#HOW TO STOP DIVORCE IN COLOMBIA

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Midnight Rain

Summary: Waking up in the middle of the night to a storm raging outside, you find Javi outside on the porch, deciding to have him right then and there.

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem. reader

Rating: E

Wordcount: 1.9k

Warnings: oblivious idiots, mentions of divorced reader, reader in her mid thirties, smoking (both Javi and reader), alcohol, thunder storms, smut (unprotected sex, semi public sex), kissing, one ass slap, dirty talk, the word slut is used, some fluff at the end

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Full Masterlist // Javier Peña Masterlist

You couldn’t sleep.

Well, you couldn’t fall back asleep. 

When you got back to the ranch earlier that evening you had eaten a sandwich, taken a shower and fallen asleep as soon as your head had fallen against your pillow. 

It had been a long day of taking care of all the horses and making sure the barn was secured for the night. 

The heavy rain outside must have woken you up, the storm that had been forecasted for earlier that day now raging outside. You sat yourself up on your tiny single bed, parting the curtains so you could look into the darkness outside. 

Sometimes, when you were sitting in the small room Chucho Peña had provided you after you had shown up on his ranch out of the blue, asking if he needed any help with the animals you asked yourself how your life had ended up like this.

In your mid thirties, divorced, without any money, working as a ranch hand (though you were more of a all around hand, mostly tasked with taking care of the house, food and garden).

Chucho had seen something in you and he had quickly become the father you never had. 

And then his son Javier had come home. 

It was instant, at least for you, the attraction you felt towards him. 

He was tall, dark and handsome and there was something in his eyes familiar to you. It was the same hurt you saw in yours every time you looked into the mirror. 

And it took a while for him to warm up to you, the past years he had spent in Colombia haunting his every thought.

Getting used to that strange woman that was now living in his childhood home, laughing with his father in the kitchen. 

The woman that was sleeping in the tiny guest bedroom next to his childhood bedroom that he lived in yet again, because he had not idea what to do with his life. 

The woman he fucked for the first time after a fourth of July celebration almost two years ago, fireworks going off while he was balls deep inside of you on the backseat of his truck in the parking lot of the already closed gas station he had stopped at on your way home. 

You hadn’t really stopped since then. 

For more than two years you had been sleeping with Javier whenever you both felt like it. 

But that was all it was. 

Sex. 

Because you both weren’t ready for more. Or to name these… feelings you had whenever you were in each other’s arms. 

Thunder outside made you jump on the bed and you grabbed one of Javier’s flannel shirts you had stolen the week before, pulling it over your naked body. 

You would tell him you were scared of thunder when he would wake up to you in his bed the next morning. 

Because you could not tell him that the only way you found yourself sleeping lately, was in his arms. 

Not yet.

He did not hear you as you opened the door, the heavy rain continuing to fall. 

You had looked for him in his room, finding the bed still made. But there was a light on in the kitchen so you followed you intuition, finding him outside. 

Javier was sitting in the far left corner of the porch, legs spread wide, a cigarette between his fingers, a tumbler of what would probably be whiskey in his other hand. 

He was only wearing some sweatpants, the very same sweatpants that would make you forget what you wanted to say mid sentence when he had them on, or more like what was hiding beneath them. 

You let the door fall shut behind you and he looked up, those dark brown eyes wandering up from your feet all over your body towards your eyes before he looked away again, bringing his cigarette back to his lips, inhaling the smoke deeply. 

You both just stared out, the rain seemingly getting heavier before you heard him set his glass down on the ground. He spread his legs wider and you bit your lip before you slowly walked over to him, stopping as you stood between his legs for only a moment, before you climbed into his lap, the hand that had been holding his glass moments ago, coming down to rest on your ass immediately, making you shiver. 

You reached for the cigarette between his lips, and he raised his eyebrows in confusion until you slipped it between yours so you could take a puff, his eyes softening in amusement. You felt his other hand slip under your shirt, his fingers brushing the underside of your tits. 

„Was wondering where this shirt went,“ he hummed and your lips twitched into a small smile as you took another puff of his cigarette before you threw it outside into the rain. He was about to complain when you crossed your arms behind his neck and brought you lips against his, his mouth opening against your as you exhaled the smoke from your lungs. 

Closing your eyes as he kissed you, you brought one hand up to slip through his hair while his hands both now rested on your ass, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you closer against him, his hips thrusting up against yours, his cock hardening beneath you. 

He spread your cheeks before one of his hands slipped further down and you felt him chuckle against you.

„No panties and a half buttoned shirt. What a little slut you are,“ he said, his voice hoarse and you gasped when you felt two of his fingers enter you, your slick coating your his fingers as he played with you. 

„Says Mr. No shirt and no boxers, sitting outside with his legs spread like a who…. Fuck Javi right there,“ you moaned, biting your lip as he moved his fingers inside of you.

„Right there?“ He asked with a smirk and you nodded, looking down at him as you arched your back. 

„Touched myself but couldn’t… fuck… couldn’t finish. Needed, needed…“ you whimpered.

„Your pussy needed me, huh?“ He teased and you whined. 

He made quick work of the few buttons that kept his shirt on you, his lips closing around one of your nipples, as soon as he had slipped his shirt down your shoulders, revealing your naked chest to him. 

„Javi… Please…“ you moaned, one of your hands on his shoulders, holding on while your other hand was still in his hair, now pulling him against your tits as he sucked on one of them. 

„What do you need, princess?“ He mumbled. 

„Need your cock. Wanna cum on your cock. Please,“ you begged and you felt his teeth pull at you nipple, making you hiss before he let go. His dark eyes looked up at you, before his fingers pulled out of you and he pushed his sweatpants down just so he could release his cock. 

Before he could do anything you had him lined up with you and slowly sank down on him, both of you releasing a long moan. 

Lightening made you jump before you sank down on his cock completely and Javier hissed, his arms coming around you to pull you closer, both of you breathing heavily before you both laughed. 

„Maybe we should take this inside,“ he said as he looked up at you, one of his hands brushing up and down your spine. You shook your head before you brushed your lips against his. 

„No. I want you just like this,“ you whispered against his lips before you began to move your hips. He hummed, his hand now on the back of your head, pulling you against his lips so he could deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips to part them. 

You rode him slowly. 

One arm wrapped around his shoulders while your other hand rested on his chest. 

Javi’s hand was on your ass, guiding the way you moved on top of him while his lips kissed whatever part of your skin he could reach. 

The rain and the fact that you were out in the open were forgotten as he began to meet your hips, thrusting up into you. You wrapped both of your arms around him, moving on top of him so you could ride him deeper, your chest now in perfect height so he could suck on your tits. 

„Oh fuck Javi,“ you moaned and he slapped your ass, fucking up into you, meeting your hips in audible smacks every time you skin collided. 

You could feel the familiar tingles of your orgasm approaching. 

„I’m close,“ he warned and you whimpered. 

„Me too,“ you gasped, crying out when he bit into the soft flesh over your right nipple, marking you yet again. 

„Cum for me,“ he grunted and you looked down at him. 

„Cum for me so I can take you inside and have you sit on my face until you pass out,“ he continued and you let him take over, letting him fuck into you in quick hard thrusts as you orgasm took over, making you shake against him your fingers digging into his skin on his broad back as you held on to him. 

„Such a good slut for me,“ he praised you, now chasing his own high, fucking into you a couple more times until you felt him spill himself inside of you, your name a deep rumble against you neck as he hugged you against his body. 

You stayed just like this for a moment. In each others arms, out of breath, the rain still coming down heavy just outside the porch. 

It was when he felt you shiver that you both came out of your post orgasm bliss. He pulled his shirt that you somehow still were half wearing back up over your shoulders, kissing you softly, a tired smile on his lips. 

„We should get inside,“ he hummed against your lips. You nodded, yet none of you moved, being content just like this, close, in each others arms, deep in the night when nobody was awake to see you like this. 

You could feel him drip of of you, his softening cock still inside of you. 

„Javi?“ You asked, your head resting against his shoulder. 

„Hm?“ He kissed your temple. 

„Can I sleep in your bed tonight?“ You whispered. He was quiet for a moment and you were about to get up from him when his arms around you tightened and you looked at him. 

„I… I suck at this,“ he sighed and you tilted your head. 

„Suck at what?“

„Relationships,“ he mumbled and your eyes softened. 

„Is that what this is?“ You asked quietly and his eyes were big and he looked so so scared. 

„It could be, if you want that,“ he finally said and you smiled. You reached one hand up so you could touch his cheek before you leaned in and kissed him softly. 

„I do want that,“ you mumbled and you felt him smile against your lips.

„Yeah?“ Javi asked and you nodded. 

„Good, cause I am not letting you go ever,“ he whispered, before kissed you again. 

[mpregdimension]

I melted back against the couch cushions, savoring the warmth of Santiago's muscular arms wrapped tightly around me. At 7 months pregnant, my belly had ballooned out enormously, though the sleepy Santiago still thought I was only carrying one big baby. If only he knew the truth that I had twin sons brewing in there.

"It's time for you to tell me how your three weeks in Colombia went. How're your parents doing?" I asked, craning my neck to nuzzle against his scratchy cheek. Santiago had just gotten back from another Colombia trip.

"They're good, babe" he mumbled groggily, planting a lazy kiss on my temple. "Mom keeps bugging me about when I'll finally bring you to meet them."

I managed a smile, though part of me worried his mother might not be as accepting of our relationship as she let on. Since I found out I was pregnant Santiago has stopped talking about his parents, children and friends like he did before, even though he travels to Colombia almost all the time to visit them.

"What about your...other family?" I ventured cautiously.

Santiago immediately tensed up, his eyes flashing open. "Paul, you already know I'm still in the same situation, there's no need to ask every time, please don't make me talk about that damn ex-wife," he grumbled, suddenly sounding more awake. "That shitty divorce is still going on for years, at least my boys are fine, busy at university without having to get involved in those problems."

Deciding to drop it, I just nodded and leaned back against his chest, breathing in his musky, familiar scent. Santiago nuzzled against my neck, his hands roaming down to cup my huge pregnant belly.

"Damn, you're getting so fuckin' big, babe," he purred in that deep, gravelly voice. "I can't wait to meet our little man."

Our little man...if only he knew. I worried my lip, debating whether I should finally tell him about the twins. 

Before I could decide, Santiago surprised me by whispering hotly in my ear, "You know...it's been way too long since I pounded that sweet ass of yours. Why don't we head to the bedroom so I can really go to town on you?" His breath was hot against my neck.

My eyes widened in shock at the bold suggestion, panic fluttering in my chest. As much as I craved intimacy with Santiago, I couldn't risk anything that might inadvertently trigger labor prematurely.

"Babe, I...I really don't think that's a good idea," I stammered awkwardly. "The doctor said rough sex is off-limits this late in the pregnancy."

He let out a deep, rumbling chuckle. "Who said anything about rough? I was thinking nice and hard...Help get you all loosened up down there for when the big day comes." His hand stroked along my thigh teasingly.

I gulped nervously, my heart pounding as desire warred with prudence. Part of me was tempted to throw caution to the wind. But the protective father within wouldn't endanger the twins.

"Please, baby," I pleaded, putting my hand over his to stop the sensual motions. "I want the memories of going into labor to be peaceful, not because we got too carried away fucking like animals."  

A frustrated groan rumbled from Santiago's lips as he begrudgingly pulled his hands away. His eyelids were growing heavy again, that burst of frisky energy fading. I could see him struggling between the urge to ravish me and the siren call of sleep.

Finally, with a defeated sigh, Santiago seemed to give in to exhaustion. "You're right, babe. We'll save that for after the little dudes get here." Within minutes, his breath had evened out into the steady rhythm of slumber. The lingering secret about my twin pregnancy is still burning in the back of my mind. Would it be better to keep it a surprise?

[musings-of-a-rose]

I'll Always Wait For You - Chapter 16

Pairing: Frankie Morales OR Santiago Garcia???x f!reader

Word Count: 5900+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I’m sorry this took so long to get to. In my defense, I birthed a human and then had to care for it so Frankie kindly waited for me to be at a point where I could really focus on him and his story. Plus, y’all made me rethink a lot of things so it took some time!

A huge thank you to @vanemando15 for reading and listening and bouncing ideas off of. @astoryisaloveaffair and @mermaidxatxheart, ya'll really helped me too!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

I'll Always Wait For You Masterlist

Frankie Morales Masterlist

<<Chapter 15

—----

"Frankie.. ::sigh::  if you're looking for me, you can stop. I can't be around you right now. I need time away to think clearly. You've put me through so much shit these last months and I just..can't. I can't keep wondering what you're not telling me. I can't keep being 2nd place. 

::whimper and a sob::

Do you want the drugs or me? Do you want to be with…Elizabeth.. or me? I can't keep listening to you defend her or hide your addiction. Not anymore. I can't so please… ::sob:: think about it."

Frankie played the voicemail from you over and over, tears silently flowing down his face every time he hears your words and how you break down crying. 

I did this. I fucked this up. And for what?

Nothing was going on between him and Elizabeth, not since they were married. She divorced him while he was in a coma and just made his life a living hell. Why would he want that back?

Events of that night flashed before his eyes and he runs his hands across his face. Elizabeth had nearly given him a hand job and he didn't even notice. He was too involved in his conversation to notice. And honestly, probably too high and drunk to notice. Or care.

But he did care. Frankie didn't want it. Any of it. Once you took off, he'd come back yelling at Elizabeth and telling her off. 

He went back inside Flyboyz, commanding Rick to give him the keys to his SUV. He just had to find Hermosa and everything would be ok. He’d explain what happened and she’d understand. It would all work out, right?

He takes off, driving first to his house. Seeing no one there and no evidence someone had been, he heads to Hermosa’s place in the next town over. It makes sense she wouldn’t have been at his house - he wouldn’t have gone there either. She’s most likely at home.

When knocking on her door brings no answer, Frankie finds the hide-a-key and shoves it in the lock, all but flinging open the door and yelling her name. No answer. He walks the apartment and finds no one here. It’s when he sits on the couch to think about where she might have gone that he notices it - the blanket she always kept on the back of the couch is missing. The only time it’s not there is when she travels because she takes it with her. Jumping up, he runs to her closet and notices a few things astray. When he can’t find her suitcase, he mumbles to himself “No no no no!”, rushing to the bathroom and yanking open the cabinets to see bare shelves, a few nearly empty containers left behind. The final clue that she had packed a bag and left were her missing plants, which Frankie would later find on her neighbor’s doormat. 

Where the fuck is she?

—----

Santi couldn’t believe it. She came with him. To Colombia. He’d always dreamed she would be with him, but he never thought she would actually do it.

In the beginning, he gave her space, wanted her to process what happened and know that he was there for her. She did just that, coming to him a few weeks later, softly kissing his lips while he stood in the kitchen, an empty coffee mug in his hand ready for his morning cup. 

Santi went to work with a pep in his step and a smile on his face, his men teasing him at first about him getting laid. One day, Hermosa came into work and brought him lunch, and his men’s teasing turned into praises and asking for advice on how to land someone like that. 

“It takes time. I’ve waited for her for years.”

When Santi comes home from work, she is there waiting for him, usually with some sort of meal. He tells her he doesn’t need it, that she doesn’t have to put herself out, but she just smiles and kisses him, telling him she wants to take care of him, especially since he’s taken care of her all these years. 

Santi wakes one morning, the sun streaming in through the crack in the curtains and splaying across Hermosa’s bare back in front of him. He reaches out, gently running his hand across her skin, smiling at the goosebumps that raise in his wake. She doesn’t stir until he presses his lips to her shoulder, sliding his hand around her front and pulling her close to him.

“Mmmm…” she groans, turning her head and reaching back to pull his face to hers, gently kissing him. 

Santi gently rolls her onto her back, slotting his body between her legs, neither of them having bothered to put clothes on after last night’s escapades. She wraps her legs around him, her hands cupping his face as he starts to slide himself through her. She breaks the kiss with a whine, Santi lifting his head high enough to stare into her eyes as he pushes in, loving the way she slams her eyes shut, mouth hanging open as he bottoms out. 

“You feel fucking amazing, Hermosa. So wet.”

“Just for you, Santi.” She whines out his name as he pulls out, gently pushing back in with an added roll of his hips, angling himself to rub against that spot inide of her that curls her toes.

His hands ghost across her skin as she grips his arms, feeling him sliding in and out as they make love. When she comes she calls his name, a steady chant of “oh God oh God!” behind it. He smiles, pushing into her a few more times before it’s his turn, filling her up with every sporadic thrust of his hips. He looks down at her fucked out expression and smiles, his finger tips brushing at her face.

“I love you, Hermosa.”

“I love yo-”

BANG BANG BANG!

Loud knocking interrupts the moment and Santi jolts awake, sitting bolt upright, covered in sweat and, he looks down, other stuff as the person knocking continues to demand he open the door. Santi swears, pulling on his robe as he crosses his apartment, grabbing his gun on the way over. When he looks through the peephole, he sighs, taking a breath before opening the door.

“Where is she?”

Santi raises his eyebrows. “Nice to see you too, Frankie.”

Frankie rolls his eyes. “I’m serious, Santi. Where the fuck is she? Is she here?”

Santi yawns. “Who?”

Frankie pushes past him into the apartment, eyes scanning the room for any sign of a second occupant. 

“She’s not here, Fish.”

Frankie turns to him, eyes wide and wild. “She has to be here. You guys are best friends.”

Santi gestures around. “Well, as you can see, she isn’t here.”

Frankie grunts and turns back, stomping off down the hallway. He pulls open one door to find an empty bathroom and the next one the bedroom, which is also empty. No signs of anyone else living here, aside from Santi. Frankie walks back into the living room and sits on the couch, putting his head in his hands.

“I fucked up, Santi.”

Santi chuckles. “Yeah, man. You did.”

Frankie’s eyes meet Santi’s. “I love her, Pope. I love her more than I love myself. I would never… I just need to see her. To explain…do you know where she is?”

Santi shakes his head. “She never came with me, Fish. I did ask her to but she said no. Needed time by herself.”

Frankie swallows hard, choking back tears. “H-how long ago was that?”

“Couple days.”

Frankie nods. “And you promise she’s not here?”

“Have you seen anything to suggest she has?”

Frankie glances around again as if he’d find something of hers laying around. “No.”

“Sorry you wasted a trip. You could’ve just called.”

“I had to see for myself.”

“Fair enough.”

A few moments pass before Frankie speaks. “Can I crash on your couch tonight? I can book a flight but the next one out isn’t until tomorrow.”

“Sure, man.”

“Thanks. And Santi?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not me you need to apologize to.”

—----

2 days after Frankie get’s back from Colombia, he figures it out. A conversation he’d had with you years ago, about where you’d live if money wasn’t an issue. That has to be where she went!

The next day, Frankie steps off the ferry after it docks in Friday Harbor, Washington, a small island in the San Juan Islands. This is where you wanted to live, at least for a long while, loving the scenery, the people, and the whales. You had to be here. 

Frankie had had no luck calling around to hotels. Either you used a different name or they were reluctant to give out guest information. He can’t blame them, but it still pissed him off. Frankie walks past the community center and sees a flyer in the window for a farmer’s market that day. He figured he would start there, maybe ask some of the vendors if they’d seen you.

He walks the first isle, pausing to take a look around. It’s fairly large for a small island, a few rows of vendors selling wares and produce, even fresh flowers. As he scans the area, he notices a woman in a sundress with a wide brimmed hat, standing at the opposite end of the isle from him. He knew it was Hermosa before she turns slightly, smiling at the vendor while nodding, picking up more produce. 

It was the sad look on her face that made Frankie pause mid step. He knows he’s the reason it’s there. He watches her for another minute before turning, heading back to the ferry. 

I have to get my shit together, get clean, before I talk to her. She deserves that. Aurelia deserves that. I’m such a fucking idiot. I just hope she’ll talk to me when I’m clean.

What Frankie doesn’t see is you, glancing up at the place where Frankie had been standing, telling yourself that you had imagined seeing a man in a dark blue hat with curls poking out from under it.

—----

8 months later…

You hadn’t meant to stay this long, but when you stepped off the ferry and felt the cool, misty air on your face, saw the jagged cliffs leading down into the cold waters that you loved, you just couldn’t tear yourself away. 

It was really hard at first, being here alone. Without Frankie. You cried. A lot. It felt like you’d lost him all over again. You knew you’d have to face him eventually and have a hard conversation, but for now, you would focus on you. 

You’d only meant to stay a few weeks. But then you met an older couple that ran a little b&b who needed help with their social media and you stayed, offering to do it for free in exchange for a room. They happened to have a second property, a small studio above a coffee shop just a couple blocks from the harbor where the ferry docked. It was the perfect size for you, even had a full kitchen and bathroom. You adjusted to the ferry horns and bustling people quickly, just happy to be here. 

Until you remembered why you were here. 

Even all these months later, it would catch you off guard, creep up on you whenever you weren’t thinking about it. About him. You knew you’d have to talk to him soon. But what would you say? What would he say? Did he even try to find you? Did you want him to?

You continue to stare out of the coffee shop window at the harbor, eyes glazed over in thought as you absent mindedly sip from your cup. Weather seems nice. I think I’ll go for a hike toda-

“Hey.”

Goosebumps erupt across your skin, your stomach immediately starts churning, and your heart starts to race. You’d know that voice anywhere. You blink a few times, slowly turning your head to look up into the eyes of the man who broke your heart and somehow still held it. You stare up at him, saying nothing but taking in his appearance.

Frankie shifts nervously under your gaze. “It’s uh…it’s been a while.”

He looks…good. Like he actually got sleep. He’s not rubbing at his nose, not even a sniffle. His cheeks have filled in a bit and his eyes don’t have that look to them anymore. You scan down his body and it’s then you notice he doesn’t have his cane. 

“You don’t have your cane.” All these months, so much to talk about and you settle on this? UGH.

Frankie smiles, shaking his leg. “Nope. Just got rid of it a couple of weeks ago. Doctor said I still need to take it easy and to take breaks if I need it. But I’m healed enough to not need the cane. I mean, I won’t be walking Disney World anytime soon without it but…”

“That’s…good, Frankie. Really.”

“It is.”

An awkward silence passes between you. When did it get this hard to talk to him? 

You knew when. 

“How did you find-”

“Can we talk-”

You’d both spoken at the same time. Chuckling, the first layer of tension pops and you gesture to Frankie to go first. 

“Can we go somewhere to…to talk?”

Taking a deep breath, you stare into his eyes and see hope there and it breaks you.

“Yeah. Yeah, ok.”

Frankie smiles wide, trying to hide his excitement at your positive response. “Great! Do you uh..do you have a place in mind or?”

Standing, you grab your cup and toss it in the trash bin. “Yeah. I live just upstairs.”

“Oh.”

You turn to look at him. “Is that a problem?”

“Not..not for me but…is that ok? With you?”

“I suggested it, Frankie.”

You notice some tears welling in his eyes when you say his name, but he quickly coughs, rubbing at his face to clear them. 

“Then uh, lead the way.”

Frankie follows you upstairs and into your apartment, looking around as he kicks off his boots at the door. Walking into your kitchen area, you pour both of you a glass of lemonade, walking back to hand him his. He takes a sip, smacking his lips as he does and you hide your smile behind your glass at this gesture, memories of all the times he’d done it before flooding your brain. He looks around the room and spots the loveseat under the window, sitting when you gesture to it. It dawns on you now that you have no idea how to navigate this. Were you still together? Had he found someone else? You hadn’t, but it had been 7 months. 

You sit on the couch next to him, leaving as much space as you could between you both. Setting your glass down on the side table, you shift your body towards him and wait.

Frankie clears his throat, fishing something from his pocket. “I’m 7 months clean.” He reaches out, turning his palm up, showing off his 7 months sober coin from Narcotics Anonymous. 

“Oh, Frankie! That’s amazing! I’m so pr-”

Frankie holds up a hand. “Please. Let me finish. Or I’m afraid I’ll chicken out.” He chuckles nervously and you pretend to lock your lips and stick the pretend key in your pocket.

“That night was…was rock bottom for me. I have no excuses for any of it. I fell back into old habits with the…with the coke and I knew exactly what I was doing. I guess my body did a detox when I was in the coma but my brain didn’t get the memo.”

He pauses to take a sip of lemonade, clearing his throat as he sets the glass back on the table, wiping his hands on his pants.

“Going back to Flyboyz…I knew where it might end up. Rick was my dealer. I told him I was over that part of my life but..one day he offered it to me and I-I caved. I became worried that you would find out, that anyone would find out that I was back on the drug that caused the crash that nearly killed me, and so..I would lash out. I am so sorry for yelling at you or accusing you of things I know you weren’t doing. You didn’t deserve that.”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, calming his nerves to continue. 

“I knew I was in too deep but I just couldn’t bring myself out of it. I told myself in the beginning it would just be to celebrate big occasions, then it was just when I had a hard week, then a rough day, then every day. I would even get high just before coming home to you-”

“Oh that’s why you seemed extra…enthusiastic some days?”

Frankie nods, still not quite meeting your eyes. “Yes. And I’m so sorry. I had told myself I wouldn’t bring it home, but then there I was, high as shit and fucking you and I hated myself. But then I’d do it all over again. I guess maybe I thought I couldn’t get caught? Or maybe I hoped I would get caught? I’m not sure that makes sense.”

He pauses again to take another drink, his hands shaking slightly as he picks up the glass and sets it back down. 

“And then Elizabeth. I heard your concerns but I thought you were the one being worried for nothing. I feel nothing for her and I couldn’t understand why you didn’t see that. Why you couldn’t see that I love you with all that I am. I ignored the fact that Elizabeth had been the one to encourage the drugs when we were married and she definitely didn’t stop them now. Her and Rick are friends,” Frankie answers your questioning look. “Yeah, I know. So many red fucking flags, right?”

He sighs, rubbing his large hand across his face. “But that night, at Flyboyz? When I told you that Rick and I were celebrating my license being reinstated? I knew there would be drugs and drinking. I didn’t expect Elizabeth to be there but Rick had invited her. When I asked her why she’d even want to be there, she said something about supporting the father of her child or some shit. I was so focused on my next high, I didn’t even question it. And then I got out my kit and Rick started talking about some new repair method for the helios and I was so involved, I just tossed my kit on the table. I had no clue what was happening. I didn’t even realize Elizabeth was sitting next to me until…”

Silence passes between you for a few moments. 

“...until you said my name. I-I really thought you had caught me getting high, that I was finally outed, but then I saw your eyes not on the table but next to me and that’s…that’s when I felt…and then you were running away, and I was shoving Elizabeth away and trying to catch up to you. Cutting my new tires was definitely a move I didn’t expect from you.”

“I didn’t want you catching up to me.” You say it so quiet but to Frankie, it’s like you yelled it.

“I-I wouldn’t have wanted me either. I went back inside and got into it with Elizabeth. Rick eventually let me borrow his keys and I went all over town looking for you. When I saw your things gone, I figured you had gone with Santi so I flew to Colombia-”

“You flew to Colombia??”

Frankie nods. “I thought, for a moment, that you had gone with Santi. Actually with Santi.”

When you say nothing, Frankie looks up at you. “It…was offered. And to be honest Frankie, I thought about it. But then I realized I was just hurt and I would be acting out of anger and hurt and that wasn’t fair to Santi or myself.”

“That’s basically what he told me. I…I wouldn’t have blamed you had you gone with him.” the last part he speaks quietly, nearing whispering it into his glass he picked up before taking another sip. You say nothing. 

“But…when I got back, I remembered a conversation we’d had about places we’d like to live and I remembered you’d said Friday Harbor.. So I hopped on a plane. I had no clue where to look outside of the island, and no hotel is going to give me guest information. So I was walking around and I saw a flyer for a farmer’s market. Figured I’d try there.”

Your heart starts beating rapidly. You were at that farmer’s market and you had sworn you’d seen him that day, but in the end thought it was just your emotions making you see things.

“I turned a corner and there you were, in that sundress I love? With a big hat? You had some carrots in your hand.”

Tears start falling from your eyes as you realize Frankie had remembered all of these small details about you, flew not just to Colombia but also here just to talk to you. But then he didn’t.

“Why..why didn’t you talk to me?”

Frankie smiles sadly. “Would you have wanted to talk to me?”

“No. I suppose not.”

“I-I also realized then that you deserved so much more. And Aurelia too. So I vowed to get my shit together. When I got home, I lined everything up for me being gone a bit and checked myself into rehab. I got out after a few months but I needed to stand on my own 2 feet before I even tried to talk to you. Fuck, I’d hurt you so bad and I just…” He sighs. “I don’t expect you to believe me about Elizabeth, so here.” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a flashdrive, handing it to you. Hesitating for a moment, you take it, your fingers brushing against his warm hand for a brief moment, making your stomach flutter. 

“What is this?”

“Security camera footage. The main camera was disabled by Rick but he didn’t know the owners had put in new cameras because some animal had kept breaking in and making nests. I was too wrapped up in getting high to remember to turn it off too, but that worked out in my favor I guess.”

You look down at the flash drive and turn it in your hand. “What animal was it?”

Frankie smiles softly. “Racoons.”

He reaches for you but then stops, unsure if he has a right to touch you anymore. “Anyway, just watch, Hermosa. I don’t expect you to forgive me, or even want to talk to me beyond this. But you deserve an explanation, no matter how bad it makes me look. I’ll…I’ll leave you be.”

He stands, stretching a little before giving you a small smile. “I really am sorry, Hermosa. I am…I’m sorry.” He walks to the front door, closing it quietly behind him.

The room is filled with the sounds from the harbor a couple blocks away, the smell of coffee wafting up as it does every once in a while from the shop below. Taking a deep breath, you sit at the little kitchen island you’d made a small desk and pop the flash drive into your laptop. There’s only one file on it so you hover over it, hesitating before you double click to open it. 

It’s definitely camera footage. You can see the days work, Frankie helping out customers and then leaving to come back in. The setup of the party and Rick setting out the drinks and drugs, some other people coming in along with Elizabeth. Your blood boils seeing her but already you can see Frankie annoyed with her, his body language showing that he didn’t want her there or around him. The evening progresses and you swallow hard, seeing Frankie take lines off the table, sitting back and rubbing his finger along his gums. That’s why his mouth tasted weird. 

Frankie turns slightly, talking to Rick. That’s when you notice Elizabeth come and sit next to Frankie, slowly scooting closer and closer to him. Her hand starts to twirl the hair sticking out from under his cap and Frankie sort of shrugs, but doesn’t really make a move, too involved in the conversation he’s having. You watch, bile rising in your stomach as Elizabeth’s other hand starts to move up his thigh and slowly over to palm him, Frankie shifting only slightly, the only indication that he noticed anything was happening, but that was just an automatic reflex.

“Frankie?” 

You hear your own voice on the camera, Frankie’s head snapping in your direction and looking down at the table with fear in his eyes. A second later and he turns his head to the side, a look of sheer surprise and outrage on his face as he sees Elizabeth, shoving her hand away. He yells at her and jumps up, presumably following you out of the door. He comes back in a minute later, body language showing his anger, yelling at Elizabeth, telling her she had no right to touch him, to even be there, that he wanted to never see her outside of dropping Aurelia off and picking her up. That he would ask for supervised drop offs. That she’s only to contact him via a special co-parenting app unless it’s an emergency. That she ruined their relationship and then divorced him while in a coma, pawning his daughter off on his best friend. That she can fuck right off. Rick hands him his keys a short bit later and he’s gone, Elizabeth finally looking defeated.

He was right. He had been telling the truth when he said he didn’t know what Elizabeth was doing. You had thought he was telling the truth but couldn’t be sure, that seed of doubt having been planted there by Elizabeth herself, showing up to the house and staying with them, falling asleep on his couch, all of it. She was still trying to drive a wedge between you but this time it seemed because she finally realized what she had lost.

And then he flew to an entirely different country only to find out you weren’t there. He remembered a conversation you must have had when you were what, 23? About how much you’d love to live in Friday Harbor? And then he shows up, finds you, but then realizes he needs to get his shit together before he can ever hope to talk to you? And he does. He’s clean, his appearance verifies that. And then he gives you proof that he had not been doing anything with Elizabeth, that she was the bitch you always knew she was. 

You’re not sure what to do with all of this information, but you don’t want Frankie to leave. Something has to be said. You throw on your boots, grabbing your keys and throwing open the door, not entirely sure where to go. He’d mentioned just coming in off the ferry, so it’s possible he doesn’t have a car. 

Heading into all the shops in the vicinity, you still haven’t found Frankie. None of the closest hotels have seen a man fitting the description of Frankie, so you head towards the closest cafe, thinking he maybe stopped in for an early dinner. Glancing towards the docks, you see the little covered ticket office for the ferry and something tells you to check there. Crossing the street, you walk up to the office and peek inside, seeing no one. Remembering there was open seating around the back, you walk that direction and turn the corner, a pair of brown eyes snapping up to meet yours. 

“Hermosa?”

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

He raises his eyebrows, his eyes growing wide. “You have?”

“Yeah- wait. Why are you waiting here? You know the last ferry left like an hour ago, right?”

Frankie shrugs, glancing down before looking back up at you. “I meant to be on it.”

“You were going to just drop all that on me and leave?”

“No no not like that! I just…I didn’t want to invade your space any longer than I needed to.”

You nod, looking at him and realizing that he only had a small backpack with him. You’d assumed he had a suitcase somewhere but he meant it when he said he didn’t intend to stay. 

“Are you seeing someone else?” You blurted out, unable to hold back that question any longer.

“I- what? No. No, I’m…I’m not. Are…are you?”

“No.”

“Oh. Ok. G-good.”

You take another few seconds to think about what you wanted to do next. 

“Come on.” You jerk your head back towards the town. “Let’s go.”

Frankie’s eyes are wide like a puppy. “Wh-what?”

“Frankie, I’m not going to let you sit in the ferry station all night.”

“Oh. No, I mean, I can go get a room-”

“This is a small town, Frankie. Most of the front desks are closed by now. Especially since it’s off season.”

“Oh. I-I can stay here. It’s ok-”

“Come on, Frankie. It gets cold at night. I’m not letting you freeze out here.”

“I don’t want to put you out.”

