#narcos cast

[ashlingnarcos]

[ellies-enrichment]

[alpineshepherdbadboy]

it’s been lovely to be on instagram today to see all of the heartwarming stories about mark margolis shared by brba and bcs actors, but my favorite has got to be from vincent fuentes (arturo), who shared some texts that mark sent him:

bonus:

[insxghtt]

any other man — javier peña x reader

She was already getting too used to it, but maybe he just wanted to be like any other man.

warnings: implied smut but nothing explicit, angst i guess, +18

idk what this is ok i have insomnia and this just came out of it. also, english is not my first language so i apologize in advance. tell me if you like it please, leave a comment or something if you want me to continue. i really have no idea if i am good at writing or if this was all just an illusion and in reality i suck at it. idk i am really depressed lately and i am doing mY BEST OK

She was used to it. Javier called her so many times in the middle of the night, desperate for a warm touch, she even lost the count. They didn’t talk much, but she still knew him better than anyone. Better than him, even.  

Javier was one of her favorite clients. He was kinder than most men, always made sure she felt as much pleasure as he did. He also didn’t just fuck her. The first time he asked her to only sleep with him, she found it so fucking weird, even a bit creepy to be honest. After a while, she understood why. Javier was surrounded by a world that sucked all his energy. He couldn’t give himself the privilege of loving someone for free and put them at risk. 

Still, he was a human. So, she did that for him. She was the only one he didn’t fuck every time he met, and she learned to like it. Sometimes when he was gone for too long, she even missed him. 

Although, she was not used to him being so fucking cold. That night he was different, she realized it from the moment she heard his voice on the phone asking her to come over. Maybe after fucking everything out, he would go back to being the Javi she was used to, but that didn’t happen. 

After he reached the peak of his pleasure, he lay down next to her naked body. She, with a soft smile on her lips, rested her head on his chest. They stayed like that for a few minutes, their bodies still sweaty and hot. She looked at him, waiting for him to ask her to stay. Instead, all she saw was his cold expression. 

“What is it, Javi?”, she whispered. He loved that voice, the accent, the tone, everything about it. 

Yet not even her voice was enough for him to respond. She refused to give up, of course, and started to leave soft kisses on his chest. For a moment, he closed his eyes and tried to forget everything, but things were just not that simple. 

“Stop”, he said while getting away from her and standing up. That was not good. He was not a very healthy man, mentally speaking. He was a fucking DEA agent, damnit. It would honestly be concerning if he was totally okay. 

“Javi...”, she tried to speak, but he was quick to interrupt her by getting out of bed and starting to look for his clothes around the messy room. 

“You should go.” 

She laughed. Not a loud laugh, but a weak and low one, not funny at all. Nothing about that moment was funny. Still, she tried to joke. “So now you’re back to treating me like a whore?” 

“I had a tough day, alright?” 

“So now we’re back to square one because you had a bad day at work?”, she said calmly, still trying to understand. 

Her accent, her fucking accent. He could fall in love with her just by hearing it. Except that this time, the words that came with it were slightly brutal. 

“It wasn’t just a fucking bad day, damnit”, he sighed. 

After finally founding his jeans, he put them on and searched for a cigarette on one of the pockets. After finding one, he reached for the bedside table and took his lighter. 

“You’re home now, baby, you can relax.” 

He lit the cigarette, but not even a long nicotine puff was enough to make him calmer. “Don’t call me baby, you wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for the money.” 

“Well, shit, were you expecting something different? Guess you’re looking in the wrong place”, she laughed sarcastically. “You don’t have to ask twice, alright? I’m just doing my job.” 

He didn’t answer, so she just stood up and faked a smile for him like she would smile for any other man. She got dressed without giving him a single look, just like she would do in the presence of any other man. Most importantly, after getting ready, she turned to him and extended her hand waiting for her payment, just like he was any other man. 

He gave her the money. He always paid her, but why it hurt so much receiving it this time, she did not understand. 

She turned his back on him and walked to the door feeling his stare. 

“I killed a kid today”, his words were enough to make her stop immediately. “Fourteen years old. They told me I did the right thing. It still doesn’t feel right.” 

