Armando X Black - Tumblr Posts

how wwould armando react if he is in love with the reader, but she shows no sign of feeling the same way, (he's so devoted when it comes to the reader) And he'd like to know if she feels the same way, I wish it would end in a passionate way (you know what I mean) 🔥

Te amo 🌸💗

Wait For Your Love-

Armando Aretas

summary: Armando doesn’t wish you a happy birthday so you’re day is basically ruined, up until it isn’t.

themes: angst, fluff, smut.

warnings: smut 18+

authors note: I know this isn’t exactly like the request, but genuinely I tried. I hope y’all like it 🥹. Not edited btw, I wrote this on my lunch break.

Happy birthday to you,’ kelly sang, walking a candlelight cupcake over to your desk, Dorn, Mike, and Marcus following behind her. “Happy birthday to you.”

“Happy birthday, our sweet girl, happy birthday to you.” Kelly gives you a hug from behind and you lean into her.

“Thanks guys,’ you smile big, blowing out the candle on your cupcake.

“What your young ass wish for?” Mike asks, slinging a birthday girl sash over your shoulders.

Marcus slaps his chest. “You know she can’t tell you, that’ll ruin it.”

Mike smacks his lips. “Man, shut your superstitious ass up. Seriously, what you wish for.”

You laugh. “I wished for the second day at my cafe to run smoothly for my employees.’ Everyone shakes their heads, happily, saying your wish was a great one.

“Speaking of,” you dig into your bag, pulling out pink envelopes with hearts on their seals. “If you guys can make time I’d love to have you over there for small party. It’s nothing big, just a new cake recipe I was working on, some drinks, and food if you guys want to bring any.”

They all accept your invite, taking their cards with them and back to their desks.

You sit back down with a smile and continue to unencrypte the harddrive they’d found at a crime scene. Mike had told you it was very important they get it open with everything on it.

So that was the goal today before your party, so you could get as drunk as you wanted to and cry as much as you wanted too.

Hopefully not the latter, though.

The compound door swings open with a shriek before slamming shut, echoing through the whole place.

You turn and your heart stops in your chest as Armando Aretas makes his way through.

It was no secret, to the team anyway, that you had a mild crush on Armando. Despite knowing the things of his past, some desperate part of your self truly liked him. And corny enough, you saw the goodness and potential within him.

It’s why you went with Mike to the D.A’s office and fought for him to serve out his tenured in AMMO instead of prison. You knew he wasn’t all bad, he could be reformed, you’d seen it multiple times.

Like when he took all those stab wounds for Callie, the daughter of the woman actively hunting him. Or how he tried constantly, despite his past and his own convictions, to have a relationship with Mike. Even how kind he was to you at times, especially when you know it’s hard for him, training his mind to know that kindness isn’t a weakness after years of being a product to the cartel.

So you couldn’t help but smile when you see him walk down the stairs and take a seat at his desk across from yours.

“Armando,’ Mike says. “You’re late, we’re about to start debriefing in ten.”

Armando shrugs, slinging off his leather jacket and exposing his bulging, biceps and veiny forearms.

You check the glare in your computer, checking for drool, before eyeing his torso, the skin tight black shirt doing nothing for your unquenched thirst.

“Had to pick something up.” He says, eyeing you.

You turn, looking over your shoulder. Was he actually staring at you?

Everyone else must have noticed too, because before you know it, you have eight pairs of hungry eyes watching you both.

“Anything you want to say to her?” Kelly practically nudges Armando with her voice.

Armando eyes you up in down, taking in your typical appearance of a cardigan and jeans, your curls pulled high in a puff on your head.

His eyes pull away from you as he stands and walks over to the room where the team debriefs. “Nah,” he says.

You fell your heart crash to your feet.

Did he just?

Now, you could understand if he forgot it was your birthday, but you have a cupcake with a candle on it sitting on your desk not to mention the fucking sash that says “birthday girl,” no way he thought you were just wearing it for convenience.

You thought, just for once, Armando would show you even a slither of the same kind of affections you held for him…especially on your birthday.

But you were wrong.

Your heart chips a little at that realization, you feel pathetic like Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles as you ball up the invitation you had stored away for Armando, it yellow and bright unlike the others.

You were pathetic to think the man you liked would even consider you an option, let alone come to some dumb birthday party of yours. He was too busy for that, and you were too desperate.

Another year older, yet never wiser. It was clear in your delusions of Armando as you wait for his love.

###

You’re careful to not drop your cake as you push it through the swinging doors of your new cafe.

You decided to get this cafe as a side shop because you always loved pastries, and making cakes and sweet treats got you through the stress of school and the police force.

So now that you’re older, why not have a cafe for fun and passive income? Was it more stress, yes, but it was totally worth it.

“Wow, that looks amazing!” Dorn’s eyes light up as your bring the cake over to the booths and tables your friends occupy.

“You think so?” You smile.

“Oh hell yeah,’ Marcus likes his lips, clapping his hands together. “You know I’m for anything sweet so.”

You chuckle. “Forewarning. It’s a teramassu cake, so you old dogs might be up all night if you eat too much.”

“Damn! It’s like that!” Mike laughs.

You smile and begin cutting into the cake and passing out pieces. “Yeah, it’s like that.”

“And to think we basically raised you.” Marcus says. “I’m going to let you slide though. One because it’s your birthday. And two, because this cake is fire.”

You clap and squeal. “I’m so glad you like it. I didn’t want to mess it up, but it’s pretty difficult.”

“Mhm,’ kelly says, taking a sip of her wine. “So what’s harder, cake baking? Or admitting your crush to Armando?”

Your smile drops in an instant and you send an icy glare Kelly’s way. “Seriously?”

Kelly hiccups. “I’m sorry, but the way your face looked when he didn’t tell you happy birthday, I mean how can you like a guy like that? No offense, Mike.”

Mikes eyebrows rise. “I mean, it was a jerk move. But it’s Armando. Who knows, he might say happy birthday tomorrow.”

You shake your head. “Yeah, but it won’t be worth anything tomorrow when he knew today. I mean, I’m really pathetic to wish he was here when he couldn’t even do the bare minimum for me.” Your eyes well with tears.

“Hey, no.’ Dorn wipes your eyes. “Don’t cry on your birthday about him. Cry tomorrow, and then come see my therapist.”

You sniffle. “What?”

“Sorry, she’s just amazing, I always like to shout her out.”

You sigh. “Thanks, Dorn.”

Even with all this smiling faces around you, you couldn’t shake the anchor pulling at your ankle. You wished Armando would have just told you happy birthday, even pretended to care. That would have meant more to you than what you got.

But here you were, with all your friends who actually cared about you, about to cry over a guy who couldn’t even be bothered.

A tear streaks down your face and you look away. “You guys should go,’ you say. “I’m sorry.”

Mike pats your shoulder. “I’ll try talking to him.”

You grip his wrist. “Don’t. I don’t want him to know about this, he’ll think I’m insane.”

“Don’t sweat it too hard,’ kelly kisses your head. “I know plenty of guys at the department that would fall to their knees right now over you.”

“Thanks,’ you half smile, watching as your friends leave before you break down completely.

Tears streaked into your palm as you cried out. It didn’t hit you until this morning just how deeply you cared for Armando.

You truly liked him, and his blatant rejection had set all your emotions flaring.

Sniffling into your hands, the soft chime of your cafes door catches your attention.

“We’re closed.” You grumble, not bothering to look up.

“Even for me, ¿dulce niña?” Armando says.

Your head shoots up and the air is nearly knocked out of your lungs as you take him in.