Sighing, you walk over to him, slowly extending your hand towards him. He looks up at you, eyes wide and round, and he slowly puts his hand in yours. The moment he touches you, your body relaxes, like the tension that had been there for the last several months just left your body. If Frankie feels it too he doesn’t let on, and you think maybe you’ve overstepped. So you drop his hand and gesture towards the direction of your place. A look passes over Frankie’s face but then it’s gone and he’s following you. Once you get inside, Frankie kicks off his boots and hangs his jacket on a hook on the wall, setting his backpack down on the floor. 

“Hungry?” You ask. 

“Yeah, actually. I meant to get something to eat but I was trying to make the ferry.”

“I’ll make us something. And don’t say you don’t want to put me out, I’m hungry too.”

Tossing together a quick charcuterie board, you hand him a glass of sweet tea, sliding the board across the breakfast bar. Frankie and you settle into polite conversation, each trying not to overstep the other. 

Why is this so hard?

After dinner, you disappear into the bathroom, putting on your pajamas and getting ready for bed. When you come out, Frankie is sitting on the loveseat, nervously tapping his foot on the ground. Crossing the room, you sit on the bed, swinging your legs over to lay on top of the sheets, your upper half leaning against the headboard. 

“Why are you way over there?” You ask.

“I uh…I’ll just sleep on the couch.”

You roll your eyes. “Frankie, I can’t even lay on that couch and I’m shorter than you. Come on, you can have this side.” You pat the bed next to you and watch as his eyes widen.

“I-no. Are…are you sure?”

“Of course. I don’t want you to hurt your hip. And plus, you can see the tv better.”

“Oh well, in that case.” Frankie chuckles, a nervous tone to it as he gets up, crossing the room to sit on the bed, pausing to start fiddling with his belt. He slides his jeans off, standing there in his boxers as he pulls off his outer flannel, revealing an undershirt. He notices you watching and asks:

“Is this ok?”

“I-y-yeah. It’s fine.”

Frankie sets his clothes down and sits on the bed, sliding his legs down and stretching out. 

“This bed is pretty comfy.”

“Yeah. I bought it. The mattress they had sucked.”

You turn on the TV, flipping through the channels and putting on some reality show that Frankie was secretly obsessed with. His arm lay next to him on the bed and you glance down at it, almost unconsciously moving your arm towards him. Your fingers are right next to his, your heart is beating through your chest and you swear he can hear it. Reaching your pinkie finger out, you gently touch it to his own, not daring to look at him, fully giving him time to move and pull away. But he doesn’t. Frankie’s pinkie finger slowly moves over yours and links with it, like you were making a silent pinkie promise. You stay like that for several minutes, your mind racing, not taking in a word of the show. 

After a few minutes, you feel Frankie start to unlink his finger from yours and your heart sinks a little, until you feel his fingers creeping across the top of your hand, lacing them with yours and squeezing your hand. His skin is warm, soft, despite the callouses he has from piloting the helicopters, but it’s familiar. It’s Frankie. 

Another several minutes passes and Frankie slowly picks up your hand, shifting his hand under yours, lacing your fingers together as he brings the back of your hand up to his lips, placing a very gentle kiss there. Goosebumps erupt across your skin, your chest heaving from holding back, when he speaks, soft and low. 

“There was never anyone else.”

When you turn to look at him, he’s already looking at you, eyes heavy with love and admiration, but also hesitation and worry, like he’s afraid he’s overstepping. 

“It’s always been you Frankie.”

He gently pulls you to him, holding your face close to his but pausing to take a look at you. His eyes roam over your face, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he gently brushes some hair from your face.

“I am so sorry, Hermosa. We’ve missed out on so much time because of me-”

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his, feeling a few tears fall down your face at finally kissing the man you’ve been in love with since you were 19. He kisses you back, softly parting your lips with his own, sliding his tongue into your mouth. He cradles the back of your head in one large hand, holding you to him as you gently make out. Soft moans and a whimper escapes Frankie and he breaks the kiss, pressing your forehead to his.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

“For a moment, I thought I’d lost you too.”

He kisses you again, deeper this time, and you continue to make out for several minutes before you pull back, kissing the top of his nose as you lay down, cuddling into him, Frankie wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in close to him. You fall asleep like that and wake up the next day still entangled in each others arms. Frankie is already awake when you stir, tracing little circles on your skin. 

“Hey Frankie?”

“Mmm?”

“Let’s go home.”

—----

 @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional  @marvelousmermaid  @hauntedmama  @giuliarogers @icanbeyourjedi  @wretchedmo  @sunnshineeexoxo  @livingmydreams13  @adventures-of-a-noodle  @sara-alonso  @theewokingdead  @punkerthanpascal  @giggly-otter  @f0rever15elf  @phandoz  @dirtytissuebox  @gallowsjoker  @lovesbiggerthanpride  @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat  @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear  @charlispersonallyhell  @xoxabs88xox  @amneris21  @gooddaykate  @alindeluce @avengers-fixation  @paintballkid711  @harriedandharassed   @ladykatakuri  @marrianena  @practicalghost  @withakindheartx  @batdarkladyvampir  @justanotherkpopstanlol   @mermaidxatxheart  @alexxavicry  @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics  @frankie-catfish-morales

Chapter 17>>

[metalnecklace]

There Was Heaven In Your Eyes

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (plus size)

Words: 1361

Warnings: None, really. I don’t know how divorces work, so maybe that.

Notes: This series is done! Thank you so so much to everyone who has kept up with it. I have the second part in the works but it won’t start to be released for a while. In the meantime I will have plenty of other little things in between.

Masterlist

Epilogue

“Agent Peña, how much do you know about the Cali cartel?”

Javier sat with that question, knowing what it would mean to continue on. After everything he went through in Colombia, he wasn’t sure he could do it again. Not alone, anyway.

“That depends,” he said, sitting back and crossing his arms. “I have a few requests.”

-

On his way home he stopped by the local market, taking his time to pick out the freshest vegetables he needed to make dinner that night. His father was out with friends until late, participating in his weekly cards night, which meant Javi had the house to himself.

He had her all to himself.

The reason he felt he could go back to Colombia to take down the godfathers. That is, if she was willing to take up his offer.

He just had to pick up one more thing before getting home to her.

-

When Javi got home the house was incredibly silent. Fear clutched at his heart until he found her wrapped up in blankets on the couch. Her eyes were shut, eyelashes twitching gently against her cheeks, and her mouth was slightly open to allow her soft snores to reach his ears. The anxiety that had swelled in his chest slowly turned into a burn, a heat that bloomed into his veins.

It was obvious what he was feeling, the word pushing up his throat until it sat heavy on his tongue. It would be so easy to tell her, but he feared how she would react. The last time he professed his feelings for someone it felt forced. He said it because he felt he had to, whereas the way he was feeling about her felt so natural to him. She was like the air he needed to breathe.

But she had been through so much, between her ex-husband and the Escobar’s. Did he want her to feel obligated to stay with him? He asked her weekly if she wanted to leave, or if she was happy with him, and she always held his face between her hands and insisted she didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world except by his side. That was enough for him, until the thoughts crept up again.

Maybe she was happy with him, but did she love him? Would she feel trapped if he confessed his feelings for her?

Instead of worrying about saying it, he showed it in his actions. Especially in his cooking. Because of her he decided to learn how to cook properly, both by cooking with her and practicing for her. He wanted to take care of her the way she took care of him in Colombia. Plus he loved the way she lit up after the first bite of a new recipe.

He went to work chopping up peppers and onions, mincing garlic, and prepping the already marinated chicken to be cooked. He was just making a roast, not worrying about being too fancy, since he mostly wanted to spend the night showing his love in a more physical way. Even though it was fun trying to keep quiet while pushing her buttons, he loved the nights without his father around so he could hear every sweet noise spilling from her lips. All for him.

After placing everything in the oven he set the timer on the stove. He could feel her more than hear her as her presence suddenly filled the room. A sigh escaped his lips, and tension he didn’t even realize he was holding onto slipped off his shoulders and spine. Her arms wrapped around his middle, fingers interlocking as her body melted into his.

“Hermosa,” he cooed, “did I wake you? You looked so peaceful.”

“No, no, Javi, you didn’t,” her voice was smooth as honey, though with a hint of sleep still clinging on. He could listen to her for the rest of his life and never get tired of the sound of her voice. “Although I can’t say it wasn’t your cooking. It smells so good I just had to come investigate.”

He turned in her arms, and leaned down to kiss her. “You’re too kind to me, you know.”

She smiled up at him, biting her lip. “Speaking of investigating, how did the meeting go?”

Before he left he warned her that he was probably going to be punished for working with Los Pepes. They hadn’t given him much information, so he assumed it was a meeting about his lack of professionalism. He wasn’t expecting what they offered instead.

“Before we discuss that, I have a little something for you.” He nodded toward the table where a brown envelope sat.

She quirked an eyebrow at him and wandered over, taking a seat before inspecting the envelope. There wasn’t any writing on it, so it was impossible to know what would be inside, but his heart sped up anyway.

“Should I be worried?”

He let out a nervous chuckle and sat down at the table next to her. “Listen, the last few weeks I’ve been working on getting this for you, and there’s no pressure. I just got it so you do have the option if you ever want it.”

Her brow was furrowed in both confusion and concentration as she opened up the flap, and slid the papers out.

“Divorce papers?” Her eyebrows ticked up in surprise, but she didn’t look upset.

Javi nodded. “I wanted you to have the choice. He won’t find you, I made sure to put a system in place so he will not find you, he will never know where you are. As far as he’s concerned you’re in witness protection.”

She read through the documents, taking in all the information. When she looked back up her eyes were glassy.

“Oh, (Y/N), I’m sorry. I should’ve asked first-“

“No, Javi, thank you.” She chewed her lip, but a smile still tried to break through.

Suddenly she reached over to the pen that was sitting between them and looked at where she needed to sign. Once she was done she placed the papers back in the envelope and threw it onto the table, sitting back and sighing.

“It’s done.” She smiled at the envelope, then at Javi. “I’m done. Thank you, Javi. It’ll take a few days, I think, for it to settle, but you have no idea what this means to me.”

He smiled back and reached across the table to hold her hands in his. “You’re so strong, baby. I’m so proud of you.”

“Says you.” Her smile turned into a full grin. “Tell me about your meeting! You look like you’re in a good mood so it couldn’t have been that bad.”

He stood and walked to the cupboard, grabbing a glass for some water. “I could never be in a bad mood around you.”

“True, I’m just too charming.” She laughed and stood up, leaning against the counter while he sipped at his glass. “Come on, Javi, tell me.”

He nodded, placing his glass in the sink and turning to face her. She looked so sweet, he felt that overwhelming warmth spread through his body again.

“They want me to go back to Colombia, to take down the Cali cartel.”

She looked shocked, but didn’t say anything.

“I told them I would. They need to be taken down. I want to be part of that, to right everything I did wrong with Escobar.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

She reached across the space between them so they could be connected again. He felt grounded as her warm affection spread through his fingertips.

“You’re allowed to say no to this. There is no pressure at all.” He rubbed the back of her hands with his thumbs. “I don’t want you to feel you have to do this.”

Her eyes held him, cradled him. He thanked the heavens above for her patience every day.

“How would you feel about going on another adventure with me?”

The words hung between them, Javi felt his heart lurch into the empty air. Ready to break if she didn’t catch him.

She smiled. “I’m in.”

———

Taglist: @sullyosully @ashleymsnodgrass

[somedaylazysomeday]

Matter of Perspective - Part One

Horacio Carrillo x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Rating: Mature. No smut, but definitely heading that way. Minors, please do not interact.

Word Count: 5,900

Warnings: enemies-to-lovers vibes, some language, mentions of gossip, canon-typical references to drugs and drug use, probably incorrect Spanish, disdain, antagonism, bad language, office gossip, a mini makeout session.

Next | Masterlist

---

You had always been a little… off.

Nothing disconcerting or sinister, but your thoughts and opinions were always slightly different than what would be considered typical. ‘Left of normal’ as your dad had jokingly put it since you were young.

It was part of what made you such a good analyst. You had worked your entire life to understand how most people thought, but your own unique perspective helped you see things as they could be.

A seemingly normal home on the outskirts of a finca? Anyone could see that. But you were the one to pick up on the fact that the lights were never on despite the power lines clearly running to it and the near-constant visitors arriving on bikes. A call to the power company confirmed it: the home was using electricity at all hours of the day, but none of it was visible in aerial or ground-based photos. 

Painted-over windows.

A cocaine packaging and distribution center. The drugs were delivered by carriers on bicycles and packaged product was taken away using the same method. 

And when it came time to plan how to shut the center down? You were the one who proposed stealthily taking it over and seizing all new arrivals, taking delivery riders into custody every time one arrived. Thanks to you, field agents had managed to trace the cocaine back to several labs and shut each one down.

All because your brain was slightly left of normal.

That was why you didn’t berate yourself too harshly when your lustful thoughts fixed themselves not on office heartthrob Javier Peña, but on the harsh and clipped Horacio Carrillo. 

Peña was by far the better choice of crush, you reflected morosely, watching a secretary flirt with the aforementioned DEA agent. Since you worked as an extension of the DEA, Peña was always around and easily accessible for some flirtation. Something about his attitude made you doubt that his womanizing reputation was quite what office gossip tended to say, but you couldn’t deny that the man knew how to flirt.

Even now, Jackie was basking in the warmth of his brown eyes and quietly amused smile. 

“You’re so funny, Javi!”

The giggle she gave was at a pitch that made you wince slightly, but you were happy for her. She got to speak with the object of her attraction on a fairly standard basis. You were limited to quick glances as Carrillo stalked through the office.

It was the most frustrated you had ever been, but that didn’t stop you from recalling the scowl on his handsome face when you worked off some of that frustration before going to bed at night.

Colonel Carrillo was famously married. His wife was well-known around the office… or at least, she had been. When Carrillo came back from Spain, his wife was not with him. A few short explanations had revealed what happened: she had been unable to stand the idea of returning to Colombia only to live under constant threat from friends, neighbors, and random passersby. 

Hell, you could even understand that, but apparently, Carrillo couldn’t. He hadn’t given many details, but the general word around the office was that they were filing for divorce.

It wasn’t your business, it really wasn’t… but your brain wouldn’t stop telling you that there was one fewer obstacle between you and the handsome colonel now. There were two dozen others - chiefly, that he didn’t seem to know you from any other piece of office equipment - but that made no difference to your brain. He wasn’t married anymore, and that meant he was fair game.

You wanted to snort as you thought about how Carrillo would react to knowing that he was being hunted by you… but when you remembered that he and every other member of Colombia’s police force was being hunted by Pablo Escobar, you could no longer see the humor in it.

So you nursed your stupid little crush, tried to content yourself with the few chances you got to ogle Carrillo, and did your job. 

Until one day, when Javier Peña approached the edge of your desk.

You glanced up at him, already frowning. If he was going to ask you to take a message for one of his office flirtation partners, you couldn’t. You were busy enough with your own work. If he was going to ask a favor in exchange for a few smoldering looks and a rare smile, he was out of luck. You really didn’t want to dwell on the reason why. 

So you kept your gaze expectant and professional as you lifted your brows at him. “Something I can do for you, Agent Peña?”

“Can you come with me?” he asked. “I need your help with something in the records room.”

Your mouth twisted into an involuntary smirk. The records room was a pain in the ass to get to, since it was tucked into the very back of the building and down several winding hallways. Naturally, those qualities made it a known hotspot for activities that the DEA would probably frown upon during working hours. 

You weren’t interested in fooling around with Peña - on the clock or not - but the rules of the DEA social scene demanded that you mess with him a little. You would have started already, but you were distracted by the dirty looks you were getting from some of the other women around the office. Clearly, Peña’s offer had been overheard. 

With the hope of drinking spit-free coffee for the rest of your time in Colombia, you decided to cut things off quickly. “Listen, Peña-”

“I really need your help with something,” he interrupted. You were unmoved by the soft pleading in his deep brown eyes, but his fingers tapped deliberately on the map you had been studying when he came up. 

Your eyes darted back to him and he gave a shallow nod. “Fine.”

The evil looks burning into your back made you cringe as you followed Peña to the records room. If this ended up being a heavily disguised request for a make-out session, you were going to be royally pissed…

When you stepped into the records room, your breath audibly caught. Colonel Carrillo was standing by a wall, scanning through an open folder in his hands. He glanced over as you entered the room behind Peña’s broad back. Carrillo already looked unimpressed, and your feigned cough didn’t do you any favors. 

“Finally,” he told Peña, closing the folder and crossing his arms. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, displaying the dancing muscles in his forearms, and you had to summon all of your willpower to look anywhere else.

Peña replied to the colonel, but you couldn’t begin to hear what he said over the rushing in your ears. In an attempt to look halfway capable, you crossed to the small table in the middle of the room. There was a map spread over its surface, but it didn’t display the familiar streets and fincas of Medellín.

Dimly, you registered two people approaching the table as well. With your best effort toward nonchalance, you glanced at Carrillo. “¿Cómo estás, Coronel?”

“You speak Spanish?” Peña asked. 

Carrillo looked, if possible, less impressed than he ever had. “I’ll be better once we catch Escobar.”

The fact that he had answered you in English somehow made the dismissal even more cutting. You winced and looked down at the map once more. “What exactly do you need from me?”

“We’ve had a problem lately,” Peña told you. “Boats on the Magdalena River are seen stopping at known narco docks and taking on cargo, but when they’re investigated downriver, there is no sign of cocaine. We’ve gotten the CIA to do a flyover between Medellín and Barranquilla, but they didn’t see any signs of drugs, groups of people, or suspicious structures along the river.”

“So you need to figure out where the drugs are going,” you concluded.

“Exactly,” the agent confirmed. “And you have a reputation for seeing things that other people miss.” 

Your pleased smile was cut off almost instantly at the soft snort from Carrillo, but when you glanced up, you only saw Peña giving him a warning look. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. This was far from any fantasy meeting between the two of you. Now that you finally got some time with the colonel himself, you were spending it wishing this was over.

After a minute of silently studying the map, you said, “And your men checked the ships for the typical smuggling tricks?”

“Yes,” Peña said, but he was nearly drowned out by the sound of Carrillo sighing. Peña said something in rapid Spanish, far too quick and low for you to parse with your limited understanding of the language. 

However, Carrillo had the decency - or the cruelty - to reply in English. “What do you expect from me, Peña? You tell me this woman will solve all of our problems, and the first thing she does is ask if my men performed the most basic of checks on Escobar’s boats? This is a waste of my time.”

“Ouch,” you muttered, and Peña tossed you an apologetic look. 

“This is gonna work,” he insisted. “She needs the facts first, doesn’t she?”

“Fine,” Carrillo snapped. When you dared to look up, he was watching you with so much disdain in his expression that you fondly remembered when he had no idea who you were. “Yes, my men are qualified officers and did manage to look in the usual places where drugs tend to be hidden. And before you ask: yes, they also asked the captains very nicely to tell us whether or not they were hired to smuggle cocaine for Pablo Escobar.”

When he had finished, Carrillo looked to Peña, speaking directly to him in Spanish as if you were not worth his time. You caught a phrase: “Pérdida de tiempo,” and your shoulders shot toward your ears. You weren’t fluent - not even close - but you knew enough to recognize the phrase ‘waste of time’ when you heard it.

You ducked your head to avoid that harsh criticism, staring at the map instead. Your finger traced the Magdalena River as it snaked through Colombia, passing through Barranquilla before emptying into the Caribbean Sea. Something about that made your brain itch and you willingly followed the feeling, eager to distance yourself from the dressing-down you had just received. 

Darkness and treasure and…

“Banditos,” you finished with a smile.

Peña caught the whispered word, cutting through the muttered Spanish complaints from Carrillo to ask, “What was that?”

“Bandits,” you repeated. “In the late 1800s, American bandits and outlaws were said to hide in cave systems. The Magdalena River passes through a few mountainous regions between Medellín and Barranquilla. I would bet there are caves in those areas. The boats could unload shipments of drugs there before they’re boarded. I’m guessing your men search the boats in Barranquilla, Colonel Carrillo?”

This time, you made no effort to give his title the Spanish inflection you had striven for previously. He seemed surprised at your question, but nodded slowly. “Yes, Barranquilla.”

You traced the river again with your fingertips, leaving one at Medellín while the other covered the distance to the Caribbean. “Plenty of time to offload the drugs, then. And the shelter of the caves would keep the drugs and workers from being seen by any flyovers.”

When neither of the men spoke, you shrugged and pushed away from the table. “That’s my best guess, at least. Unless you need something else, I’m going back to my desk now.”

No one stopped you, so you left the records room and started the trek back to your desk. Footsteps from behind you made your heart lurch, but it eased back into a normal rhythm when Peña spoke. “Good job. I never would have thought about caves.”

“Thanks,” you replied, glancing over to see him looking very proud of himself. “Like I said, it’s just a guess.”

“No, it’s better than that,” he countered. “It’s a possible lead. I’ll go speak to Messina about getting some boats to search the river between here and Barranquilla.”

“That’s - what? Four hundred miles?” you asked, thinking over the map you had been studying. 

“Something like that,” Peña agreed, sounding unconcerned. “But they won’t be searching that entire distance. They’ll just be looking for areas that have the right geography for caves. Decently large ones, too, with how much product we think they’re moving through the area.”

“I don’t envy you the process of searching the caves they find,” you said, wondering how much further it could possibly be back to your desk. 

Peña hummed. “I’m sorry about-”

“You have something stuck to the bottom of your shoe,” you interrupted, happy for a reason to avoid listening to him explain away Carrillo’s rudeness. 

Peña glanced down when you had delivered your warning, swearing at the scrap of paper he found clinging to his sole. He ducked down to free the stubborn thing as you watched, debating on whether you should leave him there. If you knew for a certainty that he was going to keep offering apologies for the very-unapologetic colonel, you would have.

As it turned out, you should have left him anyway. One of your favorite secretaries - a woman named Stacy - came over to you. “Peña, huh? What would the good colonel think?”

“Carrillo?” Peña asked, standing up from behind the desk where he had been kneeling. “What about him?”

Your wide eyes met Stacy’s. It had been an honest accident, but you still could have cheerfully killed her. Despite her own shock, Stacy tried to stammer an excuse. “Oh, no, not him… It’s just an inside- Uh, I have to go.”

When Peña looked at you, his eyebrows were raised. You shook your head and gave a weak laugh. “Oh, Stacy. Such a kidder! Anyway, I really do need to get back to work. Let me know how it all works out- Or don’t. Secrets and all of that. Not that I can’t keep a secret, but- Anyway, see you later.”

You walked away, shaking your head at yourself. How could you be catty when you were just as bad as Stacy? Actually, your rambling may have been a little worse than hers. But how could you blame yourself? You had close contact with the man you had been admiring for as long as you had been in Colombia, been insulted by him, and subsequently discovered that your crush on him was totally unfounded. That would be a lot for anyone to take in.

When you flopped back into the chair behind your desk, you hoped your coworkers thought your groan was one of weariness rather than one of self-directed frustration. 

---

You didn’t hear anything else about caves or Carrillo or cocaine - well, not the last one. As part of the search for Pablo Escobar, you definitely heard about cocaine. But not cocaine that was being transported via riverboat. 

Honestly, you weren’t too upset about that. Your job was busier than ever. It seemed like the stack of aerial photographs on your desk was growing taller by the day, and photographic intelligence was only good for a limited window of time before it was considered useless. To top it all off, the different departments kept trying to sneak their photos into the middle of your stack so they would be analyzed first. It was destroying your carefully organized efforts and it was making you cranky.

In retrospect, that was probably the major reason you were so curt with Peña when he cornered you in the breakroom nearly a month after your previous conversation. 

“Hey-” he started, but you sent him such an evil glare that he froze - still too close, but not as close as he had apparently planned on getting. 

“No,” you refused instantly. “Whatever it is you’re planning on asking for, no. And tell Murphy if he keeps putting his pictures in the middle of my pile instead of at the bottom, I am going to lose my shit.”

Peña nodded, but it was hesitant enough that you doubted that he really understood. “I need you to-”

“No,” you repeated. “Take a step away from me.”

Peña held his hands in front of himself, palms out in the universal sign of no harm, but didn’t move back. “I need to tell you something in private, though. Unless you want to go to the records room again?”

You sighed, glancing around the room. It was empty, but that didn’t mean much. But a short conversation here would start fewer rumors than another trip to the records room would. “Fine. Just make it quick.”

“Messina approved the Magdalena River exploration and the teams have found some promising cave systems,” he confided, standing close enough that you could clearly hear his soft murmur. “We’re going to go check them out next week.”

“Oh.” You glanced at the spoon you were using to stir your coffee. The closure on your theory was nice, but you didn’t really feel like you needed to be involved in this. “Good luck, I guess?”

“Can you take a few days off?” Peña asked, gaze direct. “It would be better if you were there with us.”

“Us?” you repeated suspiciously. 

“The Search Bloc,” Peña explained. “Steve will be here covering the tip line - and not rearranging the photographs on your desk - but pretty much everyone else is going.”

‘Everyone else’ in this case included Carrillo. Your stomach tightened, but you couldn’t tell whether it was with dread or anticipation.

“I’m not a field agent,” you reminded. 

“I got permission from Messina,” he told you. “We both think you might see something the rest of us would miss. Conditional on you accepting, of course. But she’s willing to pull some strings to bring you along.”

You hesitated again, trying to think this over as quickly as you could. Going out into the field was inherently dangerous, especially as a DEA agent and especially when trying to track down mass amounts of cocaine so you could disrupt Pablo Escobar’s smuggling routes. Staying here would be the wiser choice by far.

And yet… You had never gotten the chance to be there when one of your theories was tested. The few times you had been wrong in the past, you had fixated on it, wondering if you would have caught a seemingly innocent detail if you had been there to see things with your own ‘left of normal’ perspective. Could you really pass up a chance like this because you were scared of a narco? Or, you corrected internally, because you were scared of being disdained by a handsome colonel?

Well, that’s already happened, you reminded yourself. 

“I’ll do it,” you told Peña, and he smiled.

“Good. You’ll be with us for about three days, starting Monday morning.” When you groaned dramatically, his smile froze. “What is it?”

“It took me a week to stop getting the cold shoulder from everyone after meeting you in the records room,” you complained. “No one’s ever gonna talk to me again after three days with you.”

Peña shook his head at you, but you tossed your spoon into the sink with a clatter and left the breakroom. It was Friday afternoon. You had a lot of work to do if you were going to make a dent in the picture stack by the time you left on Monday. 

---

Late Monday afternoon, you had boarded a boat and were traveling down the Magdalena River. It had been a long drive from Medellín to Puerto Triunfo, but Messina had apparently decided that you would attract less suspicion if you started sailing somewhere upstream from where the smugglers were known to take on their cargo. 

You had spent several hours following the length of the river, but you had finally reached the first set of suspicious caverns. As it turned out, there were only a few that were large enough to hold the amount of product the DEA expected to see. 

From some of the conversations you had overheard on the journey up to this point, Peña was not in charge, but he wasn’t not in charge, so he was in the middle of splitting everyone into groups. There were only so many people who could fit on the inconspicuous boat, so the groups were fairly small. In fact, the third group was just…

“Carrillo, our specialist, and me,” Peña concluded. The others - especially the Colombian Search Bloc members, with whom you’d had limited contact - gave you a curious look. They were clearly wondering about the vagueness of the term ‘specialist’. You were, too. 

“Peña,” you started, leaning on the edge of the boat. “I don’t think-”

“You’re not chickening out, are you?” Peña asked, squinting up at you. He was already several rungs down the ladder attached to the boat’s hull. “I need you in there, remember?”

“This…” You absently scratched your neck, staring out at the craggy shoreline. “This is a long way from looking at aerial photographs.”

“Yep,” Peña agreed. “And that’s why you came along. Come on.”

You sighed, clambering gracelessly down the ladder behind him. A man you vaguely recognized steadied as you perched on a rickety seat in the skiff that was taking you to the shoreline. You thanked him, returning the smile he gave you. 

Colonel Carrillo, not smiling at all, growled, “Trujillo.” 

Your new friend turned his attention to the colonel, and the two soon fell into an intense conversation in Spanish spoken too rapidly for you to understand. In contrast to Trujillo, Carrillo hadn’t smiled once during the entire journey. He seemed less than enthused about all of it. Uncharitably, you wondered why he couldn’t have stayed behind with Murphy. 

For the rest of your journey, you focused your attention on the surrounding area. Colombia was an impossibly beautiful country, but this was a step above what you were used to seeing. There were rocky peaks towering up on both sides of the river, cutting sharp silhouettes against the blue of the afternoon sky. The river reflected the sunlight, turning the water’s surface into an ever-shifting web of fire.

After Peña had dropped Trujillo and his men off at their cavern, he navigated the skiff toward a sandy beach a few hundred yards downstream. The final team had taken their own skiff to the opposite side of the river. The boat would drift down to meet you when Peña signaled. You were glad - the skiffs were little more than canoes with a sputtering motor attached. There was no way they could get you back upstream.

Peña led the way into the cave, his gun out and aimed with a flashlight pointed in the same direction. You had a gun of your own, but Peña had been clear that he and Carrillo would take care of anything - or anyone - you came across. You didn’t argue that. Despite being a fully qualified DEA agent, your specialty was intelligence interpretation. Your last experience on a gun range had been longer ago than was wise for an American DEA agent living in Colombia with a drug war going on. 

Fortunately, Peña cleared the cave without any difficulty and holstered his gun. Carrillo took a few moments longer to be satisfied that the cave was unoccupied, but he eventually put his gun away as well. 

Your own weapon had been back in the holster as soon as you had seen Peña replace his, but from the dark look Carrillo gave you, he hadn’t seen that. In fact, he likely believed you had never had yours out in the first place. You shook your head. If only the bulletproof vest you were wearing could protect you from Carrillo’s caustic attitude, you would be set.

“So, expert,” Peña started, glancing at you. “What should we be looking out for?”

Ah, an opportunity to do your job. You relished it, but before you could reply, a voice called Peña’s name through the yawning mouth of the cave. He straightened, immediately growing serious. He was already replying as he walked back out into the sunshine of the riverbank.

In the cool shadows inside the cave, Carrillo sighed irritably and called after him, “Lleva a tu novia contigo!”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” you told him automatically. He glanced at you in surprise and the mere sight of an expression that wasn’t antagonistic made your heart hesitate. With some effort, you forced yourself to look critically at the situation in light of your experiences with Carrillo. “I know you don’t like it when I speak in Spanish, but I understood that much of it. Peña and I aren’t dating.”

Carrillo frowned at you and you glanced around the cave to avoid his displeasure. “We’re looking for signs of disturbance here, especially along the ground. See the way the silt is built up in these little ripples from when the river overflowed its banks? We probably aren’t going to find anything in here, but we can still look around. It would be smart to get an idea of what these caves look like when they’re undisturbed, that way we can compare the others.”

You closed your mouth, forcibly cutting off your explanation before you could ramble any more. Thankfully, Carrillo didn’t say anything as he turned away from you and started studying the ground, along with the walls and roof of the cave.  

Over the weekend, you had been bemoaning your ill-fated encounter with the colonel. It wasn’t that you minded him being rude to you, you had decided. It hadn’t been fun, but he was allowed to be dismissive of someone he thought was wasting his time. The part that bothered you the most was that it was such a terrible waste of a crush. Now that you knew he didn’t care for you, any interaction between you would be uncomfortable - at least, on your side of things.

And so, when Carrillo’s soft voice broke the silence, you started slightly. “You don’t have to lie, you know. I don’t care who’s dating who, as long as things are mutual.”

At that point, nothing could have convinced you to look directly at Carrillo. Instead, you stared around the cave, admiring the way the light reflected from the river’s surface danced along the rough stone walls. When you couldn’t stand the silence any longer, you gave half a chuckle.

“I’m not dating Peña,” you repeated. “I’m honestly not sure I like him half the time.”

That wasn’t necessarily true. Peña had grown on you since you started interacting with him, but since he had abandoned you with the colonel, you weren’t feeling particularly charitable toward him.

Carrillo seemed unconvinced. “You don’t have to like him to sleep with him.”

How was this happening to you? With a barely contained sigh, you added, “I’m not sleeping with him, either.”

Even with the river and at least one other team nearby, the cave was remarkably quiet, which was how you heard Carrillo mutter, “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Seriously, how did DEA secretaries even function when they were so fixated on what Peña was doing and with whom?

Your head whipped around, facing Colonel Carrillo so abruptly that he looked startled. When you spoke, you strove for a conspiratorial tone, but there was a certain amount of glee you couldn’t contain. “Don’t tell me the great Coronel Carrillo gets his information from office gossip.”

For the first time, the man looked flustered. “I did not-”

“No, no,” you chided. “The secretaries are all upset because I went to the records room with Peña… and you, by the way. You know nothing happened between us, but they don’t. They’re the only ones who are convinced that Peña and I are sleeping together.”

“That is why?” he asked.

You smiled at the incredulous tone in his voice. “Yes. Apparently, that’s all it takes to get on their bad side. Certain people, anyway. But why did they tell you about it?”

Carrillo shrugged stiffly. “If you speak Spanish often enough, people forget you speak English as well. They say things around you that they may not have otherwise.”

“Smart,” you admitted. 

“They are not fond of you,” he said with a frown. “Surely there must be more of a reason than a short meeting with another agent?”

“It was a meeting with Peña,” you emphasized. “He’s prime flirtation material.”

“Then you are interested in sleeping with him?” 

Aaaand you were back to wishing you were anywhere else. “No, I… I’ve never been interested in Peña that way.” The silence hung heavy, one of Carrillo’s dark brows raised in silent encouragement. “Until recently, my attention has been focused in… another direction. Very recently.”

Carrillo frowned even harder at the muttered final sentence and you could kick yourself. What was that? A coy, leading half-explanation? You knew what was going to come next, and the colonel didn’t disappoint: “Where, then?”

When Peña called for you both, you could have kissed him - except that doing so would probably end in a horrible death for you back in the office. You called back, “On our way!”

Before you could exit the cave, Carrillo said your name. It was the first time you could remember him doing that, and you turned out of sheer shock. “You didn’t answer me.”

You offered him your brightest smile. “It doesn’t really matter. Come on, we have more caves to check out.”

