#As someone who feels nothing in romance except terrifying pressure. I think I recognize that same trait in him

[emkini]

I support all shipping activities regardless of how canon they are because this is fandom and people should have fun. HOWEVER. I have never seen a ship involving Zuko in which I was truly convinced they would both be having a good time

[wyofabdoms]

Ten Days - Day Eight

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: Javier is shot and refuses to take his antibiotic while recuperating. You get creative and make him a deal that ensures he will take his medicine everyday: one kiss for one pill. It's gonna be a long 10 days.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major character injury, slow burn, mutually unrequited, angst, swearing, soft and sweet Javi, period appropriate sexism, brief mention of broken Javi

Word Count: 2484

Note: You have a bad day at work and seek out Javi to keep you company.

Read the full series on Ao3

The Friday work day ends early for you and finds you seething as you stomp up the stairs to your apartment carrying two loaded bags, one stuffed with your favorite take out food, the other clinking with multiple bottles of red wine (and one large bottle of whiskey).  

It had been that kind of day.

All you wanted to do was drink yourself into a fuzzy stupor so you could forget the bullshit from today. The second you’re in your apartment, you shuck off your work clothes in the main entryway and pop open a bottle of wine in the kitchen wearing nothing but your bra and underwear.  As you gulp down the first sharp taste of tart alcohol, you wander to your bedroom.  By the time you’ve washed your face, put your hair up out of your face and changed into comfy shorts and a ratty tshirt, your glass is empty.  It’s a good thing tomorrow’s Saturday because you can tell right now you’re probably going to have a major headache in the morning.  You click on your record player and turn up your favorite Bruce Springsteen album, then snuggle into your couch with your food, another full glass and a trashy romance novel.  A few bites into your meal, though, and your train of thought wanders back to your day and you lose your appetite.

How dare they!  How dare they all.  YOU were the one responsible for that intel.  After the shit you’d had to do to track down that punk bartender and get him to talk...no one even bothered to acknowledge it. Not that you required them to stoke your ego and tell you how great you were, it wasn’t like that at all.  It was when you were passed over despite your hard work and someone else completely undeserving earned the praise that infuriated you. It was always that way (most of the time, anyway).  Every single male colleague you worked with always seemed to overlook the fact that, more often than not, you brought things to investigations that might not normally have happened; that you worked as hard as they did...oftentimes harder.  You had to to be successful in a man’s world. You were damn good at your job.  As cliche as it sounded, you often thought it as your woman’s intuition...an idea that many people scoffed at, but you knew was actually a legitimate and important trait.  But today had been more than just the usual workplace sexism.  Once again you had been overlooked as being an integral part of the team.  It happened so often by now that you were still surprised when it stung so much.  Today you had just felt like breaking.  So you had left work early...not even bothering to clock out or finish your paperwork.  

Fuck them!

You couldn’t stop yourself this time.  Tears began to fall again (Christ, when did you become such a crybaby?!?) and you shoved your face into a throw pillow as you sobbed for several minutes, getting the anger and frustration out of your system.  It was so unfair.  And you knew that if you had been born with a penis and were in the same situation, it would be a different story all together.  You also felt a pang of longing: if Javier hadn’t been sidelined and out of commission, you know he would have had your back today.  He was the one exception to the sexism you experience (most of the time).  It had taken some coaching on your part when you had first become partners; he had made his fair share of blunders that had hurt you and been unfair.  But he had always listened when you had called him on his bullshit, when you had explained how the things he had done or said made you feel, explained how they were not fair solely based on the fact that you were female.  Early on he had acknowledged when he was wrong.  He still occasionally did or said something thoughtless, but he usually was quick to recognize when he was wrong and he had inadvertently become your champion when things like today happened.  Though you hated to admit it, when he spoke up to others on your behalf, it made you feel good...although it also enraged you that a man’s voice pointing out your hard work was heard by the other men in a room rather than them all just recognizing it on their own.  Javi would have stood up for you today if he had been there.

Thinking about your partner reminds you that you should probably check in with him before you get too tanked...you definitely don’t want to interact with him after you’ve had as much wine as you were planning to have...and after you’ve been reading things you know you’ll encounter in your book.

You snatch up the bottle of whiskey, not bothering to hunt down his keys and patter down the hall to his apartment, tap, tap, tapping on his door, enjoying the soft buzz the wine was making you feel on the edges of your thoughts, eager to make sure he was set for the evening so that you could get back your own apartment.

As soon as Javi opened the door you realized immediately that you had made several critical errors despite only being one glass of wine in.  His eyes immediately traveled down your body, taking in your exposed neck; it was unusual for you to wear your hair up like this. They roamed further and assessed your t-shirt with hardly any elastic, the collar hanging low and dipping off one shoulder.  Despite the fact that you swam in the material, it was obvious to his keen eye that you were not wearing a bra beneath it.  You started to shuffle a little as his eyes traveled further and raked down your bare legs, his lips curling into a smirk when he saw your bright yellow, fuzzy socks.  You rolled your eyes at his roaming gaze.  My champion...you thought sarcastically.

“Hey!”  You said loudly, snapping your fingers in front of his face a few times then waving your hand in front of your own face, drawing his eyes away from your exposed legs.  “My eyes are up here, Peña. You don’t need to be lookin’ anywhere else.” He shot you a guilty grin, knowing he was caught and you felt some pressure leave your chest.  After his apology last night and the unspoken sweet moment that followed, you were afraid things might be weird between you.  Thankfully, though, things felt ok...until you see the smile drop from his face and his forehead crease in concern.

“What happened?”  He asks.  You pause, confused by what he means.  Then you realize: you had just been sobbing into a pillow in your apartment...no doubt your face looked as puffy and red as it felt.  You held up the bottle of whisky.

