#so sad one of them is dea- *gunshots*

[charlyaster]

Good evening fable tumblr,

i bring you treats (Momboo and Ari art):

#i have to admit i love this non canon ship #look at them #they're gay #so sad one of them is dea- *gunshots* #anyway- #fable smp arisanna #fable smp momboo #fable smp

[cal-kestis]

If I Could Never Give You Peace

(Javier Peña x Female Reader)

Gif by @pedropcl​ [original gifset]

Summary: Two years after resigning from the DEA, Javi finds himself in Los Angeles, haunted by glares of gunshots and blood-stained hands. He’d succumbed to the idea that he’d never have peace — doesn’t deserve it after everything he did in Colombia. Then, she moves in next door and maybe, he thinks, things could be different. “I hope this doesn’t scare you,” she whispers, her fingers still tracing shapes over his head. “But I care about you, Javi, a lot. I think I could fall in love with you someday...” She exhales, a quiet, shaky sound. “I think I’ve already started.” Word Count: 4,357 A/N: A Reader-insert one-shot with a nameless female reader. No “Y/N” or "you," but the reader can be anyone. Inspired heavily by Taylor Swift’s “Peace.” How many TS references can you find? Lol. Tags: Fluff, Angst (with a happy ending), Mentions of death (but no one dies, I promise), Alcohol, Cigarettes

[Read on AO3]

The rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me... All these people think love’s for show, but I would die for you in secret... Would it be enough, if I could never give you peace? — Taylor Swift, Peace —

When Javier Peña handed in his DEA badge and gun two years ago, he knew he couldn’t stay in Texas. Not forever.

Texas held too many familiar faces, old friends calling him a hero when he felt like a villain. It held too many ties to an old version of himself he’d rather not remember… muddied images of him with a beautiful woman, an abandoned altar, and a shattered promise. No, he couldn’t stay. Not even for his father.

So, Javier Peña and the unwelcomed overcast of his nightmares found a one-bedroom apartment in sunny Los Angeles.

In time, he realized he needed the city: constant motion, endless traffic, and hoards of busy people who would never remember his face. He could blend in. He could be alone.

He could have a clean slate.

But each night, glares of gunshots flashed behind his eyelids and invisible bloodstains marred his calloused palms as if to remind him:

He could never have peace.

Then, she moved in next door.

The first time he saw her, he only caught a glimpse. She and her boyfriend, he assumed, held towering stacks of brown boxes in front of their faces — sweating as they lugged the dusty weight into the empty space.

For a moment, he considered offering some neighborly help but decided against it — When have you ever cared about being a good neighbor, Javi? — closing himself in his quiet apartment with a glass of whiskey.

The second time he saw her, she came knocking on his door the next night.

“Hi, neighbor,” she smiled brilliantly. And for a split second, he swore he felt something foreign flutter in his stomach, but dismissed it as the after-effects of spoiled dinner. “I just moved in next door and wanted to introduce myself.”

He could not take his eyes off her. His gaze stayed glued to a small bead of sweat trailing a slow path down from her hairline, where she’d pulled it back with a makeshift scarf-headband. The droplet slipped down her cheekbone, over a smudge of dust that had settled in from her moving boxes. It drifted down the curve of her jaw, dipping into the slope of her neck until finally hiding away below her tank top. And by some miracle, she only needed to repeat her name for him once before he came out of the trance.

“Sorry.” He gulped, removing the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Javier.”

He extended his hand and she met him halfway. Soft. So soft.

“Good to meet you, Javier.” She smiled again. Flutter. “I’m sure you’re busy. Just wanted to say hi. I’ll see you around.”

And just like that, she swiftly turned on her heel to walk the few steps back to her door, bare feet strutting off, flaunting her daisy dukes, and — God help him, he’s a man and she’s beautiful — he stared.

The nail in the coffin?

When she opened her door and gave him one last smile over her shoulder, she winked.

No, he could never have peace.

—

After that, he hardly ever sees her.

Part of him feels relieved, unduly wary of the strange flutter he’d feel just thinking of her name. The other part, the traitorously curious part, dreams of catching another glimpse of her glistening skin or a quarter note of her honeyed voice. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he finds himself often wondering if her boyfriend gets to enjoy her sun rays and melodies. Lucky bastard.

He blames his roaming thoughts on the fact that it’s… been a while.

This is what you wanted, he’d remind himself when he’d wake to an empty bed — a stark contrast to his time in Colombia. This is the way things should be.

Just when he starts to believe those words, he finds her crumpled on the floor in front of her apartment — the contents of her purse strewn across the hardwood beside her, palms pressed firmly against her eyes. One tiny sniffle and a tremble of her shoulders, and he melts into a puddle beneath her muddy sneakers.

“Hey,” he whispers tentatively, voice raspy with cigarette smoke.

She jolts at the sound, immediately wiping her face with her sleeves and plastering on a saccharine smile.

“Javier,” she tries to say, but her voice breaks on the vowels. “Sorry, I was just— rough day. And to top it off, I think I left my keys inside. I tried Jerry but no luck.”

“Jerry’s a shit landlord,” he sighs, earning a nod from her. He takes out an old, faded receipt from his pocket and kneels in front of her, finding a pen amongst her spilled belongings. “Try this number. He’s usually fast. Can get you back in your apartment tonight.”

He hands her the scribbled receipt and she takes it with a real smile, albeit small. “Thank you, Javier.”

He nods, a tiny dimple forming in one tanned cheek, before getting up to unlock his apartment. The door clicks but he stands there for a moment longer, listening to her waning sniffles as she throws her things back into her bag. His eyes screw shut tightly, a silent war waging behind his forehead, his fingertips feebly trying to rub it away.

He sighs long and heavy when he realizes which part of him has won.

“Would you... like to come inside my place while you wait?” He mutters, mainly to the floorboards. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

“Okay.” Her smile is warm like the sun, despite the cloud of tears still glazed over her eyes. “But you don’t strike me as a cream and sugar kind of guy.”

“No,” he admits with an amused smirk. “But I’ve got some old whiskey, older milk, and a phone you can use, toll-free.”

“Thanks, Javier,” she sniffles. “Coffee sounds nice. But hold the booze and tainted milk.”

And that’s how she ends up in his apartment, sitting at his small dining table, slowly sipping from his coffee mug, using his landline to call the locksmith.

Maybe it’s the caffeine or the three (stolen) pink packets of sugar she found in her purse (“It’s not stealing. Diners offer dozens of them in cute little boxes, I mean practically gift-wrapped, and I modestly accepted three.”), but coffee gets her talking the way alcohol coaxes even the darkest secrets from iron-barred lips. She just broke up with her boyfriend. Or he broke up with her — found some younger, hotter-than-her aspiring actress in Hollywood and left her in the dust of the boxes she’d just unpacked.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “You’ve been so nice. Really, Neighbor of the Year,” she laughs, but he thinks it sounds off. He wants to hear the real thing. “And here I am, taking up your space, drinking your coffee, and dumping all my problems on the table. Tell me if I’m talking too much, Javier. I tend to—”

“Javi,” he says, furrowing his brows as if mildly stunned by the two syllables he just spoke. She looks confused. “You can... call me Javi, for short. And I don’t mind listening.”

“Javi,” she tests the name on her tongue, smiles. His stomach flutters. “A good name for a good guy.”

The argument dies on his tongue the minute he thinks it, even though she’s horribly, terribly wrong.

Sometimes you gotta do bad things to catch bad people.

If she knew...

“I should be out of your hair in 20 minutes anyway,” she says, breaking him out of his dark reverie. “Locksmith’s on his way.”

When she finally gets back into her own apartment, Javi jostles her doorknob, double-checks the lock, and knocks on wood for good measure.

“Find your keys?”

“Got ‘em!” She chirps, jingling her lost keys. “I’m gonna have to memorize that number.”

“I’m next door, too, if you ever need anything.”

“Me too. I can lend you some sugar for your sad-man, bitter coffee,” she jokes. “Thanks again, Javi.”

He sends her a tight-lipped smile and a short nod, a familiar weight settling in his chest as he turns back to his lonely apartment.

“Would you like to come in for dinner?” She asks, quiet and suddenly timid. “I’m no chef, but I’ve never made a spaghetti I couldn’t tolerate.”

He opens his mouth to refuse but she beats him to the punch. “It’s the least I can do after you helped me out. Please?”

And it’s the way she asks that gets him. The way “please” seems to fall from her lips like an unanswered prayer. He wonders, maybe she’s just as lonely as him.

So, he walks into her apartment, she smiles, and his stomach flips.

—

Months pass by with this new routine. He joins her for dinner at least once a week, if their schedules allow. If not at the local diner where she infamously loots sugar, it’s usually at her place. For one thing, although it’s usually pasta, she tends to have more appetizing (read: edible) groceries stocked up than him. But if he’s being honest, something about her apartment just feels more like… a home.

Framed smiles of her and her loved ones line the walls. With each visit, he finds himself studying a new one, imagining the story behind each snapshot. (He noticed after their first dinner, she’d thrown out the photos of her ex, replacing them with Polaroids of the city.) Piles of pillows stack up neatly on her couch, vibrant hues and patterns decorating the space. He adores the soft waves of music always floating around her space. She plays a different record each time, but somehow, each one compliments the sweet tones of her voice perfectly.