He’s dapper in a black button up not all the way buttoned, exposing some of his tone chest and a silver St. Christopher necklace. His pants are the right amount of tightness, highlighting his muscular thighs, and his hair is dark and trimmed, just like his beard.

Armando, as always, is hard to look away from. But still, resist and play it cool, wiping the tears away from your eyes.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, crossing your hands over your small chest.

Armando walks towards you, hands behind his back as he observes your cafe, like some kind of museum tourist. “The cafe came together nice.” He says, stepping a bit too close to you.

For air, you take a step back, Armando notices and smirks. “Stop avoiding the question. What are you doing here?”

“I heard you had a party I wasn’t invited to. That’s not very nice, bebita.” He smirks.

“Yeah, it was invite only.”

“I don’t qualify?”

You scoff. “You didn’t even know it was my birthday.”

“I knew.”

“Oh, you knew, so you just didn’t care.”

“I cared.’ Armando gets close, pulling at the tule fabric of your pink mini dress. He lets out a shaky breath. “This is beautiful on you, by the way.”

You push him away at the chest, he hardly moves. “Stop it.” You whine.

“Stop what?”

“Stop acting like you like me!” You shout. “You don’t! And it’s fucking embarrassing, Armando!”

Armando swallows, and even in the darkness you can see the shame painted into the little creases of his face and the fast lifts of his chest.

Armando’s hands finally fall to his sides and you see now what he has done. In his hands are a large bouquet of flowers and a blue bag.

“No,” You say.

He steps forward. “This is why I was late to work, princesa, because I got this for you.”

“Armando.”

“Open it.” He says.

Reluctantly you take the bag from his hands, sharp rods of electricity swirling up your arm when your fingers meet.

Slowly, you open the bag and look inside. There, a small velvet box awaits you. Hesitant, you pick it up and open it.

You gasp at what you see. A necklace, tiny diamonds all the way around. It shimmers in the moonlight that peaks into the cafe as you hold it up.

“You bought this for me?’ You gasp. “How can you even afford this?”

Armando rolls his eyes. “I use to be a drug dealer, baby.”

You sigh and put the necklace, as pretty as it is, back into the box. “I can’t take this.” You hand it back.

Armando frowns. “Why not?”

You turn, holding yourself. “Because how do I know if you even like me?”

Armando’s eyes hidden and he holds the bag on display. “Baby, I just dropped bands on this necklace for you. I think that shows alot.”

“Yeah, maybe.” You step back, walking away from him.

He catches your arm, gently pulling you back. “Maybe?” He scoffs offended. “You didn’t even invite me tonight, yet I got you a gift, and you say maybe.”

You snatch out of his grip. “I didn’t invite you tonight because you’re an asshole!”

“I’m not!” Armando shouts back.

“Then prove it,’ you square into his space. “Stop making me wait for your love and tell me what you know I want to hear.”

Armando opens his mouth to speak, but the words are lost when he leans in, his mouth crashing onto yours.

Your shocked, your lips are still against his until something burst inside of you, everything you’ve been craving sealed in this one kiss.

This causes you to moan against his lips. Armando swallows it, slipping his hands into your curls and tilting your head to the side, turning the kiss hot and fierce.

You wrap your arms around the nape of his neck, scratching at his faded low cut, deepening your kiss.

Armando’s hands trail down the fluff of your dress until they reach the hem. He flips it upward and finds your underwear, growling as he feels the thin layer of cotton. You shudder at his touch, your pussy throbbing at the thought of him making contact.

“Fuck,’ he moans, slipping two fingers into your thongs, rolling his thick fingers over your clit.

Your head falls back as you let out a low, moan. “Fuck, baby.”

“You like that?’ He strokes his fingers up and down your soaking wet slit. “Tan mojado, maldita sea.” He growls in your ear.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Oh, yes.”

Armando grabs you by your waist flipping you around, the rounds of your ass pressed against the swells of his cock.

You gasp as Armando pushes you against his hard on, you imagine how it will feel once he’s deep inside your soaking, needy cunt.

Armando nibbles at the bottom of your ear. “You feel that baby. You feel what you do to me?”

“Y—yes,” you sputter.

He grinds against you, his face deep in your hair, taking a whiff.

“God I need to be inside you.” Armando whines. “I’ve always needed it.”

“Then do it. Stop holding back.” You moan out.

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say because in a flash Armando’s got your dress up, your thong to the side, and you bent over the counter of your cafe.

God you hoped no one walked past, because if they did, they get an eyeful of your ass and Armando’s bulging cock.

“Fuck,” Armando moans, rubbing the leaking pink tip of his cock against you sleek folds, shuddering as he pulls back, your slick dripping off his tip. “You ready, baby?”

“Yes, oh yes.” You moan, digging your head into the cold marble of the counter.

Armando strokes your entrance one last time before pushing into slowly. You both let out loud, pornagraphic moans finally being full of each other.

The strokes start of slow and deep, each smack creating friction between the top of your dress and your skin. The deeper and harder Armando fucks you, the lower your dress falls until eventually your boobs spill out.

Armando’s pace picks up and he begins to fuck you with speed that causes you to cry out. He reaches in front of you, grabbing your boobs and holding onto them, circling your nipples between his fingers, pounding deeper and harder into you.

“God, mama, you’re incredible.’ Armando growls. “I’ve dreamt of this moment.”

“More!” You moan.

Armando flips you over, lifting you up by your ass and slamming you onto the counter. He waste no time shoving into you and fucking you, your boobs bouncing up and down equivalent to his rhythm.

You reach down, rubbing your clit in circles, you’re desperate to come on Armando’s cock and have him come inside of you.

You can feel the knot in your stomach build and you know you’re close. The sounds of skin slapping and heavy moans echos off the walls of the cafe.

Your pussy leaks, leaving a white ring Armando’s cock as he drills into you, using one lifted leg as leverage.

Your knot builds, expanding, and you know you’re close to the edge.

You pull Armando close. “I want you to finish me, then I need your come inside of me.” You cry out.

Armando doesn’t even question your requests before obliterating you with speed and strokes.

Your knot unfurls and you moan out, shuttering as you

Come on his cock. Armando does the same, pumping all of him inside of you.

Sweaty and breathing hard, he pulls out, lifting you up bridal style.

He carries you to one of the larger booths at the back of the cafe, using his jacket as a blanket for you both.

“Are you on birth control?” He asks.

You shake your head no. “It’s okay. We’re fine. I’ll just get a plan B.”

Armando nods kissing your forehead. “And by the way,’ he pulls you into his strong arms. “Happy birthday.”

You snicker, eyelids heavy. “Thank you.”

Someone To Stay:

Armando Aretas

🎧- Someone To Stay: Vancouver Sleep Clinic

pairings: Armando Aretas x Black reader

themes: angst, slight fluff, lots of violence

warnings: (18+) attempted sexual assault, gore and blood, violence and cursing, mentions of sexual assault and violence.

authors note: Inspired by that one scene from the last of us between Eli, David, and Joel. Ifykyk

Two rules of being on a mission: never have any secrets, and never go anywhere alone.

You’re not even ten minutes into this bust with your team, AMMO, and you’ve already broken both.

For good reason, though.

A fact: The man you were hunting ran a dangerous fentanyl cartel that’s been running deep within Miami and needed to be stopped.

An unknown: this man killed your parents and assaulted you all in the same night fifteen years ago. And ever since then, he’s been sending you letters on your birthday hoping, that one day, you’ll scream for him to stop again.

So as crept up the stares of his Miami mansion, away from your team, you had different plans on how his wishes would play out.

It would end in him screaming for you to stop.

