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aruthlessblackthorn · 11 months
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#for science
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aruthlessblackthorn · 11 months
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PEDRO PASCAL as JAVIER PEÑA Narcos, Season One — Episode Six: Explosivos
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aruthlessblackthorn · 11 months
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ADORABLE
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A seasonally appropriate one ☔
This is another piece from Flora and Fauna VI, my upcoming show at Gallery Nucleus LA opening on May 27th!
I’ll be sharing all my pieces over the next couple of days~
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aruthlessblackthorn · 11 months
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lightsabers have one fatal flaw: you cannot use them to homoerotically tip up somebody’s chin during a sword fight. that would hurt very bad actually
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aruthlessblackthorn · 11 months
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if you think R*PE is sexy... go fuck yourself.
Hey can we like NOT write fics romanticizing r*pe in 2023?? I literally cannot understand why people don’t think this is a bad idea.
R*pe is not a silly trope. It literally ruins lives.
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aruthlessblackthorn · 11 months
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writers shouldn't need to go on strike – but when we do, we're funny as fuck.
some of my personal faves, taken from a longer twitter thread by jenny yang. learn more about the strike here.
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aruthlessblackthorn · 11 months
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aruthlessblackthorn · 1 year
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aruthlessblackthorn · 1 year
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Pedro Pascal as Rapunzel
pedro is rotting my brain
Exhibit A
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Exhibit B
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Exhibit C
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Exhibit D
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Exhibit E (my personal favorite)
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I’veïżŒ thought of so many more in my brain let me know if I should make a part two 😭😭😭
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aruthlessblackthorn · 1 year
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Everything I Know Leads Me Back to You - Part 1
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Part 1 - Spare Him A Little Kindness
Pairing: eventual Frankie Morales x afab!reader
Word Count: 5.8k
Masterlist
Read the Prelude here
Warnings: Mentions of drug addiction, depression, anxiety, ptsd, trauma related to the military, angst, slow burn, jealousy, sobriety, soft!Frankie needs his own warning MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
A/N: The first part is here y'all!! I am so excited to share this with everyone. As always, please reblog, like, and comment - I would greatly appreciate the feedback! I hope you enjoy :) OH - and you'll need this video for reference when you get to the end of the chapter !
Four Months Later

The apartment was quiet, save for the scraping of silverware on your plates. You and Frankie sat quietly at the table, eating without an ounce of conversation between you. Some nights it ended up like this, your energy spent from eight hours with six-year-olds, his at therapy. 
When Frankie appeared on your doorstep high out of his mind four months ago, you made it your mission to help him get clean. You found an outpatient treatment program for him, a weekly NA meeting, and got him back with his psychiatrist and therapist.
He admitted that he was a few months behind on rent from losing his job and blowing his extra income on the coke, so you took money from your savings to pay his landlord before you moved him into your own apartment. 
Frankie felt immensely guilty, constantly apologizing to you. He didn’t talk very often at first, the guilt and shame eating at him. He was a shell of the man you’d known your entire life. 
You tried to keep your distance from him, physically, unless he asked. You didn’t want to smother or coddle him, though you often thought about wrapping him in bubble wrap and keeping him in your apartment so he could remain safe forever.
But once he got used to his new schedule and your presence, he gravitated toward you, constantly touching you in some way. 
Frankie’s love language was touch, and he sure was good at it. If you were on the couch watching a movie, Frankie had you in his arms. If you were at the dinner table, his leg rested against your own as you ate. He had you between him and the sink as he did the dishes every night, or your body pressed against his while he folded laundry. 
After too many nightmares on the couch, you coaxed him into your bed, which unlocked a new level of his affection. You’d slept in the same bed as Frankie many times, and in just as many sleeping bags while you camped during his time in the service, but this feeling was new. 
You were always pressed flush against his bare chest, a tight hand around your waist as if he was afraid you’d leave him in his slumber. His breath tickled the skin on your neck and shoulder, a constant reminder of his presence. 
The nightmares were the worst, but you handled them in stride. Whether it was screaming, thrashing, or thoughts that made him jump awake but remain silent in shock, you were there. 
He’d completed treatment a few weeks previous, and now he was focused on getting his pilot’s license back. Frankie hated being dependent on you. Though you’ve been his best friend for 33 years, his mother and abuela had always taught him to take care of the women he loves, and he was chronically anxious over the fact that he couldn’t care for you the way you needed. 
He wanted to do good by you, the way he should have 23 years ago. Before he pushed you away and ran straight into a war on the heels of Santiago. At first, he believed he was doing good, that him and his squad were serving the greater purpose. But the more killing they did, the less and less he believed in the orders they were given. They weren’t defending America, they were killing for sport. 
——
Frankie had a habit of watching you when you weren’t paying attention. Like now, while you’ve gathered the leftovers of your meal into a container for your lunch tomorrow. The way you hummed quietly while you worked, how your shirt rode up as you reached for the container in the upper cabinet, revealing a sliver of your lower back. 
You moved to the fridge, setting the leftovers inside and retrieved two cans of soda to enjoy during your movie. It was Frankie’s turn to pick the movie, and he’d settled early on with Jurassic Park. It was the first movie the two of you had seen in theatres together with your families in the 90s, and you both had begged to see it again and again after the first time.
As you finished, Frankie got up and moved toward the dishes in the sink. “You don’t have to do the dishes every night, y’know.” You took a step toward him, leaning into his side while he worked. 
Frankie tapped your nose with his soapy hand, leaving a small pile of bubbles on your skin with a smirk. “It’s the least I can do, Girasol.” 
You hummed, snaking an arm around his middle while he worked. The two of you stood there quietly, basking in the comfort of each other. Sometimes, he would talk about his therapy sessions, but you never pushed him. 
Some days haunted him more than others, sending him straight to bed when he came home in the evening. On those nights, you ordered in and ate in bed, an old sitcom playing in the background. Sometimes, you read aloud to him, his head rested in your lap as you stroked his hair. 
As he finished placing the last portion of silverware into the drawer, Frankie spoke. “I got uh, a text from Pope today. Said he’s coming to visit this weekend and wants to see everyone at Benny’s fight.” 
Frankie held back the other part of the text from you, knowing it would upset you. Santiago shared a proposal for a recon mission in Colombia. He wanted the other men to check out the folder he’d attached with the plans. He needed four guys - and a pilot - of which Frankie wasn’t any longer. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, turning his attention back to you. 
“Does he need a place to stay? I’ve got a blow up mattress around here somewhere. I can’t believe he didn’t text me.” You sighed, grabbing the sodas off the counter.
Frankie grabbed two glasses - your favorite ones with the Fish and Sunflower on them - and followed you to the couch. He settled next to you, taking the cans from your hands to pour the bubbly liquid into the cups.
“You should make him sleep on the couch, as punishment,” Frankie chuckled. 
You laughed, taking a sip before you added, “you’re so right. I’m going to call him right now.”
You grabbed your phone and hit the call button on Santiago’s contact, settling your legs over Frankie’s lap while you waited. It rang for ages, to the point where the two of you thought Pope was sending you to voicemail. 
Then, the line clicked. “Hola Hermosa,” Santi drawled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
You blanked for a moment, distracted by Frankie rubbing a thumb over your ankles. “Yeah, uh, hi. I heard you were coming into town. Funnily enough, I think my text got lost in the cloud somewhere.” 
Frankie chuckled lightly, shaking his head. 
“That you Fish? Shoulda known you’d tell her. I wanted it to be a surprise, mi amor. How many babies d’y’all have running around there now, anyways? Three? Five?”
“Pope,” Frankie growled. 
“I kid, I kid,” Santi chuckled. “Seriously though, when’s the wedding? My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.”
You sighed. “Santi, c’mon. I was going to offer you my couch.” You reached over to Frankie for his hand, squeezing gently. 
The two of you never spoke of marriage or your relationship, not after he broke your heart and followed Santiago into the service, and especially not after what happened those few months ago. 
You used to dream of it, wearing his abuela’s veil and your mother’s wedding dress. Frankie standing at the altar with Santiago by his side, beaming at you as you walked toward him. You’d wanted an outside wedding, full of sunflowers, violets, and daisies. 
You would be kidding yourself if you said you hadn’t thought about it since then. You had. But you couldn’t get hurt again, it would be too painful. So you loved him from as far as you could. In the present moment, it wasn’t entirely very far. He was your best friend, you weren’t going to abandon him in his time of need. Once he was back on his feet, everything would go back to the way it was. That’s what you told yourself at least. 
“Can’t take the spot on the other side of your bed, can I? You have a very nice mattress, sunflower.”
“Well I need that spot for my five children, don’t I?” You watched Frankie throw his head back in laughter, any anger toward Santiago dissipating.  
“Very funny hermosa. Make sure Fish keeps that couch warm for me, yeah? I’ll be there Saturday morning.”
-
You carefully pulled yourself out of bed at the sound of Santiago’s knock on the front door. You glanced at the clock declaring it was 7:30 and sighed. Padding over to the closet, you pulled on your robe before heading to the front of the apartment to open your door. 
Frankie hadn’t slept well the night before, his anxiety keeping him on edge the whole day and a memory haunting his dreams at night. You spent most of the early morning coaxing him back to sleep with quiet lullabies, lavender lotion, and soft touches. His nightmares had gotten better, but something about Pope’s visit flipped a switch in his brain. 
When you came home from work, you’d found him rebuilding a Lego set he must have taken apart from its display on your shelf. Where he found the directions, you had no idea. A completed sudoku pad sat on the table next to him along with the Sunday paper’s crossword puzzle. His anxiety had kept him in overdrive all day, sending him into a spiral. You’d finally talked him into laying in bed with promises of delivered sushi and The Breakfast Club. 
Santiago knocked once more as you were unlocking the door. You glared at him as you pulled it open, stepping aside to let him inside. “Please keep it down,” you whispered. “Last night was rough. He needs to sleep for a while longer.” 
He nodded, pulling you into a hug. “How’re you doing, Sunny?” 
You sank into his arms, sighing contently. “I could be worse. I’m so glad you’re here, you have no idea.” 
“It’s not good, is it?” Pope pressed a light kiss to your forehead, pulling away to get a look at you properly. 
Yawning, you shrugged. “He’s been better. Something happened yesterday, I don’t know what. He took apart the Taj Mahal Lego set while I was working and put the whole thing back together by the time I’d gotten home.” You shook your head, running a hand through your hair as you paused. “He was up most of the night too, woke up screaming and thrashing around one. I finally got him back asleep a couple of hours ago.”
Santi nodded, worry etched into his brows. “How are you doing? You need someone to take care of you too.”
“I’m okay, Santi. Really, I am. Frankie is my first priority.” You squeezed his shoulder lightly before turning towards the kitchen. “Do you want some coffee?”
“Please, gracias Hermosa.” Santi followed you into the kitchen, leaning against a counter as you worked. 
You reached into a lower cabinet for a bag of grounds before spooning it into the filter. “I keep the caffeinated stuff in another spot so Frankie doesn’t get confused
the caffeine affects his anxiety, so he’s been drinking decaf for awhile now.” 
“You really have thought of everything, haven’t you,” Santi commented. He watched as you shrugged, pulling mugs from another cabinet. 
He took the liberty of glancing around the apartment then, taking in the small signs of how yours and Frankie’s lives have further intertwined since he last visited. Pictures of Frankie and the rest of their squad littered the refrigerator doors, held up by magnets he would bring back for you after any mission he could. Your fish and sunflower glasses sat on the drying rack, shoes scattered together by the front door. One of Frankie’s flannels hung on the dining table chairs, his favorite books next to yours on the shelves. He also noted Frankie’s record player in the corner of the room, vinyls organized neatly next to the table. Pope couldn’t clearly determine where you ended and Frankie began.
