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ariundercovers · 6 months

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Palladium (Prologue)

Title: Palladium (Prologue)

Co-written with @ezras--moon

Pairing: Pilot!Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Word Count: 3,828

Warnings: None for now

Chapter (Prologue) Summary:

After his time in the army, Frankie gets a new job as a med-evac helicopter pilot. Reader, a paramedic who has been working on the chopper for quite some time, is unsure of her new coworker and has some serious doubts about their compatibility.

Authors’ Notes: Slow burn with lots of smut. Multi-chapter fic in progress. F!Reader, referred to by a nickname in later chapters. No use of y/n.

This fic is co-written by @ezras--moon and @ariundercovers. Please follow both of us for updates! We will be going back and forth to post each chapter, but catch a masterlist pinned to each of our blogs.

Day 1 - Monday, September 4th

The early morning light bathes the bedroom in an orange glow and the warmth of the sunlight hitting your face tickles you awake before your alarm can. You lay there silently for a long while, letting your brain slowly catch up with your body until it’s no longer comfortable and a groan slips out, slowly rolling over to your side to stretch your limbs. Eyes finally blinking the sleep away as you rise, the alarm goes off right as you sit up and put your feet down on the floor.

A quick shower wakes you up, and a steaming cup of french press coffee immediately afterward motivates you to get ready for the long day ahead of you. You hastily grab a cream cheese bagel along with another cup of coffee to go as you head out for the base, morning news on the radio barely registering in the back of your mind as you pull into your designated parking space.

Briskly walking to the locker room, you frown when you find it empty and remember what day it is.

Phoebe’s gone.

The pilot you’ve been partnered with for years, your closest friend and confidant - you can’t blame her for leaving, as much as you’d like to be angry. Her promotion, which comes with a really nice pay raise, meant a transfer to a new base, away from you.

“Well, fuck,” you mutter under your breath, frustrated with the change. You steady yourself, take a deep breath and a sip of your second coffee, before you slip into the rest of your gear, bright yellow warning vest last. Heading down the hall to the office, you clock in, hoping to see if you can find Benny or catch a glimpse of the new pilot. As far as you can tell, neither of them are anywhere to be seen - not that you would even know what the new pilot looks like. So, you go check in with your boss, Chief Lewis, who is in his office as usual, mustering up an enthusiastic greeting.

“Morning.” He greets you with a smile and immediately hands you a stack of paperwork. “I need you to meet your new pilot out back, fill this out over the course of your shift today, and then hand it back in tonight before you leave.” You raise your brows and look at the pages stapled together at the upper left corner. Glancing down at the header, you realize that it’s an evaluation, and he wants you to report back about any issues with communication and cooperation between your team and the new member.

“This is just the initial review, you’ll do a few more later on. One next week and the other in six. Alright?” he folds his hands under his chin and looks up at you expectantly.

You nod, still reading the questions on the paper in your hand, “Alright.”

You’re caught off guard when he continues. “And, if there’s nothing urgent coming in soon, you’ll be doing a test flight or two to get the crew acquainted with one another. So, go grab Miller and get started on that first.” The disapproval seems to be evident on your face, as he’s now the one to raise his brows. “Please, don’t scare off the new guy with that frown on his first day, now.” There’s a lighthearted chuckle to his tone, but the words he chooses don’t slip past you, either.

New guy.

You’re the only woman left on your little team of three. Chief Lewis ushers you out of his office then, and you let out a frustrated sigh in the hallway as you make your way to the heliport to find Benny.

When you come to find out neither of them are dressed for work yet and are, instead, engaged in some kind of animated discussion while just standing around next to the helicopter, you’re fuming. This means that, most likely, you’re going to be the one carrying the equipment out and loading it into the chopper while they catch up on getting ready, which they should have done at least ten minutes ago.

Benny spots you stomping towards them and you catch him nudging the new pilot who’s just out of view behind him from where you’re approaching. The stranger is sporting a gentle smile and waves shyly at you as he sidesteps Benny, emerging from behind your trusted nurse.

Your breath hitches in your throat just for a split second when you see him fully. His face, his imposing build, the messy mop of dark hair that he quickly hides beneath a baseball cap…

He’s handsome. You can feel your eyes start to widen for a split second before you reel yourself back in.

The moment passes quickly, however, almost instantaneously replaced once again by the annoyment from before as you set down the two heavy bags of medical supplies you’re carrying.

“Why aren’t the two of you dressed yet?” you almost bark, Chief Lewis’s request not to scare off the new guy going straight out the window.

Benny raises his hands in mock surrender and rolls his eyes. “Well, good fucking morning to you too.” The new pilot’s smile drops into a neutral expression and it occurs to you briefly that you’re being rude.

You sigh and ease up a little bit, but your brows remain furrowed as you step closer. “Morning, Benny.”

The new, aggravatingly attractive guy introduces himself as Francisco, ‘but you can call me Frankie’,shaking your hand firmly and confidently. The sheer size of his palm compared to yours makes you swallow dryly, adding to the list of annoyances you’ve already racked up today.

“Please, go get dressed. And hurry. I’ll get started on loading up.” The two men disappear out of sight and you get to work.

At least they don't take long and have the courtesy to bring the rest of the equipment on their way back out. And then it's not much longer until you’re finally seated with your headset on, buckled in, and Frankie’s communication with air traffic control layers staticky over the vibrating thrum of the chopper starting up.

It’s deeply annoying that even his voice is nice to listen to, but you know that’s not the source of your frustration... It’s the fact that he’s replacing your friend - your best friend.

It’s that you’re outnumbered by men, and it’s especially that they’ve already known each other forever. Benny told you as much while you were strapping everything in and sanitizing surfaces before take-off - apparently he had put a good word in for Frankie to be hired.

There’s an easy banter between the two of them over comms, in which you decidedly don’t partake; it feels like you’re the third wheel, intruding. You feel out of place with them, on this helicopter, on this job. You’ve never felt like this at work before, not even on your own first day when you met Phoebe. She made you feel included and comfortable from the moment you shook hands, and you immediately worked together as a cohesive unit.

You’re in the middle of an inner monologue about the situation, talking yourself deeper into the frustration, when Benny addresses you. You’re settled in the air, finally at altitude as Frankie smoothly tilts the helicopter along a predetermined route given to him by air traffic control.

“What’s that you got there?” he asks, pointing at the slightly crumpled evaluation form you’re clutching in your hands. He’s aggressively chewing gum and bouncing his leg, it makes your facial muscles finally relax into somewhat of an easier expression. At least it’s still the same Benny you’re working with. You hand him the sheet and he skims it, then gives it back with a grin, but doesn’t say anything.

“Are you okay back there?” Frankie asks when there’s no verbal reply to Benny’s question, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Yes, don’t worry about it. Focus on getting us back down in one piece,” you respond. It comes out a little harsh, but you don’t pay it any mind.

Frankie shakes his head and turns back to the windshield, flying them smoothly and competently along the route. The longer you’re in the air, the more frustrated you feel, finding nothing about his demeanor or his flying that you could legitimately be disappointed with. Nothing to write down as a negative on his evaluation form.

Turns out, he’s infuriatingly and devastatingly competent.

You can feel your own leg start to shake back and forth a bit, the inner boiling beginning to affect you a bit more outwardly. Frankie’s voice sounds over the comms as you all arrive at your given location - just a mile or so out from the hospital.

“Turning around, and heading back to base, now.” The smoothness of his voice catches you off-guard every time. It’s like an expensive liquor in your ears, even through the static of the comms and the deafening loudness that is the inside of a helicopter. You close your eyes and sigh heavily, shaking it off. It feels impossible, but you just have to get through today. You could go home tonight and pour yourself a big glass of wine over it, but you have to figure out a way to not let this affect you. So, you shift in your seat, looking out over the city in front of you, and you count your breaths a few times, trying to regulate yourself. It helps, at least a little, and you sit back in your seat with a small sigh.

Frankie has the helicopter back in no time. He’s landing at base, again without a hitch, and you unbuckle yourself so that you can shuffle out of the chopper and back into base as quickly as possible.

You hole yourself up in the dorm for as long as you can, figuring some distance might help you shake the ugly feeling in your chest. Trying to focus on a new book Phoebe gifted you as a going away present, you’re laying back in your cot as you flip through the first pages.

An alarm blares over the intercom. They’re sending you out on your first call with the new pilot. A glance at your watch tells you you've lost track of time a little bit, it's almost noon already. You groan but immediately get to it, tossing the book onto your bed and grabbing your bag before jogging out to the helipad. Frankie is already there, climbing in, and you meet him inside just as Benny arrives as well. Everyone’s headsets are on in barely a moment as the chopper starts. Frankie turns and offers a nod to each of you - which you reluctantly reciprocate - before he takes off in the direction of the accident.

It’s a short trip - only a few minutes, really - and you land on a closed-off highway that’s got a three-car pileup blocking all lanes of traffic. There must be hundreds of cars unable to pass and waiting on tow trucks, police and your own team to clear their path. Ground EMS is there, too - you can see the lights from where you are, and you jump out of the helicopter, booking it toward them as Benny pulls out the stretcher to meet you there. The firefighters have already pulled your patient from the car, laid out on one of their stretchers with a very visible head injury. You crouch down, telling them your name and a few gentle pleasantries. You’re not sure they can even hear you, but you do it for all of your patients, no matter how bad of a shape they’re in.

“We’ve got you, now. Don’t worry - my team’s gonna get you to the hospital in no time at all, we’re gonna take good care of you.” One of your fellow paramedics on the ground gives you the low-down on the patient, explaining their injuries, position in the crash, and how the firefighters pulled them out. You nod, taking note of everything as you scan the patient yourself for visual confirmation. Asking a few follow-up questions, you nod to them and offer a polite ‘thank you’ as they stand and step to the side.

Benny jumps in then, offering you a smile before locking eyes with you. On the count of three, you lift the patient over to your stretcher. Two of the firefighters jump in toward the foot of the stretcher, grabbing the backboard along with you and Benny, and the four of you move quickly over to the helicopter as you load the patient into the cabin.

Frankie glances back at you, watching to make sure everything goes according to protocol. You and Benny finish buckling the patient down, and then sit in your seats, turned toward them as Benny continually takes vitals and you apply pressure to a deep wound on their shoulder. After one last cabin check, Frankie takes off, en route to the second closest hospital, given it has the resources to tend to your patient properly.

“Three minutes to General.” He calls back to you, and Benny nods with a ‘roger’ in response. Those three minutes are always both the longest and the shortest all at once - Benny and you working seamlessly to tend to the patient with all of your supplies and training available to you. You’re watching them inevitably deteriorate at once, so you’re grateful when you can finally feel the descent down to the helipad.

Doctors and nurses are waiting on the pad with a stretcher already, making the transition an easy one as you slide the patient off of the backboard. They run off then, Benny in tow, and you lag behind at the helicopter as the blades above you slowly whirr to a halt. Frankie climbs out as they stop, walking over to stand next to you.

“Everything go alright?” He asks.

You sigh, the adrenaline of the call slowly starting to wear off. “Yeah. As alright as it could have.” You’re not sure what else to say, so you stand there awkwardly, thoughts bouncing around in your skull for a long while. “I’ve gotta do some paperwork.”

You walk off, moving back into the cabin of the helicopter to grab the papers Chief Lewis handed you this morning. Setting them up on a clipboard, you settle into your seat and cross your legs, propping it up. It’s not actually that much paperwork, really, but it’s enough to make your head swim. This is, and will always be, your least favorite part of your job.

You fill out the pages on auto-pilot, jotting down route numbers, ID badge information, and generally recalling the course of the day so far. It startles you, then, when you hear the pilot’s door open up. Frankie steps in and takes a seat, swiveling his legs around to face you. He ticks his chin up at you and says, “Hey.”

You lift your eyes to him only briefly, not looking away from the page for more than a second, and raise one eyebrow at him in confusion. “What do you need, Morales?” He blinks back at you a few times and shakes his head.

“Nothing, just… wanted to say hi, I guess. We didn’t really get much of an introduction earlier.” You raise your chin to meet his gaze, settling against the back of your seat as you regard him.

“Well, hello. Consider us introduced.” You sigh, getting back to work on the papers and doing your best to ignore him further. - - -

The look on your face confuses Frankie to no end. He feels like maybe he did something wrong, said something wrong, perhaps? Made a wrong call during their test flight? It has to be something horrible to make you dislike him so blatantly, but you’ve only been working together for a few hours or so at this point.

He’s been replaying the day in his mind over and over again, searching for the moment where he slipped up, that moment when everything went wrong, but no matter what he does, he can’t find it, can’t quite figure out why you’ve grown to detest him so much already. He shifts in his seat, staring blankly out through the windshield as he waits for Benny to get back. It’s another internal battle to figure out if it’s worth it to keep trying, or if he should just give up and let you sulk. Maybe it had nothing to do with him, after all.

But, he’d never know if he didn’t try.

Sighing, he turns back around again and gives you a once over before speaking up once more. “Hey, uh… I feel like maybe we got off on the wrong foot or somethin’. Can we try this again? Tomorrow, maybe.” You huff, but acquiesce, looking up at him with a scowl on your face.

“Sure, fine. Whatever you want, Morales.” You look back down at the papers in your hands as Frankie brightens just a little bit, feeling better at the chance for a fresh start, even if you’re less than enthused about it. He sighs, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in, and turns back to the windshield, eyes trained to the hospital doors that Benny would hopefully be walking back out of soon.

It’s a few more minutes only and he’s doing exactly that, climbing up into the cabin of the helicopter with one of his bright signature smiles that makes Frankie shake his head. They head back to base in silence, unloading themselves and their equipment to clean and sanitize. They restock their bags, reload the chopper, and then they’re left to their own devices again.

Amazingly, they don't get another call for the rest of their day. Frankie stays largely in the day room with Benny, and he doesn’t see you for the rest of the shift, or even when he goes to leave. Benny walks up to him as he’s slinging his backpack over his shoulder and they walk out of the base together.

“Hey, Fish. Decent first day, I hope?” Frankie sighs, pulling off his hat so he can run his fingers through his hair, putting it right back atop his thick dark curls.

“Decent enough, I guess.” Offering a nervous chuckle, he shifts his backpack on his shoulders as they start to head out. “Very different from flying in the army, that’s for sure.”

Benny smiles back at him. “It’ll take some time to get used to, but you’re a natural. Knew you would be, man.” Frankie nods, appreciative of the compliment, and they continue to walk in silence for a few more steps before he perks up with a question of his own.

“Hey, Benny, can I ask you somethin’?” Benny turns, regarding him as the cadence to their steps slows.

“Sure, man. Whatever you need.” They pause in front of Frankie’s beaten up truck, turning to face one another. Frankie’s head ticks toward the base.

“Is she always… like that? Feel like I did somethin' wrong… real wrong, if I’m being honest. Is she cold like that with everyone? Or is it just me?” Benny lets out a hearty laugh and claps Frankie on the shoulder, squeezing him reassuringly.

“Just give her some time. I think she’ll warm up to you pretty quickly. You’re a good guy, Frankie, so just keep being you. She’ll get there, I promise.” Frankie nods in understanding, accepting Benny’s words with a frustrated huff.

“Alright, If you say so.” They offer each other a curt nod and head in their own directions, Frankie ducking into his car and taking a moment to settle himself before driving off in the direction of his apartment.

~ ~ ~

It takes Phoebe a while to pick up when you call her that night, leaning over your kitchen counter and fidgeting with the handle of your spatula. You almost give up when the line finally connects and you hear her voice at the other end. She’s just slightly out of breath, making you think she must have rushed to find her phone at the other end of her apartment.

“Hellooo,” she sings as a greeting and you hear her sit down in her creaky porch chair, front door falling shut in the background. You sigh before you say anything, but then muster a squeaky “Hey.”

It must be so obvious, the exasperation in your voice, because she makes a sympathetic sound before she asks you what’s wrong.

“Oh no, honey, rough day? What happened?”

You sigh into the phone and plop yourself down in your kitchen chair after flipping your food in the pan. “It’s just… the new pilot. He’s a man so I’m left now as the only woman on the crew. And, even better, he and Benny have been super close for years already, and it was him who recommended him for the job. I’m like the third wheel. It’s horrible!” You can hear a breathy laugh on the other side that she tries to cover up, unsuccessfully. “Oh come on, Phoebs… You’re living your best life in your new cushy job and I’m stuck with these two big burly boys. By myself. You’ve abandoned me!” You’re joking mostly, at this point, but the feelings inside are still real, even if you’re covering them up with a bit of laughter.

“I know. A new start like this is tough. But give the guy a chance. If he’s friends with our Benny, he’s gotta be a good one, right? He deserves a fair shot. Give it a couple of days, and see how you’re feeling about it then. It’s too raw right now to be able to make any real sense of it, anyway.” She pauses for a moment and you take a deep breath, standing up to check on your food.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I know I didn’t give you much time to prepare for it, either. It’s hard, no matter how you swing it.” You nod your head, even though she can’t see you, and look out into the distance of your living room.

“It is. But you’re right, too. I can give him a couple days, that’s only fair.” You sigh, frustrated to know that she’s right, but always grateful for her advice, anyway.

“Exactly. If it was you in his position, you’d only want the same, wouldn’t you?”

You huff, her wisdom starting to whittle away at your misplaced rage. “Yeah yeah, voice of reason. I know. I’ll give him a chance.”

She chuckles on the other side of the line. “Now that’s my girl! I’d bet he makes out to be pretty decent, after all. Benny wouldn’t stick his neck out like this for just anyone, and you know that.”

You nod in agreement even though she can’t see you. “Definitely not.”

“So just keep your head up and ride it out. You’ll know soon enough.”

#writing #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales #francisco moralex x reader #fanfic #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco catfish morales #fanfiction #ariundercovers #ezras--moon

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katieaki · 3 months

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Happy trails, pard! Don't leave us with a bit of devastating and upsetting information before we take off on our journey through the unknown wilderness together!

Read it for free on my patreon! (Long) Excerpt below the cut.

“So, what, mommy issues? Daddy issues?” Artie asked as she lifted Lou’s hair up to tie the new sling for her.

“Excuse me?” Lou said. She craned her neck to look up at her, but the pain in her shoulder made her look back down at the ground.

“Sorry— just, what you said to Holliday yesterday,” Artie said. She tied a knot and smoothed Lou’s collar over it. “About parents.”

Lou rubbed her face with her good hand. “Oh, yeah. I didn’t mean to loop both of y’all into that,” she said. “It’s not real polite to assume people’s family situations.”

Skylark looked up from where she was consolidating two half-used jars of flour. There was a spray of white powder across her cheek. “Oh, no, you’re right. No mother but the Listening Lady, no father but Their Honor,” she said. “I was taken into a church orphanage and basically never left.”

“A dyed in the wool church girl,” Artie said with deep affection. She wiped the flour from Skylark’s face with a handkerchief and crouched down to start packing up her sewing kit. “I killed my mom.”

She was so casual about it that it took Lou a second to catch up. She looked up to meet Skylark’s eye. There was just a half second too much silence and Artie looked questioningly up at them.

“I’m so sorry, cousin,” Skylark said. “That must have been a difficult situation.”

Artie shrugged as she rolled the excess thread around a scrap of cardboard. “Nah. It’s fine. I got new parents. And my new dad killed my old dad,” she said.

There was another long silence. Lou wished she had two good hands so she could more easily occupy herself out of discomfort.

“No— sorry, it’s a good thing. She’s knife church, too. My dad. My new dad. It’s a saga. I’m not trying to get into it,” Artie said. “All I was trying to say was… um. Same.” She gestured between her and Lou.

“Oh, no, it wasn’t like that, at all,” Lou said. She shouldn’t have even brought it up yesterday. Lots of people had actually bad childhoods. Hers was fine. Normal, even, when you think about it. It was embarrassing that it had been on her mind so much lately. She’d gone so long hardly thinking about it at all. “I just had a basic, average bad childhood. Less attention than I wanted, less food than we needed, that kind of thing. You know. I never had to stab my mom or anything.”

“No, I didn’t stab her,” Artie said. “I used my teeth.”

Lou’s mouth went dry. Artie had almost bitten her face when they were fighting that first night. She could have easily ripped Lou’s throat out when she had her pinned down to the ground. Lou wasn’t sure why that was so much more disturbing than when she only thought she was in real danger of being killed by a knife. It didn’t change how dead you were. A chill ran down Lou’s neck where Artie had just touched her to fix her sling. She had been right to be afraid of those teeth.

“Artie,” Skylark said. She looked at Artie with a silent plea for her to stop talking that was so clear, even Lou could read it. Artie did not seem to register it for what it meant.

“Well, I didn’t have a knife! I was only like, seven years old!” she said.

