Andrew Cody x gn!reader, (nothing bad, the usual for the show) 1,178 words
a/n : title inspired by Light on by Yana, one of my fav, so don't hesitate to check her out. also first time ever writing for Andreww
Tagging my only Animal Kingdom fam, love youuuu @drabbles-mc
Andrew swore to himself that he wouldn’t do it. That he wouldn’t try and find you, pick up the clues from your escape and connect the dots, but now that he had been released a few days ago, a week at most, he can’t help himself. Smurf’s house didn’t feel like home anymore. Your warmth was missing from his bed, the creases you used to leave on his clothes from folding them the wrong way were gone, and with everyone acting like you never existed, like your escape was your death, he was sure this house would make him go crazy for real this time.
You had done what he couldn’t, at the end of the day. The second the cuffs were around his wrists, you knew it was time. Andrew knew you could sense it, see it in your eyes, and with everyone running around and trying to fix the shit show of his prison sentence, you bolted and ran. Far away, far enough to never have Smurf skimming off your earnings, far enough never to have her threatening you again, holding secrets and dead bodies over your head as blackmail. You ran and did what he never found the courage to do. Your only goodbye was sending him a long letter in prison, hoping it would be enough for him to understand, to lessen the stabbing pain of betrayal in his chest when he would get out and eventually find out. To soften the blow over what Smurf would later tell about you, the obvious lies and venom that would spill from her lips the second she found out you were long gone.
The paper was crisp white, neatly folded, when he received it, the guard tossing it through the bars toward him. The envelope was still sealed, his full name in cursive on the front, the y at the end curling on itself. To Andrew Cody. He had to hold himself back from tearing it open.
I have to do this. I’m sorry.
I love you.
I’m so sorry.
The words blurred across the pages, apologies turned into self-justifying sentences, begging him to stay safe, to do the time and not make it any worse. That he is worth more than that, to not let himself take the fall for anyone else ever again. That Smurf has no control over him anymore, and maybe after this, he could choose something else for himself.
I love you. Your handwriting flashed behind his closed eyelids every night. The y curls on itself, a round o looping into the u. I love you. Him. All of him.
Andrew swore to himself he would leave you alone, let you be, let you run, because you deserved more than this life, more than him. He tried to convince himself and listen to Smurf when she would repeat to him that if you really wanted him, you would have stayed, that you would have waited for him until his release. Andrew fantasized about it in prison for years, clear as day. You, there to pick him up after his release, in open-toe sandals and shorts, holding the keys to his truck, but when it came to it, there was only dust and sand, three-year-old bills crinkled in his pocket and a few dollars.
Andrew swore to himself he would leave you alone, but he can’t help himself. His fingers tick and flex all day from thinking about it, and it is worse than any impulse he has ever had before. It possesses him in a new and scary way, body and soul and mind and night and day and- He is surprised when, finally, a lead pays off, an unexpected one. His hands tick and flex as he now stands in front of your house, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, in the dead of night. You covered your escape nicely, in ways you knew Smurf would try and look, and went the opposite direction to be sure she would let go and forget about you eventually. Maybe, or you left just enough clues so he would be able to follow them to you. Andrew swore to himself he would leave you alone, but today he could not stop himself.
Your house is nice, small, yes, but with the white porch, the flowers and all. He wonders what you do now, if you work a 9-to-5 somewhere or if you still steal and sell car parts for a living. If you miss him, if you even know he has been released.
His fingers don’t twitch when he picks the lock, the back door doesn’t creak when he pries it open, and it feels like a small victory, like something is finally working in his favour. It is stupid for him to do that, to not knock at the front door and wait, to not stand still and smile when you open the door. No, he thinks, he has to be stupid and break in because that is all he can do without having his heart threatening to burst out of his chest. After all, this is all he knows how to do. He doesn’t do calls and late-night talking over the phone, no apologies, or flowers, and he can’t get away from who he is, even when he tries, not now, not for you, not before his arrest. This is stupid, this is dumb, this is -
He can feel the living room light glow on his face as he steps in, smell the wood and vanilla that floats in the air. This small, nice house smells distinctly of you. Warmth, fresh laundry and folded clothes. As he walks over the rug, there is a click to his right, unmistakably metallic, loaded, the press of cold iron to his neck. Andrew is unfazed when he turns to his right to look; he knows it's you. The light coming from the living room behind you makes your hair honeyed, your eyes glow. Fuck, this is better than he had ever imagined your reunion would be like.
Your shoulders are tense, your arm straight, and your fingers are crisped around the gun you are holding to his neck. There isn’t much to tell from your face, stoic as ever, but Andrew can still read it like no one else, the press of your lips, the crunch between your eyebrows. Years of exile and slow life haven’t worn you down like he thought they would. You are sharp as ever, the stance you are holding screams practice and diligence. He feels a tightness in his stomach, a gentle tingling under his navel that he hasn’t felt in years. He can see the realization as it dawns on your face, him, here, flesh and blood.
His lips pull back a little, a small smile, barely there but genuine. And, weirdly, for the first time since his release, he finally feels at home.