“So, do you have any plans while you’re here?” You turned, handing a mug to Santi. 
He took a long sip, savoring the taste. “Not particularly, just hoping to catch up with everyone. Benny’s fight is on Monday, right?” 
You nodded. “Yeah, Will is out of town until then. Benny might come over tomorrow for some game, but that depends on how Frankie is feeling. Try to take it easy with him, okay?” 
Santi nodded. “Yes, of course. Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” 
“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d get all concerned and try to come up here. He’s embarrassed about it, Santi. He doesn’t want anyone else involved. Will and Ben don’t even know how bad it is.” 
As if on cue, you heard a shout from down the hall. “Sunflower?? Honey, are you there?”
“I’m in the kitchen, mi amor. Don’t worry.” You pressed a finger into Santiago’s chest. Whispering, you said, “Don’t heckle him, please.” 
“Never,” he said quietly. “Go help our guy, yeah?” 
You gave him a small smile before heading back to the bedroom where Frankie was getting dressed. 
You treaded softly over to him, putting yourself between him and the closet. “Are you sure you don’t want to sleep a little longer? You can stay in bed as long as you want, Frankie.” 
He shook his head, reaching for his hat on your dresser. “Pope is here. I’ve functioned on less sleep than this.” 
Frankie had a hard look in his eyes, but not menacing or irritated. It was the look he acquired when he compartmentalized things. He put a barrier up, shielding everyone around him from his problems. Another symptom of the military, a change in him you never expected. Frankie used to wear his heart and his mind on his sleeve. You could know exactly what he was thinking when you looked at him. But that Frankie went away the minute he stepped foot on foreign soil. 
“Francisco,” you took his hands into yours. “You don’t have to be strong every moment of every day. You’re allowed to be in pain. Santiago’s in pain too, they all are. Hell, why do you think Benny jumps in front of fists every week?”
Frankie chuckled. “Hermosa, I think you’ve got the wrong idea about MMA.” 
You shook your head at him, giggling lightly. “Don’t change the subject, Morales.” You moved your hands up to caress his cheeks, thumbs resting over the heart-shaped patches in his beard. His eyes softened in your embrace, smile growing wider. 
Frankie wanted to kiss you then. Hell, he wanted to kiss you every moment of every day. But in this moment, it took every bit of strength he had not to. He glanced down at your lips as you spoke, internally kicking himself for entertaining the thought.
“Just,” you sighed quietly, eyes drifting to the floor. “Please, take it easy. Santi will understand if you need to slow down.” 
Frankie nudged your hands with his chin, catching your attention. “I promise. Thank you for taking such good care of me, girasol.” 
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Sunday had been easy with Santiago there. Him and Frankie spent much of the afternoon playing Mario Kart in the living room while you watched from the kitchen table. It relieved you to see Frankie so relaxed with someone other than yourself. 
It reminded you of your childhood, days where you sat in front of Santiago’s tv, watching him and Frankie take turns with Zelda or play Super Mario Bros together. They’d yell profanities at each other in Spanish when one of them fucked up, causing them to restart a level. You still remembered the feeling of Frankie’s laugh against your back when you laid against his chest while they played. You were small enough, and him tall enough, that he could see the controller over your shoulders, so he held you in his arms most of the time.
You joined in on the fun when your parents gifted you (and Frankie) a Nintendo 64 for Christmas one year. You would stay up too late every night during winter break playing with him, falling asleep together on the couch more than once. 
You were never sure when the feelings started, but they never went away. Even as you watched him and Santiago from across the room, you felt them. 
Frankie was your first kiss, your first time. Your first everything. And then he left, broke up with you like you were nothing to him, and followed Santiago into a war that destroyed them. 
The person you discussed marriage and kids with had abandoned you, to “defend the country,” he’d said. You mourned him as if he died, the pain unbearable. It clawed at your heart, leaving you broken and gasping for air. 
Your college years were spent in psychiatrists' offices, life dulled through pills and therapy. Frankie would call you on occasion, him and Santiago writing letters as well. You’d always pick up, unable to resist the sound of his voice. 
It wasn’t until you stepped foot into a kindergarten class your sophomore year that you came alive again. You had always known you wanted to be a teacher, but you never expected 20 five-year-olds to turn your world upside down and change your life. 
You were friends with some of them on Facebook now, so many years later. More than a few of them had sent you emails over the years too, some asking after Frankie and if he had gotten home okay. They were the sweetest humans you had ever met and you cared for them as if they were your own. 
You were at the point in your life where the idea of having kids was slowly retreating from the version of life you had built for yourself. They only existed in your dreams now, with Frankie at the helm of them. A glimpse of the life you could have led if things were different. 
Instead, you peered across the room at your two childhood friends as they bonded over lost time and competitive video games from your seat at the kitchen table where you were finishing report cards. 
Frankie must have felt you staring because he turned toward you during a break in the game, beckoning you over. “Ven acĂĄ, cariño. You deserve a break.” 
You got up slowly and made your way to the couch. “Only for a few minutes, I have to finish the report cards for tomorrow.” You sat between the two men on the couch, legs tucked underneath you. 
“What’re your plans for summer break?” Santiago glanced over at you while Frankie fiddled with his Mario Kart vehicle for the thousandth time. 
“I never made plans for anything, actually. I thought about going to New York or Chicago, but life got in the way,” you shrugged. 
“You’ve still got time! I think that’s a great idea, Sunny. You deserve a nice, long vacation. I’ll even pay for your hotel, my treat.” Santi placed a hand on your knee, squeezing gently.
Your eyes widened, jaw dropping. “Santi, no. I can’t accept. That’s
that’s so much money. Besides, I have
stuff I need to do here. Doctors appointments and
things.” You attempted to come up with any excuse in the book to refuse Pope, but he saw through your ruse. You didn’t want to leave Frankie alone and he knew it. 
“I’m sure I can distract Fish here for a few weeks while you take some time for yourself, darlin. Ain’t that right, hermano?” 
You watched the two men traded stern looks, Frankie’s cold and menacing look from yesterday morning returning as he glared at the other man. You reached for Frankie’s arm then, giving it a squeeze. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Not without you.” 
Frankie’s mouth opened a few times as he hesitated to say something. Finally, he reached for your hand and squeezed as he said, “Pope’s right. You deserve a break after all you’ve done for me. You should go for your birthday, hm?”
“I’ll think about it, how about that?” You looked between them, hoping to satisfy their conspiracy. “I’m not sure what the two of you are up to, but it’s not any good. Now give me that remote, mi amor, so I can kick Pope’s ass in Mario Kart like I promised.”
Frankie laughed, a hearty laugh that had him bent over, leaning into your shoulder as he cackled. The brim of his hat hit the side of your neck, but you hadn’t minded. You hadn’t seen Frankie laugh like this in months.
It made you want to pull him into you by the collar of his shirt and kiss him senseless. But you couldn’t do that, not anymore.
—
After you bid the men goodnight and wandered off to bed, Frankie and Santi headed out to the balcony, each with a beer in hand as they sat. The men were silent for a while, taking in the sounds of the crickets, cicadas, and grasshoppers under the night sky. 
Frankie fiddled with the wrapping on his beer bottle, tearing it off piece by piece, the bits falling onto his lap haphazardly. He sat waiting for Pope to say something, anything, like he usually did. But Santiago said nothing, leaving room for Frankie to speak if he was so inclined.
Once the beer wrapped had been demolished, Frankie had nothing left to ease his anxiety. He couldn’t stand the silence, not around Pope. 
“I uh,” Frankie started, rubbing a hand up and down on his jeans, the other holding tightly to the beer bottle. “I got busted. It’s not a big deal
actually, it’s a big deal.”
Pope looked over at his friend, taking in his nervousness. “Coke?” Frankie barely glanced at him before he continued. “Jesus, Frankie.” Pope sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “What happened?”
Frankie let out a deep breath before relaying the last few years to his friend. How he thought he was doing alright, until he wasn’t. How you took him in and cared for him when he was at his worst. 
“And you still don’t think she’s in love with you, hermano? Mierda Frankie, eres un idiota.” Santiago shook his head, grinning at his counterpart. 
“Why would she take me back after all these years? All I’ve ever done is hurt her.” Frankie removed his hat, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t deserve her, I never have.” 
“Well, maybe not, but she has never stopped loving you, man. If I was a stranger, I’d think the two of you were married already. She wouldn’t have taken you in if she didn’t care.” 
Frankie sighed, rolling the hat in his hands. The thing had been through hell and back over the years, with a small tear in the fabric at the back and sweat stains on the inside. But it was his favorite hat, one you had given him in high school after the neighbor’s dog had chewed his Astros cap to hell. 
“Listen,” Santiago started, breaking Frankie’s disassociation. “I’ll shut up about the whole thing, I will. But do me a favor and ask her out. I promise you, she’ll say yes.”
Frankie looked at his friend and nodded. “Okay. I’ll try. But you get to be the one to tell her about this bullshit recon mission.”
——
You sighed at the sound of your alarm in the morning, hitting stop but not moving from your spot in the bed. You’d be running on little sleep today after one of Frankie’s recurring nightmares kept the two of you up for the better part of the night. You laid in bed for longer than you should have, savoring the warmth of Frankie’s body as he slept beside you. When you finally dragged yourself out from under the covers, you readied yourself as quickly as possible before you woke him to say goodbye. 
You sat on the edge of the bed, gently caressing his back as you whispered, “Frankie, I’m heading to work.”
He grunted softly, rolling over to face you. His eyes were still closed, but he reached for your touch. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled. 
You clasped his hand in your own, raising your entwined hands to kiss his. “Sleep as long as you need to, mi amor. I’ll be home by 5 and we can head to the arena together, yeah?”
Frankie made a noise in agreement, eyes fluttering open. “You look beautiful today, girasol.” He smiled lazily up at you, giving your hand a squeeze as he spoke.
You blushed, looking away from him. “You say that every morning.”
Frankie sat up slowly and pulled you into his lap on the bed. “That’s because you are beautiful every day, and I’ll keep telling you that as long as I live.” 
“Frankie
” you started, dipping your head in embarrassment. Your cheeks burned red, the room suddenly too hot. “I’ve
I’ve got to go to work.” 
“I know, I’ll let you go in just a minute.” Frankie squeezed your hips gently, just watching you. 
In the comfortable silence, you took in the man before you. His hair had gotten long, the ends curling around his ears and forehead like they had when you were younger. His beard had grown longer too, a few grey hairs littering his jaw around the patches. You loved the patches, though they were one of the spots he was most insecure about. You ran your thumbs over them, fighting the urge to place kisses on the bare skin. 
“What are you thinking about?” Frankie inquired, squeezing your hip again. 
“How old you’re getting,” you smirked. 
Frankie groaned, leaning into your touch. “Don’t remind me, Hermosa.”
“The greys look good on you honey. I’m admiring them.” You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead before you moved to stand. “I really have to go to work now, though I wish I could stay in bed with you all day.”
“One week, yeah?”
“One week,” you smiled, walking backwards to the door. “I love you.”
“Te quiero mucho mucho mucho girasol,” Frankie replied, watching as you waved one last time and closed the door behind you as you left for the day.