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barnesafterglow · 1 year

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eyes filled with stars

summary: nick needs to remind you that you're his

pairing: nick fowler x fem!reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: jealous nick, unprotected sex (duh), dirty talk, porn with feelings (are we surprised), low key sweet nick, steve rogers cameo

a/n: here's another kinktober prompt!! i'm fairly certain this is the first time i've written for nick so please be kind. also thank you @itistimeforusalltodecidewhoweare for picking this out for me to write bc i was having a time and a half trying to decide. please remember to reblog and comment so i know you enjoyed it!!

you can join my kinktober taglist or follow @theafterglowlibrary to stay updated when i post 🤍

kinktober masterlist ─ main masterlist

You knew from the moment he touched your arm that Nick would be furious. Nevermind the fact that he suggested you flirt with Senator Rogers to get your foot in the door.

It was supposed to be simple: you talked him up, let him know you would be open to “special favors” if he let you into his intern program, and over the next few weeks you could get the files you needed before he never saw you again.

But that was hard considering Nick was shooting daggers at Rogers, and he had definitely noticed. Instead of being nervous, he kept inching closer until he was gently grazing the bare skin of your back, exposed from the dress you were wearing.

As soon as Nick started pushing his way through the crowd, you knew your chances were blown. You’d later wonder what the last straw was - the way you placed your hand on his chest to laugh at his joke or the way he leaned down to ask if you wanted to go up to his hotel room.

It was all part of Nick’s plan.

You felt his presence before his physical touch - gripping your bicep and pulling you just out of Rogers’ orbit.

“Sorry, I’m going to have to steal her for a moment,” he said, and you could see the tick in his jaw as he clenched it.

“Goodnight, Mr. -” Your words were cut off as Nick gripped your arm tighter and led you to the elevator. You knew you would have bruises in the morning.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, he was crowding you, backing you up until you hit the mirrored wall behind you. The coolness of it dissipated to heat still lingering from the Senator’s touch, and it was like Nick knew.

“Bet you had fun with it, having his attention. Having his hands all over you.” His hands gripped your waist and he was so close you could feel his warm breath fan across your face. “Didn’t you?”

“C’mon, Nick,” you hissed. “I was just doing what you asked me to.”

“Then I was a fucking idiot.” That’s how you knew he was truly upset. He never admitted he was wrong unless he was really wrong. “Couldn’t stand to see his hands on you like that. Couldn’t stand to see his hands on what’s mine.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. No matter how many times you heard it, it never ceased to amaze you that you were his and he was yours.

It took you two long enough, dancing around feelings and playing the most meticulous games, until a night similar to this one, when Nick pinned you down in your hotel bed that night and fucked bruises into you to show you that you were his and his alone. When the bruises faded, he replaced the memory with a ring. A promise. One you were missing right then.

His lips attacked your neck as the elevator shot up, nipping and leaving marks you knew would last long enough to satisfy him. When the doors opened, he gripped your thighs and picked you up, carrying you down the hall to your hotel suite. You took a moment to thank the gods for new age technology because Nick had the door open in seconds, marching you straight to the king size bed and laying you down.

You wondered what the night would bring - hard and rough, making sure you never forgot who you belonged to. Or sweet and passionate, marking in his favorite ways.

By the time he sat you up to peel your dress from your body, he had already stripped down to nothing but grey boxer briefs, and the small stain of precome had your mouth watering. Once your dress pooled on the floor, you made a move to drop to your knees, but Nick gripped your arms, stopping you.

“I’m not waiting to make that pretty pussy mine,” he whispered low and hot in your ear. “Now get on the damn bed.”

Instinctively, you obeyed him, laying back in the fluff of pillows surrounding you, pushing them away until you were propped enough to have a clear view of your lover. He settled on his knees between your thighs, cock standing free and proud against his stomach.

He spread your legs wide, wrapping them around his waist as he bent down to capture lips in a heated kiss. You felt the tip of him slide between your slick folds, and he reached between your bodies to take hold of himself, teasing at your entrance.

“Nick, please,” you pleaded.

“Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, baby, I belong to -” Without warning, he buried himself in you to the hilt, giving you no time to adjust as he fucked into you hard and deep. His thrusts were wild and savage - they were done with the intent of making you feel as good as possible. He always took care of you.

“Gonna make you mine forever,” he whispered into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“Already gave me the -,” you moaned as he hit you sweet spot, “gave me the ring.”

“I need more than that, love. Need more of you. Want more than just us.”

“What are you saying, Nick?”

“I’m saying I wanna fuck a baby into this pussy of mine. Have something that’s us. Made by us. That okay with you?”

You couldn’t contain the moans and filth coming from your mouth. Agreeances and “I love you”s and everything in between, clenching tightly around him as he whispered filthy promises of keeping you full, how pretty you would look pregnant, how he wanted a big family with you.

“You like the thought of that, don’t you honey?” he teased. “Like the thought of me keeping you stuffed full until it takes? Wanna be round with my baby, another part of me that’s always with you?”

Nodding frantically, you dug your fingers into his back, pulling him as close to you as possible, leaving angry red marks in the process.

With sweaty bodies pressed together, he came in you, fucking it into you as your own orgasm washed over you.

When your hips stopped grinding and your hands stopped shaking, he slipped out of you, laying beside you on his side. His hand slid back between your thighs, pushing the come that had slipped out of you back in, then stuck his fingers in your mouth and you cleaned the rest off of them.

“You were serious, huh?” you joked once he had pulled his fingers away.

“Look at me,” he said, and gently gripped your chin to turn your head toward him. “Of course I was serious, I want to be with you forever. I want a family with you. I would give this up if you asked me to.”

Your heart melted. You knew Nick loved you, he always made sure to show you, in his own way. But it was unlike him, talking about a future like that. You always figured you would go on as you had, get married one day and keep to the same path. But this was a new side of him he had never shown you until then.

“I can’t wait to have a little Nicky running around here.” A bright smile split across his face and his blue eyes sparkled in the low light of the room.

“Then we better keep trying.”

Without warning, his hands were on your hips, flipping you over on your stomach and lifting your ass up before he settled behind you.

He leaned down to whisper more filth in your ear. “I’m gonna keep you stuffed full all the time, baby. Have to make sure you’re getting every drop.”

His thrust into you had you seeing stars. And all night he showed you a galaxy.

kinktober taglist *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

@treatbuckywkisses @sgt-barnesveins @bucky-barmes @opheliastark @sweetascanbee @writing-for-marvel @christywantspizza @hi-sarahh @highlyintelligentblonde @jjbunny14 @buckysfavoritereader (@navybrat817 i thought you might like this one)

#nick fowler #nick fowler fic #nick fowler smut #nick fowler x reader #nick fowler x you #nick fowler x y/n #the 355 #sebastian stan #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan fic #tiff writes #kinktober 22 #tiff's kinktober #eyes filled with stars

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cheesybadgers · 8 months

Text

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 20)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 12,880

Summary: An invitation takes Horacio and Javier back to Medellín, a city that has changed as much as they have since they were last in it. Amongst the celebrations, can they find a way to reconcile the old with the new?

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Emotional smut, religious themes, discussions of canon-typical violence and past trauma, grief, healing, allusions to period-typical prejudices, smoking, drinking, swearing.

Notes: So, this chapter took on a life of its own and ended up a lot bigger than it was originally supposed to be, oops lol. The initial idea was for this and chapter 21 to be chapter 20, but, as you can see, it didn't quite work out like that 😂

The majority of chapter 21 is done, I just need to finish it off but life (and covid...again) have been getting in the way lately.

After that, I just have chapter 22 and a short epilogue to do, then fin. So, I promise we are very nearly there now! Ideally, I'd like it all done by the end of autumn, but that might not be possible...let's see how it goes.

Thank you once again to anyone still reading and waiting for updates, your patience is greatly appreciated (as always, please feel free to drop me a line if you’d like to, I love hearing from you!)❤️

I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested (and there's quite a few new points for this one, as I ended up doing a lot of research lol).

Chapter 20: Something Old, Something New

Dappled light filtered through the Venetian blinds, splintering across the polished wooden furnishings and along the plush carpeted floor, bathing the hotel room in tints of gold. No traces remained of yesterday’s rain after a warm start to the morning, and the forecast miraculously looked promising for the hours ahead.

Horacio stood facing a floor-length mirror, his fingers wrestling with his jacket and a Cattleya orchid buttonhole until he tutted and gave up. It was the final addition to his outfit: a three-piece mid-grey suit, a pale olive green dress shirt, a bottle green tie and dark brown shoes.

“Come here.” Javier abandoned fastening his burgundy tie, letting it hang untied and loose around his neck. Instead, he took the buttonhole from Horacio and delicately pinned the flower on his left lapel. It matched the one already placed on his navy blue three-piece, which he had teamed with a rose-pink dress shirt and black shoes.

“Thanks. It’s been a long time since I’ve worn one of these. I’m out of practice.” The last wedding Horacio attended had been a friend of Juliana’s, and for some reason, attaching a flower to his jacket was trickier than his CNP lapel pins.

“At least the last time wasn’t your own wedding…which you never actually made it to.”

“Fair point.”

Javier smoothed down Horacio’s lapels, slow caresses on either side, chestnut lost in charcoal as he took all of him in. “Beautiful.”

“Likewise.” Horacio’s fingers slid up to Javier’s tie and worked their magic, managing a knot neater than Javier could ever make. He positioned and repositioned it at the collar until it was symmetrical.

“Satisfied?”

“Hmm, not quite.” He took hold of the length of the tie, pulling Javier down a couple of inches to his height, fresh mint and aftershave hitting their senses as they settled into it, careful not to squash the flowers at their breast.

Javier breathed hard against Horacio’s mouth. “I take it we haven’t got time for—”

“Absolutely not.” Although Horacio was panting as he re-straightened Javier’s tie, the sight of each other in formal wear a distracting novelty. “We’re meeting Steve downstairs in 5 minutes.”

“Shame. I miss Madrid already.”

“Our bed will still be there when we get back.”

“Who said anything about a bed?”

“Come on, we can’t be late,” Horacio reiterated with great reluctance, avoiding the look he knew Javier was giving him. “You ready?”

Javier took a deep breath and picked up the invitation from the nearby nightstand, his eyes scanning over the details one last time.

Juana Marisol Vargas Restrepo

Felipe Gabriel Trujillo Rojas

Con la bendición de sus familias, te invitan a celebrar su boda

(With the blessing of their families, they invite you to celebrate their wedding)

El sábado, 21 de enero de 1995

(Saturday 21st January, 1995)

A las tres de la tarde

(At 3 in the afternoon)

Iglesia del Señor de las Misericordias, Manrique

(Church of the Lord of the Mercies, Manrique)

Recepción a seguir en el Jardín Botánico de Medellín

(Reception to follow at the Botanical Garden of Medellín)

“I think so. Of all the churches in Medellín, though.”

Horacio let out a wry huff to match Javier’s. “I know. The bride’s choice, apparently. Plus, it’s close by for the reception.”

Javier hummed, his eyes still glued to the invitation as if the antidote to the discomfort simmering in the pit of his stomach was hidden between the lines.

“You okay?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’m fine. It was always gonna be like this. Wasn’t it? Being back here.”

“I don’t think there’s a way around it. But at least it’s a celebration this time.” Horacio placed a gentle kiss on Javier’s forehead. “And it’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

“I know.”

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After locating Steve, they shared a taxi to the church, where they met Connie and Olivia on account of Olivia being in a particularly fussy mood.

“I think it’s the travelling and being out of routine. She was up early this morning. So, of course, she’s tired now.” Connie gestured towards Olivia, fast asleep in her dad’s arms, before hugging Javier and Horacio.

“You look stunning, love the dress,” Javier said, noticing he owned a shirt in the same shade of turquoise.

“Aw thank you, you all look so handsome!” Connie stood back to admire them then leaned in to kiss Steve. “And not hungover?” she added with a raised brow, rubbing away the smudge of lipstick left behind on his cheek. “I take it I need to thank Horacio again for keeping you in one piece?”

It took Horacio a second to get what Connie was referring to. But then he remembered a paralytic pair of DEA agents slumped in the back of his car, alongside practically carrying Javier to his bedroom, removing his outer layers and plying him with water, then lying him on his side with a pillow behind his back.

Horacio had been heading for the door when a slurred noise over his shoulder stopped him. One that sounded suspiciously like “Stay.” He couldn’t prove it or ask for clarification. But nor could he leave. So, he stayed until he was reassured Javier was safe and sleeping soundly. Then he tiptoed home, relieved the next day to find Javier had no recollection of any of it.

“I don’t know about that,” Horacio said in the here and now. “We were all on our best behaviour for today.”

“Yeah, Murphy needs his beauty sleep these days. Isn’t that right?” Javier threw a wink in Steve’s direction and wondered if Connie’s choice of words meant what he thought they did.

“Well, some of us actually have to go to work, Peña,” Steve shot back with a self-satisfied curl of the lips.

Connie playfully slapped Steve on the shoulder. “Ignore him, he’s just jealous.”

“Can’t even deny it.”

------------------------------------------------------

Guests began to file up the stone steps into the church, the Murphys following once they had roused Olivia awake, with Javier and Horacio hanging back at the top of the stairs.

Their arms rested over the balcony wall as they surveyed the road beneath. There was no CNP vehicle parked up this time, but instead, a hive of activity with guests being dropped off and a space reserved for the bride’s imminent arrival.

“It feels like a fucking lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”

“It was.”

“I, er, never saw her again. Helena, I mean. I secured her a visa – figured it was the least I could do after everything. But she took her kid and ran before I could give it to her. Her neighbour said she was staying with her sister in Peru, but…who knows?”

Javier wasn’t sure if she even had a sister, but he always hoped it was the truth. He always hoped she and her family were safe and that she found the strength to put what happened behind her. But of course, he had no fucking clue if these were comforting lies he’d told himself over the years. It wasn’t love, whatever they had. Far from it. He knew that back then let alone now. But for a short while, they cared in their own way, and as much as their circumstances and jobs allowed them to.

“Probably for the best. It wouldn’t have been safe here.”

“No, I made sure of that.” Javier’s hand dug harshly into the jagged stone, leaving dents in his skin until the subtle and discreet touch of a finger made contact with his own, pulling him out of his spiralling self-flagellation. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t plan on bringing all this up. Especially not today.”

“It’s okay. And it’s not like we ever really talked about it at the time.”

It had been a sore point for Horacio, not that he understood why back then. Of course, he knew Helena wasn’t the first or the last, but he could see whatever they had, however short-lived, went beyond the mere transactional. He’d never seen Javier so worried for an informant, and as it turned out, he had every reason to be. Then, she stopped being a threat and became yet another victim.

“Funnily enough, no. You just took it out on Steve instead.”

A knowing look eased the tension in an instant.

“Could you blame me?”

“Absolutely not. Especially when he was encroaching on your territory.”

Javier couldn’t resist a wink, which caused a muttered “Fuck you” followed by their shoulders shaking in unison.

Once calm was restored, Horacio turned to face the church, the wall bearing the brunt of his weight. “Looking back now, though, I don’t think I should’ve been so surprised by what you did for me in Cartagena and Tolú.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I did the same for you that night here in Medellín.”

Javier joined Horacio; both now stood side by side, their gaze meeting in an acknowledgement of the rich history that existed between them that no words could ever fully convey.

And with the scattered remnants of their past now confined to distant memories they could at last put behind them, they made their way into the church.

------------------------------------------------------

A waterfall of roses, carnations and orchids tied together with matching ribbons cascaded a rainbow of purple, yellow and white down the rows of pews. The flowers were supplied by the mother of the groom, who conveniently was a florist by profession. Every August, Medellín burst into bloom for Feria de las Flores, so if anyone was going to be in charge of the arrangements, it was her.

Candles lit a path from the aisle to the altar, reminding Horacio not only of Día de las Velitas but of his and Javier’s recreation of the festival during their first Christmas in Laredo. He was about to take a seat when he caught a flash of green dress uniform in the wings of the church and a pair of dark eyes picking him out of the congregation.

He excused himself to the sacristy at the side of the altar.

Trujillo peered out to the pews as his hands alternated between fidgeting with the knot of his tie and his cufflinks. “Is she here yet?”

“Not yet.” Horacio straightened Trujillo’s tie knot. “But it’s still early.”

“Yeah.” Trujillo nodded and took a deep breath.

“She’ll be here before you know it. So relax. I think we’ve been through worse.” Horacio’s lips stayed neutral for an impressively long spell until he caved.

“My hand was steady as a rock on that rooftop. But today?” Trujillo held out his hand to show the hint of a tremor.

“You ended something once and for all on that rooftop. Something that needed ending…for your father, Alfredo and Sebastián. For you. For Colombia. But today is the start of your future.”

“I always thought they would have been here for this one day. So, thank you. For being here instead. For coming back...after everything. For all those early morning drills and target practice. And for the free drinks.”

They laughed at the fact Horacio was a man of his word and hadn’t let Trujillo buy a single drink since arriving here.

“It’s the least I could do. And if you ever need anything, Felipe, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“Likewise…Horacio. That goes for Javier, too.”

Their silence was an acknowledgement that they had just shared an ending and a beginning of their own, no longer comrades in arms or superior and subordinate, but something different again, something equal.

“I thought my ears were burning,” came a voice from the doorway.

“Great way to kill the moment, Peñita.”

“Sorry. I wanted to wish you luck. And offer you some Dutch Courage, if you're interested?” Javier produced a hip flask from behind his back. “A present from Search Bloc,” was his answer to the quizzical looks he was met with.

“Just a taste, then. I don’t want Juana thinking I’m drunk.” Trujillo took a restrained swig. “Any last-minute advice?” he asked Javier, passing him the flask.

“You want marriage advice from me? Er, don’t do a runner before she gets here?”

“Good one, brother.”

“He did warn you,” Horacio added, shooting Javier a pointed look.

“True. Although,” Trujillo lowered his voice and glanced at the doorway, “neither of you might be married, but…you’ve been through a lot together. And I think it’s made you stronger. So, you must be doing something right.”

A wordless nod and one last swig for good measure were exchanged.

Javier and Horacio were unsure if it was the alcohol or something else causing the heat to rise in their cheeks. But either way, they were in quiet agreement with Trujillo’s assessment.

It wasn’t long before the words “She’s here!” were whispered with barely contained glee from beyond the door, and it was time to take their places.

The ceremony, even the drier elements, passed quicker than most weddings Javier and Horacio had been to. It was the first one Javier had attended since…well, not even his own now he thought about it because he never made it to the church. He never saw Lorraine’s dress either, as, unsurprisingly, she had changed out of it by the time he was forced to explain himself. Not that Javier really could explain at the time. But then, it was much easier to understand something was wrong once he knew what was right.

Between Felipe’s pristine uniform and Juana’s mantilla veil, memories of Horacio's Mamá wearing a strikingly similar black veil to his Papá’s funeral came to mind. But once upon a time, they had also stood at an altar like this with their shared life ahead of them, and even though the injustice of it being cut short would always linger, on this occasion, Horacio chose to cherish the fact it existed in the first place.

Furtive glances travelled between him and Javier as they bowed their heads to pray during the candle ceremony and for the exchange of rings and arras coins. It was a silent confirmation that whilst these rituals weren’t an option for them in the eyes of the law or church, their unofficial versions were no less significant.

------------------------------------------------------

They moved on to the reception at Jardín Botánico de Medellín in the evening, a place Horacio hadn’t been to since his youth. The wedding meal was to be served under a spectacular orchid-shaped wooden canopy in the centre of the gardens. Tables dressed in white linen were decorated with flower arrangements to match those at the church, and favours included coffee beans and orchid seeds.

The newlyweds sat at the top table surrounded by close family and their padrinos and madrinas, the echoes of war still loud and everlasting given the notable absences. Javier, Horacio, Steve, Connie and Olivia sat on the next one, along with some familiar Search Bloc faces and Carlos Holguín staff.

At the adjacent table were Martínez Senior and Junior. Horacio and Martínez Senior had only crossed paths at occasional ceremonies and dinners, even though their fathers worked more closely in the past. As the war on drugs kicked in, it became apparent the two men had polar opposite approaches to their jobs. And whilst Horacio made Escobar his mission, Martínez took a different path, specialising in FARC operations in the jungle instead. Until their paths converged, that was.

“Do you think he knows?” Javier muttered over the rim of his champagne flute after Martínez Senior’s eyes briefly fell on them.

“About us? Why would he?” Horacio replied into the palm of his hand as he scratched his upper lip.

“I dunno. He knew about everything else. And he must have questions.”

“I’m sure he does. But do you think he’ll even want to speak to us? I already know he hates my guts.”

“He might be pleasantly surprised you’re not dead. You never know.”

Their hushed conversation was thankfully drowned out by Olivia interrogating Connie about everything from the guests’ outfits to the flower arrangements and when the food was coming, whilst Steve caught up with Jacoby.