No sé si hablas español pero I got absolutely obsessed with your kitty fics and I'm SO SO SO desperate I love them I literally thought of watching narcos just to write more bc I'm STARVING 😭😭😭 THANK U
HOLAAAAA !!! Don’t worry, I literally had to write some myself if I wanted to read more lol
We love this problematic man 😌 🙏🏻
May I suggest taking a peak at my amazing @narcolini, for more tasty Kitty fics 🤌🏻🤌🏻👀
Alejandro Gillick x gn!reader, (pretty gn but you have a dead husband, the usual warnings for the movies, a bit angsty I guess) 1625 words
a/n : i hope y'all aren't getting tired of this man, cause i can't seem to lol
Tagging the besties-that-might-like-this as usual @narcolini @drabbles-mc @anunhealthydoseofangst @hausofmamadas @justonemore-fic @doughmonkey
You don’t have much in common with Alejandro except a murdered spouse and a need for revenge.
Revenge clings to your tongue, night and day, in your dreams. Bitter, ashed. You wondered if it followed him too, the dark smoke that follows you and reminds you every day, if it makes him as hateful as you. Sometimes you think that all this killing won’t fix anything, that it won’t put out the fire in your mind. You never asked Alejandro about it though, never pushed for answers even after Matt told you what really happened to Alejandro’s family, how it happened. Not reading it from his file this time, not the wrinkled police report, redacted lines, or the pictures of damaged walls and bullet shells, just angry sentences, venom spitting from Matt’s mouth from anger and empathy that wasn’t his to feel, that he couldn’t understand.
You threw up in the plane’s bathroom he had told you, pretexting a headache, letting the bile pile up in your mouth, holding in the inevitable. The cold water from the sink couldn’t make the images of his family go away, it couldn’t cool down the panic clawing at your chest. You remembered when they killed your husband. Cold-blooded, no time to beg, a few white flashes in the night. You remembered screaming, his warm blood on your face, on your silk sheets.
It would be years before you made a break in your husband's case, figuring out how you could get closer, close enough to kill back. It possessed you, this idea of killing Alarcón, picking him off piece by piece, hurting him like he had hurt you. It would be months before you had started to get somewhere. Plotting, twisting the truth.
But then you met Alejandro. Pure faith, something between luck and chance, in the dirtiest bar in Juárez, as you were waiting on one of the local cops to pay for information once again. The tequila in your glass tasted stale, the smell of smoke filled the place and stung the eyes. It took everything in you not to jump when he dragged the seat in front of you away from the table so he could sit in it. A man about your age, lazing back into the chair without a care in the world. Something felt wrong, you could sense it, see it in his eyes. Whatever it was, you knew you were about to find out. He spoke before you could.
‘’ Mateo won’t show up, he’s dead. ‘’
If he expects a reaction he doesn’t get one, your face stiff and indifferent. What the fuck.
‘’ What I want to know now, ‘’ He breathes in when you don’t answer, like he is bored, over the whole thing already, ‘’ Is who you are and why every stone I turn seems to have your name on it. ‘’
‘’You're the Colombian they talked about. ‘’
He hmms, unsurprised, ‘’ And you’re the Mexican they talked about. Who are you working for? ‘’
What are you looking for?
‘’ I work for no one. I’m searching for something, ‘’ Someone. ‘’ And from what I’ve gathered, you are too. ‘’
You haven’t gathered much, just bits and pieces, a whisper of his name here and there, barely anything to make a case. It is all bluff and smoke, and hopefully, he doesn’t notice it.
‘’ Sonora is pretty powerful this close to the border, you should watch who you talk to. ‘’
The Sonora cartel, Alarcón. Bingo.
‘’ I’m not scared of him, and I don’t think you are either. ‘’
You see the muscle spam above his brow. The turned stones must make sense to him know, why they were always in his path.
You didn’t have much in common with Alejandro back then, but you quickly did. Life was not lonely anymore, bills split in half, the duty of knives on throats and guns to the head shared, he proved to be useful in many ways, more than you originally believed he would be. A trained professional, when you could barely press the trigger.
You thought it would be your downfall when the CIA approached you, that you had fought and climbed ladders this far, why should the both of you enroll in something like this? Like them? But he convinced you like he always did. It is you and me against them, it always will. Them, Sonora, the CIA. Alarcón*. I’m not scared of them, Alejandro.*
It felt heavy in the beginning. The structure, the paperwork, the way Alejandro fitted so well in this new machine and you just didn’t. You worked together still, yes, but he took his coffee black, straight from the machine, while you took yours with a splash of milk. He slept on the plane while you stayed restless. He talked back at Matt without caring about the consequences, while you just shut up and took it. You couldn’t fit in, you couldn’t make it work, not when the whole thing made you think of corruption, greed, and anger—the same things from back home, the same things that killed your husband. Everything you were not.
It all comes to it when you cross the tunnel. Bulletproof vest weighing your shoulders, cold metal gun in your hands. Kate finally out of the way and Matt nowhere to be seen. It makes you shake, the anticipation of it, knowing it is almost time, almost the moment you have been waiting for years at this point. I’m not scared of him. The wood door is huge, tall and the final path to this whole chase.
The red poinsettias blooming in the vases guarding it are the same kind you used to take care of at home. I’m not scared of him. Red, your husband’s favourite colour. I’m not-
You are stuck in front of the door, frozen, unable to step over the body you just killed. Alejandro still moving forward, an unstoppable force.