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You arrived at fight-night later than you had anticipated, just barely making it inside as Benny was climbing into the cage. Will, Santiago, and Frankie were already seated in the front, where you joined them and took the still full beer from Frankie’s hands. You assumed Santi had given it to him to “loosen him up,” but you weren’t willing to risk Frankie’s sobriety over a solo cup of cheap beer. 
As you took the cup from his hands, Frankie gave you a thankful look and nudged your shoulder with his own. He could never say no to his friends, but you sure could. You waved to Will from where you sat before turning to watch Benny land a punch on his opponent. 
The other fighter got a few good punches in, making you swallow the shitty beer in your anxiousness, but eventually Benny prevailed and was declared the winner. Your group erupted in cheers and as Benny came down from the cage, he ran right to you and hoisted you into his arms. 
“Always my good luck charm, sunshine.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, twirling you around. 
You laughed, holding tightly to his shoulders. When he stilled, you tapped him lightly to let you down. “That was all you, Ben, believe me.”
You returned to Frankie’s side and nudged him gently. His jaw was clenched, eyes looking hard into the distance. The jealousy radiated off of him in waves. 
“Hey,” you said softly, grabbing his attention. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”
Frankie nodded slightly, reaching for your hand as you led the way out of the crowded room.
Ever since he introduced you, Frankie had been envious of the way Benny effortlessly flirted with you and touched you openly. The younger Miller was flirty by nature, but he had a certain soft spot for you. He also knew Benny meant no harm by it, but it still irked the older man, though he had no claim to you. 
You weren’t his girlfriend, or his wife. You were his best friend, nothing more. 
-
As the night wore on, the five of you returned to your apartment, celebrating Benny’s win. The younger man complained about the lack of alcohol in your apartment until he was kicked in the shin by his brother and given a stern look. When Santiago offered to run and grab a six pack, you glared at him and threatened to hide his car keys when Frankie was out of earshot.
“I’m not letting any of you destroy his sobriety, so help me god. Take a fucking soda and piss off.” You shoved a cola can into Pope’s hand before you retreated to the living room toward Frankie. 
“What movie are you picking?” You inquired, sliding a hand across his back as you drew closer. 
He held two dvds up to you - Grease and Gone in Sixty Seconds - and shrugged. “What do you think?” 
You laughed lightly with a shake of your head. “I think we both know what movie I would pick. It’s your night to decide. Better pick quickly before one of them gets too impatient.”
Frankie smiled at you and shuffled over to your DVD player, setting Grease in the DVD slot before clicking it back into place with a press of a button. “For you, mi amor,” he offered, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he retreated to the kitchen. 
The guys brought the snacks you’d prepared out to the living room, setting them on the coffee table in front of the other furniture before claiming their seats throughout the room. Santi and Benny paired up on the couch, each on a different end of the sofa. Will took up residence in the recliner, his usual spot on nights like these. That left you and Frankie on the loveseat, comfortably squished together. Frankie rested his arm over the back of the cushions, opening up his chest for you to lean against. 
 You all sat and watched the movie quietly for some time, you mumbling the lyrics under your breath, body wiggling in time to the music. It took everything in Frankie’s being to keep his cock from hardening at your movements, his body tense behind you. Suddenly, you were up and pulling at his arm, a grin on your face. 
The opening notes of “You’re the One That I Want” played in the background as you tried to move him from the sofa. “Frankie c’mon, it’s our song!”
Your eyes pleaded with him, your hand soft in his own as you tugged at him. He blushed crimson as the other men whooped and hollered at him, begging him to get up and sing with you. 
“Do it Fish, c’mon now!” Benny cheered, nudging Frankie with his foot. 
“Alright, alright,” Frankie conceded, joining you at the front of the room just as the song started in earnest. 
Frankie faltered over the first few lines, but by the chorus, you were both in sync. You danced back and forth across the room, hands never leaving the other’s. Having sung this together since childhood, you even knew some of the choreo from the movie, Frankie hanging on your every movement. He was a little slow in remembering some of the steps, a product of getting sick since returning from service, but you accommodated him as you moved, helping him recover some of the lost memories. 
As you dove into the second verse you grinned as he sang to you, the rest of the world falling away. 
“I better shape up,” he sang, a grin sitting upon his face as well. “‘Cause you need a man!”
“‘Cause I need a man,” you sang back, pulling him close to you. “To keep me satisfied
”
“I better shape up, if I’m gonna prove
” His arms wrapped around your waist, your bodies swaying together in time with the music. “...that my faith is justified
”
Frankie leaned impossibly close to you as you continued to sing, your hands coming up to rest on the back of his neck. By the end of the song, your noses were touching, breaths mixing together in the little space you had left between you. He could kiss you, your lips only inches from yours. But here? In front of the other guys? No, he couldn’t. It had to be special if he was going to make a move after all these years. 
You pulled away reluctantly to reach for your water, face flushed and breath ragged. You smiled at him as you sipped from your glass, falling back down onto the sofa. The other men were cheering, hands out for high fives from their teammate as he followed you to your seats. 
When Frankie sat next to you again, you leaned into his side, eyes focused on the end of the movie. As the credits rolled, he had you in his arms, thumb rubbing softly against your outer thigh. You sighed at his touch, barely registering as Benny changed the movie. By the 30 minute mark, you were fast asleep in his arms, Frankie glaring at his friends if they made too much noise. 
You had to have been exhausted with what little sleep you had been getting every night from taking care of him. You needed the rest. 
Will and Benny helped clean up the snacks and soda cans before their departure, bidding him a quiet goodbye as they left with promises to meet the next day about the recon mission Santi was pestering them about. 
He had no idea how to tell you about it, and it was only days away. You’d be upset, disappointed even, not only at him but at Santiago for dragging him into the jungle once more. He was just getting better, he didn’t need this shit. But, the money Pope was promising would help you, and that’s what he cared about. He wanted to be able to pay off your student loans, do something to help you with this money after all you’ve done for him.
“Fish,” Santi whispered, pulling him from his thoughts. “D’you need help?” 
“No, no. I’ve got it. Can you get the bedroom door open though,” he whispered back, shifting you into his lap to carry you to bed. 
“Yeah, ‘course.” Santi moved toward the hallway and then stopped, turning back to his friend. “Hey Frankie?”
“Hm?” 
“When we get home, you’re marrying her. Stop beating around the goddamn bush.”
Frankie nodded earnestly, your head shifting slightly on his shoulder as he walked toward your room. “That’s the plan, hermano.”
TAGLIST: @meveispunk @chaotic-mystery @i-own-loki @harperdoodle @wildemaven @tightjeansjavi @wonwoosthetic @im-the-daddy-here-5 @fckinel @aruthlessblackthorn @angelseye
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aruthlessblackthorn · 1 year
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Everything I Know Leads Me Back to You - Part 1
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Part 1 - Spare Him A Little Kindness
Pairing: eventual Frankie Morales x afab!reader
Word Count: 5.8k
Masterlist
Read the Prelude here
Warnings: Mentions of drug addiction, depression, anxiety, ptsd, trauma related to the military, angst, slow burn, jealousy, sobriety, soft!Frankie needs his own warning MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
A/N: The first part is here y'all!! I am so excited to share this with everyone. As always, please reblog, like, and comment - I would greatly appreciate the feedback! I hope you enjoy :) OH - and you'll need this video for reference when you get to the end of the chapter !
Four Months Later

The apartment was quiet, save for the scraping of silverware on your plates. You and Frankie sat quietly at the table, eating without an ounce of conversation between you. Some nights it ended up like this, your energy spent from eight hours with six-year-olds, his at therapy. 
When Frankie appeared on your doorstep high out of his mind four months ago, you made it your mission to help him get clean. You found an outpatient treatment program for him, a weekly NA meeting, and got him back with his psychiatrist and therapist.
He admitted that he was a few months behind on rent from losing his job and blowing his extra income on the coke, so you took money from your savings to pay his landlord before you moved him into your own apartment. 
Frankie felt immensely guilty, constantly apologizing to you. He didn’t talk very often at first, the guilt and shame eating at him. He was a shell of the man you’d known your entire life. 
You tried to keep your distance from him, physically, unless he asked. You didn’t want to smother or coddle him, though you often thought about wrapping him in bubble wrap and keeping him in your apartment so he could remain safe forever.
But once he got used to his new schedule and your presence, he gravitated toward you, constantly touching you in some way. 
Frankie’s love language was touch, and he sure was good at it. If you were on the couch watching a movie, Frankie had you in his arms. If you were at the dinner table, his leg rested against your own as you ate. He had you between him and the sink as he did the dishes every night, or your body pressed against his while he folded laundry. 
After too many nightmares on the couch, you coaxed him into your bed, which unlocked a new level of his affection. You’d slept in the same bed as Frankie many times, and in just as many sleeping bags while you camped during his time in the service, but this feeling was new. 
You were always pressed flush against his bare chest, a tight hand around your waist as if he was afraid you’d leave him in his slumber. His breath tickled the skin on your neck and shoulder, a constant reminder of his presence. 
The nightmares were the worst, but you handled them in stride. Whether it was screaming, thrashing, or thoughts that made him jump awake but remain silent in shock, you were there. 
He’d completed treatment a few weeks previous, and now he was focused on getting his pilot’s license back. Frankie hated being dependent on you. Though you’ve been his best friend for 33 years, his mother and abuela had always taught him to take care of the women he loves, and he was chronically anxious over the fact that he couldn’t care for you the way you needed. 
He wanted to do good by you, the way he should have 23 years ago. Before he pushed you away and ran straight into a war on the heels of Santiago. At first, he believed he was doing good, that him and his squad were serving the greater purpose. But the more killing they did, the less and less he believed in the orders they were given. They weren’t defending America, they were killing for sport. 
——
Frankie had a habit of watching you when you weren’t paying attention. Like now, while you’ve gathered the leftovers of your meal into a container for your lunch tomorrow. The way you hummed quietly while you worked, how your shirt rode up as you reached for the container in the upper cabinet, revealing a sliver of your lower back. 
You moved to the fridge, setting the leftovers inside and retrieved two cans of soda to enjoy during your movie. It was Frankie’s turn to pick the movie, and he’d settled early on with Jurassic Park. It was the first movie the two of you had seen in theatres together with your families in the 90s, and you both had begged to see it again and again after the first time.
As you finished, Frankie got up and moved toward the dishes in the sink. “You don’t have to do the dishes every night, y’know.” You took a step toward him, leaning into his side while he worked. 
Frankie tapped your nose with his soapy hand, leaving a small pile of bubbles on your skin with a smirk. “It’s the least I can do, Girasol.” 
You hummed, snaking an arm around his middle while he worked. The two of you stood there quietly, basking in the comfort of each other. Sometimes, he would talk about his therapy sessions, but you never pushed him. 
Some days haunted him more than others, sending him straight to bed when he came home in the evening. On those nights, you ordered in and ate in bed, an old sitcom playing in the background. Sometimes, you read aloud to him, his head rested in your lap as you stroked his hair. 
As he finished placing the last portion of silverware into the drawer, Frankie spoke. “I got uh, a text from Pope today. Said he’s coming to visit this weekend and wants to see everyone at Benny’s fight.” 
Frankie held back the other part of the text from you, knowing it would upset you. Santiago shared a proposal for a recon mission in Colombia. He wanted the other men to check out the folder he’d attached with the plans. He needed four guys - and a pilot - of which Frankie wasn’t any longer. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, turning his attention back to you. 
“Does he need a place to stay? I’ve got a blow up mattress around here somewhere. I can’t believe he didn’t text me.” You sighed, grabbing the sodas off the counter.