“I got passed over for another commendation today.” Your voice was full of false cheeriness, edged in steel and highlighted with fury.  Javi’s eyebrows came together  “Agent Dickhead got it instead.  Want to have a celebratory shot with me?”  

“Sure,” and he stepped back from the doorway to let you in.

***

Javi was appropriately outraged along with you at the injustice of the entire situation as you sat at his kitchen table.  After inviting you in, he had gotten glasses for you both as well as a bowl of chips and you had poured them each a drink. Out of the corner of your eye, you had seen him glance at you to check that your back was turned and you had watched as he knocked back a pill from the bottle next to the sink, keeping his back to you, and making no mention of it.  One shot had turned to two and you both went back and forth between chuckling and spitting ire over for the incompetence of the man who had wrongfully received the recognition that you deserved.  After your partner poses a particularly explicit hypothetical question regarding “Agent Dickhead’s” relationship with his mother that leaves you clutching your sides in a fit of giggles, he sighs.

“Sorry I wasn’t there.  I know you don’t need me or anything like that, that’s not what I mean, but…” he trails off for a moment and fiddles with his glass on the table before finishing.  “...I just wish I could have said something.  You don’t deserve to be treated like shit.”  You sigh too and lean back in your chair.

“Thanks.  I appreciate you saying that.”  You sit in an amicable silence.  Then you shift in your seat, stretching your legs from where you had tucked them up under you  “I should go.  I don’t want to keep you, I just…” your frustration from the day hits you again like a ton of bricks and in the next instant, to your utter horror you are blubbering into your hands, your shoulders shaking, trying not to sob hysterically in front of what you are sure is your mortified partner.  

You hear his chair scrap across the kitchen tile and you feel more than see him kneeling next to you on the floor.  Before you can react to his closeness, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his solid frame.  You think for a moment that you should pull away...but you just can’t. You breath him in as you lay your head against his chest and cry into his shirt, the soft smell of soap and cigarettes giving you something else to focus on besides your hurt and rage and you feel your tears start to subside just a little.  He buries his face in your hair for just a moment, taking a deep breath and releasing it in a heavy sigh, then he props his chin on top of your head, tightening his arms a little bit more around you.  

You stay like that for a while, his arms cocooned around you, you letting him hold you while you cry yourself out.  He’s told you before there is nothing more terrifying to a man than a woman in tears and you know how uncomfortable it makes him feel.  This isn’t the first time you’ve cried in front of him; it’s happened before on a few occasions, but it has never resulted in anything quite so intimate.  He usually slings an arm around your shoulders or simply sits next to you patiently, waiting until all of your tears are spent.  And then there had been that one terrible, dark time when you had found him curled up in the locker room at work at two in the morning, his head clutched in his hands, shoulders shaking, silently sobbing into the wall.  You had never been so frightened of anything as you had been then, seeing him so broken in front of you. You had held him and the two of you had never spoken of it again save for his grunted thanks the following day.  

You close your eyes and allow yourself to feel safe, feel small, feel cared for, even if only for a few moments.  Your breath comes in shallow stutters as your breathing begins to regulate.  Reluctantly, you pull back, sniffling and wiping your nose with the back of your hand.  You touch the wet front of his shirt, chuckling your apologies, embarrassed.  He shakes his head and shrugs in response and you force yourself to look at him.

His eyes are full of something that makes your heart pound.  The longing from previous nights, a reflection of your own hurt, and something that can only be described as adoration.  He brings his hands from around you and frames your face along your jaw, his thumbs carefully tracing the trails your tears have made on your cheeks, wiping away the last of the wet streaks.  

“You ok?”  He gruffs softly, the question reflected in his soft, sweet brown eyes as they search yours.  You can only nod, hypnotized by the incredible tenderness you see in his face.  For all of the resolve you have always had that has kept you from crossing the line with this man, you have never felt so much weakness as you do in this moment.  Every part of your being screams at you to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him; to beg him to touch you, to make love to you.  You know if you did he would oblige you.  He would make you forget how hurt you are by work, make you feel like the most special person in the whole wide world, make you splinter apart under his ministrations.  All you had to do was close your eyes and lean forward…

...Before you can convince yourself to act or not, Javi makes the decision for you.  Cradling your head in his hands, he leans forward, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to your lips.  It lacks the heat of the last time your lips touched, but strikes a perfect balance between chaste and lustful, pressing just long enough to be more than a peck, but not so long that either of you get lost in your desires.  He pulls away after a few tender moments, pausing as he does just millimeters from your face, his eyes open and studying you carefully, taking a moment to breathe in the air from your exhalation, his lips hovering over yours.  Your eyes remain closed, though, unable to look at him for fear of wrapping yourself around him and shoving him to the floor to ravish him.  He lowers his head, his forehead brushing your mouth and he lets out a shaky sigh.  He whispers your name as though casting a spell and you open your eyes, staring at his lowered head until he raises it again.

He looks at you for a moment longer, then rocks back onto his heels and pulls himself up to standing, taking you along with him.  You stand a little too close to each other for just a moment, heat crackling across the small space that separates you, your palms flat on his chest, his hands resting on your elbows before they drop to his sides. He takes a small step back and the raw desire you see in him frightens you.

You mumble your thanks for the company and the drink along with an apology for losing your shit on him.  He waves you off, telling you not to worry about it, never breaking eye contact. You swallow hard and blink before saying goodnight and making your way back to your own apartment, your legs suddenly feeling like they’re made of jelly and your heart pounding so hard you’re amazed he doesn’t hear it all the way down the hall.

Day One 

Day Two 

Day Three

Day Four

Day Five

Day Six

Day Seven

Day Nine