They’re Christmas flowers, you would tell your husband every year, isn’t September a little too early to celebrate?
They are in season, mi amor, he would answer every time, wouldn’t it be a shame to just cut them off?
Wouldn’t it be against their nature to force them into something they are not?
‘’ I can’t do it. ‘’ You breathe out. I can’t get in.
Maybe it is fear you felt, not anticipation, helplessness, grief. In the chaos of it all, you know it, what you knew deep down already, all this time. This won’t reason anything. This won’t tame the dark smoke in your lungs, the nightmares, the panic attacks, this will fix nothing. Not the death of your husband, not the lives you have taken, not Alejandro.
‘’What do you mean? ‘’
He turns around as fast as the words finish to cross your lips. The crease between his brows is stiff, angry, of course he would be.
‘’ I just can’t, Alejandro. ‘’ I can’t kill them.
‘’ You’re backing out, hmm? After everything we’ve done? This, here, this is where you draw the line? ‘’
It feels silly when he says it, it makes you laugh, with tears coating your lashline from the overwhelming sadness of it all. Alejandro recoils when he hears the sound leave your lips—disbelief, surprise.
‘’ Puta madre, I swear I- ‘’ He points a finger your way, bites his tongue to keep the words from coming out. I knew you would do this. You know he wants to say it, that he should have left you in Mexico like he had planned, that he wants to raise his voice and push more venom out of his mouth and attack, but he doesn’t.
‘’ I’m still going in. ‘’ Is all he finds to say. I can kill them, it means. You know he can, as he has proved many times. Maybe it is about pride, commitment, or something else you lack entirely. Even though, you can’t bring yourself to take another step forward.
You know you will only see yourself in Alarcón's wife’s eyes.
‘’ I’m not telling you to stop. ‘’ You breathe out.
You expect him to leave then, to walk through the door and let you go back to whatever you were doing before all this. At home, crying, grieving. His hands let go of his gun handle to press on your cheek. His fingers are warm, your skin cold from the wind. Alejandro caresses the soft of your face for a moment, and it makes you want to melt, to allow yourself to fall apart for once.
‘’ I’ll do it for us. ‘’ His hands press into your skin, making a point. For them, he means.
His hold on you is strong, desperate to make you understand that he means it, that you have done everything right, and that he can do this part alone, for you too.
You thought you could do it like him, bring your gun to your shoulder and charge without thinking. You thought that those revengeful ideas you had could compare to his, that after killing a few men, you would be able to stomach doing it one last time with him.
You let go of him, and let him get inside while you wait on the porch. The air is colder now that you aren’t moving and that he has left your side, cooling your neck, numbing your fingers. Your heart seizes every time his gun goes off in your earpiece.
Today, you realize you never had much in common with Alejandro.
Alejandro Gillick x gn!reader, (the usual for the movies, nothing too graffic) 1974 words
a/n : dusting this one off the shelf in my writer's block era, but alejandro is always there to make it seem like it's not so bad
Tagging the besties-that-might-like-this as usual @narcolini @drabbles-mc @anunhealthydoseofangst @hausofmamadas
It has already been a year. A year since the coyotes shot Alejandro, tearing him from your fingers tightly wrapped around his vest. Your throat hurt for days afterward, from all the screaming, begging, crying until the American soldiers finally pulled you away from his lifeless body. Esta muerte, they would repeat, with rounded r’s and without empathy, déjalo.
But you couldn’t, how could you? Not when his blood was burning your fingers, not when you swore you could still feel him breathe. Está vivo, me entiendes? Por favor! Shock, they would later tell you, and it made sense. How you couldn’t make your lungs expand even though you tried so hard, the cold seeping in your bones, how dry and acidic your mouth felt. His chest moving beneath your fingers.
Life is mundane, having breakfast, tending to the yard, grocery shopping and making dinner for you and the two guards who watch over the house they have secured you and Isabella in. Life is mundane, and tonight is no different, except that you know the date, even though you can tell they try not to talk about it. A full year since all the blood and the sand, since you’ve been thrown into witness protection. Poor thing, they must say to themselves, alone and sad. They must think that it would break you if they mentioned it as if thinking about it too much would make you spiral all over again. So they don’t, and here you are, making dinner as usual, washing the dishes, warming up water for tea so you can finally sit in your bed and read before Isabella returns from soccer practice.
Va a terminar tarde esta noche, no me esperes ! The social worker had told you time and time again that it wouldn’t be as easy as Isabella, adjusting to the program, this country, your new life. It’s easier for kids, they absorb everything. Isabella speaks English, she meant, and you didn’t. Still, you try to push through, you make her lunch for school and try to make friends with the other parents at her soccer practice. They are all so sweet, and they talk with you when you manage to pull a sentence together, but you can still see the pity in their eyes. Poor thing, they must tell themselves, alone and working so hard.
Loneliness is something you can bear, you don’t mind it, you get to enjoy the peace, food in the pantry, the safety of your new backyard. A small parcel of land, barely what you had in Mexico, but you enjoy it still. You keep the flowers bright and the bird feeder full, make sure to put away Isabella’s favourite football before it rains so the colour doesn’t wash away with time. Tonight is no different, but you know, you can smell the blood and the gunpowder, feel the void his loss leaves in your chest more than usual.