The tables were soon full of plates and dishes bearing carne asada, lechona, patacones, arepas, tamales, milhojas, concadas, cuajada con melao, fruit salads and the centre piece Torta Negra Colombiana, decorated with flowers to match the colour scheme.

The cutting of the Torta Negra followed before the space was re-arranged, guests spilling out into the surrounding gardens, refreshing their drinks at the various pop-up bars or walking amongst the flowers and trees.

By dark, a dancefloor was unveiled in the centre of the canopy with a band playing cumbia, vallenato, merengue, bambuco, salsa and beyond.

Once the bride had thrown her bouquet, the single male guests gathered to place a shoe beneath her dress. Javier managed to escape the ritual in favour of sitting back and watching from the sidelines. But at the risk of inviting prying questions from his former colleagues if he did the same, Horacio reluctantly added his shoe to the pile. Typically, his was chosen by Juana, which, as per tradition, meant he would be next to marry.

From several feet away, Horacio could see Javier’s suggestive eyebrow and overt smirk, and they were even more brazen close up when Horacio re-joined him.

“Should we pick out rings, or…?”

An eyeroll was the only answer Javier was ever going to get to that question, and it came right on cue.

“Because, er,” Javier continued regardless, clearing his throat and casually glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot, “seeing you in your shirt stays this morning got me thinking how fucking good you’d look in a wedding garter.”

As Horacio was hit with a barrage of mental images and a dry mouth, a large cheer erupted as the next tradition got underway. This time, all male guests – not just the single ones – were rounded up to remove their belts, the idea being that the man with the longest belt was the winner. Of what exactly, Horacio was never sure when this had played out at past Colombian weddings he’d been to.

He stood opposite Javier as they fumbled with buckles, unhooking the leather straps from their belt loops and pulling them off in one swift motion. Their eyes remained fixed on each other from start to finish, an act fuelled by Javier’s last words.

The sound of cheering pulled them back with reluctance to the proceedings, and even though their belts were probably slightly longer than they used to be, they weren’t declared the winners.

------------------------------------------------------

As the drinks flowed, so did the dancing, regardless of whether the paired-up guests knew each other or whether they could actually dance.

Javier’s next partner was a familiar face, though, who had at least taken a few dance classes to get to know some locals when first arriving in Colombia.

“Is Steve with Olivia?” he asked, grateful for a slower number so he could catch his breath and talk.

“Oh, no, she’s with the Jacobys. She’s made friends with their daughter, Chloe - they’re around the same age.” Connie twirled underneath Javier’s outstretched arm and back around again. “Steve is conveniently helping Horacio with the next round of drinks. He always did have hips as stiff as a board. I had to practically drag him up for our first dance.”

“That…doesn’t surprise me.”

“And what about Horacio?” Connie whispered into Javier’s shoulder as their feet slid across the floor in time with the music. “Does he need to loosen his hips, or is he a dark horse?”

“You should know a man never dances and tells. But…” Javier spun Connie on her heel again, pulling her close so his head was near her ear this time. “I can assure you there’s nothing wrong with his hips.”

“That doesn’t surprise me either. When did you say you were heading to Manizales?”

“In a couple of days.” Javier swallowed hard now the subject had been raised.

“How’s he holding up?”

“Okay. We’ve not really talked about it since Madrid. Figured we’d deal with it after the wedding, but -” Javier scoffed, cutting himself off mid-sentence.

“Now it’s nearly here,” Connie finished for him.

“Exactly. But I guess we couldn’t hide in Spain forever.” As tempting as it was some days.

They somehow made it to the other side of the dancefloor, narrowly avoiding multiple couples before escaping back to their table once the song was over.

“How’re you finding being back again?” Connie asked.

“Weird.”

“Yeah. Definitely weird at first.”

Their shared laughter came like a sigh of relief, a release of tension now they had spoken the truth out loud.

“But different.”

“It’s not like last time, right?” There was uncertainty in her unblinking eyes, a plea not only for reassurance but for honesty as well.

“Trujillo said anyone left from the cartel with half a brain cell skipped town or went underground before Pablo’s body was cold. They’ve been tracking down anyone dumb enough to have stuck around. So, no. It’s not like last time. I promise.”

His tone was soft but he looked Connie in the eye until she nodded, needing the conviction as much as she did.

“I know I never visited Madrid like I said I would – blame your ex-employer for that, by the way – but for what it’s worth, I don’t think Medellín’s the only one who’s different now. So, whatever happens, Javi…”

“I know.”

His hand found its way to hers on the table and gently squeezed. An acceptance that there was no denying traces of the past, as they had already discovered, but a translucent overlay had been placed on top of it now. Whether the two could co-exist in the long run, nobody yet knew, but at least it was finally the chance of a future for them and Medellín.

------------------------------------------------------

Horacio picked one of the quieter bars, reeling off a list of drinks to the bartender and perching on a stool while he waited for his order.

“Thought you might need a hand.”

Before Horacio could respond, Steve had already sat on the adjacent stool, his back to the bar to accommodate his long legs.

“You sure you’re not just avoiding the dancefloor, Agent Murphy?” There was a hint of a mock interrogative tone to his voice as he turned sideways to face Steve.

Steve held his hands up in surrender. “You got me there. Although…” He dipped into the inside pocket of his black suit jacket and pulled out a couple of cigars. “Courtesy of the groom, if you’re interested?”

Horacio broke into a laugh. “He paid up, then.”

“Damn right.” Steve held one of the cigars closer to Horacio, tempting him despite the conflicted look Horacio was giving it. “I won’t tell Javi if you don’t tell Con.”

Horacio sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He put the cigar between his lips and took the lighter from Steve, hovering the flame near the foot until it took.

Steve did the same, a woody haze soon encircling them.

The bartender appeared with a trayful of drinks and once he was gone again, Horacio lifted a beer bottle and slid it across to Steve. “I never got a chance to say thank you.”

“For what?”

“Stechner.”

A scowl stormed across Steve’s pupils, and he took a quick hard swig from his beer bottle, placing it back on the table with a little more force than intended. “It was my fuckin’ pleasure. You should’ve seen his face. Covered in blood and tears in his eyes when my hand squeezed his throat.”

He swapped his beer for his cigar, relishing in that sweet memory as a ring of smoke hovered above his head like a misplaced halo.

Every now and then, Steve still surprised Horacio. Because occasionally, Horacio caught glimpses of the turbulence that raged beneath the surface. It was a clumsier, more unrefined version than he was accustomed to, but he recognised and understood it nonetheless.

“Not sure I’d have been able to stop squeezing,” Horacio confessed.

“It was touch and go for a minute. But rumour has it, the new Country Attaché, Alana Cortés, and Messina were roommates all the way through their Academy days. And for a few years after…before Cortés took an assignment in Mexico out of the blue. But now she’s back.” Steve toasted the air with his beer bottle. “So good luck to our old friend, Bill, trying to pull her strings.”

Horacio raised his glass to meet Steve’s bottle, although there was an ulterior motive to leaning forward a fraction. “I take it you’ve heard nothing else about the photos?” His words were delivered towards the floor in case of the minutest likelihood anyone around them was the world’s best lip reader.

“Not a thing. But I’d handle it if something did happen; you have my word. Cali’s beyond my remit, but I’d put good money on Stechner’s attention being there now he can’t use us anymore.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Oh, and you were right, too.”

“About what?”

“Javi tryin' to shut me out.”

“Well, thanks for not letting him.”

They bowed their heads and returned to their cigars, a surprisingly comfortable silence sitting between them.

“How was he in Madrid?” Steve asked in the end.

“Good, mostly. There were bad days, obviously. But he sleeps better now.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“No. I think there’s a lot of that going around.”

“It’s weird though, right?”

“What’s that?”

“Being back. Like it was all just some fuckin’ dream. Like it wasn’t really me on that rooftop. Like everyone knew it should’ve been you in that photo instead.”

Horacio might not have been there for the final showdown, but he'd seen enough newspapers and bulletins to know that photo well. The one where Escobar’s limp body was held up to the camera like a trophy, now the hunt was over.

“Yeah, well, I made sure it wasn’t me, didn’t I?” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ve had to make my peace with it. And so should you.”

“I played out that moment so many times. Thought about all the ways we’d catch him. Over and over, I let it run through my head. But I wasn’t expecting him to look so…pathetic. Like any other son of a bitch criminal runnin’ scared when his time’s up.”

“Because that’s all he was. But it was real. And he’s gone. No matter what happens, they can’t take that away from us.”

“But now what?”

“Now, we live our lives. We don’t forget, but we move on.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Just as they toasted their drinks, they were rumbled.

“Might’ve known this is where you’d be hiding. Found them!” Javier called over his shoulder.

Trujillo followed behind Javier; his police uniform now exchanged for a lightweight guayabera. “Anything to avoid a dancefloor. Blondie, are those my cigars?”

“I think you’ll find they’re mine now, Major. I might have a couple of spares lying around, though.” Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out more like he was performing a magic trick.

Trujillo rubbed his hands together. “Now you’re talking.”

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Once Steve had braved the canopy to pass Connie her drink, the four men retreated to a deserted part of the gardens where pine tables and chairs with canvas covering them were dotted amongst the trees. White lights hung across the branches like fireflies and lanterns lined the decked walkways, the party and dancing reduced to a murmur in the distance.

The quartet sat around one of the pine tables, the first time they had been together like this since the old days back at Carlos Holguín.

“Can you believe we’re finally here?” Trujillo asked, savouring the spicy scent of his cigar as it combined with the fresh floral notes of the forest.

“At your wedding? Barely.”

Trujillo rolled his eyes at Javier’s teasing and shook his head. “You can tick comedian off your list of career options.”

Steve sucked in air through his teeth at their war of words. “See what I had to put up with.”

“Says the white boy who needed me to be his fucking translator 24/7.”

A collective braying sound travelled around the table this time before it morphed into laughter and Steve making use of any Spanish swear word he could think of.

“But in all seriousness...no, not really,” Javier replied in earnest after they returned to their cigars.

“Sometimes when I wake up, it takes me a minute to remember he’s not still lurking out there somewhere.”

“But he’s not.” Horacio’s eyes glowed with steely determination, needing to put a line under this once and for all. “You made sure of that. You gave Medellín a future. And now it’s time to start yours.” He raised his glass to the centre of the table. “To Juana and Felipe.”

“To Juana and Felipe!” Javier and Steve echoed as their drinks clinked with Horacio’s.

“And to Colombia,” Felipe added.

“To Colombia!”

------------------------------------------------------

Once the cigars were stubbed out, Trujillo and Horacio were pulled away for a Search Bloc reunion, leaving Javier and Steve to their drinks.

“I was telling Carrillo about Cortés earlier.”

“How did you find out about her, by the way? You never said on the phone.”

“Just some good old fashioned slightly off-the-record detective work, that’s all.”

“You covered your tracks, though, right? Because they’ll know it was you who gave her my intel. Even if they can’t prove it.”

“’Course. Although it wouldn’t take a fuckin’ genius to figure that out. Same with Stechner’s busted face. Don’t think anyone bought it was your handiwork.”

“To be fair, there’s a critical shortage of geniuses in the DEA. Present company included, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Steve retaliated by raising his middle finger in response to Javier’s trademark wink. “But most people hate Stechner as much as we do, so no one came asking. Never saw him around the school again after that, although I’m sure he must’ve been prowlin' about somewhere.”

“More than likely. So, er…no one’s mentioned the photos either?”

“No. And like I told Carrillo, even if they did, I’d handle it, Javi. I promise. There’s more shit on Stechner out there, I fuckin’ know it. Messina was getting too close, remember. I don’t think I’ll have to dig deeper, but look at it as an insurance policy.”

“Makes sense. And thanks, Steve. For Stechner. For the intel. For reassuring Horacio, apparently.”

Javier laughed at the thought of them engaged in something resembling a heart-to-heart. But if truth be told, it brought warmth to his chest to realise the two men could be considered friends-of-sorts these days. Not that he dared tell them that.

Steve gave a lazy salute with one hand whilst the other took a swig of his drink. “Don’t expect that to become a habit, by the way.”

And there it was, right on cue, just as Javier anticipated. “Oh, no, of course not.”

“It was a one-time-only Wedding Special kinda deal.”

“Right. Exactly.”

Javier took a long sip of his drink to hide the smirk threatening to explode into an undiplomatic laugh if he wasn’t careful.

“Any idea when you’re moving back to the States?” Steve asked, seemingly oblivious to Javier’s impressive restraint.

“Not really. It depends on Horacio’s visa. We haven’t decided on the best route yet. I’d forgotten how much fucking paperwork’s involved.”

It was no wonder Javier held such disdain for bureaucracy when the wrong piece of paper was the difference between crossing a border and not. When someone’s life was reduced down to a list of rigid criteria without much consideration for the sacrifice and hardship it often took to get to that point in the first place. It was why he had done his best to help informants get an American visa wherever possible, even if it meant bending rules until they snapped.

He knew Horacio had more options than most – more than his grandparents’ generation did – and they had been lucky with their past visas. But he tried not to think about the fact their future would be in the hands of an officious government administrator. One most likely not prepared to bend any rules in the slightest.

“You got that right. Don’t s’pose he’s thought about law enforcement?”

Javier shot Steve a sharp look. “Hilarious.”

“I thought so. And what about you? Any ideas what’s next?”

“Me? Fuck, I dunno, man. Guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

“You’ll both figure it out, y’know.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. You always do. You’re like me and Con. We’ve had our rough patches, several of ‘em while we were here – and a few more since we left, come to think of it – but somehow, we get through it. Same as you and Horacio.”

“You drunk, Murphy?”

Steve contemplated that as though he hadn’t considered the possibility until now despite the array of empty glasses covering the table. “Fuck, I think I am.” He let out a loud snigger before hushing himself. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“My lips are sealed.” For all of Javier’s stoicism, he stood no chance, and it wasn’t long before they were giggling like schoolboys.

“About the rough patches, though…” Steve said once they had calmed down. “Any tips?”

“Someone once told me it’s okay to not always be in the same boat even if you’re in the same storm. Sometimes, you just need your own boat. But as long as you’re trying to sail in the same direction...and want to be in the same boat as much as possible, you can get through it.”

“Huh. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but that actually makes sense. Who do I need to thank?”

Javier smiled, almost able to smell fresh churros if he closed his eyes hard enough. “Someone a lot older and wiser than us.”

“Figures. And my point still stands, by the way.”

“What point’s that exactly?”

“You might not have worked out the finer details yet, but…” Steve gestured for Javier to move forward as though he was about to share highly classified intel. “The worst’s over now. We don’t forget, but we move on.” He nodded sagely before dropping his voice to little more than an alcohol-infused rumble. “This is your happy ending, Javi. Go live it.”

As they returned to the party, Steve alternating between leaning against Javier and patting him enthusiastically on the back whilst attempting something vaguely resembling Spanish, there was no doubt in Javier’s mind that Steve was wasted and probably had been for most of their conversation.

But when it came to the sentiment behind Steve’s garbled words, something told Javier that didn’t matter.

------------------------------------------------------

Maybe it was Horacio’s age or the quiet life he had become accustomed to, but he couldn’t keep up with Search Bloc’s drinking. The aguardiente shots were in full flow when he left them to it, doubling back towards where he had left Javier and Steve.

He made it past the bustle of the bar and round the corner towards a small rock garden with a walkway to the trees lying beyond.

“So, the rumours were true, then.”

Force of habit made Horacio momentarily reach for where his gun holster used to be as he spun around to face the voice from the shadows of a wooden bench.

“Depends which ones you’re talking about,” he replied in a measured tone now he knew the source of the voice. “You can’t believe everything you hear.”

“Well, let’s put it this way...you certainly look well for a dead man, Colonel Carrillo.”

“You almost sound disappointed.”

“Not at all. Vengeance isn’t my style.”

“Nor mine these days.”

“So I’ve heard. Congratulations on your retirement. I’d say that beats jail, wouldn’t you?”

Horacio scoffed as he sat on the opposite end of the bench, his brow flexing at such an expertly delivered blow. “I guess I deserved that.”

“I think we both know what a man deserves and what a man gets are rarely the same thing.”

“True. But you’ll always be Colonel Martínez: the man who stopped Escobar.”

“Perhaps so. But was death not the easier way out?”

“Easier than what? Vengeance?”

“Justice.” Martínez gave Horacio a long look from his end of the bench. “Gaviria was the one who wanted him dead. It’s no wonder you two got along so well.”

“I did my duty. As Gaviria did his and you did yours. We played the hands we were dealt.”

“Yes, and he dealt mine well when he signed my son up to Search Bloc before offering me your job.”

Realisation slowly spread across Horacio’s face, and without meaning to, he gave Martínez a look tinged with pity. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I kept him alive. He was transferred to a new intel unit instead…where he intercepted radio transmissions from Pablo the day we caught him.”

A curve of a smile formed on Horacio’s lips. “Funny how it works out sometimes.”

Horacio was reminded of his own double-edged sword of a path to becoming leader of Search Bloc. The journey began with Javier and a briefcase full of cash being deposited in the lap of General Jaramillo, forcing the General’s greedy hand to appoint Horacio as head of the anti-drug squad and make him a Colonel. A job that was already a poisoned chalice on account of his predecessor winding up dead at the hands of the cartel.

Javier using gringo money to buy Horacio a promotion had been a bone of contention between them back then. Too many heated discussions under the influence led to an argument where “Everybody works for somebody" and “Don’t ever mistake me for one of your whores again” were the last words to hang between them in a heavy fog of smoke, whiskey and undefinable tension for several weeks. During which time, Horacio was even more ruthless than usual. And as if to prove a point, Javier practically became a temporary resident at his favourite brothel.

The hypocrisy of the situation had sat uneasily under Horacio’s skin when he had always taken such a hard line on bribery from the narcos. Was this really any different?

But conversely, if he hadn’t been allowed to build his own force of incorruptible men, he would never have led the operation on Gacha. He would never have ended up in those quarters in Tolú with Javier. On his cot with Javier underneath him.

“Yes, it is. I did tell Gaviria I would bring Escobar into custody unless he resisted. But of course, he resisted.”

“Then maybe Escobar didn’t care about justice as much as you think he did. And there’s nothing you could have done about that.”

“Aren’t we supposed to care about justice, though? And I don’t mean the vigilante kind you and Los Pepes were so fond of administering.”

“You sound like the gringos I used to work with.” A surge of nostalgia rose in Horacio’s chest, and he’d have been surprised if it wasn’t showing on his face. Although, of course, it was one gringo in particular he had in mind.

“If you think I wanted Escobar to be extradited to an American jail, you’re mistaken. He was our problem to deal with, not theirs.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t give a fuck about a corrupt form of justice. How would that have been better than what I did? So many judges, politicians and journalists were bought or killed alongside our men. He wanted Colombia to bleed, and he’d have done whatever it took to make sure he didn’t remain in a cell. You, Trujillo, Search Bloc…you cauterised the wound that no one else could.”

“For now. I think we both know this was something of a Pyrrhic victory. And not the end.”

“Two things we can agree on.”

Reluctant smiles crossed their faces despite everything.

“I think our fathers managed a few more.”

“So I was told at Papá’s wake. How is your father doing these days?”

“He’s fine. Retired now but relieved the hunt is over. I think he hated watching from the sidelines.”

“I know the feeling.”

The distant drumbeat of the live band carried on the gentle breeze through the garden, whispering like ghosts through the plants and trees surrounding them.

“I may not have agreed with your methods, but I was very sorry about your father.”

“Me too. And for what it’s worth, I think my father would’ve been sorry about my methods as well.”

“I cannot imagine how losing a parent so young would have changed my path. And to be clear, this isn't to be taken as an excuse, but by your own ethos, you played the cards you were dealt, did you not?”

Horacio laughed. “Something like that.”

“I must admit, you were a tough act to follow.”

“Was I?”

“Yes. The level of respect you commanded from your men wasn’t easy to replicate.”

“You still got invited here, though.”

“True. And I accepted the invite despite my suspicions the groom was assisting Agent Peña before his departure.”

Horacio’s jaw ticked in anticipation of the treacherous tightrope he would need to tread here. He and Javier were out, done, without their badges or weapons. But Trujillo wasn’t.

“Suspicions or evidence?” he settled on in the end.

“Suspicions based on what I witnessed. But I think there’s irrefutable evidence his and Peña’s unfaltering loyalty rested with you rather than with me.”

“Trujillo also fired a bullet through Escobar’s skull.”

“Yes. An act I don’t judge him for in the circumstances. And rest assured, I have no intention of reporting my suspicions to anyone. Major Trujillo’s motives aren’t the ones still eluding me.”

Horacio swallowed down the dread burning the back of his throat like bile that was in danger of choking him if he didn’t get rid of it quickly. “What are you talking about?”

“You never struck me as a man afraid of death. And whilst I can understand the ambush might have made some reconsider their career choice, I wouldn’t have put you down as one of them.”

