stomped down the stairs, we all waited in silence but the door slam never came. “Did she leave the door open?” Mason broke the silence several minutes with the question we were all secretly pondering about. I rolled my eyes and flung myself onto my back. “I wish Kyra was here.” I whispered loud enough for everyone to hear. 

(KYRA POV)

I was running, I had an idea as to where I was heading, but not completely. Yeah, I obviously knew the place-ish seeing as I had gotten on a plane going to Seattle, Washington. The hardest part of this was I had no one, well, not no one but someone I couldn’t say I knew well. Carter White, tall, brooding and handsome, the boy I’d grew up with that was two years older and constantly invited me out to stay with him. The boy I loathed up until summer before ninth grade due to his constant teasing, even if my mother had continuously scolded me about being ‘nice because he has a crush’. But I’ve never been able to do ‘Nice’ with Carter White. He was my safety net, the one thing I could use to help me in this situation, and conveniently he also was a wolf, he promised to pick me up at the airport an take me to his hometown, somewhere in between Seattle and Portland, the name was unmemorable. 

To: liam.dun2000@icloud.com

Cc:

Subject: Liar

Liam,

I read your email and I’m sorry I didn’t respond sooner. I agree with you, I hate me and you should too. I did not do this in ‘The heat of the moment’, I’ve wanted to leave for a while, and if you even did care you would know that. Theres more to this story than me running due to simple rejection or becoming a wolf, sure it added to tipping me over the edge but there’s so much more. I could lie and say your recent email planted a seed of doubt about my ‘heat of the moment run away’ but that’s all it would be, a lie. I wont be contacting you for a while, so I guess I could say don’t wait up.

Kyra.

As I hit send I glanced up from my phone, but there was still no sign of Carter. If I guessed correctly I had about five minutes before he was to notice me if he was in fact lingering around, enough time to sort out my thoughts and build up a few walls. 

“Kyra?” I spun around, mostly in shock, my judgement of timing was off, he appeared out of nowhere half a second after those thoughts floated through my mind. I didn’t immediately recognize him, he looked a few years older and incredibly attractive. Dark hair flipped out from under his baseball cap, he was all dark rugged lines and contours, beautiful but not beautiful enough to be called handsome, more so extremely hot. As I peered into his features I recognized Carter White, the same liquid black eyes that glinted with danger and seemed to suck you in as they bore into you, the chiseled jaw and the full pouty lips. “Carter.” I mustered a smile as his eyes took in my appearance, I felt like I was under a microscope and I so badly wanted to squirm. “Well, well, well. The little squid’s all grown up.” He smirked as picked up my bags. I gawked at his muscles bulging out of his black fitted v neck tee as he did so, “Don’t call me that Carter.” I rolled my eyes, trying to keep my eyes off of him, the task growing harder and harder by the second. “Sorry Angel.” He smirked. Angel. I liked that, especially from his mouth. Oh god, this couldn’t be happening. Just friends Kyra, remember that. “’Angel’?” I raised a brow as I tugged a corner of my lip up, a look I’d practiced for Liam many-a-time in the mirror for just under a year. I should’ve known I had more than friendly feelings for him a long time ago. I needed to forget Liam. “What else would I call a girl like you.” I couldn’t help but laugh at his comment, could he get any cheesier. 

My phone made a dinging sound as we neared the exit doors and I paused, looking at the screen to see I had a new email from Liam. “Someone important?” I heard Carter ask, I glanced up and met his eyes boring into me, the black so enchanting and pulling me closer to him. I wanted him. FRIENDS. “No.” I murmured as I shut my phone off and tucked it into my back pocket, shoving the doors open. Deep down I realized it was the truth, Liam was no longer of importance if I wanted to get out all the way.