Sleep
Summary:Â Reader suffers from lack of sleep, caused by a recent event. As she continues to overwork herself, she reaches her breaking point with near disastrous results. Starring concerned!steve murphy, chaotic idiot!steve murphy and clueless!reader. javi has my fucking heart though.
Pairing: Javier Peña x reader (no use of y/n though)
Rating: M
Wordcount: 2.2kÂ
Warnings: fluff, mild angst, sort of a panic attack, mild MILD allusions to someone being creepy (not javi though), mild flirting, humour, lots of swearing sorry
this is my first fic - let me know your thoughts! check me out on ao3
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âI swear to fucking god Murphy, if you donât stop bouncing your leg against the table, Iâm slamming your head right into itâ is the gospel that flows out of your mouth at 7 am on a Monday morning. Feels like itâs gonna be a great week.
âThe hell did I do? Youâd think Connieâs cookies would be enough to get you animals off my back, but no, first sign of any damn fire anâ the first person youâd throw in?â Steve huffs. âMurphyâ, he repeats mockingly. You scoff and roll your eyes at him, clenching and unclenching your fists in an attempt to talk yourself down from strangling the idiot situated two feet to your left before turning back to the paperwork in front of you. The one-foot-tall, monster stack of paperwork. Right. In. Front. Of. You. And would the golden boys ever do it themselves? If they ever got a momentâs relief from jacking each other off during missions (or however the hell they manage to fumble practically every single little op), maybe. But most of the time, you were stuck with it. Because god forbid the two princesses you were partnered with ever had to so much as lift a pen themselves. Hell would freeze over.
And it isnât like you mind. At all, really. Half your job is the paperwork, and youâre happy to get it in order - if only to avoid Noonanâs wrath. Besides, what good is an agent if they canât do their fucking job? In its entirety; not the half-assed shit most of the men did around the embassy. But a single glimpse of yourself in the mirror while rushing to leave the house revealed that these past few weeks of skipping lunch breaks, going home late, and taking files home to work on have been catching up with you - sunken, bloodshot eyes, cracked lips, and bruises smudged under your eyes now, perpetually, since the nightmares had started. Anything to keep you busy, right?
Another aggravating side effect of the amount of work you had taken on apart from the usual? The constant irritation. Marleneâs new nails, Katieâs suspicious last lay, the stupid fucking demon alarm clock that never quite managed to wake you up, the busted tire, the broken coffee machine, Dave from accountingâs downright idiotic whistling, your pen running out of ink, and finally - Murphyâs bouncing knee banging the table every fucking millisecond, practically in tune with the pounding ache beginning to form between your brows. If you were a better person, youâd let these things go. Such is life, right? But since the lack of sleep, the increased workload and general mishappenings had already created this beautiful trifecta of shit just to screw you over, better people could go fuck themselves. As could Murphy. âDonât use your wifeâs cooking as an excuse. Iâm telling you, make another sound and die.â you spit out, whirling in your chair because the incessant fucking banging still hasnât stopped - just in time to catch Peña sauntering in, already smirking.
âAlready nailing Murphyâs balls, cariño? Careful, Iâll fall in love, baby.â You can hear the laughter in his crooning voice as he throws it over his shoulder - but you donât care - canât care, beyond the spots that seem to be forming at the edges of your vision. Were your fingers always a bit tingly? Or is that a new development, like your tongue suddenly feeling thick and heavy in your mouth, like youâre choking on it? But even though your thoughts feel slow and weighed down by molasses, rage sparks brighter in your mind as Peñaâs flirty nicknames and bullshit teasing registers. You push away from your desk, and shoot up from the chair, striding towards the door to get some air - or you try to - because before you know it, your vision is blinded by white and youâre breathing quick, shallow breaths as you lay on the ground trying to figure out what the fuck is happening. Distantly, you can hear someone calling your name but it sounds so far away you barely even register it. Hands wrap around your wrist, your head, attempting to stabilize you, to ground you, as you flail wildly in a panic. A low hum begins to fill your senses, forming words that sound to fuzzy to understand or care about right now, but you lean into it, something in your being telling you itâs safe.
When your sight clears, youâre curled up on the on the floor trembling. Shaking, like a scared fucking child, while Peña kneels to hold you to his chest, repeating the same few phrases over and over: âYouâre okay, itâs okay hermosa. Youâre safe. Safe. No ones gonna hurt you, itâs over now, okay?â as Murphy stands next to him, watching with panic and a hint of sympathy in his gaze. You scramble away from them both, panting, nearly slipping in your effort to get to your feet. âHey, itâs okay. Itâs okay, pretty. Youâre okayâ Peña repeats his assurances with his hands held out, palms facing you, as you stand on wobbling knees, wiping at your face.