Dusk is almost over, the last rays of the sun shining over the hills, and as you walk into the darkness of your bedroom you almost miss it, the figure next to the dresser, tall and wide. You freeze in the middle of the doorway, you can hear your blood in your ears, one step and you could-
‘’ Don’t scream. We wouldn’t want to get them involved. ‘’
You can see the reflection of metal at his waistband, feel the tension that spreads in your shoulders as fear pumps in your blood.
‘’ Isabella is not here, ‘’ You whisper, ‘’ You wont find her, you- ‘’
‘’ I’m here for you, cariño. ‘’
It clicks into place, in pieces, one by one, the pet name completing the puzzle in your mind. Alejandro.
Your mouth falls open, your body recoils as memories flood back to you. This is impossible. You saw his body, saw the blood pooling in his hair as you tried to peel the tape out of his face. You were at his funeral, barely one, barely holding it together. Spreading his ashes in the water with Isabella- anything to bring you closure and stop the two of you from crying yourselves to sleep every night.
‘’ I have your urn on the fireplace, you- you- ‘’
He shushes you softly as if this outburst isn’t warranted, as if you should have seen this moment coming, him. Alejandro steps toward you and you finally see him, his face out of the shadow and into what is left of the sun. The scar on his cheek is healed, but red, and taut, a reminder of what happened, what prevailed.
Alejandro’s right arm stretches behind your back, pulling the door closed, hiding you from the rest of the world. You feel his warmth, the heat that his body emits doesn’t lie, it is really him, alive. You don’t dare move, you let him stand still in front of you and listen through the door, making sure no one downstairs has noticed the noise. His eyes fall back on you.
‘’ You were dead, ‘’ you say.
There is no other way to start this conversation, no other way to ignore how close his face is to yours, to ignore the scar on his skin.
‘’ I never was. ‘’
Panic fills your chest. He is here. He is here. He-
‘’ We spread your ashes, they showed me the autopsy report. ‘’
‘’ Wouldn’t be the first time they lied to us, hmm? ‘’
The sob that leaves your chest is ugly and heavy as tears finally spill down your face. Alejandro shushes you again, his warm palms covering your cheeks, wiping away the salt that burns your skin. His eyes meet yours, brows frowning, wrinkles creasing in the middle. Concerned, sorry perhaps. Your lip trembles, your throat tightens as you try and find air to breathe.
‘’ As soon as I was able to cross the border I tried to find you, it wasn’t easy. ‘’
Of course not, moving every few weeks at first, finally settling down here for a few months now. It makes your heart skip a beat thinking about him searching around, connecting the dots and crossing states, just to find you. His fingers push some hair behind your ear; they feel rough and dry, but the touch is so gentle it doesn’t matter.
‘’ How is Isabella? ‘’
You wipe your chin with the back of your sleeve, trying to hide the tremble in your hand.
‘’ She’s good, she has soccer practice tonight. ‘’
This makes him scoff, a small smile pulling at his lips, as if the idea of her, feisty and untamed, following rules was the funniest thing he had heard in a while. His thumb caresses your cheek.
‘’ What about you? ‘’
You can still taste the sand in your mouth, hear Isabella’s scream as they pull her to the car, still see as if you were there the young boy shoot at Alejandro. Your therapy sessions don’t work as fast as you wish, and most nights you wake up screaming or in tears, the others you can’t seem to find sleep at all. Just as you open your mouth to answer him, the main door opens downstairs, the sound of spikes amplified by the hardwood floors.
The heat of his hand leaves your face and goes down to his gun. Isabella, you mouth at him, and he nods. Alejandro must know she is not alone, clearly followed by an agent. Your hand meets his at his waist.
‘’ She’ll come up if I don’t go down. ‘’
You feel the gun’s cold metal against your fingertips, hidden behind his hand. Your heart leaps in your throat as you remember moments when his touch had always been warm, gentle, eager, but now, there’s nothing affectionate about his stance. Guarded, soldier-like, waiting to pounce, as if the brief illusion of intimacy has been shattered. The heat of his palm is sharp, unsettling like a fire waiting to burn.
‘’ Will you be there when I come up? ‘’ You ask.
You hope your voice sounds neutral, like a question you would casually ask a friend, but you know that deep down it isn’t. The desperate tone in it, the shakiness of your breath, the weight that seems to push back on your chest.
‘’ I won’t. ‘’ He says, simple as that, and he is like a ghost again.
His eyes are stuck on you and you feel as if there is a question behind them, something he doesn’t know how to ask, if he should.
‘’ Will you be back? ‘’
His eyebrows scrunch in the middle again, but he is not angry, unsure perhaps, confused by your question.
‘’ Do you want me to? ‘’
Do you, really? Of course you do, you want to say. For him to take the both of you away from this place, from this government and those agents you never asked to be followed by. For security reasons that at this point feels more about keeping what you know safe and tucked away from prying ears. Leaving with Alejandro looks like the choice you should make, but reality quickly comes crashing down. Where would you even go? How would you even keep Isabella safe?