Her place feels brighter than his too, and he’s not sure if it’s the east-facing windows or if it’s just her.

Soon, he doesn’t need to decode the photos on the walls anymore. She tells him more than she’s told anyone before — about her hometown, her family, what she studied in college, her travels, her favorite books, her irrational fears, her dreams.

He tells her considerably less, especially when it comes to his time in Colombia.

For now, she doesn’t mind. She likes the way he watches her when she talks — brown eyes soft and warm, brows pinched together as he takes in each word, the ghost of a grin tugging at one corner of his lips when she gestures dramatically.

He realizes, one night after dinner, he comes home smiling now. And he thinks the nightmares have started dwindling, ever since that first dinner.

Maybe, he lets himself imagine. Things could be different.

—

He calls for you over and over, shouting until his throat burns and the echo of his frantic voice pounds in his ears.  

“Where are you?” He screams.  

The narrow hallway is dark, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He crushes his body into the hard wall, arms sliding roughly against cold brick as he tries to keep himself concealed. The gun in his hand feels icy and impossibly heavy, and his arms tremble as they lift the weapon higher, rounding the corner.

“Llegas tarde, Peña,” a deep, gravelly voice sneers. “You’re too late.”

“Tómame!” Javier yells. “Tómame en su lugar.”

“You would die for her?” The voice chuckles. “Llegas tarde.”

The voice’s shadow moves, revealing a smaller shadow crumpled on the floor — lifeless.

“Javier! Javier!” A distant voice chants, accusing him. Boom! Blaming him. Boom!

“Javier!” Boom!

The pounding sound wakes him up with a jolt, and his sweat-slicked chest rapidly rises and falls as he reaches for the gun inside his bedside table.

Slowly, Javier creeps to the front door where the loud pounding started. But when he peers into the peephole, he only finds her — looking as tired and distressed as he feels. A wave of relief floods through his overheated body.

She’s wrapped up in a blanket, a worried look wrinkling her forehead.

He puts his gun down in a drawer and lets her in.

“What time is it?” He asks.

“Almost 4 in the morning.”

“What’s wrong?” He demands, suddenly worried about why she’d be waking him this early.

“You tell me,” she says, frown lines still etched by her eyes — mirroring his own tired marks. “I heard you yelling. I was worried, Javi.”

“It was...” he starts, squinting as the images flash in his mind again. “Just a dream.”

It only takes one glance into his eyes for her to reach out to him, pulling him in by his neck until he nuzzles into hers.

He breathes her in, holds her like he’s not sure she’s real, like she might be gone tomorrow. “It was just a dream,” he echoes, but he’s not sure who he’s trying to convince.

“It was just a dream,” she repeats after him.

She pulls him by his hand toward his couch, sitting down before patting the space beside her. And just this once, he allows himself to let his head rest in her lap, lets her drape her fuzzy blanket over him, lets her soft fingers draw slow circles in his hair, lets her lull him to sleep with mumbled whispers he can’t quite make out, and lets her ward off the lurking darkness like a nightlight.

He’s asleep before he can hear the quiet secret that spills from her lips.

“I hope this doesn’t scare you,” she whispers, her fingers still tracing shapes over his head. “But I care about you, Javi, a lot. I think I could fall in love with you someday...” She exhales, a quiet, shaky sound. “I think I’ve already started.”

She comes over to his apartment more frequently after that. Whether to bring him dinner or just sit on his couch in comfortable silence, she doesn’t like to leave him alone.

And maybe, she’d rather not be alone either.

—

He doesn’t remember how she convinced him, but here he is... sitting at a crowded bar drinking water, watching his tipsy neighbor bouncing alone on the small dance floor.

Every so often, some cocky drunk comes up to put his hands on her waist and tries to dance with her, but she plasters on a faux smile and shakes her head at them, muttering something while nodding in Javier’s direction. Each time, they sulk away and he chuckles.

Finally, she bounces over to him, tugging at the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“Dance with me, Javi. Please,” she draws out the word, an octave higher than normal.

And despite himself, he follows her voice like a sailor enthralled by a siren’s song.

She puts her arms around his neck, swaying her body against his. And then she shouts over the music, “I’m so glad we’re friends.”

And the heart on his sleeve falls straight to the floor, clanging loudly in his ears like metal.

‘Friends’ is more than you deserve, he reminds himself.

But then she continues, resting her head against his chest, her index finger coming up to tap a tantalizingly slow beat over his collarbone. “Good friends,” she sighs, lifting her gaze until her chin digs into his heart, her lips just inches from his. “Really… good… friends.”

She’s kissing him before he can even process the feeling. And despite his better judgment, he lets her. She’s everything warm and soft and good, with just a hint of alcohol — and he’s what you get when you turn those words upside down, jumble the letters, and crumple the paper into a jagged ball. But he craves the way her curves somehow fit perfectly against his cold, shattered edges. And he knows he shouldn’t.

So, when he feels her tongue trace along the seam of his mouth, he gently pulls away, hands rubbing soothing circles on her shoulders.

“You’ve had too much to drink, cariño,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

“Okay,” she whispers, smiling with half-lidded eyes, drawing her finger across his mustache then below his ever-pouting lip.

She’s passed out in his car by the time they’re back home. When he unlocks her apartment door for her, she stays latched onto his arm as he turns to leave.

“Stay,” she whispers.

“I—”

“Please?” She asks, in that way he knows he can’t fight. “I don’t want to be alone.”

And just like that, the door closes behind him and he stays.

He finds her an oversized shirt to change into, helps her wipe the smudged mascara off her face, and holds her until the sun rises.

When she wakes, the space beside her is empty but warm and indented, the shape of his body lingering in the sheets. A full glass of water, ibuprofen, and the phantom taste of Javi’s lips are the only other traces of her really… good... friend.

—

He’s not avoiding her… per se. But it’s a long, lonely week later when he sees her again, on an uncharacteristically rainy Sunday outside their apartment building.

“I just got home,” she blurts after standing there dumbfounded for a good minute. She nods to the soaked brown paper bags in her arms. “Groceries. Uh, obviously. Were you...?”

“Forgot my umbrella,” he answers.

“Same,” she chuckles awkwardly, droplets hanging on her lashes and the ends of her hair, only partially covered by her hood. “Obviously.”

“Here, let me help you.” He takes the bags from her, keeping the door open with his foot as he waits for her to head inside.

“Thanks, Javi-er.”

He follows her upstairs silently, his wet, squeaking shoes punctuating each slow and heavy step.

“I can—”

“Let me just—”

They fumble and dance around each other in her doorway as he sets her bags in her apartment. And, as if to torture herself, she decides to stand under her door frame when he leaves to grab his umbrella, waiting the longest minute of her life for him with a forced smile.

He waves his umbrella at her after locking his door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.”

He nods and walks back down the stairs.

“Javier, wait.”

He pauses, his back still facing her, drenched shoes balanced on two different steps.

“Can we talk?” She hates the way her voice sounds when she asks, tinny and trembling. Clearing her throat, she clarifies, “About what happened... at the bar?”

He sighs, screwing his eyes shut tight and rubbing his forehead.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says, low and barely audible as the rain starts picking up outside. And he walks away.

She’s stunned still, watching as his figure shrinks with each step he takes away from her. He’s already out of the building by the time frustration fuels her feet to follow him into the rain.

“Like hell there’s nothing to talk about,” she yells over the downpour, hair quickly sticking flat to her face. “Javi, we kissed!”

“You were drunk,” he says, just loud enough for her to hear, still walking.

“I wasn’t drunk,” she argues to his back, remembering with perfect clarity exactly how his lips felt on hers. “Just a bit braver. Javi, stop! Look at me. Please.”

And like clockwork, he turns slowly but doesn’t move any closer.

So, she closes the distance to stand beside him under his umbrella, taking in his features without the obscurity of rain.

“What are you running from?” She wonders, reaching for his fidgeting hand. “I would never hurt you. I—”

The line between his brows looks deeper than usual, as if they’d been stuck in that pinched position for weeks. Shadows lay in rings beneath his eyes, accompanied by smaller lines that carry untold stories she hopes he’ll entrust her with someday. His mouth is parted just slightly, as if to say something he knows could change everything.

And it does.

“I have to go.”

Her hands are empty and wet when he leaves. And the rain buries his parting words into the pavement.

I don’t want to hurt you.

—

She doesn’t hear from him for two weeks. Doesn’t even catch a glimpse of him.

The rain sticks around longer than usual for Los Angeles, making her apartment feel cold and gloomy. But maybe, it’s just missing him as much as she is.

Then, while she’s folding her laundry one night, she hears his door rattle and practically bolts to her own. He’s there. Keys in hand, rolling luggage in the other, hair tousled like he’s been pulling at it with his fingers. He looks at her when she opens her door, just for a beat too long, before hiding away in his apartment.

She sighs, closing her door in defeat.

But just as she starts getting ready for bed, she hears two knocks at her door, heart beating rapidly as she slowly makes her way to open it.

“Hi, neighbor,” he greets her softly, and the sound of his voice after so long without it nearly brings her to tears.