She didn’t look at him, but she also didn’t move, like she was waiting for him to continue. 

“Ask me to stay”, she whispered loud enough for him to listen, almost like she was begging for him to let her in. 

How could he? How could he do that to her? 

“I can’t.” 

“I’m not asking for you to pay me...” 

“I know.” 

She would’ve, she wanted to. Hell, he wanted it.  

“You know...”, she said turning to look at him again. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing his jeans, no shirt on, the cigarette between his fingers. God, she could stare at him the whole night if he only asked. “Every day I realize more and more how... dumb men are.” 

Javi didn’t interrupt. He continued to pay attention to every single one of her words. Partly because he loved to hear her talking, partly because he didn’t really want her to leave. 

“You build this world... this horrific, terrible and cruel world. With your own rules, with your own ideas, all of it just so you could be the ones to dictate what’s right and what’s wrong”, she had tears in her eyes, but she did not cry. She would never cry in front of him. “And at the end of the day the very same world you invented is the one torturing you.” 

She sighed, swallowing the tears while watching the one man she always thought of as unbreakable, tearing up in front of her. 

“If only you could see the real world behind the one you made up, you’d see that there’s no good or bad”, she gave him a sad smile. “Don’t worry, Javi. None of us are going to heaven.” 

And after she closed the door behind her, he felt the loneliness hit him like never before.  

[sigelfire]

Finally found a good sized picture of the first photo! Never seen the last one before (LOL). The rest are promo photos of Diego in Narcos Mexico

Bonus: An animated gif ♥️

Source

[lokiiied]

if i had a nickel for every time boyd holbrook played himself a southern to the bone closet made of glass queer looks like he could kill you could actually kill you serving cunt who’s in love with his dark haired shorter partner in crime i’d have two nickels. which isn’t a lot but it’s weird it’s happened twice.

[saphic-viv]

He's shy and smoll.

[polymolly]

Can I just introduce you to my intrusive thoughts?

Please and thank you.

[hausofmamadas]

| A DANCE WITH DINARRÓN: Narcos Mexico/Tax Collector AU Crossover |

… aka an exercise in pure OTP self-indulgence but I don’t care cuz I don’t even care

═

Mira, let’s get this out the way, right quick.

If ever you think a Dinarrón post is my last, you’ve probly underestimating my ability to test everyone’s patience by hyperfocusing on one thing and taking to the interwebs to scream about it. Te lo juro I can and will be going for miles with this shit sksjsjsjsj. Having said that, I don’t have thaaat much to scream in all caps about? Like shits kinda speaks for itself.

✷

Howmever I do hereby submit to the official record: David Ayer’s the greatest gift to this earth not stiff competition aksksks bc so sorry Mr. Ayer but most of your movies are hot!garbage pero fun hot!garbage so (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞ Ayer’s actual #1, capital T, Top contribution to history is not the movie Tax Collector but is this scene from the movie Tax Collector

…. of not our David Barron but still a Bobby-Soto-looking Eme gangster named David Barrón Cuevas … FUCKING 💃🏻SALSA💃🏻 DANCING LIKE ARE YOU FORREAL TRYING TO HAVE ME KILLED

✷

And with this gift, Ayer basically fueled the fire for this mind-meld of Dinarrón dancing, aaand it’s basically the sole reason for me waking up in the morning, it basically maaade the Dinarrón Blue Jeans vid bc I basically only decided to add TC clips after seeing the uncanny similarities to Dina’s wedding.

✷

It’s like Ayer actually Freddy Kruegered me, plucked the scene straight from my Dinarrón dreams bc the way it fits so well with the scenes of her lil dance routine have me Lebron-tear-ing to the goddamn moon.

✷

And since I first saw this hot!garbage movie, can conservatively say that I think about this mmm like twice a day. Like they’re not even from the same movie/show, but in my mind, they’re irrevocably fused together like this did just happen. It is canon wedding instead of what actually happened aka Min yelling at Barrón for drinking agua mineral and calling him Pancha’s “gente”

✷

OH AND how weird is it to see our boy smile ?? Barrón barely speaks a word sksks so like smile!??!!?! Pffft pls. Mans is a sicario, no tiene tiempo para eso curling-the-corners-of-his-mouth-to-express-joy mamadas. He’s too busy smoldering for no goddamn reason and white-lady-math-meme-ing his surroundings for threats both of which look remarkably similar re: what his face is doing.