Despite your best efforts to act casual on the way back to the boat, all of your instincts were telling you that something was off. The groups split up once more after the skiffs had been reattached to the boat, everyone on guard against narco activity on the banks. You were sitting alone in the front of the boat, watching the way the bow broke through the river’s current and trying to ignore the suspicious looks Carrillo was giving you. 

Apparently, you weren’t the only one to notice. Peña approached the colonel and had a short conversation with him. They were too far away for you to listen in, but Carrillo walked away after that, so you could only hope Peña had found a way to soothe whatever you had done to irritate the colonel this time.

The next stop you made, several miles further down the Magdalena River, was a little different. “Four caves, four groups,” Peña called. 

You stepped a little closer to Peña, hoping you could partner with him since you were less combat-ready than the DEA preferred for field agents. He nodded at you. “You’ll be with-”

“-me,” Carrillo interrupted, ordering you onto the skiff with a jerk of his chin. You glanced back, raising your eyebrows at Peña, but he merely shrugged. When you got on the skiff, it was with much internal cursing of Peña, Carrillo, and yourself.

These caves were spread out a little further than the last set had been. Your group’s skiff was going to the left side of the river while Peña and the other group were off to the right. The right caves were just beside one another, and you would bet the caves were part of a larger system. Perhaps they even connected further in.

The left caves were spread far enough apart that they were likely completely separate. Carrillo dropped the other group off at the nearer of the two, then navigated to the one that was further downstream. You obligingly jumped out of the skiff as soon as the water was shallow enough that you weren’t worried about completely soaking yourself, then waited for Carrillo to enter the cave first.

He did, gun drawn while you covered him. “Clear.”

You put your gun back in its holster, focusing on giving yourself a stern reminder to go to the practice range when you got back to Medellín. However, your attempts to set an internal to-do list were thwarted when Carrillo turned to face you. “Now…”

You squinted past his shoulder, trying to focus on anything other than the imposing colonel. “I really don’t want to argue right-”

The interruption of his lips on yours was unexpected, and the shock made you stiffen in his arms. Carrillo pulled away before you could ease into the kiss, giving himself just enough space to search your face with intent eyes. “Did I misunderstand?”

“No,” you gasped hurriedly, wrapping your arms around his neck so you could pull him back in. His lips were plush, much softer than the constant sternness of his expression would suggest. He was playful as well, darting his tongue to touch your lips at unexpected times, but never taking advantage of the fact that you had parted them for him. 

His hands were stroking your arms, working upward until he could cradle one breast in his hand. His thumb ran unerringly over your nipple and - despite the touch being filtered through the cup of your bra - you broke away to give a delighted gasp. 

Carrillo’s dark eyes were dancing and you smiled at him, feeling warm down to every finger and toe. Something in the part of your brain that wasn't focused on the handsome colonel itched, and you glanced past Carrillo’s head. 

He pressed in for another kiss, but you turned and caught the kiss on your jaw. Carrillo paused. “Is everything okay?”

“Look,” you murmured, pointing to the ceiling of the cave behind him. 

He turned, and you could only assume he gave the area a sweeping inspection before looking back at you. “I don’t see anything.”

“There’s a broken-off stalactite,” you insisted. You were slow to unwind yourself from him, your reluctance obvious in your movements, but you walked deeper into the cave and aimed your flashlight above your head. “See it?”

Carrillo gave an unimpressed hum. “Yes, but-”

“There’s another,” you observed, walking to follow the trail. And there was a trail. It was mostly the longer stalactites that showed signs of being damaged. When you glanced down, searching for the broken pieces, you found that the ground was noticeably bare of the silt that had patterned every other cave you had searched. “And the ground is clean.”

Now thoroughly unhappy, Carrillo brushed past you and peered around the edge of a corner, gun drawn and aimed at the ground. He stopped short and swore. 

“What is it?” you demanded, unable to wait for his report. Carrillo simply waved you over to where he stood. When you peeked around the natural bend, the beam of your flashlight fell on a haphazard stack of shipping crates. Various items were scattered around it, along with traces of a familiar white powder. “I’m gonna get Peña.”

Warm fingers tugged at your elbow and you glanced at Carrillo, your eyebrows raised in a silent question. Firmly, he told you, “We’ll continue this later.”

You nodded and rushed off toward the mouth of the cave. As you went, you heard from behind you, “Fucking Escobar.”

---

Author's Note - As you could probably guess from my Google Translate Spanish, I don't actually speak the language. Not fluently, anyway. I also know very little about the Magdalena River and whether it actually does have caves along the banks, though experience with rivers leads me to believe it's possible. If anything is glaringly wrong, please feel free to let me know!

In the meantime, thank you for reading! I'll be back with a second (explicit) part tomorrow!

I don't offer a taglist for explicit fics, but you can read my other works on my masterlist!

[idontplaytrack]

Hey again 🙃

Can you write another fic in the same style as Regina X Janis X Regina's younger sister? It doesn't matter the theme or anything, I just really liked it and wanted to read more, if you feel comfortable writing, of course, it doesn't have to be a continuation or be from the same universe (or age) just in that dynamic, please

✧ Try Again

Janis ‘Imi’ike x Regina George + little sister reader

Warnings: eating disorder mentions & descriptions/relapse. Hospitalisation, coarse language & angst. Reader discretion advised.

Set about 6 months after Regina and Janis first find out about reader’s eating disorder, the relapse of Regina’s bulimia was a wake-up call to reader to lead a better life for herself

Following the divorce of your parents, Regina was honestly the only one that understood you. Especially since the fact that you had an eating disorder— like she did. The last half a year was a gruelling experience to get through, session after session of crying, of irritation, getting angry at yourself when you had times where you stumbled in your road to recovery. Today was not a good day. You woke up feeling a sense of dread, the dread of having to get out of bed, and actually having to do things. You felt lazy, like all you wanted to do was lay in bed and not worry about anything. But, you’ve been at home for the last two days without anything to do, so it was about time to get out of the house and get some fresh air…some sun. Summer’s only just begun, so you had plenty of time to be lazy after today. Right? No.

You heard a distant thud. From Regina’s room. Worried, you rushed there, opening the door up quickly. “Shit.” You muttered, “Regina!” Your sister had just passed out, laying lifeless right before your eyes. You scrambled to her bed to grab her phone so you could call for an ambulance. You told them what happened and they said they’d he here as soon as they could.

You were alone, your Mom was off in Colombia for a vacation for a month (maybe more, she said). So, everything was a blur to you. You had no idea what to do except wait for the ambulance to get Regina to the hospital. You went with them in the ambulance, and when the doctors were working on her, you took the time to inform Janis.

“Janis?”

“Oh, hey. It’s you. What’s up, honey?”

“Regina’s in the hospital. She passed out at home. I think she had a relapse.” You fought the tears so desperately to get your words out clearly but still sniffled. At least it was after you were done speaking.

“Oh, my God,” A soft gasp was heard, “I’m on my way. Which hospital?”

You let her know, then promptly hung up. You weren’t sure how long it’d been since you got off the phone call. But you sure were snapped out of your daze when Janis was calling your name and put her hand on your shoulder. You were startled out of your trance, looking up at her blankly. Your vision was still very much clouded from all the crying.

“I was so wrapped up in my own world that I didn’t care that she was not doing well again—”

“No.” Janis interjected, “Stop. You’re blaming yourself for this. It’s not on you. Her recovery is her recovery. Your recovery is yours. If you’re both struggling at the same time, it is so challenging to be looking out for the other person. Sometimes you just gotta be focusing on yourself because that’s what is needed. It’s not a competition, it’s not your sole responsibility to look after her. She’s got a part to play in her own well-being. I tried to, to help her this time but I could not get through to her, I’ve never seen her like this.”

Janis hugs you— she put her arms around you. And typically, that would shock you. It did, but in this moment all you could care about was the fact that you had someone with you. “Did you tell June?”

“Not yet.” You sniffed, “She’s on vacation in Colombia with—”

Janis nodded, “Carmelo or whatever his name was. Regina told me like— the second your Mom left the house to go to the airport.”

“y/n?” Someone asks following the sound of doors creaking open.

“Doctor Langdon.” You said to him, standing up. Her approaches you and Janis.

“According to her file she has a history of bulimia which you know of, so to be very honest with you, we’re shocked she hasn’t had this happen before given how early it started.”

“Well, she’s been in recovery for about a year.”

“Which is good, but is she seeing anyone for her mental health? It’s not indicated in her file. I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name…you are?”

“I’m Janis. And she has been. But lately, less frequent. She’s going through a lot right now.”

“Janis. She passed out due to dehydration but her bulimia definitely was a contributing factor to it. She has to work on a recovery plan that is most effective, with her therapist. If she keeps this up, her heart will very likely give out. There is already an infection in her lungs because she’d aspirated some of the food.”

“So—” Janis began to ask the doctor a question, but you couldn’t take the pressure of it all and just excused yourself, on the verge of tears.

“That’s…pneumonia. Yes?” Janis asked.

“Yeah. We’ve put her on IV antibiotics and some fluids to get rid of the infection, and for dehydration but it will recur if she keeps up with the purging. She’s been putting herself at risk for that, and much worse. It is a tough thing to tackle, I get it. I’ve seen this more than I liked to doing this job. A few of them weren’t so lucky, their lives were taken away. She has hope, to get better. Recovery is never always linear and I acknowledge that she has done a lot of work, but she has to try again. Get out of the claws of that disorder.”

“I understand. Thanks.”

“The girl who ran away, that’s her sister, right? I don’t want to pry but I’m noticing the same things with her too.”

“It— god, their home life’s messy. Dad’s out of the picture and her mom’s currently on vacation in Colombia so she’s been alone.”

“I’ve…been their doctor for awhile. I’ve noticed some stuff, I referred Regina and her sister to their therapists.” The doctor admits.

Janis didn’t know what to say so she just nodded, “Would the hospital inform their Mom?”

“We did try to call her a few times but she didn’t pick up.” Doctor Landon told her.

“I’ll try as well. Are we allowed to go inside to see her?”

“Yes, that’s absolutely fine.”

“Okay.” Janis nodded solemnly, mumbling a ‘thanks’ as the doctor departed.

————

Janis found you at the garden located at the end of the level you guys were on. It also helped that she had access to yours and Regina’s locations. Nonetheless, she was so relieved to find you. “Hey.”

You slowly looked up at her, teary eyed. “Hi.” You mumbled, “I’m sorry. I got scared hearing that.”

“That’s a good thing, you know? Feeling the fear. You know you need to get better. You’re not just putting in the effort for the heck of it. You know you need to get your own life back, y/n. And that…that’s great. That’s a step in the right direction.”

You nodded slightly, then asked, “Is she awake?”

“Not sure, I left to come look for you. You wanna go back there and see if she’s up?”

“Okay.”

You went back to the hospital room with Janis, she went inside with you. Regina had just woken up. Obviously, she knew she was in a hospital, she just didn’t know why. “Regina.” You sat down on the chair beside her bed, “I…am honestly pretty mad at you. But I don’t have the right to be, because I…am doing the same thing to myself. Slowly but surely killing myself.”

She looks at you, gaze going soft as she soon realised what you were talking about. “I’ve been trying so hard, but one day I just lost the fight. I have in to the urge after a year and a half, all because some little bitch boy at school said I was eating everyone’s food. Which wasn’t true, but it was just how my brain decided to fuck with me.” Regina scoffs, “I couldn’t stop. I just couldn’t. But— I — I cannot lose you, y/n. You’re all I’ve got left now. Mom? Let’s face it, all she cares about right now is her new boyfriend. She’s like obsessed with him.”

“You have pneumonia.” Janis said, “It’s a complication.”

Regina sighs, “I’m sorry. Please know I’m trying.”

“I know, babe. I know you are, and sometimes, it’s okay to stumble. But you need to remember to try again. Try and try again, you’ve got a life worth fighting for, so much you want to accomplish. And maybe it’s a little selfish, but I want to be able to love and hold you for many, many more years.”

Regina started to weep, nodding, “I— I’ll work something else out with my therapist. Try another method to work towards recovery again. I need to stay. I can’t do that to you, to y/n, to myself. I deserve to make a life for myself that I am proud of.”

Janis sits down, leaning into cup Regina’s cheek, “I love you, I’m here for you. And you, y/n. I promise, we’ll get through this.”

You and Janis stayed with Regina until visiting hours were over, then, she drove you to her place. Where you spent the night, then, eventually the next few. “I’m gonna cook something.” She says, walking to the kitchen, “What do you feel like having? We can cook together.”

“Whatever’s fine. You’re a great cook.” You told the brunette, “Is it okay if I just nap right here? I’m pretty tired.”

“Oh.” She turned to look at you over the shoulder, “Yeah, of course. Go ahead, y/n. I’ll wake you up once dinner’s ready.”

You smiled appreciatively, “Thanks.” Janis smiled back, you got comfortable on the couch and closed your eyes while she began to prepare dinner.

Some time later, Janis shook you gently to wake you up, “Dinner’s ready.”

“Okay.” You murmured sleepily, “I’m up.”

You got up and off the couch, dragging your feet over to the dinner table. Janis turned the TV on and put on a comedy movie so that you two were entertained and distracted, honestly, while eating.

“Thanks, Jan.” You smiled, grabbing a fork and digging right into the aglio olio she cooked, “This is so good.”

“Aw, you’re welcome.” She chuckles.

“Is it okay if I just stay with you for a bit? I don’t really want to go home.”

“Of course!” She nodded, “I’m usually alone if I’m not with Regina or Damian anyway. Damian’s at theatre camp, so I’m just not having much fun with myself.”

You chuckled, “Well, how about we go pottery painting tomorrow? We could paint Regina something. She’ll be there a few days, after all. What else am I supposed to do? Mope around?”

Janis gasps, “Great idea. We should definitely do that.”

🏷️ Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

💭A/N:

I didn’t want to make this fic too heavy content-wise, so it turned out quite short. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed. 🫶🏼

[pennyserenade]

i remember you well 

pairing: javier peña x you , javier peña x female oc rating: e ( explicit ) warnings: language, allusions to sexual encounters, a dash of angst, yearning word count: 2.5k summary: There are memories that haunt and there are memories that merely linger; what they were that one summer is the latter to Javier. notes: based off of leonard cohen’s chelsea hotel #2. i made a little playlist for this if you want something to listen to while you read

There had been a string of words used against him when he was younger - attributes that had belonged to him, but that weren’t very favorable. It was some grand list of flaws that made him less of a suitable partner, descriptive words meant to pierce through what they believed to be his too-tough exterior. There had been words such stubborn, independent, and passive; there had been sentences like ‘capable only of having one-sided, loveless affairs. Not a dedicated bachelor, but a destined one.’ Some he took at face value and others, he still carried with him even now, decades later. The worst insult of them all, however, had not come in the form of these angry words and scorned sentences. It had come in the shape of silence.

Before Colombia and after Laredo, there was a stretch of time in which Javier had found himself aimless and lost, with nowhere to go and no one to see. He’d been exiled from home and he’d been too young to conceive that there was more of the world to be found just yet. Maybe he’d even been nursing a broken heart, despite that it had been he who had not made it to the altar that one hot Sunday afternoon. Even in the best circumstances, he’d come to find that breaking it off with anyone wasn’t a painless act, especially with someone you thought you would and could marry.  

He’d met her in this half-forgotten time of his life, in a shitty little bar by a motel he was staying at for a few weeks while he figured out a plan. She was beautiful and vibrant, and a local in that little town he can’t even remember the name of now. It was just a stopping place for most, some spot between a place you needed to leave and a place you needed to go. She had no business being there, either, and she moved like she knew it. He’d later come to find that she carried a lot less confidence in her than she presented to the general public, but at that moment all she had was a swing to her hips and smile that warranted a mirrored grin from him.

She had been the first woman to ever suggest to him that they have sex, without any work or suggestion on his own part. He’d only bought her a beer or two, and hadn’t said anything about her beauty (even though he’d been thinking it the entire time). She leaned close, smelling wonderful the way all women do, and said, ‘Honey, I liked to warm the other half of your bed tonight.’

They were around the same age - maybe he’d even been a year or two older than her - but she knew so much more than he did, about everything. Twice married and once divorced, with the second pending, her life story already played out like a Tennessee Williams play when she met him.  When she was only seventeen, she married her first husband to get away from home. He had been ten years older than her and a veteran of the Vietnam war. They had little in common, and she never felt that she loved him half as much as she should’ve, but then, she knew she couldn’t be picky if she wanted to leave. He had asked for her hand in marriage and she had said yes, thinking how nice it would be to have a little home of her own. Up until she married him, and he got them that promised house on the outskirts of town, she’d never even had her own room. Given he was older and all, he had the footing in the world that she didn’t. She decided that she could love him, if she tried. Maybe she might have once, too, but by the time they divorced two years later, she half wished he’d drop off the face of the fucking planet. For all she knew, he had.

From the moment she had spotted the second husband, she had loved him. Tall, dark-haired and undeniably handsome, this one was three years her junior. He spoke out the side of his mouth with an attractive country drawl and his entire wardobe seemed to be made up only of worn jeans, button up shirts, and a cowboy hat that had seen better days. She said - and Javi remembers this well, even now - that ‘he could wear anything and make it look just right. I suppose I was stupid to think I’d ever be the only girl he’d ever want, what with the way he looks and all.’

Javier was always most curious about this man, because he felt that maybe he still occupied some part of her heart. He’d had been too young to be sensible about that sort of thing, and he had this foolish notion that her having sex with him meant she should be most taken by him. It was only pure jealousy he felt about her talking of that husband, so he didn’t know why he drove her to do it.

She never seemed to mind, though, or notice the way Javi would tense as she answered his stupid questions. She talked of this second husband wistfully whenever he’d ask, like they had lived a whole life together and not a mere eight months. Whereas he didn’t even know the name of the first, Javi knew the name of the second, and he knew it well, half afraid some nights when he rutted his hips into hers, it’d be the one she said instead.

At the age of twenty-two, all Javi could recognize was her experience against his and little else more. Young with two ex-husbands and a world of knowledge is still young, no matter how you chalk it.

It pains him to think of any trouble he might have caused in light of that jealousy but for the most part, he thinks it went largely unnoticed. They talked about her life, sure, but what they did most was sleep together and pretend that they knew more than they did about life. What they lacked in their separate knowledge, they helped one another make up for. For example, Javi had thought he knew an awful lot about the female body before her.

‘Maybe in Laredo, sure, but not in any other corner of the world, you don’t,’ she had told him plainly, bringing a terrible red hue to his face. After assuring she hadn’t meant any real harm by it (because God, he was young and stupid and had thought he meant more than he did, the fool he was), she taught him all the ways he could learn. She taught him how to touch, how to lick, how to finger, and even in the positions that weren’t solely stimulating for her, she taught him that he could still see to it that they were. She never faked an orgasm, so when he began to draw them out of her after a few weeks of careful tutoring, he felt like something of a young God. Sometimes they found themselves having sex up to three times a day, just for the pure satisfaction of knowing they could do it well together.

Eventually she had even let him stay, rent free, in her home, under no conditions whatsoever. Technically it had been the home of the second husband, but he was off somewhere in California, with another girl. He told her he didn’t care what she did with the place - that she could have it and make it up, or sell it and move on. Before Javi, she’d thought about renting rooms out, not for the money, but for the company. She hated being alone. She’d given Javi the spare room, which had a sizable twin bed with a quilt that looked inherited. He hadn’t ever slept there, though; he stayed in the main bedroom, with her.

For a whole summer, it had been just like that. Aside from calling his father every week just to let him know he was alive, Javier had all but forgotten he’d once belonged to a town called Laredo or that he was the runaway groom bride of yesterday. Living had never been easier - and it never would be again.

When summer had passed and autumn began to creep in, she had told Javier he might want to think about his future. She had said he was made for better than her little town, and that even if he wasn’t, she was in no position to do anything sensible about him. She couldn’t marry him because she still was legally. He even remembers the joke she had made - the one about him not having such a good track record with that himself, and how she was simply too young and pretty to be left at the altar.

It was the only time that he had ever confessed to her that he hadn’t a single clue where to go or what to do. He became another one of the characters in her Tennessee Williams life in that moment, tragic and washed up, with no direction or aim. She liked him though, liked him a lot, because he wasn’t like the burly, brutal men or the heinous, backstabbing women who needed to be taught a lesson. He, like her, was one of those figures that made you ache, because you knew they deserved a lot better than life had given them. If they had any faults, they were excused because you sort of suspected that life had already dealt them their cards. Amongst the male gigolos, the unloved housewives, the distraught sisters, and the many other repressed characters dreamed up in Williams’ mind, he and her fit beautifully that autumn morning.

The following weeks, she helped him get signed up for the DEA. He had half an idea to go there the day he didn’t go to the wedding, because before Lorraine, that’s what he thought might serve him best. He wanted to leave Laredo badly, even then, and he’d heard that was the perfect way to do it. Javi didn’t know how she knew how to do that sort of thing - how to get those applications and those phone numbers - but she did. She’d even bought him a map and helped him figure out a route when it was all set up.

A part of him hated that she was so willing to help, because he felt that maybe she wanted him gone, despite her assurances that she didn’t. He’d waited so long to feel at home again and he’d found that feeling with her; he didn’t want her to not want him back. He liked that big house and that little town, and maybe he wasn’t intent on marrying her just yet, but he figured that he would.

He waited every day until the very one he left, hanging onto the hope that she’d tell him not to leave. Sometimes he’d go out for a little longer during the day just hoping she’d realize how lonely her big home was without him.

If she did come to that realization, it was never knowledge she told him. The only thing that kept him from feeling outright depressed was that the week leading up to his departure, she hung onto him like she was afraid to lose him. They spent longer hours in bed, with none of that quick-to-come sex, and they really admired each other. She let him hold her close; let him kiss her eyelids and her cheeks, let him kiss the back of her knees, and the place at her ankle where she had a scar from falling on rocks. They’d often just lie there, fingers loosely entwined, speaking of nothing and everything.

The last day she told him how fun he was, and that some day some girl would be really lucky to stumble upon him. When he asked her, half-joking and half-serious, to talk about him like she did her second husband, she smiled like she had the very first day. ‘Oh, Jav, I’ll say better things about you. You’re too good to keep and I’ve always known it. That’s what I’ll say,’ she had said, half muffled into the hollow of his shoulder.

As she stands behind the man who’s ringing him up at the counter, wearing a waitress uniform and packaging his food into a plastic sack, Javier wonders how many people she’s told about him. He doesn’t bother about the non-important details, like why she’s in this restaurant, or if she’s with the man ringing him up, or whether he should pretend to know her or not. Javi doesn’t even really try to consider if, in the few moments he’s allowing himself to look, he can see some sense of happiness in her recognizable and beautifully aged features. He just wants to know, selfishly, like he is twenty-two again, whether she has told this man who’s taking his money about him.

Nothing explicit, just that he was too good to keep, like she said she would. Or, maybe, if she felt like it, that she wished she had told him to stay; that all along, that whole summer, the words, ‘I need you,’ stayed in her throat and tried to escape many times, but that she was too good of a woman to let them. Javi decides he’d like that one even better. After all, he’d told a version of that story about her to a few women who didn’t mind listening in Colombia when he’d first got there. About ten of them, to be exact, just to get it out of his system.

She looks up to hand him the food and he sees it happen in an instant; the way her eyebrows knit together in recognition and her mouth falls open to say something on instinct, but never does. She fixes herself quickly, correcting her features and giving him the very best customer service smile anyone could, but in her eyes, he sees it: the remnants of a life once lived playing over. He feels it move in him too as she takes the food from her hands.

Javier wishes he knew her just a little better, or that the man wasn’t standing there, watching them, unaware, just so he could say her name fondly. He needn’t give any more information than that to her - only that he knows it is her and will always know her, no matter what; that no matter how many years pass, he knows that she is herself, and that he remembers one summer, she taught him an awful lot. Javi likes to think, as the man asks him what sort of sauce he’d like - if he’d like any at all, that is - maybe just by looking at her, she understands that.

It is a tortuous exercise of self-restraint, just parting his eyes from hers in that moment, but he does it. He looks at the man behind the register and says kindly that he doesn’t want any sauce.

“Thank you,” he says to them both, with no personality behind his words. He looks back at her though. He hopes with everything in him that she knows how personal it is - that really those words are just for her.

“De nada,” she answers sweetly, like she might.

She looks away from him then, heading back to her work, and he slips out the door, back into the warm Texas air.

Back to life.

[tropes-and-tales]

A One Time Thing

Colonel Horacio Carrillo x F!Reader

AN:  From the fic idea file and requested by the always lovely, always supportive @thesandbeneathmytoes​.  🌻

CW:  Angst; enemies to lovers trope; smut (PiV; unprotected); 18+ only.

Word Count:  6127

There are many words that can describe Colonel Horacio Carrillo.  Menacing.  Effective.  Driven.  

The word that best describes him, in his own estimation, is meticulous.

To the casual outsider, that meticulousness may seem the result of being in the national police.  Army men tended to that sort of rigid mindset:  perfectly pressed uniforms, painfully neat grooming.  But Carrillo has always been like this, even as a child.  Where other boys were haphazard and messy, he was orderly.  His plastic army men in a perfect straight line on his desk, his books flush with the edge of his bookshelf.

His older brother used to tease him, call him abuelita, until the younger Carrillo socked him and bloodied his nose to stop the teasing.

Carrillo’s ex-wife was cut from the same cloth:  a quiet, meticulously neat woman.  Always perfectly groomed, kept a perfectly appointed home.  Attended embassy events with Carrillo from time to time, and was always a stalwart supporter for her husband….right until the moment she filed for divorce.

It’s unfortunate, but it’s in the midst of his divorce that Carrillo meets you—the newest DEA agent that the United States is lobbing at the war against Escobar.  Mid-morning, a migraine already throbbing in his temple, and you come strolling into the room with a box full of folders and a few personal effects for your desk.  You nod at him; you turn to Peña and Murphy and nod at them.

“Alright, boys,” you say, “the cavalry has arrived.”

Normally, Carrillo would roll his eyes in secret—the particular American-brand of brashness isn’t new to him, though it does irritate.  Normally, he’d grit his teeth and shake your hand and introduce himself, because playing nice with the DEA means that he is that much closer to catching Escobar.  

But he’s got a killer headache.  His wife, who he loves dearly and who has blindsided him with divorce papers, moved out of their home to return to her family.  And here’s you, the opposite of meticulous:  loud-mouthed, hair up in a messy ponytail, eye makeup a little smeared around your eyes from the humidity, carrying a box of paperwork.  When you bend down to set the box on the empty desk near Peña’s, your shirt rides up in the back and exposes a sliver of bare skin that draws Carrillo’s eye and makes his irritation flare up even more.

Sometimes men are hit with love at first sight, but the opposite can be true too:  sometimes a single glance, a first meeting, can inspire utter loathing.

-----

In the months that pass, Carrillo doesn’t warm up to you.

His divorce is finalized.  He keeps the house, but it’s a lonely, half-empty thing now.  Just as well that Escobar is a slippery little fuck—Carrillo has an easy excuse to work long hours and sleep over in his office.

You?  You settle in like it’s nothing, and it should make Carrillo happy to see another DEA agent who can play nice with his men, but everything you do fucking irritates him.  

The way you joke around with Peña and Murphy and his men, cracking jokes about the coffee in the office being so shockingly bad when it’s literally Colombia, the coffee capital of the world.

The way you charm his men with your shitty American Spanish, how you use the formal Usted for everyone because you claim to want to be polite—while Carrillo just thinks it’s the only Spanish you know and that you’re too lazy to learn the informal.  

The way you scrub your hands over your face when you are frustrated, smearing your eye makeup so that you look like a hollow-eyed wraith by the end of each day, but how you refuse to give up the vanity of the effort.  The way you sometimes pair it with a ridiculous red lipstick that blurs around the edges, making you look like you’ve been kissing someone all day.

The way you lose papers, lose reports, lose CIA-plane photos.  Your desk is somewhere under a pile of papers, handwritten notes in your slanting scrawl, little reminders that don’t work because you lose them almost as soon as you write them.

The way you are constantly eating hard candy, sucking on it, clicking it against your teeth.  You claim that it helps you stay off of cigarettes (one year clean, you tell him once, even though he didn’t ask).  The constant crinkling of cellophane, the crunching between your teeth.

The way you jog around the beaten-dirt track inside the complex each morning, an idiot’s errand.  The humidity makes your ponytail stick to you, causes dark rings of sweat to form around the neckline of your t-shirt, the small of your back, under your arms.  The way you stop afterwards, chest heaving as you catch your breath.  The way you wipe your face with the hem of your shirt, revealing your bared stomach and a fraction of your sports bra to anyone who may be watching.  Carrillo, for example.  His men.  

You’re messy, disordered.  You have a chaotic energy that sets his teeth on edge.  It doesn’t help that you’re good at what you do, despite not being organized and meticulous like him.  You seem to have a prodigious memory for details, and a preternatural sense for what drives a person.  

That’s what infuriates Carrillo the most about you, he realizes late one night when he’s thinking over the problem of you:  you’re a messy fucking disaster, but you’re still too good to let go.  He thinks you—more than Peña, more than Murphy, more than any other asshole the Americans may throw his way—may be the one to help nail Escobar.

-----

More months pass.  Escobar dodges every snare and trap that the DEA and Search Bloc set up.  It feels like one step forward, two steps back to Carrillo.

You settle into life in Colombia, life with the DEA.  Carrillo goes out for a drink one night with Peña and Murphy—you are blessedly missing, but it doesn’t stop your fellow agents from talking about you.  About your impressive credentials and successes in Turkey, where you worked to help run down heroin smugglers.

Carrillo can’t quite believe the lavish praise they have for you—just that morning, you misplaced a roll of film from a stake-out, delaying intel by hours before you found it and had it processed.  He rolls his eyes at the men, and Murphy catches the motion.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Carrillo, two drinks in, states the obvious.  “She’s a disaster,” he replies.

“How so?” asks Murphy.

More of the obvious.  He mentions the lost film.  He mentions the mess of your desk, like a cyclone came through and dumped a mountain of papers on it.  He mentions the wire-tap transcript you reviewed and then returned to him with a ring of a coffee stain on it.  He mentions your terrible Spanish.

“She speaks it better than this one here,” Peña points out mildly, jerking a thumb at Murphy.  “Besides, she was in the Middle East for years.  She speaks Turkish and Armenian pretty fluently.”

“Should have stayed in Turkey then,” Carrillo grouses, and Peña arches an eyebrow at that.

-----

The first fight, the opening salvo comes the next day.

Talking about you all evening meant that Carrillo went home and dreamt of you.  Uneasy dreams that he can’t quite remember when he wakes—all he can remember is that you were in them.  It sets him up to have a terrible morning.  He cuts himself shaving; he feels a migraine brewing behind his left eye.

When he strides into the bullpen outside of his office, you’re there.  Chatting with one of his men, a young soldier named Hernandez.  You’re sitting on the edge of Hernandez’s desk, arms crossed but smiling, and the man is laughing at whatever you said before Carrillo came in.

When Hernandez sees his commanding officer, the jovial cast to his face cedes to a serious one.  You turn with a smile and start to wish him a good morning, but Carrillo cuts you off before the first word is even out of your mouth.

“Don’t you have work to do?” he says.  “Instead of flirting and distracting my men?”

You stand up and uncross your arms.  Put your hands on your hips and give him a withering look.

“Excuse me?” you ask.

Carrillo isn’t feeling well anyway, and you’ve been vexing him for months now, like a toothache throbbing in his jaw.  The migraine is already blooming behind his eye, a big red flower of pain that makes the world hazy and sickly pinkish in hue.  It isn’t his finest hour, but for fuck’s sake….you’re keeping Hernandez from important work…

“Get the fuck out of here,” he snaps.  “And go do some actual fucking work.”

You give him one last searching glare, eyes narrowed, but you do just as he says.  You leave.  But if Carrillo thinks he has cowed you, he is sorely mistaken.

*****

You miss Ankara.  The Turkish police and gendarmes had been incredibly helpful and, moreover, friendly.  Your head contact had been an older man named Çelik.  He smoked strong Turkish cigarettes, drank strong Turkish coffee with cardamom, and when he wasn’t helping catch drug runners, he was an unofficial ambassador to his country.  He loved nothing more than introducing you to new restaurants, hole-in-the-wall bars, ornate mosques set like little jewels in the streets of the city.

It’s the opposite of the cold welcome you’ve received in Colombia.  Part of you hopes that Escobar is caught quickly so that you can return to Ankara.

It’s been months and Colonel Carrillo still presents an icy façade to you.  At first, you think it is just the formal reserve of a man of his position.  Then you think it a cultural thing; you think, maybe, that he dislikes Americans.  But he gets along fine with Peña and Murphy, sometimes goes out for drinks with them, so it isn’t that.

Maybe it is regular ol’ sexism.  The Colonel wouldn’t be the first man in your line of work to have an issue working with a woman.  The flirting comment hints at that, especially since you were just chatting with Hernandez about American music—the young soldier has a taste for Tom Petty and Bruce Springsteen.  Hardly a seductive conversation, chatting about blue-collar rock.

Who knows what goes on behind that stern face of Carrillo’s?  You don’t care, honestly.  If he had just stayed reserved and icy, you might have tried to charm him, win him over.  But that flirting comment, especially in front of a room full of his men, crosses a line.  It undermines you as an agent, and it makes you look foolish.

Well, if Carrillo is going to be a prick, might as well match him in his dickish behavior.

It’s childish, of course, but it’s just like when you used to plead your case to your mother after you and your brother got into a fight.  If anyone complains, you’ll just say the truth:  Carrillo started it.

*****

If it’s said that Carrillo has a hobby, it’s that he enjoys history.  Specifically military history, a fact that made his wife (his ex-wife, now) shake her head sadly and remark that the misery of his job shouldn’t be augmented by the misery of history’s wars.

If there’s one lesson in history, it’s that one should never engage in a war on two fronts.

Carrillo has blundered.  He’s fighting Escobar, and now he’s fighting you.

It’s just mild skirmishes with you at first.  His temper now vented at your chatting with Hernandez, it opens a deluge of open dislike for you.  He doesn’t bother to hide it now:  he snaps at you in front of your fellow agents.  Berates you for losing things, implies that you are why they’re losing the war against the cartel, even if no one buys it, including him.

“Where’s the CIA photos of the highlands?” he barks one afternoon, and you shrug in that infuriating way you have.

“I don’t have them.”