“Where did you go?” She asks. But she really means, Why did you leave?

“Texas,” he says. “I... needed to see my dad.” But he really means, I was scared.

“Oh.”

“Can I...” he mutters. “Can I come in please?”

She hesitates for only a second before stepping aside and he looks around like he hasn’t seen the inside of her apartment hundreds of times already.

He stops near her bedroom, where a new picture hangs proudly: a goofy, blurry photo of him stashing three pink packets of sugar in his shirt pocket.

“It’s the only photo you’ve let me take of you,” she says quietly, standing next to him with a wistful smile on her face. “I miss our diner dates.” But she really means, I miss you.

He doesn’t respond, just silently walks to her couch and sits, fingers rubbing circles into his forehead.

Minutes roll by slowly as she watches him from the other side of the room, battling with some invisible hand covering his mouth, holding on until the end to keep the words locked up.

“I’m not a good man,” he whispers, so softly she almost doesn’t hear it. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of... back in Colombia. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to tell you. I think a part of me is still there, fighting some unwinnable war. Hell, even before Colombia, I—”

Muddied images of a beautiful woman, an abandoned altar, and a shattered promise flash in his mind.

“Fuck. I can’t shake it,” he says, looking up at her with red-rimmed eyes, waving the invisible iron shackles on his wrists to show her. “Any of it. The nightmares...” He recalls her shadowy body and a dark, menacing voice. “They’ve followed me for years. I—” he looks at her, eyes darting across her face. “I could never give you peace.”

His head hangs low and a wayward curl brushes against his forehead. Despite how much space he takes up on her couch, he looks so small, defeated —  the weight of his past crushing him into this tiny, torn, crumpled-up piece of paper covered in red-inked, scratched-out sentences.

“Javi,” she whispers, but he doesn’t meet her eyes. So, she crosses the room and kneels in front of him, her palms reaching for his cheeks and lifting his gaze to hers. “Javi, who said anything about peace?”

The wrinkles deepen between his brows as he studies her, tries to understand what she means in the cloudy orbs of her eyes.

“The past is the past. We’ve all done things we can’t speak of. And sometimes at night, we live it all again. God knows I’m far from perfect. But I know you’re a good man, Javi. I see you,” she tells him, stroking the curves of his cheekbones with her thumbs.

“I’m not—”

“Do you trust me?” She interrupts his argument. He stares at her, blinks, before nodding once.

“Then trust what I’m saying. You’re not perfect. But you’re good.”

His eyes close as soon as she sees water beginning to pool behind his lashes.

“I’m not asking for peace. As long as I get to be with you, it would be enough.”

And then his lips are crashing into hers, pulling her into his lap until he’s covered in her. The sound he makes when they touch is devastatingly beautiful, like she’s a balm soothing his freshest wounds and healing his oldest scars. It feels like his entire body has exhaled — lungs deflated, bones liquified, mind released from a decades-old straitjacket. If not for gravity, he could float from the way his stomach is fluttering. His shoulders lower and he sighs as if he’d been holding his breath for his entire life until this moment.

He’s drowning in her, submerged to the top of his head. But he can finally breathe.

“I’m sorry I ran,” he whispers into her skin. “I’m sorry I left, cariño,” he kisses just below her ear. “My dad said I was the biggest asshole on the planet for leaving. I’m sorry, baby. So sorry,” he licks the seam of her lips.

“Mi alma, you have no idea,” he sighs when she parts her lips for him. “How much I love you.”

And she captures the words on her tongue, kissing him with a ferocity that says, Yes, I do.

“Want to know a secret?” She gasps when his lips trail down her neck. Her voice is barely a whisper, as feather-light as her fingertip skating across his shoulder.

He hums, a soft, lazy smile stretching his lips wide, so wide.

“I don’t think it’s possible,” she says, staring into his deep brown eyes. “That I’ll ever love anyone more than I love you, Javi.”

Her finger stops, retracted to shield herself after such a heavy confession. His eyes blink slowly, head lifting off the couch cushion.

He doesn’t say a word. He only stares at her, the softest smile on his face — his edges blurring into gentle curves in front of her very eyes.

“You’re it for me,” she finalizes.

And then they’re crashing into each other again and again and again.

End Notes: Look, it’s been almost 10 years since I sat in a Spanish class and watching Narcos only restored 3% of my limited vocabulary. Here’s what I got from Google Translate: “Llegas tarde.” = You’re too late. “Tómame!/ Tómame en su lugar.” = Take me!/ Take me instead. “Cariño” = Darling, honey “Mi alma” = My soul P.S. Please let me know if I missed any tags/triggers!

#javier peña #narcos #pedro pascal #javier pena #javier peña x reader #you know i've fallen deep when i start writing #your honor she's simping #mine*

[echo-hiraeth]

Chapter 2: Survivor’s Guilt

Part of the “Illicit Limerence” series.

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: Javier is confronted with the stakes of losing an important coworker and friend as the reader gets injured during a chase. But grief and hospitals aren’t really his scene. The reader finds out the extent of her injuries and condition, leaving her shocked to the core.

Warnings: swearing, violence, mentions of injury, angst and some fluff

Masterlist

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DEA agents were hurt and killed almost daily, that was just the way things were with the cartel. Pablo didn’t care about who they were or what their legacy was, married or not, children or not, to Escobar they were just the enemy’s pawns. Javier Peña was well-aware of this and therefore rarely turned his head when another death within the office was called. He didn’t do funerals, he did women and drinking instead. In a time of war there was no time for grieving, he believed it to be a weakness of the flesh much worse than indulging in the warmth of a prostitute or colleague every now and then. This had become a routine for him and while it ate away at his conscience he never once considered giving up his bachelor-lifestyle. Never until today.

The narco screamed as Javier tackled him to the asphalt, brutally bending his arms behind his back, slapping the cuffs around his wrists. He opened his mouth to yell something out to Carillo when he heard the echo of two gunshots, followed by a cry. As his ears registered the pitch and tone, he made it out to be you. His head shot up immediately, already in desperate search of the source of your whereabouts.

Carillo took the detained from his clammy hands, leaving Javier to find you. Everything went quiet and all he could hear in that moment of utter panic was his obscene breathing and rapid heartbeat. When he rounded the corner, seeing Steve’s back turned to him, a pool of broken glass and legs he could only assume were yours he felt his heart drop. Murphy was frantically babbling into his radio as Javier stepped closer, the blood on the floor sickening.

He stood still next to Steve, watching the way your relaxed body laid in his arms, unmoving. “Is she-“

“No”, Steve replied quickly, beckoning for Javier to take his spot. “Stay with her, I’m getting the med kit from the car.”

He hesitantly sat down on his knees, the glass scraping against the fabric of his jeans as he gently pulled you onto his upper thighs. He spotted the burnt fabric on your vest and thanked his stupid teasing for having secured it earlier. It was as if you were just asleep, eyes closed, a peaceful look settling on your features. That’s what he told himself, she’s just resting, it’s been a long day, she’s fine, just tired.

Usually when you were sprawled out in his arms it was after another heated round of mind-numbing sex, naked and glistening with sweat. He thought of the way you looked then, skin glowing with pleasure, lips curled up in the most mesmerizing smile, eyelids fluttering closed as he trailed his long fingers over your chest. Rather than being covered in each other’s sweat, he found his hands stained with your vibrant-red blood and rather than trailing his fingertips across the curve of your breasts his left hand rested on the back of your head, hair sticking to itself from the mixture of sweat and blood.

It was a horror, the otherwise so lively and feisty woman appearing dead. The more he thought of it, the more he started shaking, panicking, checking for a heartbeat despite hearing your soft breaths. He couldn’t stand the idea of never getting to apologize to you, never having you curled up against his chest again, laughing about something stupid. The mere possibility of never seeing you at that desk again, stuffing your mouth with whatever the kitchen had to offer, completely dropping the “ladylike” act in front of your two partners, it tugged right at his heartstrings.

When Steve returned, putting some balled up spare clothes underneath you to keep them from cutting you up even more, Javier was dead silent and pale with terror. He gave his fellow agent a death glare when he gently shifted her body back to the floor, his arms tightening around you. “We need to get her vest off and check her chest”, Steve commanded, Javier finally loosening his grip, allowing you to lay on the makeshift “bed”.

“Ambulance?”, he breathed.

“Still on the way”, Steve huffed as he carefully undid the several buckles and straps on your vest.

As the two frantic men were bickering back and forth accusing the other one of not being careful enough or being a blatant idiot you slowly came to. A soft whine left your lips as you blinked a couple of times, the bright daylight inducing the absolute worst headache you ever felt. Soon the two of them were hovering over you, asking a myriad of questions while you were just trying to put two and two together. You couldn’t even bring yourself to move an inch, your entire body just aching and seemingly on fire. As you registered the severity of your fall, your breathing started to speed up, the two fussing men not helping you with your oncoming panic attack. Javier rested a bloodied hand on your cheek in an attempt to calm you down, he was whispering something to you, in Spanish, fingers stroking back and forth in a gentle motion. You tried to speak but found yourself unable to, a tear of frustration falling out of the corner of your eye.