“Do you really think there was anything left for me in Search Bloc? My superiors already had your name on their lips to replace me long before I was shot.”

“In Search Bloc, perhaps not. But I’m sure the CNP would have allowed you back once the dust settled. They forgave you for far worse than being shot.”

Horacio huffed sarcastically despite how unwise it was to get sucked into the conversation. “I can assure you my decision was never about them. And it’s nothing you didn’t do for your son.”

That seemed to be the winning blow as Martínez nodded in concession. “True. We can’t afford to be afraid of death in our profession. But when it comes to the people we love, I must confess…I can’t apply the same rule.”

Horacio gripped the edge of the bench and focused intently on his feet, fearing even glancing in Martínez’s direction would fill in the few remaining blanks. He managed a minimal grunting noise in his throat that he hoped sounded like agreement.

“However, many times, I’ve asked myself why a man such as Peña would have destroyed his career so recklessly, and so close to the finish line. But I’ve been unable to settle on an answer.”

It wasn’t quite the change of subject Horacio hoped for. “Well, for starters,” he began, raising his gaze from his shoes at last, not out of a newly acquired sense of bravery but because he knew he needed to be convincing. “I wouldn’t read too much into Judy Moncada’s Get Out Of Jail Free Card.”

“Oh, I didn’t. I know Peña’s role was only a small part of something a lot bigger than he, you or I could control. But I have to wonder what leverage they had over him to make a deal with the devil impossible to refuse.”

Horacio had no intention of engaging further, but it wasn’t the first time he had wondered about the gap he left that was hastily – and bloodily – filled by Los Pepes. Would they even have been necessary if he'd never left? Or would they have tried their luck in approaching him with the offer of an allegiance? It caused his stomach to swoop if he focused too much on the people involved in that hypothetical scenario. But then he thought of Javier, and he knew with every fibre of his being if their roles had been reversed, he would have done the same.

“I’m sure every man has his reasons if the price is high enough.”

Martínez cocked his head in Horacio’s direction with a creased brow, holding eye contact for a fraction longer than Horacio was comfortable with. “Quite.”

Drunken laughter followed by a sniggered hush abruptly cut through the loud silence. The two Colonels – past and present – turned around to be met with the sight of Javier trying to control the swaying bulk of limbs belonging to his former partner.

Javier spotted them first and halted in his tracks, hoping the dim lighting hid the flash of horror on his face at the sight of two parallel universes colliding in front of him on a garden bench.

Steve apparently was oblivious to what they had stumbled across as he carried on along the path back to the party with just about enough of his faculties remaining to reunite with Connie.

“Everything alright?” Javier asked, fingers twitching on his right hand as he looked from one side of the bench to the other, then back again.

“Yeah, fine.” But Horacio’s eyes found Javier’s in the flecks of light from the lanterns hanging amongst the tree branches and told a more complicated story. “We were just comparing notes.”

“Oh yeah? Any interesting findings?” Javier’s eyes stayed fixed on Horacio’s or the floor for the most part, only risking a brief glance or two at Martínez.

“A few,” Martínez chipped in as he studied them more carefully than they were likely aware of. “Some that I will never be able to excuse or forgive, but I think I understand one thing more clearly now.”

“What’s that?” Horacio asked.

“I always believed there were two types of people in this world: those who rely on hope and those who rely on faith. But now, I see some rely on both.”

Before Javier or Horacio could formulate a response, Martínez announced it was time to locate his son as they had early shifts in the morning.

Their farewell involved little more than a handshake, a stern nod and an exchange of “Good luck.” But it was a necessary formality for all parties. A mark of mutual respect that wasn’t quite an offered or accepted olive branch but at least a truce. And that was enough.

------------------------------------------------------

“You okay?” Javier asked once Martínez had disappeared from view.

“Yeah. Well, I guess it was inevitable at some point.”

“Didn’t expect it to go like that, though. What the fuck did he mean? Just before he left. Does he know?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t think he’s telling anyone anything either way.”

“Agreed. We don’t have to stay if you’d rather -”

“No.” Horacio was quiet for a second, craning his ear towards the sound of the band behind the large cluster of trees they had sat amongst earlier. “I’ve got a better idea.”

He looked around them in all directions, twice, to be on the safe side, then took Javier by the hand and escorted him along one of the walkways. However, they branched off in a different direction than before, Horacio surprising himself with childhood memories of the layout of this place that he assumed were lost to the sands of time.

“What are -?”

“You’ll see.”

The path spiralled in circles, leaving them surrounded by greenery until they arrived at a softly lit water fountain in the centre. They were somehow closer to the sound of the music, even though they had moved further away from the party.

As they stilled, Javier looked expectantly at Horacio, who was already removing his jacket, placing it carefully on the ground and rolling up his shirt sleeves.

Javier did the same, still not understanding what this was all about, but the look in Horacio’s eye made him want to find out.

Horacio stepped closer, moonlight casting reflections from the fountain, illuminating the spark of hunger glinting in his pupils. “I’ve spent all night watching you dance with half the wedding party.” One hand dropped to Javier’s waist and tugged him forward into his hold. “It’s my turn now.”

Javier’s breath hitched as Horacio pressed them together, his hands automatically falling to Horacio’s hips to steady himself. “You only had to ask,” he said, the smoky timbre of his voice vibrating against Horacio’s ear.

“I thought line-dancing was more your thing.”

Javier nipped at Horacio’s earlobe in revenge. “That was when I was a kid. And you weren’t complaining about my dancing skills on our anniversary.”

Horacio let out an agreeable sigh as he chased the scrape of Javier’s teeth. “No, I wasn’t. But as nice as that was, we were hardly moving.”

“True. And if you must know, the Texas Two-Step got me several phone numbers back in the day. Lorraine’s being one of them. She was more into it than me, but it was actually kinda fun…for a while anyway.”

Memories of Saturday nights spent at old Texan dance halls and barn dances suddenly filled Javier’s mind. The faded aroma of leather and iron rust lingered alongside stale Lone Star beer, cigarette smoke and overpowering perfume as he led his partner across the worn wooden floor in time to the likes of Laura Canales and Hank Locklin.

His gaze would travel around the room – which was easier during a do-si-do – sometimes to make sure they didn’t collide with other dancers, sometimes to give anyone who caught his eye a discreet once-over. If he happened to hone in on a male dancer's tight-fitted jeans and fluid hip movements, it could easily be disguised as admiration for his female partner.

Not that it ever led to any encounters. Not there anyway; it wasn’t anonymous enough. But it was still a temptation. And yet another instance of feeling caught between two worlds: to have the tangible heat and beauty of a woman in his arms whilst fantasising about a mysterious, alluring man from afar, knowing he could never do the same with him in front of an audience.

“Juliana taught me to dance too. Or tried to, at least. She competed a lot when she was younger.”

Horacio smiled at the unexpected memory of them practising in her parents' kitchen, her father watching them like a hawk, glaring every time Horacio put a foot wrong or his hands fell lower than her waist despite the fact she was a grown woman. And his hands had already done much more than that whenever they had the place to themselves. His relationship with her father was the polar opposite of his relationship with Chucho, now he thought about it.

It wasn’t Juliana’s fault, though. And when they were alone on a crowded dancefloor, before his job and life came between them, before he understood the strange, borderline resentment twisting in his chest if he clocked male dancers with a particular look or build, they were content.

One of their favourite clubs ran a cumbia contest on the first Saturday of each month. The prize was tokenistic, free drinks on their next visit, but that didn’t matter on the occasions they came first when Juliana would tell her parents the good news at church the following day. The look on her father’s face as Horacio tried and failed to stifle a smug expression at her side would always be priceless.

“You ever danced any cumbia?” he asked Javier now.

“Some. At parties, weddings, quinceañeras…but that’s going back before I came to Colombia.” There might have been a few hazy nights in clubs and bars over here as well, but dancing hadn’t been his modus operandi in those days.

“So, you’ve never done it with a Colombian?”

Javier’s brow quirked of its own accord, and his tongue swept deliberately across his top lip. “No, er, you’d be my first.”

Horacio kept an impassive expression with his mouth, but his darkening pupils gave him away. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

“You know that won’t be necessary.”

Somewhere in the middle of their flirtation, they loosened their embrace, one hand linked in the space between them as their feet stepped back and forth, then side to side, their movements mirroring one another. Quick, quick, slow, quick, quick, slow.

Without warning, Horacio pulled Javier across his body and under their arms, spinning him around with force, then bringing them face-to-face again.

“Lucho Bermúdez was one of the great musical legends here in Colombia. Still is after his death last year. Mamá and my Abuelas listened to him all the time whenever the whole family got together. Do you know the name of this song?”

Horacio waited until their noses were almost touching to ask as their feet subconsciously glided over the paving stones beneath them.

Javier merely shook his head, their legs intermittently brushing together as their hips popped to the beat before he was spun once, twice, thrice until he was dizzy and out of breath.

“Tolú,” Horacio whispered as they reconverged, his lips skimming Javier’s and his eyes flickering shut as flashes of them on his cot in their shadowed quarters flooded into view.

Javier teased his bottom lip over Horacio’s, moustache swiping back and forth until they shuddered, a different first time as fresh as if it happened yesterday.

But they never stopped dancing. Horacio looped through their arms until he had his back to Javier, one hand each gripped at Horacio’s waist. They shimmied sideways, their free hands entwined by their shoulders to guide them back and forth, switching their hold each time they travelled across the floor. Another spin, another brush of legs, or an electric look making it clear which memories of Tolú they were thinking of.

The song ended, leaving only their charged breaths and the evening breeze rustling through the maze of trees protecting them from prying eyes.

Then, the band struck up again, so they kept dancing. Their bodies and minds synchronised as they paid homage to the country that had brought them together in the unlikeliest circumstances, Horacio interjecting with memories from childhood whenever old classics were played. He was even forced to swear on the cross between their chests that he had nothing to do with the band playing Noches de Cartagena of all songs.

------------------------------------------------------

By the time Javier prised his eyes open, unwelcome rays were already bursting through any gap in the blinds they could find. He craned his neck above Horacio’s still form, his watch on the nightstand reading 8:45am; ouch.

He’d survived on minimal sleep plenty of times, but he couldn’t remember getting home from a wedding past 5:00am before. If he was honest, they were tempted to call it a night once their private party for two ended. But it would have been rude to miss out on the dancers – professional this time – costumes and confetti of La Hora Loca. When in Colombia and all that.

They still had a few hours before they were to reconvene with the wedding party for the ultimate hangover cure of bandeja paisa, so Javier’s nose and moustache brushed over the nape of Horacio’s neck, arms slotting around him from behind.

A serene purr soon followed as Horacio stirred and leaned into Javier’s touch.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

Javier’s lips now worked their way to the side of Horacio’s neck, concentrating on a sweet spot below his ear.

“Liar.” Although Horacio’s whole body arched and his head tilted to give Javier what he wanted.

“Surprised I was awake before you, to be honest.”

“It took me a while to get to sleep…all of two and a bit hours ago.” Horacio winced into the pillow at how little rest he’d actually had.

“Everything okay?”

“Hmm, yeah.” He raised his head and shifted so he was lying face-to-face with Javier. “I was just thinking about my family.”

“Makes sense.”

“When we arrived, we were so focused on the wedding. I didn’t let myself think about what comes next. But now…”

“I said the same to Connie last night. But…maybe we’re ready to rip off the band-aid.”

“Maybe. Part of me just wanted to get it out of the way when I was lying awake. But you nodded off in record time.”

“I think you wore me out.”

“But you enjoyed it, though?”

“It was perfect.” Javier closed the space between them, seeking out Horacio’s lips until he was met with a hum of agreement.

Javier pushed his luck, ducking below Horacio’s ear and descending over the column of his throat. Testing the waters to see if Horacio wanted the distraction Javier was more than willing to provide. “And how’s this?”

“Pretty fucking perfect too.”

Their kisses started languorous due to their lack of sleep, building to something fervid as Horacio nipped at Javier’s pout, catching it between his teeth until it was plump and swollen.

Javier retaliated, coaxing Horacio’s tongue towards his with expert flicks, tasting faint traces of last night’s cigars, until he captured it and sucked, long and thorough.

Limbs tangled between bedsheets soon became Javier whimpering facedown into a pillow whilst Horacio dipped and devoured, creating a slick glide between Javier’s thighs, the relief visceral when lining up and pushing forwards.

Horacio experimented with bracing yet measured rotations as he mouthed along the expanse of Javier’s trapezius, lost in a sea of broad muscle. He’d always loved watching the fabric of Javier’s shirts stretch and strain at his upper back, an eye-catching contrast to the narrow hips his jeans hugged oh so tightly. And now, the shirt wasn’t required, and he was the one setting Javier’s skin alight, triggering a visible response to every touch or movement like putty in Horacio’s hands.

Javier loved being vindicated that there was nothing wrong with Horacio’s hips whatsoever. Of being denied any forewarning of what came next from biting down on a pillow with his eyes screwed shut, the only way he could avoid prematurely spilling all over the sheets beneath him. It was a close call several times, calming breaths required to refocus, a request for Horacio to stop or slow down needed before it was game over.

Knowing he reduced Javier to begging because it was too much put Horacio on thin ice, and any more pleas like that would have finished him off. But the throbbing of his cock was in sync with his pulse, loud and insistent, and keeping still wasn’t having the same effect anymore. The salty taste on his tongue as it swiped over the nape of Javier’s neck where the silver chain still remained was an aphrodisiac he couldn’t ignore.

“Fuck me,” he rasped against Javier’s ear.

Without hesitation, Javier flipped onto his back, the loss of contact causing an ache of frustration. But it was replaced by straddling, groping and grinding, propelling Horacio up the mattress until his thighs were encased around Javier’s head.

Now it was Javier’s turn to feast, spreading Horacio with vigour, darting, licking, kissing, leaving trails of saliva, moaning as his cock was engulfed and fingers danced over his balls.

The scratch of nails scored Horacio’s ass as he worked Javier over, lapping with greed, hollowing his cheeks, bobbing his head and switching up the strength of suction, putting everything they had learnt in Madrid into practice.

They pulled off before it was too late, grabbing the bottle of lube and lying supine across the mattress with Javier underneath Horacio.

Javier’s feet were planted flat on the bed, giving him enough purchase to buck upwards with force, one hand holding on at the waist whilst the other roamed freely across the plains of Horacio’s chest, kneading fistfuls of pectoral muscles and skimming over his rib cage down to his thighs.

Javier caressed each thigh in turn, circling and massaging with his thumb, marvelling at how the span of his hand only reached a fraction of the way around them. “I meant what I said last night. About how good a garter would look on you.” His glutes clenched as he propelled upwards for extra emphasis.

The seed was sewn in Javier’s head as he watched Horacio dress for the wedding. It wasn’t the first time Horacio had worn what was a standard part of his dress uniform. A trick of the trade amongst police and military to avoid sanctions for a creased shirt. But it was the first time Javier had seen the shirt stays sitting snugly around Horacio’s muscular thighs. It was the first time he wanted to slip his fingers underneath the neat straps, maybe twang them or pull them tighter with his teeth whilst on his knees. Or as Horacio rode him with his back to Javier, one side of his shirt unclipped, underwear and a single garter tantalisingly removed, the other kept secured in place.

A guttural groan rumbled through Horacio’s chest like he had read Javier’s mind. “What kind?” he breathed out, surprised by his eagerness to indulge Javier and how fast his hand shot to his cock.

Javier choked back expletives at Horacio’s question and the sight above him. “I was thinking something leather…with a buckle…to match your belt and boots.” Each punishing thrust broke up his speech with strained grunts as he spread Horacio’s thighs wider, manoeuvring him up and down at the same pace. “Maybe one on your arm too….and a harness…to go with your hat…cowboy.”

“Fuck,” Horacio panted into Javier’s mouth at an awkward angle on the pillow, stroking himself roughly. Sparks of arousal multiplied with each wrist jerk as he pictured the look Javier gave him during the belt contest. Imagined him buckling the firm yet supple material until it bound tightly against Horacio’s sensitive skin like armour only they were allowed to put on or take off.

Javier’s hand replaced Horacio’s as he let his cock be held in stasis, basking in the heat and comfort of their joined form. His fingers journeyed back to Horacio’s mouth, tracing over it until Horacio parted his lips for Javier to feed two, then three digits inside.

Horacio sucked down, tasting himself as well as Javier as he swirled and licked, swallowing past the knuckles; faster and greedier. But it wasn’t enough.

Maybe it was the false pretences kept up the previous day and night combined with what lay ahead, but Javier seemed too far away. He always did when they were in public, but even more so when wearing a three-piece suit at a romantic wedding that wasn’t and couldn’t be theirs. It was why they still relished the time they could spend alone. And why they had needed Madrid. Because all those hidden looks and blink-and-miss, ‘accidental’ unseen brushes of hands could only be suppressed for so long. Last night, it had spilt out as inadvertent foreplay. But now, they needed more.

“Turn around,” Horacio said after releasing Javier’s glistening fingers.

They lay heart-to-heart, Horacio on his back, legs wrapped around Javier. Javier’s tongue skimmed across the breadth of Horacio’s chest, taking his sweet time working over each nipple, the scrape of teeth causing Horacio to lift upwards until Javier plunged him back down again.

And Horacio didn’t resist, his mind and body in free flight as the weight of Javier anchored him, allowed him to feel each and every nerve vibrate, his arms sliding above his head in complete surrender, offering them for Javier to claim.

Javier plotted a course across any patch of bare skin he could reach, licking up and down Horacio’s underarms, inhaling the musky scent of sweat before switching to his triceps, then biceps. On the left, he mouthed his way along the muscles; any marks left intentional reassurances and promises for their present and future, their bodies mapped stories of their lives.

Along the right, he eased up when he came to the faded scar at the mid-point of Horacio’s shoulder, placing tender butterfly kisses over the blemished skin, blinking away visions of a bullet tearing it open and taking care not to let his teeth make unwanted contact with their past.

He gradually dragged his mouth away until their gaze met, the rise and fall of Horacio’s chest compelling Javier to lay his head on it, soothed by the steady beat and the massage at his scalp.

Satisfied, Javier lifted Horacio’s arms back above them, sweeping over the peaks and troughs of fortified shoulders, forearms and wrists until they slotted through fingers that clamped around his like a vice.

Javier rocked in a pounding rhythm, Horacio’s legs rising higher, pushing Javier deeper as compensation for being unable to reach out and touch. Horacio honed in on the lifeline at his fingertips, the stimulation against his prostate and the safety of Javier’s forehead, all thoughts about the upcoming days put on hold.

But Javier could sense Horacio needed more again. It was written all over the beautiful agony of his face and the silent request in his eyes.

So, hands unlocked to let fingernails brand skin, tug at damp strands of hair and graze over stubble, the metallic ice of the cross contrasting with the fire burning in the core of their chests as they danced more synchronised steps only they knew.

A change in angle caused a slow build of release to skirt the edges of Horacio’s limbs, toes curling as jolts of pleasure transformed into overflowing currents. The fuse was lit, a chain reaction of heat stoking a fire in the pit of his abdomen on the cusp of burning him from the inside out.

Another snap of hips, his own hand jerking his cock in a frenzy, a rush of white noise, shuddering, shaking breaths and a release of molten bliss across their stomachs.

The ripples kept coming as every sound, quiver or fluttering around Javier’s cock pushed him closer to the edge. With one final thrust, he finished inside Horacio, a desperate growl tearing from his throat, the brunt absorbed by Horacio’s left shoulder.

They didn’t move, preferring spent velvet kisses, the world now in slow motion.

Javier concentrated on Horacio’s nose and forehead, pouring everything into each gesture of affection until he whispered, “I love you. And it’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

“I love you too. And I know.”

------------------------------------------------------

They dozed a little too long after wearing each other out for the second time in 24 hours, so Horacio went ahead first, leaving Javier to shower and join him afterwards. But it made little difference to the proceedings as plenty of other guests were slow off the mark, too.

Tables were laid out around the nearby restaurant owned by Juana’s parents, leftover flower arrangements used as decorations because it would have been a shame to waste them. It was a much smaller space than the botanical gardens, but not all guests from the night before were expected to attend. A fact that brought immense relief to Horacio because he wouldn’t have to make conversation with a certain Colonel again.

Whilst waiting for Javier, he worked his way through his belated first coffee of the day and took a bite out of an arepa.

“Is there room for two more?”

Horacio raised his head to find Connie with Olivia in tow. “Of course.”

Connie did her best to encourage Olivia out of her hiding place behind her legs. “Come on, sweetie. Do you want something to eat?”

Olivia peeped out from behind Connie, eyeing Horacio with suspicion.

“Don’t mind her; she’s just a little shy and overtired this morning.”

“Some arepas are going spare if that helps?” Horacio kept his voice low and gentle, peering around Connie until he drew a curious expression out of Olivia.

Olivia looked up at her mother, who nodded for reassurance.