Frankie grabbed two glasses - your favorite ones with the Fish and Sunflower on them - and followed you to the couch. He settled next to you, taking the cans from your hands to pour the bubbly liquid into the cups.
“You should make him sleep on the couch, as punishment,” Frankie chuckled. 
You laughed, taking a sip before you added, “you’re so right. I’m going to call him right now.”
You grabbed your phone and hit the call button on Santiago’s contact, settling your legs over Frankie’s lap while you waited. It rang for ages, to the point where the two of you thought Pope was sending you to voicemail. 
Then, the line clicked. “Hola Hermosa,” Santi drawled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
You blanked for a moment, distracted by Frankie rubbing a thumb over your ankles. “Yeah, uh, hi. I heard you were coming into town. Funnily enough, I think my text got lost in the cloud somewhere.” 
Frankie chuckled lightly, shaking his head. 
“That you Fish? Shoulda known you’d tell her. I wanted it to be a surprise, mi amor. How many babies d’y’all have running around there now, anyways? Three? Five?”
“Pope,” Frankie growled. 
“I kid, I kid,” Santi chuckled. “Seriously though, when’s the wedding? My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.”
You sighed. “Santi, c’mon. I was going to offer you my couch.” You reached over to Frankie for his hand, squeezing gently. 
The two of you never spoke of marriage or your relationship, not after he broke your heart and followed Santiago into the service, and especially not after what happened those few months ago. 
You used to dream of it, wearing his abuela’s veil and your mother’s wedding dress. Frankie standing at the altar with Santiago by his side, beaming at you as you walked toward him. You’d wanted an outside wedding, full of sunflowers, violets, and daisies. 
You would be kidding yourself if you said you hadn’t thought about it since then. You had. But you couldn’t get hurt again, it would be too painful. So you loved him from as far as you could. In the present moment, it wasn’t entirely very far. He was your best friend, you weren’t going to abandon him in his time of need. Once he was back on his feet, everything would go back to the way it was. That’s what you told yourself at least. 
“Can’t take the spot on the other side of your bed, can I? You have a very nice mattress, sunflower.”
“Well I need that spot for my five children, don’t I?” You watched Frankie throw his head back in laughter, any anger toward Santiago dissipating.  
“Very funny hermosa. Make sure Fish keeps that couch warm for me, yeah? I’ll be there Saturday morning.”
-
You carefully pulled yourself out of bed at the sound of Santiago’s knock on the front door. You glanced at the clock declaring it was 7:30 and sighed. Padding over to the closet, you pulled on your robe before heading to the front of the apartment to open your door. 
Frankie hadn’t slept well the night before, his anxiety keeping him on edge the whole day and a memory haunting his dreams at night. You spent most of the early morning coaxing him back to sleep with quiet lullabies, lavender lotion, and soft touches. His nightmares had gotten better, but something about Pope’s visit flipped a switch in his brain. 
When you came home from work, you’d found him rebuilding a Lego set he must have taken apart from its display on your shelf. Where he found the directions, you had no idea. A completed sudoku pad sat on the table next to him along with the Sunday paper’s crossword puzzle. His anxiety had kept him in overdrive all day, sending him into a spiral. You’d finally talked him into laying in bed with promises of delivered sushi and The Breakfast Club. 
Santiago knocked once more as you were unlocking the door. You glared at him as you pulled it open, stepping aside to let him inside. “Please keep it down,” you whispered. “Last night was rough. He needs to sleep for a while longer.” 
He nodded, pulling you into a hug. “How’re you doing, Sunny?” 
You sank into his arms, sighing contently. “I could be worse. I’m so glad you’re here, you have no idea.” 
“It’s not good, is it?” Pope pressed a light kiss to your forehead, pulling away to get a look at you properly. 
Yawning, you shrugged. “He’s been better. Something happened yesterday, I don’t know what. He took apart the Taj Mahal Lego set while I was working and put the whole thing back together by the time I’d gotten home.” You shook your head, running a hand through your hair as you paused. “He was up most of the night too, woke up screaming and thrashing around one. I finally got him back asleep a couple of hours ago.”
Santi nodded, worry etched into his brows. “How are you doing? You need someone to take care of you too.”
“I’m okay, Santi. Really, I am. Frankie is my first priority.” You squeezed his shoulder lightly before turning towards the kitchen. “Do you want some coffee?”
“Please, gracias Hermosa.” Santi followed you into the kitchen, leaning against a counter as you worked. 
You reached into a lower cabinet for a bag of grounds before spooning it into the filter. “I keep the caffeinated stuff in another spot so Frankie doesn’t get confused
the caffeine affects his anxiety, so he’s been drinking decaf for awhile now.” 
“You really have thought of everything, haven’t you,” Santi commented. He watched as you shrugged, pulling mugs from another cabinet. 
He took the liberty of glancing around the apartment then, taking in the small signs of how yours and Frankie’s lives have further intertwined since he last visited. Pictures of Frankie and the rest of their squad littered the refrigerator doors, held up by magnets he would bring back for you after any mission he could. Your fish and sunflower glasses sat on the drying rack, shoes scattered together by the front door. One of Frankie’s flannels hung on the dining table chairs, his favorite books next to yours on the shelves. He also noted Frankie’s record player in the corner of the room, vinyls organized neatly next to the table. Pope couldn’t clearly determine where you ended and Frankie began.
“So, do you have any plans while you’re here?” You turned, handing a mug to Santi. 
He took a long sip, savoring the taste. “Not particularly, just hoping to catch up with everyone. Benny’s fight is on Monday, right?” 
You nodded. “Yeah, Will is out of town until then. Benny might come over tomorrow for some game, but that depends on how Frankie is feeling. Try to take it easy with him, okay?” 
Santi nodded. “Yes, of course. Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” 
“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d get all concerned and try to come up here. He’s embarrassed about it, Santi. He doesn’t want anyone else involved. Will and Ben don’t even know how bad it is.” 
As if on cue, you heard a shout from down the hall. “Sunflower?? Honey, are you there?”
“I’m in the kitchen, mi amor. Don’t worry.” You pressed a finger into Santiago’s chest. Whispering, you said, “Don’t heckle him, please.” 
“Never,” he said quietly. “Go help our guy, yeah?” 
You gave him a small smile before heading back to the bedroom where Frankie was getting dressed. 
You treaded softly over to him, putting yourself between him and the closet. “Are you sure you don’t want to sleep a little longer? You can stay in bed as long as you want, Frankie.” 
He shook his head, reaching for his hat on your dresser. “Pope is here. I’ve functioned on less sleep than this.” 
Frankie had a hard look in his eyes, but not menacing or irritated. It was the look he acquired when he compartmentalized things. He put a barrier up, shielding everyone around him from his problems. Another symptom of the military, a change in him you never expected. Frankie used to wear his heart and his mind on his sleeve. You could know exactly what he was thinking when you looked at him. But that Frankie went away the minute he stepped foot on foreign soil. 
“Francisco,” you took his hands into yours. “You don’t have to be strong every moment of every day. You’re allowed to be in pain. Santiago’s in pain too, they all are. Hell, why do you think Benny jumps in front of fists every week?”
Frankie chuckled. “Hermosa, I think you’ve got the wrong idea about MMA.” 
You shook your head at him, giggling lightly. “Don’t change the subject, Morales.” You moved your hands up to caress his cheeks, thumbs resting over the heart-shaped patches in his beard. His eyes softened in your embrace, smile growing wider. 
Frankie wanted to kiss you then. Hell, he wanted to kiss you every moment of every day. But in this moment, it took every bit of strength he had not to. He glanced down at your lips as you spoke, internally kicking himself for entertaining the thought.
“Just,” you sighed quietly, eyes drifting to the floor. “Please, take it easy. Santi will understand if you need to slow down.” 
Frankie nudged your hands with his chin, catching your attention. “I promise. Thank you for taking such good care of me, girasol.” 
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Sunday had been easy with Santiago there. Him and Frankie spent much of the afternoon playing Mario Kart in the living room while you watched from the kitchen table. It relieved you to see Frankie so relaxed with someone other than yourself. 
It reminded you of your childhood, days where you sat in front of Santiago’s tv, watching him and Frankie take turns with Zelda or play Super Mario Bros together. They’d yell profanities at each other in Spanish when one of them fucked up, causing them to restart a level. You still remembered the feeling of Frankie’s laugh against your back when you laid against his chest while they played. You were small enough, and him tall enough, that he could see the controller over your shoulders, so he held you in his arms most of the time.
You joined in on the fun when your parents gifted you (and Frankie) a Nintendo 64 for Christmas one year. You would stay up too late every night during winter break playing with him, falling asleep together on the couch more than once. 
You were never sure when the feelings started, but they never went away. Even as you watched him and Santiago from across the room, you felt them. 
Frankie was your first kiss, your first time. Your first everything. And then he left, broke up with you like you were nothing to him, and followed Santiago into a war that destroyed them. 
The person you discussed marriage and kids with had abandoned you, to “defend the country,” he’d said. You mourned him as if he died, the pain unbearable. It clawed at your heart, leaving you broken and gasping for air. 
Your college years were spent in psychiatrists' offices, life dulled through pills and therapy. Frankie would call you on occasion, him and Santiago writing letters as well. You’d always pick up, unable to resist the sound of his voice. 
It wasn’t until you stepped foot into a kindergarten class your sophomore year that you came alive again. You had always known you wanted to be a teacher, but you never expected 20 five-year-olds to turn your world upside down and change your life. 
You were friends with some of them on Facebook now, so many years later. More than a few of them had sent you emails over the years too, some asking after Frankie and if he had gotten home okay. They were the sweetest humans you had ever met and you cared for them as if they were your own. 
You were at the point in your life where the idea of having kids was slowly retreating from the version of life you had built for yourself. They only existed in your dreams now, with Frankie at the helm of them. A glimpse of the life you could have led if things were different. 
Instead, you peered across the room at your two childhood friends as they bonded over lost time and competitive video games from your seat at the kitchen table where you were finishing report cards. 
Frankie must have felt you staring because he turned toward you during a break in the game, beckoning you over. “Ven acĂĄ, cariño. You deserve a break.” 
You got up slowly and made your way to the couch. “Only for a few minutes, I have to finish the report cards for tomorrow.” You sat between the two men on the couch, legs tucked underneath you. 
“What’re your plans for summer break?” Santiago glanced over at you while Frankie fiddled with his Mario Kart vehicle for the thousandth time. 
“I never made plans for anything, actually. I thought about going to New York or Chicago, but life got in the way,” you shrugged. 
“You’ve still got time! I think that’s a great idea, Sunny. You deserve a nice, long vacation. I’ll even pay for your hotel, my treat.” Santi placed a hand on your knee, squeezing gently.
Your eyes widened, jaw dropping. “Santi, no. I can’t accept. That’s
that’s so much money. Besides, I have
stuff I need to do here. Doctors appointments and
things.” You attempted to come up with any excuse in the book to refuse Pope, but he saw through your ruse. You didn’t want to leave Frankie alone and he knew it. 
“I’m sure I can distract Fish here for a few weeks while you take some time for yourself, darlin. Ain’t that right, hermano?” 
You watched the two men traded stern looks, Frankie’s cold and menacing look from yesterday morning returning as he glared at the other man. You reached for Frankie’s arm then, giving it a squeeze. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Not without you.” 
Frankie’s mouth opened a few times as he hesitated to say something. Finally, he reached for your hand and squeezed as he said, “Pope’s right. You deserve a break after all you’ve done for me. You should go for your birthday, hm?”