“They aren’t in that mess of a desk?  You haven’t misplaced them somewhere?  Taken them home, maybe, by accident?”

You cross your arms and glare at him.  “No, Colonel.”  You spit out his title like it tastes bad in your mouth.  “I did not take the CIA highland photos to my apartment, accidentally or on purpose.”

“Then where the fuck are they?”

Murphy stands up, takes a tentative step towards where the two of you are squaring off.  “They aren’t developed yet.  The lab is working on them now,” he offers.  Peña only sits with his cigarette, those deep brown eyes of his missing nothing as he watches the two of you.

Carrillo refuses to apologize.  He nods curtly at Murphy and then leaves, and he hears your huff of frustration as he does.

-----

Two days later, a form crosses his desk.  It’s a procurement form, standard Search Bloc stuff to request equipment or guns, but it’s not filled out in Spanish.

He recognizes the slanting scrawl, and it’s legible enough that he can read what it says.

Item requested:  Some sort of specialized extraction equipment.  Maybe from the mining sector?

Purpose:  To pull the massive stick out of Colonel Carrillo’s ass

Due by:  As soon as fucking possible

It was dated and signed by you.  You had even taken the time to get it stamped with the official DEA seal.  

If it were anyone but you, he’d laugh.  

Instead, he gives a low growl of frustration.  

-----

Another time, he sees you getting ready to leave for the night.  It’s just you and him in the building; it’s dark except for his office and the pool of light over your desk.  He watches askance as you stand up and stretch.  You pull on your jacket and grab your messenger bag, slinging it across your chest.

You feel eyes on you, and you look up to see him watching you.  If he were anyone else, you’d probably smile at him, give him a wave.  Call out for him to have a good night.

Instead, you reach into your bag and pretend to rummage around.  You pretend to pull something out to show him, but it’s just your empty hand, your middle finger raised for him to see.

-----

An evening out with Peña and Murphy for drinks, and this time you show up.  Late, as usual, and it ruins Carrillo’s entire evening.

The men had been talking about the start of their careers:  Murphy in Florida, Peña in Texas, Carrillo in Bogota.  There is an easy camaraderie between the three of them, and just as Carrillo is relaxing, you walk through the door and settle into the chair across from him, beside Peña.

It takes all of a moment for Carrillo’s good mood to dissipate.  Another moment for the usual bickering to start.  Carrillo takes exception to the fact that you can’t translate the wire-taps on your own.  You point out that Murphy can’t either, so why is the Colonel singling you out?  

You insinuate that maybe he’s sexist.  He doesn’t have issues with anyone but you.  Ergo…

“Because I don’t like you,” he retorts.  “I wouldn’t like you if you were a man either.”

“That’s enough,” Peña says, and he reaches an arm across you because you are rising out of your chair like you finally want to hit Carrillo.  

Instead, you pivot on your heel and stalk over to the bar.  You settle in a stool there, glaring at him from across the room.  Carrillo throws back the rest of his drink and stands up.  He wishes the men a good night and leaves, and he doesn’t hear their commentary when he does.  

You, on the other side of the room, don’t hear it either.

“They’re going to kill each other,” Murphy says.  “I don’t know why it’s so bad between them, but it’s getting ugly.”

Peña only sighs and studies Carrillo’s empty seat for a long beat.  He takes a deep drag of his cigarette, and smoke plumes out of his nose before he answers.

“They just need to fuck and get it out of their system,” he finally says.  “But they’re both too stubborn, so yeah….they may kill each other first.”

*****

You can avoid Carrillo, for the most part.  The level of your interaction with him is up to you:  you can either work with him directly, or you can work with Trujillo.  

You usually work with Trujillo.

Like tonight:  you leave work early in the afternoon to grab a quick nap at your apartment, and then you return to HQ.  You and Trujillo have a stake-out that night.  Originally, it was supposed to be Murphy’s turn, but the man is married.  He deserves to spend as many nights at home with his wife as he can, and you had cajoled him until he agreed to let you take over the assignment.

When you enter the darkened office, though, it’s not Trujillo waiting for you.

It’s Carrillo.

“Fuck me,” you breathe out.  The man is in plain clothes, khakis and a polo shirt under a jacket, and he still manages to look like a fucking cop.  Shirt tucked in tight, belted khakis.  Señor Stick-up-the-Ass.  

Even in the low light you can see his glower.

“I thought Murphy was on tonight,” he says without preamble.

“Murphy is at home with his wife.  This job takes enough of a toll.”  A beat.  “I was supposed to be with Trujillo.”

“He’s also married with a wife.”

The retort is right there, served up to the Colonel.  He can say something biting about you being single, something devastatingly rude in his soft, low voice.  But he doesn’t say anything.  He just sighs and jerks his head at you to follow him, so you do.

-----

The stake-out is tense.  It’s a cool night, by Colombian standards, but the tension is so thick that you can barely breathe.

Carrillo barely speaks.  He keeps it to single words.  Yes.  No.

You match him and barely speak too.  The night passes in near silence.  At one point, a man exits the warehouse, and something about his gait stirs a recent memory.  When you move your arm to point him out, you accidentally brush against Carrillo’s arm.  He jerks away as if you’ve burned him, and you bite back the urge to yell at him for it.  He’s rude, but there’s something about how careful he is to avoid touching you.  Like you are disgusting to him.  Like you’re lower than low, and it bothers you more than you’d like to admit.

“That one there,” you say instead, keeping your voice steady.  “I’ve seen him somewhere.”  

“It’s too dark to make out his face.  How can you tell?”

“From the way he walks.”

Carrillo sighs.  “Where have you seen him, agent?”

You hum and think it over.  You sift through the files in your mind:  the other stake-outs, the questionings….no, not even work-related.  The man exiting the warehouse….he walked the same way as the man at the bakery near your house, where you get your breakfast and coffee every morning.  The same forward pitch, the slight drag to the left foot, as if the leg is a little shorter than the right leg….

You tell Carrillo.  “He works at a bakery near where I live.  His parents own it.  He’s usually out front, sweeping the walk.”

The Colonel snorts.  “Not helpful.”

Your temper goes up a degree.  “Might be worth checking out anyway.”

Carrillo shakes his head and doesn’t answer.  He only turns the ignition and starts the car, and he drives back to headquarters in the same tense silence.

-----

Carrillo refuses to approve any resources to check out the bakery.  For one thing, you live in a quiet part of Medellín.  A safer part where there’s little cartel activity.  For another thing….Carrillo hates you so much that you could probably have Escobar in cuffs in your apartment and the Colonel wouldn’t send a detail to haul the man away.

So you investigate it yourself.  The more you think about it, the more it makes sense:  a bakery gets routine deliveries.  No one would blink at a van or truck backing up to a bakery late at night or early in the morning.  No one would blink at late night activity in the building—that’s when they did their baking for the next day, when the humidity was low and wouldn’t affect any leavening dough.

To an unwary eye, flour and cocaine look much the same.

Sure enough, there’s plenty of night time movement.  More than a small neighbor bakery run by an old man and woman should have.  

You make notes of everything, and you go back to Carrillo to plead your case.

*****

He doesn’t want to hear your flimsy case about the bakery.  He doesn’t want to hear the way you whine, like a child, or how you insinuate heavily that if you weren’t a woman, he’d take you more seriously…

“Stop,” he says.  He holds up a palm to you.  He’s behind his desk and you are on the other side, and it’s late.  It happens all the time, these moments with you.  Murphy goes home at a reasonable hour to be with his wife.  Peña goes off to run down his own unorthodox leads.  Carrillo’s men leave to be with their families, and that leaves just you and him.

He wishes it were literally anyone else from the Search Bloc or the DEA.  Hell, he’d take any random asshole from the U.S. embassy.

But you put in the hours, he begrudgingly admits.  First to arrive, last to leave.  And now, apparently, off-the-books recon too.

“I promise there’s something there,” you tell him, ignoring his silencing hand.  There’s a pleading edge to your voice now.

“We are short men and funds,” he counters.  “I will not authorize a raid on a whim.”

“It’s not a whim!”

“Where’s the proof then?  Am I supposed to risk my men’s lives on your say-so?”

You glare at him from across the desk.  “You take Peña’s word on things all the time.  All that sterling intel he gets from fucking around.”

“I trust Agent Peña.”

“And you don’t trust me, is that it?”

Carrillo studies you a long moment; his cold, silent stare usually unnerves the person on the receiving end, but you only glare back at him.  Equally silent.

You interpret his silence as its own answer.  You nod, as if to yourself, and then stand and leave.

-----

It shouldn’t surprise him when you do an end-run around him, calling in a pile of favors with the embassy.  Word goes up the chain, then comes back down to him, and Carrillo finds himself planning a raid on a bakery in one of the sleepier Medellín neighborhoods.

It does surprise him when the raid proves you right:  it’s a front for Escobar, and in one single night, they round up an embarrassing amount of cocaine and a lot of narcos.  When the last one is loaded into a waiting police vehicle, Carrillo catches sight of you in your DEA vest and sloppy ponytail, looking pleased with yourself.  

*****

You’re too keyed up to go home, and too anxious to join Steve and Javi for a drink, so you do what you always do:  you go to the office.  There’s always leads to follow up on, reports to type out, and the sooner you catch Escobar, the better.

Carrillo is there.  Like always.  You roll your eyes and try to ignore him, but he glances up and sees you.  He gets that fucking look on his face that he does when he sees you, and your temper is sparked.

You’re keyed up, sure, but you’re never too keyed up to not fight.

You saunter over to his office, and you don’t bother to knock because the door is open.  You lean in the doorway and cross your arms.

“Good operation tonight,” you offer casually.  You can see the way Carrillo’s jaw flexes at your words.  His dental bills must be expensive for how much he clenches his jaw and grinds his teeth.

“Who would have thought that a simple bakery would be a front for the narcos?” you continue.  “Who could have made that connection?”

“You here to gloat?”  His voice is low.  A warning.

You shake your head and step into his office.  “No, gloating is childish, Colonel.  I’m here to accept your apology.”

“I’m not apologizing.”  He stands up, and while Carrillo isn’t that much taller than you, he’s much bigger:  broad, solid.  Built like a brick shithouse, as your grandma used to say.  

He stalks from behind his desk and comes to stand in front of you, and you are distinctly aware that he’s trying to intimidate you.  He never gets this close to you—he usually gives you a wide berth.

“If you ever go over my head again, I’ll see that you don’t even go back to Turkey.  You’ll be pushing paper in some regional office in Colorado,” he says.  His voice, usually soft, goes even softer.  He’s trying to be menacing.

You snort.  “Can you even place Colorado on a map?  It’s a beautiful state.  Skiing country.  Not much of a threat, Col—”

He moves at you so fast that you flinch.  He raises a hand to you, and you think, this is it.  Months and months of simmering misogyny and now he’s going to hit me, and you raise your own arm to block the coming blow, but you misread the entire moment.

You’ve misread a lot of things, apparently.  Colonel Carrillo doesn’t hit you:  he hooks that big hand of his around the back of your neck.  He hauls you to him and lays a punishing kiss on you that steals your words and your breath alike.

*****

There are many words that can describe Colonel Horacio Carrillo.  

The word that best describes him, in his own estimation, is meticulous, and that includes being meticulous in his own inner world.

He may be stone-faced to the outside world, but he’s no fool.  Army work, police work can pull a man down.  He recognizes the importance of examining his own feelings, the things that drive him.  Of understanding his own inner workings.

He knows, at the surface, why you irritate him so much.  You’re a fucking mess, a fly-by-night tornado of chaos, and you’re still good.  This sting at the bakery?  A half-assed hunch, and yet it yields more results than months of his own careful police work.

You irritate him because you have some innate knack for this work, and it comes to you so effortlessly.

That’s not all of it, though.  Carrillo has turned over his thoughts, paged through them like a well-worn book. Months and months of it, but it occurs to him all at once the night of the fruitless stake-out with you.

Carrillo wants you.

He didn’t even realize it until he dreamt it.  That night, he had followed you out of the building in his car, followed you for a few blocks until you turned left and he turned right.  An idle thought, what it would be like to follow you home.  To go home with you.  A thought so brief he barely remembered it, but it burrowed into his head.

That night, he had dreamt of you.  And worse, he had remembered the dream when he woke up.

His ex-wife and the few women before her were all of a type:  quiet women who held their strength in their quietude.  Neat women, placid ones.  You are none of those things, and yet…he wants you.

His control is already frayed.  Seeing you at the bakery, the sensuous way you walk even when you’re striding around a raid.  Seeing you brush the hair from your loose ponytail aside, seeing the pleased smile you offer Trujillo and your fellow DEA agents.  

Knowing that if he’d been less of an exacting—meticulous—asshole, you’d smile at him like that.

When his control finally snaps in his office, Carrillo feels inward relief.  He can get you out of his system, he believes.  You’ll either slap him and tell him to fuck off, or you’ll…not, but either way, you will be out of his system.

He catches the surprise on your face when he reaches for you.  You flinch, you raise your arm.  It shames Carrillo—you think he’s going to hit you, and he would never, but that’s how badly he’s done with you…

Your mouth opens in a gasp the moment he kisses you, and he doesn’t give any quarter—he takes advantage and shoves his tongue into your mouth.  He can taste you; he can taste the hard candy you eat all day.  You must have been eating cinnamon candies during the raid.

He can feel your hands on his chest, and he thinks this is it.  She’s going to shove me away.

You do push him away from you, just a little.  Not a shove—just enough to break the kiss and to look at him.  Your face is pure puzzlement, your eyebrows knit together and a frown on your lips.  Your eyes fix on his, like you’re trying to read whatever madness drove him to this point.

But your eyes slip down to his mouth, and then you surprise him:  your hands on his chest twist into fists, the fabric of his shirt gripped as you pull him back to you.  As you kiss him back this time, your tongue meeting his when he resumes his invasion of your mouth.  The feel of you kissing him back, the way you bite his lower lip, the way you groan against him….Carrillo realizes his blunder too late.

This isn’t going to get you out of his system.  He was an idiot to even think so.

Especially given how ardently you are responding to him.  You’ve gotten to him, and maybe he’s gotten to you in a way he hadn’t considered.

There’s no romancing it.  No gentleness.  Barely any foreplay, though Carrillo tries to slow down enough to gauge what you need.  He doesn’t want to just take; there’s a stubborn pride in him wanting to make you enjoy this.  There’s a fantasy there of you wanting more and him denying you, but it’s an idle thought at this point.

One hand on the back of your neck.  The other arm around your waist, and he turns you.  Pushes you back to his desk, and you reach back to shove off the neat stack of files.  Fucking messy, you are, but something thrills in him to see all that paper on the floor of his usually immaculate office.

He shifts the arm around your waist, fumbles with your jeans.  You reach down to help him, your fingers tangling with his.  He’s tried so hard to avoid touching you and now it’s nothing but touching—your soft belly under the hem of your rucked up shirt, your warm curves as he pushes you jeans down, your panties, his hands smoothing over your hips and ass as he hoists you onto the edge of his desk.  

Another moment to free himself, to grip himself and press against your entrance.  He chances a look up at you, the question on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t need to ask it.  You’re gazing back at him with eyes so dark they’re almost black, and you whisper your plea.

“Carrillo, please,” you say, and it’s your same usual whine but it sounds so fucking pretty when you’re using it to beg for his cock.

Any other time, Carrillo’s mind would be clear.  His thoughts would be orderly, step one, step two, next and next.  His mind is hazy now, though, like a windstorm rushing in his ears.  His blood a roar, his heartbeat in his ears and his cock as he leans forward and pushes into you, the wet, tight grip of you, and he growls as he bottoms out in you.

There’s no romancing it.  He’s been celibate for almost a year now.  You are nothing like his ex-wife, and this is nothing like his marital bed.  Love-making with his ex-wife had been a quiet, tender thing with the lights off.  This is carnal and feral.  Not love-making but fucking.

He keeps his arm around your waist, forces you to arch up underneath him as he drives into you.  His other hand on your hair, gathering up the loose strands that have worked free.  Pulls your hair hard to make you bare your throat to him, and Carrillo bends his own head to put his mouth on your pulse point.  To bite you, to make you whine and tangle your fingers in his hair, mussing it.  To steer his head back to you so that you can kiss him.

You feel so good.  He pants out the filthiest words in Spanish, feels his orgasm approaching like a train.  He fucks you harder, punctuates each punishing thrust with a growl, and he’s hammering you so hard that his desk moves a bit each time.  But you take it…and you wrap your legs around his own, spurring him on for more.

Carrillo comes hard, quick.  It takes no time at all for the tension low in his gut to tighten and then snap.  His vision goes white at the force of it, the sharp crackling of pleasure from the core of him and outward.  He remembers where he is, who he’s with, just at the last moment—he pulls out with a second to spare.  He drops his head against your shoulder and groans as he comes against you, his release painting your bared stomach.

-----

The shame floods him as soon as the pleasure fades.  The regret.  He pulls away from you without a word, and he turns away and reassembles himself.

He’s not a complete asshole though.  He turns back to you and helps you off of his desk.  Reaches into a drawer for a handful of tissues, hands them to you to clean up.  Turns his back while you retrieve your discarded clothing from the floor and dress again.  Turns back once you’re dressed.

It’s awkward.  You, usually so assured and confident, can’t seem to think of anything to say.  

Neither can he.

His eyes drift to your neck, and he winces to see the mark he’s left.  A huge red mark that’s already purpling.  

“Did I hurt you?” he asks.  He gestures at your throat, but then he gestures at you in general.  Maybe he was too rough.  He’s never given in to any impulse like that before.  Like a fucking animal.

You shake your head.  Clear your throat like you want to say something but words still don’t come to you.  It occurs to him, suddenly, that despite your assent, that maybe he forced you.  The thought makes him sick, and he asks that question too.

That conjures the words that had been eluding you.  “Oh no,” you assure him.  “Not at all.  You didn’t force anything.”

He nods, sighs in relief.  “We should keep this between us.”

You mirror his nod with your own.  “I won’t tell anyone.”

“A one-time thing.”

“A moment of insanity,” you agree.  “Late night raids can make a person…well, it can mess with judgement.”

“Exactly.”  He agrees with you, but that stings a little.  You didn’t shove him away...was that your own impaired judgement?  

It doesn’t matter.  He nods at you again, tells you to drive home safely.  Watches as you walk out of his office.  You gather your jacket and bag, and you turn to offer him a half-wave from the shadows before you leave.  

It’s a one-time thing.  A bit of madness, as you said.  He’s overworked and stressed and needed a release, and he found it with you.  But it’s over now and he won’t do it again.  It’s out of his system.

That’s what he tells himself, anyway.  When he drives home, when he showers, when he slides between the sheets of his lonely, too-large bed.  When he starts to drift to sleep and his brain slips back to that moment with you, how you felt and how you tasted when he kissed you.  How you whined out his name.  How he didn’t make you come, he doesn’t think, and how that prickles at his pride as a man who always does a thorough job.  Not that he can help it now.  You’re out of his system.