“Cariño, quédate conmigo, por favor”, he muttered, “Está bien, la ambulancia llegará pronto.” (Stay with me, it’s okay, the ambulance will be here soon).

He hadn’t been this soft with you in weeks and the longer you stared up at him through your heavy eyes, the guiltier he felt about it. With every blink your eyes struggled more and more to open again, your body urging, begging you to just rest. You were defenceless against yourself, the sustained injuries asking just too much of you, and soon you were out again, breathing steadying once again. Javier bit his tongue trying to ground himself and keep calm as he heard the wailing sirens in the distance. Steve had been taken your vest of by now, lifting your shirt to reveal nasty bruises on your chest, the vest had saved your life. Javier said a prayer right there and then, thanking whatever entity up above responsible for saving you, for letting you stay with him.

When the paramedics took over and removed the two of them from the scene they were in a trance-like state. Steve had been through this before, back in the states he’d lost his partner, which had proven to him just how powerful drugs were. Death was just a part of the job, but losing a partner, that shit was personal.

 How they managed to get to the hospital unscathed was beyond anyone’s understanding, but as Steve sat in the waiting room with sweet Connie holding his hand, Javier was angry. It should’ve been him, he had told you not to go, but you just wouldn’t fucking listen. They didn’t even catch the guy, which maybe wasn’t the worst outcome, seeing how Javier would have absolutely murdered him with his bare hands.

“Javier just sit down, this isn’t helping anyone”, Connie spoke up, clearly having had enough of the man’s continuous pacing. “Why don’t you get yourself a coffee or something, you could be here another couple hours.”

She did have a point, you’d been in surgery for little over an hour and with every passing minute his need to just run off was getting more and more prominent. But he knew that the doctor could walk through those doors any minute as well, so he wanted to stay put, for you.

Upon seeing his partner’s lack of movement, Steve stood up. “How about I go get us those coffees then”, he offered.

Being alone with just Connie, a close friend of yours, made him feel even more nervous. Luckily for him the doors swung open before any kind of conversation could be started. Revealing the doctor that had rushed you away earlier. Your two friends went to stand, politely nodding at the doctor.

“The patient is stable, she suffered a broken collarbone which we managed to fix into place during surgery. She also sustained a concussion and a laceration to the back of the head which has been closed up. And uh she has some contusions among minor cuts over the body, nothing to be too worried about.” Javier and Connie sighed in relief. “But I need to speak to Steve Murphy, he was listed as Miss y/l/n’s emergency contact.”

“That’s my husband, he’s gone to get some coffee, should be back any second”, Connie replied, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “Can we go see her?”

“The patient’s waking up just now, so she’ll be out of it for a little bit.” With that he led them to your room, carefully opening the dim room, quickly adding that it had to do with the smack to the head you’d suffered.

Javier and Connie sat on either side of the bed, the doctor quickly leaving the room almost bumping into Steve on the way out. When he introduced himself the doctor whisked him away, presumably to have that confidential chat.

A quiet sob drew Javier’s attention back to the scene in front of him, nothing that Connie had started to cry, carefully holding your hand in hers. “Careful with that, we still need that back at the office, evidence”, he joked, eliciting a sad smile from his friend.

“Just look at her Javi, she must’ve been so scared.”

He looked at the IV’s in your left hand and the several bandages covering your body. “She’ll be alright Con, I promise.”

Steve re-entered the room with heavy steps, head hanging low and he looked at his wife. “Connie, a word, out in the hall”, he sighed.

She quickly wiped at her eyes and left the room, following her husband outside. He was alone with you now and felt incredibly out of place. You were the one to make situations less awkward and insufferable, you were the one to lighten the mood with some stupid joke or story about something back in the States. You, you, you – anything and everything was you, it was like his fucking world revolved around it- her. The poor man wasn’t able to deal with the near loss of you and his feelings, so he did what seemed best to him, pressing a quick kiss to your head and booking it, leaving you alone.

The simple touch had its desired effect, eyes fluttering open just as he walked over the threshold of your room, disappearing into the Columbian night. As you blinked a couple of times, vision somewhat blurry, all you could feel was pain, intense pain from your shoulder. Just as you tried to sit up a bit more the Murphys walked in, Connie quickly rushing over to your side and forcing you to lay back.

“Hey, y/n, hey, you’re in the hospital”, she explained slowly, gesturing at the several wires and monitors.

“Ja-Javier?”, you croaked out, throat completely dry and scratchy.

Steve poured you a glass of water while speaking: “He must’ve left. Listen, I know you’re probably exhausted and all but we need to have a chat.”

Nothing could have prepared you for the absolute bomb Steve was about to drop on you, those three little words changed everything. You – are – pregnant. Normally people would be nothing short of euphoric hearing such a confession, but to you – a woman with no partner and a job in one of the most dangerous places to be – it was a death penalty.

You had stayed in the hospital five more days, fellow agents coming to pay their respects, but you were just in a state of utter shock and frankly denial. You had argued with doctors and nurses, demanding they’d take your blood again and do it right. But no matter how much you protested and wanted it to not be true, you were in fact pregnant.

Five whole days of friends and colleagues supporting and loving you, even a call from your fucking parents at some point, but no Javier. Connie and Steve hadn’t pried for information, prioritizing your recovery for now, but you knew fully well your old friend had his suspicions. They hadn’t told anyone else, and as of yet it was just you, them two and the medical staff that was aware, already way too many people for your liking.

On the fifth day nobody visited, as per your request, you’d be moving in with Connie and Steve for the next couple of weeks, your concussion-induced vertigo and left arm requiring almost constant assistance, or as you saw it: babysitting. So, you’d told everyone to fuck off until it was time to go to hopefully get some time to yourself, time that you could spend in your own head. As you sat up on the hospital bed, half dressed, incapable of putting a shirt over your head, you broke down. It wasn’t necessarily the shirt that made you this upset it was just everything; the accident, the fact that you were pregnant and most of all him. He hadn’t even made an effort to visit you, to check up on you.

Or so you thought. You see, while you were out in that bed, life at the office just continued where it left off, Peña and Murphy still sitting at their desks and going out in the field. Only now they only ever talked about three things; new leads, that new bar downtown and you. Well to be completely honest, Steve didn’t really ever mention you but Javi.. he couldn’t shut up about you, bugging his poor co-worker on the daily, trying to get at least some information out of him. Steve had gotten so fed up one late night that he’d tossed the case files at the other man’s head, telling him to go to that damned hospital instead. After that he stopped asking and was left to brood and mull in his bed, kitchen, shower, basically anytime he was alone. Surely you wouldn’t want him there, considering what terms you were on, but would it be so bad for him to just swing by, talk to you for half an hour or so, see how you were doing with his own eyes? He deemed it best to leave you alone and not give you more of a headache. But by Saturday afternoon, the day you were supposed to be emitted, he couldn’t help himself. He got in his car and just drove there, hastily parking his car as he ran up to your room, stopping at the door as he heard your muffled weeping.

The soft knock interrupted your heartfelt moment, you saw his reflection in the windows, unable to turn your head around. “Can I come in?”, he asked with a small voice.

“Y-yeah”, you answered, trying to cover yourself with your good arm.

He wordlessly walked over to you, quickly gathering the shirt from the floor and stepping closer. “Guide me.” Javier tenderly helped you into your shirt, following your every instruction and checking if he was doing okay every time you winced. When you were dressed he sat next to you on the bed, holding the hairbrush you’d handed him just seconds before. “I-I’ve never done someone else’s hair, are you sure you want to look even more of a mess?”, he joked.

You quietly chuckled, fidgeting with the hair tie in your hand. “Can’t get much worse anyways, just be careful with the ends.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as he brushed through your untamed hair, profusely apologizing every time the brush would get tangled, making the both of you laugh a little. It was a small win, just a sweet and innocent moment with the most dangerous man around, at least to you. He struggled to comb it all back, clearly not used to performing even the easiest of hairstyles. Eventually your hair did end up in something akin to a ponytail, at least he tried. After he zipped up your bag for you and checked the room for anything left behind you tried to slip on your shoes, a pair of tennis shoes to be exact, ones you frequented due to the nature of your job. Chasing narco-men wasn’t exactly ideal when wearing heels, so yes, you lived in flats. He soon got on his knees in front of you, helping you in your shoes and tying the laces for you, not able to watch you struggle any longer. The two of you didn’t talk other than the occasional “does this hurt” and “what now”. He offered to drive you home, but you explained Steve would be picking you up in a bit, informing him that you’d be staying over at their place, but a floor away from his own door.

“I should probably go then – unless you need anything else”, he said, hands in his pockets.

You went to stand, losing your balance a bit and steadying yourself by holding on to the frame of your bed. “Actually, if you don’t mind, can you help me to the entrance, I’d rather wait there.”

With his arm wrapped around your waist, by means of support, totally nothing else, he helped you get downstairs, to the entrance. He’d insisted you stayed inside, telling you about the dangers of being alone. You’d rolled your eyes, reminding him you had worked here just as long as he had, making him jut his hip. It’s then that Steve pulled up out front, quickly walking over to the two of you.

“What the hell is he doing here?”, Steve asked you, eyeing his partner up and down.

“He was just visiting and now he is leaving, see you Monday, Murphy”, Javier scoffed as he patter the man on the back, walking off without another word.