“Go ahead.”

Olivia left her hiding place and took the chair between Horacio and Connie, mumbling a thank you as she ate.

“Help yourself, too.”

“Oh, no, thanks. I’ll wait for Steve, whose painkillers should hopefully be kicking in about now. I don’t feel too bad, but I left him groaning into his pillow. Were you and Javi in the same state this morning?”

Horacio fought down a smirk with every strength of his being. “Something like that.”

“I knew it was a smart move to travel to Cartagena tomorrow instead.”

“Where are you staying?”

“A resort just off La Boquilla beach. Steve and I would’ve preferred something quieter, but there’s more to keep kids busy where we’re at.”

“I don’t know the area well, but it is a nice coast up there. With plenty more arepas.” Horacio directed his last sentence at Olivia, who had already made a start on her second.

She slowed her chewing before smiling at Horacio, who had remembered a trick or two from the younger days of dealing with his nieces and nephews. If all else failed, food usually won them round.

“I’ve only seen Medellín and Bogotá, so it’ll be nice to get out of the big cities for a change.”

Horacio cleared his throat and took a long sip of his drink. “Yeah, it will.”

Connie leaned across the table to retrieve a freshly replenished pot of coffee and poured into her cup. “It’s a shame we won’t get a chance to see Manizales this time. But we’ll be thinking about it anyway.”

Horacio was startled out of his own coffee and met Connie’s eye, unsure how to respond before settling on a silent nod of thanks. “Maybe next time if all goes well.”

“I think we’d like that. Breaks like this are few and far between now we’re both back working.”

“How’s Miami these days?”

“Busy now we’re juggling our schedules with Liv’s. And we still have bad days sometimes, of course.” Connie gave Horacio a pointed look when talking of bad days, choosing her words carefully with Olivia in earshot. “But things are better now we’ve got more routine again…more stability.”

“Sounds familiar. I find being in the same country helps, too,” Horacio added with a wry smile.

“Exactly. Now we’re out the other side.”

“Yeah.”

They shared a knowing look, not wanting to say too much in front of Olivia about everything they had been through. It was hard to believe how much had happened and changed in the last few years, and it was clear everyone was still processing it all.

“How’s your arm doing now?” Connie asked in a hurry, keeping the mood light for the sake of her daughter.

“It’s as good as new. Well, almost. The ranch kept me moving. I think I built back more muscle than I had before. And I kept up strengthening exercises in Madrid.”

“Wow, you’re doing better than most of my patients. I never had to tell you off once.”

“I don’t follow many orders, but it wasn’t worth my arm – or life – to ignore yours. So, thank you.”

“Try telling that to Steve...or this one here. But seriously, I’m just glad I could help. Especially when I hear you might be making ranch life more permanent?” There was a conspiratorial tone to her question. A question she clearly knew the answer to already but was having fun asking regardless.

“That’s the plan, hopefully. Madrid was always supposed to be temporary.”

“But it helped?”

“Yeah. It was exactly what we needed. And maybe you’ll find Cartagena is what you need.”

“I think we will.”

There was that look again, one that spoke volumes about their shared understanding, even if their experiences were different.

Horacio’s gaze drifted up to Javier, who still wore his aviators until he flopped down at their table, already reaching for a cup and the coffee pot.

“Morning.”

“Afternoon, Javi,” Connie greeted with a wink.

“Very funny. But looks like I still beat your husband.”

“Don’t suppose you saw him on your way over?”

“Nope. I’m sure he’ll appear once the food does.”

Javier was right, of course. A worse-for-wear Steve arrived as the bandeja paisa was brought to the tables before they tucked into huge hot trays of beans, rice, chicharrón, chorizo, carne en polvo, plantain, avocado, fried egg and more arepas.

They ate in comfortable silence, letting the food work its magic and fill them up for the rest of the day, highlights from the reception still fresh in everyone’s minds despite their current weariness.

Before long, it was time to wave the newlyweds off on their honeymoon to Bequia. Their goodbyes were short and sweet, knowing they would be keeping in touch long after the celebrations were over, especially when Trujillo’s parting words were, “I’ll be waiting for my ranch invitation in the post.”

And even through the loud crowd of well-wishers, he managed to hear the mumbled “Cheeky fucker” echoed back at him in unison.

------------------------------------------------------

Javier and Horacio stayed to finish their coffees once the beeps of the wedding car disappeared into the distance, the majority of the party now dispersed and leaving them sat alone.

“Pops rang just before I left the hotel. Think he wanted to check in before…well, y’know.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. The only bit of news he asked me to pass on was about him being offered first refusal on Ciro’s and Malena’s place.”

The fact the Ortegas were selling up wasn’t a surprise. Javier and Horacio had spent last Christmas in Laredo again, where Ciro and Malena had brought around a fresh batch of sopaipillas over the festive period. In the preceding months, they had gone back and forth on moving, but by December, they were set on putting the farm on the market in the New Year.

Horacio nodded slowly, his brow drawn tight across his forehead as he considered this new development carefully. “Makes sense.”

“Do you think he’ll seriously consider it at his age?”

“I think he has to. We buy the majority of our feed grain from them. Selling to an outsider could risk price hikes and shortages, or the new owners might want to supply to someone else. It’d be a big gamble. But if your father bought them out, then kept their staff on, used their expertise, maybe even increased the livestock with some of the extra land…I think it could be workable.”

Horacio was aware he was being watched and glanced up to face his audience. “What?”

“Nothing.” Although Javier knew his face told another story. “I just don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak such fluent cowboy before.”

“I’m not a—”

“Not yet,” Javier finished for him. “And I never said it was a bad thing.”

------------------------------------------------------

After every funeral, an additional service was held exclusively for CNP officers to attend. Whilst gravestones were located across Colombia in countless cemeteries, a modest wooden cross bearing a name was planted for each loss in the consecrated soil around the corner from Carlos Holguín.

Horacio had paid his respects here more times than he wished to remember, but he still wasn’t prepared for how vast the sea of the dead had become since his last visit. It was a silent expanse covering the grass for as far as the eye could see, the sole sign of life the weeds and wildflowers shooting up between the rows he walked through.

He recognised some names and could clearly picture their ashen-faced relatives as though it was yesterday when he stood on their doorsteps, hat in hand and solemn expression fixed in place. Others were indistinguishable from the rest. An indicator of the extent of the collateral damage and how long he had been away now.

As he stood in his civilian clothes, he felt strangely underdressed. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to wear his usual ranch attire since being back in Colombia and had returned to the beige khakis and polo shirts that felt like an unofficial uniform of their own. One that allowed him to get away with wholly unofficial business in the past, but today wasn’t about him. Today was about them. All of them. No matter who they were.

Perhaps against his better judgement, with the help of Trujillo, he had located the graves of Diana Turbay and Carolina García Velásquez. He didn't allow himself to remember Carolina’s name at the time, even though she had been plastered all over the papers alongside mysterious references to an “unidentified officer of the National Police” leading the raid on La Dispensaria. A story eerily repeated with Diana’s death.

He didn’t linger at their gravesides. But on those occasions, just like this one, Horacio bowed his head, recited a silent prayer and made the sign of the cross.

“Lo siento,” were the only words spoken before he retreated from the churchyard.

He had done all he could here for now, and it was time to…not forget but to move on. It was time to face his fears and look to the future. It was time to let old ghosts rest once and for all.

#Narcos fic #Narcos #Javier Peña #Horacio Carrillo #Carrillo #Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo #Pedro Pascal #Maurice Compte #Narcos fanfic #Narcos fanfiction #Narcos fan fic #My Fan Fic #My Narcos Fic

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rosesofenvy · 10 months

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Pinned Post!

Hello! I always forget that pinned posts exist.

Envy, En, or Rose (she/they)

Fanfic author! Currently fixated on ROTTMNT and SRUC. All of my AO3 fics were locked to avoid bot comments but I’ve slowly started unlocking them now with moderated comments!

Other socials:

Twitter

Tiktok

AO3

Fanfic Masterlist:

ROTTMNT

So In Love And Yet Nothing To Talk About (166,040 words) by rosesofenvy Chapters: 18/18 Relationships: Leonardo (TMNT)/Yuichi Usagi Series: Part 1 of SILAYNTTA Soulmark Universe Summary: tl;dr Leo wants to find his soulmate and is willing to throw himself (and his brothers) headlong into a new mission to do so.

When We Scraped Our Bones Together We Got Fire (11273 words) by rosesofenvy Chapters: 6/6 Summary: A quick snapshot of 6 times the boys got too cold throughout the series.

My Heart Is Thinking Of You (2476 words) by rosesofenvy Chapters: 1/1 Relationships: Leonardo (TMNT)/Yuichi Usagi Summary: Leonardo didn't want to lose anyone else, but pushing the family had left away led to it happening anyway. A F!Leosagi blurb.

It's True I Know Just How You Feel (11712 words) by rosesofenvy Chapters: 1/1 Relationships: Donatello/Kendra (TMNT) Summary: Kendra doesn't know how to ask for help and Donnie doesn't know how to mind his own business.

If You're Gonna Fall, Fall My Way (11823 words) by rosesofenvy Chapters: 6/6 Relationships: Leonardo (TMNT)/Yuichi Usagi Summary: Day 1: Future - (Skipping Day 1 - I'm writing something for SIL, but I did write an angsty Leoichi fic 'My Heart is Thinking of You') Day 2: Side by Side - Leo finds out Yuichi has never skateboarded and sets about changing that. Day 3: Barely - Leo is really, really bad at running his mouth when talking to his crush Day 4: Console - Leo and Yuichi get kicked out of an arcade Day 5: Quiet Night - Usagi's ears are sensitive to sound, he just needs a quiet night and Leo can help with that Day 6: Flowers - Yuichi brings Leo to Neo Edo to make flower crowns Day 7: Free - They did it. They're free.

I'll Be the Sweetest Thing To Ever Scare You (5350 words) by rosesofenvy Chapters: 1/1 Relationships: Leonardo (TMNT)/Yuichi Usagi, Donatello/Kendra (TMNT) Series: Part 1 of ShaBiest GoldenFutureAU Summary: Leo doesn't regret his choices to safe Donnie from Bishop, it just means a longer recovery for everyone involved. Inspired directly by ShaBiest GoldenFutureAU.

Sunrise (10515 words) by rosesofenvy Chapters: 1/1 Relationships: Murakami Gennosuke/Michelangelo (TMNT), Leonardo (TMNT)/Yuichi Usagi, Donatello/Kendra (TMNT), Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit/Raphael, Baron Draxum/Splinter (TMNT), April O'Neil/Sunita (TMNT) Series: Part 2 of ShaBiest GoldenFutureAU Summary: Gen is mid-proposal when Mikey is drawn away by a mystic calling - the last thing anyone expected was for him to reappear with a baby in hand. A oneshot inspired by ShaBiest GoldenFutureAU

I know that's our time, but stay on with me (4117 words) by rosesofenvy Chapters: 1/1 Summary: Casey Jones is torn up about many things in the apocolypse, but most importantly the fact that Casey Junior will never experience the joys of a new anime release. Leo comes up with a plan to fix that!

SRUC

Blue Birthday Blues (3946 words) by rosesofenvy Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Samurai Rabbit: The Usagi Chronicles (Cartoon) Summary: Birthdays were always a bittersweet thing for Yuichi. A brief look into Yuichi's first birthday not spent in the countryside.

I will update this more when I have more energy l m a o

#pinned #rottmnt #sruc #fanfic #rottmnt fanfic #sruc fanfic #samurairabbit #samurairabbitusagichronicles

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superloves4 · 4 months

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Hello & Welcome

Hi! I’m Elea (short for Eleonora) I’m a college student and hopeful writer & artist, I decided to finally make a pinned post, I don’t know if anyone is ever going to need it but might as well!

(Should be updated every once in a while when there’s new stuff)

My art:

Should appear on the tag ‘my art’ and is heavily tied to my hyperfixations, the current one being: The Silmarillion!

My writing:

You can find all my current fics on AO3 under the username fs_rm

The Flame we Held – Status: On going

Summary: Miriel made a deal with Melkor, she'd be able to bear children but in return the dark lord asked for her firstborn. When he gets imprisoned she believes herself to be free of her promise but Melkor shall claim his prize.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Masterlist

in your eyes the mirror of mercy – Status: Finished

Summary: While searching for Sauron after following a lead to the Southlands, Galadriel stumbles onto the last person she expected to ever see again: her cousin, the kinslayer Maglor Fëanorion.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

The Cursed Star – Status: Writing

Summary: Elrond and Elros had always know they were different, they thought it was the dead dad and the dyslexia. But when the shadows in the corner of their eyes begins to look like a tall red-headed man, their mother has to leave them at what she calls a “special” summer camp where they are about to discover a much bigger world than they ever knew.

Then I said I’d stay – Status: Writing

Summary: Single teen dad Curufin Mirion was too proud to go running to his parent after becoming homeless in his second semester at college, thankfully, former neighbor Finrod Finwion come to the rescue!

We can always begin again - Series: Converging in You - Status: On going

Summary: Celegorm didn't think he'd be granted mercy, that he'd be re-embodied or that he'd be welcome anywhere. Aredhel thought she'd never welcome him again after what he'd done. They were never good at staying away from each other.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 (writing)

I still taste the past - Series: Converging in You - Status: On going

Summary: Finrod wanted to see Curufin, get his closure after all they had gone through, end things once and for all. What he gets is a journey through the memory of where they've been and the choice of where they will go.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Series: Converging in You - Masterlist

An the lil Dress-Up Maglor game I made.

#pinned intro #my art #my writing

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peterparkersnose · 2 years

Text

Corrupt pt. 2

word count: 3.9k

warnings: age gap, crying, comforting, angst, lying, manipulation, gaslighting, anxiety attack, swearing, mentions of alcoholism, sexual references, stalking, guilt, violence, attacking, mentions of grime, riddler shenanigans, exposure, nudity, general non logical thinking (riddler has to pin down y/n, can be offensive to some. just a warning i forgot).

a/n woah longest fic i’ve ever written. i hope you guys like it, it might have gotten a little choppy at the end but i love it so so much (i know the gif doesnt have anything to do with the story but my god he looks so fine there)

summary part 2 to corrupt. Y/N discovers that Edward is the Riddler and her father’s corruption.

masterlist

join the tag list

read time: 14 mins 25 seconds

Part 1

Three days went by. No word from Y/N. Edward scoured your Instagram for anything. Story posts with you drunkenly singing along to music with your friends. Photos from the party, you and Hazel. You and other socialite friends. You and Bruce.

He understood now why you had gotten Bruce Wayne out of his reclusive shell. Your personality was golden. You were so kind, so amazing. How could Bruce resist?

It still angered him. Even though he felt perverted when he admitted it, he wanted to be with you. The softness of your hand the other night drove him crazy.

He kept his phone on a constant charge, with the ringer set up to the highest setting.

It was a Tuesday afternoon when he heard his phone go off. Edward was busy making a plan for his next contraption. He leaped out of his chair, knocking his glasses off his nose. He quickly scrambled over to the phone, but was disappointed to find out it wasn’t you.

He only had his phone set for two notifications though. You and…

Oh, sweet sweet revenge. The files have dropped.

He sprinted to his computer, struggling to put his password in. Once he entered for forum, he squealed in delight from all of the information. Senators, Representatives, and oh, the Mayor? He was in bliss. All the worst of the worst and their faults.

He searched through them, searching for the last name L/N. And that is what he found.

Kellan L/N’s Folder.

Pay offs, deals with mafia leaders, all the boring common things he didn’t find as interesting. Well, he did find them interesting. He just knew there was more. There had to be.

He clicked on the file called ‘Kat Calls’. Ed laughed at the clever play of words. Recordings of phone calls with a mysterious women containing explicit material. Better, but Ed knew there had to be more. He scrolled more down in the file, finding the gold.

The women going by ‘Kat’ released the affair documents. Car paperwork signed by L/N, given to Kat. Videos of them being intimate. Photos of them together at a club. Pregnancy photos- wait what. Pregnancy photos?

Edward’s eyes almost popped out of his head. From his Riddler standpoint, he would be overjoyed. But from his standpoint, he knew you would be devastated.

Seeing your close relationship with your mother, he figured you would be broken finding out about this.

Edward clicked more files, releasing the subpoena of the paternity test, the text messages between Kat and Kellan, and pregnancy month updates of her bump. Kellan L/N’s new child.

He slammed his computer shut, yelling in frustration. He then opened it again, going on his livestream. He needed to get some of this off his chest in a safe way.

It wasn’t until that night when you texted him. You seemed distressed.

Unknown Number: is this Edward?

He jumped up and grabbed his phone.

Edward: Yes, who is this?

Playing dumb. Good call.

Y/N: Y/N, we met at the diner?

Edward: Oh, yes! How are you?

Y/N: Can I come over? To talk. I need some realness in my life right now

Edward was shocked at your boldness. He figured some things about her father were leaked to the news. He had ignored the news stations all day, he had been scrolling through the other politician’s faults and didn’t want to hear the sugarcoated bullshit that was leaked to the press just yet.

Edward: That would be okay. Do you need an address?

This was the night it would all go down.

When you arrived, you were in emotional distress. You tried to hide it, but he could notice it.

Edward had made sure to close off his Riddler room and lock it. He also hid away any other evidence he had laying around. It was his routine if the cops ever came looking for him. Easy practice.

You were a bit disgusted by his apartment building. It wasn’t a great one. The foundation was cracking. His neighbors were, questionable. Mostly dropheads and drop dealers. Only few such as Edward were just genuinely poor and couldn’t afford (or be bothered) to move anywhere else

The apartment building didn’t have an elevator. Ed lived on the fifth floor. A rat ran across your shoes on the way up. You wanted more than anything to get this man out of this building. But that would be overstepping, right?

“Are you alright?” Edward asked, taking your coat. You sighed, trying to keep your tears in. You gave a slight ‘mhm’ and sat on his couch.

“Would you like something to drink?” he offered. You knew he was trying to be comforting and you felt bad refusing his kindness.

You stared at your knees, trying to keep the tears in. You felt like you could burst at any sudden time.

Edward crouched down in front of you. He placed a hand on yours, attempting to make some eye contact. He saw the tears forming in your eyes.

“Hey hey hey,” he said, reaching into your falling embrace as you began to cry. He held you tight, cradling a hand behind your head. His thumb rubbed the side of your head, comfortably stroking your hair. Ed was trying. “I-I-I can’t b-believe him!” you sobbed, shaking back and forth.

Edward moved back. He moved your fallen hair behind your ears, and wiped a bit of mascara off your cheek. “What happened?” he asked, pushing up his glasses on his nose.

Play dumb.

“M-my father. He did some bad things.”

“We don’t have to talk about it-” “Didn’t you see it on the news?”

Play dumb.

Edward gave you a confused look and slowly shook his head. “I don’t know what your talking about,” he whispered.

“My father is Kellan L/N,” you spat out. “Oh,” he responded, trying to make his reaction genuine.

“I-I was told by Br-, a friend, that he has done some bad things.” you sobbed. His heart sank when he knew Bruce told you. Of course he knew. He was the Prince of the city.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, placing both hands on your knees. “Is there anything I can do?” Edward asked, looking up with kind eyes. You managed a small smile. “Your perfect,” you managed to say, not crying. Edward smiled back a slight smile.

He found blankets in his storage chest and placed them around you. Your anxiety had made you start to shake. He noticed the signs after living through them and witnessing them at the orphanage so many years ago. He sat there quietly, holding you at your request on his couch. Your breathe had just stopped shuttering when your phone rang.

“Shit,” you muttered, staring at the screen. A picture of your oldest brother lit up on the phone. Edward sat silent as you picked up.

“Yeah I fucking heard!” you screamed. Edward was taken aback at the sudden anger. “Bruce! Yeah, Bruce told me! John, just- no! You shut up! Are you with mom? Why does it matter where I am? I’m safe, I’m with a friend. What about mom? Y-your kidding me she’s on a fucking bender? Again?”

The tears began flowing once again. Your hand began to shake, and you dropped your phone on the couch. You bent over again onto Edward’s lap, sobbing. Edward could hear your brother yelling from the small speaker. He reached over and hung up your phone. He shushed you, not really sure of what to do. A beautiful woman was crying a little too close to his crotch.

He tried to distract you. Telling you stories of his past life, some more of the positive ones. The time when a dog wandered into the orphanage and everyone collectively kept it as a pet. He left out the part where it was eventually taken by animal control, killing the rest of the children’s spirit that wasn’t already gone. When he tried ice cream for the first time at eleven. Christmastime and the small gifts he used to get. His college scholarship, his way out of his old life. You listened, trying to imagine anything but the horrors of your current life. Once you were asleep, he left you.

You were so peaceful when you slept. Your eyes would so often flutter, he figured you were dreaming. Watching your breathe slowly move up and down. Your hand hanging off his couch with your perfect manicure. The tiny snores every once and a while.