A one-time thing, he promises himself.  He almost believes it.

~~~Tag List~~~ @bananas-pajamas  @massivecolorspygiant​   @imspillingcoffee​   @amneris21​   @paintballkid711​   @mad-girl-without-a-box​   @bestattempt​   @rosiefridayrogersunday​   @strawberrydragon​   @hoeforthefictional​   @greeneyedblondie44​  @leannawithacapitala​   @stardust-galaxies​  @buckybarneshairpullingkink​   @melaniecraig80​   @thesandbeneathmytoes​

[danniburgh]

Give you what you want (Javier Peña x f!reader x Horacio Carrillo)

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader x Horacio Carrillo

Summary: You’ve been crushing hard on Javier - and Colonel Carrillo. And when they both find out about it, they can’t help but indulge you.

Word count: +11.1k

Chapter warnings: mild angst, mentions of violence, divorce talk, discussion of polyamorous relationship. OT3 SMUT, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, double penetration, alcohol, a lot of cum lol

A/N: this is a collab between me, @maharani-radha-writes​ and @queenofthefaceless, okay, yes this is a repost (basically the blog in which this os was posted blocked me). originally posted on april 6th 2021

ao3 // Masterlist // ko-fi

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓

Carrillo slammed his face on the steering wheel of his car with a groan. He had just spent all day in court finalizing his divorce—which had been going on for months—and just as he had gotten home, he realized that he had forgotten his service pistol at the office. Something he was not allowed to bring in the courtroom.

Fuckers.

He had separation anxiety from it, so even though he had multiple spares in the house, he had one trusty weapon, and he wouldn’t be caught dead without it. He glanced at the clock, and saw that it was only eight o’clock, so it wasn’t too late for him to swing back to base and grab it. Shaking his head, he turned the ignition of his car back on and reversed out of his driveway to head back to the station.

When he got there, he used his keys to enter through the back doorway, not really wanting to have to greet the guards at the front. He was just… way too done with people that day. Although he and his by then ex-wife had separated amicably (or as amicably as it could get), the divorce had taken a huge toll on him. He and Juliana had separated about five months before, and he had spent that time sitting in lawyers’ conference rooms, arguing over this and that. He was ready to just give her everything and anything she wanted if it meant he could get that painful process over with.

Truth be told, Carrillo was lonely. He had been for a long time, even while he was still married to Juliana. They had been less of a married couple and more like roommates for the past year at least, and it was getting to them both. His job was tough and dangerous–Juliana didn’t understand a lot of it. To be fair, he kept most of it from her, but that got exhausting after a while. He longed to just...let go, and he couldn’t do that with her. And after a while, she had decided that staying married to him (and his job) was more trouble than it was worth. He couldn’t blame her, not one bit.

It didn’t matter any more. He had firmly closed that chapter of his life, and was ready to move on. He didn’t know what the future looked like for him, but the only thing that he was sure of was that Pablo Escobar would be dead. He would make sure of it–even if he died trying.

After finding his service pistol, which had been stuffed in a holster under his desk, Carrillo closed the door to his office, and proceeded to walk down the hallway to the back exit. But he stopped when he heard voices coming from the bullpen.

Odd.

He hadn’t seen anyone when he had come in. He turned slightly and strained his ears to try to see if he could discern who it was. Then he heard the distinct Southern American drawl of none other than Steve Murphy. The man had been pulling late nights in the office ever since his wife got up and left him.

“All right, kiddo, care to tell me what the fuck your problem is?”

Who–? Was “kiddo”? It certainly couldn’t be Peña. It was a Friday night, surely Peña was off….doing something (or someone) else.

“What’s my problem? What’s your problem, Murph?”

Oh, it was you. The lone female agent of the DEA. Carrillo had been quite wary of you when you had joined the team about a year before. He really wasn’t sure what, if anything, you would be bringing to the table. And he thought that having two DEA agents was two too many already. But over time, you had proven to be a strong, capable, and intelligent partner, and his respect for you had grown.

Bringing you to Colombia had been a good decision, on the part of your superiors.

Now that he had identified the two people still stuck in the base, he should have been satisfied and been on his way. But something about Steve’s tone of voice kept him rooted to the spot. He really, really shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, especially since he was sure that it was a conversation he was not meant to hear.

“You’re on edge. A lot more than usual,” Steve said, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Steve. Just drop it,” you grumbled.

“Oh, so there is something?” Steve snarked, “Look, I normally would back off and leave you alone, but you’ve been highly distracted lately. And it’s affecting your work. I need to know what’s up or at least confirm that you’re going to get this resolved soon because we need your head in the game.”

Now that Steve mentioned it, Carrillo had noticed that you were...not yourself. And you hadn’t been for a while. But Carrillo was too caught up in his own drama to give it much of a thought.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, “I’ll try not to be so scatterbrained. I’ll fix it, I promise.”

“Is this what I think it is? The thing you told Connie that I’m not supposed to know about?” Steve asked.

Carrillo knew he absolutely needed to leave. That was not a conversation he should be listening to. But he just could not help it.

“You’re going to have to be more specific, Steve. I’ve told Connie a lot of things,” you chuckled, nervously.

“I mean about–” there was a pause, presumably Steve looking around to check that nobody was there, “–your feelings. For, uh, ya know, Peña?”

Oh. That was news.

“And–uh–Carrillo I think?” Steve continued.

Wait...what?

Carrillo whipped his head around so fast that he winced as his neck twinged in protest. Since when...since when did you have feelings? For him? And Peña? What was happening? Someone needed to shoot him because that could not be real.

“Must you say it aloud?” you hissed.

“I’m sorry, kiddo, I don’t mean to embarrass you,” Steve apologized, “And normally I would mind my own fucking business, but this is getting out of hand. You really don’t think I notice the cows’ eyes you make at Peña when he’s not looking?”

“I don’t do that!” you denied, indignantly.

“Okay fine, maybe that’s a bit dramatic,” Steve conceded, “But the point still stands. You definitely need to get this fixed. Have you thought, oh I don’t know, telling Peña? Or even Carrillo?”

“Are you crazy?” you stammered, “Do you have any idea what that would do to my career? Not to mention that Carrillo is...fucking married?”

“Well, he’s divorced now,” Steve clarified, “And nobody has to know. It’s nobody else’s business but yours. I’m just saying, think about it ok? You deserve an outlet, just like everyone else.”

Carrillo decided that it was best to not stay and hear what you had to say to that. Instead, he hightailed it out of the base, as quickly as he could, trying to keep his footsteps light so as not to alert you and Steve to his presence. Once he was finally in the safety of his car, he put his head back onto the seat and let out a long breath, trying to figure out what he was going to do with that information. He couldn’t deny that the idea of you having feelings for him was incredibly flattering. You were a very guarded individual and quite hard to read sometimes–not so dissimilar to him. He would have never, in a million years, guessed that you would be interested in him, and that was mostly due to your closed off persona.

But to find out that you had feelings for both him and Peña? That was an interesting development. Carrillo didn’t know how to feel about that. But he can’t deny that it intrigued him...more than it should have. His mother would be completely mortified if she found out that he was entertaining this--whatever it was.

But his mother was not here. His wife was gone, and had taken the kids with her. It was just him, and his large house. And now, apparently, you and possibly Peña. Carrillo tilted his head contemplatively and started the ignition of his car.

Maybe...just maybe, there was something to this whole charade.

**Scene Break 1**

Steve was tired. Scratch that, he was exhausted. Not physically, but mentally.

Javier had been looking at you for far too long, and Steve could taste the yearning and the tension that lingered around the office when Peña looked at you. It was maddening, and Steve had no idea how Peña had managed this long without jumping you. After all, he never seemed to have a problem getting a woman’s attention and keeping it. So, why were you so different?

And the worst part of this whole circus is that you were so blissfully unaware of it. It made Steve’s mouth foam with rage.

When he told Connie over the phone, the previous night, what you had said to him and how you had confessed to being attracted to both men, she actually convinced him to talk to Javi on your behalf. Because Connie knew you, and she knew you would just shut up about it, guard it as if you were a dragon with a treasure, never say a thing, and suffer in silence until your feelings went away. And if they didn’t. Too bad. Steve hadn’t wanted to get involved. After all, you were an adult, and Javier was an adult. You should be able to sort these things out yourself. But alas, that had not happened. And if Steve didn’t do something about it, it was going to get out of hand, quickly.

So when you got up from your desk and got out of the office, Steve walked to Javier and slammed his hand on a pile of files that Javier was almost hiding behind.

“Yes, Murphy, how can I help you?” Peña drawled, trying to keep his voice as even and unaffected as possible.

“Don’t give me that innocent bullshit, Peña,” Steve growled, “I’m so sick of you.”

“What could I have possibly done now?” Javier huffed, pulling a cigarette out of his pack and lighting it. He figured that if he played dumb, Steve would go away.

Alas.

“You, and her,” Steve said, emphasizing his point by jabbing his finger in the direction of the door you had just walked out of, “There’s something between the two of you. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

Javier decided not to answer that. Instead he just took a puff of his cigarette and stared at Steve, daring him to continue.

“I’m serious Peña, stop playing coy. This is starting to affect your working relationship, and I’m getting sick of it,” Steve grumbled, “Do something about it. Now.”

It took a few moments of silence, but Javier finally decided to concede to Steve. Truth was, Javier’s head was full of thoughts. Full of you. Truth be told, getting infatuated with you was just a matter of time.

You were just… frustratingly attractive, incredibly strong and so damn smart. A dangerous combination, you were almost perfect. And that, scared the shit out of him. It had been a long time since Javier felt like that; he didn’t like the vulnerability of it all, he didn’t like how it was way too apparent that whatever you did, for small that it was, affected him in some way. He didn’t like the fact that he wanted to be with you all the time, see you all the time, talk to you all the time. He wanted to protect you all the time even when he knew you could perfectly protect yourself. And he had been feeling like that for months.

Javier interpreted that as karma, getting so madly, deeply into you and getting absolutely nothing in return. Until Steve chimed in, nosy as ever, to speak about something that was clear as a water drop but he just kept denying from himself.

He replayed what Steve had told him while he puffed from his cigarette and for a split second, and let himself smile at the words of his partner.

Steve was right. He was aware of how much he had been missing and how affected his job seemed to be because of how much time he spent thinking about you. It was so unlike him, and it was very unprofessional. But he just couldn’t help it.

You and your strikingly beautiful being. You letting him hold you close. You, with your hands on him. You and how sweet your lips must taste. You and how your naked body must look in the dimmed lights of his bedroom. Fuck.

So he decided, after his partner all but scolded him about being too dumb to realize, that he was going to face you and just… make things happen.

Steve smiled to himself while looking down at a file when Javier stood up from his own desk and walked out of the office.

“Attaboy,” he mumbled to himself.

**Scene Break 2**

You weren’t sure what it was, but suddenly the air in that bullpen had become oppressive, and you just needed to get out. Well, frankly...you weren’t stupid. You knew what was causing you to feel this way. It was stupid Steve and his stupid way of being right all the time, how the fuck did he do that? At some point, you were going to have to tell Javier (and possibly Carrillo, as well) how you felt, but if you could put it off for longer, you were absolutely going to do so.

You sat on the concrete wall bordering the police base, observing quietly as the citizens of Medellín went about their day, getting lunch and catching up with their colleagues. There was a man selling arepas just a few feet from you, and the smell was amazing. But no matter how tantalizing the scent was, you just couldn’t bring yourself to eat. All you needed was some air. Yeah, that’s what you needed. You’d be fine after a few moments.

Unfortunately, your peace wasn’t to last long, and as you were soon to discover, your observational skills would need a check up because Colonel Horacio Carrillo himself had just plopped himself next to you, and you hadn’t even noticed. Carrillo, for his part, waited a few moments before clearing his throat, startling you from your thoughts, and successfully getting your attention.

Ah shit.

One of the exact men that you didn’t want to deal with right now was sitting right next to you.

Joy.

“Those arepas look fantastic,” he remarked in that lovely accent you really liked, “Do you want one?”

You shook your head.

“No thank you,” you mumbled, “I’m fine.”

Carrillo hummed.

“I’m sure we could find something else if you would prefer. There’s all kinds of food in Medellín,” he replied. But you refused again.

“No, really, I’m fine. I don’t want any food,” you said.

Carrillo tilted his head and clasped his hands together, leaning forward slightly. He gave a small, almost imperceptible smirk, and if you didn’t know him so well, you would have missed it.

“I see,” he observed, amusedly, “So, then, Agent. What do you want?”

You frowned, and furrowed your eyebrows. What...what was he doing?

“I–I don’t want anything,” you replied, completely flabbergasted.

“Hmmm,” Carrillo began, “I don’t believe you. I think you want something.”

You raised your eyebrows at that. You’d never known the Colonel to be so bold.

“I want Escobar dead,” you quipped, “Same as you, I suppose.”

“Ah yes, I certainly want that,” Carrillo agreed, “But I want something else. Something that I imagine might be the same as you.”

You scratched the back of your neck, nervously, not sure where this was going.

“All right, Colonel, I’ll bite. What is it that you want?” you questioned.

Carrillo adjusted his position on the wall, turning so that he was facing you squarely. He looked you straight in the eyes before taking a deep breath, as if he was working up the courage to say something.

“You.”

You felt the air leave your lungs, Carrillo’s face was a puzzle laid before you but before you could say something else, you heard a deep, timbered voice calling your name.

You reluctantly turned around and saw Peña walking up to the both of you, you felt Carrillo shift beside you and let out a sigh, as if he knew something like that would happen.

“I was looking for you,” Javier mumbled, almost as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear but you.

“So, you found me,” your voice was shaky after the Colonel’s admission, and you tried to control it “What?”

“Can we–uh–talk?” he said, and you looked back at Carrillo.

“Can it wait?” you pleaded.

“No,” Javier declared.

“I think I know what this is about,” Carrillo announced, and you frowned at him, asking with your eyes for him to elaborate. But he just stayed quiet, looking between you and Peña.

“What do you mean?” Javier huffed, “This is a private conversation that I need to have with her.”

“I think we all need to have this conversation,” Carrillo mumbled, looking at the ground for half a second before returning his gaze to you and Javier.

“What are you two on?” you asked, frantically, “I am so confused.”

Javier glanced at the Colonel, at the way he was all but shifting around like a nervous kid. He realized Carrillo moved like he was hiding something, like he had a secret he so wanted to confess.

“Do you know something?” Javier questioned him, furrowing his brow. The Colonel turned to study him and there was a small moment in which they said nothing, and their eyes just locked.

And there, Javier saw him, as he was. Colonel Horacio Carrillo was an honorable man, everyone knew that, but as he was honorable he was dark, and Javier had a small suspicion of what he knew and was badly hiding.

Javier felt himself smirk at the man and Carrillo smirked back, and Javi knew it. Because he never misses things like that. For him is like having a sixth sense, somehow enhanced by his career and his experience. He just knows. Javier had never been indifferent to men. After all, being honest with himself, he had a little crush on Steve before he saw the wedding band. And Carrillo was… just his type. He never thought he would have the chance to even get closer to the Colonel like that. In the end, the time was not right and he was quite sure Carrillo wasn’t like that.

Clearly, he had been mistaken.

“Okay you two, I’ve had enough,” you grumbled, “What is going on? I’m sick of these games.”

“This is not a game,” Carrillo said, finally looking at you, you felt your frown get deeper.

“Then what is it?” you demanded.

Javier shrugged and took one last look at Carrillo, as if to confirm his consent, and replied.

“An arrangement,” he deadpanned, “With both of us.”

“If you want it,” Carrillo added, quickly.

You shot up from the wall you were sitting on and turned to glare at both of them. Javier put his hands on his waist and leaned on a leg, and Carrillo stood up as well, clasped hands in front of him, just waiting for you to say something. Anything.

Javier glanced nervously at Carrillo from the corner of his eye, searching his face for any sign of hesitation. I hope this is gonna go how you were planning, Carrillo, he thought, Because if it doesn’t and she refuses to speak to me again after this...I swear to god–

“Where did you get this idea?” you blabbered, feeling the sting of nervousness and insecurity settling into your stomach. Along with something else in your lower belly you refused to acknowledge at all.

Javier sighed, and shook his head.

“Steve Murphy has a big mouth,” he murmured.

“Dios mío,” you exclaimed, “He told you both?”

“Well, he told me,” Javier said, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t know about our Colonel over here.”

Now it was Carrillo’s turn to look sheepish.

“No, he didn’t say anything to me,” Carrillo admitted, “I overheard the two of you talking the other day.”

“You eavesdropped on me?” you gasped, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Is nothing I say private?”

Carrillo at least had the grace to look ashamed.

“It was an accident,” he tried to assure you, “But–I don’t regret listening in. I haven’t stopped thinking about it. About you.”

You scrubbed your face with your hands, trying to figure out what you were going to do. It wasn’t that you were–unhappy–more so embarrassed. You’d been carrying this secret for a long time now, and to have it so out in the open made you feel more exposed than ever. And you hated the feeling.

“I’m gonna need a minute,” you said, “Can we talk about this later? I need some space.”

Without waiting for a response, you briskly walked away from the police base and in the direction of the city. You weren’t sure where you were going or when you were going to be back. All that you knew was that your privacy had been massively violated, and you needed some space to collect yourself. Alone. And perhaps when you had calmed down, you could think about Carrillo and Peña’s proposal, like a functioning adult. But right now, you were too embarrassed (and aroused, let’s be real), to think straight.

Javier turned aside to look at Carrillo when your figure had disappeared into the city.

“So,” Javier broke the not-so-awkward silence, “Are you okay with this?”

Carrillo huffed at the question and glanced at the agent, noticing in him things he hadn't noticed before.

“Are you?”

Javier felt his stomach drop at the Colonel’s question… interesting.

“I’m all in,” he replied, smirking at Carrillo.

“Yo también.”

**Scene Break 3**

It was later in the afternoon by the time you had calmed down enough to return to work. You couldn’t believe what had happened today. You absolutely wanted to smack Steve. What you had told him was in confidence, and he had broken that trust. But you couldn’t deny that you were happy with the result. The idea of having even just one of those two men was enough to get you going, but both?

Men like them?

The pool of arousal was already forming in between your legs.

You could not deny how much you had wanted this, and how much you had been dreaming about it. And for a very long time. For god’s sake, you had lost sleep over this shit. It made you feel dirty, filthy, unprofessional. But you just couldn’t help it. You’d done a decent enough job of keeping your feelings in check, but now the cat was out of the bag.

And not only did these two men know how you felt. Apparently, they felt the same way. And for some godforsaken reason, they wanted you.

Were you really going to say no to an opportunity like that? Were you truly that stupid? No matter how much you were angry with Steve.

Connie would lose her shit when you'd call her to tell her about her husband’s work.

You walked into the bullpen and saw the office door opened, the first thing you saw was Javier’s face buried inside a file, his posture rigid and his hands grasping at the folder as if it were a lifeline.

He looked up and his eyes went wide when he saw you walk in.

But then you saw Murphy, sitting like nothing had happened and you saw red. You rushed at him and without a word your hand flew and you smacked him on the back of the head.

“What the fuck?” he yelled, and you heard Javier laughing behind you.

“You asshole,” you hissed, “Exactly what made you think it was a good idea to tell him? I trusted you to keep your mouth shut.”

“Excuse me,” Steve groaned, rubbing the back of his head, “I did you a fucking favor. I got tired of hanging around with you two idiots, just looking at each other and not saying shit.”

“You should not have done that,” you growled, fixing him with what you hoped was your most intimidating glare.

“Perhaps not,” Steve shrugged, “But I don’t regret it.”

“Can I–say something?” Javier asked behind you.

“No. Shut up.” you hissed without looking back at him.

“You do something like this again, and I’ll kill you,” you threatened Steve before storming out of the base, and into the parking lot. You sat in the driver’s seat of your car and banged your head against the steering wheel. You had had every intention of finding Peña and Carrillo and taking them up on their offer, but now all feelings of boldness had been once again replaced by shame and embarrassment. No doubt you were the talk of the police base, what with your massive crush on two of your colleagues.

Although you knew it was irrational, you couldn’t help but feel as though Carrillo and Peña were making fun of you. You knew it was stupid. Both of them were grown-ass men. They wouldn’t be so immature. If they didn’t like you at all, they would have just left you alone. But you just couldn’t help the raging insecurity you were feeling. Perhaps if you had actually told both of them, directly, how you felt, rather than let Steve Murphy do the hard work, then maybe you wouldn’t be feeling this way.

But that was all water under the bridge now, you supposed.

Later that night, you were heating up a pitiful TV-dinner in your apartment, not feeling up to eating, but you needed something, when your phone rang. You froze with the fork halfway to your mouth. There were only a handful of people who had your landline number, and even then, only a few of those people would have the guts to actually call it. This wasn’t going to be a fun conversation.

Sighing, you trudged over to the phone and lifted the receiver to your ear.

“¿Sí?” you asked, quietly, and you heard the low voice of Colonel Carrillo on the other end.

“It’s me,” he said softly, “You left work rather abruptly. I called to see if you were fine.”

“As fine as I can be, given the circumstances,” you grumbled.

“I’m sorry that things transpired the way they did, truly,” Carrillo mumbled, sounding genuinely apologetic, “But I meant it when I said I don’t regret finding out.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” you snarked, “You’re not the one whose colleague breached her trust.”

There was a pause before Carrillo spoke again.

“Do you regret it?”

Now it was your turn to pause, contemplating your words and how you would respond. You didn’t want to hurt him, but at the same time, you wanted to make it clear that you weren’t pleased with the means---even if the end was fantastic.

“I regret how this started,” you replied, slowly, not trusting yourself to say anything further.

Carrillo hummed over the line, contemplating your words.

“I can’t blame you for that,” he said, “But forget about Steve for a moment, please. Have you thought about it?”

You inhaled and held your breath for ten counts, trying to calm down your racing heart. You couldn’t deny that just the mere thought of being in the same room with these two men, especially in a non-platonic setting, was difficult for you.

“I think you know the answer to that, Colonel. You aren’t stupid,” you quipped, “Have you discussed this with Peña? I must admit, I am surprised at you both. This doesn’t seem like something either of you would be interested in.”

“We’ve discussed this, absolutely,” Carrillo said, recalling the deeper conversation he had with Peña earlier that day after you had slapped Steve, “I think we’ve both surprised ourselves, if I’m being honest. But if the attraction is there, it’s there. But I want you to know, there is no pressure. This only goes as far as you want it to go.”

You frowned at that.

“What do you mean?” you pressed.

“Querida,” he sighed, “What happens between the three of us–well–Peña and I know where we stand–it’s up to you now. If you don’t want this, then just say the word. We’ll pretend this conversation never happened.”

You took a shuddering breath and tried to respond as best as you can.

“I–”

“You don’t have to give me an answer now,” Carrillo interrupted gently, “Think about it. Make sure it’s what you want. Then you can let us know.”

“I–ok,” you stuttered, for lack of a better response.

“I should leave you to your evening. But think about it, and let me know what you decide ,” Carrillo said, “Have a good night, querida.”

“Sure, good night, Colonel,” you mumbled, hearing the click on the other end, indicating that Carrillo had hung up.

You passed the rest of the evening in relative silence, going about your mundane business with an extra air of heaviness. Slowly you could feel the embarrassment from the day give way to desire. As you lay by yourself in your bed, clutching at your pillow, you couldn’t help the acute sense of loneliness that you felt. After all, you hadn’t really had anyone before you came to Colombia, and your job here certainly killed whatever chance of having a relationship you might have had. It was why you had so easily fallen for both of your colleagues.

You were lonely. And they were lonely too. But it wasn’t just out of loneliness. You’d seen what Peña was like when he just wanted to have a warm body next to him. Just as it had taken courage for you to confess how you felt to Steve, it must have taken just as much strength for Carrillo and Peña to admit the same to you. This wasn’t going to be a one time thing–born out of isolation and tragedy–it would be something much more meaningful than that. You could feel it.

You glanced at the clock, seeing that it was just past midnight. Although you knew that Carrillo usually stayed up late, you didn’t want to bother him, so you dialed the number of the only other person who you knew would be up this late.

“Hello?” Javier Peña gruffed on the other end, clearly annoyed at having been woken up.

“Javier, it’s me,” you said, by way of greeting. You heard some rustling of bedsheets, no doubt Javier was fully awake now.

“Are you all right?” he asked, concern coloring his tone.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you assured him, “I just–I’ve thought about your offer. Yours and Carrillo’s.”

You heard a sharp intake of breath over the phone.

“And what do you say, cariño?” he questioned, hope ringing in his voice.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“Yes. I’m saying yes.”

**Scene Break 4**

You sat inside Javier’s car, silently, as he drove the two of you through the streets of Medellín towards Carrillo’s address. It was a Friday–exactly a week from when Carrillo had overheard you talking to Steve, and you were completely floored at how your life had changed that fast. You didn’t regret anything though, not one bit.

You were nervous though. Having one of these men was enough to make you swoon, but both? You weren’t sure what was going to happen. All you knew is that it would be a fantastic night. You just hoped that you could keep up.

A hand on your knee brought you back to the present, and you glanced over to see that Javier was eyeing you out of the corner of his eye as he drove.

“Relax, cariño,” he ordered, “It’s just us.”

You laughed.

“I know, that’s what I’m worried about,” you said, jokingly. But Javier wasn’t having it.

“Why would that make you nervous?” he asked, turning to face you when you had stopped for a red light.

“You two are my friends and colleagues,” you stated, “I don’t–want to disappoint you. Especially since we will have to go back to work after the weekend.”

Javier shook his head and pressed down harder on the accelerator, hoping that if he got you to Carrillo’s place faster, you’d stop your fatalistic thoughts.

“None of that,” he grumbled, shutting down your line of thinking as quickly as he could, “What happens between us tonight stays between us. That’s it. No pressure or expectations. Just enjoy yourself, okay?”

You nodded, not quite trusting yourself to speak. And thankfully, you didn’t have to say anything because you and Javier finally pulled up in front of Carrillo’s house. It was a much larger property than you had expected, with a beautifully-kept lawn and a mango tree just at the front of the house. It was a stunning place to live, and the thought that Carrillo had been staying there alone, with nobody to share it with, for the past several months just left you heartbroken.

Well. That was likely about to change tonight.

“You’re still sure, cariño?” Javier asked, taking your hand in his and staring at your knuckles, “If you’ve changed your mind, I can drive you back now. No questions asked.”

You shook your head.

“I’m completely sure, Javi. Don’t worry,” you assured him, and Javier nodded.

“Bueno,” he mumbled, “Let’s go.” And with that, the two of you walked up the path to Carrillo’s front door and rang the bell. Carrillo answered almost immediately, face relaxing at the sight of you.

“I hope you didn’t have too much trouble finding the place,” he greeted, stepping back to allow the two of you to enter his house.

“I have some wine if you would like,” Carrillo suggested, leading you and Javier into the kitchen after the two of you had kicked off your shoes.

Carrillo walked straight to the fridge and took out what appeared to be a pretty expensive brand of wine, but neither you nor Javier said anything in regards to it. Instead, you both sat down and exchanged a series of fugitive glances at each other.

You thought you needed the wine, the bitter, strong taste of alcohol to run through your veins in order to be able to process the moment in its entirety. But suddenly, as you glared at both Javier and Carrillo, there was no need for anything else. No liquid distraction to be drunk beforehand, no ridiculous and meaningless pleasantries or comfort words. You knew those men. You trusted them with your life every day when you went out there on the streets, and you trusted them just as much now. Their mere presence was sufficient to relax you and ease the tension, although you thought they would both agree that the tension was thicker than you could’ve imagined.

“I trust you both, and I care about you both, so damn much.”

It came out of the blue; you weren’t even sure you thought about it in your mind, and yet you said it nonetheless, standing up. Both of them seemed a little surprised by your impromptu confession, but patiently waited for your continuation, if there was any to begin with.

“What I mean is… why make this harder on ourselves? Why bother with small talk and awkward conversations when we can just… do it, enjoy the night?”

Javier was the first one who smirked. And of course he would, he was probably used to a lot of those moments, or similar ones, and had almost no issue baring it all, you thought. You swore, for a brief, almost too rushed moment, that you saw Carrillo hesitate with saying something and averting his eyes from both you and Javier, but you brushed it off. Instead, he looked tall and mighty at you, as his official position required, and smiled gallantly at you.

“You are the one in charge tonight,” he told you.

Simple, yet effective.

From the moment you heard that sentence, it did something to your ego. It gave you an unexpected boost of confidence, it sparked a desire, a flame so bright and hot you wouldn’t have believed it to be true in any other situation.

You took a few steps closer to Carrillo, all the while having Javier watch the scene unfold from the kitchen entrance. He stood up when you did, out of some long-forgotten courtesy that he didn’t used to care about anymore, and he just knew where it was all headed. He recognized the look in your eyes, the longing on your face. He knew what it meant, how much it must’ve consumed you, and he felt oddly enticed and captivated by it.

Just as swiftly as the night began, Carrillo’s hands rested on your waist while he kissed you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he only brought you closer to him; his lips tasted surprisingly sweet, with just a faint tint of nicotine. Your chest was pressed against his, warm clothed skin found yours and you shivered against him. His hands gripped your waist as if saying farewell to them and he slid them up your body. You could feel Peña’s eyes fixed in your bodies, staring at the scene, and when the Colonel broke the kiss to nibble at your neck, you opened your eyes to see him next to you; half-lidded brown deep eyes, an opened bottle of wine in one hand and his lower lip in the other. Your skin was burning, and you had barely been touched.

You smiled at him when Carrillo took your jacket off, Peña smirked and took a sip of wine directly from the bottle, careless about any pleasantries.

Carrillo’s wet tongue latched softly at your pulse point and ripped a low moan out of you, you closed your eyes again when his hands gripped your ass over the fabric of your jeans.

“Colonel, please,” you muttered, sighing as you felt his large hands had fun with your flesh and grip it after hearing the way you called him.

“Words, querida” he just replied, putting some distance between your wet skin and his lips.

“More,” you bit your lip, Carrillo smirked at you and you noticed the way his eyes darkened with desire in front of you. He turned to look at Javier, who was still standing at the kitchen entrance, palming his erection over his jeans.

“Bring that,” Carrillo said, pointing at the bottle, then slid his hand from your ass to the small of your back and guided you towards the staircase.

Between your hazed eyes and the cloud of lust that had begun to invade your mind you looked around Carrillo’s space and wondered how a man like him could live in a place that big. You smiled to yourself when he put his hand on the small of your back and soon enough Peña caught up to you, you felt his ever so imposing presence behind you.

Carrillo opened the door to the bedroom and pushed you softly inside.

You didn’t even have time to take your surroundings in when you felt a pair of warm hands find your hips and a set of lips grazing at your earlobe. Your eyes closed by themselves and the sweet, strong smell of Javier’s cologne invaded your nostrils as he pulled your back flush against his chest.

“Sh–shit,” you let out, half a whisper, half a moan, when you felt Carrillo’s hands roam around your waist.

You were losing yourself between the touch of the two of them, you shivered when Carrillo cupped your breast as Javier nibbled at the skin of your neck, from behind, you tilted your head to the side to give him more room to do whatever–the–fuck he pleased with your neck.

“Mírate, chiquita,” Carrillo whispered, you felt his breath on your lips and when you re-opened your eyes you saw him inches away from your face “you’re already wrecked.”

You felt Javier chuckling against your flushed skin, and you bit your lower lip, bringing a hand to the Colonel’s nape to pull him closer and kiss him again.

One of Javier’s hands found itself under your shirt, his mouth was moving and his other hand pulled softly at your shirt over your shoulder to find more skin to lick and kiss. Carrillo found the hem of your shirt and broke the kiss to look at you, as if asking for permission and reassurance that you wanted what he wanted. Javier watched the silent exchange and smirked against the skin of your shoulder, he gave it a last brush of his mustache and a last kiss before you nodded to the Colonel and he helped you out of the garment.

Carrillo smiled to himself when he saw what you’ve been hiding under it, a black, only-lace bra that showed the shade of your nipples, you bit your lip again when you took in his disheveled figure, his notorious erection under his military green pants that made the pool between your legs grow.

“How are you this fucking beautiful?” Javier muttered behind you, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses behind your ear to your nape.

Your breath hitched when Carrillo kneeled in front of you and you felt your chest heaving with desire when his large fingers dextrely unbuttoned your jeans and his thumbs hooked on the hem. He looked at you again and you nodded for a second time. Javier looked over your shoulder at the Colonel slowly sliding your jeans off your hips then your legs and he left his hands roam around the now naked skin of your torso. Your hands landed on the back of his head, and he took the hint, attacking the skin of your neck once again.

Carrillo threw your jeans away once he helped you out of them and you moaned loudly when his lips grazed against your knee. One of your hands dropped to grab Carrillo’s head as his trail of kisses moved up, up, up until he reached the soft skin where your thigh and your hip joined. You were sure he could smell your arousal, you were sure he could feel it at that point and you didn’t care, for once you let yourself only feel and let all thought out of your mind while you felt two mouths, two men, take care of you.

There was no hesitation from Javier’s side as his fingers gently grazed up your spine, expertly unclasping your bra, taking in the image of the straps loosening on your smooth skin. He was damn near panting at the mere sight, but he had to remind himself that that was only the tip of the iceberg. The moans you were letting escape your mouth as Carrillo pressed gentle kisses on your inner thighs aided him in no way. He felt himself get harder and harder and fought off raging instincts to turn that moment into another one of his one-night stands.

Javier made sure he tasted your skin while he took the straps from both sides between his fingers and slid them off your shoulders, he felt you shivering under his hands and over Horacio’s mouth and you could feel the smirk on your skin, once the bra came off, Javier took your chin and moved your head to face him, he pressed his mouth on yours, his tongue hungry for your scent, invading your cavities and feeling your warmth rush through his body with the speed of light. Everything about your scent was intoxicating and consuming, and ever so addicting that he could barely find it in himself to stop.

But then his calloused hands found your breasts and oh–oh, shit.

That first squeeze, tantalizingly slow and powerful, took you out completely. You gasped, and you weren’t sure if it was Horacio’s warm breath in between your legs or Javier fondling your breasts, but you embraced the overwhelming effect both had on you. Javier squeezed again, and moved around to locate the sweet torture of his mouth onto your nipples, taking one in his mouth whilst his thumb moved over the other one, twisting it in between his fingers as he nibbled at your skin. His tongue left a glistening trail as he peppered kisses in between your breasts, moving up your sternum, collarbones and neck and focusing on one particular spot that seemed to drive you wild. So much so that you reached behind your back to grab a handful of his hair, pull him in closer however you could.

“Lay her down, Peña,” Carrillo cooed, and the man followed suit.

You saw the Colonel untuck his shirt and take it off while Javier kneeled on the bed and helped you lay down on it, the softness of the sheets embraced you and the coldness made you whimper softly.

It was a premiere for him to witness Javier Peña, of all people, being so submissive and attentive, but he had other matters to focus on at the moment. His mouth left your already glistening and plump lips to grab the bottle of wine, your eyes followed him as you felt Carrillo’s hands spread your legs open and kiss the inside of your legs again, Javier came back to the bed and kneeled next to you, his hand gripping the bottle and the other cupping your face, he smiled softly at you and took a sip from the bottle; you moaned when Carrillo’s hands worked to get you out of your lace panties and Javier leaned down to you, the hand that cupped your face moved to your chin and he opened your mouth with his thumb, letting the wine pour from his mouth to yours, the wine was warm and it tasted sweet, when you closed your mouth and swallowed, Javier’s thumb grazed your lips and you heard a hard pant next to you, you turned to see Carrillo’s lusted face, you gave him a soft smile and he all but threw himself to you, kissing your mound, you moaned again and Javier leaned back, bringing the chilled bottle closer to your body, letting the tip of it graze against your warm skin, between the cold sensation and Carrillo’s lips tasting you, you were about to scream, Javier looked at you, smirked and pour some of the wine all over your breasts and abdomen, immediately reaching down on your again to lick the liquid off. A bit of the wine had traveled down your abdomen to your lower belly and found its way into Carrillos mouth, the feeling of the cold wine and their tongues made you growl. You had two pairs of equally sinful and skilled lips teasing and licking deliciously well over your exposed skin, and you had half of mind to grab either one of them and get to business. You couldn’t recall the last time you felt so aroused, but it was all a masterful torture and all for a good time. If anyone else was allowed to have their downtime, why shouldn’t you?

It was somewhat futile to even attempt to please either one of the men in return; their own pleasure seemed to be revolving around yours and they were both doing such an incredible job out of it that you had a hard time trying to keep track of where did the waves of pleasure come from anymore. It was all one big tsunami of feelings, from overstimulation to lust and appreciation and love in some form.

Carrillo continued his ministrations while Javier licked the remains of the wine from your body, his tongue traveled to your sternum and he took a nipple on his mouth ever so briefly, then he stood up and quickly undressed, not bothering to be cool about it, he just threw his clothes to the floor while he looked at Horacio have the time of his life between your legs, you let out soft moans and whispers and while Javier took off his jeans he saw your hand grip Carrillo’s hair as your hips hatched against the Colonel’s face. You felt his tongue flicking your clit and he pushed a thick finger inside you, curling it around, building you up and throwing you off the cliff with the same force he had put you there. You came on his mouth with his name on yours.