“I’ll think about it, how about that?” You looked between them, hoping to satisfy their conspiracy. “I’m not sure what the two of you are up to, but it’s not any good. Now give me that remote, mi amor, so I can kick Pope’s ass in Mario Kart like I promised.”
Frankie laughed, a hearty laugh that had him bent over, leaning into your shoulder as he cackled. The brim of his hat hit the side of your neck, but you hadn’t minded. You hadn’t seen Frankie laugh like this in months.
It made you want to pull him into you by the collar of his shirt and kiss him senseless. But you couldn’t do that, not anymore.
—
After you bid the men goodnight and wandered off to bed, Frankie and Santi headed out to the balcony, each with a beer in hand as they sat. The men were silent for a while, taking in the sounds of the crickets, cicadas, and grasshoppers under the night sky. 
Frankie fiddled with the wrapping on his beer bottle, tearing it off piece by piece, the bits falling onto his lap haphazardly. He sat waiting for Pope to say something, anything, like he usually did. But Santiago said nothing, leaving room for Frankie to speak if he was so inclined.
Once the beer wrapped had been demolished, Frankie had nothing left to ease his anxiety. He couldn’t stand the silence, not around Pope. 
“I uh,” Frankie started, rubbing a hand up and down on his jeans, the other holding tightly to the beer bottle. “I got busted. It’s not a big deal
actually, it’s a big deal.”
Pope looked over at his friend, taking in his nervousness. “Coke?” Frankie barely glanced at him before he continued. “Jesus, Frankie.” Pope sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “What happened?”
Frankie let out a deep breath before relaying the last few years to his friend. How he thought he was doing alright, until he wasn’t. How you took him in and cared for him when he was at his worst. 
“And you still don’t think she’s in love with you, hermano? Mierda Frankie, eres un idiota.” Santiago shook his head, grinning at his counterpart. 
“Why would she take me back after all these years? All I’ve ever done is hurt her.” Frankie removed his hat, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t deserve her, I never have.” 
“Well, maybe not, but she has never stopped loving you, man. If I was a stranger, I’d think the two of you were married already. She wouldn’t have taken you in if she didn’t care.” 
Frankie sighed, rolling the hat in his hands. The thing had been through hell and back over the years, with a small tear in the fabric at the back and sweat stains on the inside. But it was his favorite hat, one you had given him in high school after the neighbor’s dog had chewed his Astros cap to hell. 
“Listen,” Santiago started, breaking Frankie’s disassociation. “I’ll shut up about the whole thing, I will. But do me a favor and ask her out. I promise you, she’ll say yes.”
Frankie looked at his friend and nodded. “Okay. I’ll try. But you get to be the one to tell her about this bullshit recon mission.”
——
You sighed at the sound of your alarm in the morning, hitting stop but not moving from your spot in the bed. You’d be running on little sleep today after one of Frankie’s recurring nightmares kept the two of you up for the better part of the night. You laid in bed for longer than you should have, savoring the warmth of Frankie’s body as he slept beside you. When you finally dragged yourself out from under the covers, you readied yourself as quickly as possible before you woke him to say goodbye. 
You sat on the edge of the bed, gently caressing his back as you whispered, “Frankie, I’m heading to work.”
He grunted softly, rolling over to face you. His eyes were still closed, but he reached for your touch. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled. 
You clasped his hand in your own, raising your entwined hands to kiss his. “Sleep as long as you need to, mi amor. I’ll be home by 5 and we can head to the arena together, yeah?”
Frankie made a noise in agreement, eyes fluttering open. “You look beautiful today, girasol.” He smiled lazily up at you, giving your hand a squeeze as he spoke.
You blushed, looking away from him. “You say that every morning.”
Frankie sat up slowly and pulled you into his lap on the bed. “That’s because you are beautiful every day, and I’ll keep telling you that as long as I live.” 
“Frankie
” you started, dipping your head in embarrassment. Your cheeks burned red, the room suddenly too hot. “I’ve
I’ve got to go to work.” 
“I know, I’ll let you go in just a minute.” Frankie squeezed your hips gently, just watching you. 
In the comfortable silence, you took in the man before you. His hair had gotten long, the ends curling around his ears and forehead like they had when you were younger. His beard had grown longer too, a few grey hairs littering his jaw around the patches. You loved the patches, though they were one of the spots he was most insecure about. You ran your thumbs over them, fighting the urge to place kisses on the bare skin. 
“What are you thinking about?” Frankie inquired, squeezing your hip again. 
“How old you’re getting,” you smirked. 
Frankie groaned, leaning into your touch. “Don’t remind me, Hermosa.”
“The greys look good on you honey. I’m admiring them.” You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead before you moved to stand. “I really have to go to work now, though I wish I could stay in bed with you all day.”
“One week, yeah?”
“One week,” you smiled, walking backwards to the door. “I love you.”
“Te quiero mucho mucho mucho girasol,” Frankie replied, watching as you waved one last time and closed the door behind you as you left for the day.
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You arrived at fight-night later than you had anticipated, just barely making it inside as Benny was climbing into the cage. Will, Santiago, and Frankie were already seated in the front, where you joined them and took the still full beer from Frankie’s hands. You assumed Santi had given it to him to “loosen him up,” but you weren’t willing to risk Frankie’s sobriety over a solo cup of cheap beer. 
As you took the cup from his hands, Frankie gave you a thankful look and nudged your shoulder with his own. He could never say no to his friends, but you sure could. You waved to Will from where you sat before turning to watch Benny land a punch on his opponent. 
The other fighter got a few good punches in, making you swallow the shitty beer in your anxiousness, but eventually Benny prevailed and was declared the winner. Your group erupted in cheers and as Benny came down from the cage, he ran right to you and hoisted you into his arms. 
“Always my good luck charm, sunshine.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, twirling you around. 
You laughed, holding tightly to his shoulders. When he stilled, you tapped him lightly to let you down. “That was all you, Ben, believe me.”
You returned to Frankie’s side and nudged him gently. His jaw was clenched, eyes looking hard into the distance. The jealousy radiated off of him in waves. 
“Hey,” you said softly, grabbing his attention. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”
Frankie nodded slightly, reaching for your hand as you led the way out of the crowded room.
Ever since he introduced you, Frankie had been envious of the way Benny effortlessly flirted with you and touched you openly. The younger Miller was flirty by nature, but he had a certain soft spot for you. He also knew Benny meant no harm by it, but it still irked the older man, though he had no claim to you. 
You weren’t his girlfriend, or his wife. You were his best friend, nothing more. 
-
As the night wore on, the five of you returned to your apartment, celebrating Benny’s win. The younger man complained about the lack of alcohol in your apartment until he was kicked in the shin by his brother and given a stern look. When Santiago offered to run and grab a six pack, you glared at him and threatened to hide his car keys when Frankie was out of earshot.
“I’m not letting any of you destroy his sobriety, so help me god. Take a fucking soda and piss off.” You shoved a cola can into Pope’s hand before you retreated to the living room toward Frankie. 
“What movie are you picking?” You inquired, sliding a hand across his back as you drew closer. 
He held two dvds up to you - Grease and Gone in Sixty Seconds - and shrugged. “What do you think?” 
You laughed lightly with a shake of your head. “I think we both know what movie I would pick. It’s your night to decide. Better pick quickly before one of them gets too impatient.”
Frankie smiled at you and shuffled over to your DVD player, setting Grease in the DVD slot before clicking it back into place with a press of a button. “For you, mi amor,” he offered, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he retreated to the kitchen. 
The guys brought the snacks you’d prepared out to the living room, setting them on the coffee table in front of the other furniture before claiming their seats throughout the room. Santi and Benny paired up on the couch, each on a different end of the sofa. Will took up residence in the recliner, his usual spot on nights like these. That left you and Frankie on the loveseat, comfortably squished together. Frankie rested his arm over the back of the cushions, opening up his chest for you to lean against. 
 You all sat and watched the movie quietly for some time, you mumbling the lyrics under your breath, body wiggling in time to the music. It took everything in Frankie’s being to keep his cock from hardening at your movements, his body tense behind you. Suddenly, you were up and pulling at his arm, a grin on your face. 
The opening notes of “You’re the One That I Want” played in the background as you tried to move him from the sofa. “Frankie c’mon, it’s our song!”
Your eyes pleaded with him, your hand soft in his own as you tugged at him. He blushed crimson as the other men whooped and hollered at him, begging him to get up and sing with you. 
“Do it Fish, c’mon now!” Benny cheered, nudging Frankie with his foot. 
“Alright, alright,” Frankie conceded, joining you at the front of the room just as the song started in earnest. 
Frankie faltered over the first few lines, but by the chorus, you were both in sync. You danced back and forth across the room, hands never leaving the other’s. Having sung this together since childhood, you even knew some of the choreo from the movie, Frankie hanging on your every movement. He was a little slow in remembering some of the steps, a product of getting sick since returning from service, but you accommodated him as you moved, helping him recover some of the lost memories. 
As you dove into the second verse you grinned as he sang to you, the rest of the world falling away. 
“I better shape up,” he sang, a grin sitting upon his face as well. “‘Cause you need a man!”
“‘Cause I need a man,” you sang back, pulling him close to you. “To keep me satisfied
”
“I better shape up, if I’m gonna prove
” His arms wrapped around your waist, your bodies swaying together in time with the music. “...that my faith is justified
”
Frankie leaned impossibly close to you as you continued to sing, your hands coming up to rest on the back of his neck. By the end of the song, your noses were touching, breaths mixing together in the little space you had left between you. He could kiss you, your lips only inches from yours. But here? In front of the other guys? No, he couldn’t. It had to be special if he was going to make a move after all these years. 
You pulled away reluctantly to reach for your water, face flushed and breath ragged. You smiled at him as you sipped from your glass, falling back down onto the sofa. The other men were cheering, hands out for high fives from their teammate as he followed you to your seats. 
When Frankie sat next to you again, you leaned into his side, eyes focused on the end of the movie. As the credits rolled, he had you in his arms, thumb rubbing softly against your outer thigh. You sighed at his touch, barely registering as Benny changed the movie. By the 30 minute mark, you were fast asleep in his arms, Frankie glaring at his friends if they made too much noise. 
You had to have been exhausted with what little sleep you had been getting every night from taking care of him. You needed the rest. 
Will and Benny helped clean up the snacks and soda cans before their departure, bidding him a quiet goodbye as they left with promises to meet the next day about the recon mission Santi was pestering them about. 
He had no idea how to tell you about it, and it was only days away. You’d be upset, disappointed even, not only at him but at Santiago for dragging him into the jungle once more. He was just getting better, he didn’t need this shit. But, the money Pope was promising would help you, and that’s what he cared about. He wanted to be able to pay off your student loans, do something to help you with this money after all you’ve done for him.
“Fish,” Santi whispered, pulling him from his thoughts. “D’you need help?” 
“No, no. I’ve got it. Can you get the bedroom door open though,” he whispered back, shifting you into his lap to carry you to bed. 
“Yeah, ‘course.” Santi moved toward the hallway and then stopped, turning back to his friend. “Hey Frankie?”
“Hm?” 
“When we get home, you’re marrying her. Stop beating around the goddamn bush.”
Frankie nodded earnestly, your head shifting slightly on his shoulder as he walked toward your room. “That’s the plan, hermano.”
TAGLIST: @meveispunk @chaotic-mystery @i-own-loki @harperdoodle @wildemaven @tightjeansjavi @wonwoosthetic @im-the-daddy-here-5 @fckinel @aruthlessblackthorn @angelseye
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aruthlessblackthorn · 1 year
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Cover redesign of In Other Lands by @sarahreesbrennan !