Also this/ks:’kskamb mf hip swivel Dina doin in that last one🥴 sending me into full fucking heart palpitations. Like her booty alone, Jesus that booty does not get the gotdamn recognition it deserves in this fandom.

*slams hands on table like overzealous cop during an interrogation, stands up too forcefully knocks over own chair*

And YOU KNOW WHAT? I’m here before the court today, your honor, to atone for that sin. And since you’re dying to know, yes, being a martyr for The Cause is indeed a thankless job with no 401K or health benefits but I hear they’re gonna paint some real nice pictures of me after I’m dead, so clearly a fair trade.

═

taglist (for the free gifs): @narcolini @narcos-narcosmx @ashlingnarcos @drabbles-mc @rerorero-my-cherry @criatividad-e @cositapreciosa @cherixrosa-archived @artemiseamoon @purplesong1028 @mandaloria314 @tinylittleobsessions @narcosmx @thesolotomyhan

[dgct2]

I'm really tempted to write a crossover between Javier Peña from Narcos and Kristin Gaines from FBI Most Wanted. Both of them have a past fighting the Columbian cartels. Maybe Kristin knew Javier before she came to New York. I also just love the idea of Pedro and Alexa sharing a scene together because look at them ❤️🔥

[lotusbxtch]

He’s so pretty 🥹

[ashlingnarcos]

[pedropascal24-7]

Pedro always has the wildest stories when it comes to finding out he has a new role

- Game of Thrones when there was miscommunication and HBO had hired him, but his agents didn’t know for sure, but he was already getting his head cast, getting costume fittings, and going to rehearsals. And he didn’t wanna ask if he had the part

-he only had a day or two to accept his role in Narcos

-he was in the bathroom when Matthew Vaughn called him about Golden Circle

-took an Ambien before he got the call that he got the role of Joel and then fell asleep and forgot he got the part

Like absolutely incredible stories

[youhavereachedtheendofpie]

Ok head apparently so good this man just full on proposed to the one lady ok that's a choice that's an endorsement if ever I've seen one

[sigelfire]

Diego Luna and José María Yazpik with Architect Agustín Pizá at WGC Mexico Championship, 2018 (x)

Here's a video with Chema, Diego and Michael Peña:

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Lessons in Love.

Bucky didn't believe in love at first sight. Then he met you.

Pairing - Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings - None

Word Count - 3615

Author's Note - hello gorgeous people, hope you're all doing well. writing this has made my heart so full, and I hope it makes you feel the same. requests are always open and more than encouraged!! currently working on a stunning jake seresin request that's just so lovely. i'm SO open to more jake requests, but also any marvel, top gun maverick, criminal minds, narcos and any others you have in mind!! just send them over, and I'll see what I can do. as always, so much love x

Masterlist. Requests.

“No way. How is that even possible?”

You look at the bewildered man in front of you and can’t help but smile.

“It’ll play anything you want it to. Anything in the world. Just ask it!” you encourage, beaming grin still plastered on your face.

“Alexa,” he says tentatively, “play Marvin Gaye.”

The first notes of Trouble Man begin to sound through your apartment, and his eyes light up. He’s looking at you like you’ve discovered something completely revolutionary.

You laugh – a real, genuine, delighted sound that flows through Bucky like a beam of light, illuminates his bones, makes his heart beat that little bit faster.

Grabbing your notebook, you delicately place a check next to Number 26 – voice-controlled devices. Number 27 is air fryers. Number 28 is Bluetooth. Number 29 is kindles and e-readers. Number 30 is Doordash. You’ve already checked off Spotify, and ATMs, and Google, and online banking, amongst many others. A list of things to better integrate Bucky into the 21st Century. A list of things to make him feel less like a man out of time. A list of things that allow you to spend all the time with him that you can.

A warm hand on your left hip and a cold one on your right pull you back into reality.