As you laid on the bed, legs spread for Carrillo as he helped you ride off your orgasm, Javier kneeled back on the bed next to your face, his hand snaked its way around your neck, gently grabbing both sides and helping you take his erection in your mouth, which you were more than happy to do. You could tell he was somewhat tensed: he was doing his absolute best to control his motions and to keep it at a normal rhythm, but the more you involuntarily groaned as Carrillo began to glide his tongue across your slit once again, building up your second climax, the more Javier was slowly losing bits and pieces of himself. Within seconds, you could just tell you weren’t gonna last long, but neither would Javier as he picked up the face and jerked his hips forward more and more, thus obliging you to take more of him in. You couldn’t explain it, nor find any logic behind the action itself, but you swore you felt his release in Javier’s impatient thrusts and, sure enough, mere seconds later, he finally came, grunting as ropes of his seed dripped down your jaw.

Your moans returned when Carrillo added two fingers to his mouthy torture over your clit, and you felt like you could explode. Not long after that all-too familiar gut feeling, that almost persistent desire to burn, you came for a second time, eager to jerk your hips forward and meet as much as you could of Carrillo’s tongue, but this time, the man’s grip over your thighs was impossible to break. He held you in place ever so expertly and ate you out like you were his favorite five course meal, soaking up every ounce of juice that you provided him with.

You temporarily lost feeling in your arms as you tried to raise them to make at least Javier pay attention, but words also failed to leave your abused mouth.

“Que buena chica,” Carrillo said from somewhere down below. (What a good girl.)

Your brain didn’t register what he said properly. All you could feel was a fire so intense, so vivid, you nearly saw stars. And something told you that was only the beginning.

And you were proven right.

In the momentary lack of physical touch, you thought about the moment itself, having two of the strongest, most desirable men eager to please you–simultaneously, might you add–and the more you thought about it, the more it threw you off completely. Why? You weren’t really sure. Perhaps it was the idea in the back of your mind that you wouldn’t have thought yourself capable of that. Or them, really. The activity hadn’t been exactly on your to-do list over the past few years and yet now, you couldn’t have thought of a better way to figure out your feelings for them, and to spare time.

The freshly acquired ecstasy was not only enthralling, but efficient as well.

After your second orgasm at Horacio’s ministrations you saw him between your lusted, narrowed eyes, undress completely, Javier was next to you, trailing his fingers up and down your wet torso–wet with wine and his saliva, what a fucking thought– while the both of you saw Carrillo take the remains of his clothes off and took in his lean figure, Javier smirked when he saw him whole and thought to himself the things he would do to the man if he had the time.

Javier wrapped his arms around your waist and helped you roll over to the side to face him, licking his bottom lip in the process and made sure you watched as he did so. He had been eyeing you up and down the entire day, whether clothed or not, and every glance he threw you, ever so dark and desirable, filled with subtext and desire, made you weaker and weaker, just like Carrillo’s touches were.

You reached his face and took his lips in yours, his tongue slid inside your mouth and as he explored the insides and his hand grabbed fistfuls of your ass, you felt the bed shifting behind you, and another hand snaked from behind and found your breast, you were being pressed against and between two bodies and the wam of them was driving you insane, when Carrillo’s fingers played with your nipple you bucked your hips forward and you felt Javier’s erection graze at your lower belly. Javier moved his hand from your ass to your thigh and then he let it slide to your pussy, you bucked your hips backwards and you felt Carrillo’s erection graze at your ass.

“How are you still this wet, bonita?” Javier asked, while his fingers found themselves between your lips.

“Don’t you know the answer by now, Javi?” you muttered, feeling the way Carrillo’s mouth found your shoulders.

You glanced at him and Carrillo the same way Javier looked at you and you understood in an instant why he always preferred to be that way. It was enticing, addicting and sinful, just the way he was.

And by the looks of it, Colonel Horacio Carrillo was no saint either.

“How do you want this to go, chiquita?” Horacio asked behind you as you moved your leg up to allow Javier’s fingers to find a way inside you.

You sighed. Why was he asking you that question when you weren’t even sure something like this would happen? For a brief, brief second you wanted to hide, just grab your clothes and hide. But you found yourself sandwiched between the men that you most desired and you just couldn’t waste this opportunity for the life of you.

So you rummaged around your deepest, filthiest fantasies you’ve had when everything had just been a sinful dream, a product of your lascive thoughts giving into what you catalogued as your darkest secrets and desires and you found one you couldn’t stop think about after it had given you a stars–behind–the–eyes orgasm.

“I want both,” you muttered, feeling the way both men groaned at your sides, “both inside me, please.”

“You sure?” Javier asked, pulling out his fingers from your cunt and looking at the way they glistened, you nodded.

“Words, chiquita,” Horacio said and you turned to see him, he leaned down and stole a short, deep kiss.

“I’m a hundred percent sure,” you murmured against the Colonel’s lips.

“Let’s get you ready, then,” Javier whispered on your neck and you sighed when his fingers slid back into your slit, you closed your eyes when Horacio played your nipples around his fingers and then his hand roamed down your body, finding their way to your pussy.

“Déjame entrar,” Horacio said under his breath, Javier stopped moving his fingers inside you and you squeezed your eyes tighter when Carrillo slid two more fingers inside your cunt.

“Fu–fuck, fuck,” you gasped, Javier let open mouthed kisses around your face and the skin of your neck within reach while your walls tightened around their thick fingers.

“You okay?” Javier asked and you nodded a few times before your body relaxed and got used to the intrusion.

“Mo–move,” you pleaded, feeling Horacio’s mouth nibbling at your shoulder and your neck.

Javier and Horacio moved their fingers at the same time inside you, looking at each other as if marking a dancing pace. You didn’t know what to do with yourself as they moved in and out and curled their fingers in all directions inside you, making you moan and whimper and open up more for them as they somehow found an identical pace to torture you with.

“Eso, eso nena, lo estás haciendo muy bien,” Carrillo praised behind you, feeling the way your walls were giving into the attention and dilating around their fingers (That’s it baby, you’re doing great)

“Más,” you pleaded, rolling your hips against their hands “Más, más,”

They grinned at each other, Javier’s eyes landed on your face and took in the way your features quirked in pure pleasure. Their fingers moving at the same time, pacing in and out faster. Javier’s mouth landed on your shoulder and Carrillo only took in the lewd noise his and Javier’s fingers were making as they pulled in and out at a murdering pace.

“Oh, sh–shit,” you bit your lip and tried to hide your face inside the crook of Javier’s neck but Horacio pulled you away with his other hand.

“We wanna hear you, querida.” he whispered behind your ear, you shivered again at the feeling of his warm breath and then it became too much, their fingers were covered in your arousal as you spread your legs impossibly wider as your throat began growling and your hands landed on both of them, digging your nails on their flesh. Javier hissed against your shoulder and Carrillo bit the skin of your mouth, both of them throwing you together from the cliff and your body spasmed between them.

“Oh my god, oh shit, fuck!” you screamed between their bodies and they slowed their pace to help you ride down your climax “please, please, fuck me, please,” you let out, almost desperately, eager to feel the same with them inside you. They slid their fingers out of you and you shivered again.

Your body was already a mess, after three powerful orgasms you were panting for air, the only thing you wanted was them inside you, you wanted to feel every ridge and every vein of them, you wanted; you needed to cum around them both.

“What is taking you so long?” you opened your eyes, quite frustrated at the lack of attention to your bodies, but the sight that you took in was otherworldly.

Carrillo had his fingers, his covered–in–your–arousal fingers inside Javier’s mouth.

“Fuck,” you let out, dropping your head on the mattress, looking at the way Javier grabbed Horacio’s wrist to keep his hand on his mouth and lick them clean of you while Horacio’s deep gaze took Javier in with a smirk adorning his face.

Horacio pulled his fingers out with a soft pop and they both looked at you, panting and brushing a nipple with your fingers.

“Next time you’ll have to put on a show for me,” you teased.

“You’re ready?” Javier asked, leaning down to kiss your temple, you looked at Carrillo and smiled at him as he licked his fingers.

“Very,” you replied, softly, your voice was already hoarse because of the moaning and screaming they had pulled out of you, they got comfortable on each of your side and you took a deep breath when Horacio lifted your leg and hooked it on his hip.

Javier was the first one to tease your entrance with the dripping head of his cock, when you felt it sliding up and down your slit you gasped and as he pushed himself inside you you grabbed his arm and licked any part of his skin available for you.

“Oh my god,” you cried out softly.

Javier was having a hard time staying still when your walls were warm and wet around him, his hands roamed around your body as Carrillo lined himself with you and him as well and then he pushed.

“Holy fucking shit,” you had close your eyes at the feeling of Horacio making his way inside of you, you breathed and panted and tried so hard to relaxe but they were thicker than their fingers and your pussy was clenching already around them. Javier took your hand and you squeezed his as both of them bottomed up inside you.

Horacio put his hands over the entanglement of yours and Javi’s and the three of you gasped and panted until your body stopped squirming between them and your walls stopped closing themselves at the feeling of two thick cocks making their way inside.

Javier had to close his eyes as well when he felt how your cunt clenched him tight closer to Horacio and he felt himself throb inside you, when he opened his eyes he saw you, open mouthed gasps leaving your body as it got used to being that full, and then his eyes traveled to Horacio, that buried himself in the crook of your neck, he supposed he was feeling the same way as him, trapped in a oh–so–tight hole with him.

“Move, move, move,” you all but begged, the initial sting of being filled like that disappearing and being replaced with the darkest, deepest, hottest desire you had ever felt, “fu–fucking move already!”

Horacio smirked against the skin of your neck at your demand and moved slightly to look at Javier, who nodded once and then, murdering pleasure; Javier pulled out and as he was thrusting slowly back in, Horacio pulled out and moved in as Javier moved out and you gasped and the air in your lungs left you for the time being as your cunt was filled with the two men you wanted the most.

It was pleasure delivered in a delicious swing of two hips rocking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth into you, making you impossibly wetter, incredibly hornier, and way too lost in the haze to even care about anything else.

The way that they were fucking you was shameless, the noises were lewd and your moans invaded the room as soon as they picked up the pace and kept driving into you at the same pace but in different directions.

Four hands caressed your body, two sets of lips nibbled at your skin, two tongues tasted the salty sheet of sweat that had covered your body, two thick cocks used your body at their will, making you want to explode; it was an eager combination of feelings and sensations pulled out of the most sensual, lechery, degenerated dreams you could ever had.

“Harder, please, pleasepleaseplease,” you panted out, gripping any skin and limb your hands could find. Your hips started rolling and rolling and rolling with them as they thrusted and pounded inside you.

“Mierda,” Horacio gasped behind you, biting at your skin, making you whimper.

“You’re so fucking tight, so fu–fucking good, baby,” Javier cried out as your pussy clenched around them and you absentmindedly rolled your hips harder.

It was an entanglement of limbs and wet skin, mouths clashing against skin, hands gripping and grabbing available flesh, a swing of bodies and a symphony of licks, kisses, hums, gasps, pants, begs and praises.

“Shit, sh–shit,” you panted harder and clawed at Javier’s arm when you felt the well-familiar tug on your belly of an incoming orgasm, you hummed and moaned and you felt lips in your ear, licking and nibbling at your earlobe, “I’m so close, más,”

Javier gritted his teeth when you demanded more and angled his hips to pound inside harder, Horacio followed his lead, dropping his hand on Javier’s shoulder for leverage. Carrillo’s touch burned in Javier’s skin and he felt his body stiffen with the feeling of his second release.

“Por dios, querida, me estás matando.” Horacio cried out behind you, feeling as well his body falling from the cliff. (My god, you’re killing me)

Javier’s free hand slid through your wet, glistening skin and his finger circled your clit slowly, you screamed his name, your legs buckled and your entire body squirmed with the sea of sensations your body was feeling and flooding with.

“Cum inside me, please, please,” you panted again, feeling the way your legs started to shake as both of their thrust became erratic and Javier’s finger kept circling around your bundle of nerves you exploded around them, gushing out and soaking them as your orgasm made you scream both their names.

“Mierda, querida, mírate,” Horacio grunted before he gave into the lustfulness of it all and came inside you and around Javier.

Once Javi felt the warmness of Carrillo’s release and the way you soaked both of them and his hand, he locked his hips with yours and spilled himself inside as well, gasping out your name.

“Ohmyfuckinggod,” you let out as a sigh, feeling your legs tremble with the strength of your climax.

The three of you stayed like that, joined, for a while. As your bodies relaxed you finally opened your eyes and saw the way Horacio’s hand was resting on Javier’s shoulder, wrapping you as well between them. Both of them breathing heavily, eyes closed, recovering from whatever the hell you had done was called. You sighed and smiled to yourself. If it weren’t for the four orgasms you had and the way your cunt was throbbing after the abuse and dripping with their seed, you wouldn’t believe it was real at all.

“How was that, cariño?” Javier asked, grazing a hand up and down your arm.

“That was–magnificent,” you gushed, not sure how else to describe that positively euphoric experience, “I think–you two have worn me out.”

Horacio chuckled and moved your head to press a kiss to your forehead, and shifted to allow all three of you to lie somewhat comfortably under the covers. You whined when they pulled out of you, solely because at the loss of them, you felt empty.

“Rest now, querida, we’ll be here in the morning,” he whispered into your hair, and that was all the permission you needed.

“We should–” you brought a hand to your mouth to cover a massive yawn, “–do this again sometime.”

After that, it didn’t take long before you had succumbed to the tempting pull of sleep. Horacio sighed and glanced over your shoulder at Javier, who looked rather worn out himself. Tenderly, Horacio reached over and brushed aside a small strand of hair that had fallen in Javi’s face.

“So, same time next week, then?” Horacio asked, giving Javier a lazy smirk, which was returned in kind.

“Yeah,” Javier mumbled, turning over to drape his arm around your way and bury his face in your neck.

“Absolutely.”

let me know if you wanna be removed :)

pedrito's perma list: @northernpunk​ @pascalesque @sleep-tight1​ @cheekygeek05​ @bii-aan-ckaa​ @letaliabane​ @supernaturalgirl​ @metalarmsandmanbuns​ @asta-lily​ @alliterative-albatross​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @missswriter​ @juletheghoul​ @pedro-pastel​ @agirllovespancakes​ @charlispersonallyhell​ @hopeevenonthisside​ @sherala007​ @magpie-to-the-morning​

dick aneurysm: @starlightmornings​ @mouthymandalorianalso​ @purplepascal042​ @maharani-radha @pascalslittlebrat​ @mothandpidgeon​ @wyn-dixie​ @empress-palpat1ne​ @charnelhouse​

Javi's babies: @pulplorrd​

Priya’s permanent taglist: @captn-andor @cap-n-stuff-main @sarahjkl82-blog @banga-sama​ @revolution-starter​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @velia27 @cynic-spirit​ @leonieb​ @bootyliciousbilbo​ @panagiasikelia​ @mcrmarvelloki​ @stanfordscrush​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @salome-c​ @rosiefridayrogersunday​ @princess76179​

Priya’s Javi taglist: @brujademente​ @walt-breslin @rubeskar​

Priya’s Carrillo taglist: @melaniecraig80​ @tropes-and-tales​

[themangolorian]

look how long this love can hold its breath

Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

pairing: javier peña x reader

summary: (slow burn/fake married) When Pablo Escobar escalates his war on Colombian law enforcement, the DEA is getting desperate to pin down his location. Reader is forced to go undercover with another agent, one she can’t stand, Javier Peña. Worst of all, she’ll have to try to infiltrate the Cali Cartel while pretending to be Peña’s wife.

warnings: mild language

a/n: i know it’s a generally overdone trope but i couldn’t resist doing my own version of fake married Javi with a pretty antagonistic reader. hope you all enjoy!

You’d been assigned to an undercover assignment of sorts. You were infiltrating the Cali Cartel. Sort of. The mission was simply to gain inside information on Escobar’s whereabouts. To finally bring that hijoeputa down.

The only problem was your assigned partner.

Javier fucking Peña.

You’d never worked with him, but you knew his reputation as a womanizer. His machismo. And, worst of all, he was an American.

You’d encountered him briefly on separate occasions in the briefing room and each time he’d rubbed you the wrong way. He had a habit of talking over you and every other woman in the unit. Well, honestly, him and his partner Murphy liked to talk over everyone but- to put it plainly, you didn’t like Javier Peña.

“What’s the plan?” You asked in your typical no-nonsense way as you joined him and Murphy in the briefing room.

Incredibly, the up aboves had put these two pendejos in charge of the operation.

“Hola amor,” Peña lilted at you with a smirk from his seat across from you, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

You glared at him. “What the fu-.”

“You’re married.” Murphy tossed the manila envelope on the table in your direction, interrupting your outburst.

He knew you and Peña got on each others’ nerves. This was his way of avoiding the inevitable bickering. It was a shitty way of doing so though.

You cursed under your breath as you fell into a chair and swept the envelope open.

The other two were quiet as your eyes scanned the documents.

“Fuck no.” You pushed the papers containing your’s and Peña’s aliases back at them.

Señor y Señora Villalobos. Dealers disguised as diamond salespeople. Married. To each other.

“Told you.” Peña told Murphy, his tone all-knowing.

“Cállate,” you snarled at Peña.

“You first,” he glared back.

“Hey,” Murphy exclaimed. He rested the tip of his index finger on the files and glared at you both now.

“This isn’t a request. These are orders.” He rubbed at his mustache and this time directed his gaze at you. “You either follow the mission or find another job.”

You glared from him to Peña who didn’t meet your gaze, too busy staring at a point on the table.

You threw your hands up in defeat, reached across and snatched the folder then huffed out of the room, muttering all the while. “Estos tontos Americanos vienen a mi país y piensen que tengo miedo de ellos, malparidos...”

Murphy looked from your retreating figure to Peña who was watching you walk away with amusement in his eyes. “What was that? What did she say?”

“She’ll do it,” Peña said, smirking. He stood and picked up his own file. “And learn Spanish while I’m gone, cabrón.”

Peña rapped Steve on the arm with the file affectionately and then he was gone.

Steve rubbed his face again, tiredly, worried that given the short fuses of both you and Peña, the DEA was making a huge mistake.

*****

“¡Apúúúúúúrateeee!” You dragged the word out, tapping your foot impatiently against the brake.

You were in an agency assigned car waiting around the corner from Peña’s flat for the pendejo to come outside so you could start the long drive to Cali.

Finally.

He threw his bag into the backseat then slid onto the passenger’s seat.

“Amor,” he greeted you with a sardonic smile as he slipped his sunglasses on.

“¿Y por qué tardaste tanto?” You ignored the stupid nickname he was no doubt using to taunt you in order to ask him what had taken him so long.

“I couldn’t find the rings.” He held up a shiny golden wedding band, and you saw a matching one already around his own finger.

For a beat you merely glared at the ring as if all of this was its fault, then you were taking it and roughly sliding it onto your own finger.

“Careful,” Peña said as he inclined his seat so he could sleep. “Keep being so charming and all the narcos are going to want to marry you.”

You revved the engine and took off jerkily, turning the volume of the radio up to drown him out.

The trip was a long one. You both took turns driving. Peña kept turning down the radio while you drove so he could sleep, and you kept changing the station while he was driving. You argued over where to eat and what temperature to keep the air at or whether to open the windows.

“We’re supposed to be married, not divorced,” he’d quipped at you once while he was driving after you’d knocked his hand out of the way of your water bottle as you reached for it.

You turned the heater up then, knowing it would bother him, even though you were already sweltering. He left it though, too stubborn to engage you at your game.

Until you opened your window. Then he was slamming the shut off button for the heater.

You glared at him...then- A mansion outside his window caught your eye. You watched it whiz past.

“What?” He slowed and turned the radio volume down.

“You passed it.” You sat back in your seat. “Coño.” You muttered under your breath.

He pulled the car over. When he let the car idle instead of turning around, you looked at him to see him already watching you, sunglasses off.

“What?”

“This is it. One wrong move and we’re both dead.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. You glared fiercely his way. “Are you reminding me how to do my job, Peña?”

He sighed. “Just- I know we don’t get along, but this weekend, we don’t have a choice.”

You rolled your eyes. “Look just because you swooped in from the grand US of A to save all us heathens,” you fluttered your hands mockingly, “doesn’t mean I need you to remind me of my job. I’ve been doing this for longer. If anyone in this car understands what’s at stake, it’s me.” You finished, angry.

“That why you hate me so much?” He asked thoughtfully in a tone so soft you had to look at his face to discern his intent for asking.

He wasn’t glaring anymore. If anything, he seemed curious.

“I don’t hate you,” you muttered but your tone belied your words.

He chuckled. “That’s a good start.” He started turning the car around. “Amor.” He added and suddenly you were fuming again.

*****

The introductions with the narcos and their wives went well enough, better even than you’d hoped. They accepted you as one of their own. It wasn’t hard for you to fit in, you were Colombiana to the bone. Peña on the other hand… But he’d sold it well. Almost too well. This had been your first opportunity at seeing how much he’d picked up during his time in Colombia so far. And it seemed like he’d picked up a lot.

Peña hadn’t been wrong when he’d indicated some of the narcos would take an interest in you. They greeted you both warmly, but their hands enveloped yours tightly and their eyes lingered just a moment too long. You thought Peña must have noticed too, and surely he worried that allowing such blatant flirting would endanger your cover.

That must have been why you suddenly felt his arm encircling your bare shoulders. You tried not to tense in surprise, so much so that you let yourself relax against him in a natural manner. He continued the pretense, kissing your forehead as he made a joke with the narcos about keeping the wife happy.

Inside, though, you were having a crisis and you hoped the look on your face was one caught between amused and loving. A shock had gone through you when Peña’s lips had met your skin. His act was so convincing; how was he so good at this?

You thought back to the first stop you’d made earlier on in the car drive. When you’d gotten out of the car, Peña had whistled softly upon seeing your sundress, warming your cheeks and angering you simultaneously. But he’d said nothing else. And you’d thought on it during the ensuing drive. Normally you wore suits to the office, pants and skirts, but suits all the same. And you’d made a point of never going out with Peña or Murphy. So he’d never seen you in anything else. Against your will, you wondered what the whistle had meant. Not that you cared, but you didn’t need to add one more thing to the long list of things you already had to think about.

You smothered the thoughts. They were distracting and unnecessary and right now you were lucky that Peña was so good at this because he was carrying you both.

As you trailed the narcos out back to sit and have drinks by the pool, you slipped your arm around his waist, needing to carry your weight in the farce and not wanting to have to hear later from Peña about what you should have done.

“Así,” you heard him murmur approvingly.

You dug your nails into his side and heard him grunt in pain.

Your smile then at the wife of one of the narcos holding out a drink for you was genuine.

You spent an hour bantering back and forth with the other couples.

If you didn’t know any better, you would think Peña was happily married in his private life. He played the part perfectly.

As you were both sitting at the poolside table, he would reach over absently and take your fingers in his. The first time a jolt went through you again. But you took the cue. You alternated touches. You would rest your hand on his thigh. You swore he jumped the first time you did that, but he hid it well. He took long draws from your glass. Once he even fed you an olive. If you didn’t know any better, he was enjoying torturing you. He knew you hated olives. But the gesture drew laughs from the men and awwws from the women. It was then you noticed how they were swooning over Peña. It upset you only because you realized that if the pinche idioto was in the position to do it, he’d sleep with all their wives.

Finally and blessedly, your hosts suggested that you two retire to your room before dinner. Peña was to join the other men in Pacho’s office just before dinner for a discussion. You assumed that was when any useful information would be recovered. You realized then that you were here more for decoration than anything.

You fumed as you let Peña lead you by the hand up the mansion’s grand staircase. You both followed the housekeeper who led you to your room.

You dropped Peña’s hand the second the door closed behind you. He gave you a look but then the two of you were scouring the room, searching for any hidden recording devices. You shook your head at him, but he put his finger to his lips and tilted his head toward the bathroom. You raised your hands questioningly but followed him all the same.

He was reaching into the shower and turning it on full blast.

“¿Qué haces?” You hissed at his ear, having to get close to be heard.

“We don’t know for sure it’s clear. We only talk freely like this.” He murmured into your ear, his breath tickling your skin. You shivered involuntarily at the sensation.

You both established that your cover had been bought. And what most likely awaited him at the meeting. You left him to take a shower and went to lounge on the bed.

Several minutes later, the door to the bathroom opened releasing a wall of steam and-

You sat up, glaring, “What are you doing?”

Peña put a finger to his lips furiously. “Adonde está mi maleta, amor?” His sweet tone was a direct contradiction to the furrow in his brow. He shook his head at you, gesturing to his suitcase as if to ask how you expected him to get dressed without clothes.

“Allí, corazón.” You said for show, just in case, glaring at him as he took his time going through his bag to find an outfit. Your eyes tried not to linger on his bare skin and the way water from the shower trickled down his toned back.

You averted your eyes when he turned back, but he was smiling as if he knew you’d been watching him, so you flipped over on the bed to face the other direction.

When Peña left the room with the sound of a fake kiss, you were too nervous to sit still. You had to get ready for dinner anyway. But you were anxious all the same. Your cover could be blown at any second. You stored a handgun under the bathroom sink before getting into the shower and kept an ear out for any strange noises. But nothing happened. You dressed and put your perfume and makeup on. Still Peña was absent. You slid a smaller gun into the holster on your inner thigh and went to join the other wives wherever they were.

They turned out to be in a bar off the kitchen. Luckily already tipsy and talkative. They handed you a drink, but you took only tiny sips as you engaged them in conversation. You struck gold when one of them brought up Tata, Escobar’s wife. They were gossiping over who had a better kitchen. You hung onto every word while providing input as shallowly as possible. Apparently your and Peña’s kitchen was inlaid with marble and dark hickory wood.

Nothing they said gave up the location of the Escobars though and the subject soon turned to jewelry, at which point the women fawned over the diamond necklace provided to you by the agency. Which was your cue to try to sell them diamonds.

Soon enough the staff came in to lead you all to the formal dining room where the men were waiting. They all stood but it was Peña’s face you were focused on.

His lips parted when he saw you and his brow smoothed over. His eyes traveled from yours down along your entire figure. You couldn’t help but get the slightest bit flustered. You avoided his gaze, but he was coming your way to take your hand and lead you over to the seat next to his. It was strange. Surrounded as you both were by actual enemies, it felt like you were the only two in the room. It confused you and irritated you, but you managed to catch your breath again once you were seated at the dinner table. You ignored Peña’s dark eyes on you and took a long sip from your wine glass, trying to focus on the mission at hand.

“Not too much,” you heard him whisper as you placed the wine glass back down.

And there he was.

Underneath the table, you adjusted your feet, “accidentally” stepping on his shoe with one sharp heel.

The curse he muttered in pain under his breath had you smiling as you dove into the conversation, ready to take on a room full of the people who had played the bad guys in your life for so long.

masterlist

[prettylilhalforc]

Hey friend! @disgruntledspacedad here. Saw you were looking for some prompts, and I’ve been in a Frankie sort of mood. How about an epic splash war in the pool? Bonus points if there’s a steamy kiss at the end. 😘👀

Lovely to meet you, btw. ❤️

Hullo glikaki mou! Pleasure to meet you too!

Absolutely love Needy, the pining is pure perfection.

Thank you so much for sending this through. Had an absolute blast writing this prompt!

Kudos to @lorecraft for her Santi works - Issues and Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

Couldn't help but tie this fic to that AU.

As always, would love to hear your feedback and feel free to send forth any corrections!

This is a massive fluff/slice of life piece that gets a little spicy at the end. Tried to make this as blank slate as possible.

Echoes of You

Summary: A slice of domestic bliss leaves Echo longing for our favourite soft boy.

Warnings: Language, Pregnancy, Inferred reference to past infertility, reference to divorce. Spicy messing about in the pool. Most likely M, please no minors (18+).

Length: 2.5ish k

The summer sun is hangs low in the sky.

In of spite this, it’s absolutely sweltering.

You swear that you’ve all but melted into the puddle on the veranda. The cool glass of your beer held against your temple in a desperate attempt to find some respite from the heat.

Yet it does nothing to abate the humidity, thick and heavy, clawing at your skin.

Whose brilliant idea was it to hold a barbeque right in the height of summer anyway?

Oh, that’s right.

That would be you. You’re the idiot. It was your stroke of genius to instigate annual Delta crew cookout at Santi’s new abode.

Claimed it was only fair as The Millers and yourself were holed up in apartments while Fish was out in the sticks.

Not that Santiago minded, you were practically family anyway.

Ever since basic, Pope was the closest thing to a big brother that you had. Both of you had stuck through training together, scouting skills pretty much on par. ‘Cept Santi was a little more trigger happy. You were far more methodical in your approach.

Or as he liked to call it, anal retentive.

Despite that, the crew had christened you Echo, because you were always the first to follow Pope's lead. There was no one else who you trusted with your life more.

Well, almost no one else.

Over the years, the seven of you had forged a friendship in the heat of combat. To this day the bonds remained as strong as ever.

Not in a million years would you have imagined that one Santiago ‘Can sleep through the middle of a fucking warzone’ Garcia would have found marital bliss smack bang in the middle of suburbia. Two story, five-bedroom Duplex complete with a manicured lawn, impressive backyard and pristine, glass fenced in ground pool.

Good to know Lorea’s money went to good use.

What was equally astounding was the fact that Pope could now be found in said backyard with a ridiculously cheesy “kiss the chef” apron trying to start the BBQ while wrangling a tyke.

His tyke.

Who was currently running rings around his father.

The kid is the spitting image of Santi. Complete with wild locks and trademark devil may care grin. And all the mischief of his mother. No wonder the guy has more salt than pepper in those curls these days.

‘Suppose it’s payback for all the reckless shit that he’s pulled out in the field over the years.

“¡Fu-Marcus, no toques eso! It’s hot! See? Ouch!” Santiago snatches out, reflexes still lightening quick, stopping the kid from touching the gas cylinder.

Big, brown eyes begin to well. A wail shortly follows.

“I’m sorry mijo but you gotta go inside, Dad’s trying to cook dinner. Ve con tu Madre.“ , Santi grouses, trying to wrestle the now tantruming toddler inside while keeping an eye on the grill at the same time. In all the years you’ve known Pope, you’ve never seen him this exasperated.

Hard to imagine that 4 years ago things went to hell in Colombia.

” Lucky, hermosa! Can you please come and grab your son before I set my damn beard on fire?!”.

A voice bellows dramatically from the kitchen, “Oh no Pope, not the beard! What am I going to hang on to for dear life now?!”

You try to smother a snort while taking a pull from your beer. You fail.

God love that woman. Lucky was the only one nuts enough to put up with Santi’s moody ass. Her explosive energy had managed to break through that thick skull. That and her endless patience. Or was it sheer stubbornness? Whatever it was, the pair of them were just as crazy as and for one another. And ever since the brawl in Botoga, they weren’t exactly quiet about their affection.

Poor neighbours ain’t gonna know what hit ‘em now the Garcia’s were in town.

“Christ, Luck, yell it out for the whole street to hear, why don’t you?”, he hollers back, unable to completely suppress the grin creeping across his face.

“Kinda got my hands full in here guapo. Echo, can you bring me my little hurricane and give us a hand?”, she calls out from the kitchen bay window.

“On it, Luck!” you groan out, skin peeling from the warm plastic as you heft yourself up.

In three strides you reach your de-facto nephew. Swooping your hands around Marcus’ tiny torso, you heft the kid up high and set him on your shoulders.

He shrieks and squeals in glee, small hands clutching fistfuls of hair, trying to find purchase. Damn the tyke has a strong grip. You wince while Pope barks out a laugh.

“Know what that is, Echo? K-A-R-M-A. Karma.”, he smiles wryly, waving the spatula at the pair of you.

Hitching Marcus securely on your shoulders, you stick your tongue out and very maturely blow a raspberry. Marcus follows suit.

“Come on Marky, there an ice block in fridge with your name on it”, you chime tapping the toddler’s nose, the Garcia’s bundle of mayhem now perched on your hip. Santi shakes his head and chuckles

“Thanks Echo.”, he states warmly, pulling you into a one-armed hug before turning his attention back to the barbeque.

Stepping through the glass sliding door, a sigh of relief escapes you, practically moaning at the blessedly cool A/C. There’s another sight that you’d wouldn’t have thought possible. Lucky, barefoot and 6 months along, in the midst of a massive kitchen. Complete with black marble countertops and island bench.

“Almost better than sex, hey Ek?”, she shoots her trademark smirk.

You scoff as you begin to rummage through the freezer, “Wouldn’t know Luck. Last time I got laid was… shit, I can’t even remember. We all can’t be as fortunate as you.”, gesturing to her condition.

She throws her head back and cackles, roughly chopping ,“Well, there’s a certain someone coming tonight that I’m sure would gladly remedy that… situation.” Voice dropping an octave.

“As if El! After everything he’s been through with the divorce and custody for Bella, that’s gotta be the last thing on his mind right now. Doesn’t need this mess on top of all that.” You shoot back, hand blindly grasping for the promised treat.

While Santi may be as good as your brother, Lucky was your partner in crime. The two of you rose hell while on tour. Not a soul was safe from your antics. Got you both into trouble more times than you could count on both your fingers and toes.

Late nights on the Registan. Sand whipped and half frozen. Drunkenly confiding in one another your hopes, dreams, and deepest desires. Both pining after men who you couldn’t have. Something the pair of you swore to take to your graves. War left little room for romance.

Just like Lucky to have the actual balls to act on her feelings, though.

Rolling her eyes, Lucky just clucks her tongue, stepping away from the kitchen counter. Hands now braced on her lower back she huffs., “It’s been over two years ago, Echo, cut the bullshit.”

Refusing to meet her eyes, you peel the wax paper open. A devious grin spreads across your face while handing Marcus the ice block. Bright red, sticky gloss smears across his chubby cheeks.

Good luck trying to get the kid down tonight.

“So, when’s the rest of the crew going to get here? I’m starving!”, you groan, stomach growling in agreement.

Right on cue, the doorbell chimes, Lucky waggles her eyebrows, “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” She holds out her arms, making a grabbing motion towards Marcus,” Swap ya? Mind taking over kitchen duty while I greet the rabble with this one?”

Palming the tyke off to his mother you can’t help but smile at the pure domesticity of it all. Well earned after decades of violence and adrenaline. Pulling at your heartstrings a small, selfish part of you yearns for the same.

It’s bittersweet.

Lost in your own thoughts, you’re caught unawares, encased in a bone crushing bear hug. You yelp as you’re lifted you off the ground, dropping the colander full of pasta in the sink.

“Ekkie! Long-time no see!”. Benny cries out.

“Yield, I yield!”, you squeak attempting to wriggle from his iron grip.

“Jesus, Benny, put Echo down! You saw her last Tuesday night, moron.”, the taller blond chuckles, yanking his younger sibling off you before bringing you in for a gentler hug.

There he is.

Francisco Morales. Catfish. Frankie.

While life may not have been kind to him over the past couple of years, it certainly didn’t show. The man looked healthier than ever. Silver streaks through the patchwork scruff of his beard. Mussed brown locks covered by that trademark cap.

And the sweetest fucking smile.

“What? No love for me, Echo?” Frankie playfully quips, arms folded across the broad expanse of his chest.

Those warm, mocha eyes that never fail to leave you breathless. You could get lost in them for hours. Tonight, there’s an unusual intensity behind them that shoots right down to your very core.

God, even after all these years he still made you weak at the knees.

Smiling softly, you playfully shove his side before embracing him for slightly long than necessary. As his strong arms wrap around you, tightening for just a fraction of a second. Cedar, bay rum and leather. It takes all your will power not to bury your nose in the crook of his neck and trace your lips up the column of his throat.

“No Bella?” , you ask.

“Nah, she with Nance tonight. It’s her cousin’s wedding and Isabelle is on flower girl duty.”, chest practically puffing with pride as he pulls away.

There it is, that thousand megawatt smile never fails to make you melt.

Santi hollers from the veranda, “Chow’s ready, lets go!”

All of you groan in unison. You can take the man out of the army, but you can’t take the army out of the man.

The four of you move with military precision, falling into the familiar ritual. Will’s got the glassware, Benny has the drinks while Frankie and yourself cart the fare to the table.

Dinner is an easy affair. Conversation flows easily. Benny providing a blow-by-blow commentary of his last bout for the four hundredth time, despite that all parties at the table were present. Lucky laments the sheer highway robbery of current HOA rates. Santi is absolutely besotted by his son, proudly flicking through his camera album.

Silent as usual, Will happy just to sit and bask in the atmosphere.

Catching up after what feels like an age you’re practically glued to Frankie’s side. He’s settled in his new digs and started at a mechanics not 5 clicks away from home. The place is a fixer upper, given him plenty to do on his off weeks. Isabella is thriving at school and he finally managed to get his licence back.

The two of you are so wound up in conversation, that you miss the knowing look the rest of the group share and Benny’s shit-eating grin.

By 7 pm, Marcus starts to grizzle, poor little guy fighting hard to stay awake and remain with the excitement.

“Come on mijo, lets get you to bed.”, Lucky coos, gently cradling the toddler in her arms, humming softly to soothe the babe. It’s plain to see how smitten Pope is in that moment.

Pure adoration written plain as day across his face.

Rightfully so, neither one of them ever expected to have one kid, let alone another on the way. It’s the least that they're owes them after everything life has thrown their way.

With Marcus soundly asleep, the party continues on.

Beers and baby monitors poolside.

Lucky abstains, choosing to dip her feet in the water, muttering something about being a beached whale with Pope copping a face full of water after proclaiming “But, honey, you’re my beached whale.”

Yawning almost obnoxiously loudly, she remarks loudly at how late it is. Lucky shoots you a glance. Now’s your chance, don’t fuck it up. It takes Pope a minute to cotton on before he follows suit.

Will retires shortly after, dragging Benny behind him grumbling about having to be up first thing for to prep for his next bout.

It’s near midnight and the two of you remain, sat under the stars, legs dangling in the tepid water.

Frankie has definitely filled out since sobriety. The man looks healthy. Not that you have been sneaking glances at him at every opportunity.

Tales soon turn to the hijinks from glory days gone by, both of you swapping combat training horror stories from your time in basic.

“- He just wouldn’t shut up about how all he wanted was for you to crush him between your thighs. Seriously, the guy was obsessed. Went on about it for a whole week before Pope threatened to neuter him. Can’t say I blame the guy, though. Would have been exactly the same if I were in his position.”.

“Francisco Morales!” you clutch at your chest in mock indignation, “How dare?!”

“What?! It’s true! Fuck, after that display how could I not?”, he exclaims hands raised defensively, lips loosened after a handful of beers.

Biting your lip, you tuck your head against his chest in embarrassment, your face blazing.