As Murphy helped you in his car he quirked an eyebrow at your messy hair; “Peña do that to you?” You nodded. “What’s that all about?”

“Survivor’s guilt”, you chuckled.

Taglist: @peterhollandkait @pedritomando​ 

#javier peña #javier pena #narcos #pedro pascal #imagine #javier peña x reader #illicit limerence

[absurdthirst]

you just need to know that i. am. a. sucker. for javi angst. so please, anything you can give me. i don't care if it's cliche, if it's complicated, i need something sad for my boy.

***I don’t think you are ready for this....but you asked for angst....AKA why Peña is an asshole.

The Reason

“So why are you here?” Steve rolled his head over against the headrest of the car to look over at his partner. Javier Peña was such a mystery at times. Closed off and seemingly a one man island in his pursuit of Pablo Escobar.

Javi’s jaw clenched as he watched the house, hoping that someone would fucking come out and give them something. He needed a lead. It had been too long since they had a solid beat on the fucking narco.

It took him second, before he opened his mouth to answer. “I used to be a Sheriff’s deputy. In Laredo.”

****

“Javier.” The radio on his shoulder sparked to life. “Javier!....Javi? You sleeping again?”

He rolled his eyes and reached for the mic. “What do you want, cariño?”

“I’m bored...nothing ever fucking happens.” He laughs at the petulant tone that comes through. She was always unhappy unless there was something going on. The sleepy little ranching community always grated on her nerves when it wasn’t giving her something to do.

Technically, she was his partner. But more than that, she was his lover. His life.

“I’m sorry that Mrs. Grant didn’t report another UFO.” He quipped back.

He was sitting in his cruiser on Pedregal St, while she was stationed over on another service road that ran parallel to the Rio Grande. Only a few minutes apart and both able to watch the water and look over into Mexico.

“Pfft. That old lady sees more UFOs than everyone in Roswell.” She laughed before keying her mic again. “So have you thought about it?”

He knew what ‘it’ she was talking about. The chief had called him back to the department, saying to get his ass back ASAP. Javier had expected to get chewed out, probably for that really long lunch they took the week before. But he would happily accept the ass chewing, it had been some damn good sex.

Instead, there had been a DEA agent sitting in the Sheriff’s office. He had stood and smiled when Javi came with a confused expression on his face. He wasn’t there to get reamed for misdeeds. Apparently the DEA wanted to recruit him in the hunt for Narcos.

He had been on several task forces with other agencies. Javier Peña had a reputation for being a smart, thorough and amenable. Likeable and easy to get along with. Word had gotten back to the relatively new agency, who was currently hurting for manpower. Not too many people were willing to uproot their lives and hunt dangerous men in the name of getting drugs off the streets.

He hesitated, his finger hovering over the mic before pressing the button. “I don’t think I’m going to take it.” He said honestly.

“What! Why?” The demand for an explanation came quickly. She had urged him to look at the position, arguing that it would be a fantastic boost to his career and get him away from Laredo.

What she didn’t know was that he didn’t mind the sleepy little town where they lived. Sure it wasn’t exciting, but it was home. More importantly, it was where she was. She just didn’t realize how much she meant to him. How in love he was with her. All he wanted was what should have terrified him, a white picket fence future. Kids and a dog running around and coming home with her every night.

“What if I join too?” She asked.

He was about to answer when she keyed her mic again. “Hang on, I’ve got some suspicious activity on the river, 500 yards from the old mill house. I’m going to check it out.”

Immediately he reached for the ignition switch of his cruiser, a bad feeling sweeping over him. It was too late for it to be kids fucking around.

He swung his car around and stomped on the gas, flinging gravel into the air as he sped towards where she was. His heart stopped as the radio flared to life and he heard gunshots.

“Shots fired! Shots fired!” She yelled into her radio. He heard her gun, much louder being fired in return.

“Fuck!” He yelled, slamming his fist on the steering wheel as he tried to coax more speed out of the V8 engine. “Fuck!”

“Hang on baby” He mutter, swinging the car onto the service street and hauling ass to where she had told him she was.

“Hit-” One word came over the radio and he felt his stomach plunge to his feet.

He spotted her cruiser up ahead, the driver’s door open and a figure laying on the ground. “NO!”

The car skids to a stop and he jumps out, running towards the figure as he looks around for the shooters. Her car is riddled with bullet holes.

“Fuck!” He drops to his knees, desperately depressing the button on his radio. “I need an ambulance now! Deputy down! Gunshot wound to the chest. 1 mile up River Rd.”

He reached for her, crimson red blood spreading over the tan deputy shirt she wore. He covered the wound with his hand and pressed down hard. “Hold on baby, help’s coming.” His tone was shaky.

She was squirming under his hands. Her teeth stained with blood, as she clawed at his arms. “Sm-ugglers” She groaned. “Sor-sorry”

“No, don’t be sorry.” He shook his head looking behind him. “Where the fuck is the ambulance!”

He heard the wail in the distance as everything seemed to slow down. He saw the tears in her eyes, the fear lurking in those beautiful orbs. He knew it was bad, but he needed her to just hold on until the paramedics got here.

“Hang on baby, just hold on, for me.” He pleaded, his own eyes blurry with tears as he pushed down a bit harder on her wound, trying to slow the bleeding. “Just a little longer.”

She shook her head, opening her mouth several times before she rasped out. “L-love you, J-Javi.”

“I love you too, baby.” He blinked back the tears and looked over his shoulder again. “COME ON!”

He felt it. Before he even looked back down, he felt the way that her chest decompressed. Her body going still, released from the writhing pain she had been in. His chin trembled as he look back at the love of his life, her eyes glassy and unfocused. Her hand having fallen away from her hold on him.

“No.” He whimpered. Shaking his head as he leaned over her. “No, baby, no. Please, God, no.”

By the time the paramedics rushed over to him, he was cradling her body to his chest, hot bitter tears rolling down his cheeks as he howled into her neck. It took both of them and the Sheriff to drag him away from her.

-

“I’m so sorry, Javi.” He looked up as the Sheriff sat on the edge of his desk. “It looks like she interrupted a smuggling operation. Drugs have been pouring into the country and they aren’t playing nice.”

It was days later. The investigation was done, and the reports filed. She had been cleared of any mistakes, just a case of wrong place, wrong time. And the only thing they could tell him was that it was fucking cocaine traffickers. Fucking narcos had ripped her from him.

He stopped listening after that. His mind numb. All he could think about was those last few minutes. Looking down at the hands that had been stained with her blood, he made his decision.

“I’m taking the job.” He said, standing abruptly. He saw the reluctant acceptance in his former boss’s eyes. He had already been relieved of his service weapon, standard when a partner was killed. He didn’t say another word, just turned and walked away from the life that he wanted to have just days before. The DEA agent’s card was on his dresser at the apartment he used to share with her. He was taking the job for her.

-

The phone rang as he pulled at the knot of the tie, frustrated. She always helped with these damn things. He hated ties. Except now he was doing it himself.

“What?” He barked into the phone, not bothering to identify himself.

“Um, Mr. Peña?” The timid voice on the other end of the phone made him guilty.

“Yeah, sorry.” He waited.

“This is Karen, at Mr. Moore’s Jewelry Shop. I’m calling to tell you that the ring is ready for pickup.” She perkily rattled on as he stopped listening.

He’d spent hours pouring over rings. Trying to decide on the perfect one for her. Probably driven poor Mr. Moore insane, but he’d wanted to get it right. He only planned on doing this once. He had even driven an hour away so nobody could mess up his plans. He had planned to surprise her, book a weekend at a fancy hotel in Corpus Christie and treat her to an incredible time before begging her to marry him. Although he knew he’d probably get so damn excited he’d ask her in the truck on the way there.

“Mr. Peña?” She interrupted his train of thought.

“Yeah, um, okay.” Javi sighed. “Just, uh, I’ll be by tomorrow. I’ve got a funeral today.” His voice broke and trailed off.

“Okay.” She quickly ended the call.

-

Burying her was like lowering a piece of himself into the ground. He was pretty fucking sure his heart was in that casket with her. He stood hollow eyed next to her parents as the preacher talked about the afterlife. He wasn’t paying attention. He was thinking about her.

Those last few moments. He should have told her to wait for him. Should have driven faster. Chosen to take the River Rd. It would have been easier if he was in that box, rather than her.

They each threw a shovel full of dirt over the polished oak casket. Javi’s stomach rolled and he clenched his jaw to stop the bile from rising as he dumped the earth over her. He walked over to her parents and gave them one last hug before handing them a set of keys. They were going to clear out the apartment. He had already boxed up the few things he was taking to Colombia. He took one last look at the open pit where she would rest, swallowing harshly before turning back to go to his truck. There was nothing left for him in Texas.

****

“Shit man.” Javi refuses to look over and see the pity in Steve’s eyes. “I didn’t know.”

Javi shrugged and lifted up in his seat, just enough to dig his wallet out of his back pocket.

“No one does.” He said opening the billfold.

He took the ring out and held it for Steve to see. “This is the reason I’m here. The reason that I’m willing to do whatever it takes to bring this asshole down.”