Kicking in the door of the master bedroom, you hold your gun steady, doing a keep sweep of the entry way, then the bathroom.

Nothing.

You holster your gun and walk back towards the entrance of the bedroom. You’re just about to leave when something on the nightstand catches your attention.

A photo.

A happy fucking family photo of the man who ruined your life, his wife, and two girls.

You wondered if he thought about that fact that your parents had two girls just like that when he was on top of you, taking every ounce of you.

Angered, you turn and slam the picture against the floor. Shards shatter and spray, something like your heart did all those nights ago.

“What was that?” Armando says over the coms.

You’re just about to respond when a creak on the floor catches your attention.

You whip around and come face to face with the devil who ruined you.

“Well that wasn’t very nice of you.” He says, smirking.

Armando calls your name over the coms, followed by Kelly, Dorn, and Mike.

You don’t answer. Instead you switch off your coms and cameras.

You don’t need them to hear or see what you have planned.

“I’m not nice.’ You unholster your gun. “Not anymore.”

“I can see that,’ he says, circling you like a predator. Good thing you weren’t his prey, not anymore. “God, you grew up, didn’t you? So beautiful.” He licks his lips.

“Shut the fuck up!” You shout, hands shaky and full of sweat as memories from that night flood you. The smell of him like burning whiskey, his sick laugh as he crushed your innocence in one push, the weight of him on top of you.

You shake your head, clearing your conscious as best as you can, zoning in on him.

He fucking does here.

“So you became a cop to what? Avenge your parents?”

“Yeah, actually.’ You step up. “And so when I put a bullet between your eyes no one will think twice about it.”

“Is that so?” He says backing into his dresser, hand behind his back.

“Fuck yeah.” You growl.

“That’s really unfortunate,’ he says, circling you again.

“And why’s that?” You frown.

“Because you’d need to be alive to do that, right?” He lunges at you, brandishing a knife before cutting your wrist.

You screech, dropping your gun and holding your bleeding wrists.

He stalks over to you, dropping to his knees, enclosing you in his grip with your hands above your head.

You kick and scream, hoping your team would find you before this sick animal devoured you whole.

“You see, I never thought you’d have the balls to come see me again.’ He laughs, the same burning whiskey blowing on your face as he speaks. “But I’m glad you did.’ He grinds his hard on against your thigh. “Real glad.”

“No!” You scream, kicking against him. It’s no use though, he’s much stronger and bigger than you.

Your heart slammed against your chest and felt like you couldn’t breathe. You felt like it was that night all over again.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You wouldn’t be that scared girl anymore, at least not in front of him.

Your head turns and you look up. Not to far from where he has you pinned you see the knife he used on you.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

This was for your parents.

For your family.

For your innocence.

You watch as he unbuttons his pants, starting to pull them off.

“I really am getting my wish, aren’t I.” He says, letting one of your hands free so that he can unbutton his pants.

You reach for the knife, grab it and squeeze the handle tight.

He pulls out his member and your eyes go wild with adrenaline. “You’re going to scream sto—,”

Blood drizzles down the handle of the blade and onto the floor and he gurgles.

You stand, chest heaving, and snatch it out of his neck.

You impale him again in the chest, knocking him over.

On top, you lift the knife up high before driving it down into his heart.

Blood splatters onto your face and mouth.

Your blood curling screams mixed with the squelch of blood and organs reverberating off the walls as you continue to stab.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

You don’t stop until a strong arm wraps around your torso, pulling you away from his body.

“Stop, get off of me!” You scream, punching at them.

“Para! Para!” The voice shouts. “It’s just me.”

It takes you a minute to focus on the face in front of you, but once it’s clear you realize it’s Armando.

Suddenly your arms become heavy and you drop the knife, wrapping your arms tight around his neck.

“Shh,’ he says, caressing your blood soaked hair. “I’m here now.”

You whimper, letting the pain of fifteen years out as you into his shoulders

He pulls you back and cups your cheeks. “What happened here?”

You turn, your eyes guiding Armando to the horror of what happened.

You break down again, and Armando pulls you into his arms. Holding you.

“Está bien, Está bien.” He says. “I’m here now, babygirl. I’m here now.”

Words feel far away, so you say nothing. You just cling to Armando, letting him lift and carry you away from this house of horrors.

His arms are the only place you felt safe, and you were glad they were around you right now.

I Miss You, I’m Sorry.

Armando Aretas x black!female reader

🎧- I miss you, I’m sorry- Gracie Abram’s

summary: in an attempt to guard his heart, Armando pushes you away. But how far is too far? And will he ever have a chance to tell you his true feelings?

themes: angst and fluff.

warnings: gore and blood, kidnapping and murder mentioned.

authors note: I’m still obsessed with Armando. The more I think of him, the more I wonder how broken he must be and how confused and overwhelmed he might feel. I hope it can be explored more in future films <3

Hot and iced coffee was passed around to everyone in the compound, everyone but Armando.

You passed them out with a smile, never once looking his way.

The avoidance was purposeful, he could feel it in the way chills spread wide throughout his chest, desperate for the warmth of your gaze.

But you never gave it to him.

And maybe that had something to do with last night.

How he’d gone too far for the last time.

Last night, Armando was in a mood, working late at the compound. You’d found him crushing the weights, pressing out every dreading thought lingering in his head.

Like always, you’d been attempting to talk to him, let him see that he wasn’t alone.

You had approached him just as he was re-racking his weights and heading over to the treadmill.

With a small smile, you handed him a sweat towel. “What’s on your mind?” You asked, gently.

Armando wiped his face with the towel, tossing it to the side. “Nothing.” He grumbled.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “I know you’re lying. You only stay this late and train this hard when somethings bothering you.”

Armando eyed you, the fury of his troubles—his mothers lies and manipulation, all the innocence he’s lost as he killed for her, only for his life and legacy to amount up to nothing—glazing behind his eyes.

“Don’t try your psychologist bullshit on me.” He grumbled.

You swallow. “It is my job.”

“Not with me it’s not,’ he sizes you up with his shirtless frame.

“Armando, that’s not what I’m doing. I’m just checking on you, making sure you’re okay.”

“What do you even know about me?”

You place a hand on his chest, fingers caressing his heart. Armando tries not to melt at the touch, wishing he wasn’t so starved for this kind of affection all his life.

“I know your heart, and I know it’s heavy, because we’re friends.” You say.

Armando grabs your hand, removing it from his chest, before his body decides to suddenly combust.

He lets out a low, resentful chuckle. Armando didn’t have friends. He couldn’t even trust his own blood, let alone some stranger like you.

He didn’t know why you continuously tried to look for the good in him.

There wasn’t any.

He was a cold, hearted killer. And no amount of hugs, smiles, or coffee runs would change that. He wished you’d stop, because he would only hurt you with expectations in the end.

“Who ever said we were friends?” Armando says, coldly.

You frown. “I just thought—,”

Armando presses the treadmills start button, rubber fills the air with a stench.

“I’m surprised you can think, because if you could, you would have notice that our relationship is one sided.”

You frown, clutching at the bottom of your skirt. “Armando, you don’t mean the things you’re saying.” You croak. “I know you don’t.”

Armando takes a step forward, his rising anger pushing you back into a punching bag.

Cornered, Armando leans into. “I mean every, fucking, word.”

You slip past the punching bag, shaking your head. “No.”

Armando can see the tears building in your eyes. His heart burns, but a deep breath snuffs out the flames.

“Yes. Now leave me the fuck alone and get the fuck out before I say something we both regret.”

Armando points to the door.

You bite your lips, salty tears leaking one by one against your warm brown skin.