“Dance with me.” he murmurs. “Let me teach you something, for once.”

Before you can process his words, he’s gliding across the kitchen with you in his arms. Trouble Man isn’t playing anymore, instead replaced with something slower, richer. Bucky hasn’t taken his eyes off you, not even for a second. He’s watching your every move, every expression, every twitch of your lips. Reading you like a book.

You bring your hands to rest around his neck, and he relaxes into you. He’s leading, swaying you gently, occasionally twirling you like a ballerina in a music box. Perfectly effortless. He’s good at this.

The sun is setting, casting a warm orange hue across the kitchen. The light is reflecting onto your hair, making you glow, giving you a halo. Angelic, he thinks. My guardian angel.

You close the space between your bodies, wrapping your arms around his middle. Resting your head on his chest, he prays you can’t hear how his heart is working overtime. You shut your eyes, and breathe him in. He smells faintly like the Bakery, like sugar and coffee and cinnamon. The place that started it all.

　            ⋆ 　　 .  ✵　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 

When Bucky first moved into his apartment, he’d noticed the Bakery down the street immediately. The smell of cake and coffee drifted out of the lilac colored door, enticing him in. He resisted the urge, and told himself that he’d go inside tomorrow.

The next day, he stood outside of the red brick building, and read the menu on the noticeboard carefully. Then he reread it. And then read it again. Since when was coffee so complicated? And don’t even get him started on cake. He swore there was only a few types back in the forties. Now, there was at least fifty different kinds on this menu alone. He was overwhelmed. He thought he’d be able to walk into this Bakery, get some coffee, maybe something sweet, and leave content. Instead, he's stood on the sidewalk on the verge of a panic attack. Tomorrow, he thinks to himself. I’ll go in tomorrow.

Tomorrow never comes. Every day, he takes a walk, and purposely passes the building that he longs to go into. But somehow, he can never find the courage. He knows he’ll just look like an idiot if he walks in. He’ll look lost, and out of place, and everyone will laugh and mutter. Look, they’ll jeer, The Winter Soldier can’t even order a coffee.

And so, he spares himself the pain. Lets his feet carry him past, only slowing down slightly when he passes the lilac door. Every day for three months, he takes the same route. Willing himself to go in, to find the courage. It’s just coffee, he tells himself. Get a grip.

Until, one day, you decided to change his life, unknowingly. Or maybe knowingly. He’s still not sure.

He takes his usual path, and just as he gets to the lilac door – you’re there. Stood, waiting, soft smile on your face. Bucky panics, and wills his feet to move faster, to take him away from this inevitably awkward situation. You stop him before he can make a run for it.

“Hi.”

Oh. You’re talking to him. You’re staring into his soul with no judgment, or fear, or trepidation. You’re staring into his soul with gentleness. Kindness. Friendship. He’s terrified.

“Uh – hi.” He rubs the back of his neck. Nervous habit.

“So, uh, I hope this isn’t weird, or anything. But, I’ve been watching you walk past every day for like three months, and, well…” you trail off. Now you look nervous. “Actually, I haven’t really thought this far ahead. I just see you, and I wanted to… invite you in, I guess? Not that you need an invite, of course not, we’re open to everyone, but… you always look like you’re going to come in, and then you never do. And I’ve been telling myself for months that I should properly invite you in, but now I’m realising this is, uh, really weird. And I’m sorry.”

You still have that gentle smile on your face, but it’s more tentative now. A dusting of pink is making its way onto your cheeks, and Bucky thinks it might be his new favourite color.

It’s now that he really starts to take you in. Your hair is blowing slightly in the breeze, and the sleeves of your sweater are pulled down over your wrists, to try and keep the New York chill at bay. You have bright, inquisitive eyes – eyes that contain hope, love, laughter. You make him feel almost peaceful. No one makes him feel like that. Damn.

You’ve stepped closer to him now, to get out of the way of the customers making their way through the door. You smell like sugar, and coffee, and optimism. He wants to breathe you in, let you settle in his lungs. A comfortable warmth spreads through his chest.