I am so excited that I got to work on this with @//dazzlingbookishshop on Insta!
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aruthlessblackthorn · 1 year
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Everything I Know Leads Me Back to You - Prelude
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If You See the Shell That's Left of Me
Pairing: eventual Frankie Morales x afab!reader
Word Count: 1.5k
Warnings: Mentions of drug addiction, depression, anxiety, ptsd, trauma related to the military, angst, hurt MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Author's Note: Hello everyone!! I am so excited to share the first part of my Frankie Morales series! I have been working on this idea for over two years, and I am so nervous for it to see the light of day. Please reblog and comment with your thoughts, or feel free to send me an ask!
Everything I Know Leads Me Back to You Masterlist
He hadn’t meant for it to get this bad, but god his sinuses hurt. He sneezed, and then again, before refilling the humidifier next to his bed. He’d just gotten his nose to stop bleeding again, the skin above his mustache aching and dry from the constant rubbing. 
He grabbed the Vaseline from his nightstand, rubbing the thick gel over his dry skin on his face before he climbed back into his bed. The sheets scratched at his skin, a smell emanating from them. He couldn’t remember the last time he had washed them. 
Frankie sighed, glancing at the bag of coke sitting on his nightstand. He glanced away just as quickly, ashamed of himself. 
It was only meant to be recreational, something to take the edge off after he got shot the second time. He needed something to escape the thoughts, the demons. 
He had it all under control, until he didn’t.
The cravings increased ten fold once he got out. The nightmares had gotten worse, plaguing his sleep every night. 
A therapist diagnosed him with PTSD and gave him some kind of medication for the anxiety and something for his sleep, but Frankie was impatient. He wasn’t willing to wait a few weeks for the medicine to work through his system, he needed relief now.
At first, it was a couple of lines a week, something to take the edge off and keep him awake so he wouldn’t have to face his demons. 
He tried to quit a few times over the next few years, once even using vacation days at work to put himself in a treatment center. But he always went back, surrendering to the high. 
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Someone reported him at work. Who it was, he had no idea. He only did lines at home, never while on the clock. And yeah, maybe he was high a few times on a shift, but he never compromised any one’s safety. 
They ran a drug test, and that was that. The FAA suspended him, took his pilot’s license, pending review. 
He’d dug himself into a hole with no way out. 
He no longer had a reason to leave the house, so he didn’t, unless he was meeting with his dealer. He stayed in bed most of the time, black out curtains closed. He barely ate, almost always takeout. He couldn’t remember the last time he went to the grocery store, or whether he’d taken a shower that week.
All he knew was the coke. 
-
The air was heavy around him, the humidity making his clothes cling to him uncomfortably. The ground squished as he walked, the area muddy and slippery from a recent rainstorm. 
Pope flanked his left side as they approached the target location. Three hostages, 15 hostiles. The Millers approached the building from the opposite side, taking out hostiles as they went. 
Frankie’s rifle felt heavy in his hands, a tactical backpack weighing him down as he walked. Something felt wrong, he couldn’t shake it. He’d been here before. Panama, he thought. 
Pope walked ahead of him, shooting enemy men as he went before smashing in the door between them and the hostages.
Frankie realized the problem then. Two of the hostages sat dead, tied to wooden chairs in the middle of the room. Single bullet sounds to the skull. 
The third hostage sat in the middle of the room, crying as she was held by her hair. Frankie glanced quickly at the man holding her head, a gun pressed to the side of her cranium, before his eyes fell down to her face.
His stomach dropped. It was you. You were the third hostage. 
He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. His finger moved to the trigger, gun pointed right at the man’s head. 
You sobbed against the gag in your mouth, voice muffled but crying out for him. The man pulled against your hair again, pressing the gun further into your skin. 
“Don’t,” Frankie warned. He hesitated with the trigger, afraid of what would happen to you if he took the shot from here. 
“You hesitate too late,” the man muttered, pulling the trigger.
-
“NO!” Frankie shot up in bed, screaming your name. Tears streamed down his face, sweat covering every inch of his skin. 
He pressed his palms into his eyes, body wracked with sobs. He had to call you, make sure you were okay.
Hands shaking, he reached for his phone and dialed your contact as quickly as it could. He hoped your ringer was on, though it was sometime in the middle of the night. 
When you didn’t answer, Frankie pulled himself out of bed and into a pair of jeans before he ran out the door and drove the few miles to your apartment. 
-
A continuous knock rang out, waking you from a deep slumber. Groaning, you sat up and took a look at the clock. 
4:04 AM.
Who in the hell was knocking on your door at four am?
You slid out of bed, searching for your slippers in the dark. The floor was cold, making you shiver as you walked around your bedroom. When you couldn’t find them, you sighed, pulling on your robe to meet whoever was at the door.
But when you swung open the door, you weren’t expecting your best friend to be the cause of the noise. “Frankie?”
Frankie pushed past you, walking into your apartment while he muttered to himself. He looked like hell. Eyes bloodshot, dry blood crusted under his nose from a nosebleed, hair damp from sweat. He smelled disgusting, as if he hadn’t showered in days. 
He walked around your apartment aimlessly, hands tugging at his hair. “Girasol, I love you.” He looked at you then, tired brown eyes peering at your own.
“I love you too, mi amor. What’s going on?” You took a step toward him, but he took a step back. You held your hands up in a quiet surrender, searching for answers on his face. “Frankie?”
“No, you don’t understand. I love you; I’m in love with you. We
we can go to Mexico right now, like I promised. We can get married, just like we talked about when we were kids.” He rambled on, spewing memories that only brought pain to you.
“Frankie, what are you doing here?”
He walked over to you and fell to his knees in front of your frame, hands gravitating to your hips. “Marry me.”
“Francisco, this isn’t funny. Get up,” you muttered, trying to pull him off the ground. 
“Funny? I’m not jokin’ cariño. Please,” he begged, hands pulling away from your frame to dig through his pockets. “I’m sure I’ve got something-“
Frankie froze as a bag of white powder fell from his hands. The room stood still as the coke hit the floor of your living room, silencing him. Your eyes widened, the realization hitting you. The man in front of you was suffering far deeper than you could have imagined. 
Within seconds, you sprang into action. You lowered yourself to the ground in front of him, holding his head gently in your hands. “Let’s get you in the shower, yeah?” 
He nodded slightly and you grabbed his arm, tugging him up and then down the hall to your bathroom. You sat Frankie down on the toilet and reached to turn on the shower head so it could heat up while you worked. 
You grabbed a towel from the hall closet before digging through your dresser for some of Frankie’s old clothes. He hadn’t worn the shirt or sweats in years, but you hoped they would still fit him.
When you returned to the bathroom, Frankie was still sitting on the toilet, staring silently at the wall in front of him. You sat everything down on the counter before making your way to stand in front of him. 
You tugged his shirt off gently, whispering thank yous with every movement. You helped him stand, undoing his shoes and removing his socks before you moved to his pants. 
“You’re going so great, Frankie. We’re almost there.” 
He made a small noise of acknowledgment, holding onto your shoulders for balance as you helped remove his pants and boxers. 
You’d seen him naked years ago, when things were simpler between you, but you averted your eyes as best you could to keep a semblance of privacy. Once finished, you helped him into the tub and under the warm water flowing from the shower head. Placing a washcloth into his hands, you pressed a light kiss to his cheek before pulling the curtain back. 
“Call for me if you need help, okay?” 
“Thank you,” Frankie mumbled, almost inaudible over the sound of the shower. 
You quietly slipped out of the bathroom, closing the door gently behind you. You leaned against the wall next to the door, knees giving out as you slid to the ground. Your head fell into your hands as you crumbled, body shaking with sobs.
---
TAGLIST: @meveispunk @chaotic-mystery @i-own-loki @harperdoodle @wildemaven @tightjeansjavi @wonwoosthetic @im-the-daddy-here-5
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aruthlessblackthorn · 1 year
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Precious Masterlist
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Summary: DEA needs results fast, and for that, they need more people joining forces. An agent as rare as diamond goes to Bogotå and starts working with Peña and Murphy. Only if she knew that Escobar would be the least of her problems.
Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader
Notes: Thats my first time writing a fic, i hope everyone likes it! English is not my first language and it been a long time since i wrote something like this, so if you see any mistakes please feel free to tell me!! Also, sorry for the Spanish!!
Tags: AFAB reader, enemies to lovers, age gap, eventual smut, violence, misogyny, stalking, i'll add more in the future as the fic goes!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
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aruthlessblackthorn · 1 year
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I love one man
THIS EDITđŸ”„đŸ”„ cr:pascalfacts on tiktok
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aruthlessblackthorn · 1 year
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Precious - Chapter 3
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Summary: DEA needs results fast, and for that, they need more people joining forces. An agent as rare as diamond goes to Bogotå and starts working with Peña and Murphy. Only if she knew that Escobar would be the least of her problems.
Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader
Notes: I know the pace is slow but i just want people to feel their connection, and i really love slow burn. Hate slow burn fics that they fuck 3 chapters in!!!
Tags: AFAB reader, enemies to lovers, slow burn, age gap, smut, mentions of sex, violence, misogyny, stalking, i'll add more in the future as the fic goes!
Word Count: 1.2K
<;< PREVIOUS // MASTERLIST // NEXT >>
_*_
BogotĂĄ, 08/30/1982
It'd been one week since the Lounge fiasco, and nothing really changed from your side. You could see that Peña's gotten braver, more open towards your job. You have been to Murphy's house at least once a week since you became almost inseparable from Connie since that outing, Friday nights dinners a reoccurring thing. Finally, you feel like things started to clear up.
"Good morning, preciosa. Love the attire, you should come to work like that everyday." "And keeping you distracted from the sicarios? No thanks, you already have enough women at your feet here." "You say that as if you don't have an admirer
where's your puppy this morning?"
Peña was referring to Gabriel, the DEAs new intern. He started working 2 days ago, and it was obvious he's into you. He's a few years younger but he's very handsome: glasses that give him a nerdy pure look, shirts that accentuate his cute pouch, and sparkly eyes that look at you with amazement.
"I don't know, Peña
why, you jealous?" "Depends, are you jealous of my informants and Carolina?" "Jealous? Hahahah, baby, you don't even exist to me."
With that, you stood up and went with your day , leaving a stumped Javier.
_____
Your phone rang in the afternoon and your informant gave you colossal news: they discovered Pablos home in a satellite picture. And better yet, his people didn't know about it. You ran towards Carillo to tell the news, and he quickly gathered people.
_____
"Jefe, tenemos que huir" Boss, we have to run "¿Por qué?" Why? "La DEA ha recibido información sobre nuestra dirección" DEA received our address "¿Qué? ¿Quién fue el bastardo que dio esa información?" What? Who's the bastard that gave it away? "¥No importa! Hagåmoslo råpido, dile a Tata, no podemos asustar a las mujeres embarazadas" It doesn't matter! Quicky, warn Tata, we can't scary a pregnant woman
_____
While arriving, Carillo divided the teams, and warned everyone to get the members alive, so it would be possible to get other sicarios. You arrived at the mansion, the table filled with cooked food. We separated, I went towards the bedrooms, Murphy the bathrooms and Peña went to the kitchen. When you got to the last corridor, you heard a woman groaning in pain, and rushed into the bedroom, however, you weren't ready for the sight: Tata was sweating, on the floor, crying for help.
“PEÑA, MURPHY, COME QUICK”
When the boys arrived, even they were surprised, but Javier sprung into action and went to arrest her.