Armando’s fist shake at his sides, wishing he could punch himself as he watches you leave.

He thought, like many times before you’d be over the spat. But he was wrong, because you still haven’t looked his way.

And he’d kill just to have one last glance at your eyes.

By the time lunch roles around, you and Armando still haven’t talked.

The silence was killing him.

So the moment you hit the corner, walking back from your lunch break, Armando grabs you up, pulling you into a quiet room.

“What the hell,” you push away from him. “Did you just kidnap me?”

“Kidnapping would require me to take you to a second location.”

You roll your eyes, walking towards the door. “Please move. I’m leaving for my prison sessions soon.”

“You still working there part time?” Armando questions. “It’s dangerous.”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe you should come visit for a session one day, considering your mental deficiencies.”

You attempt to leave, but Armando’s hand sticks out, blocking your exit. “You’re not going anywhere, not until you tell me your issue. Are you still mad about what I said last night?”

You pause, folding your arms over your chest. “I thought you wanted me to leave you the fuck alone?”

“So this about last night.’ Armando smacks his lips. “That’s petty.”

“Petty?’ You throw your keys and purse down. “More like downright disrespectful, Armando.”

“Do you want an apology or something?” Armando scoffs.

“No, actually, I came to terms with some things after I left you last night.”

Armando’s eyebrows raise. “Yeah, and what’s that?”

Your smile is crooked, hurt, and so unlike you. “That you were right last night, we aren’t friends.’ You grab your belongings and brush past him. “So let’s continue to act like it, yeah?” You slam the door shut behind yourself, leaving Armando more hallow than before you two had even spoke.

Armando rubs a hand over his face, his hands eventually finding their way to his hips as he lets out a loud sigh.

Had he made the right choice? Had everything he’d said last night been the truth?

Or was he just afraid of the possibility that his mother wasn’t the only one who could betray him? Or that one day you’d go against your gut and see that there was no light in him, at all, and all he’d do is snuff yours out if you got to close.

It wasn’t clear, the truth muddied by desire and fear, but maybe the space was safer for you in the long run. Neither of you could be hurt that way, anyhow.

May he should take you up on your offer and go for a therapy session.

Armando finds his way back inside the compound where he sees the team gathered around one of the large plasma screams, watching a large, bloody fight play out.

“What’s going on?” He asks, catching everyone’s attention.

The footage pauses and everyone remains silent.

Mike swallows, consoling Kelly as she wipes at the tears on her face.

“A riot broke out at the prison.” Dorn swallows hard. “And there’s not doubt that she’s been taken hostage by a patient of hers.”

Armando blinks, shaking his head. “Hostage?” He swallows, his throat drying up. “What the hell do you mean, hostage?”

“I mean the guards can’t find her anywhere in the prison and her office looks like a struggles taken place.’ Dorn sighs, taking a seat. “We can’t even get in contact with her.”

Armando’s fist curl up as he stalks over to Dorn with a fury. “Well you better keep fucking trying geek squad.”

Dorn stands, sizing Armando up. “You don’t think I’m trying. The place is a fucking dead zone right now, no one can get into anything!”

Mike slips between the two, asserting his weight and presence. Armando pushes against him, flashes of what could be your fate play in his mind. “Well try harder, we need her exact location.’ He turns, heading to the armory. “We leave in thirty.”

Kelly stands. “Hold on, leave and go where? We don’t have clearance there.”

Armando slams his hands against the cages guarding the Armory, sending a shock wave through the compound. “Listen here, I don’t give a shit about clearance, and neither should any of y’all. If it was any one of us in that situation, she wouldn’t hesitate, so we should do the same.”

The group is quiet before they join Armando in the armory. They work in heavy silence as they suit up, cleaning and checking their guns.

Armando’s mind reels and slips, imagining what could happen to you. You had no combat or weapons training in the fiel, your specialties lied in communications as a liaison officer for the department. You also oversee some of AMMO’s operations along side Rita.

Going back to school for a PHD in psychology was merely prideful, as you didn’t need too, leading you to work on a thesis in regards to the psychology and reform of prisoners, which is exactly why you were missing now.

If anything happened to you, Armando didn’t think his heart could handle the massive guilt of pushing you away last night and letting you leave today. If someone could grant him one last wish to cling onto you and never let you loose, he’d take it in a heartbeat.

“Armando,’ Mike says, his voice crashing over Armando’s thoughts like a wave. “You ready?”

Armando clocks his gun, shoving a knife into his pants pocket.

“Yeah.” He says.

Mike pats his shoulders. “We’ll bring her home, okay.”

Adrenaline didn’t allow for Armando’s pride to take control, he just nodded, following behind the team as they stepped out and began the pursuit to the hospital.

As the van nears the prison, kelly moves toward the back with an iPad in hand.

“When we get inside, Mike and I will coordinate with the other officers on sight to try and gather as many prisoners as possible. Dorn you’ll be air support with the drowns, and Armando you’ll find—,”

The van comes to a stop and Armando slings his gun around his body, adjusting it in his grip. “I know what I need to do.” He kicks the door open, rushing inside.

Armando slammed through the prison doors, doing a quick sweep of the halls before perusing down them.

The prison smelt of sulfur, gas and water leaking from the ceilings and floors as he walked past. He couldn’t believe this was a place you’d actively chosen to go to, no woman like you deserved to be here.

Armando pushed past a lot of broken cell doors and hiding prisoners, he was just about to turn the corner when a scream erupts from behind him.

Your scream.

His blood freezes over and his fingers clutch and sweat against his guns trigger.

What if he was too late?

What if you were hurt…or worse?

Panic carries him as he bounds down the hall until he reachers the only door.

He sweeps into the room, a large stage front and center, pointing his rifle at the front of the room.

You’re being held hostage by a man whose eyes are darkened and lust field. This must have been your patient.

Armando’s eyes sweep your body. Your cheek is scraped and bleeding blood, along with your forehead, smooshing curls to your face along with sweat and tears.

Your once white pant suit is soiled and bloody and your heels are long gone.

Armando just wants to shoot the man holding you, but he can’t, not without risking your life. The man holds a knife to your neck, pressing in and drawing blood, seeing Armando’s gun, he uses you as a shield.

“Back the fuck up!” He shouts. “Or I slice her open and spray us fucking both with her blood.”

Armando’s heat skips a beat at the thought. His mouth opens, the closes, he knows better than to negotiate as he couldn’t, he was used to just killing for these kinds of threats. But right now this man held the upper hand by holding on to you.

“Armando,’ you said, voicing weak and unsteady. “Leave us, okay.”

Armando shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you, not again.”

You whimper and your eyes shut, leaving tears to spill from them. Your cries alone were enough for Armando to drop a few rounds in this man, but he needed to be strategic. Something like you. He needed to try to use his words because maybe if he had used them earlier or last night he wouldn’t have anything to regret if this was the last time he’d see you alive.

Armando took a few steps forward. “What would make you let her go?”

The man shook, looking around frantically. “A way out of this fucking hell pit.”

Armando shook his head. “What if I said I could you that, off the books.”

The man swallowed, loosening his grip on the knife against your neck. “How? How could you possibly do that when this place is swirling with fucking cops!”

“The way I came in, there’s no cops stationed over there, so let’s make a deal.’ Armando drops his gun, letting it hang at his side. “You let her go and I get you out of here.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Give me your gun.”

Armando frowned. “Why?”

The knife presses back into your throat and you scream out in searing pain. “So you can’t shoot me fuck head! Now give it to me heart eyes, or I cut her open.”

“Armando! No!”