“Haven’t upset your delicate sensibilities, have I Echo?”, his voice drops and octave, laugh sinfully wicked.

Emboldened by the recent revelation, you raise your head and lean in. His breath hitches in his throat, brown eyes almost blown black. Licking your lips, you’re now almost so close you can almost feel his soft whiskers brush against your face.

With a giant shove, you launch him into the pool with a resounding splash. Frankie flounders before re-emerging from beneath the water, sputtering. Absolutely bewildered.

Eyes glinting with mischief, you dissolve into a fit of giggles.

“Oh, you’ve gone and done it now, cariño!” He growls, launching himself towards you. In one swift motion, you’re hauled back into the pool with a yelp. It’s your turn to flail ungracefully.

The two of you playfully tussle, water splashing everywhere as you battle for supremacy. Frankie is not above playing dirty. Bastard knows what spots to tickle to dissolve you into a writhing mess. Managing to wriggle free, you dive underneath the water, kicking off to the other edge of the pool.

Those warm brown eyes are now molten with desire. Positively predatory as he stalks towards you in great strides.

Heart thundering in your chest, you’re frozen on the spot. Heat coils in your belly.

Slotting between your legs, his thick arms caging you. Eyes fluttering shut, a small whimper escapes your lips.

“Echo.”, Frankie rasps, capturing your lips softly. Over a decade’s worth of yearning poured into that single kiss. Filled with such reverence and longing, as if you would dissolve right before his very eyes if he were to dare to even breathe. You gasp against him, trailing your hands up the plains of his chest running your tongue along the seam of his mouth.

And with that the dam breaks. Broad hands snake their way across your body, one curling at your hip with the other buried in the base of your hair. Frankie practically devours you, teeth nipping at your kiss swollen lips.

Fuck, why didn’t he do this years ago?

Panting, the pair of you come up for air. Resting his forehead against yours, Frankie whispers sweet praises.

“Hey Frankie?”, you murmur against his lips, his moustache tickling your

“Mmm, hermosa?”, he hums, resonating deep in his chest.

“Been years since I’ve sparred, but I think I still remember the technique. Wanna help me out?”

‐--------------

Ve con tu Madre - Go to to your mom.

------------------------------------------------------------@just-here-for-the-moment @disgruntledspacedad @blueeyesatnight @anaaaispunk @yespolkadotkitty

[lovelylogans]

the danes family christmas

or: the danes-sanders-prince-tamura-cabrera-key-bowes christmas. but danes family christmas flows a bit easier, doesn’t it?

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: food mentions, mentions of divorce, mentions of sickness, alcohol consumption, please let me know if i’ve missed any!

pairings: patton/virgil, logan/roman

word count: 5,876

notes: hi! this is just a quick little fic. happy christmas, a belated happy hanukkah, and a happy early kwanzaa! if you don’t celebrate any of those, then happy friday! this is essentially a “where are they now” snapshot of the danes family, who were all introduced in last year’s christmas fic. i hope you enjoy!

⁂

it starts when virgil hangs up the phone at the diner—the landline against the wall right by the entry to the kitchen, not his cellphone—looking strangely happy. and, considering there were only ever two kinds of phone calls that phone received, one of which being business calls—

“mom or dad?” patton asks, as he sits at the counter.

“my mom,” virgil says. “freddie finally got the flights finalized, they’re coming for christmas.”

patton claps in excitement. “that’s great!”

“so that’s everyone,” virgil says brightly. “all five of us, plus spouses and partners and kids, ‘cept—”

and then he stops himself, tilts his head, and asks, “hey, what are your christmas plans?”

⁂

and so it begins—patton negotiates them out of attending any sanders’ christmas celebrations, in exchange promising to bring himself and logan and the new beaus (as his mother had called them) to a cocktail get-together on new year’s eve. 

and then virgil had caught on to the fact them all leaving would leave roman and isadora as the only ones in their little cobbled-together family in sideshire for christmas, and freddie had, too, and immediately gotten on the phone to beg isadora to come along, so that meant crafting an elaborate plan for a road trip on christmas after the matinee christmas morning performance of the nutcracker, which is where they are now: all five of them in virgil’s car, suitcases packed away in the trunk, on their way down to the elder danes’ family home.

oh, and in the middle of all these preparations, not one but two romantic unions were formed, so. it’s been a bit of a busy couple of months.

“okay,” roman says, from where he’s stuffed in the middle seat between logan and his mom, virgil driving and patton attempting to play at navigator, “run me through the entire family tree again, it’s been a minute since i’ve seen everyone.”

so logan opens his phone, scrolls for a little bit, then clicks on a photo they must have taken the last time they were all together in a big group, and zooms in before he hands the phone over to roman to hold. roman’s mom peers over his shoulder.

“so, we’ll start with the danes’,” logan says, and taps each of their faces as he goes—”meredith, mark, wyatt, esther, silas, winifred, and of course, virgil.”

“right.”

he then proceeds to tap the woman and man flanking wyatt. “adam bowes and alexandria cabrera, but she goes by lexa—”

isadora tilts her head at lexa. “i remember her. isn’t she colombian?”

“her parents immigrated from ecuador,” virgil corrects, “but she studied abroad for a bit in colombia, so you’re probably remembering that.”

“—they’re wyatt’s partners,” logan continues, and points to the children in front of them. “nicola’s oldest, she’s fourteen. then there’s wesley, who goes by wes, he’s twelve. is their dad going to be there?” he asks virgil.

“no, he’s off with his girlfriend,” virgil says, and scowls a little. patton thinks he's clearly about to say good riddance—he isn’t particularly a fan of lexa’s first husband. none of the adults are, really, but none of them ever breathed a word about it in front of the kids.

“all right, so i don’t have to find a picture of him,” logan says. “then there’s elizabeth who goes by ellie, eight, and abigail who goes by abby, five.”

roman mumbles names under his breath, tapping each of their photos, before he adjusts the picture. “right. so, essie.”

“you know annabelle, her wife,” logan says, pointing to the black woman with her arm slung over essie’s shoulders. “they were foster parents for a time, so they adopted michael who goes by mike or mikey, he’s twelve, and his sister sophia. she’s seven. and they also adopted theodore who goes by teddy, he’s eight—”

“—nine,” virgil corrects, “his birthday was last month—”

“right, he’s nine, they adopted him three years ago.”

more repetition of names to himself, and then roman adjusts the photo.

“silas,” he prompts.

“his wife, moira,” logan says, pointing to the redhead beside him. “and the twins, emma and devon, they’re ten.”

“they just had a baby in august, too,” virgil says. “meredith junior, but they’re calling her red, for now, so that no one confuses her and my mom. you can guess why, it’s pretty obvious she’s taking after moira already. it’ll be easy to spot her, she’s the only baby.”

“and freddie,” isadora says, craning her neck to look at the photo. “how long has it been since she’s come back for christmas?”

“at least a couple years just for christmas, but she’s visited a couple times,” virgil says. “still, it’ll be nice to see her and ryu and the kids.”

“akira who goes by kira, and nikko,” logan provides for roman. “they’re twins, age six. and sayuri, but she goes by lily sometimes—”

“how’d that happen?” roman says, looking to virgil for help.

“sayuri means ‘lily,’” virgil says. “‘little lily,’ i think, but i can’t remember the exact translation. she’s three.”

“and—where do they live?” roman says.

“tokyo,” patton says, twisting to look at virgil. “they moved last year, didn’t they?”

“that’s right,” virgil confirms. “they lived in kyoto for a while, but freddie got a pretty good job offer, so. tokyo it is.”

“and then there’s us,” logan says. “i assume you don’t need a photo, name, or age breakdown for any of us.”

roman snorts, and says, “no, i guess i not.” he blows out a breath, before he scrolls back over, and says, “right, okay. remind me what everyone’s jobs are?”

and so the rest of the car ride passes, recalling the last times they’ve all seen various members of the danes family and passing on stories of visits past.

it’s about to be a marathon of a christmas.

⁂

by the time they’re pulling up to the danes’ house—windows down, because the elder danes’ live in a much warmer state and everyone seemed to have a simultaneous, unspoken agreement on the need to thaw from the brutally cold and snowy winter they’d been having so far—virgil’s leg is bouncing in excitement, and patton reaches across to put a hand on virgil’s, smiling at him.

“are we the last ones getting here?” he asks.

virgil nods his head. “miraculously, even wyatt and adam’s weird hours have lucked out, but adam’s exact words were don’t hold your breath—”

“of course, of course,” patton murmurs, because he probably should have guessed the orthopedic surgeon and the spinal surgeon would have some funky hours.

“—but i think everyone should be here? at least i didn’t hear that they got delayed, so.”

“please tell me we’re almost there,” roman groans.

“we’ll get there when we get there!” virgil and patton say simultaneously, and they both laugh at each other quoting the incredibles as roman groans louder.

patton’s glad to have the brief distraction of a pixar reference; as they’ve gotten nearer and nearer to the danes’ house, he’s felt a knot in his stomach grow bigger and bigger.

he’s been spending holidays with the danes’ since logan was born, usually seeing at least one of them once a year—christmases, easters, family get togethers, he and logan have tagged along for years and years. 

he has a feeling that virgil and his parents would argue with the phrasing of tagged along, but he can’t help it—even if he knows he’s uncle patton to all the kids, and he knows logan refers to all the various danes progeny as his cousins, and he knows he and logan have long since received the food-based nicknames everyone in the family receives upon being born in and growing up in the family and at marriage, but—

well. he can’t help it, sometimes.

but now, he isn’t just tagging along. he’s the latest romantic partner in the family. he has started dating their youngest son, their baby brother, their beloved bachelor uncle. 

he can’t help but wonder if it’ll be like an entirely new dynamic. because he’s seen the way the latest romantic partners are introduced—he’s long since gotten used to the danes’ fond squabbling with each other, but it turns into a whole new level of teasing when they bring along a date.

“we are,” logan says, and points. “there it is.”

virgil examines the number of cars—he probably should have expected the full driveway—and pulls over to park on the side of the road, roman immediately demanding that either logan or his mother get out of the car right now or else he will crawl over them—

virgil and patton’s eyes meet, and patton smiles at him before they both turn to open their own car doors, roman getting out of the car hot on logan’s heels.

and then the danes’ front door opens, light spilling onto the lawn, and children barrel out of the house, almost all of them yelling at the top of their lungs, and virgil says “oof!” as he’s plowed into by three little girls, clinging at his legs, and virgil immediately swings the nearest up into his arms.

“oh, hello, everyone!” virgil says, beaming, looking years younger as ellie clings to his neck, and patton grins at him even as abby notices he has a free set of arms and immediately demands a hug, and patton can’t help but oblige, lifting her up onto his hip, distantly pleased that he still can carry her, because goodness, she’s gotten so tall!

“girls!” someone at the door calls, and patton looks up at lexa in the doorway with a grin. “let your uncles get inside before you tackle them, please!”

“aw, mom!” ellie grumbles, even as virgil’s setting her down and grinning apologetically at lexa, a hand resting on sophia’s hair.

“sorry, lex!” virgil calls, and pats ellie on the shoulder, murmuring something quietly to ellie and sophia ear that makes them both grin, brown eyes sparkling; patton follows his lead, setting abby down.

“uncle patty—” she begins to whine.

“i know, i know,” he says, crouching down to tug lightly at her braided dirty blonde hair, to make her giggle. “but, tell you what. if you listen to your mom, how about you and me sneak some cookies from your grandma, huh?”

abby brightens, and immediately rushes off, right on her sister’s and cousin’s heels. 

“do you need any help?” adam says, his head popping out from behind lexa.

“no, we’re all right, thanks!” roman calls, isadora already shutting the trunk, all of their bags unloaded and just waiting to be carried inside—patton doubles back for his, but virgil’s already swinging his bag over his shoulder before patton can do anything about it.

“i could—” patton begins, but virgil leans down and kisses him before he can say anything about it. virgil grins even wider when patton just blinks at him, half-forgetting what he was saying.

“i got it,” virgil says reassuringly, “honestly, we’re gonna need someone to open the door, so,” and patton huffs.

“fine,” he grumbles, pretending to be put out, as the part of him that was raised with things like gentlemen should open the door for you, and carry things that are heavy, and care for you in general is sending butterflies fluttering in his tummy. because, one, virgil is being a gentleman, but also, patton has an opportunity to be a gentleman.

the things that give him gender euphoria are so weird, honestly.

but patton trots ahead and opens the door for virgil (and his son, and isadora, and roman) and is nearly bowled over by a wave of noise.

the sound of about twenty-four people all calling hello to their brother slash in-law and his weird little accrued pool of family all calling their hellos back tends to do that, patton guesses.

but once everyone’s funneled their way through the door, patton tries to close it; before he’s even fully shut the door behind them, though, abby’s clinging to his leg, grinning up at him.

“cookies now?” she asks.

patton tousles her hair. “gotta set up our alibi, squirt. we’re doing this secretly. it’s a mission.”

abby’s eyes brighten. “like spies?”

“exactly like spies,” patton says, in a hushed tone as if he’s being very quiet and secretive, as if he isn’t fully aware that her mother is keeping an eye on them and folding her lip under her teeth to keep from laughing, even as she’s hugging virgil hello.

abby scuttles off, though, as one of her other parents approaches to give patton a friendly, one-armed hug, seeming to fear the potential of revealing their secret mission.

“hey, patton,” adam says easily. “good to see you’re recovered from the pneumonia, congrats on romancing virgil,” patton blinks rapidly and attempts to come up with a response to that, but adam’s already continuing, “and try to keep her from taking too many, yeah? she’s already been spoiled rotten by her gramps today.”

“can do,” patton says, and so begins the shuffle around the room of saying hello to everyone; the kids are all in one section, already, seemingly preoccupied by various board games, but nicola’s unfolded herself from the group to go up to logan already; the pair of them are closest in age, and they’re also quite the pair of brainiacs, so they’ve been close ever since lexa and the kids came to the first family gathering years ago.

“i despise operator algebra,” she’s telling him.

“well, good thing you aren’t planning on going into quantum field theory, then,” logan responds, and patton loses the plot of that conversation because he’s nearly bumped off his feet.

“sorry!” freddie squeaks, red high in her pale cheeks and a glass of meredith’s near-lethal spiked eggnog in her hand; he suspects it to be the culprit for any uncharacteristic clumsiness and he pulls her into a hug even as he’s laughing out forgiveness.

“heard about you and virgil,” freddie says, “finally.”

“oh—um,” patton stammers, trying his hardest not to blush.

“thrilled to have you, really,” freddie says, bumping into him again, this time purposefully. “and, hey! heard you got sick, you’re all better now, right?”

“right,” he says, then, curiously, “um, how was the trip?” 

“have you ever had to handle six-year-old twins on a trans-pacific trip?” she says, and patton winces in sympathy; as polite as the twins are, being raised with the japanese code of etiquette, they are still freddie’s kids, and therefore also incredibly rambunctious.

“my condolences,” patton tells her, then, to her husband who’s hovering silently over her shoulder, he attempts to get his way through saying long time no see in japanese to ryu, who’s been trying to teach them all conversational bits of japanese for years (mostly because they’d all insisted; they did the same to lexa, too. meredith’s parents had learned to greet mark’s family in their native italian, so it had become something of a family tradition to learn at least a little of the language of their spouse.)

“ohisashiburi desu,” ryu enunciates for him, and patton groans. 

“i thought i had it this time!”

“you were close,” ryu says, which patton thinks is mostly out of politeness, but he’ll accept it anyways. “sayuri, say hello!”

he glances down, then, in time to notice a three-year-old clinging to ryu’s pantleg, just barely peeking out from behind him, the most visible thing being her near-black eyes, shiny and wide.

sayuri ducks out from behind ryu to bow to patton.

“and hello to you too!” patton says, keeping his voice as soft and friendly as he can.

sayuri looks up at ryu, who nods in approval, murmuring something to her in japanese, and she scampers back behind him, clinging once again to his pant leg.

“sorry,” freddie says, not sounding very sorry at all. “lily’s the shy one.”

“oh, it’s all right,” patton says. “it must have been a big day for her, traveling and seeing everyone again and all.”

“that it is,” freddie says, then, to ryu, “d’you think she needs a nap?”

patton takes that as his cue to resume greeting everyone else; he ducks briefly into the kitchen (where abby is, very unsubtly, eyeing the platter of cookies on the counter) and can’t help but coo at the sight that greets him.

“aw, hello,” he murmurs. 

moira, her red hair pulled back into a ponytail and a smidge frizzy, looking haggard in a way that only parents to babies ever seem to look, smiles up at him. “hi, patton.”

“hi, patton,” silas echoes awkwardly, from where he’s washing dishes at the sink.

“hi, silas, hi moira,” he says; usually, he’d be all caught up in the amount of fondness he has for moira, distinctly unbalanced in comparison to his relationship with silas, which is still a touch thorny, even after all this time, but, well. there’s a new member of the family to introduce himself to. 

“this must be meredith junior!”

meredith junior is preoccupied with drinking from a bottle, and does not respond to him, her eyes half-lidded and sleepy.

“that she is,” moira says proudly. 

“oh, she’s beautiful,” patton says warmly, looking at her and feeling all warm and happy because Baby Feelings, and it reminds him of logan when he was at that age; meredith junior (red, he remembers virgil saying) is also a small baby, like logan was, her hair downy and just as red as her mother’s. 

moira smiles at her. “yeah, she is. you wanna hold her later?”

“later,” patton repeats, putting up his hands. “i know how important feeding time is. i was just ducking in to say hi, get a drink,” he directs a wink at abby, who attempts to wink back at him, but she hasn’t really gotten the hang of that yet and so she just blinks at him with extra emphasis.

“eggnog’s in the fridge,” silas mutters. “solo cups should have a sharpie next to it, for names.”

“thanks, silas,” patton says, and ducks around him; he ends up pouring himself a bit of cranberry punch, instead, and obligingly writes PATTON on his cup in large letters. then, with a level of slightly overexaggerated sneakiness that goes unnoticed by moira, preoccupied with the baby, and silas, preoccupied with the dishes, patton snatches a stack of ginger snaps, which are just as good now as they were sixteen years ago. abby jumps up and down, pressing her hands over her mouth to keep from making any noise. 

“well, i’m out of your hair.”

“we’re talking later!” moira calls after him, “i’m thrilled, i want to hear all about you and virgil!”

patton tries his very hardest not to blush, and ducks out of the kitchen instead. he splits the cookies in half, handing the other half to abby.

“thanks, uncle patty!”

“you’re welcome,” patton says. “hey, go give one to your sister, okay?”

“okay!” she says, and speeds off across the room. patton spies her handing a cookie to ellie and briefly tugging at nicola’s jeans to get her attention, giving her one too, and patton smiles after her, before he turns to scan the rest of the room for people he hasn’t said hi to yet.

he is immediately face-to-face with essie and annabelle, who beam at him in unison.

“patton!”

“annabelle, essie!” patton says, hugging the pair of them. “it’s great to see you!”

“great to see you too!” essie says. “we’ll have to get together sometime soon, you and virgil and us—”

“—we can do a double-date!” annabelle adds excitedly.

“—we can come to you, or you can catch the train down to us,” essie continues. 

“oh—” patton says, a little flustered. “um—good! that’s good! that sounds—”

“good?” annabelle says, grinning, clearly very close to laughing at him.

looking for something in the room to change the subject, he glances around and notices, for the first time, two missing members of the family.

“where’s mark and meredith?”

“oh, mom ran out to the corner store for something, i think dad’s on the porch showing off the grill he got for the neighbors,” essie says dismissively, before she reaches over to squeeze his arm. “seriously. so thrilled for the pair of you, we have to do dinner soon.”

“sounds good,” patton says honestly, because it does; getting together with the pair of them, plus mikey, teddy, and sophia, sounds really good.

“i’m gonna go say hi to the kids,” he adds.

“okay!” essie says.

“we’ll catch up later,” annabelle says. it only sounds a little bit like a threat.

he doesn’t even really need to step too far to encounter the kids corner.

“hi, kids!” he says.

“hi, uncle patton,” the kids all drone, not tearing their eyes away; it seems the other board games have fallen to the wayside, the lot of them watching what seems to be the main event with bated breath.

“hello, patton,” wyatt echoes serenely, a pair of tweezers in hand as he observes the operation board. “i congratulate your immune system on its strength in overcoming the pneumococcal pneumonia, and i congratulate you on entering courtship with my brother.”

patton fails, this time, in trying not to blush, which probably wouldn’t be seen by any of the kids, anyways—“c’mon, uncle wyatt!” teddy urges from the sidelines—and wyatt flawlessly maneuvers the tweezers, and very slowly, very carefully, removes the wishbone without bumping any of the walls, and half the kids groan.

“i should have known better than to start this,” wes mutters under his breath, accepting the tweezers from his stepfather. “hi, uncle patton.”

“hiya, wes,” patton says, amused; at least once a year, someone challenged either of the surgeons in the family to a game of operation, and it always ended up with a crowd gathered around like this. “doing okay so far?”

“i’ve buzzed twice,” wes sighs, and squints at the card. “oh, great. i’ve got the funny bone. okay—”

he readjusts his grip, and patton takes a few steps back, so as to not distract him any more than he needs to be distracted, taking a second to look in on nicola and logan—who are deep into conversation about something called hermitian adjoint with excited expressions on their faces, and roman looks as confused as patton feels—before someone taps him on the shoulder.

“doing okay?”

patton turns to smile up at virgil.

“doing fine,” he promises, and sets his cup down on the nearest surface so he can reach out to correct virgil’s collar. “have you said hi to everyone?”

“yeah, just about,” virgil says, then, “um, they haven’t said anything to you about—?”

“oh, y’know,” patton says with a jerk of his head. “moira says she’s thrilled, essie wants to get all together for dinner, freddie said finally, wyatt congratulated the strength of my immune system and my success in courting you, et cetera, et cetera.”

virgil snorts, ducking his head and rubbing sheepishly at the nape of his neck. “guess i probably should’ve warned you ‘bout that, huh?”

“nah, i knew it’d probably happen,” he teases. “you’re forgetting i was at dinner when freddie brought the news of her elopement and the brand-new husband none of us had ever heard of before.”

“still can’t believe she did that,” virgil says with a disbelieving shake of his head.

patton laughs a little, too, before he says, “i was expecting it a little, i guess—i mean, you’ve got four older siblings, i was a little nervous there’d probably be a bit of hazing to go through, now that i’m a boyfriend.”

“you didn’t mention that,” virgil says with a frown. “i can tell them to lay off, if you—”

patton waves him off, even as he still feels the tight knot in his stomach.

“it’s okay,” he says, and it is okay, it’s just nerve-wracking, “i’ve gotten through the first of it, it’s okay. just, y’know. i’m a little nervous to talk to your parents, i guess.”

“they love you,” virgil says immediately. “they’re delighted about this, i promise, they told me so.”

“virge?”

“yeah?” he asks, a protective expression still on his face. patton takes both his hands in his own, looking up at him with a very serious expression on his face.

“remember your siblings teasing me when you have to sit through an emily-and-richard dinner,” he says, “and then we can say we’re nearly even.”

virgil’s lip quirks up. “nearly?”

“well,” patton says, “you’re probably gonna have to go to a few friday night dinners, so i’m definitely gonna owe you for that more than you owe me for this.”

virgil grimaces at the mention of friday night dinners looming in his future like the ghost of christmas yet to come.

“think happy thoughts?” patton offers, with an apologetic grin on his face.

“what thought is happy enough to get me through that?”

patton pretends to think about it, tilting his head back and forth, before he offers in a faux-innocent tone, “egging their car on easter?”

a slightly goofy grin breaks out on virgil’s face, and patton laughs at the sight of it. 

“well, if i must,” virgil says. “might even have to refresh that memory with a repeat performance.”

“don’t you dare,” patton says, in a tone entirely too sappy for what he’s saying.

“or what?” virgil says, grinning down at him, and he’s so stinkin’ cute that patton can’t help but rise onto his tippy toes to kiss the grin right off his face.

their lips barely brush before the hollering starts—there’s a wolf-whistle in there somewhere, but mostly things along the line of “EW, uncle VIRGIL, kissing is GROSS,” and “hey, hey, hands off my baby brother!”—and patton breaks away from virgil with a nervous giggle, blushing, fully aware that if most of the people in the room weren’t looking at him before, they certainly were now. patton finds himself unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

“oh, c’mon,” freddie says, grinning, sayuri in her arms and looking quite close to nodding off to sleep, “it’s about time, now that they’re dating.”

“finally,” essie adds, not quite under her breath, then—

“wait.”

patton turns, then, to where the kids have gathered in the corner; mikey, essie and annabelle’s oldest son, is staring at them with large brown eyes.

“wait,” mikey repeats, “what do you mean, now they’re dating?”

“you weren’t dating before?” his brother teddy says, sounding equal parts confused and indignant.

“no, we weren’t dating before,” virgil says. “but we—we are. now. so.”

teddy still looks puzzled.

“well, we loved each other for a very long time,” patton explains, because for as smart as all the kids are, teddy is nine years old, and therefore not quite fully aware of the complexities of adult relationships, “and we told each other that recently. so. now we’re dating, but we’ve loved each other for much longer.”

“well, that’s okay then,” teddy decides, and patton can’t help but snort.

anyone still staring at the pair of them gets distracted by the sound of a door stuck in its lock, before it suddenly bursts open, bringing with it a rush of warm outdoor air and the clunking of a cane hitting the hardwood.

“damn door keeps sticking,” mark grumbles under his breath, looking up and taking a moment to scan the room before his eyes brighten. “virgil! when did you sneak in, bunny?”

meredith pokes her head around his shoulder, eyes bright; she's carrying a shopping bag in one arm that emma and devon, silas' girls, scuttle up and take off her hands, ferrying it to the kitchen for her.

"ten or so minutes ago," virgil says, crossing the room, grinning; unspoken, both patton and logan fall into step behind virgil, approaching the danes family patriarch and matriarch together.

mark is already pulling his youngest son into a hug, squeezing virgil tight, and patton can't help but smile at the way virgil grips his father just as tightly; mark's had a bit of trouble with his health over the past couple years—primarily struggling with his knee, which had been replaced a month before thanksgiving this year—and patton knows it had scared him, at the time, and it made him all the more appreciative of the time he gets to spend with his father. 

"good to see you, son," mark says warmly, patting virgil's back roughly a couple times for emphasis.

"snap," meredith says warmly, and patton grins—the ginger snaps he ate his weight in at the first danes christmas celebrations he'd ever attended have become his nickname namesake—before he approaches and pulls her into a hug.

"welcome," meredith says, pulling away, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "and congratulations are in order, aren't they?"

patton flushes, but before she can tease him anymore, mark's eyes land on logan.

"god, look at you!" mark says. "you're tall! how much have you grown? a foot? more? what on earth are you feeding him, virgil?" mark asks, turning to him, and virgil puts his hands up, smirking.

"i think i've grown four and a half inches, since the last time i saw you," logan says, before he steps forward and hugs mark, adding quietly, "it's good to see you, nonno."

patton's smile widens at that. emily and richard have always been grandma and grandpa, to logan, and maria, the previous manager at the inn who had taken in patton and logan, has been nana, but mark and meredith have always been nonno and nonna; grandpa and grandma in italian, where mark's family had emigrated from before mark was born.

"and it's good to see you, jammy," mark says, equally warmly, before he draws back, making eye contact with logan, and not having to tilt his head downwards anymore; they're almost on the same level now. "goodness. it'll take some time to get used to that. hit your growth spurt with a vengeance then, just like your dad—"

and then mark's eyes fall to patton, and patton smiles a little nervously, twisting his fingers together.

"hi, mark."

something in mark's eyes go soft, and he steps forward to hug patton just as tightly as he had hugged virgil and logan, to hold patton just as close, and patton isn't sure why his eyes are suddenly stinging, but they are, and he squeezes them shut and takes in a deep breath as he hugs mark back.

"we're overjoyed," mark says quietly, and draws back to look at patton, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes growing more pronounced with his smile. "oh, patton, we're so thrilled for the pair of you, truly we are. you've always been part of the family, but now—well," he says, and looks between virgil and patton.

"the pair of you, making each other happy," meredith says. "it's everything a mother could want for her boys."

patton struggles to swallow, and he can only smile guilelessly at them both as he waits for the lump in his throat to pass.

"now, we heard about your health scare after thanksgiving," mark says, frowning. "you're too young for such things. you're all better now, aren't you? all fixed up?"

"doctor says i am a-okay," patton manages to croak out.

"wonderful," meredith says, "and no more of any of that."

"you should remain hale and hearty, or else," mark adds, finishing her sentence; they've been married for so long, it's almost like they've become symbiotic.

"or else what?" patton says, achieving something close to his normal tone and not sounding like he's about to cry tears of happiness anymore.

"or else i'll set my wife on you," he says, before he claps logan on the back. "now, i hear that you have brought your boyfriend to meet the family!"

"you've met," logan says, beginning to blush, but he goes to get roman anyways; nicola coos "oooh," after the pair of them with all the teasing in her tone that one would expect from a younger cousin.

roman holds logan's hand as they approach.

"sir, ma'am," roman says respectfully, the picture of a proper young man; isadora looks on approvingly from where she's holed up in a corner with ryu, freddie, and a now-sleeping sayuri.

"this is roman prince, nonna, nonno," logan says, squeezing roman's hand tight and leaning into his side. "i love him very much."

mark's smile goes even softer at that; patton leans his head on virgil's shoulder, his cheeks aching.

"aw, shucks, specs," roman says, grinning at logan, "i love you very much too."

"well," mark says gently. "what grandparent doesn't like to hear that? we are very happy to have you and your mother, roman."

"come and sit," meredith says eagerly. "indulge two old crones in some conversation; i hear you want to take after your mother and go into ballet?"

and so mark, meredith, logan, and roman settle on the couch, logan still clinging to roman's hand and looking the most outwardly fond that patton has ever seen him look. it's enough to have the lump in his throat come roaring back with a vengeance.

virgil touches his shoulder, a silent question—you all right?

patton smiles at him and nods, before someone taps him on the arm, and he looks up.

"spouses club meeting," annabelle says, hooking her arm through his.

"what?" patton says.

"spouses club meeting," lexa repeats.

"i'm—i'm not a," patton says, blushing. he isn't the only one—he sees virgil going red, too. they've been dating for barely a couple weeks, that's very far off from—well—

"i'm not a spouse either, technically," lexa points out, "but that's what we're calling it anyways. virgil, we're stealing your boyfriend."

"do i have a choice in the matter?"

"nope!" lexa says cheerfully. "you, patton sanders, have gossip for us."

"goss—" patton repeats, frowning, before he looks to virgil. "oh—oh! lex, it isn't gossip, really—"

"not gossip, sure," annabelle scoffs. "it's only been ten years, we're getting the story—"

"steal him," virgil says immediately.

"traitor," patton cries out, softly enough so that it doesn't attract the attention of anyone else in the room; he'd gotten enough of that when he'd tried to kiss virgil.

"you aren't automatically immune, you've got siblings to deal with," annabelle tells virgil sweetly, and laughs when virgil pulls a face, suddenly looking younger, like the man in his early twenties that he had been their first christmas all together like this.

and so patton is tugged off into the kitchen, where adam, lexa, annabelle, moira, and ryu all sit, ready to hear the story of how they got together, and patton knows that the rest of their trip will be spent like this—being pulled off into subgroups, whether it be spouses, or kids, or siblings, or other arbitrary combinations that would happen on the fly. patton knows he'll spend the rest of the trip eating his weight in ginger snaps, and coming up with fun activities for the kids, and having a million different conversations with everyone, trying to organize how they'll be able to gather in smaller groups during the new year, and— 

—and patton knows he's in for a very chaotic, very merry christmas.

[hopelikethemoon]

New Beginnings (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: New Beginnings Rating: PG-13 Length: 2400 Warnings: Communication!  Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set in January 1999.  Summary: Reader’s first day teaching. 

@grapemama​​​ @seawhisperer​​​ @huliabitch​​​ @beccaplaying​​​ @thewallpapergoesorido​​​ @twomoonstwosuns​​​ @gooddaykate​​ @livasaurasrex​​​ @ham4arrow​​​ @plexflexico​​​ @readsalot73​​​ @hdlynn​​​ @lokiaddicted​​​ @randomness501​​​ @fioccodineveautunnale​​​  @roxypeanut​​​ @snivellusim​​​ @lukesrighthand​​​ @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts​​​ @awesomefandomsunited​​​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​​​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​​​ @ah-callie​​​ @swhiskeys​​​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​​ @u-wakatoshii​​ @space-floozy​​​ @cable-kenobi​​​ @cool-ultra-nerd​​​ @himbopoes​​​ @findhimfives​​​ @pedrosdoll​​​ @frietiemeloen​​​ @arrowswithwifi​​​  @cinewhore​​​ @random066​​​ @uncomicalhumour​​​ @heather-lynn​​​ @domino-oh-damn​​​ @cyarikaaa​​​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​​ @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl​​​ @yabby-girl​​​ @xqueenofthecraziesx​​ @punkass-potato​​​ @coredrive​​​ @pascalesque​​​ @theduchessofkirkcaldy​​​ @queenquazar​​​ @sabinemorans​​​ @buckstaposition​​ @holkaskrosnou​​ @yespolkadotkitty​​​@seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie​​​ @jaime1110​​​ @katlikeme​

All morning you had been a bundle of nerves. 

Your stomach was rolling with nausea from the two cups of coffee you had downed and the single slice of toast you ate that had done nothing to offset it. 

Over the years, you had given tedious presentations, handled training seminars, and even guest lectured for Javier, but somehow teaching your own class — on your own — was more than your nerves could handle. 

Maybe teaching had been the wrong choice for you. Did everyone feel this nervous on their first day?

“Hey,” Javier’s voice cut through your thoughts as he reached over and gave your knee a squeeze. “You’ve got this, baby.” 

“I’m glad you think I do.” You ghosted your fingers over the back of his hand, tilting your head to look at him with a small smile. “It’s not going to reflect badly on you if I bomb at this, right?”

He shrugged his shoulders, drumming his fingers against your leg. “First off, you’re not going to bomb it. I’m fairly certain my students liked you more than me last semester. Because you’re good.”

You glanced at the clock on the wall, watching as the second hand moved around the clock. You had fifteen minutes before you needed to be in your classroom to set up before the students started to arrive. 

“Let’s see who you’ve got,” Javier mused as he unfolded his glasses and pushed them up the bridge of his nose as he reached for your class roster. 

He dampened his thumb with his tongue before flipping through the pages of your binder, “Sasha Markey’s good. Bit of a teacher’s pet.”

“To you maybe.” You gave him a pointed look. 

Javier arched a brow, but didn’t argue you on that point. “I had Connor last semester.” He pointed to one of the two Connors on the sheet. “His writing skills aren’t very strong, but he’s got a good head on him. Keen on joining the CIA.”

“I’m sure you just loved him.” You teased lightly, chewing on your bottom lip as glanced at the roster. “Monica went over it with me last night. I think I’ve got three of your biggest fans. Probably trying to see what their competition is.”

He snorted. “Well, there’s no competition.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s all your fault for looking so good last summer.”

“Just last summer?”

You hummed thoughtfully, but didn’t give him an answer. “I think I’m gonna go ahead to my classroom and try to get in the zone.” You told him as you started to stand up. “Is it bad that I’d rather be going into a dangerous operation in Colombia?” 

Javier stood too, catching your hand and tugging you back towards him. “Baby, you’ve got this.” He assured you, meeting your gaze with a warm smile. “I know it’s nerve wracking, but we both know that just means you give a shit about what you’re doing.” He brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Professor.” You pressed your tongue to the inside of your cheek as you held his gaze. “You won’t divorce me if I’m unemployed after today?”

He huffed out a laugh, “Oh, fuck off.” 

You shoved him playfully in the chest, before slipping out of his hold and gathering up your stack of materials. “See you in three hours.”

“I’ll be here.” He assured you. “Your students are lucky. Don’t forget that.”

You stopped in the doorway of the office and gave him a mock salute before leaving. 

Javier always had the utmost faith in you and your abilities. He’d never questioned your choices, your opinions, or your ideas. Even when he probably should’ve. 

 ——

 “It went so well.” You mused as you walked beside Javier towards the faculty parking lot. “I don’t know why I was so stressed out this morning.” 

“I told you.” Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth. “You’re a natural.”

You couldn’t stop smiling. “And three hours went by in no time. Is that normal?”

He nodded as he loosened his tie, “You get in the zone and nothing else matters.” He walked around to the passenger side of the car and opened it for you. “I’m glad you had a good first day.”

You reached out and ruffled the hair that fell across his forehead as you stood in front of him, “I don’t know why I was so nervous. The shit I’ve been through? Teaching is a breeze in comparison.”

“And I bet your class adored you.” Javier gave your hip a squeeze as he smiled at you. “Before you know it, you’ll be the one everyone’s trying to take.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Don’t you worry, Professor. You’ve got the market cornered in this department.” Everyone adored him — even those who hated him for the sheer amount of course load he required in his courses. 

He rolled his eyes, “For the moment.” Javier leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We’ve got an hour and a half before we’ve got to pick up the girls.”

“Hmm,” You scraped your teeth over your bottom lip as you tilted your head to look up at him. “Is this your way of telling me to pick what we should do with our free time?”

“Yeah,” He chuckled, patting your hip as he pressed a kiss your lips.

“We could hit the boardwalk on the way to pick them up.” You suggested, “It’s not quite beach weather, so it won’t be as crowded.”

He worked his jaw and shrugged, “I could do the beach.”

“Then it’s a plan.” You smiled, before ducking into the car. You settled your bag onto the floor by your feet, watching Javier through the windshield as he walked around to the driver’s side. “I could also use something to eat.”

“It’s almost dinner, baby.”

You made a face, “My slice of toast wore off about an hour ago.”

“Boardwalk fries?” He questioned as he turned the key in the ignition. 

“You read my mind.” 

“I can’t think of a single trip down to the boardwalk where we didn’t get fries or ice cream.”

“There were also street tacos and funnel cakes.” You reminded him, chewing on your thumb nail. “I’m a woman of taste.”

“Oh?”

“Well, when it comes to food.” You teased. “Jury’s out on my taste in men.”

“Ouch.” He snorted, shaking his head as he stopped at a light. 

You scrunched up your nose, “What?”

He gave you an amused look before starting through the intersection. “You’re a dork.” 

“Takes one to know one.” You retorted, stealing his sunglasses out of the center console and putting them on. “The evolution you’ve been on is something else.”

“My evolution? Look who’s talking.” He countered, reaching over to give your knee a squeeze. “We’ve both been on a ride since the eighties.” 

“Seriously!” You pushed your hair behind your ears. “I never saw this life for myself.” 

But it was better than anything you could’ve imagined. 

——

 “Serious question,” You started, pointing a fry at Javier before eating it. “I don’t know if this is a therapy question or not.”

Javier arched a brow, “Well shit, baby. That’s a hell of a lead in.” He reached for the dish and snatched up two fries. 

You made a face and admitted, “It just came to me.” 

He squinted at you behind the lenses of his sunglasses, his brows furrowed together. “Is this a bad question?”

“Not really,” You shrugged. “It’s probably stupid, honestly.”

“There’s no stupid questions.” Javier reminded you, parroting back the things that Nancy had told you both when you were working on communication. 

You sighed heavily, “Alright. Well, I was thinking about that period after Sofía was born.”

“Shit.” He rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip, looking away from you then. 