“What are you doing dumbass? She's in labor, she's not going anywhere. We need to help” “Let me call Connie, get her to the car” Murphy replied.
In the car, Tata was screaming and grunting in pain. You really felt bad for her, and tried to help the best you could:
“Don't worry, were gonna get you and your baby safe” “Please, save my bab-” “Take a deep breath, nothings gonna happen to you or your baby. Were gonna get you into the next hospital and you can finally meet your child” “Agente, don't leave me to these monsters
please
stay with me while i'm in labor”
Although she's the wife of the biggest narcos, the agent felt like she couldn't leave that poor woman alone. Her trash husband already ran without her, she deserved security at her side.
“I won’t.”
_____
“Penã, Murphy, come in.”
The agents came into the room, and saw the rookie besides Tata, holding the narcos wife's baby. Peña congratulated the woman, but as the times were serious, efficiency was needed. It was vital to secure the woman in a police guarded building so she could recover and give away information at the same time.
“We already talked to Noonan, tomorrow you’ll be sent to a safehouse, where you can rest and look after the baby. However, that's only for a few days, then, you'll be arrested. Tough luck lady, get a better husband next time.” “HOW DARE YOU SEPARATE ME FROM MY BABY” “Your husband ran and left without you, you shouldn’t be mad at me. And you don't get to negotiate, you and your husband are making the lives of innocent people in this country hell. You don't get pity because you had a bab-” “That’s enough, Peña. Let the woman rest.” The new agent replied “Rest if you can, the nurse will see you soon. There'll be a cop at your door all times, call for help if you need. We’re leaving.”
While riding back to the embassy, you felt torn - it was a victory to get Pablos wife and few of his men, but a bittersweet one, since the main culprit fled. You were really stressed. You sat at your desk to think and strategize. It would be nice to ask your partners, but Murphy said he needed his wife and Javier just left. Maybe he would talk to Helena, just to calm himself down.
“Welcome back, agent! Great work as always!” “Thank you, Gabriel” “Do you need anything?”
You stopped. The only thing you needed was a great fucking. He already saw you as his idol, maybe sleeping together would be a solution.
“Are you free later?”
_____
Peña laid in the bed trying to catch his breath. Usually Helena would make him lose his mind, but he felt like everything was getting dull. He didn't feel the thrill he usually did.
"ÂżHas tenido suficiente de mĂ­?" Had enough of me? "Lo siento, Helena. Realmente lo necesitaba, supongo que estoy cansado". Sorry, Helena. I really needed that, I guess I'm just tired. ... "Es la Ășltima vez, Âżno?" It’s the last time, isn't it? “Sí” Yes
Then she left. What was wrong with him? Ever since that aggravating night at the Lounge he couldn't look at any woman without thinking of the rookie. A true witch. He hates his neighbor and work mate. Like clockwork, he listened to her door open, and her laughs. Wait. She’s with someone. Who? Maybe he's dreaming. He should sleep. And that's what he did.
3 AM. Peña slept for 2 hours. He woke up to his neighbor's bed creaking, and moans.
“So good, so good-FUCK
no one will beat you
so beautiful” “Good boy, baby
making such pretty sounds for me
want more?” “YESYESYES please I beg you”
This is a test. The men almost went to the agents door to tell her to shut the fuck up, but then he heard her moans. God, so infuriating and so good. The sounds of a true goddess. Even after fucking Helena, his dick sprung into action after hearing her. God, he needs help. He pulled his dick out of his pants and started to stroke up and down, letting her moans guide him to his orgasm.
“So handsome
you are perfect aren’t you? So ready for me
” “All for you
please keep fucking me pleasepleaseple-” “I got you honey
gonna keep riding you real good
will go to work tomorrow all bruised, like a whore right?”
He pretended that it was for him, and being called a whore really did it for him (you learn something everyday, huh?), he bit his lips and spilled in his hand and torso.
He was fucked.
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aruthlessblackthorn · 1 year
Note
heyyyy! could I request Javier Peña for the #mmvalentinesevent with “I
 thought I lost you” {14} and “Never do that again. Please” {15} from the injury prompts?? you do angst so well!
take me to yours
javier pena x f!reader (dea!agent)
warnings: reader gets injured, mention (brief) panic attack, post-injury panic. || wc: 3.8k || also, i’m dedicating this to @yeyinde who i know didn’t request this, but listens to me rant and rave about this man <3
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A bead of sweat ran down his spine as time slowed to nothing.
It was the sound of her voice that made it. Birthed it. It doing a number of other things to him. His spine tensing as something twists. Sticking painfully into his abdomen—similar to the blade of a knife.
Hey, Javi. I’m real sorry to bother you, but something doesn’t feel right here. What? I don’t
 I don’t know, it just doesn’t.
She never calls—not in the day. Not even when night kisses the city and he expects her.
Their conversations had started as fleeting. More said around breaths as hands explore fabric to unveil skin. Then they had grown into stolen moments, huddled in file rooms and down the side of buildings.
Now she had called him.
Not anyone else: him.
Anyone with you? No. I’m
 I’m alone. Shit—my car. It won’t start. 
The sweat had begun building at the nape of his neck when Javi had heard her voice. A reaction flooding through him almost instantly—far too quickly.
Something he’d have to unpack later when he wasn’t under the watchful eye of Murphy or holding her voice in his hand. 
The bead had hung on for dear life, growing under the tension as he tapped Murphy, and stormed back to the car.  
I didn’t know who to call—and it’s you and me, right? Look— Fuck, Javi. I think they’ve seen me. Bonita—
Something strummed inside of him. It shifted, changed. All violent and unpredictable.
It played on his nerves and organs. It made his hand shake as he rammed the key into the hole, the engine roaring to life—ignoring the questionable stares from Murphy. 
All he focused on was the nervousness in her tone. 
The worry. 
The one he expects from others, but never from her. Not the woman who’d burned her lips against his, mixing tequila and whiskey as he pressed her back against brick; not the woman who raised her chin when someone talked down to her. 
The tone and the fact she’d called him.
I’m coming, Bonita. Alright?  What do I do, Javi? What do I do— Do not go into that house, Cariño. We’re coming, okay? We’re—
That same bead of sweat slid under his shirt collar when he saw the holes in her vehicle. The same ones he had heard being fired at her when the call went dead. How it had been accompanied by a gasp, the last noise he’d heard from her. 
The one which unlocked a fear he hadn’t known he even had for her.
His fingers gripped her truck door. His eyes taking in the phone discarded on the passenger side floor. A bullet firmly in the place keys once were. It lay in a pattern of shattered glass—all of the pieces twinkling under the bright sunlight. Appearing like stars which had fallen from the sky.
It was everywhere, shards that were dragged to the other door—the one half-open that Murphy stood at.
He can’t meet his eyes. Not yet.
Instead, he sweeps his gaze over the backseat does he spot her denim jacket. His stomach lurching.
He knows without thought it’s the same one she’d had on earlier. The one which had spent weeks hanging on the hook near his front door from a time when she’d “forgotten” it.
I’ll get it soon. Don’t worry, I’m not sneak moving in.
Now, it’s covered in the softest spray of drying red.
Complicated. That’s what she had said about them. When she’d been busy reapplying her lipstick in the bar’s bathroom. His fingers having zipped up his jeans, meeting her eyes in the dirty mirror. We’re complicated. You and me. 
He hadn’t argued then, and he didn’t now. 
The sweat had finally dripped. Followed by so much more. It all burning a path down under his shirt. 
His hand swipes across his jaw as he meets Murphy’s gaze—trying not to crack under it. Even as one thought loops continuously, almost making him fearful of even speaking:
Where is she, Murphy?
Images conjured, appearing one after the other. Her bent in odd places, her eyes devoid of life—her soul, her sparkle. 
The bead began its path down his shoulder blade until it finds a home at the base of his spine. Collecting with the others, his fingers brushing his hair back, following his partner's eyes to the house. The one with its door wide open, banging against the inside wall as the warm breezes swipes against it. 
The one he told her not to go in. He takes a breath. 
The two of them fall into a line—one practised and drilled into them from training. One the two of them do countless times as Murphy gestures and he follows.
Javi is too busy trying to banish the thoughts which threaten to boil him over. The ones where his mind conjures her in positions he’ll never be able to forget; holes in her he’ll never be able to fix. 
It takes more than one breath, but two, until he feels a semblance of calmness washing over him. 
It’s quiet, eerily so. Each time their sole hits a loose floorboard, they expect a sea of bullets. Ones which never come.
Not as they clear the hallway, moving into a room with matted chairs and dead bodies. Alcohol, copper and cigarettes staining the air, all sliding past the hair in his nose into his throat. 
He should be thankful she’s not amongst them. But, he’s not. Not as he sees scarlet red spreading across the rickety wooden floor, some even with handprints, some of it even on the walls.
That same pain twists in his stomach. The silence between the two agents remaining, thick and uncomfortable. A mist falling, something churning in him that he fears Murphy can feel too. 
I’m coming, Bonita. 
He meets Murphy’s eyes. The two swap the same hopeful sentiment: the blood won’t be hers.
The tip of his boot kicks at one of the men, and his heel slides the gun from the second—content they’re both bathing in their own blood. All very much disposed of, taken care of.
He’s set to move, to follow Murphy when Javi sees a third gun, one that’s like theirs. A dread ballooning, growing so large it almost consumes him.
“She could still—“
“Let’s clear the rooms.”
He doesn’t mean to snap—didn’t mean to spit the words at him like poison.
It’s just
 his breath is all mattered and clinging to his throat. A thing inside of him unfurling. It spreads itself through him. It tries to drag him into darkness, tries to make the corners of his eyes see speckles of red. 
The cracks in his walls widen as he begins to unravel. All of the well-kept emotions suddenly not remaining in their cage, escaping in bursts from him until they’re all out, hammering away at his bones. 
It’s Murphy who suggests they split, taking the next few rooms. Be quicker to find her, won’t it?
He doesn’t argue—can’t, argue. Swallowing the thickness which is doubling with each passing moment. 
The shell of the house whistles in its emptiness as Javi scans for beautiful eyes and a kind smile.
He tries not to feel anything when he doesn’t. Tries not to linger on the fact that as every second pass, the likeness of him hearing her voice grows thinner. It burns into him, twisting something in his stomach as the first room he clears is spared of death. 
Gratitude—glee—almost escaping with a sigh as he moves to the second. 
The second is the sight of disaster, but he’s not sure of what kind or magnitude. 
The stench hits him first. The smell of torture, cigarettes and sex. The matted mattress in the corner is stained with things he only casts his eyes over, the body in the centre of the room demanding his attention. 
He spots several body-shaped holes in the plaster, ones he hates the realisation that they match her height and frame. He sees the smallest amount of drying blood on what hasn’t crumbled to the ground from the force, the contrast of the once-magnolia plaster stark against the dark floorboards. 
The man in the centre is more than dead. The hole in his neck had stopped leaking at some point, having begun to congeal against the floor and the man’s shoulder. More holes in his chest, stomach and thigh follow a similar pattern. 
Javi spots the knife—the culprit of what had done the damage. It’s lodged in the decaying skirting board on the opposite wall, likely kicked there through fury and fear. 
His mind sinks into itself. It pulled open drawers he’d rather keep closed, yanking out past reports and horrid tales, seeing it like a horrid mirage playing out across the dust and debris. A part of him having already carved out space for her, and yet—
She may not be around to fill it. 
We’re complicated. You and me.
Protocol recounts in the back of his head.
His fingers twitch at his side, needing to be busy.