Armando takes off his gun, placing it on the floor. “It’s okay, el cariño .’ He says. “I’m gonna slide it over at the same time you let her go, okay?”

Armando slides the gun across the room and the man loosens his grip, giving you enough space slip out of his hold.

You limp across the room and fall into Armando’s arms, he catches you with ease, holding you steady.

“¿Estás bien bebé?’ He questions, frantically pushing your curls away from your forehead. “¿Dónde te duele?”

You don’t respond, instead you pass out on his arms. Armando lifts you up bridal style. Heat boils through him at the thought of this man hurting you.

There was no way he was going to let him go now.

“Let’s go,’ the man says, clocking Armando’s gun. “Or it’s her fucking head, then yours.”

Armando walks you and the man towards the exit he came from, hoping to not run into any cops on the way.

His ears were buzzing, he needed a way to dead this situation without jeopardizing your safety anymore than it already was. That’s when he felt something searing in his pocket.

The knife.

Armando sat you down, tucking you against the wall behind a cell door.

“The fuck you doing!” The man shouted, jutting the gun at Armando.

Armando kneels over, pretending to be out of breath. “She’s heavy and I’m tired. I need a break.”

“Nah, muscle-head,’ the man’s says, putting the guns cold muzzle against Armando’s back. “There’s no time to be tired. If she’s too heavy, leave her and come back once you get me out of here.”

Armando smirked.

He’s just where he needed him.

In quick, trained motion, Armando whips his knife out. He turns, slicing the man’s wrist.

The man screams out in paid, dropping the gun. Armando uses his leg and sweeps his feet from under him, casing him to land on his ass.

The man clutches his wrist, crying out in pain. Armando takes no sympathy when he picks up his gun and shoots him thrice in the chest.

Armando scoops you up once more, calling into his coms.

“I’ve got her,’ he breaths. “Get a kit together, she’s pretty bad.”

Armando holds you tight as he walks you down and out of the prison. The warmth of the sun hitting your skin, the glimmer reminding him of just what he’ll never let go of again.

###

A stir shifts Armando awake.

His eyes open, blurry from the nights sleep before sharpening and focusing on you.

You sit up in your bed, holding your torso and groaning in pain.

Armando sits up, grabbing your arm and helping you reposition.

“How are you?” He asks, stuffing your pillows behind your back.

“Where am I?” You mumble, holding your head. You reach up and touch the bandages on your forehead, feeling a sharp pain spread, causing you to hiss.

“The hospital, you were hurt yesterday in the riot.” Armando says, taking your small hand in his larger one.

You nod, and Armando’s heart sinks when he feels you pull your hand from his.

“So what are you doing here?” You ask.

“I’m here with you.”

“Why?” You turn, glaring at him. “I thought we weren’t friends.”

Armando sighs. “Bebita, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How else could you mean it, Armando?”

His hearts pace quickens, last time he didn’t use his words, he nearly lost you. He didn’t want to risk it and waste anymore time with you. “I was scared.”

“What?” Your voice cracks.

Armando grabs your hand, squeezing it. “I was scared to loose you. I was afraid you’d see how fucked up I am, and just when I thought I had you, you’ll see the monster I am and push me away.”

You shake your head, squeezing Armando’s hand. “No, listen to me,’ you take his face in your hands. “You’re not a monster. You were lied to and you’re hurting.”

Armando melts into your touch as you stroke his cheeks with your thumbs. “I see the good in you, and I’ll always be there for you. I promise.”

A tear slips from Armando’s eyes, the truth of your words bleeding into him through the warmth of your touch. “I’m sorry,” he says, nuzzling into your touch and kissing your palms. “Cariño, lo siento mucho.”

“It’s okay,’ you sniffle. “Come here.” You pull him towards you.

Armando leans in, the hospital bed groaning under his weight as he takes you into his arms.

Armando takes your face into his hands, titling your head, placing his lips onto yours. You two melt into each other, kissing away the physical and mental pain you both harbor.

“I missed you,’ he moans against your lips, holding you tight. “Te extrañé mucho bebé.”

You slip your hands into his hair, pulling him down and on top of you.

“I missed you too.’ Breathlessly, Armando shivers, pressing himself into you. “So never push me away again.” You say.

Armando sucks in a breath, taking in how breathtaking you look underneath him. “Sí, mamá, lo prometo.”

Headcanon: Things I’m positive Armando Does In A Relationship.

SFW:

Worries. I’m sure he worries you’ll realize that he’s a monster and leave him, just like so many have before. You’re constantly reassuring him, reminding him of the good.

Always the big spoon. One thick arm wrapped around your middle all night. It’s his way of protecting you, even when you’re sleep. If you get up to pee, he’s wide awake until you come back just so he can wrap you deep into his arms again.

I think Armando is the type to come off just a little stand-offish, considering his past, but I think when he does come around, he comes aROUND! Like he absolutely spoils the shit out of you. I mean money, jewelry, shoes, clothes, makeup, the works. You want it, when you least expect it, you got it.

Armando is sooooo possessive. Like he really does not go for any of that you flirting with others. Hell if a man even looks at you in anyway he’s got his hands in your back pocket, caressing you or his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in close.

I can definitely see you being Armando’s safe space. The one place he can fully let his walls down and just sink into you with all his grievances. Once he sees it’s safe to open up to you about anything, I don’t think he’ll ever stop.

I can see him having a silly soft side, one only reserved for you with little quips and inside jokes. He might even be one to poke at you or thumb you if you bite into his sarcasm. But I can only see him doing that when he feels safe—whole—with you.

I can see Armando cooking for you. He loves making you authentic Spanish dishes and even going way out of the box and making dishes from other cultures. He loves watching you moan over the food he plates you.

Armando definitely gives pet names. Many in Spanish and some in English. But he’s hardly ever calling you by your government if you’re not in danger or in an argument.

Armando is definitely a traditionalist. He lets you walk on the inside of the sidewalk, he holds you hand, buys you flowers and gifts, holds the door open for you, pushes in your chair and shuts your car door. When you’re with Armando you hardly have to lift a finger to do anything

Armando definitely will want a family, eventually. He’ll want to do it differently than his parents. He’ll want to be stable and in love and do it right. He’ll break the curse.

NSFW:

Armando’s mood depends on how sex will go. If he’s missing you, you’ll make deep, passionate love. If he’s had a rough couple of days, he’s fucking you into the mattress. Simple.

Armando is an ass man. I don’t make the rules. Hell smack your ass at any given occasion. If it’s in his face, he’s smacking it. Period.

Armando is a man of foreplay. If you’re going to fuck him, then you’re going to cum. He knows a woman needs to be stimulated a bit more than a man. So he’ll take his time eating your dripping pussy, fingering it, and playing with every sensitive part of you until you’re begging for him to just slide his cock inside.

Armando loves to take care of you afterwards. He fills up the bath and lights candles around. You’ll slip in first and then he’ll slip in after—this is the only time he’s the little spoon btw—and you guys just chat about anything, as if he didn’t just fuck you into the sofa minutes earlier.

I don’t see Armando having many one night stands. There has to be substance for him. Like something boiling at the surface before he fucks you, or even a relationship. If there’s nothing, I don’t see him taking that chance.

Armando loves kissing. In fact that’s his favorite thing to do. Kiss and get you warm and wet for him. He’ll sit you on his lap and take you fully, peppering your jaw and neck too for a little extra dazzle.

mike and marcus running to their friend reader after they’re wanted and her meeting armando for the first time, but to his surprise she can speak spanish after he tried to insult her by saying she might not be trust worthy in spanish 😚🙏🏾

a/n: Ha! I love this prompt so much, so here we go!! Also, I posted these pictures simply because I’m thirsty. You’re welcome.