‘’ I- ‘’
She calls your name down the stairs, something about leftovers and mud on her shirt. Panic squeezes your chest and you press Alejandro away from the door. The heat you feel under your hands makes your whole body shake from the memory of the last time you held him. He is so real, so alive, bloodless.
‘’ Alejandro, she can’t see you. Please. ‘’
Go. You don’t want to say it, you can’t, not when he is once more in your arms and breathing, when you have been dreaming of touching him for months. You know what will happen if she sees him, and you don't think she'll survive this shock again. Alejandro grabs your hand and moves it to his chest as he holds his ground against you, daring you to shove him further away. You feel his heart beating under your palm, hear the blood rushing in your ears.
‘’ I’ll be back for you. ‘’ He whispers.
You have to believe him. You want to. But why would he, you try to reason, why should he add two more dead weights to his escape? Alejandro does not pull away like you expected, to turn around and let the shadows swallow him.
‘’ Please… ‘’ You beg again, voice breaking, fragile. You know you will break if he stays any longer, letting you think and cry. It will break you.
His palm moves up to press against your cheek, wiping away the tears that stain it.
‘’ You have to trust me, ” he murmurs, his words breaking the silence. “ I’ll come back. ‘’
The pieces all seem to fit now—the truth, the reality of it, the inevitable. He will leave, and you’ll have to stay. Again. You know you are right, and it is what must be done. With a final press of his lips against your forehead, he pulls away, sealing his promise, burning it into your skin.
The coldness that fills you as Alejandro steps back is quick, sharp, like a stabbing pain through your chest, a reminder of what is yet to come. Tears fall from your eyes as you turn away, your hand slipping from his as you reach for the doorknob. Your clothes feel too tight, the hallway too narrow as you step into it.
The door closes with a click—deafening in the silence of the house. Your ears are ringing, but you follow Isabella’s voice to the staircase.
Daniel Van Ness x reader, (infidelity, but like it was falling appart anyway, the usual for the show) 986 words
a/n : me : doesn't write on anything for months, decides Daniel Van Ness will be it because of an hyperfixation on an edit or smt
Also I think this is the first Daniel fic on Tumblr, does that make me an avantgarde-thing ? We shall see.
Had to use this gif cause like hello the big dick energy
!!! @axreliono this one is for you !!! Tagging my other bitches (lovingly) that might like this : @narcolini @drabbles-mc @anunhealthydoseofangst @hausofmamadas @ashlingnarcos
Surprise is too small a word to express Daniel’s reaction when his morning starts with you leaning against his office desk. He recoils, the coffee cup in his hand overflows on one side, burning the back of his hand, but he doesn’t drop it like his mouth does, in a silent question. So many questions, in fact, because here you are—in front of him, in Colombia—not back in that low-rank, basement office in Chile, overworked and underpaid.
‘’ Hey, Danny, heard you had been dropped off here too. ‘’
Here as in Cali—here, in another rotation, after you had told him in tears that you had to go back home, that you couldn’t stay, that you couldn’t do it anymore. This work, this job, the distance.
‘’ I thought- You- ‘’
‘’ I know, I’m sorry. I should have called. ’’
Your voice is soft, a hint of regret, but he realizes that he never did call you either, that maybe he should have too. Told you that he wouldn’t be in Chile if you ever came back, that he had to move on. You push yourself off the desk and towards him, so close that he can smell your perfume. It draws him back, siphons him away in the hot humidity that is Santiago, Chile, back then when your scent would linger on his sheets. He hates that he still feels the sweat on his body, tastes the salt on your skin.
It takes everything in him not to step back again, but he lets you get closer, lets you press a hand on his bicep, lets you stammer and hesitate as you try to get the words out.
‘’ Danny… ‘’ Your eyes can’t seem to meet his for too long, ‘’ I tried to, but everything was different and I didn’t want to impose, or hurt you again.‘’ Your fingers tighten on his shirt, ‘’ I signed the divorce papers. I told him everything and we tried to make it work, but I- ‘’
‘’ You came to Colombia instead. ‘’
He watches as you retreat, your hand falling off his arm, taking a step back so you can more easily look up at him.
‘’ They just sent me here. I didn’t know you were assigned to Cali until I bought the ticket. ‘’
He knew you were married, you had been clear about that from the start, when he would hang out around your office more, drive you home and spend minutes talking in his car after a drink at the bar, but you had also told him about how rocky it had been for years now, that the Chile rotation was just a way to put off the inevitable. You didn’t seem to mind, so he decided he didn’t either.
‘’ I was put on Salcero’s case a few months ago, ‘’ you begin, ‘’ Back in the States, just going through hours and hours of recorded calls. They want us to work it together since you’ve made contact with him already.’’
He doesn’t know what to say, he lets the ceramic of his coffee cup continue to burn his fingertips, lets you analyze his face as if you couldn’t remember it, all of him.
‘’ Please, Danny. ‘’
Say something. You are pleading and he hates how the sound of his name on your lips makes his heart seize like a teenager, how it warms up his chest at the same time.
It feels like years ago at this point, when you came knocking on his door in the middle of the night. You can’t be out at night at this hour- why are you crying? What is going on? Years ago when he brought you back to the airport, with only your small bag and a one-way ticket. I can’t do this, Danny, I have to go home.