He looked at the ring that he once hoped to slip on her finger. To signify the beginning of the rest of his life with her. That dream, stolen. It was his justification for some of the awful things he had done and would do.

“Sometimes you gotta do bad things to catch bad people.” He reminded himself, tucking the ring safely back in his wallet.

MasterList

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[deathbyignis]

Drautos x Reader pt 5

It takes you a moment to process his words. Was he talking about you? The oxygen is immediately sucked out of the room and you find yourself suffocating. You know. You know in your heart who hired this band of misfits and why he did it. Your body begs for you to breathe but your mind is too preoccupied to obey. A wave of emotions cascades over your now shaking body...anger, sadness, fear, despair. Images and thoughts race through your mind of the only person in all of Eos who would want you captured like a trophy and returned to your case. Luche turns to look at you- his jaw open and eyes in shock-clearly this was not the answer the Glaive was expecting to extract from his prisoner. His eyes dart to Bleu, then back to Titus - awaiting his orders. Your eyes shift to the back of Titus' head but he doesn't turn around, instead he leans forward in his chair holding his gaze to the kid as his hands begin to shake violently - either out of fear or rage - and the water bottle in his hand rattles against the table. "Y/n, go get Sonitus please." He says in such a calm manner that your mind doesn't register the request, your watery eyes just continue to stare at Bleu. "Y/N! Go get Sonitus!" His tone is that of Captain Drautos now giving you an order which snaps you out of your daze and you immediately comply. You say nothing in reply and stand yourself upright, not realizing that the wall was the only thing holding you up and you walk what feels like a zigzag formation towards the door. Your hands are shaking and sweaty as you reach for the doorknob and you can barely see it through your tears. When you close the door behind you, you can hear the screeching sound of Titus pushing his chair back, then that of Bleu's body smacking against the floor with a pathetic wail. Your body is confused, feeling as though it is weighed down by cinder blocks but at the same time floating on air as you slowly make your way down the hall to Sonitus' location. You don't know why Titus would ask for him specifically, Sonitus is not as well versed in interrogation tactics as Nyx, but you didn't care enough to debate the issue with yourself. When you reach him, you aren't even sure yourself what just happened so you speak to him briefly, only telling him that the Captain needs him and follow as he races to the conference room. Once Sonitus is with Drautos and Luche the door is shut and locked behind him, so you lean on the wall once more and slide down it to sit, tucking your knees into your chest. You got too comfortable girl, you tell yourself, angry that you could be so stupid for believing the nightmare was over. You sit there quietly sobbing to yourself trying to listen for any information coming from the conference room. With a thunderous crash, Luche bursts from the conference room and runs to the room Nyx is guarding, emerging moments later with the second guy, this one much older than Bleu. He is cursing loudly at Luche as he is forced down the hall with one arm craned tightly behind his back. He spits at you as he is unceremoniously thrown into the conference room, while concurrently a bleeding Bleu is led out and placed in Nyx's charge by Sonitus before he returns to the conference room. Pelna and Nyx are staring at you now with 1000 questions in their eyes that you can't answer. You wanted to run to them because you would feel safe, but you also knew that if they knew the whole truth of what was happening right now the boys would kill Bleu first, then ask questions later, so you tucked your soaked cheeks into your knees. They know nothing of the life you lived pre-Lucis, and you wanted to keep it that way. Crowe and Titus. Two people knew your deepest secrets, and nobody else. You wanted it this way because it had to be this way. The Glaives were a bunch of gritty, scrappy, hard-ass motherfuckers and you couldn't have them to viewing you as weak or fragile. A gunshot. A scream. Ten minutes. Sonitus emerges and heads towards Pelna's room. He surfaces with guy number three. This guy you surmise is in his late-twenties. Sonitus attempts to quickly lead him by you, but his prisoner is fighting with him-throwing himself from one wall to the next-all the while grinning at you as he is lead down the hall. The prisoner blows you a kiss as he passes your position on the floor, and is promptly met by Titus at the door with a vigorous punch to the kidneys. The door shuts. It is locked. "What the fuck is going on?" Nyx whispers just loud enough for you to hear it. Tears begin to form again as you stare into his eyes and contemplate your answer. You don't want to lie to him, but you can't exactly tell him everything either. "It appears as though my past has caught up with me." You whisper back. "What does that mean?" Pelna retorts. You wipe the tears from your eyes and with a resigning sigh look up at them, giving them a grin. "I love you guys" you say quietly. You raise yourself up to your feet and begin to walk away in the direction of the stairway that leads to the club. They are calling for you to come back but you don't turn around, keeping your gaze firmly to the floor. __________________________________ You have no recollection of how you got here, or how long you have been here. All you know is that the sun is rising, so it must be around 5:30 am. Your body is shaking from the cold morning air and the damp dew on your shoes that you apparently kicked off hours ago tells you that you have been here a while. Your eyes focus onto various objects around the park as your senses take in the sounds and sights of the awakening city. You always loved coming to this park. The abundance of green trees and the bubbling creek always reminded you of home. Home. Him. Them. Eighteen months of your young life you spent married to him. The marriage was arranged but you went into it willingly, believing he was perfect. He became possessive very early in the marriage--always wanting to know where you were, who you were with, what you were doing. You were so naive to believe his obsessive behavior translated to love. Ravus the man was not a terrorizing monster, but his colleagues in the Imperial Army were and he did absolutely nothing to stop them from tormenting his wife. They requested you, he delivered. Ravus' sole purpose in his life was to save his sister, it didn't matter if he had to sacrifice you to do it. It is him. No question in your mind. On the many occasions when you had threatened to leave, Ravus would threaten you back tenfold. He would tell you that he would "hunt you down tirelessly and bring you back" to Tenebrae. You were used as tool for him to gain favor with those in power in order to climb the ranks of the Imperial Army, nothing more. You were rarely allowed to leave the castle and even then never without an escort. Your escape and subsequent entry into Insomnia was either a matter of dumb luck or a gift from the Gods. The sound of quickly approaching footsteps behind you snaps you out of your deep reflection. You summon your daggers and jettison yourself off the bench and turn 180 degrees in one swift movement. "Gods damnit, Axis!" You yell at him through chattering teeth. "You scared the shit out of me!" "Captain Drautos is at your apartment." He says with a blank expression, staring directly at you. You stare back for a brief moment then divert your gaze to the tree line and inhale deeply, taking in the sweet smells of the park. The time has come for the years-long avoided conversation. You nod your head in understanding, put your daggers away, and pick up your shoes. You begin to follow Axis in silence, walking the two blocks to your home barefoot. You enter your home and see Titus sitting on the couch. The two of you connect again and you fall to your knees against the door in a flood of emotional sobs. He is quick to shoo Titan away and engulfs your body into the safety net of his arms. You grab roughly at his chest and desperately raise yourself to straddle him, burying your face into the crook of his neck as he clutches your body tight to his. "It's ok.......you're safe." You try to say something, but your body won't let you. You are inconsolable and your sobs uncontrollable. Titus continues to hold you for as long as he needs giving you time to slowly regain control over your body and emotions. Titus sweetly lays gentle kisses on your crown, forehead, and temples and begins whispering all the things that you need to hear to regain your emotional strength. He tells you that you are a different person than you were five years ago when you married Ravus. That you are stronger, tougher, and a total bad-ass with a Katana. He tells you that even if Ravus were to get ahold of you, that you would still be able to wield King Regis' magic and could slice off a piece of every motherfucker who touched you. With a slight upturn of his lips, he also reminds you that your lover commands the most psychotic group of commandos on all of Eos and says that they would infiltrate Gralea itself to find you...which elicits a small giggle from you because you know it is true. Feeling suddenly brave, you lift your face to his until you are nose to nose. You study his beautiful features and see that he too was crying while trying pick up the pieces of your fractured soul. You take his face into your hands and kiss him gently. "Titus?" You say quietly, placing your forehead to his. He pulls you close to him and answers affirmatively "Yes?" "Forgive me for this, but I've been holding onto this...and...I have three questions I need to ask you...can you promise to be honest with your answers?" He pulls away, cupping your face in his hands, looking at you quizzically. "Of course." he finally says. You study him for a moment and take in a deep breath. "Do you think I am really naive?" His breath ceases for a moment and you can see him searching the depths of his mind for the right words. He thinks he has the correct answer and he looks at you dead in the eyes. "I believe that there are a lot of things that happen that you would rather not acknowledge because they are too horrific to contemplate. I believe that you would rather believe that those things don't exist because it is easier to deny them than to acknowledge them." He had no idea that he had hit the nail on the head with that one. "Do