Eventually he found himself asleep on his chair, curled up. Six am, his alarm went off.

Unfazed by the exasperating noise screeching from his bedroom, you still slept. It was a Wednesday morning. Edward had to go to work. He got up and actually showered. He never showered in the morning, but he didn’t get the chance too last night. He hoped the noise of the creaky shower would wake you up. Not a chance. He observed you were a heavy sleeper. Something he could never have mastered himself, growing up in a constant state of fear.

Work clothes. Button down shirt, khaki pants, dress shoes. Edward combed his hair flat like usual. Cleaned off his glasses, grabbed his work case and his wallet. Still, you slept. He sighed, hating to be the one who had to do this. He walked over to you and slightly tapped you on your shoulder. Nothing.

“Hellooo?” he whispered. You snorted a tiny bit, moving over on the couch. “Y/N?” he asked, shaking your shoulder. You shot up on the couch, nearly missing his head. “Scared the shit out of me Ed!” you scolded him. Taken back by your tone, he apologized profusely. “I-I didn’t mean to I just had to go to work and-”

“Shit,” you muttered, grabbing his flailing hands. “I’m really sorry sometimes I can be a lot in the morning,” you said sweetly, calming his hands into a stop in yours. “It’s okay,” you said. Edward swallowed hard. “I-I have to go to work.” he whimpered, checking his watch. His big doe eyes looked regretful. “Your welcome to stay- if you would like. Just please lock the door behind you if you leave. I can’t stress that enough, so many people here are just-” “I really should be going,” you cut off his rambling. “Are you sure? Do you have anywhere safe to go?” he asked, grabbing his keys off a hook by his door. “No,” you half laughed, staring up at him with your hand on your head. “Do you have any ibuprofen? My head is killing me,” you yawned. “Y-yeah, let me just-”

He opened his kitchen cabinet, swiping the rat poison to the back as he grabbed the container of relief pills from the back. Handing you a water bottle and the pills, he was itching to leave. He wanted to stay but he was already late. So late that when he left, he forgot to mention the most important thing.

Don’t go in the back room.

***

When you were fully awake, you noticed how dirty his apartment was. Dishes undone, dusty window ledges, dirt spots on the floor. You searched his kitchen for some type of cleaning supplies and was surprised to find some. They looked dated and like they could have been from ten years ago, but it worked. You cleaned and cleaned the whole day, trying to make the place the cleanest its been in years. Once you were finished with the kitchen and living room you were filthy.

Your shirt was covered in cleaning supplies and grime. You contemplated going home and changing, but you knew one of your brothers or a representative for the family or even worse, reporters would be waiting for you.

Ed had to have a shirt you could borrow, right? He is such a kind man, he wouldn’t be angry if you borrowed one for the time being while yours was washing, right?

The door handle to Edward’s bedroom was stiff, but the second you put force on the old door it creaked open. His bedroom was normal. The sheets were a bit disheveled and there was a pile of dirty clothes in the corner, but that was normal. The floor creaked as you walked over to his closet. With a little push, the old panels creaked open similar to his door.

And that was when you found it.

The seemingly secret room crammed into his closet. The wall was backed out into another space, maybe an empty apartment next door. It stopped at a certain length, but the room was spacious.

You first noticed the wall. Newspaper clippings, tabloid pictures of Batman, old election propaganda, pictures of politicians with their eyes crossed and cut out. Associates of your father’s, wait- your father?

You ran your hand over the newspaper clipping about his re-election three years ago. You could see yourself in the background of the picture.

He knew.

You felt the adrenaline course through your body. You had to get the fuck out of there. You ran out of his closet, and attempted to get back to the kitchen when you tripped on his lamp cord.

Thud, bump. Broken lightbulb on the floor. And to your luck, Edward was already home.

“Y/N?” you heard him yell, rushing into his bedroom. Edward was panicking. You were in his bedroom. Didn’t he tell you- oh.

How could I be so stupid? He cursed himself.

His bedroom door busted open, finding you on the floor next to a broken lamp. He looked up to see his closet door open.

“Fuck,”

You jumped up from the floor and grabbed him, throwing him on the bed. For your size, he was surprised you were that strong. But you weren't as smart.

His small figure made him able to slither out from below you and grab your waist, pinning you to the bed. You yelled for help. Edward could almost hear his heart breaking. He got on top of your writhing body, pinning your flailing hands above your head.

“Stop. Stop fucking yelling!” he hissed at you, making you want to fight more. “Don’t make me do this, please Y/N. I don’t want to hurt you,”

He had no choice. You were almost out of his grips. If you were to escape, his scheme would be up. He grabbed his paperweight off of his nearby desk and decked you in the head with it.

***

“Fuck! Please, please wake up!” Edward yelled, shaking your shoulders. He came into your view blurry, multiple visions of him swirling around the room. “Hey, hey!” he yelled, picking your slumped head up.

“Wh-what did you do?” you slurred, trying to move your limbs. That is when you noticed you were tied to a chair. “Please don’t be mad,” he begged, sitting on his knees in front of you. You recognized the room you were in.

His Riddler lair.

“Your him?” you asked, referring to the mask sitting on a nearby desk. He let out a sigh. “Your the one who has been killing all these people?” you yelled, regaining most of your consciousness now.

“No, no Y/N. These are not people.” he laughed. “Corrupt, evil, malicious politicians. Poising Gotham with their greed.”

You scoffed, turning your head away. That is when you noticed the dry blood on the side of your cheek. “You hit me?” you asked, looking up at him in disbelief. “I had to. I feel horrible. God, I could have killed myself over the sight,” he said manically, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Look at the wall,” he said. You closed your eyes shut. “Look! Now!”

He grabbed your throbbing head and forced it forward.

The wall was covered with the propaganda like you saw before. You noticed a section with pictures of Bruce. You recognized some pictures that were stolen off your instagram. Your father had a small section, along with pictures of your brothers.

“You knew who I was,” you said, choking up. “I did. But I didn’t seek you out. Fate brought us together Y/N.” Edward said.

“Fate isn’t real,” you yelled, sobbing. “Then why are you sitting here?” Edward yelled back.

Your sobs made him upset. This was not how this was supposed to go.

Edward brought you water. “Please, drink.” he begged, bringing the bottle up to your lip. You took it cautiously, being prepared to black out again. But that wasn’t the case. “I really don’t want to hurt you. Just- listen.” he said, flinching at the sight of your wound.

He brought his desk chair in front of you along with a file.

“What do you know of a woman named Kat?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know anyone named Kat.” you sighed. You writhed in your restraints. “Can you make these looser?” you begged, tears mixing with the blood and sweat on your cheeks. Edward nodded, loosening the handcuffs just enough.

“Why do you ask?” you asked suspiciously. He opened the file and waved a picture of a pregnant woman in front of your face. “Never seen her in my life,”

He knew you weren’t lying. No, you were too perfect. You could never lie like your dirty father.

“What do you know about your father?” he asked calmly. “He’s dirty. A bad politician. Taking business deals from the mafia, dealing with some dirty people. He’s a problem in this city. I always thought he was good. He always seemed good. He always was…” you trailed off. “It’s why I came here,” you sighed. Edward wiped a fallen tear off your face. “Your not bad, your not evil.” he assured you. “I hate seeing you cuffed.” he sighed, his eyes looking tired.

He re-focused on the document.

“Your gonna be a big sister,” he chuckled, showing you pictures of your father with this woman. Kissing at a party, walking together holding hands.

This is the big thing your brother wouldn’t tell you.

You completely broke down crying, yelling. Edward hugged you as you cried into his shirt.

“Please Ed, let me go. I won’t run, I promise.” you begged. His heart sank. “I have no where else to go. Everything- everything is gone.” you begged. He had to trust you. The key made a sharp noise unlocking the handcuffs. He cut the rope tying you to the chair. You fell forward into his arms.

“I didn’t want you getting hurt even more. By the media. By your family. By Bruce Wayne.”

“What about Bruce?” you asked, sitting down on his bed. He sat next to you, tending to your wound. “You don’t think he knew all of this? About the woman? The affair? The baby?”

Your heart sank. “He told me about the corruption there’s no way he could have-” “No, no my sweet Y/N. He knew before the media did. Every single person on the forum got this before the media did. He knew,”

Edward stroked your hair, trying to get the blood out of it. “You’ll need a shower,” he sighed, placing the paper towels next to him. He gave you a few towels and lead you to the bathroom. You were still a bit wobbly. He sat outside his bathroom, listening to make sure you didn’t fall.

Good thing he was listening, because you did fall.

The shower seemed to temporarily wash away the problems that have occurred in the last few hours. How could Bruce not tell you? How could your father do this? Did your brother’s know? Your no longer the baby of the family. You were showering in the Riddler’s shower?

Your vision began to blur in this cycle of anxiety, and the blood loss didn’t help.

Edward cautiously opened the door, his glasses fogging up. “A-are you okay?” he asked, looking at the floor. “Fuck- uh,” you said, trying to get up. You kept slipping in the oddly shaped tub. It had to be over thirty years old. “Help,” you asked. “Are you sure?” he asked, cautiously moving closer to the curtain. He heard you scramble around, your limbs scraping against the wet tub. “It’s okay,” you assured him. He wiped his glasses and opened the shower, gluing his eyes shut. He outstretched his arms, feeling the warm shower water hit them. “Hold on,” he said, grabbing the side of your naked body and pulling you up into a more comfortable position. He shut off the water with one hand, and guided you out with the other. He caught a glimpse of you, his vision heading straight to his dick.

He handed you the towel from the rack and started to leave. You grabbed his arm, looking him in the eyes. “Thank you,” you smiled, tying the towel around yourself.

He was shocked you didn’t hate him.

He gave you a small smile back, and tried to leave again. This time you pulled his arm in, moving him close to you. The two of you stared at each other for a moment, feeling the gap naturally close.

You kissed him. For what? He saved you. You didn’t understand the logic. You should have been fighting to leave. He didn’t hurt you. He saved you from lots of hurting. He showed you the real lie that you had been living your whole life. He was your savior. And that is why you kissed the Riddler.

Silence sat between you two. You hated the tension. After you had kissed him, he couldn’t make eye contact with you. Did you read this all wrong? How could he be interested in you. He was older than you. Almost ten years, in fact. He was poorer than you. He hated the rich. He had every reason to kill you and hide you where nobody could find you. But he didn’t.

You sat on his bed wearing one of his shirts and a pair of his sweatpants. He sat behind you, combing your hair for you as you stared at a crack on his wall.

“The kiss was nice,” he managed to squeak out. You smiled. “I was worried you didn’t like it,” “Would I be sitting here, braiding your hair and being with you if I didn’t?” he asked. “No, I guess not.”

Silence again.

“What are you going to do? With the information.” you asked him. “Whatever you want me to do.” he said, finishing the braid. He moved up and laid beside you. You sat and thought for a moment.

“Release it.” you sighed.

Edward furrowed his eyebrows. “I thought you would want me to burn it,” he asked. “No. Fuck him. Fuck that whole family of mine.” you sighed, laying down now and facing him. He loved when you said that. He could feel the same rage in you as he felt in himself. Your wet hair dripped on his pillow. “We can leave, get out of the city. We have a nice place upstate it can be…”

But you forgot.

He’s the Riddler. The Riddler who has been killing. Number one enemy of the Gotham police at the moment.

“I’m satisfied,” Edward said. “With what?” you asked. “I’ll leak it. All. Then I’m done. My work here is done.” he smiled. “You’ll give it up?” you asked him, meeting his doe eyes once again. He nodded his head and placed his lips to your forehead. “I’m done. Anything for you.”

“You are the only real person I’ve ever known, Edward Nashton.” you smiled, moving into his warm embrace. “You're perfect.” you whispered into his chest.

He had already the grand finale planned. Instead of enjoying it in Arkham, he could enjoy it from the news in a comfy upstate home. Away from consequence, really happy for the first time ever in his life.

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smaptain-smerica · 2 years

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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: {Y/n} Was at the top of her class at the Red Room Academy. Sought after for her expertise in the field by Dr. Zola, who purchased the widow for his Hydra Program. {y/n} Excelled quickly, and began teaching the new recruits using her previously taught skills. All was well until a James Barnes entered the program. His presence turned the entirety of the Hydra program on its head. Rules, hearts and trust broken time and time again.

Maturity: This book is rated mature for graphic descriptions of violence, foul language, and sexual content that may be sensitive to readers under the age of 18.

a/n: This story was originally posted on wattpad and will be updated there first. Follow there for quicker updates! https://www.wattpad.com/user/smaptin-smerica

Master List

Chapter 24

27 bottles.

Frederick had 27 bottles of different French and imported wines in his completely alcohol stocked pantry.

After hiding out in the forest and stealing from convenience stores in order to clean and dress my wound, I made my way back to Frederick's house to hide. I couldn't go back to the hydra house, they would know I was there. Hell they take my blood in order to let me in.

I downed three bottles in one evening and nothing. Not even the fishbowl feeling when you first start to get tipsy. What I did feel was the hangover the next morning. I can drink without getting drunk but I still feel the horrible side effects; The serum gave me the worst combination possible.

During my time in the red room, we were instructed to learn about the things that would help us out in missions. Every day commonalities that would make our covers more believable. I had taken a particular fascination to alcohol. I learned the different types, drinks, brews, and how to make them. It seemed to impress the men with how much I knew about how to brew a beer.

Knowing that I couldn't get drunk, I still loved the taste of a sweet red wine. It paired well with the grilled cheese sandwiches I ate consistently. Thankfully the fridge and cabinets were stocked with the essentials that were needed in order to cook. I picked up on it fairly quickly while reading the cook books in Frederick's home.

Tonight I was simply grounding up some hamburger meat, playing with what seasonings tasted the best with the meat. I pulled the meat off the burner, scooping it down on the plate. I took my plate and glass of wine and made my way to the living room, plopping down lazily on the couch. I put my glass of wine on the table and picked up the book. A French poem book called The Flowers of Evil by Charles Baudelaire. This book caused so much retaliation from the French authorities that it had to be republished three times to fit the decency standards of the late 1850's.

I turned to my place in the book, folding it open and spreading the pages with my thumb. I took a bite of my food and twisted my nose up at the extreme saltiness of the hamburger meat. "Ugh. That's disgusting." I read it was hard to over-season hamburger meat. That's why I knew I had done something terribly wrong.

I put my book down, picking up my plate and spitting my previously chewed food back onto the plate. Still in disgust, I brought my wine to my mouth and took a sip to wash it away.

I heard a creak come from the dining room. The quietest noise a person could possibly hear. You'd hear a pin drop before this eerie creak. I was trained to notice the slightest disturbances within the space I'm in.

Suddenly everything felt quiet. I was listening for another sound, something to confirm my suspicions. I've been waiting for this moment, waiting for hydra to fetch their lost property. I assumed that there would be glass shattering, screaming, and lasers from guns pointed at my head. Instead, there was silence. I knew it could only mean one thing.

I prepared for this moment, hiding every possibly weapon in every possible hiding spot I could. I slowly turned around and pulled a pistol out of the couch cushion behind me I readied it, bringing the gun in a defensive position as I slowly stood up. I began to walk to the arched entryway where the dining room met the living room. I stopped just before the corner. I looked for any possible way that I could see what was around that corner and came up with nothing.

I steadied my breath before making a bold move. I jumped around the corner and cocked back the gun, pointing it directly at the intruder.

Our stone cold faces shared a stare off. I could tell I was not looking at the same Bucky I had once knew. His eyes were dull and lifeless, his face showed no expression. I thought about what he said before he pushed me from the helicopter. I wondered now if that was really true, and if he was thinking that now.

I looked into his steel blue eyes, his face dimly lit by the overhead lighting. I could feel my heart beating in my chest as we looked at each other for an extended amount of time. I swallowed hard on my spit as I slowly let a breath out of my nose.

"You're not going to shoot." Bucky breaking the silence echoed in my ears. I didn't allow my body to move or react to what he did. I stayed as still as a statue. Until he stood up.

Bucky stood up from his chair and I quickly aimed the gun at his left shoulder. I fired, hearing the sound of the bullet hitting the metal part of his shoulder. He seemed shocked, looking down at his shoulder before looking back up at me. He raised his eyebrow ever so slightly at my actions. "Wrong arm."

"I know." I finally barked out at him, standing my ground as he took a couple more steps towards me. I was worried about the outcome of this. Who knows what Hydra did to him while we were separated. I resented him for pushing me out of the plane. We could have been back there but at least we would remember each other. I got a burst of confidence to speak my mind, trying to make myself feel tougher than I did.

"You're not you. I know that. Whatever you think you know about us is wrong because you are not Bucky."

He narrowed his eyebrows at me, tilting his head. Bucky crossed his arms across his chest and squared off his shoulders. He seemed to be scaling me. Sizing me up and trying to pick me apart with his eyes. "Who's Bucky?"

"Doesn't matter." We continued to stare at each other intensely. Neither one of us moved one muscle.

I reacted quickly as Bucky drew a gun from his holster and began firing at me. I used acrobatic maneuvers to dodge the bullets. While flipped upside down in the air, I took aim at the gun in his hands. I fired my bullet and it hit the guns chamber. The bullets still left in the magazine exploded which gave me enough time to jump over the kitchen island and make a mad dash for the stairs. I quickly ran up into the bedroom and locked the door. I scoured for the many weapons I had littered around the room.

I heard charging up the stairs. "Shit shit shit." I cursed while I pulled on a Tactical vest and shoved various weapons and ammunition into the pockets. I buckled a couple dagger holsters to my thighs when I heard a creek from outside the bedroom door. I froze, waited for something to happen. When nothing came, I made my way to the window.

Suddenly the door was kicked open in a loud commotion and in came Bucky, looking rather angry. He stormed over to the window and I slammed it shut. I took a leap off the roof of the lower part of the house. I hit the ground and rolled to absorb my impact with the ground. I took off running as fast as my legs could take me. I heard the crashing of glass and a thud on the ground signaling I was being pursued. I didn't dare turn around in fear of slowing down.

I took off snaking in between trees in the woods. It was dark outside, so seeing was a bit difficult. I took out one of the pistols out of the holster and held it behind me. I fired the rounds into the abyss, hoping to hit at least one. The empty clicking noise told me that I had ran out of ammunition so I re-holstered the weapon and kept trucking on.

We finally broke the tree line and headed towards a field. I leapt over the bar wire fence rather gracefully. I finally took a look behind me. Bucky was hot on my trail, leaping over the fence shortly after me. I turned around and kept running until my legs got tangled up. I hit the ground with a hard thud. I smacked my nose on the ground and felt a rush of blood come out of it. I looked down at my feet to see them wrapped in a metal wire.

There was a heavy weight on my chest and a cold arm restraining my wrists. I looked up at the curtain of hair above me that shielded Bucky's face. I looked up at his shadowed face where I was met by an icy blue gaze. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

I fluttered my ankles to try and kick loose the wire wrapped around them. Luckily for me, hydra trained us to get out of the weapons designed by them in case they were ever used against us. I crossed my ankles and separated me knees, slowly sliding my feet up.

"You really want to find out?" I challenged with a raised eyebrow. He stared at me for a moment, I could tell the gears in his brain were turning. I reached my head up and planted a hard kiss on his lips. This forced him to pull his head back in disgust. Ouch.

I then maneuvered my legs underneath him. I planted my feet on either of his hip bones and pushed upwards with great force. Before the serum, I don't think I would have been able to do that. But now, me being a super soldier, he flew backwards a good ten feet. I took the tether from a round my legs and threw it at him. It wrapped perfectly around his knees, locking them in place.

I took this opportunity to run. Run like hell as fast as I could. This gave me maybe a minute to get a head start. My heart was pumping hard and I could feel the adrenaline running through my veins.

I felt a large blast beside me that blew me to the right. My ears were ringing and I was completely disoriented. I landed hard on my right shoulder and I could tell it was most definitely popped out of place. My vision was blurry but I saw a brown crater in the ground where the soil had been disturbed.

A bomb, really?

The pain in my shoulder mixed with the ringing in my head really disoriented me. I felt the vibrations of heavy footsteps on the soil as they approached me. I felt my hair get ripped backwards as I was forced by my pursuer to look up. I looked into his cold, unfamiliar blue eyes. "Hard way it is." He sneered.

My head was thrown back down onto the ground with an agonizing thud. This only intensified my headache even more. I felt both my arms rotate backwards to be put in handcuffs. I screamed out in pain from my right shoulder. Tears subconsciously welled up in my eyes as I continued to scream protests.

Before I knew it, the blood rushed to my head and everything turned black. My body slowly caved into the external stress. I was dreading what was to come with my return to Hydra.

Next Chapter

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 days

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Winter's King 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: we vibing.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Jazlene comes to with a wispy sigh. You back up and stand as her mother helps her to her feet. The king is back at the table, unbothered by the overcome maiden. Lord Dustan hovers between, torn by loyalty to his liege and his family. New liege, that is. Only yesterday, he was toasting to good King Waleran.