It is his turn to reach towards you, to bring you back, wrapping a hand around your bicep. Your skin is warm, but even though it sends chills throughout his arm.
‘’ I missed you, ‘’ Is all he finds the courage to say, ‘’ I’m glad you’re on the team. ‘’
He can feel the change in the air when your hand raises to touch his wrist, when his hold doesn’t feel like a colleague welcoming another anymore, how his thumb has been caressing your skin for too long now.
‘’ I am deeply sorry, Danny. ‘’ You say again, your fingertips brushing the outside of his wrist. He can see the freckles on your face, ‘’ I should have stayed. ‘’
He doesn’t have to think, he just does, moving his other hand up, pushing hair away from your face, fingers wrapping behind your neck. He does not think again when he brings you closer, softly, giving you an out, an option to refuse, to tell him that he read this all wrong.
You close the gap, head first, nose brushing his, moving up to meet him halfway. You taste like coffee and something sweet, something different. You are pressed against him, warm thighs on his, parting to make way for his own.
It is a brief kiss, over almost as soon as it starts. He doesn’t deepen it, doesn’t push for it to start again. There has to be a better moment for this, somewhere when his coffee is not staining his shirt cuff, where the phones don’t ring and eyes might catch.
‘’ You’re thinking too much. ‘’ You murmur, pushing on your toes to brush your nose against his one last time, breathing him in.
It catches him off guard, but he knows you are right, reading through him like a book as always. He wants to say so many things, but he can’t find the words.
‘’ I missed you. ‘’ He decides to say instead. It makes him feel good, relieved.
James Valdez x gn!reader, (nothing too graphic, beating up, the usual for the show, reader is a meany) 485 words
a/n : a ficlet based on : '' Hurt his feelingsssssss, literally just think of a way to hurt his feelings imo, like truly have that be the goal and everything will fall into place. '' by @ashlingnarcos, and it did 🙏🏻
Shoutout to Kind of man by London Grammar for sponsoring this ficlet
‘’ You’ve been nothing but expendable the whole time. ‘’
‘’ You don’t mean that. ‘’
‘’ Oh but I do, James, and this is just a taste of what is yet to come. ‘’
He can feel the blood drip off his chin, staining his shirt. You can’t mean it, you simply can’t. Gentle, soft, stubborn you. But here you are, standing above him, your gun pressed against his cheek as he tries to swallow the bile that piles up in his mouth.
‘’ Carmila will have your head. ‘’ Is all he finds to say, to try and bring power back to this conversation. ‘’ The second she finds out you’re with Jimenez, you’re screwed. ‘’
He watches as your eyes twitch, a dark glint behind them, the corner of your lips pulling up in a small smile, pitiful. James doesn’t recognize you, he realizes, whoever this is, whoever you are now, he has never met.
‘’ Oh baby boy, ‘’ He hates how his heart seizes to your cooing. ‘’ Think harder, hmm? I know you can figure it out. ‘’
This is fucking sick. You are pressing on the gash on his cheek, your knee digging into his chest cavity. Think, think, think. He knows he has to be hallucinating, that his mind must be playing tricks, that even your perfume seems different, your eyes a different shade than he remembers. James ignores the thumping in his head and focuses, who are you working for? Who would gain from having you infiltrate his team? His bed?
You tut, patting the side of his face with the cold metal.
‘’ Now you’re thinking too hard, James. ‘’
He spits, watching as red colours your face and shirt. Your eyes are closed, mouth open, repulsed. He feels your hand tighten around his collar.
‘’ That is fucking disgusting. ‘’
You wipe most of it off your face with the back of your sleeve. The deep burgundy smudge on your cheek brings out the anger in your eyes. Your tongue passes over your lips as you ponder.
‘’ You want to play dirty, huh? ‘’ You hiss. ‘’ If you wanted the answer you could just have asked for it. ‘’
He still can’t figure it out. Not when he thought you two had something. Not love, of course, but something nice, something warm. Worth coming back in one piece every night just to share his bed with you. Think, think, think. You manhandle him again, shoving him further into the wall.
‘’ Carmila, ‘’ you begin, ‘’ will not have my head, James, and you know why? ‘’
Who are you, he thinks, how can someone hide themselves like this for so long? You sigh before you continue as if it was the most obvious thing on earth, that you couldn’t possibly believe he still hasn’t figured it out.
‘’ She will not have my head, James, because she is the one who asked me to do this to you. ‘’
UUUUUUMMMMMMMMMMOKAYYYYYYYYYYYYSDIFUOPS????:””””(_(&(&ER(&(&*WYE_)* so i need you to write 800 thousand more words of this pls????????? Like yesterday? Like last year? Like before i was born even????? Bc this perfect in every which way except for how short it is, i’m gonna need at least another 2.5 on my desk by monday bc i canott be blueballed like this SKSKSKKSJ oh also London Grammar? Subliiiiiiime fic inspo, i’m saluting you my brother in christ bc i love them and tbh makes sense the direction you went with the fic given that was the soundtrack aksksjd
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You can’t mean it, you simply can’t. Gentle, soft, stubborn you.