you know...and I mean KNOW...in your heart...that I would walk straight into Ifrit's den if you asked me to? That I would fight him to the death...for you?" He looks at you with tears forming in his eyes. "I know that...yes" You tangle your fingers into his hair and kiss him again but this time you don't pull away and insert your tongue deeply into his mouth. He greedily reciprocates and has you pinned to the door instantly. Titus wets his fingers on his tongue and begins to urgently massage your clit, but you grab hold of his hand to stop his advance. "I said three questions love." you say breathily. "Right." he sighs, withdrawing his hand and leaning back. You pause and look at him for a long time, begging Sweet Shiva for the courage to ask your final question. She finally blesses you, and you squeeze his hand tightly. "Did you know?" you whisper. "Know what, babe?" "Did you know that the High Commander of the Imperial Army was sending a covert-ops group to Insomnia to kidnap me?" you ask, holding back the throngs of sobs fighting their way out of your body. He looks at you in disbelief and horror, turning stark white as the blood rushes from his face. "Of course not...h....how c...how could I possibly" he stutters as he stands and walks across the room, using his arms to rest his body against the mantle. You study his mannerisms. He is nervous, trying to hide it behind a veil of innocence, but he is failing miserably. You lean back against the door, your flooded eyes watching his face, reflected in the mirror mounted above the fireplace. "I doubt if you remember but we met once" you say softly to him, tears falling freely from your eyes. "In Tenebrae....I was 18....Ravus and I had just recently married." Titus raises his gaze to look at your reflection, his tears free-falling onto his grey tank and a small sniffle emotes from his body. "I was marked up pretty good from my first encounter with Ardyn." you continue, "There was a dinner party at the castle for Imperial Army Officers....and you were there. Did you know that out of the nearly 50 guests that I met that night....you..." your voice cracks and the words get more difficult to push out..."you were the only person to ask if I was ok." Titus turns slowly to face you. "How could I ever forget?" his eyes finding yours. "You were so beautiful...so broken." You raise yourself to your knees and slowly crawl your way over to him. Your hands ghost over his calves and come to rest on his shaking thighs. You search his eyes, waiting for your answer. Tears begin to fall down his cheeks once more as he reaches down and cups your face in his gentle hands. "I knew the Glaive could protect you." he mutters under his breath. You literally feel your blood freeze. "You knew he was coming after me?" you stutter in disbelief, blinking out tears. You stare at his quivering chin for several moments pleading silently for him to say more. When no other information is forthcoming, you stand and begin to stumble your way upstairs to your bedroom. "Y/N wait" you hear him cry behind you but you ignore his plea and keep walking. Titus races after you and grabs your ankle as you are about to reach the top stair, dragging you down to him and pinning your body below his. "No!" you yell from below him as you rapidly apply several slaps to his face in a futile attempt to free yourself. Grasping your hands he pins them to the last stair above your head, cuffing your wrists with his massive fists. He is yelling that he loves you...that you were never in any danger...but his plea is all for naught as you continue to grunt and kick your legs in a desperate attempt to get free. Titus puts the full weight of his body onto yours, encircling your legs in his and buries his face into your shoulder begging for a chance to explain himself. You quickly come to the realization that your struggles are pointless against his massive frame so you stop moving altogether, save for the rapid movement of your chest as you attempt to catch your breath. Titus growls and places a hand on your throat, turning your face away from him and lowering his mouth to your ear. You could feel his hot breath coming in short bursts and your hips involuntarily jerk up to hit him in the groin, earning a small chuckle from your breathless sparring partner. You moan as his tongue traces the frame of your ear and he pulls your lobe into his tender mouth at the same time as his groin grinds against yours, pinning you there as you lift yourself to meet him. Satisfied that you had given up the fight Titus releases your throat and ghosts his hand down your tattered dress until he reaches your lace thong and begins to massage your clit once more. He releases a heavy gasp and raises his forehead to meet yours, his eyes boring into yours. "Tell me you love me." he whispers hoarsely. "No" you cry. "Tell me" he says, still working your clit with his eager fingers. "Titus please" "I would never let those fuckers hurt you, please believe me!" "Fuck you Drautos!" you snap at him as you slap him again and make a pathetic attempt to push him away. Titus emits a guttural groan as he rises to his knees and positions himself directly on top of your legs, keeping them pinned down. He reaches down to grab your dress at the neckline pulling you upright as he violently rips the delicate fabric straight down the middle exposing your glowing body for himself to admire. The Captain tastes blood in his own mouth and raises his hand to find the source. Pulling his thumb away from the bloody lip you just gave him, he chuckles at his little Glaive and turns his attention to your thong-removing it with a simple snap of the thin thread. He pins your arms to your bare rib cage and leans in so close you feel his rapid hot breath on your cheek. "I love you so much baby, I would never let them hurt you." he conveys the best he can through his tears. Titus raises his head to face you. He grazes your lips with his tongue, a desperate maneuver because he knows you can't resist it, but you do-at first. He runs his skilled tongue from your lips to your jaw, to your ear, peppering his trail with languid kisses. You stare at the light above you and eventually lean into him, hating your body for betraying you as you can feel your nipples harden and a pool forming in your core. When he returns to his starting point you try to fight the urge but open your mouth to willingly receive his tongue and he releases your arms in order to cup your face in his hands, delving his sweet tongue deep into your mouth. You grasp his hips with shaky hands and help him maneuver his way between your legs. Titus moves quickly to insert two fingers into your dripping slit and releases your mouth to dive onto your sweaty mounds. He shows no desire to tease right now as he engulfs your full tit into his warm mouth, sucking at your nipple several times-- his mouth moving in tandem with his fingers. His thumb finds your clit and after a few simple strokes your pussy explodes on his hand, your body shaking violently but he has no intention of stopping there. The gift of your wet orgasm drives him into a frenzy to please you and he spreads your legs further to insert a third finger and bangs hard at your entrance like a man possessed. You cum again immediately in an ocean of spasms raking your body.....his palm moving to roughly massage your clit but you firmly grab his hand to stop him. "Fuck...honey...stop" you quietly beg him to cease his attack. Opening your dazed eyes to search for him, your body continues to jerk involuntarily. He stops as requested and smiles at your dripping cunt, appreciating how much liquid has spilled from your limp body. Massive arms wrap themselves around your slumped form to pick you up and he carefully navigates the love puddles to bring you back down the stairs. You grab hold of his shoulders, laying open mouth kisses on his neck while breathing quick and shallow. When the two of you reach the couch, he puts you on your feet and pushes your destroyed dress off your shoulders. "Sit baby." His tone is soft and you do as you are told, breathlessly slouching into the couch. You watch him with lidded eyes as he removes his tank and undoes his belt, allowing his dress pants from last night to fall to the floor. Your eyes drop to his throbbing bulge which brings you to full attention and you pop up to the edge of the couch. Sliding two fingers of each hand into his waist band, you tug at the material of his boxers and release his glorious cock. Wasting about as much time as he did, you grasp the base tightly and force him straight into your mouth as far as his head will allow. "Whoa, take it easy." he pants while entwining his fingers into your hair and pulling you away, forcing a sinful pop to emit from your mouth. You glare at him and slap his hands away, annoyed at him for expecting mercy when you received none. You drop to your knees and grab his hips and force him to turn, pushing him to sit on the couch. Positioning yourself between his legs, your hands force his thighs wide. Your hungry mouth descends on his balls, aggressively sucking one into your mouth, then moving to the other. His vocal approval paired with his full-body shiver alarms you that your mouth is working a little too well and Titus attempts to pull you away again-but you are having none of it-you slap his wrists and pin them to his sides without stopping. "You're gonna make me cum baby." he whines as your soft warm mouth engulfs his fat cock once again, pausing to tease the ring of his head every time you are on the upstroke. "Mmmm" you moan with pleasure and steal a glance at him when you taste the sweet flavor of his precum on your tastebuds. Your eyes connect with his and those beautiful green orbs that you adore are clinched shut and his chest is flushed red which motivates you to go down faster, suck harder, tease his head quicker. Titus begins to jerk his hips upward meeting your mouth somewhere in the middle of his length. He frees his hands of your grasp and softly lifts your hair into a messy bun so he can watch you swallow his cock as he pumps deeply into your now hot and dripping mouth. The sight is more than enough to send him over the edge and he forcefully pulls your face away from his crotch and cums hard on your tits. Not satisfied with this, you go back down on him mid-orgasm and begin to suck the remaining cum right out of him. He continues his orgasmic thrusts up into your throat as he is eager to give you what you desire. When he has no more of his sweet nectar to give, you pull away and stand up above him. He has been slain. Titus reaches for you, but he only grasps air. "We're done here." you say with contempt, and you turn to walk away. This time he lets you.