“My apologies, your highness,” Jazlene fans herself with her hand, “I was only surprised. I didn’t... How could I expect this? To marry a king?” She reaches down to grip her mother’s arm, shakily stepping forward towards the king who doesn’t even glance up from the table of maps, “I promise to you, your highness, I will be a good wife to you.”

The king tilts his head, tracing a finger along a ridge of mountains, then leans in to examine the riverbeds below. Jazlene looks at her mother, an expression of concern on her pretty features. She is rarely ignored, if at all. She will make sure that she isn’t.

“Lord Dustan, I expect the dowry will be served along with your men and my kingdom,” the king declares, “but now, I find myself fatigued. A hard day’s ride sees me in need of bath and a bed.”

Dustan bows his head, “and so you will have it, your highness. I will send down for water--”

“Have the maid see to it,” the king waves his hand vaguely in your direction, “certainly a servant is a servant.”

“Yes, your highness, how wise,” Dustan simpers, as he often does to men with titles above his own. “You,” the duke turns and snaps his fingers, “you heard the king. He requires hot water in his chamber.”

You keep your head down, “yes, my lord.”

You spin without hesitation. You’re all too happy to be free of the noble intrigue. It is rather easier to be unseen and unthought of. It has ever kept you from envying these ladies and their silks and these lords and their golden signets.

Your flight is fleet. You rush down the corridor and to the wide stairwell. You descend with your mission and pass Merinda as she paces listlessly outside the kitchens. She stops you with an arm across your path.

“There are whispers,” she says lowly, “of who visits. Is it true?”

You look at her. You don’t know if you should say. It isn’t her place and you don’t know what they say. There is rather much gossip in castles.

“It is,” she hisses, “you don’t need to say it. You are a poor liar and when you say nothing, I know that is the reason.”

Your lips pinch and you give her a look, “I have been sent to draw a bath.”

“Oh, is the lady in need of her evening boil?” Merinda snickers.

“Not her.”

Merinda quiets and tilts her head, “...him?”

“The king,” you answer thinly.

She nods and steps closer, “is he... I don’t understand. His soldiers, they mill about with our own, they cavort together. Not as enemies. Are they not invading? Do they not mean to take the castle?”

You tear your eyes away. She’s right, you are a poor liar. You lean in, lips right by her ear, you whisper, “Lord Dustan has new allegiances.”

She claps her hand over her mouth as you back up. She stares at you with wide eyes. She slowly drops her arm and her lip quivers, “he means to get us all killed.”

You push your shoulders up, “think only of today. It’s all we can do. Oh, do you know where the king’s chambers would be?”

“Mm, they took his saddlebags to the ivory room. I think there,” she answers, “do you require assistance?”

“Stay here,” you gird, “he is a brusque man.”

That only seems to worry her more as her face twists. You can’t help but feel the same inside but you do your best not to let it show. You leave her and carry on to your task.

You put the kitchen hands to boiling water and send a few others to find a tub to bring to the king’s chambers. You help where you can and take the first bucket up. You pour it into the large tub in the ivory room and return for second, a third, a forth, and fifth. There will be many more even as your arms ache and your nap slickens with sweat.

Upon the eight, when the tub looks near halfway, the chamber is not empty. You’re surprised by the king’s presence as the door remains ajar. You pour the water with a low apology and diligent ‘your highness.’ He doesn’t respond.

There is much to go still. Back down, up again, hot water splashing on your sleeves, singing beneath, dumping it over the edge as you keep your eyes on your work. Do not be more than a piece of furniture. You are only air.

At the last bucket, you pour slowly, careful not to slosh over the edges. As you right the empty pail, you hear a metal chink. The king growls into a long exhale. You turn towards the door.

“Close it,” he commands, “you will remain.”

You’re happy he cannot see the look on your face. You obey and close the door. You turn back, standing by the pillar of the door frame, as you often do, and begin your vigil. It should not be unexpected that he may require you to fetch something further for him.

Your eyes catch the bottom of his mail as he lifts it over his head. No, don’t look. He undresses, leather creaking, fabric rustling, pacing as he strips away each piece. You grip the rope handle of the bucket. He circles the long tub and nears you. You cower, bracing. You are not noticed, you are not approached, unless it is for rebuke.

He grabs the bucket by the brim and tugs. You let it go. He turns and sets it on the floor away from you. You push your hands together, stilling a tremble. He wears only his breeches and you catch a glimpse of the thatch of hair along his thick stomach. You gulp and twine your fingers through each other.

He turns away and crosses the room. You listen to the fabric fall from around his hips. Your eyes bore into the floorboards. The water shifts as he climbs into the tub and you listen to him groan as he lowers himself into the depths. The steam mingles with the tension of his silence.

He sighs and stirs the water. The lull persists as you wait. He will need wine or food.

“Come,” he bids and your eyes flick up. The tub conceals much of his lower body as his thick shoulders and arms stretch around the brim. “I have a knot.”

You approach hesitantly, unsure where to aim your eyes the closer you get. He gestures around his head, “stand behind me.”

You do as he tells you.

He sits up slightly and bends his head forward, lifting his white hair out of the way, “here.”

He points along the muscle beside his neck. It’s thick, just like all of him. You’ve never seen a man built like that. There are stringy barn boys and tubby cooks.

You stare and raise a hand, hovering it over his muscle. Are you supposed to touch him? He is a king and you are a servant. You are a servant sold out of pig shit into servitude.

His large hand reaches for yours and he guides it down. You shake before he lets you go. You feel the muscle, almost curious, and rub lightly. He makes a noise but you’re unsure of its tenor.

“Harder,” he demands, “squeeze,” he shows his hand, making a kneading motion, “you cannot hurt me.” You do as he says. You squeeze and he rests his hand against the tub, “harder,” he repeats.

You obey.

His head hangs as his long strands touch the water. You bring your other hand up as your efforts make your tendons sore. He lets out shallow breaths and hissing groans. Your chest thumps at the sounds that rise from him.

“Your master has broken his oath and sworn a new one to me. And you, does that make me your master as well? If I am your master’s master?” He asks slyly.

You focus on your hands, “your highness?”

“Answer, don’t be afraid. Liars bore me.”

You sniff and mull your reply. You don’t know. You don’t have much of a choice in the matter.

“Lord Dustan is my master. I am bound to serve him.”

He snorts and lifts his head. You rescind your touch but he reaches back to latch onto your again. He tugs you forward, placing your hand back on his shoulder.

“Softer now,” he instructs. You rub his damp flesh as he bends a leg, his knee poking above the water. “You, a servant, so low, and you are more loyal than any man with a title.”

“Your highness, I must serve.”

“As he must. Did he not swear himself to the old king? Eh? War does muddy the waters,” he muses, “coin does test old ties.”

You say nothing. Your comment isn’t warranted or wanted. You know better. Jazlene taught you only to answer when asked.

“Very well,” he taps your fingers, “I feel better. You have a kind touch.”

You back away and wipe your hands on your apron. He hangs his head back and puffs. He closes his eyes. You watch the white waves made wilder by the humidity of the bath.

“I hate sleeping in strange places,” he says, “you will stay for the eve.”

You tuck your chin down and fold your hands together. Your scalp sweats beneath your cap, your shorn locks itchy with the heat. You wet your lips and force out the air trapped in your chest, “yes, your highness. As my master bid, I will serve you.”

He says nothing more as he leans back against the tub completely. His large arms frame the metal and his hands wrap around the edges. He closes his shining eyes in recline, the water still and steaming. He stays that way until the damp heat dissipates. You stand locked in his thrall.

He sits forward suddenly, the water stirring with his movement. He turns his hand and beckons with his thick fingers.

“A bath sheet,” he demands.

You go to the chest in the corner and open it. You retrieve a folded swath of fabric and bring it to him. He stands as you unfold the length of linen to obscure his form. Your eyes are on the ceiling as the water slakes from his figure and he looms large above you.

He steps out, close to you, and puts his hands over yours. He pulls the sheet around his body, your arms too. He releases you only as he adjusts the fabric around his waist and you retract with humiliation nipping in your cheeks. You lean back on your heel as you shrink in his shadow.

“Your highness, do you require refreshment? Wine? Sweetmeats?”

“I did not ask for it,” he says, “I am tired.”

“Apologies, your highness.”

“Do not apologise for doing your duty. Would be a fairer world if more were so diligent.”

He turns and strides away. There’s a knapsack and bedroll against the wall. He keeps one hand on the sheet and unbuckles the flap, reaching within and tugging out a bed shirt. He drops the sheet away and your eyes flit away from his nakedness. He has no shame but you are merely a servant. He shouldn’t care for your witness.

He swipes the fabric over his head and it falls just to his thighs, concealing just enough to have him decent. His thick legs are trimmed in dark hair and the muscles are taut beneath his skin. He faces the bed and pulls back the quilt and linen. He pauses and looks up at you.

“Will you sleep afoot then?” He wonders.

“Your highness?” You wince. “I must...” you peer around, “empty the bath.”

“Must you? Stagnant water can wait,” he insists. “Come.”

You waver, skirts rippling around your legs. You step forward and stagger.

“The lantern, your highness?” You inquire.

“Douse the light if you will,” he allows. “And come.”

You do as he bids and snuff out the flame. Your vision is left blackened and formless. You reach out blindly, realising your error too late. You can’t see much as you walk warily towards the bed. The heavy curtains are shut and block out the sliver of moonlight.

Your knees hit the bed and you gasp. You catch yourself before you can fall forward, leaning against the mattress. You’re stuck like that, uncertain if you should go forward or back. Something wraps around your wrist, a stolid heat.

“I often sleep with my horse,” the king says as he draws you onto the bed. “I need a warm body close.”

You go rigid as you let him command your body. He guides you to lay down and tugs the bedclothes over you. The damp specks on your dress and apron cling to your skin. He leads your head over his thick arm as he lays on his back neck to you. You stare into the endless void of the canopy.

“The horse smells much worse and snores,” he muses, his arm curling around your shoulders, offering a more comfortable rest for your head and neck. You quiver at being so close. It is an odd request but you daren’t decline it. “Be still,” his other hand comes to touch your sleeve, “and sleep. I only mean to ease my own unrest.”

You close your eyes and exhale. Your heart is pounding and your body is tingling. You don’t think you can sleep with the surge flowing through you. He sighs and shifts slightly. You lay there, in silence, only the noise of his breath and yours to fill the castle walls.

“I am awake,” he says. “Speak to me, maid. Tell me, where do you lay your head on nights where a king does not trouble you?”

You wiggle slightly. Your spine is uncomfortable at the flatness but not worse than your usual fare. You bring your hand over your chest and fist your fingers tight.

“On a bag of hay with Merinda,” you utter smally, pushing your legs together as you arch your back slightly. Your hips are tight.

You’re startled as the bed jostles and he grips your hip. He rolls you onto your side, his touch lingers as he pulls you against him. He is as hot as a hearth.

“Merinda?” He repeats.

“Another handmaid, your highness.”

He hums and drags his hand away from your hip. He blows out a great heavy and grunts. His arm curls around you snugly.

“I hope I am preferable to that bag of hay,” he mutters and the tension seeps away from his form. “Though perhaps just as prickly.”

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #winter's king #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au

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silentmagi · 8 months

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Fanfic Summaries News

Hello everyone!

Thank you for your interest in my Fanfic Summaries series of posts. I’m glad that it’s been so popular, however, we need to talk.

While it’s great that it’s so popular, I have made many posts stating that I’m going to need you all to exercise some throttling on your submissions. I even went in and updated the rules this weekend, and pinned the new rules to the top of my blog. So while I was flattered, I’m also disappointed that I found 53 posts over the weekend.

I understand that these are fun, and enjoyable to you, however this level of disrespecting the time restrictions I placed, and further my own time that I put into these posts, is something that I want to address. At the quickest, I can make a post within 5 minutes.

Let’s use the 53 posts that I got this weekend as an example.

I would say 30 of them would be a 5 minute turn around. Another 18 would be 10 minutes, with the rest being up to 30 minutes. Let’s mark them at 15 just for some simple math.

30*5=150

18*10=180

5*15=75

150+180+75=405

405/60=6.75

That is 6 hours and 45 minutes of work that I do after my day job and housework. I have been happy to do these in the past, but I cannot keep doing this. It’s not fair to you, nor to me.

Please note that even if they were all 5 minutes from start to end, that’s 4 hours, 25 minutes.

My rule of not doing any posts that come in on Saturday, and most of the day Sunday, has been a long standing rule, and those 53 posts were deleted. I’m sorry if you feel this is unjust, however I am standing with the posted rules that have been in place, and I have been generous for a while, wanting to be nice.

This is supposed to be a fun game, a way to practice summarizing stories I would otherwise not work on. However, it has been detrimentally decreasing my ability to work on my other projects, as well as meaning I do not get enough sleep.

Some of these are stories in and of themselves, so I’m going to start encouraging you to take them and run with them, but if they are to this point, you’ve done all the work for me.

Thank you for reading my rant, and for those of you who followed the rules, thank you. Yes, I did get yours, and they will be answered.

I hope that we can move forward from this with respect and enjoyment for all.

#fanfic summaries #Magi Mumbles

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katieaki · 12 hours

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My ✨ post-apocalyptic Lesbian Cowgirl Mailman choose-your-own adventure✨ has just updated! Read it here for free on my Patreon and vote in the poll! There is a summary of the first part, here, the second part, here, and the third part, here. They have everything you need to know about Lou, her requited-but-complicated love, the religious assassin who just beat the tar out of her, the worst person she's ever met, and the ill-advised journey she is on! There is also now a discord where Pony Express readers from all across god's green internet can gather, here! Lou really flexes her incredible acting skills in this one. I guarantee you'll be impressed. We also get some teen content, if only just a little. Close readers who've also read my other work may also be rewarded with an accent-related detail that says something about another irritable country dyke in my lineup.

Read the update for free on my patreon & vote on what happens next! Excerpt below the cut.

“Are you from like, Travertine, Devil’s Elbow, Cloverleaf way?” Artie asked, gesturing with three fingers to indicate the cluster of towns. They were barely towns, really, more like loosely grouped homes, farms, and rural industry that were large enough to each have their own shrine, pantry, schoolhouses, and Pony Express stations, but not much more.

“Yeah,” Lou said, surprised into letting the ‘curse’ talk lie. “How did you know?”

“Your accent,” she said.

“I don’t have an accent,” Lou said. She involuntarily covered her mouth with her hand. “Y’all have accents.”

“Wait, don’t tell me which one. Let me guess,” Artie said, excited. She pushed her hair out of her face and thought hard for a moment. “Okay. What does a bird lay?”

“An egg?” Lou said.

“‘Aig’,” Artie repeated.

“That’s— that's not what I sound like,” Lou protested.

Artie ignored her and continued. “The feeling when you wanna go to sleep?”

“Sleepy,” Lou said. She knew what Artie was trying to get her to say, but she didn’t want to play along anymore. Artie was having too much fun with it and Lou was beginning to feel cross-grained.

“Come on,” Artie said, looking over the top of her new, cursed sunglasses at her.

“Tired,” Lou said, begrudgingly.

“‘Tarred,’” Artie repeated.

“Okay, stop making fun of me,” Lou said. “I get it. I’m country as a turnip green.”

“I’m not making fun. I’m investigating,” she said. “Besides, I like it. Your accent. And I like turnip greens.”

Lou didn’t say anything, just lifted her hat, smoothed her sweaty hair back, and put it back on her head. They were quiet for a while and Lou hoped Artie had decided not to pursue the question any further.

“The thing you write with? The ink one?” Artie said finally, with a little smile.

Lou heaved a heavy sigh and glared at her. She just smiled back, looking at her with those huge, dark eyes. “Pen,” she said, finally.

“‘Pin’,” Artie repeated, visibly delighted that Lou was still playing along. “Cloverleaf?”

Lou’s eyebrows raised involuntarily. How did she know that? “You had a one in three chance,” Lou huffed.

Artie leaned back with a big grin. Lou instinctively looked away from her teeth. “Anyway, don’t be embarrassed about being a country girl. Johnny Knives is inaka, too.”

“How did you know?” Lou asked.

“About you? I don’t know. I’ve been all over the place and I like hearing people talk. And my dad is from near Travertine,” Artie said. “I guess, me too, but. It’s complicated. Anyway, you got a stronger accent than her. So it was easy. I feel like the pin-pen thing is so Cloverleaf. Oh, and how you say golly like that all the time. ‘Gol-lee’. Very Cloverleafian.”

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blackjackmagi83 · 2 years

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You Are My Heaven (1) - Sweep Me Off My Feet

Masterlist

AO3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: A short reader insert story of falling in love with pre-winter soldier James Barnes to post-Winter Soldier Bucky.

A fluffy tear jerker that’ll make you cringe or get butterflies and blush.

*Rewritten cause original was cringe (still kind of is)*

Note:

I can't even begin with how much I've rewritten this part of the story. I have come to the conclusion that I am awful at writing 2nd person and come to the decision to not write in that form again cause *cringe*🥲 I'm still not the happiest with this version and most likely in a short time with fix it up a bit better (Maybe) but I hope you all like this version!

I am working on fixing up the other parts so look out for that hopefully soon!

Playlist listed below along with the NEW story cover ♡

Hope you enjoy! ♡

Playlist:

Can’t Help Falling In Love – Elvis Presley

Until I Found You – Stephen Sanchez with Em Beihold

Put Your Head On My Shoulder – Paul Anka

Hold Me Tight – Evan Rachel Wood (Across the Universe Soundtrack)

1942 New York City, quite the place to be at this time. The raging war grew larger each day, waiting to swallow seas of people preparing to dive head first into it. It felt like the only thing that was on everyone's mind, the papers made sure it was at the very least. Pages upon pages of updates that weren’t classified to the public, detailing on what’s to come. It only grew the public's fear more. Mothers held their baby boys closer with each coming night, dreading the date when they got called for duty and most likely to their future graves. I almost could relate to the grieving mothers. A beloved baby sister who was trying to grasp the reality that my brother wasn't going to be coming home. A reality that I was nowhere near ready for, let alone accept.

My daze came to a halt at the feeling of getting my hip bumped by another, taking a moment to realize the bubbly woman beside me was deep in a conversation that I held no knowledge of the subject.

Great, I did it again…

My head turned towards her, attempting to connect the pieces of conversation my brain was able to catch. Something along the lines of a scandal at the salon and her mother fussing over the money she spent on the dress she had just bought for herself to wear tonight–I think–but nothing else seemed to fit together enough to fully comprehend. A wave of guilt washed over me at my terrible lack of focus tonight, further sinking when I caught the gleam of excitement as she spoke, still oblivious to my fogged state.

“--Who knows, maybe even let someone take my hands off you if you get my gist?” The beaming smile ceased at the sight of my furrowed brows, piecing together the puzzle of conversation that I had missed entirely, “You weren’t listening were you?”

My face pinched as I cringed, eyes apologetic towards the bouncing blonde, “I’m sorry–”

Her hands encased my arm in a firm hold, shaking it as if to rid of my clouded thoughts, “Get your head out of the clouds already, Y/N! With the way this war is going we only have so much time to enjoy such freedom and you are wasting it on daydreaming.”

Maria, one of the sweetest people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting in my young lifetime, was nothing but a stubborn, spitfire that is too passionate for her own good. So outgoing, never turning the spotlight down if it came her way but my most loyal friend since the two of us graduated highschool. Determined as a bull, she is the one who pulls me out of my comfort zone–more than I’d like sometimes–when she feels it’s needed, releasing the tension if pushed too far. A quality that was hard to find when befriending someone as shy as myself and I’ve never been more thankful.

“I wasn’t daydreaming.” Face flushing, I turned away from the pinned glare of green eyes, huffing under my breath with both annoyance and defeat, “Maria, you're lucky I even came out let alone having a man take me home tonight.”

Taking a man home was the last thing on my mind. Most men were preparing for war leaving only the memory of themselves in the form of soreness and hickies. Emotional connection wasn’t something many seeked during this time unless they sought after heartbreak purposely. Ignoring the sensitivity of my emotional state, even if I did go home with one, feeding into the temptation of lust, I would still be left with an emptiness that would never be filled. I rather sit and weep than deal with the emotional damage of loving someone romantically, knowing they wouldn’t return to me or lose their connection from months–maybe years–of distance and mental trauma of war.

“The only plans I have after tonight are a cup of tea and a few chapters from my book.” I looped my arm through her right one, refusing to meet her eyes still, “Maybe I’ll even eat a cookie before bed, just to spice it up a bit since apparently I’m such a bore.”

I didn't have to look at her to know a smirk was growing on her lips, the corners cracking as they peeked upwards. Smugness radiated off her in heavy waves, her eyes glinting with mischief, “But the unplanned ones tend to be the best and rather surprising darling.”