A thunderous rapp against your door rung out through your apartment.

Immediately you shot up from your seat, grabbing the gun holstered underneath your coffee table.

You crept towards the door, your gun hiding at your hip as you looked through your peep hole.

To your surprise, it was Mike and Marcus.

You sighed, pushing your forehead against the door.

It had been a long few days since they’d been announced fugitives, the whole of Florida and the government hunting them down.

You slip your gun into the back of your pants and unlock your apartment door.

Quickly, Mike and Marcus pile in, smothering you with hugs.

“God, it’s so good to see you, girl.” Marcus says. “Now, where’s the snacks?”

You frown up your face, taking in their foul scents. “Enough about the snacks,’ you plug your nose, distorting your voice. “You need a shower first.”

“Exactly,’ Mike combed through your cabinet and pulled out a glass.

You fold your arms over your chest. “That goes for you too, Mr. Lowery.”

“Thanks,” Mike smiled, taking a swig of water. “We will, but there is just one more thing…” he trailed off, but before he could get a word out, your door flung open.

You whip out your gun, pointing it at whoever just walked through, for all you know, they could be dangerous.

“Whoa,’ Mike pushes off the counter, coming between you and the intruder. “This is my son, Armando.”

You lower your gun, his face suddenly registering in your brain. You remembered seeing him on the screen as wanted along side Mike and Marcus.

“I thought I told you to wait outside,’ Mike whispers.

“I didn’t want to leave you inside with her,’ Armando glares at you, taking in your slender frame and steel demeanor. “Ella podría ser peligrosa y una traidora.”

Mike nods. “She’s not, trust me.”

“Yeah,’ you chime in, brushing past Armando and shutting your door. You observe the new dent in your wall, thanks to his forceful opening of the door, and roll your eyes thinking about the security deposit you wouldn’t be getting back. “I’m not a traitor.”

“But I am dangerous,’ you glare at him and point to your damaged wall. “Entonces vas a pagar por eso?”

Armando’s eyes widen, then narrow as he glares at you. “¿tú hablas español?”

You nod, taking in his wretched scent as well. “Sí. ¿Crees que sólo porque soy negro no puedo hablar español?

Armando’s eyes fill with worry as he shakes his head. “no, yo solo—,”

You playful punch his firm bicep. “I’m kidding, but let’s finish the conversation on how I became fluent in Spanish later. For now, everyone, shower…please.” You gag.

Translations:

Ella podría ser peligrosa y una traidora. | “she could be dangerous and a traitor.”

Entonces vas a pagar por eso? | “so, are you going to pay for that?”

¿tú hablas español? | you can speak Spanish?

Sí. ¿Crees que sólo porque soy negro no puedo hablar español? | yes. You think because I’m black I can’t speak Spanish?

No, yo solo | no, i just—

Hey, Brother

Armando Aretas

🎧- Story of My Life: One Direction

summary: Armando’s your older brother, here’s how you meet, past and present.

themes: extreme angst and fluff. A bit of violence. But mostly found family and sibling love.

authors note: completely convinced he’d be an amazing older brother. There is a 8 year age gap between reader (20) and Armando (28). Also shout out to my older brother…I wuv you 💞😭 Also yes I know i switched a few things around. Just enjoy it. If you want a part two, lemme know!

Read Part two here

Four Years Ago

Miami Florida University

The night on campus was quiet, the only things to be heard were the comforting trill of crickets and the soft waves of the ocean, only three miles out from the college.

Armando sat idle on his motorcycle, twelve beats away from where he’d been told you, their next victim, worked.

This entire time he’d been killing people in the name of the Aretas family, he couldn’t understand why Mike Lowery, some beat cop came last. And why his mother was resorting to taking his daughter as bait.

What made Mike so important that he deserved a fight for his life, for your life?

“Mamá, no entiendo, ¿por qué ella?” Armando says through his phone.

Isabel sighs on the other end. “Con el tiempo, hijo mío.”

“She’s just a kid.” Armando sighs, pulling out his ipad and looking at your photos again.

From what he gathered, your were a first year nursing student here at MFU, you got great grades, danced for a kpop club, and worked part time at the cafe he was currently parked out side of.

But most importantly, you were Mike Lowery’s daughter.

Which, in the grand scheme of things, shouldn’t matter.

But for some reason, to his mother, it did.

“She's a pawn,’ Isabel hisses. “Mike necesita conocer el dolor de la pérdida; this will show him.”

Armando nods, taking a deep breath, feeling the same incorrigible anger rising up in his pit again at the sound of Mikes name.

This man had stolen everything from him: his family, his dynasty…his father.

Though his didn’t understand his mother’s methods, he’d never question her madness.

This man took everything from them, it’s time he learned that same pain, and as much as he didn’t enjoy hurting innocent… you were the key to getting even.

“Lo haré mamá.” Armando said, watching you finally exit the cafe.

“Muy bien.” Isabel said, hanging up.

Armando pushed off on his bike, riding a bit down the narrow street before hanging a right and turning back around.

Out of his pocket, he pulled out a needle. Whatever was in there was strong enough to knock out a bear, so it should have no problems sending you, a small college freshman, into a deep sleep.

Swiftly, he drives forward, accelerating until he just passes you before he makes an abrupt stop, cutting your path off.

You fall back and onto your ass.

You help as you hit the pavement, lifting your small hands to access the damage that had been caused by you cradling your fall.

You hiss at your bleeding palms before looking up at Armando in sheer disgust.

The heat of your gaze causes Armando to flip up the visor on his helmet, something in your eyes giving him pause.

He wasn’t a vain person in the slightest, but something about your eyes, when he looked in the mirror, they were so similar to his own that it nearly startled him. They were the same shade of chocolate brown covered by thick, dark lashes.

His observation of you quickly dries as your curse at him. “What the hell, dude! You could have killed me!”

Armando doesn’t say anything, instead he offers you a hand.

Reluctantly, you take it.

Just as your nearly up, Armando pricks you with the needle.

Your face drops as you snatch your hand away from him.

You look down at your palm, a single trail of blood dribbling down your wrist from the spot he pricked you at.

“What the fuck,’ you wobble, turning to run down an ally.

Armando watches as you attempt to flee, he knew it wouldn’t be long before you passed out.

And as he predicted, ten steps in and you were slumped against the moist ally ground.

He picks you up, slinging you across his shoulders, carrying you towards his bike and driving off into the night.

Later…

When you awoke, you found yourself bound to a chair in a large, abandoned house. You wiggle against the binds, only scathing your wrist even more.

You scream out, panic rising in your chest as your breaths shorten.

"Help!" You scream. "Someone help me!"

"Help is on the way, princessa.' A slick voice says.

You turn and see a beautiful woman taking slow, slutry steps down the staircase towards you.

"Who the hell are you?" You croak, scooting away from her the best you can in this damn chair.

The woman, grips your chair with one hand, while running another through your curls. "Your fathers la venganza.” She hissed.

“Don’t touch me,’ you bite. “And my father did nothing wrong, you’re lying.”

Isabel grips your chin, hard. You try and wiggle free but it’s no use as she pulls you close.

She turns your head from side to side, the warm evening sun causing a glint in your eyes.

“Always the eyes,’ she mumbles. “He gives all of his children his eyes.”

“What?” You question, breathlessly.

Isabel forcefully lets you go, leaving a sore spot on your chin.

Your mind reels around her words and the weight of them.

She was your father’s revenge, why? And had she been the one to shoot him all those months ago?