First off can we just join hands in a circle of kumbayah rejoice and friendship bc the way you're supplying the gorlies with the James Valdez content we all deserve but that has been severely lacking. Like after our group has blasted all these narcos/narcos mexico fics out there, I'd say QotS is due for the same kinda renaissance i also say this knowing that i have way too many wips in too many diff mediums to commit to spearheading said renaissance ksjfksjf but anyway, just had to share that with the class bc you're litearlly doing the lordt's work and particularly with his internal back and forth that he’s doing here. Like there’s something about the cadence of that “gentle, soft, stubborn” that’s …. sooooo? emphatically???? and undeniably ?????? James? Like the clarity with which I can summon the literal sound of his voice by just reading that and it feels so authentic to what I’d imagine his inner dialogue to be, not to mention it’s just a straight fuckin bars too, I mean just real and true prose out the gate
James doesn’t recognize you, he realizes, whoever this is, whoever you are now, he has never met.
I’ve said it before a thousand times and i will never stop saying it until the day I die bc yes, all my dfs are actually just that talented😌💅💅 but you have James nailed down so well, it’s like innate, it’s immediate, it's muscle memory, you don’t have to think about it, it comes so naturally, and I believe we have hitherto been referring to as the This Man Is In Your Bones -> refer to this post for a more academic description and exploration of said phenomena
This is fucking sick. You are pressing on the gash on his cheek, your knee digging into his chest cavity. Think, think, think.
GODDSKDFJLSKJAI IM KICKING MY FEET, WHY AM I KICKING MY FEET AT THE PHYSICAL ABUSE OF THIS MAN AT THE HANDS OF HIS PRESUMABLE LOVER SKDFSKJFK like the fact that i’m relishing his, not even just his emotional pain, but physical pain must be one of the most categorically not! hingéd responses i’ve ever had to a fic skjsk and i’m trying to figure out why and i realized there’s just something so princess about james that i really like to see being stripped from him and i think that’s what i’m really finding so appealing here. Like nothing was more delicious watching QotS than his professional jealousy bc Teresa was better than him at pretty much everything without really having to work super hard at it cuz she’s just whip smart and super resourceful like that. And that’s not to say James isn’t competent himself. On the contrary, he’s super competent himself and i think that’s actually why it’s fun to watch him be rendered completely powerless like this skjsk. Also your internal monologue writing is always on-point, i never expect anything less but you particularly have such a gift for it you best believe i be taking notes, furious, furious notes
He knows he has to be hallucinating, that his mind must be playing tricks, that even your perfume seems different, your eyes a different shade than he remembers. James ignores the thumping in his head and focuses, who are you working for? Who would gain from having you infiltrate his team? His bed?
GAAAAAAASLDKJFSLKAJ;SDHFA;JKS THIS IS SO GOOD, LIKE I CANNOT IMPRESS UPON YOU HOW LEGITIMATELY MAD I AM, LIKE I’M UP IN YOUR FACE AT THE CASH REGISTER WITH MY KAREN-ASS HAIRCUT DEMANDING TO SPEAK TO A MANAGER PLS BC WHY ISN’T THIS FIC 80 PARTS LONG. Like it’s so inspired, im obsessed with the choice to go full-on evil with Reader here, they’re literally torturing him not me once again questioning my own sanity that i’m like jumping up in from the bleachers adn screaming and clapping my hands skskks with such demented, sick glee at how bad they are SKKSKS and like i cannot remember another fic wherein the Reader is so unabashedly vile and depraved. Liek i’m not saying that never happens but you’ve leannneddd tf into it, such a bold and inspired choice and once again, i’m shaking my fist at the sky like a down-on-his-luck old Boomer man that this isn’t the length of a russian novel bc i would 100000% read tf outta it if it was
You tut, patting the side of his face with the cold metal. ‘’ Now you’re thinking too hard, James. ‘’
SKFJSKSK i’m loving this too much, i’m positively thriving sksksk bc something about this is so petty and you know it would get under James’ skin bc he prides himself on his brainsmarts and he likes to get a pat on the head and his afternoon snack and show you the gold star he got on his report card and be told he’s a good boy and this is decidedly the opposite of that skjskj
He spits, watching as red colours your face and shirt.
I have nothing of value to add here except that this one-liner is a fucking banger and like i’m feeling very how dare you but also on my life thank you, but also never speak to me again, but also eres la mas lista, inventiva, talentosita que yo he conocido en toda mi pinshe vida y voy a asesinarte por tu genialidad y robarla como si fuera mia eeerr uh, wait what, did i say that out loud
‘’ You want to play dirty, huh? ‘’ You hiss. ‘’ If you wanted the answer you could just have asked for it. ‘’
Me trying to figure out the answer:
even as im simultaneously pointing and laughing at James in my head like a middle school bully for not being able to figure it out either skdfjsk
He still can’t figure it out. Not when he thought you two had something. Not love, of course, but something nice, something warm. Worth coming back in one piece every night just to share his bed with you.
