So I am asking you to write whatever character and how they feel about rain ? Maybe it’s been raining all day/week and I wanna know how they feel about it. (Ofc Peña is also allowed 🤭) Go all inner monologue or poetic on me or however you like. Just go with the flow
lots of love 💕
Berry, I love you to the moon and back.
Thank you for this baby.
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝑯𝒊𝒎 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 ☔︎︎
for @berryispunk (oops I wrote Javi) | divider by: strangergraphics
The jungle had been unrelenting. Hot, unforgiving.
Four days of cracked boots, sleepless nights, and radio static cutting through the stillness like a blade. Four days of chasing shadows between trees that whispered cartel names and buried secrets. The humidity felt alive — thick and oppressive, crawling down the back of his neck like sweat-soaked nails.
Javier was tired in a way that sleep wouldn’t touch.
Every breath was work. Every sound a potential gunshot. He hadn’t eaten in almost a day and hadn’t truly slept in more. Just brief stretches of unconsciousness, cigarette smoke, and adrenaline-fueled motion keeping him stitched together.
But even the longest thread frays.
He slipped away from the others under the pretense of a piss break — too proud to admit he needed a second to breathe. He walked far enough to be alone, far enough that the chatter in the distance faded, replaced by the insect-thick hum of the jungle. Trees towered around him, their roots gnarled and wet. Vines hung heavy from the branches like nooses.
And then it hit.
Not a bullet. Not a trap.
A panic attack.
He didn’t even know what it was at first — just the sudden snap of something inside him, like a rubber band stretched too tight for too long. His chest cinched shut. His vision blurred, breath hiccuping in his throat. He dropped to his knees in the mud, fingers digging into the earth, trembling like a man with a fever.
He thought, for a terrifying moment, that he was dying. Maybe he should call out to Steve. That this was how it ended — not in gunfire, but in shameful silence. Heart racing out of control. Alone. Gripping dirt like it could anchor him to reality.
Then the sky cracked open.
It started with a single, fat drop on his brow, then another. And then— release. A torrential downpour, sudden and violent, drumming against the canopy of leaves before slamming into him. Rain poured through as if the jungle was weeping with him.
It was cold. Relentless. Cleansing.
The sounds in his head dulled beneath the cascade. His gasping slowed, breath syncing with the rhythm of water slapping against foliage, skin, soil. His shoulders sagged, and he let the jungle swallow him whole. Mud stained his knees. Rain matted his hair, poured down his face like tears he refused to shed.
And still he didn’t move.
Because for the first time in days, the noise stopped.
No gunfire. No orders. No screaming guilt.
Just rain.
The jungle held its breath with him and eventually, his hands relaxed in the soil. His chest opened just enough. He sat back against the base of a tree, soaked and shaking, but present. Alive.
The storm didn’t ask him to be strong. Didn’t demand his badge or his blood. It didn’t care who he was.
It just came.
And for five precious minutes, it reminded him he was still human.
Still breathing.
Still here.
Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this.
I haven't wrote a vulnerable Javi before, but lately I've been feeling a bit more vulnerable myself so it seemed fitting. ♡♡♡
If you like please — consider reblogging or liking!
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