And all of his children. Your father only had one child, you.

Looking around the wear house and seeing all the sage and candles burnt, the circles and alters, you could tell that whoever this woman was, she was crazy and you wanted no parts.

The thought was enough to make a few screams come out of you.

You stamp your foot against the ground, “Let me go! Let me the fuck go!”

Isabel rolls her eyes at you, mumbling something in Spanish before she shouts, “Armando, ven a llevarla antes de que la mate yo mismo.”

Quickly, the man for the other night emerges.

“No,’ you scoot back in your chair as far as you could. “No.”

The man, Armando, grabs you out of your chair and drags you up the staircase.

At the top of the staircase, he slices your binds loose but still has a good hold on you.

Now, you by no means are a good fighter, but with your dad being police, you know a few things.

So as Armando unlocks a door, presumably to put you in, you stamp on his foot as hard as you can.

Armando yelps at the sensation, doubling over, giving you enough time to kick him in the legs and send him down on the ground.

As soon as he hits the floor you take off, running down the steps as fast as you can.

In the foyer, you check for the exit in front of you, but the door is locked.

Your head is buzzing, you didn’t have much time as Armando would be up soon, probably ready to kill you, and that Isabel, who knew what she’d do if she caught you.

You had to move fast, and the window behind you, seemed like your best bet.

You scurried over me to it, working frantically as you tore wooden planks off the window.

You about all got your face out the window before strong arms wrap around your waist living and pushing your back.

You scream as you hit the ground, coming face to face with a less than pleased Armando.

“Enough games!” He shouts.

You crawl backwards, afraid he’ll hit you…or worse.

“Okay!’ You whimper. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry.” You squeak as he towers over your shaking body.

You fully expect him to return the blows you’d given him earlier, but to your surprise he doesn’t. He just grabs you up again and takes you back to that same room.

Shoving you inside he gives you a parting word.

“Do that shit again, and I won’t save you.” He slams the door, leaving you alone in a windowless room, wondering how you’ll end up dead.

In all the enemies your father has had, none of them had mad it a personal mission to kidnap you…so why had they?

Fingers toiling with the dirt around you, it finally clicked.

This was a set up.

You were bait.

And just as fate would have it, you could hear what sounded like your father and Marcus crowding in the foyer downstairs.

You stood up, running towards the door and banging on it like a madwoman.

“Help! Dad! Uncle Marcus!” You shout, slamming your fist against the door.

When the door flies open, you expect to see one or both of them there, but you see Armando.

“Come on.” He grabs you. “Nice and easy.” He places a gun to your temple.

“Stop, why are you doing this?” You whimper, taking careful steps down the stairs.

“Why did your father start it, hm, princesa?” He questions, pulling you in front of your family.

“Dad!” You shout, tears pooling from your eyes.

“Let her go, Armando!’ He shouts, turning to Isabel who stands elated. “She’s a kid.”

“We were all kids once, Mike. It’s why she must have her turn.” Isabel says.

Mike shakes his head, drawing his gun at her, Marcus doing the same to Armando.

“You kill me, he kills her.” Isabel shrugs.

Marcus adds, “then I’ll kill him.”

“Then it’ll be a blood bath.”

You whimper, “please don’t hurt me.”

Armando tightens his grip on you. “Cállate.”

“I just want to go home, daddy.” You cry.

Mikes hand shakes as he hears your pleas. “I know, baby, and we will.”

Isabel smacks her lips. “Liar!” She shouts, lunging at Mike.

Mike dodges the hit, but Marcus’s gun going off starts a cataclysmic event.

Everyone who wants present before suddenly emerging from the darkness and letting off their weapons.

You scream, falling back into Armando, who lifted you off the ground with one hand while shooting with the other, as the chaos erupts around you.

“Marcus!’ Mike yells. “Get Isabel, I’ll get my daughter!”

Marcus sprints, to the best of his ability, after Isabel, while Mike makes full way towards Armando.

In a dark room, Armando drops you, pushing you into a corner.

“Don’t make a fucking sound.” He threatens.

You whimper in a comply.

You hear your father, Mike, burst through the doors, calling your name.

You do as Armando says, though, keeping quiet, afraid anything you do or say will get you and Mike hurt…or worse.

You watch from the dark corner as your father searches the room, only seconds later Armando jumps him, landing a blow.

You watch from the sidelines as they traded blows back and forth.

And it hurt to watch your father in a fight, it did, but what hurt most? The words slipping from his mouth.

“Armando,’ he said. “I’m your father.”

Your head was buzzing, spinning.

What the fuck did he mean this man was his son? How was that even possible?

Your heart raced as you watched Armando’s face fall, confusion lacing every corner.

“You’re lying,’ he said lading another blow, bending down and dragging your father out of the room and into the burning hallway.

You weren’t sure if it was adrenaline or curiosity, but you needed to see this through, hear it for yourself.

You push to stand and creep after them.

Armando has your father at the ledge, his shirt balled up working his hands.

“Last chance,’ he croaks, eyes searching. “Who are you?”

“I just told you.”

“Lie again.” Armando growled, wrapping his hand around your fathers neck, applying pressure.

You gasped, stepping forward, but a hand cautioned you to stay hidden.

You turn, finding Marcus’s comforting eyes as he mouths, “Don’t do it.”

"He needs us," you whisper in protest, Marcus's arm staying firm on yours.

"They need this, just wait."

You relax, only a little watching the scene unfold.

"Ask your mother if you don't believe me." Mike croaks.

Armando turns, loosening his grip on Mike, and in a turn of lightning, Isabel appears, mumbling in Spanish.

"Es verdad lo que dice?" Armando questions his mother.

Isabel shrugs. "No es importante. Mátalo.' her eyes drag over to where you and Marcus stand. "Entonces ellos."

Armando shakes his head in frustration. "Es mi papá?"

Isabel's eyes darken, her words fleeing her mouth more rapidly. "

"Is he my father!" Armando shouts.

Something in the way your father laid limp in Armando's graps, the fire and smoke building around you all, and the life you once knew just yesterday crumpling around you had you desperate for the truth.

"Tell him!" You shout.

Isabel pays you no mind when she says, "yes."

Three letters.

One word.

That was all it took for your world to shatter.

You had a brother you hadn't known about, a brother who drugged and kidnapped you.

all of his children have his eyes.

A brother your father had behind you and your mother's back.

The realization made your mind splinter, picking up in your chest with each shortened breath you took.

Tears pooled in your eyes, making the scene in front of you blur and sharpen, wax and wane.

It's not until a shout and commotion caused you to dial back in, where you find Isabel pointing the barrel of her gun directly at your chest.

You're too frozen to move and put your hands up to brace yourself for the pain, for death.

But it never comes.

only the sounds of four shots ringing out and blaring in your ears, that's the only sensation you get.

You move your hands from your eyes and find Isabel falling over the balcony to her death and Armando on the floor, his shirt filling with blood as Mike, Marcus, and Rita crowd around him.

It clicks then for you, he took that bullet for you, he stepped in for you against his mother.

This family was dysfunctional as hell.

"Get over here!' your father calls out to you. "Now!"

You scurry over, tearing off your flannel and placing it on Armando's wound.

"We need to get the hell out of here!" Rita shouts.

"Go with Rita!" Mike shouts towards you.

You nod, locking hands with Rita and rushing out of the burning building.

Once outside, you look behind yourself to find Mike and Marcus dragging Armando's body and placing him on the ground, applying pressure to his wounds.

The rain clouds your vision as you draw closer to the van waiting to take you away and back home.

"Is he going to be okay?" You ask, holding your wet and naked arms.