He should go to the car, and call ahead. He should check out the wallets of the deceased, and see if they’ve done damage against Escobar—she’s done damage.
Javi does none of that.
Instead, he puts the safety on and sheathes his gun in the back of his jeans, fingertips sliding against his thumb as he stares at the dead man in the centre of the floor. 
He waits. His teeth return to peeling the skin from his lip. Suddenly busy recalling the ways he could have kept her safe. The main one being he shouldn’t have allowed her to leave his bed. His hand should have slid over her hip, slid his thigh between hers and married his lips to hers until they both forgot about alarm clocks and responsibilities.
The sight of her this morning is what he wants back. The way her eyes had smiled more than her lips. That her palm had pressed against his cheek, laughing at something he’d said. 
It’s why he doesn’t leave the room now. Not wanting to stumble across her bent in a broken way and devoid of any life behind her eyes.
Needing, almost praying, for Murphy’s voice to carry through the house. 
That tone—that particular voice which said she was breathing, that she hadn’t been taken from him too. 
“Javi?!”
His boots sound on the floorboards before his name has stopped echoing around the emptiness. Eyes taking in Murphy, him leaning against a doorframe, gun in his bulletproof, hands over his arms. He shoots a look, one that earns him a jut of his head.
“I’ll call ahead. Give you both a minute.”
“Yeah, sure. T-Thanks, Murphy.”
He pats him as he passes—his partner. The one who likely knows too much, but Javi suddenly cares that much about.
His focus on the room. The one with no scent. The room where the plaster is peeling and the floorboards groan under his soles.
Occasionally, speckled shimmers of sunlight dance over the room from the hole-bitten curtains. The cracked window blowing a warm breeze, sliding over the cobwebs and the creatures that likely hide inside the walls.
He sidesteps around the slanted wardrobe, eyes finding her in the corner—spine pressed against two walls. She looks so small, so unlike the person he’d bid goodbye to this morning.
Her knees to her chest, arms around her calves, chin resting. But, it’s her eyes he focuses on. How they’re blurred, lost—that she’s fractured and withered at the edges.
Her clothes splattered in red, splotches on her skin. None of it bothering her, she’s being haunted by a moment they’ve not let go of.
“Bonita?”
She blinks. It’s quick, the way she banishes her thoughts as she drinks him in.
Realisation dawning, covering her face and body language as though he’s the sun at the start of a new day.
Javi is slow as he coming down in front of her, knees protesting as he does so. Her shaky smile growing, wearily placed joy spreading across her features.  
“H-Hey, Peña—you came? I know. I know you said you would-d, but
 I’m glad you did. Really glad. Didn’t know if you’d find me. Anyone would find-d me. You know? You do, know. I know—”
He cups her chin, swiping his thumb under it as she swallows. “Hey, look at me. There she is
 Bonita, you’re in shock, ok—”
“I am?” 
It’s forced nature not meeting her eyes, choosing to nod instead. His eyes assess the cut above her head, noticing how it’s become tacky—somewhat healing in various shades of red and black. He turns her face, surprised she allows him to, watching her eyes slide from him to the space behind him. 
The minutes before their arrival trying to steal her from him, almost doing so until her palm plastered around his wrist, surprising him. 
“Had to sit down
 just for a minute. So tired, and then I couldn’t
 I couldn’t get up—“
“Cariño
” His thumb strokes her cheek, the one blooming in the bluest shades of a rainbow. “Hey, keep those eyes on me.” 
His hand tilts her face, spotting the slight swelling around her eye, her gaze blurring, altering. 
“You should see the other guy.” 
“I did. All three of them. You did good.” 
She swallows and it looks like it was harder to do than he cares to think about. “I-I did?” 
“You did, Bonita.”
Her eyes close, a second longer than they have been as her chest tries to rise and fall. “I channelled m-my inner P-Peña. What would P-Peña do? And h-he’d make sure they never g-got up-p
 especially when
”
He should let go of her chin, and drop his hand back to his lap. He doesn’t. Just stares instead, taking in the flecks of her one good eye and the way her breath seems to be coming back to her. 
She places her hand on his arm. ïżœïżœI’m okay.” 
“You are.”
Biting the inside of her lip. “They’d spotted me.”
His heart slows, and almost stops. Just for a moment—so brief he could have ignored it, but he doesn’t. “I heard, Cariño.”
Not sure if he’ll ever be able to drink away the sound.  
“Thought
 not him—not Escobar. But, someone
 y’know? Important. That we could tick off. Red cross over their face. You know? You know, of course you do. But, I don’t think they was. Important, I mean?” Her lip trembles, the size of it sprouting the same as her eye. Tears welling up, sitting in her eyes as she furiously doesn’t let them fall. “Even for the way they
 they really wanted to hur—kill me.” 
It drops, his stomach. Practically almost falls out of his ass into the floorboards.
We’re complicated. You and me. 
The fear he’d managed to stifle, darts through him again like wildfire. Scorching all the parts of him, fanning its vine-like fingers through him, tangling around organs as it flexes and tightens, making it hard to breathe. 
He acknowledges what it means—what she means to him.
He does.
Javi knows she isn’t just someone who has kept his bed warm or been there when he’s needed to fuck his frustration out; she’s not someone who he just looks for around the building. She’s—
“Where’s Murphy?” 
Her breathing suddenly difficult—challenging. Her hand slides under her blouse, eyes dilating, blurring before his eyes all over again.
All he can think is she shouldn’t have been here alone. Shouldn’t have been asked to come here without someone like him, like Murphy. 
“He’s outside. You good to walk?” 
She nods, just about. 
His brain latching, furiously clutching to the fact she’s alive—breathing.
He hadn’t lost her—she hadn’t been taken from him. Not yet. Something he hadn’t allowed himself to believe could be true when he’d seen her truck. When they’d walked in and heard nothing—not even the wheezes of someone’s last breath. 
You like her. He thinks. You like her, you like her, you like her. 
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She’s taken to the ambulance the moment they exit the building.
It allowed him a horrid moment to take in the tips in her jeans, the way her once white blouse was stained to ruin. How she limped, ever so slightly—something he hadn’t noticed from near carrying her against him out of the building.
As soon as she was taken from him, he hated how far away she was. His hands lighting a cigarette, and then another. Able to speak clearly to those who asked him things.
But, it didn’t quiet his thoughts or calm his frayed edges. 
“Carillo says he can handle the rest, you coming?”
There’s a look in Murphy’s eyes as he asks—all-knowing and cocky. He hates it—despises it. It feeling like a test.
Javi wants to roll it up and shove it down his partner’s neck. 
“Um, no. Think I’ll stick around here.”
Nodding, Murphy casts his cigarette down. “I called it.”
“No, you fucking didn’t.”
“Did. Look after her, yeah?”
He jostles under the slap of Murphy’s hand on his back, half-rolling his eyes as he tries to ignore the frustration building. The fact all of it, his feelings, are rising to the surface in thick bubbles. And he’s not able to keep a lid on it. Not the way he feels or how much he’s showing it. 
Me and you.
He lets his eyes find her again. 
Having tried not to let her out of his sight the moment the medic had taken her from him. She’d searched for him too, having been examined by the shut doors—desperately looking for him, calming when she seated at the edge of the ambulance having found him. She soothed him too, stopped the storm from taking over and rendering him more useless than he feels. 
It’s why he waits, and spends far too long avoiding going over until her head turns and shifts. The sight of it making him worry, panic.
Then he follows her line of sight, seeing the sheet-covered bodies, and his legs cut through the people and trucks until he’s standing before her. 
It pulls her back to him. Her eyes landing on him. An easier smile able to spread over her lips as she leans her head against the inside of the vehicle. 
“You causing trouble?” 
“Me? No. I leave that to you, Peña.” 
He placed his hand on his hip, foot up on the ambulance's step as she watches him. Takes him in as he does her.
The bruising has developed, spreading in thick shades which shouldn’t have ever touched her skin, never mind had the chance to blossom out over it. 
“You gotta go to the hospital?” 
Slowly, she leans her head against the side of the vehicle. “No. But, I can’t be alone, so I suggested this guy called Javier could keep an eye on me. Just has to make sure I don’t faint or pass out, vomit and something else, I kinda stopped listening.”
“Cariño.”
Her tongue sweeps out over her lips. “What? You don’t want to keep an eye on me, Javi?” 
More than fucking anything. 
Never wants to let her out of his sight again, if he could. Wants to press her body against his until no space remains, letting her breath fan out over his face and her heartbeat pelt against his ribs. 
“Javi
?”
Lifting his head, he meets her eyes. A more detailed conversation happens in the stare, one with words that fall with ease. Each is perfectly articulated, chosen and spoken which makes all of this easy. Not that she’s easy—not that the two of them are either. 
We’re complicated. You and me. 
They are complicated and messy, and brilliant. He knows it—feels it even. How complex it is that she even managed to get under his layers, weave herself into his life to the point he’s not sure if he could breathe as easily without her. 
He knows, on some distant level, he felt it more before today. That it had begun festering months ago, blooming into something sweeter and nicer than he’d ever allowed himself to have only once—if ever. 
“I
 thought I lost you
”  
Slowly, her grin drops. Her lips spreading out into a line—either in surprise at his confession, or at the truth of it. His words remaining hanging, settling between them—not dancing up into the sky. 
Even as he heard them, he didn’t regret them. Even if it widened the gap in his carefully curated walls.
It takes a lot to render her silent, he’s learnt that. He’s found ways, but never with words. So, watching her mouth open and close is a sight to behold—somewhat waiting for a trophy he’s never sure will come. 
“Who’d annoy you if I went and died, Peña?”
“Knowing you, Bonita? You’d find some way to fuckin’ haunt me.”
It’s low, but it’s there—her laugh. It brushes through the air to his ears, both of them tuning in for it, needing it. It settles a part of him—one which hadn’t believed she was out of the woods. Somewhat expecting at any moment for her eyes to roll back into her head and her soul be whisked from him, without him having much say in it. 
“Javi
 I should thank you. For coming for me.” 
It takes all of his self-control to not let the words he feels slide out. Seeing something in her eyes too. Something hidden, stuffed down. Something likely akin to how he’s feeling. 
“You called me, Cariño. I’ll always come.”
Her lips slide into a smile, one softer, more genuine, and his heart skips a beat at the sight of it. “Because it’s you and me, right?”
His chest tightens. A thought growing, mouldering—that he doesn’t deserve her, isn’t good enough. It rises like a tide, filling his throat as he watches her lean forward, easing herself down from the vehicle. He tries to force how he feels back down, swallowing back everything and anything—
And then her palm brushes his cheek, soft and innocent. 
“You’re coming to mine.” 
She bites the inside of her mouth, lips pulling tight, nodding firmly. “Okay.”
He rolls his head on his neck, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip as he shifts his weight. “Never
 never do that again,” he whispers, just for her. “Please?”
“What?”
He finds her smirking. Knowingly. “Scare me. I—I can’t
 I don’t think I can lose you.”
She moves closer, letting him see the pale strips against her wound—the one that the medic likely fought to stick on. He notices the flecks in her eyes again, almost sees the reflection of himself in how wide and beautiful they are. 
“Take me to yours, Javi.”
Nodding, he swipes his thumb across his bottom lip. 
"If you want
 that is?
She shifts, unease across her features. Something he never sees in her, something she never shows him. And he sighs in relief at it, knowing it as he does his own.
"More than fuckin' anything, Bonita."
She slides her hand down his forearm, fingers lightly brushing over his palm. "Come on then."
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an: hope this was okay, anon.
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