#titus drautos #ffxv #luche lazarus #nyx ulric #pelna khara #kingsglaive

[sherristockman]

Federal Agency Kills Kratom Dr. Mercola By Dr. Mercola The U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) is continuing its crusade to take down kratom (Mitragyna speciosa), a plant in the coffee family that’s earned the reputation for being an alternative to opioids. Native to tropical Southeast Asia, people in the area have used kratom leaves as an herbal remedy for centuries not only to relieve pain but also to increase energy and enhance well-being. According to the American Kratom Association (AKA), a grassroots advocacy organization that is trying to keep kratom legal, kratom is not a drug, an opiate or a synthetic substance. In fact, they state it’s more like coffee and tea than any other substances. That said, kratom binds to some of the same opioid receptor sites as opioid drugs, which may be why many people find it so effective. “Chocolate, coffee, exercise and even human breast milk hit these receptor sites in a similar fashion,” AKA notes.1 The FDA, however, in their latest statement against this age-old plant, is using this fact to “underscore its potential for abuse” and otherwise warn people to stop taking the remedy.2 FDA Says Scientific Analysis Provides ‘Even Stronger Evidence’ Against Kratom In November 2017, the FDA issued a public health advisory regarding risks associated with kratom use, suggesting that its usage could “expand the opioid epidemic.” The FDA claimed at the time that calls to U.S. poison control centers regarding kratom increased tenfold from 2010 to 2015 and said 36 deaths were associated with the use of kratom-containing products.3 They also cited “serious side effects” like seizures, liver damage and withdrawal symptoms associated with its use although, as the Huffington Post noted, “[T]hese potentially deadly symptoms don’t appear in any sort of discernible pattern in the cases the FDA cites, and they’re not well-documented elsewhere.”4 In February 2018, the FDA’s latest warning was released, this time with supposedly “even stronger evidence” of kratom’s potential for abuse. The agency tested kratom using its Public Health Assessment via Structural Evaluation (PHASE) methodology, a 3-D computer program normally reserved for evaluating the abuse potential of newly identified street drugs. The technology looks at how a substance is structured at a molecular level, how it might behave inside your body and how it may affect your brain. When testing kratom, the FDA analyzed the 25 most prevalent compounds in the plant, concluding “all of the compounds share the most structural similarities with controlled opioid analgesics, such as morphine derivatives.” They then moved on to determine the plant’s potential targets in the body, predicting that 22 of the 25 compounds bind to mu-opioid receptors and two of the top five most prevalent compounds in kratom activate opioid receptors. “The new data provides even stronger evidence of kratom compounds’ opioid properties,” the FDA said, noting that some of the compounds may bind to receptors in the brain that impact neurologic and cardiovascular function, which they said could contribute to side effects like seizures and respiratory depression. In addition, the agency said kratom binds strongly to mu-opioid receptors, “comparable to scheduled opioid drugs.” Taken together, the FDA then decided that kratom should be deemed a drug: “Based on the scientific information in the literature and further supported by our computational modeling and the reports of its adverse effects in humans, we feel confident in calling compounds found in kratom, opioids.”5 Yet, as kratom researcher Andrew Kruegel, a Columbia University chemist, told the Huffington Post, “They don’t have to do this to claim that kratom is an opioid, because it is … But the question is whether it’s an atypical opioid, which is my preferred terminology. Does it have a better side effect profile than the classical opioid drugs like morphine that we use every day? That’s the key question here.”6 Kratom Has Mild Risks Compared to Opioids In August 2016, the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) issued a notice saying it was planning to ban kratom, listing it as a Schedule 1 controlled substance. Massive outrage from kratom users who say opioids are their only alternative followed, including a petition with over 140,000 signatures against it, so the agency reversed its decision. But the FDA’s latest warning seems to be a clear push to make kratom illegal in the U.S. after all. It’s a sad fact that more than 91 Americans fatally overdose on opioids every day,7 and of the more than 33,000 Americans killed by opioids in 2015, nearly half of them involved a prescription for the drugs.8 Yet, the FDA allows opioids to be dispensed with abandon while now singling out kratom, which many believe to be a safer alternative for those struggling with chronic pain or even opioid addiction. AKA points out that kratom’s risk profile appears far safer than that of opioids or even other pain relievers like acetaminophen. In November 2016, AKA also released a report by Jack Henningfield, Ph.D., vice president of research, health policy and abuse liability at PinneyAssociates, concluding that there is “insufficient evidence” for the DEA to ban or restrict kratom under the Controlled Substances Act (CSA). The report, which includes more than 50 pages of testimonies from responsible kratom users, analyzed the eight factors of the CSA, concluding the DEA had no grounds for CSA scheduling of kratom, let alone a ban: "Based on all lines of evidence considered in the 8-factor analysis, kratom's potential for abuse, tolerance, and dependence is lower than that of many schedule IV and V drugs and is well within the range of many nonscheduled drugs and substances (e.g., caffeine, nasal nicotine spray, fluoxetine, bupropion, dextromethorphan). Although kratom and its primary alkaloids MG and 7-OH-MG share certain characteristics with controlled substances, as do many nonscheduled substances, there does not appear to be a public health risk that would warrant control of kratom products or their alkaloids under the CSA."9 In fact, AKA noted that according to Henningfield’s analysis, “[K]ratom’s potential for abuse and dependence is no greater than such widely used and unscheduled substances as “nutmeg, hops, St. John’s Wort, chamomile, guarana and kola nut.” Are Kratom Deaths Really Caused by Kratom? The latest FDA statement cited 44 deaths related to kratom, up from the 36 cited in November. Yet, a closer look at the deaths reveals, at best, sloppy reporting and, at worst, a tendency to blame kratom for deaths it did not cause. According to the Huffington Post:10 "Almost all of the FDA's cases involve subjects who were found to be on multiple substances at the time of their death, with the vast majority including either illicit or prescription drugs that carry well-known fatal risks. One incident describes a teenager who had hanged himself after struggling with depression and prescription drug abuse. He tested positive for a variety of drugs, including kratom, as well as alcohol and a handful of prescription drugs." The Post revealed numerous cases that were linked to kratom only by a thread, like a man who had “fallen out a window, broken his arm and refused treatment before dying” who was found to have nine substances in his bloodstream, one of which was mitragynine, the primary active substance in kratom. Another “kratom death” was a man who died from complications of deep vein thrombosis and another ruled a “death by homicide due to a gunshot wound to the chest.”11 In another example, a Tennessee news outlet broadcast a quote from a Georgia county coroner claiming there had been 17 deaths linked to kratom in Georgia in 2017. AKA has called on the TV station to retract the “fake news” report, as they say there is nothing in the public medical record showing even one death linked to kratom.12 Henningfield’s report further reiterated the lack of evidence that kratom has led to any deaths, noting, “To date, in the U.S., there have been no confirmed reports of death that can be considered ‘causatively’ due to kratom overdose. How many, if any deaths, are “probably” classified as kratom poisoning deaths is not clear. This is consistent with the far larger and longer Southeast Asian experience of very few serious adverse events. In both the U.S. and Southeast Asia, the low toxicity of kratom is in striking contrast to the experience with opioids.”13 Is FDA Commissioner Gottlieb Helping Glaxo? An estimated 3 million to 5 million Americans use kratom, which in the absence of many reports of adverse effects or substance abuse could be evidence in itself of kratom’s safety.14 Further, many of these people rely on kratom because they found opioids to be too dangerous or too addictive. By banning kratom, it could drive more people to seek out prescription opioids, which are known to be deadly, or drive them to purchase kratom on the black market. If the FDA were really concerned about public health, they would not lump a diverse group of deaths that happened to involve kratom as “kratom-caused deaths.” Instead, the would seek to identify the true culprit as well as conduct a comprehensive review on kratom’s safety profile and potential benefits, particularly in comparison to opioids. Yet, what we’re seeing is a curious push from the FDA to warn the public about kratom, perhaps in preparation for its eventual ban. FDA Commissioner Scott Gottlieb, it’s important to note, has close ties to Big Pharma, having received more than $400,000 from the industry between 2013 and 2015,15 and millions over the course of his career.16 Prior to joining the FDA, he served on the board of three pharmaceutical companies, including GlaxoSmithKline, whose predecessor Smith Kline & French held patents on certain alkaloids isolated from kratom.17 The patents, which were issued in the 1960s, have since expired, but there is much speculation about whether Gottlieb is targeting kratom to protect GlaxoSmithKline or some of his other Big Pharma allies. In the FDA warning, it’s mentioned that “[w]e have been especially concerned about the use of kratom to treat opioid withdrawal symptoms” along with a suggestion to use one of three FDA-approved drugs for the treatment of opioid addiction (a vicious cycle in which drug companies profit on both ends of the opioid epidemic, selling drugs that both cause the addiction and treat it). But, as noted in The Journal of the American Ostepathic Association, in a systematic analysis of kratom user reports, “[T]he vast majority of users reported beneficial effects in the management of opioid withdrawal and pain, depression and anxiety.”18 There is so much beneficial potential suggested by kratom research to date — and such a wealth of science about prescription opioids’ harms — that it would seem remiss for the FDA to brush off or, worse, ban this herbal supplement that appears to be far safer than opioid drugs — unless an ulterior motive was at play. The Journal of the American Ostepathic Association report continued:19 “One strong piece of evidence suggesting that kratom may have extensive therapeutic potential is that several U.S. patents have either been issued or are pending for companies and individuals who are interested in developing kratom-based drugs. These patents would not have been submitted or issued unless there was evidence for medicinal applications of kratom-derived substances.” Even Kratom Should Be Used With Caution While kratom appears to have a favorable safety profile compared to opioids, this isn’t to say that kratom usage is without risk. It’s important to recognize that kratom is a psychoactive substance and should not be used carelessly. There's very little research showing how to use it safely and effectively, and it may have a very different effect from one person to the next. Also, while it may be useful for weaning off opioids, kratom itself may be addictive. So, while it appears to be a far safer alternative to opioids, it's still a powerful and potentially addictive substance. So please, do your own research before trying it. Also, please understand that there are many safe and effective alternatives to prescription and over-the-counter painkillers. If you’re looking for safer options for pain relief than opioid drugs, please see these options for treating pain without drugs.

#VitalityPath