ââM fineâ is all you whisper to them hoarsely before ducking your head and rushing out of the pathetically cramped room you three work in. You can hear footsteps behind you, but canât find it in you to turn around - not even at the panicked sounds of your name being called by a familiar voice. Youâre making a scene, you know it, but you donât care. Itâs all too much, and youâre too far gone. Reaching the parking lot, you struggle to unlock your car as your trembling fingers drop the keys twice. Swearing, you resolve and pick them up again, pressing them and reaching for the door. But just before your fingers find the handle another hand - much, much larger than yours - splays out on the window to stop you, just as Peñaâs signature bedhead comes into view. He looks at you with wide, concerned eyes, his mouth tucked low at the corners, like heâs disappointed. You want to melt, you do, because the melting pot of emotions you have for him make you preen at his worry - but your usual defense mechanisms humble you. And so you sharpen your claws, flash your fangs, and the hackles raise again, leaving a âWhat, Peña?â to come tumbling out in a tone so sharp it makes you flinch. HIs frown just deepens as his gaze rakes over your form frantically, as if checking for injury. He says nothing, pursing his lips further before snatching your wrist and tugging you behind him as he stalks to his car, opening the side door. You raise a brow at him, and he counters by jerking his head towards the car, scowling slightly. You get in, slightly confused, and wait for him to walk around and get into the drivers seat. âWhat the fuck, Peña? I just fainted, Iâm not senile. And I donât give a shit how mad you are, you canât just-just drag me to your car and f-force me to get in. The fuck are you playing at?â you begin to ramble, fury somehow still rising at a dizzying speed. Peña doesnât respond, just starts driving while looking straight ahead while you continue fumbling over a panicked rant so pathetic it sounds nonsensical to your own ears. ââŠAnd what? You just enjoy calling me s-stupid nicknames? You think itâs cute to flirt with me while Iâm- while I pass out?â This one makes his nostrils flare, eyes darkening a bit while his jaw tightens just for a second before letting go. You pause for a second, getting your breath while your hands still shake in your lap. âIâm fine, itâs fine. Can I just go home please? Iâve already done the monthâs paperwork for all the ops we have planned, and you can just give me the rest post-op. Iâm just a bit under the weather, I just need to lie down for a bit.â you start trying to reason, but the stubborn ass just keeps driving, and alarm starts bubbling in your chest again. You look down to your lap while you fiddle with your thumbs, willing to control the irrational fear yelling at you that somethingâs wrong every second Peña chooses to stay silent.
âThink I was flirting with you while you passed out? Yâthink I donât see it, you working yourself to the fucking bone? Think I canât see how youâve stopped eating, honey? Stopped laughing like you used to? Think I donât know how late youâve starting going home? As âf Iâll ever stop waitinâ for ya to clock out first so I know youâre home okay, baby. You gotta tell me whatâs wrong - this is eatinâ you up.â
Peñaâs tone softens, but his harsh whisper makes you turn your head to look at him. He sounds soâŠtortured, as if heâs the one suffering. He glances your way, locking eyes with you for a second before turning his head back to the road. You sit there and practically gape at him, your jaw slack as your head whirls. Peña knows? No, wait, he waits? For you to go home so youâre safe? He cares? What the fuck? Confused, all that comes out of your mouth is a mighty elegant open-mouthed âhuh?â before you blink at him, waiting for him to continue.
âYou gotta know by now, sweetheart. Gotta see how Iâve been lookinâ at you. Youâre the smartest fuckinâ agent Iâve seen, with the balls to take down men Iâd sweat to be ân the same room with. You swear like a sailor, anâ make me laugh till Iâm chokinâ on my own damn cigarette. Tell me whatâs hurtinâ you, honey. I canât promise Iâll fix it, but I can swear to you Iâll damn well try my best.â He responds, turning to hold your gaze as his own eyes widen, and his brows turn down. Puppy eyes, you think.Â
Your brain has gone from hazy to too fucking clear in a matter of five minutes, and now it feels like your thoughts are gonna come ripping out of your head. So you just blink at him, again, before reaching an unsteady hand out to cup his cheek. âIâm okay, I swear. Just-you remember that deal I had to cut last month? With the sicario? For intel on that lab?â Peña nods, and you continue. âFucker led me to a dead end. Ambushed me. O-only got out âcause his gun jammed, and his child-soldier ran away. I just-this is so fucking dumb Iâve been in worse but- I canât get it out of my head. The shit he said to me, the way he looked at me, t-touched me. I should be dead or worse, Peña. And I nearly was.â you look down again, ashamed of the truth thatâs spilling out of your mouth. Itâs so small, so weak, you just want to fold into yourself and never come out. Your voice wobbles towards the end, tears filling your eyes as you turn your head away from the man youâve wanted for so long to save whatever dignity you still have left. ââN I canât sleep anymore. Just see- or feel him every time. So thought Iâd work for a bit. Clearly didnât fucking work out, though.â small hiccups have started to punctuate your words, testament to the tears now flowing down your cheeks. Peña pulls up to an unfamiliar building and turns to you.
ââS Javi, honey. Look at me, pretty baby.â He cradles your chin between his thumb and his forefinger to turn your head towards him. âNone of that was stupid, okay? Come lie down at my place. Iâll sit in a damn chair next to you and fight him away if he comes in your dreams, sweetheart, okay? Nothinâ to be âfraid of. Never letting any fuckers near you again.â Javi leans in to brush a kiss to your forehead before stepping out of the car and hooking his index and middle finger to beckon you too. You step out of the truck and towards him, smiling while swiping at your face. âDidnât know this was what the girls meant every time they bragged about sleeping with youâ you snark softly, with a teasing grin on your face as you reach him. Javi rolls his eyes playfully before unlocking the door.
âAinât gotta do no sleepinâ you donât want to, honey. Youâre here to get some rest. Be a good girl and sleep fâme, and Iâll keep you up for as long as you like after,â he  throws over his shoulder with a matching grin and a wink.