UGHHHHFSKLDJFLSKASKFJALSJ;GODODODOSODKFJ adn this is precisely why this needs to be 4000x longer bc i need to see the con play out, i need to know how we got here, i need to see how this shit all feel into place in this way bc like the gut punch that this feels like and it’s only 600+ words, like it’s actually a bonkers the amount of investment that you’ve managed to solicit from me as a reader in such a short amount of time read: talent and bc apparently i enjoy being in a constant state of general emotional distress i can only imagine seeing the unfolding of events would make that gut punch feel like a 900lb ~410kg for the non-metrically challenged sledgehammer to your spleen AND I NEED THAT SPLEEN THWACKED GOTDAMMIT SKFSJ
‘’ She will not have my head, James, because she is the one who asked me to do this to you. ‘’
OHHHHA;SDLKFJA;SLKJFA;OWEIHJF[W9QIH3R= 0129U=Q029RUW[-AQ9WIJF9WHATTTHE FUCKKKKKKK OHKAY THAT’S IT, I’M DONE PLAYING NICE,I WILL LITERALLY HOLD YOU HERE AT GUNPOINT WITH THE HELP OF MY BESTEST GOOD DF, THE DUOLINGO OWL
UNTIL YOU FINISH THE MANUSCRIPT TO THIS NOVEL BC THAT WAS THE FUCKING TWIST TO END ALL TWISTS THAT I SUPER DID NOT SEEEE????????? COMING?????????????? ARE YOU FUCKING FORREAL RN?????????
güero x gender neutral reader, 966 words, just a bit of angst baybeee
prompt: ‘I wish I met you sooner.’
a/n: thanku to @ashlingnarcos for personally scraping me off the writer’s block and making my first ever narcos fic a güero one :’)
Güero clears his throat. It cracks through the receiver, sharp, angular. Makes you sit straighter though you don’t remember slouching. The edge of the seat bites into your skin with the adjustment, digs at the back of your knees like it hates you for being there. As if you’re any happier about it. This isn’t what you had in mind when they said you could visit, at last, two tables either side of a glass wall. It isn’t the reunion you’d naively hoped for. You’d been pleased to see him, of course; to see that he hadn’t changed, hadn’t given up on himself yet, but the novelty had worn off fast. Disappeared with every minute you couldn’t touch him, every word you had to force through this fucking handset. They may as well have put a television in front of you. Sat you down, hit play, and watched you wither.
James Valdez x gn!reader, (nothing too graphic, beating up, the usual for the show, reader is a meany) 485 words
a/n : a ficlet based on : '' Hurt his feelingsssssss, literally just think of a way to hurt his feelings imo, like truly have that be the goal and everything will fall into place. '' by @ashlingnarcos, and it did 🙏🏻
Shoutout to Kind of man by London Grammar for sponsoring this ficlet
‘’ You’ve been nothing but expendable the whole time. ‘’
‘’ You don’t mean that. ‘’
‘’ Oh but I do, James, and this is just a taste of what is yet to come. ‘’
He can feel the blood drip off his chin, staining his shirt. You can’t mean it, you simply can’t. Gentle, soft, stubborn you. But here you are, standing above him, your gun pressed against his cheek as he tries to swallow the bile that piles up in his mouth.
‘’ Carmila will have your head. ‘’ Is all he finds to say, to try and bring power back to this conversation. ‘’ The second she finds out you’re with Jimenez, you’re screwed. ‘’
He watches as your eyes twitch, a dark glint behind them, the corner of your lips pulling up in a small smile, pitiful. James doesn’t recognize you, he realizes, whoever this is, whoever you are now, he has never met.
‘’ Oh baby boy, ‘’ He hates how his heart seizes to your cooing. ‘’ Think harder, hmm? I know you can figure it out. ‘’
This is fucking sick. You are pressing on the gash on his cheek, your knee digging into his chest cavity. Think, think, think. He knows he has to be hallucinating, that his mind must be playing tricks, that even your perfume seems different, your eyes a different shade than he remembers. James ignores the thumping in his head and focuses, who are you working for? Who would gain from having you infiltrate his team? His bed?
You tut, patting the side of his face with the cold metal.
‘’ Now you’re thinking too hard, James. ‘’
He spits, watching as red colours your face and shirt. Your eyes are closed, mouth open, repulsed. He feels your hand tighten around his collar.
‘’ That is fucking disgusting. ‘’
You wipe most of it off your face with the back of your sleeve. The deep burgundy smudge on your cheek brings out the anger in your eyes. Your tongue passes over your lips as you ponder.
‘’ You want to play dirty, huh? ‘’ You hiss. ‘’ If you wanted the answer you could just have asked for it. ‘’
He still can’t figure it out. Not when he thought you two had something. Not love, of course, but something nice, something warm. Worth coming back in one piece every night just to share his bed with you. Think, think, think. You manhandle him again, shoving him further into the wall.
‘’ Carmila, ‘’ you begin, ‘’ will not have my head, James, and you know why? ‘’
Who are you, he thinks, how can someone hide themselves like this for so long? You sigh before you continue as if it was the most obvious thing on earth, that you couldn’t possibly believe he still hasn’t figured it out.
‘’ She will not have my head, James, because she is the one who asked me to do this to you. ‘’
i'm absolutely floored by this because it's so amazing but truly i expect nothing less from you and your amazing writing skills. so you-coded to come in, watch two episodes of a show, and then bring me (and james) to my fucking knees in under 500 words. I'm obsessed with you. I'm studying you like a bug. I'm offering you cold hard cash to write more qots