Should’ve seen that one coming.

A blush dappled my cheeks, further entertaining Maria at my innocence, “I guess I’ll never know.”

I’ve had experiences with men but very little if I could even count it as anything. One of the first boys I went out with had taken advantage of the less than intimate kiss, decided to try his luck at running his hands down the curves of my backside but didn’t get a chance to go further due to your brother coming into my room. It’s safe to say receiving a black eye was no invitation for a second date.

Maria pinched my side, tugging me closer as the bar grew closer, “Never say never honey, you could meet the man of your dreams tonight.”

For my sake, I beg to the heavens that I don't…

The bar doors swung open with a bang as the two of us entered, bodies painting the room with swinging dances, flirtatious chatter and an overall intoxicating presence that made my head spin the moment I stepped in. It was filled with mostly officers and women clinging onto their uniforms trying to hold onto their short summer romances. A few elderly lovers danced around them, sparkle in their eyes as if they had fallen in love with each other all over again. That's the kind of love I've always dreamt about, the most impossible love to find.

Maria's grip tightened around my hand as she dragged me across the lacquered floor, bumping into surrounding bodies that looked to have the least bit of care in the world as they pounded glasses of liquor. My eyes wandered around the room catching the glints of light shining on the stage as I was pulled through, dazed by the haze from cigarette smoke and suffocation the packed room gave.

I tugged at her arm when we took a moment to stop, Maria peeking over shoulders in further search of an open table, “Why don’t we just head back? All the tables seem to be taken.” I felt claustrophobic the longer I stood pressed against so many bodies, the sour smell of booze and sweat was beginning to make me nauseous, “We can try again another night, preferably not on a Friday night?”

Maria was less than pleased by my escape attempt, scrunching her face sourly, “No way! You’ll never get out of that retrid room otherwise. Look, there’s a table right over there!” Maria pulled me further towards the back of the bar, squeezing past lingering hands and bantering, the empty table in question appearing as if out of thin air, “How perfect is this little spot? Nice and quiet, all while getting a good view of tonight’s selection.”

I couldn’t help but to breathe a laugh at her openness, pulling my dress underneath myself as I sat in the wooden seat, my hands immediately playing with the ends of hair that shifted onto my cheek. An anxious habit that I still struggled to get rid of. I wasn't used to dolling myself up, showcasing myself into the light of curious eyes that surrounded me. I'm used to simple, blending into the crowds of New York with little fuss or worry of complications. I didn’t want to be in the spotlight, I didn’t like the attention of a thousand eyes on me, but when with Maria, that mindset gets twisted by those painted nails until all that remains is a whole new woman. Tonight was no exception. My hair is curled in brushed waves that tweaked up at the ends, the deep navy cocktail dress curving to my body without being overly tight. Maria even convinced me to wear makeup, showing me how to apply it since she is far more of an expert in the field than myself. When I appeared in front of the mirror, it was a stranger looking back at me. It felt overwhelming, looking back at the mature woman in the reflection, but the thrill of adrenaline that ran through my body had me excited for the night to come.

Maria pinched at the back of my hand, gaining my mindless attention back once again, “Alright space cadet, I’m going to go and grab us some drinks. I expect that baby tush to be sitting right there when I get back–unless afterall someone catches your interest–”

“Just get the damn drinks already.” A snort flew from my lips as I shoved her towards the bar, the sound of her laughter fading as she drifted further away from earshot.

I followed Maria’s perky figure, quirking a brow when she was stopped by a few officers leaning against the bar beside her. With a dip in her hip, the flirtatious charm turned on, twirling the short blonde strands around her finger, eyes skimming their uniforms with low lashes and her lip tucked cheekily between her teeth. The men melted into a pool of lovestruck hormones that filled their imagination with visions of her beneath their bodies, hollering and smirking with their eyes still glued to her. It was so fascinating to observe, noting the ease of skill Maria flaunted all while being innocently inviting to the opposite sex. A trait–talent–I sometimes wish I obtained.

Maria sent a kiss to each swooning man, giving a little toast with the prized beer in her hands before she made her way back to the table, an extra sway to her hips, “God I love being a woman.” Maria released a relieved sigh, cheeks warm with joy, “I will never turn down free drinks by looking pretty.” The yeasty liquid spilled from the opened top as she handed the brown glass bottle, sitting herself in the chair across from me.

The liquid was pungent, hitting the back of my throat with a sharper taste than I expected, nearly making me cough it down. But the coolness of it made me numb away from the taste, savoring the relief of heat leaving my fevered body, “One of these days you’ll have to teach me your ways with flirting. You make it look as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

Maria shook her head in disagreement, chuckling as she took another sip, “Absolutely not.”

My toe tapped at her shin playfully, “Oh, come on, I can’t be that hopeless?” Her head shook stubbornly again, mumbling ‘no’ repeatedly under her breath, “You’re the one who’s practically begging for me to have my panties around my ankles tonight. I can’t woo a guy if I’m fumbling over my words every other second.”

With a sigh, her head rolled to face me, “It’s simple Y/N, I’m selfish. If I teach you my ways you’ll never be home alone again or home at all for that matter. Even worse, you wouldn't spend any time with me! I’m not sure I could handle that. And don’t get me started on your brother who would put a target on my back if he found out you were anything but innocent. Sure be a hell of a sight to witness though.”

A heavy feeling sunk into an iron pit in my chest at the mention of my brother. I almost forgot about the deployment date but it was unavoidable, especially in a bar full of enthusiastic officers, ready to fight for their country. Avoiding it felt like a complete joke now, “Yeah, I guess you’re right, how stupid of me.”

Maria sighed as she took another sip from her beer, her thoughts morphing together something to fix her slipup, “Listen to me Y/N, I know you're struggling right now with your brother's deployment coming up but you need to keep living. Do you think he wants you drowning yourself in your room by yourself every night? No, he'd give you a shoe right in the tush and you know it! Now loosen up that frown, you're gonna get wrinkles.”

I knew she was right, but the panicked feeling only grew, settling like a diseased cell until it grew unmanageable. My cheek stung as back teeth nipped at the inside of my cheek, heartbeat drumming through my skull with quickening pulses that seemed to increase with each second passing.

The first stage of a panic attack…

Dread joined the cluster of emotions at the thought of having an attack in full bar, my lungs clawing inside my chest in a panicked plea for more oxygen. I almost gave in, my breathing pitching into near hyperventilation until the warmth of a hand wrapped around the trembling digits of my own, forcing my glazed sight to meet Maria’s. It was a soft, reassuring gaze, her fingers rubbing tenderly against the back of my hand, distracting from the panicked breaths and desperation to run out the doors.

“Y/N, I need you to do your exercises.” She demonstrated, inhaling and exhaling the way I needed to, “Deep breath in, hold for four, blow it out for another four. Can you do that for me?”

I felt my head nodding, following her instructions, the subtle relief of my breathing and heart rate slowing following soon after. The unbearable drumming dissipated and the slight shake throughout my body settled into barely a hum.

Her other hand cupped over our interlaced ones, radiating soothing heat up my arm, her eyes never leaving mine as I continued the exercise, “Good, now I want you to throw any thoughts you have out of that head of yours. I know it's not going to be easy, this will be your biggest challenge to overcome yet. Just remember you have people who will support you through it.”

I gave her a blank stare, both mentally drained and unamused by her words of wisdom, “How do you always know what to say to make me feel better?” A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, further distracting me from the episode that just occurred, “Seriously, it’s almost creepy.”

She let go of my hand, returning to its place on the bottle as she rocked backwards in her seat, a soft smile gracing her lips, “Because it’s what you have me for.”

A comfortable silence grew between us, slowly sipping at the warming beer until there were only the sharp remnants remaining on the tip of my tongue. Maria barely touched hers, just holding it in her lap as her attention was more focused on those surrounding us, her body subconsciously swaying to the music from the band.

A loud smack quivered the table, sending a jolt through my heart at the sudden motion of her hand coming down against the table’s surface, “Alright I’ve had enough of this mopey, depressing gunk.” Her hand moved to reach out towards me, palm open with invite, “Come on honey, let's go show everyone how to actually dance.”

Curls invaded my vision as my head shook, leaning away from the awaiting hand, “You know I don’t dance Maria.”

A humorless laugh flooded around me, the manicured hand slapping at the top of my exposed knee lightly, “What a load of bull that is! Come on Y/N, these boys don’t know what a fine woman they’re missing if you just sit around the whole night looking like a lost little puppy.”

Stubbornness laced my features, pushing away the empty bottle from between my fingers so I could cross them against my chest, “I most certainly can. Let’s call it, playing hard to get? Give ‘em a little surprise when they pull me to the floor.”

The blank, defeated stare shifted into one of triumph as her line of sight caught something behind me, raising her hands in mock surrender as she backed off, “If that’s how you wanna play honey then that’s fine, but I don’t think you’ll have to play for too long.”

“Elaborate please.”

She leaned forward until her mouth almost touched my ear, “An officer with the most intense blue eyes I’ve ever seen, hasn’t stopped looking at you since we sat down.” A finger pointed towards the culprit, chatting amongst a group against the wall beside the bar, “The tall one in the uniform in the middle there.”

She smirked as I launched my body around the chair, nearly making it fall over. My eyes scanned over the room, hunting for this mystery man that was spoken of but all I was met with was the classic brown and gold uniforms placed on nearly every man within a two foot vicinity. With a roll of my eyes, I met her awaiting ones, “Half this bar is filled with uniformed men, it’s a little hard to tell who from who.”

Her gaze shifted behind me again, meeting mine with a mischievous glint, “Oh trust me, you can’t miss him. Look, he’s already making his way over here.”

“This joke is starting to get old–” I followed her line of sight, lazily skimming around until I caught the blue eyes she was referring to.

She wasn’t kidding…

Six feet of muscles dressed in military attire with the most charming smile I've had the pleasure of seeing was walking my way, watching me as he walked against the crowd. My breaths held a firm hold within my throat as I held eye contact, unable to break away even when he stood only inches from where I sat.

“Good evening ladies.” He nodded his head respectfully towards Maria before his attention returned to me briefly, intimidating but welcoming, “I hope you don’t mind–”

“Maria Elkwoods, at your service sir.” She was practically glowing, radiating with both excitement and smugness. Her eyes shot to mine, clearly reading ‘I told you so’ .

A breathy chuckle passed his lips, jolting my heart into a quicker rhythm, “Maria, would you mind if I take the company of your gorgeous friend here for a moment?”

Maria didn’t need to hear another word, jumping from her seat as if it burned, “Please, I thought you’d never ask! And don’t feel the need to return her, she’s all yours for the night officer. Have fun you two.” She winked, leaving the two of us with our jaws slightly gaped and speechless, at least I was.

The officer appeared amused rather than offended, shaking his head as another chuckle escaped him, “She’s quite something huh?”

“That’s an understatement.” I felt myself joining in the light laughter until our eyes met again, catching the words in my throat sharply as I watched him as if in slow motion take the open seat beside me.

Washes of light blue clashed with dark as the color got closer to his pupil creating an intense gaze that pinned me to the spot, intensely observant and calculating. I was already intimidated but something about his demeanor made my nerves settle into something manageable, allowing a shy smile to grace my features as I held his stare, “So, officer–”

“Sergeant James Barnes, but everyone likes to call me Bucky.” He reached his hand out, patiently waiting to take mine in polite greeting.

I could tell my shyness was slightly amusing to him, certain my face was flushing as red as the stage lights currently, “Y/N Y/L/N, no fancy nickname though unfortunately. It’s a pleasure to meet you James.” The callused skin of his palms rubbed roughly against the softness of mine, tingling as my fingers danced against his in a light shake.

His hand radiated with a warmth that traveled up my arm, gently tugging my hand closer as he brought his lips against the top of it, letting them linger, “Y/N...The pleasure is all mine.”

A foreign feeling bubbled to the surface within me as I watched his lips move, my name rolling off his tongue like silk, embedding my attention fully on him to the point my eyes hurt from not moving them away. My hand was locked in a gentle hold between his still, letting his fingers rub mindlessly against my palm as he spoke, bringing the feeling close to exploding. I wanted to scream it out, all while bottling it back up to avoid something I was completely unprepared for.

“--I’m taking it you’re not much of a dancer?”

My shoulders shrugged lamely, too distracted by the tingles his touch was leaving to give a proper answer, “I suppose you could say that. More of the stay at home with a book kind of gal.”

He perked at my words, straightening his back and tilting his head with interest, "What’s your favorite book?”

Is there supposed to be an answer to that question? I don’t think there's an answer…

“Oh there's too many great ones to choose from, I honestly can’t say I have one. Do you enjoy casual reading?” I cringed internally at how badly I stumbled over the words, holding back the distaste I held for myself by focusing on the buttons that adorned his jacket.

“I’m not much of a reader these days anymore, but I could reread ‘The Hobbit’ a hundred times and I wouldn’t get tired of it. There’s just something about it that I can’t get enough of. Kind of a bit like with you right now. You just keep drawing me in and I haven’t spoken to you for more than five minutes.”

God he was charming.

There was no stopping the raging blush any longer, defeated by the smoothness of his compliments. I felt as if I couldn’t breathe when his gaze was so intensely on me, piercing into me until I cracked and turned away, internally gasping for air once my eyes shifted to a poster along the bar’s back wall.

This new sensation building within me hadn’t stopped, wanting the freedom of release and take over my senses, placing me in the back seat while it steered me through all it wanted to do. It scared me with a heart pumping acceleration of rebelliousness, addictive and never fully fulfilling. I reached for it subconsciously but went a little too late, the comforting heat that wrapped around my hand vanished as Bucky pulled away to lean back in the chair, resting them atop his lap.

I turned my gaze back to him, curious of his sudden retreat, my hand closing into a clammy ball against my side. His attention was towards the dance floor, drowning out his surroundings just as I had done moments ago. It gave me a moment to admire the details of him, taking in the velvet that constructed his hat and the wrinkle-free uniform that shaped the athleticism of his body perfectly. It made me wonder of the strength that laid beneath it, how the muscles of his back flexed–

“What’re you thinking about?” My eyes pulled up to meet those blue crystals focused on my dragging stare, “It’s me right?” Bucky teased, his eyes almost twinkling with mischief.

I felt myself match his cockiness, my body suddenly jittery, “I was just thinking that–” The feeling could no longer be contained anymore, rising to the surface with a chilling intensity and boldness. Years of watching Maria flaunt her skills had taken its mark on me from the shadows, remembering to lower my lashes in a low lidded gaze forcing my pupils to dilate from imaginative thoughts, bringing forth the target with increasing desire. Resting a hand beneath my chin while leaning forward to show equal curiosity and reveal another advantage that hung in a small opening at your breasts, “--you should take me out on the floor and swing me around till I can barely feel my legs.”

It came out as if I held no control, the flirtatious and slightly suggestive remark surprising not only myself but Bucky as well. My eyes moved towards his mouth, his teeth grazing his bottom lip as a smirk began to form.

Scorching fire shot through my hand and soon after my body, in a mix of tingling anticipation and adrenaline, as it was pulled up to rest against his chest, “Shall we then?”

I felt everything let go as he spun my body around the dance floor, sweaty bodies flushing against us like a wall, never removing one of his hands from my waist. The atmosphere made me feel drunk, high even. An occurrence that held no explanation, but it was heaven. It felt as if I was internally melting, unfamiliar with the hotness running throughout my insides, feeding into the adrenaline that pumped heavily through me. The sound of the music pulsated through my ears until they rang, the instruments picking up into a lively jazz that flowed through my veins with its rhythm. It all clouded my senses with a thick curtain, becoming more dangerous as my vision remained lost, the only judgment of direction being the hands that curved up my spine as they dipped me towards the lacquered floor. The possibilities of those hands gave me a ravishing hunger, craving to feel them drape along the rest of my body with as much passion as this moment. It was the most intimate experience you ever felt.

“I thought you said you couldn’t dance?” His voice was morphed, dripping like honey through my ears.

A gasping laugh flowed from my lips, allowing his hand to twirl and pull me back against his chest, his heartbeat pounding against my own, “It’s no fun to give all your tricks away.”

Just as it rose, the music that made everyone’s veins pump with the beat of the trumpet and saxophone had ended with the bang of the drums, dropping the curtain along my senses into a clarity that made me dizzy.

Reluctantly, I drew away from him, allowing a space the length of my arms to form between us, my legs shaking from fatigue with each step, “Well, I certainly will struggle walking to work tomorrow so I guess you’ve accomplished my wish Sergeant.”

Bucky tugged back at my hand, stopping the distance I kept attempting to make from growing further, “Just that little jig and you’re already done? Come on gorgeous, the night has barely begun. I know you have more in you than that.”

The lively jazz music had settled into a swayful piano and soulful tone from the singer, pulling the remaining couples closer in a dance of intimacy. My heart ached to join them but time was ticking and I wasn’t sure if I accepted, if I would ever leave from between his arms.

“I have to get up early James-'' I played with his fingers in an attempt to unravel them from between mine–with little success–remaining stubbornly intertwined, “Has anyone told you you’re annoyingly persistent?”

A playful smirk laced his lips as his head shook, “You don’t know the half of it darling.” His grip along my right hand loosened enough to slide down my arm, placing it to sit along the back of his neck, the other still interlaced with his left, “One more dance is all I’m asking for.”

The distance I had succeeded at making, shrunk as my body flushed against his chest, hearts connecting in equal beats as if they were bonded, “One more and you’ll have to carry me home.” Our eyes locked, hypnotized by the power they held so strongly when connected.

I guess Maria was right…Maybe I did meet the man of my dreams tonight.

His head dipped to nestled at the top of my curls, smiling against the frizzed strands that loosened from their hairsprayed hold, “I can accept that.”

My head moved to rest along the curve between his neck and shoulder, allowing my eyes to close as our bodies swayed in a small circular pattern. It was blissful and serene, breathing in the mixture of his natural scent and cologne, sending me further against him in relaxation, radiating an energy from each other that felt so wholesome. Was I dreaming? Floating along the floor like clouds, in a slow waltz with a man that looked at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the room.

I could live in this moment for the rest of my life…

“Could’ve fooled me with those moves you pulled before.” Bucky's lips were dangerously close to my ear, voice dripping like honey within it, “I never seen someone dance like that.”

I chuckled against his chest, shyly hiding my face within it, both reluctant to move from the comfort of it and because of the pink that returned to my cheeks, “You surprised me yourself you know.” The lights had dimmed, caging his sweat slicked face in an illuminating glow, meeting the intense blue orbs once more, trying desperately not to drown within the depths of them, “No one’s swept me off my feet quite like you have.”

Pearlescent teeth flashed down at me, soaking in my admiration, ”I guess we’re both full of surprises then Y/N.”

My cheeks twitched, the permanent smile plastered to my face aching but I couldn’t stop it even if I tried, “You don’t even know the half of it James.”

Bucky pulled my body impossibly closer with a delicate squeeze against my back allowing me to fully wrap my arms around his neck, his forehead lowering until it rested along mine. I could feel the thin layer of sweat that built up on his brow, a bead slipping from under his hat every so often as his body began to cool, the scent of beer fanning my face in light waves as his lungs regained full breaths, “Has anyone told you how beautiful you are?”

There weren’t any hairs to twirl along the back of his neck, buzzed too short but I still rubbed the shortened hairs fondly, my voice grasping playfulness as a brow raised suspiciously, “And how many times have you used that line Sergeant Barnes?”

“Only as many as you want me to.”

Hesitantly, his nose nudged against the tip of mine, silently asking for permission. Our eyes locked, lids dazed with exhaustion and admiration, “And if I want something else?” There was no hesitation accepting his invite, barely letting each other's lips touch in an innocent kiss.

His breath fanned over the sensitive skin of my lips as they hovered centimeters apart, coated lightly with the lipstick I wore, “You can have as many of those as you want too.”

This must be what Maria always talked about when you find someone who sends butterflies to your belly. The kind of feelings that make you hungry for more of that person, wanting every touch and smile, their voice playing in your ear for days. Only images of them flooding your memory with reality and imaginative scenes. That is how I felt as Bucky looked down at me, holding me as if I was molded to him like a piece of art, the missing link to a puzzle he desperately sought for.

Maybe this was the chance worth risking for…

The skin along his jaw was rough against my palms from freshly shaving, sliding them up to his cheeks to pull myself back to his lips, greedily craving them with a ravishing desire. Bucky mimicked my passion, fisting a hand deep into the curls at the back of my head while the other cradled my lower back.

Intoxicating was the best way to describe it, dragging me further into the depths of the paradise that was James Barnes and I wanted so much more. It was a kiss that made me lose sensation of my surroundings, full of new desires that enthralled me to explore and discover the man beneath the uniform.

My fingers danced along his jaw as I broke away, staring up at him with absolute certainty, “I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Part 2

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