“I know.” You gave a hollow laugh at that. “Before Chucho left, the two of you came down here.” You gestured to the beach. “And I just remember how nervous I was about whatever the two of you talked about.” You glanced at him, watching the way his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at the horizon. “Obviously you’re under no obligation to tell me about your private conversations, but I’ve always wondered.”

Javier’s shoulders sank and he raked his fingers through his hair, “There’s no secrets between us, baby.” He reminded you as he tilted his head enough to look at you. “Shit was bad back then and I went to him for advice. I knew something was wrong. You and I know now that I misunderstood the situation.”

“My dumbass figured it was a ‘Don’t Marry Lorraine’ type conversation about me.”

He stared at you, “You thought that?”

“That’s how I remember feeling,” You bowed your head. “I thought about a lot of shit back then.” You picked you another fry, eating a small bite off the end of it. 

Javier reached out and ran his hand over your back, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “I mean, we did talk about you, baby. But it was all about how I thought I was gonna lose you. He talked me off a ledge.”

You met his gaze, “I’m sorry I put you through that.”

“Don’t be.” He shrugged a shoulder, picking up another fry, chewing on it as he looked back towards the ocean. “He convinced me to stick it out, you know? And I listened to him.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you ran.”

Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth, “I didn’t want to. But I was at wit’s end and… I don’t know, he was getting ready to head back to Texas and I wanted to know what he thought.”

“I’m glad he told you to stick it out. I hope it was worth it.” You nudged his leg. 

“It was worth it.” He narrowed his eyes at you and scoffed. “If we hadn’t weathered that storm, do you think we’d be married right now?”

You shook your head slowly, rubbing your lips together. “I don’t know where we’d be if Connie hadn’t recognized what was going on.”

“Probably not sitting on this bench eating fries.”

You popped another one into your mouth, smiling at him as you chewed it. “We might be. It would just be uncomfortable and tense.”

“As much as I hated that period of time,” Javier started, reaching over to give your leg a squeeze. “I can’t even begin to imagine how it felt for you.”

“I like I was losing my mind.” You admitted. “Sometimes it felt like I wasn’t me. Like someone else had taken up residency.” You leaned against his arm, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “It used to be like that when I was younger. I’d push and push and then wonder why I was alone.”

Javier hummed quietly, rubbing his thumb over your leg as he listened to you. “Thank God for Nancy.” 

“Seriously.” You ate another fry, before picking up another and holding it in front of his mouth. 

He chuckled and caught it between his teeth. “What got you thinking about all of this?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, “It came to me last night. Josie was talking about Sofía stealing that silly Beanie Baby of hers and then I started thinking about the hospital and coming home.” 

He squeezed your leg, “You should’ve talked to me about it.”

“Am I not telling you right now?” You turned your head to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “It felt like stupid first day jitters.” 

Javier nodded slowly, “I get that.” How many times had he had nightmares every time there was change in your lives? “You gonna talk to Nancy?”

“We’re still grappling with the mother topic.” You made a face, “I don’t know if this really justifies a whole session.” You ate another fry. “And besides, now that I know your father wasn’t lecturing you on escaping from my craziness — it’s a moot point.”

He gave your leg another pat, “We both know he’d choose you.”

“I wasn’t going to say it.” 

Javier snorted, “But you were thinking it.”

“Maybe.” You popped another fry into your mouth. “You know Javi, you can always talk to me too. I think that’s obvious, but I figured I’d say it.” 

He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, “The most I worry about these days is getting old.”

“Me too.” You nudged him in the ribs. “About you, at least, old man.” 

Javier huffed, “Laugh it up, baby. You’re the one who will be taking care of me in my old age.”

“I look forward to it,” You retorted. “It means we’re both old together.” You ate one more fry before scooting forward on the bench. “Do you want anymore?”

“I’m good.”

“Good. I was planning on making the seagulls’ day.” 

“You know they’re gonna swarm.” Javier complained as he rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders. 

“Then I guess you’re gonna need to get your running shoes on.” You taunted as you tossed the fries a few feet in front of you — causing a flock of hungry seagulls to swoop down on their dinner. 

Javier grabbed your hand, holding it tight as you both booked it back up the stairs to the boardwalk, away from the seagulls who assumed you had more food on you. 

Once you were safely locked inside the car — you both started laughing. The sort of laughter that started in your belly and warmed your chest as you sputtered and coughed from it. A feeling you wanted to cling to and keep with you always.

“Hey,” Javier managed, clearing his throat before chuckling again as he met your gaze. 

“Yeah?”

Instead of answering, he leaned across the center console and kissed you. You sank into the kiss and chased after his lips as he pulled back. 

“I love you.” He told you, brushing his fingers over your cheek. “I’m glad we’re working together again.”

You grinned at him, “Me too. Even if it isn’t as exciting as taking down drug cartels.”

“Just you wait until exams.”

You groaned dramatically, “Don’t remind me.”

“Only four months.” He arched a brow, before glancing at the clock. “And we’re gonna be late if we don’t leave right now. Shit.”

“Whoops.” You grimaced as you buckled your seatbelt. 

[shadow-assassin-blix]

Bees and Sunbeams

Santiago ‘Pope” Garcia x Estranged Wife!reader

So this might be a two parter. Not sure just yet. But this is a bit angsty. Alludes to something traumatic but I don’t specify what it is. Title is from a Henry David Thoreau quote. Santi being an idiot. Frankie being adorable with his baby.

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia was a complicated man. He spent 3 years in Colombia chasing down a drug cartel. Some would say that that was honorable. If they knew the truth however…

He went to Colombia for another reason. He was running from his marriage. He loved his wife, he truly did, but she was never quite the same after…

Even now, he couldn’t even think of the word. Didn’t want to admit that he essentially abandoned her when she needed him most.

After everything that happened with his team, he couldn’t even gather the courage to go home to her. He’s been crashing on Frankie’s couch. Santi was sure, absolutely sure, that all that was waiting for him at home was divorce papers.

He thought over thing that he said to her, when he last saw her, wincing at how harsh he was.

*Flashback*

It was the day before he left for Colombia. He was packing his bag up, and she stood leaning in the doorway watching him.

“I just… I don’t understand why you are going alone? I could meet up with you in a couple of weeks? We could… find a little home there? It’s not a problem for me to work remotely,” She bargained with him, biting her lip.

“I’ve told you no. You are staying here. I don’t need your help, I just need to be away for a while,” He responded, frustration lacing his tone.

“’You need to be away.’ Feels like you’ve been away for some time already honey. I mean… I’m not the one who has been sleeping on the couch or cringing at my touch. I’m not the one who barely talks anymore nor am I the one whose been spending most of my free time at the bar,” She threw out at him, her voice breaking.

“What do you want from me? Huh? What? What do you want me to say?” Santi asked throwing the shirt in his hand down onto his bag, his hands resting on his hips.

“Are you cheating on me? Is that… is that why you want to go to Colombia on your own? To go back to your old routine of finding beautiful informants?” She questioned looking away from him.

“Yes. I’m going to Colombia to be with beautiful women, who don’t nag at me or drive me crazy,” He responded sarcastically.

She didn’t quite pick up on the sarcasm, flinching away from him. She simply nodded her head and walked away.

He wanted to call her back and tell her he didn’t mean it. But he was too blinded by rage and pain to fully think at that point. He just gathered his bags, and left, wanting to stay the night at a hotel, rather than risk another argument.

*End*

He had been at Frankie’s for about a week at this point, and he knew Frankie wanted him to man up and go home. He was just so afraid of what he was going to find if he went back.

Frankie sighed as he woke up to go tend to his daughter who was loudly informing him, that she was awake, and needed to be changed.

“Hello my princesa. Good morning mi vida. I know. I’m working on it,” Frankie cooed to her as he picked her up, to set her on the changing table.

He quickly got her a fresh diaper, and as he stared at her, he said, “Tio Santi is a bit of an idiot. Should we pry?” She giggled in response “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He picked up his phone and hit the facetime button next to Y/N. The phone rang a few times, before it picked up and her face appeared.

“Hi my sweet girl. Good morning. What’s up Frankie?” She asked after greeting his daughter.

“Can you come over real quick, me and Sophia want to go to store sans baby? Not that I don’t love her, but it’s easier than having to drag the stroller out,” Frankie requested, thinking quickly.

“Sure. I’ll be over in 20 mins,” She answered with a smile.

“Great. See ya in a bit,” Frankie hung up.

“Frankie. What are you doing?” Came Sophia’s making him jump slightly.

“Nothing. Let’s get dressed yeah?” Frankie said changing the subject making his way to their bedroom to dress.

A few minutes later, they were all dressed, and he was bouncing Isobel up and down, smiling at the happy giggles that came from her.

A knock on the door alerted him that his company had arrived and that a warpath had been created.

Sophia opened the door, and led her in. As soon as she stepped into the living room she stopped in her tracks as she looked at Santi.

Her face… was blank. She simply looked at Frankie with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, look at the time, Sophia. We should go to the store or something. Ya know. You two should stay here and talk things out, and I will deal with the pain in the ass that’s the stroller, shall we my girls?” Frankie suggested loudly, grabbing Sophia and walking out with the both of them.

Santi stared at his wife with wide eyes. He definitely wasn’t expecting to see her. His eyes gave her a once over and admired her curves. He didn’t think it was possible for her to look more beautiful.

“Hey Bee,” He said quietly, referring to her nickname.

Her nose twitched in response and she crossed her arms, looking down.

“That’s… that’s a nice dress. Is it new?” He awkwardly began, not knowing what else to say.

“Yeah. It is. Bought it couple of months ago, along with some other stuff that were meant for my husband’s eyes only, but. It appears that he must have died out in the middle of a jungle, since I haven’t heard from in 3 years. Shame. He was so pretty,” She scoffed, glaring at him.

He winced, “Okay. I deserved that.”

They both shifted awkwardly.

She made her way into the kitchen, grabbing a beer, and popping the lid off.

“Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?” Santi asked concerned as he followed her.

“Shouldn’t you be out with one of your informants?” She threw back taking a large gulp.

“Baby. Can you please… just hear me out? Just… let me talk for 5 minutes. Then you can leave, or hit me or whatever,” Santi pleaded placing his hands on the island, staring at her softly.

“Go,” She said, gesturing for him to hurry up.

“I didn’t… I didn’t cheat on you. Either before I left or after. Yes, I had female informants, but I never… I never did anything with them, despite popular belief,” He started with a sigh.

“After… after everything happened… you were so. Different. So, hurt and in pain. Anytime I tried to help you, you pushed me away. So, I stayed away. When I got the offer to go to Colombia… I figured it would only be a couple of months. Enough time for the both of us to heal. Then we had that stupid argument where, I ruined everything,” He continued struggling to get the words out.

“I just… I figured you were better off without me… so I stayed. I ran from you. And I regret it so much honey,” Santi finished softly, not making eye contact. “Plus… I didn’t want you to see the monster I had become while I was over there.”

The silence was deafening after that. It was several minutes before she finally responded.

“I could never see you as a monster. I love you. Yeah, it took me some time to heal, but when I finally was getting better, all I wanted was my husband and all you seemed to want was a get out of jail free card,” She replied with a sniffle.

“I’m sorry. That was never my intention,” He apologized his hand hesitantly reaching out to touch the one that she was leaning on.

She allowed it and wanted to cry as he held it softly.

“How long have you been home?” She quietly asked.

“About a week. I was… I was afraid that if I came home, that I would be served with divorce papers. Afraid that I would return home to an empty house,” He admitted with a sigh.

“I’ll admit… I thought about it. Even had them drawn up after a year. Hell, I even tried to move on. Thought about going on a couple of dates, but…. Wound up not going through with them,” She confessed, fiddling with the beer bottle now.

“That’s… that’s fair. What… what made you not go through with them?” He asked curious.

She looked up at him, her eyes catching his, “They weren’t you, baby.”

He looked up at the ceiling, biting his lip, trying to control himself.

“Did you... uh... did you just quote Indiana Jones at me?” He questioned trying to not laugh.

“A little. Was it that bad?” She inquired with an awkward smile.

He shook his head, as he slowly came around to her side of the island. She followed him with her eyes, turning around as he came up to her. His hand reached up to brush an errant hair out of the way.

“Do you still want that divorce?” He questioned, clearing his throat.

“No. I just want my husband home, safe and in my arms,” She answered with a small smile.

“I think I can do that. I know I have… I know I have a great deal to make up to you. A full 3 years’ worth. If you need space at any time or want to set up rules or whatever, then let me know. I’ll do whatever I need to, to earn your trust again,” Santi promised her as he rested his forehead against hers.

She whispered an okay as she reached out to place her hands on his chest. He braced himself, preparing for her to push him away. He was pleasantly surprised when she instead wrapped them around his back, pulling him into her embrace.

He took a heavy sigh of relief as he returned her hug, pressing kisses to her head.

“First on the agenda, can we go take a nap? I had an all-nighter and I’m really tired,” She mumbled into his chest, as a yawn slipped out.

He nodded his head and led her over to the couch. He laid down on the couch first, and she gestured for him to shift on his side. He does so, and she lays in front of him. His arms curl around her, spooning her to him. Her hands held the one resting on top of her close to her chest.

They soon fell asleep at they got comfortable.

An hour later, the Morales trio walked up to their home hesitantly.

“Don’t hear screaming, nor do I see cops, so unless she murdered him quietly, I don’t know what we are about to walk into,” Frankie warned as he opened the door.

As they stepped in, Frankie sighed happily as the sight of his best friend and his wife, asleep on the couch. Sophia swooned softly, and Isobel just saw her two other favorite people and yelled happily.

At her shout, they both jerked awake, blinking rapidly.

Bee quickly got up, stumbling slightly, and made her way over to them. “Hi! I know, I didn’t get a chance to hold you earlier. Lemme make it up to you.”

She gently took Isobel from Sophia, and Isobel instantly began babbling away to her. Bee nodded her head and would respond back to her.

“Let’s go get your Tio, yeah? Would you like that? I bet you would, you love your Tio,” She said in a silly voice.

Santiago shook his head but took her from Bee as Isobel made grabby hands to him. He began to speak to her in Spanish, telling her how she’s the best goddaughter in the world.

Sophia then asked if Bee would help her unload the groceries, as Frankie made his way over to Santi.

Once they were out of earshot, Frankie guessed, “So. You two made up finally?”

“Yeah. We’re uhh. Going to go slowly, or at whatever pace she sets. But good news is, I’ll be off your couch by end of day. I’ve….. I missed her. More than I care to admit, because its… embarrassing to be honest,” He explained as Isobel tried standing on his legs, holding onto nothing but his hands.

“Good. I’m glad. Does she… does she know about what happened with Tom and everything?” Frankie quietly asked.

“Not yet. I’ll explain that when we get home. That’s going to be fun explaining,” He replied as he made Isobel sit down, after she almost fell off his lap.

Isobel made a displeased noise at him and turned to pout at her daddy.

“Oh? Tio Santi didn’t let you fall like a dummy, so now you want my attention?” He playfully asked as he took her from allowing Santi to stand up.

Santiago then quickly packed up his things. He didn’t have much in the house, most of his stuff was in the truck. He felt like he was invading their space enough as it is without all of his stuff piled up in a corner.

As he finished grabbing everything, Sophia and Bee walked in with the last of the groceries and were setting them down in the kitchen.

As soon as they had put away the groceries, Santi brought his things out to the truck, setting them in the back seat.

“Got room for one more, handsome?” Came Bee’s voice as she joined him by his truck.

He looked around and noticed her car wasn’t there, so she had walked over.

“Yeah. Think I do. I wish you wouldn’t walk everywhere though baby,” Santi voiced as he walked over to open the passenger door for her.

“I like the feel of the sun, and buzzing of the bees,” She replied as she made to step in.

She stopped, her foot on the frame, poised for her to hop in. She turned to him really quick and pressed a kiss to his lips. She ended it just as quickly as she began it, jumping into the truck. He looked at her stunned, a smile growing on his face. He shut the door and made his way to the driver’s side.

She glanced at the middle seat as he started up the truck, biting her lip. She then slid over to it, not looking at him as he glanced at her. She simply buckled herself in, and then as he put the truck in motion, she reached over and laced her hand with the one resting on his lap.

He lifted their joined hands and press a small kiss to the back of hers. He stopped to get them food at one of their favorite places, and as he pulled up to the house, he turned the truck off. He looked over at her, gazing at her lovingly.

She smiled at him, and he leaned down to capture her lips into a kiss. He gently cupped her cheek as they kissed. They pulled away after a moment, trying to catch their breaths.

“C’mon. Let’s get inside. You have some making up to do as I recall? And I’m hungry,” She flirted as she pulled away, snatching the food and rushing out.

He grabbed the drinks before catching up to her. They stepped inside and as she moved to set the food on the table he took in the site before him. The one place he thought he would never see again:

Home.

[downwiththeficness]

A Need So Great Chapter 20

Summary: Eva Moore is assigned to work the last year of her contract with the DEA in Colombia. She just wants to get to the end of her tenure, but she keeps getting drawn further into a string of murders in the city. It isn’t long before she’s forced to face the ghosts of her past.

Word Count:~2,000

Warnings: None

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Carrillo isn’t married--or, if you like, divorced. A/B/O dynamics are prevalent, and they come with their own warning. The overall rating for this story is Explicit, although not every chapter will contain adult themes.

Taglist: @dirtynerdy98 @1zashreena1 @heresathreebee @deliciouslyclassytrash @maybege @kid-from-new-zealand @clydesducktape @revolution-starter @autumnleaves1991-blog @jedi-mando @buckysalefty @anaeve @maouzon

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8.5, 9, 10, 10.5, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21

Eva did her very best not to fidget. She’d been in this building before, though not on this particular floor. The unfamiliar location coupled with having never laying eyes on the person she was meeting with made her anxious. And, when she was anxious, she felt herself begin to fidget. She was sitting in the lobby, one high heeled foot bouncing over her crossed knee. The décor was taupe, which she heard could be very soothing. It did not soothe Eva.

A hand landed on her knee, warm and heavy, stopping her movement.  She looked over at Horacio, breathing deeply. His scent—that was what would soothe her.  She wondered if it would be acceptable to lean over in her chair and bury her nose in his neck. He’d probably take it in stride, but she feared the displeased looks from the others in the lobby. She’d had enough judgmental stares to last her a lifetime.  There was no need to add to them.

Eventually, they were called back and led to a sterile office not far down the hall.  The assistant ushered them to their seats and asked if they needed anything, an offer that was turned down.  A few moments later, a man walked in hurriedly.  He was dressed in a gray suit that was a little too big for him, a striped tie flapping with each step.  Middle aged, hair silver enough to tell her that he’d started graying early, though he had a good hairline that was only just now beginning to recede. His belt didn’t match his shoes.

“I apologize for the delay, I was caught in a meeting that went a little long,” he said in that warm Southern drawl that Eva had completely forgotten existed. As he sat and picked up a pen, he continued, “I’m agent Richardson.”

Eva introduced herself and Horacio, smiling as congenially as she could. A firm grasp of her body kept her from bouncing her leg, but she did stutter a little. It had been a long time since she’d felt so utterly exposed.

“Agent Peña said that you’ve got evidence that could helpful in my investigation?”

Eva gave a stilted nod, scratching at the skin above her brow, “I do.”

Hands turning up in question, he prompted, “And?”

She hesitated. Everything that had been ingrained in her from an early age rebelled against talking with a federal agent, no matter how long she’d been working with them.

He noted her reluctance, “You’ve signed the immunity agreement. Anything you say here can’t be held against you, as long as you cooperate.”

Eva looked away, swallowing back the fear of going back to prison. She’d talked with Horacio about it on the flight over. He’d listened intently to her distrust of the government, had held her hand when she started to cry. And then, when her tears were dry, he assured her that, if push came to shove, he’d smuggle her out of the country. The contingency plan was already mostly formed. They’d packed lightly, and he had a set of forged passports sewn into his carry on.

“Ardent Pharmaceuticals,” she began. “I created their tax system, I initiated all their LLC licenses as of fifteen years ago. They have holdings in at least three off shore accounts, I can provide you with those account numbers and with the banks they’re associated with.”

Agent Richardson’s face was very still, Eva wasn’t sure that he was even breathing. After a moment, he said, “You’re confident you can get me that information.”

Eva licked her lips, pausing only a moment, “Yes. I can do that.”

He blinked, rolling the pen between his fingers, “Alright.  Let’s get started.”

When they were walking out of the building, Eva’s heels clicking on the pavement, Horacio took her hand. Their hotel was maybe a few blocks away and the weather was pleasant for the time of year. A cool breeze rustled her hair, the smell of street food coming along with it. This was nice. Really nice.

She felt a kind of heavy relief flow out of her body, the muscles of her neck and shoulders loosening with every step. It might come back and bite her in the ass, but she’d done the right thing.  She knew it, deep down.

Horacio transferred her hand to the other side, his now free arm wrapping around her middle.  Their stride slowed a little. Eva didn’t mind at all.

“I love this skirt, you know?” he murmured, the pads of his fingers running along the waistband.

She remembered him telling her how much he loved this skirt the first night they’d slept together. Dreams, he’d said.  Eva smiled, leaning into him.

“I do know,” she replied easily, not even bothering to hide the affection in her gaze.

He kissed her temple, leading her through the doors of the hotel. The air conditioning blew at her, a sharp contrast to the soft wind outside. She shivered despite Horacio’s warmth around her. He noticed, the arm at her waist rising up to encircle her shoulders. She touched his fingers briefly while they waited for the elevator.

“I’m proud of you.”

She looked up at him, “Why?”

He shrugged, “It wasn’t easy for you to go through all of that. We were in there for three hours, Eva. You dredged up every detail of your work to hide your in laws’ criminal activity like it was… nothing.”

Lips parting, she felt her brows come together, “Because it was nothing.”

The doors to the elevator opened and he ushered her inside. Tapping the button to their floor, he shot her a look that said he expected a further explanation. Eva chuckled, leaning back against the railing.

“This year has been...fantastic,” she started, eyes on the dusty ceiling of the carriage. “I never could have thought that I’d end up here, with you.”

A ding sounded and Eva walked ahead of Horacio, pulling him willingly along by the hand, “All those things I talked about, I’ve spent years working through them. I still think about it, yeah, and I still have to work on it. But, what that was in there? That was simple math. I need them to be so tied up legally that they don’t have the capital to pay another hitman. And, I needed to get a little vengeance—more vengeance—than I already had.”

Horacio keyed into their room, tossing the key onto the table near the door.  Eva followed him, sitting on the bed to remove her shoes. Though they were comfortable, a few blocks’ walk had earned her some relief. She rubbed at the arch of her foot with her thumb.

Sitting next to her, he took her hand again, gazing carefully at her expression, “Its not your job to take down their entire enterprise.”

The steadiness of his gaze, the sincerity of his expression, was amusing. He had already made her out to be a little bit of a martyr, which was pretty much the opposite of what was happening.

Eva rolled her eyes, “I have no aspirations of that. I just want to make a little trouble.”

More than a little trouble.  She wanted to breakdown their ability to make moves the way they had been doing for so long.  She wanted them utterly impotent for the foreseeable future.

His smile reached his eyes, the corners crinkling, “I think you’ve achieved that.”

Not yet, she hadn’t.  There was still the matter of the fallout and Eva did not trust in the effectiveness of the American government. She would have to watch from the sidelines as they worked—or, didn’t work. Either way. Eva very much wanted it to work.

“I’ll admit that it would be nice to see Myra in one of those prison jumpsuits.”

Thumb rubbing at her palm, Horacio seemed to be trying to picture it, “When it happens, I’ll see if I can get someone to take a picture, for posterity’s sake.”

He sat another moment longer, and Eva could tell that he had something to say and was trying to find the words.  She lifted a brow, in silent invitation.

Pulling his lips between his teeth, he was quiet another moment before his hand tightened on hers, “I put in my resignation.”

Shocked, Eva could only say, “When?”

“Before we left.”

“Why?”

He blinked, head cocking to the side, “Because you were right. Because I’ll be dead very soon if I keep on doing this.”

It took about thirty seconds for Eva to get her mind about what he’d just said. In those thirty seconds, she made a few decisions, and maybe fell in love just a little bit more. They would have to take a detour before they got to the airport.

“What are you going to do next?”

His work was his entire life, it consumed almost every waking minute.  The man probably made plans to arrest dealers in his sleep.

He shrugged, “I’ve got some loose ends I need to tie up, and then I thought we could make the decision together.”

Her jaw dropped a bit.  He wanted to make plans. Together. He wanted to make plans—plans for the future—with her. Plans they could enact. Plans that didn’t involve looking over their shoulder for the rest of their lives.  

Eva leaned over and kissed him, sniffing back the tears that threatened.  Really, she hadn’t cried this much since the first year of her marriage. Happy tears, though, were always welcome.

In the cab the next day, Eva prompted the driver to pull off the highway a few exits early. When Horacio asked what they were doing, she simply smiled and patted his arm. The neighborhood she directed the driver to was...an acquired taste. The building that they stopped in front of was decrepit, nearly falling apart on its foundation. The place had once been the office of the mausoleum next door, but had fallen into disrepair when another office had been built on the other side. She was surprised the roof hadn’t completely caved in.

“Is this...safe?” he asked, eyes looking over the building skeptically.

Eva smiled again, unbearably amused at his choice of words, “Safe is one way to put it.”

She walked ahead of him, moving through the first floor to the back room. It was small, and part of the floorboards were missing.  She had to hop from joist to joist to get to the cold air return vent. The years had taken a toll on the bones of the place, leaving the hinges off center. It took several grunting yanks to get the cover free so that she could reach into the vent and pull the bag free.  

Covered in dust, but still whole, the black fabric was thin in some places from use.  She’d had the thing since middle school, her name embroidered on one side. Evangeline, written in white thread that had turned yellow over the years. With shaking fingers, she traced the letters. It was the only thing she had from before she was married, everything else given up somewhere along the way. This, she was definitely holding onto.

“What is it?” Horacio asked from the door, his eyes scanning the room, mouth thin.

Eva looked up at him, “My retirement plan.”

Hopping across the joists towards him, she made her way to one of the few stable points in the front room, dropping the bag carefully. On one knee, she opened the zipper, spreading the fabric wide. Inside was every dollar she could skim from the till, about a hundred thousand in total.

Horacio was standing next to her, looking down at the stacks with pride in his eyes, “I knew you were smart.”

Glancing at him from behind her lashes, Eva grinned, “I’m practical.”

He chuckled, “Same thing.”

Zipping the bag back up, Eva swung it over her shoulder, “Needless to say, this will be my carry on.”

He quirked a brow at her, amused, “Is that all you have hidden?”

“Here, at least.”

There was another couple of bags hidden here and there, none with nearly this much in them.  She would have to make plans to touch base in those locations before they finalized their...Eva paused a moment. They had plans, or they would.

She smiled, “This is enough for now, I think.”

He held out his hand to her, “Then, we should go.  The meter’s running.”

[merakiaes]

Fall Apart To Fall Together - Santiago “Pope” Garcia

Pairing: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x reader 

Requested: Yes. 

Prompts: None. 

Warnings/notes: Mentions of miscarriage. Not proofread so I’m sorry in advance for any possible mistakes. My first time writing for Pope so show some love <3 And send in more Triple Frontier requests xx

Wordcount: 2392

Summary: Losing a child will drive any couple apart but if it’s meant to be, you’ll find your way back to each other in the end. 

Part Two

It was an extremely rare thing to see a marriage with no problems whatsoever from start to finish, without at least one conflict or argument every other month.

Maybe your husband or wife was a drunk, or an addict. Maybe they were sloppy and lazy and refused to evenly split the responsibility of doing chores and taking care of your kids. Maybe you fought a lot, about money, lack of emotional support or maybe they were getting a little too close to their co-worker and continuously staying late at work for other reasons than they claimed.

Every marriage had its ups and downs, but some downs were worse than others.

The pain that followed losing a child that you had spent months preparing for, months bonding with even when it was still living inside your body, months preparing a place in your heart for, was simply indescribable.

You had grown up being the oldest out of eleven siblings so by the time you moved away from home to go to college at nineteen with a scholarship to your name, you felt like you had gotten enough of the parenting for a lifetime.

Not only did you simply not want children, but you didn’t want to pass on your bad genetics, your family having a long history of mental instability and different disorders. 

All of your siblings had something, whether it be severe depressions, anger issues or they were alcoholics or drug abusers.

You were one of the unlucky ones who got a little bit of everything. You were bipolar like your grandmother and had anger issues like both of your parents, and let me tell you the two did not go well hand in hand.

You didn’t want to pass shit like that on to another generation like your parents had eleven times. You couldn’t see yourself as a mother and all you wanted in life was to move forward in your career and be successful.

But that all changed when you met Pope. 

He was a retired military man and just like you, he was very hardworking and dedicated to making a nice living. But he was also a family man, which came to be a problem.

Having been an only child and growing up having no father figure, he longed to become a father himself and getting an opportunity to do everything his father hadn’t done for him.

You told him already in the beginning of your relationship that you weren’t interested in reproducing and it crushed him, you could see that it did.

But he had loved you from the moment he laid eyes on you and knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, so he accepted it, and you got married.

He kept bringing the topic of children and starting a family up every once in a while, just to test the waters and see if maybe, just maybe, you had changed your mind. But you never did, strictly taking your birth control at the exact same hour every day.

And yet somehow, you managed to get knocked up, four years into your relationship and three years into your marriage.

Pope was absolutely ecstatic and, of course, he wanted to keep it.

You had always thought that it would be an easy decision if you ever, against all odds, did get pregnant, but now that you were… Now that you had seen the tiny little smiley face on the digital screen of the pregnancy test and now that you knew that there was an actual life growing inside of you, you were suddenly questioning everything you had ever thought you believed.

Suddenly, the idea of being a mother didn’t seem so bad, and the mental image of your husband with your baby suddenly turned you on more than anything ever had before.

So you decided to keep it. 

You had never seen Pope so happy, and the longer into the pregnancy that you got, the more connected you felt to your unborn baby, which was why it killed you so much when you lost it.

You had never, in a million years, thought that you would have to grieve your own child, but a glimpse of something you, to a beginning, thought you didn’t want, discovering that you did actually want it and then not being able to have it was an entirely different kind of pain.

You carried your baby girl every second of her life and when you carried a life, it being there and then so suddenly gone, a part of your soul died forever. And so did Pope’s.

You had never even wanted a baby to begin with, but he had never wanted anything more and losing what he held dearest completely crushed him.

He never got to hold her in his arms, or bounce her on his lap. He never got to read to her, or watch her as she napped. She slipped away so quickly, before he had even gotten to say her name.

You didn’t just lose the baby. You also lost the 1, 2, 10 and 16 year old she would have become. You lost Christmas mornings, loose teeth, and first days of school. You just lost It all.

You fell into a depressive episode, not being able to eat, drink, sleep, or do anything but lay in your bed all day long, staring into nothingness with your blinds pulled down to hide you from the rest of the world.

You constantly questioned whether you could have done more, pondered whether there was something you could have done to save her, tossed and turned at night worrying that the things you innocently did may have harmed her.

If you hadn’t carried that heavy bag, would she be there with you now? If you hadn’t been stressed at work, would she still be growing in your womb?

These questions, these fears, became a daily form of torture and only a mother who had lost a child could understand what it was like to live with this niggling guilt.

And it was especially hard when you had to go through it all alone, because Pope… Pope was an entirely different planet.

While you mourned by shutting down, he mourned by putting himself to work, so intensely that he was barely even hanging on to his sanity toward the end.

He was agitated and over-worked and you needed his support, needed to have him there with you and help you through your loss. After all, you were in it together.

But it was like he was avoiding you to every cost, obsessing over some drug lord rather than acknowledging his loss and dealing with his trauma, and it just made you so, so angry.

And in the end you just… snapped. Both of you snapped and you realized soon that the miscarriage had forged a crack in your marriage and relationship, so deep that it just couldn’t be fixed, so you got a divorce and went your separate ways.

Last thing you heard from Benny was that he’d moved to Colombia to get closer to work. He never reached out to you after moving out, so you didn’t either, even though you secretly wanted nothing more than to get him back.

A year and a half passed without hearing anything from or about him, and eventually, you just stopped thinking about him, forcing yourself to forget about him in an attempt to numb your pain.

It was currently three minutes to three in the morning according to the alarm clock standing on your bedside table, the bright red numbers illuminating the otherwise pitch black room.

The house was eerily quiet and just like every other night since the miscarriage, you laid wide awake, although your mind was completely blank.

A knock on the front door suddenly reached your ears and to a start, you figured it was just the sleep deprivation causing your brain to play tricks on you.

But then there was another knock, and you quickly realized that there was actually someone at your door.

You had no idea who would come knocking at your door at this hour but whoever it was, you hoped they would just go away if you ignored them.

It quickly became apparent to you, however, that they were there to stay, when a third knock echoed through the quiet house.

You heaved a sigh, closing your eyes for a brief moment before throwing back the duvet covering your body and sitting up on the edge of the bed, taking a moment before standing up and heading for your closed bedroom door.

You wrapped your cardigan tighter around your body for heat when you walked into the cold hallway and headed straight for the front door, wasting no time in standing on your toes to look through the peeking hole once you reached your destination.

To say you were shocked to see who it was, was a big understatement, the familiar face that you hadn’t seen in so long causing a knot to form in your stomach.

But you swallowed your anxiety and reached for the lock anyway, twisting it to the right and slowly opening the door.

Your eyes met Pope’s in an instant and for a moment, he almost looked surprised to see that you had actually opened. But he quickly regained his composure and you wrapped your arms around yourself as you shivered, looking at him.  

“What are you doing here, Santi?” You asked softly, your voice coming out as silent as a whisper.

He sucked in a deep breath, releasing it just as quickly, his face falling. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed hearing you call me that.” He confessed, causing your heart to tug in your chest.

But you kept your face free of emotion, simply staring at him.

When realizing you weren’t going to say anything, he sighed, his shoulders falling. “I just… wanted to check up on you.” He said, and then proceeded to lift his hand for you to see. “I brought Chinese. Sweet chili chicken with noodles.”

You hadn’t even seen the white and red paper bags up until then, and neither had you felt the smell. But now that you did, you couldn’t deny the fact that you were extremely hungry.

Your face softened and you hugged yourself closer, giving him a look of disbelief. “You wanted to check up on me… and you brought food, at three o’clock in the morning.” You pointed out. “You couldn’t just send a text?”

“I wanted to see you.” He replied without missing a beat and you flinched slightly, not having expected such a quick answer.

“You’ve been gone for…” You trailed off, not even being able to remember in that moment, and sighed, letting your arms fall down to your sides and bringing one of them up to run a hand over your face tiredly. “I need to go back to sleep, I’m exhausted and I can’t do this right now.”

He shook his head, looking pleadingly at you. “Please, (Y/N), I know you. You weren’t asleep to begin with.” He pointed out, before looking down at his feet. “Something happened and I… I can’t stop thinking about it. I know you don’t want to see me but I- I really need you.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, the worry coming so naturally it was like you had never been apart in the first place.

Out of pure instinct, you stepped out on the porch, into the cold night air, and reached out for his hand, the sudden touch of affection causing his eyes to widen slightly.

You ignored the look he was giving you and squeezed his hand, giving him a careful look. “What happened?” You whispered. ”Are you okay?”

He sniffed, looking to the side. “Can I just come in?” He asked and looked back to you, nodding toward your bare legs where your skin was covered in goosebumps. “You’re gonna get a cold if you stay out here like that.”

You dropped his hands and sighed, wrapping your arms back around your body to provide some heat.

“Yeah.” You whispered, and stepped out of the way to let him in, knowing he was right.

He stepped after you over the threshold and looked around in the dark hall, eyes turning sad when they landed on the familiar photographs of you and him on the walls, that you hadn’t had the heart to take down even after all this time.

You turned away from him to give him a moment, closing the door and locking it back up.

When you turned back around, you had no more than a second to react before his arms had wrapped around your.

“I’m sorry, for everything.” He mumbled into your hair, but you said nothing, did nothing, but stand there with your arms hanging limply at your sides.

When noticing the lack of response, he pulled away, looking down at you with sorrowful eyes. This time you responded with a nod, your hand reaching out to take the paper bags in one hand and his hand in the other.

“Come on, we can talk while we eat.” You said and he nodded, letting you steer him into the living room.

And talk you did.

He finally opened up and acknowledged his loss and told you all about the mission and how it had gone wrong.

You fell asleep in the sofa at six in the morning, tangled up in each other to the sound of birds chirping outside the living room window and with empty Chinese boxes spread out on the coffee table.

Seeing him again after everything, and after such a long time, brought back all of the memories and created many questions in your head, a lot of confusion as to what was going to happen next.

You had known each other for so long, been married and almost had a child together. You had been in love, like really in love. And yet everything felt so incredibly foreign to you.

But you did know one thing for sure; the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around you and the musky scent of his aftershave felt more familiar than anything else, and right before you had fallen asleep, you came to the conclusion that maybe, sometimes, two people had to fall apart in order to realize how much they need to fall back together.

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