Rita sighs, ushering you into the car. "I don't think that's something you should have to worry about.' She smiles softly. "Get some rest, kid. Okay?"

You nod and shut the door, feeling the car jerk before it pulls off and away from the chaos.

You fasten your seatbelt and lean your head back against the headrest.

Perhaps Rita was right, maybe worrying about Armando wasn't such a good idea. Maybe it was best for you to shove it down and let your dad deal with it, like he did everything.

Because you didn't think your heart could handle any more than what it was already going through. Thinking about Armando, your father, and Isabel...it would only weigh you down more.

So you decided to leave them all at that building that night, to burn up in the flames.

At least you tried to...

Four Years Later

Miami Florida University

"Please tell me you're coming to this party tonight?" Your friend, Kiesha, asked over the phone.

You chuckle, climbing the last flight of stairs to your apartment. Your father, Mike, had got it for you as gift for being in your last year of college.

“I can’t, sorry.’ You place the key code to your apartment and the door unlocks. “Lots of studying to do.” You half-lie.

“Girl, all you do is study. You know college is not actually for school.” You can practically feel her rolling her eyes.

You drop your bags on the counter, pulling out a pack of ramen noodles and starting a pot of boiling water.

“That’s easy to say for someone who’s only half majoring in, what is it, communications?” You comment.

The line goes silent for a minute before Keisha comes back.

“Wow,’ she scoffs. “I get that you’re stressing out with finals and you know, your dad being a fucking fugitive and all, but you don’t have to take it out on me.”

You run a hand through your hair, it getting tangled within your curls towards the end.

“Kiesh,’ you groan.

“Save it. Have fun studying.” She grumbles before hanging up.

“Fuck!’ You shout, turning and tossing your phone down the hallway.

Your grip at your hair and tug slightly, shutting your eyes you feel a hot tear slip out.

It had been a whole week since your father and uncle Marcus were deemed fugitives and accused of doing God knows what. It had been hard for you and Christine.

Knowing your father, you knew the allegations weren’t true, but another cover up, same as Captain Howard.

Still, you know it was bullshit meant nothing to the “adults” in charge. They saw him as guilty, and that seemed to be the end of it.

You turn, wiping away your tears and placing your ramen into the boiling pot of water.

It wasn’t the best, but it was all you could stomach these days, the fear of your family's future causing your appetite to slim.

You twirling the noodles in the water with a pair of chopsticks, watching the five minute timer chime by. It all but captivated you into a trance until a creak against the floor caught your attention.

You turn your head, peering down the hallway you had just thrown your phone. Staring into the darkness, you see a figure moving towards you slowly.

You gasp, grabbing a large knife and holding it out in front of you with shaky hands.

You would call for help, but unfortunately your phone was in harms way.

“Don’t come any closer,’ you squeak.

The figure doesn’t respond, it just trudges closer and closer to you until it’s emerged into your kitchen lighting.

At first, you have to squint real hard to make out who it is, but then, when you catch a glimpse of his eyes, so hauntingly like your own, you know who exactly it is.

Your brother, Armando.

You don't drop the knife, keeping it held high as you slowly approach him. You'd seen how vicious he was, and you weren't taking any chances with him.

Closing the space between you two, you could see that he's in full tactical gear, covered in blood.

He takes another step towards you, you step back, before collapsing onto the ground and passing out.

You rush towards his side. “What the hell!” You rip open his vest, finding all kinds of stab wounds and lacerations littering his body. “Armando!” You shake him.

He doesn’t respond, you shake him again, harder this time, and a tiny black book falls out.

You open the book and find your address on one sheet and another sheet addressed to you.

Don’t hate me, babygirl. I’ll explain everything soon, until then, you two lay low.

Be strong for me.

Love, Dad.

You could scream, you could actually fucking scream right now.

No way this motherfucker sends this other motherfucker to your house for you to nurse back to health.

You crumple up your father’s note, chucking it across the room.

Looking down at Armando, you watch the slow rise and fall of his chest as he lay unconscious.

It was obvious he was loosing blood, and you could let him bleed out and pretend you tried everything.

But then again, he saved your life before…and he didn’t even know you.

Guilt tugged in your chest at the thought.

“Fuck.” You breathed, throwing your head back.

You knew what you had to do.

You figured lifting him would be hard, he was bigger than you by a long shot and was basically deadweight.

You tapped him, shook him, slapped him…hard, but nothing woke him up.

Looks like you’d be operating on the floor.

You stood, gathering your curls in a pineapple on your head, and headed to your bathroom.

You grabbed all the first aid kit supplies you could find, fresh clothes, a blanket and pillow, before heading back out to the main part of your apartment.

You slipped on some gloves, cut open his shirt, and began working on his wounds, dressing them and putting on bandages.

Thank God for nursing school and clinicals.

It took you two bowls of ramen, a Celsius, and a whole heck of a lot of bandages and gorilla glue, but you got Armando mostly patched up.

You wiped the sweat of your forehead grabbing the pillow and blankets you’d grabbed.

You gently lifted his head placing the pillow underneath and the blanket on top of him.

Next to his body you placed the fresh clothes, Gatorade, protein bars, and a bottle of water.

When you finally stood, you felt woozy and in need of a shower and sleep yourself.

But before you crept off to take your shower, you stood over Armando, taking in his features.

His dark hair, his smooth skin, his nose, and lips. He looked like a Spanish version of your father and it was freaking you the fuck out, sending a shiver down your spine.

You walked away hoping your father’s explanation was coming soon because, you may have just saved his life on the conscious fact that he’d done the same for you, but he was still dangerous…and who knows what would happen to you when he wakes up.

The next morning, when you wake up, you creep out of your bedroom, peaking to see if Armando had moved at all.

To your surprise, he hadn’t.

You release a heavy sigh, walking over towards his body.

You watch his chest rise and fall, faster than last night.

Good.

At least your dad couldn’t kill you for letting his son die.

You lean in a big closer to Armando, checking out his wounds from a far.

One wound had opened it seemed like.

You turn and grab the gorilla glue and a bandage of your counter.

Completely removing one bandage, you toss it to the side, pinching the skin of his chest while prepping the glue.

You’re just about to glue his would shut again, when his arm shoots up, gripping your wrist.

You scream, falling back on your ass.

Armando’s eyes shoot open and he sits up quick in a panic.

You crawl backwards, away from him, bumping into the cabinet .

Armando groans, rubbing his sore torso and arms.

His eyes skate across the room before they find yours.

He jumps back a little. “¿Qué diablos me hiciste?”

You swallow, holding your knees. “I don’t speak Spanish.”

Armandos eyes widen then narrow. “Did you do this to me?” He says, accessing his bandages.

You hesitate to tell him the truth…would he be mad and hurt you again?

Armando must sense the hesitation. “I’m not going to hurt you,’ he groans, slowly standing up. “It’s just a question.”

You nod, backing away from him. “Yes…I did.”

Armando swipes up the bottle of water, chugging it, tossing it aside, and then going for the Gatorade. “Gracias.” He grumbles, heading towards your bathroom.

You stand, slowly following after him, still keeping some distance between you two.

Armando peers over his should, eyebrow raised. “Mike sent me, if you’re wondering.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to be here as much as you don’t want me here.”

“I never said that.” You clarify, even though he’s not wrong.

“Don’t need to.”

You frown. “Armand—,”

He slams the door shut.

“Great.” You roll your eyes. “Just fucking great.”

You slam your head against the wall, thinking off all the ways you would tell your dad off when you saw him next. But until then, it seemed you and Armando would be roommates.

So you should try and be cordial, right?