He decides to take a gamble and bear his truth to you. He’s not sure why, but he trusts you. He doesn’t trust anyone, these days. But he trusts you.

“Can I be honest with you?”, he asks, looking at you expectantly. You’re almost expecting him to laugh in your face at the absurdity of it all. You nod anyway, signalling for him to continue.

“I’ve been trying to work up the courage to come in. But every time I try, I just, uh-” he stutters, and you can tell that his mind is screaming at him, sounding alarm bells, begging him to stop with all this sudden vulnerability.

“It’s overwhelming, right?” you ask, cutting him off. Saving him. Guardian angel.

You see the relief in his body at your question. His fists unclench, the tension leaves his shoulders. He smiles bashfully. Half grateful, half embarrassed. You get it.

“Yeah,” he chuckles. You giggle, and he’s convinced that the melodious sound will circle around in his mind forever, like the Earth orbiting the Sun.

You fiddle with the strings of your mint green apron, and look at him. You’re gazing at him so earnestly that he’s worried he might spontaneously combust.

“Are you busy tonight?” you ask suddenly, and he feels so dizzy he’s concerned momentarily that he’s going to pass out.

“Uh, no. I’m not,” he replies, managing to force the words out of his mouth.

“We close at 6, so meet me here at 7.”

You still have that sparkle in your eye. He couldn’t say no to you if he tried.

“Why?” he queries. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t absolutely petrified at the turn the conversation has taken.

“I want to show you around. Maybe make you a coffee, introduce you to some of my favourite things. You won’t believe how good my raspberry and white chocolate cookies are. They’re best sellers for a reason,” you beam at him.

Beaming. He wonders how he’s lived his whole life without your light illuminating his universe. Anywhere he goes without you is going to feel so dark, he thinks. How did I ever live like this?

He manages to pull himself together to smile back at you. His first genuine grin in God knows how long. He’s forgotten what joy feels like, and he’s almost drunk on it now.

He agrees to your plan, and you turn on your heel, about to make your way back inside.

“Wait!” he yells, louder than intended. “What’s your name?”

Your lips turn up into a smirk, mischief seeping out of your pores.

“Come back at 7 and find out.” You wink at him, and he has to take a few deep breaths in order to stay conscious. With that, you leave him alone on the sidewalk, where he’s silently thanking the universe for dropping you in his lap. Finally, he thinks. The cosmic punishment is over.

He does come back at 7. In fact, he’s stood outside waiting at 6:45. He can see you mopping the floor, singing as you go. His supersoldier hearing allows him to listen to your voice, even from this far away. He’s never been more grateful for the thing he used to call a curse. He’d be cursed every damn day if it meant he got to listen to you like this.

At 6:58, you appear at the lilac door, beckoning him to follow you inside. He knows that stepping over that threshold is going to change him fundamentally. He can’t wait.

Upon entering, he’s hit with the smell of cinnamon, sugar, coffee, and you. A beautiful mix of all three. Without a second thought, he reaches out with his right hand, and gently brushes some flour from your cheekbone.

“Bucky,” he murmurs.

You can’t tear your eyes away from him. Lips slightly parted, chest heaving, it takes you a minute to register that he spoke.

“What?” you ask, dazed by the handsome stranger with the steel blue eyes.

“My name,” he speaks softly. “It’s Bucky.”

You smile knowingly, and take a deep breath. It’s overwhelming, meeting someone that you know is going to be in your life forever. You’re both feeling the same, neither of you sure just quite what to do.

You grab his left hand, sighing quietly in relief at the feeling the cool metal against your heated skin. Leading him gently, he lets you guide him through the front of the store, until you stop behind the counter. He’s convinced he’d let you lead him anywhere, as long as he gets to feel your skin, soft and warm, on his. Grounding. Comforting. Easy.

“What kind of milk do you like?” you ask, fingers still intertwined with his.

“There’s more than one kind of milk?”

Bucky looks so disorientated, that you want to kiss the confused expression off his face. You chuckle softly, and the sound bounces off the metal in the room, twinkling around him.

“We have cows’ milk, oat milk, almond milk and soy milk.” You take one look at him, and decide to change course. “Let’s start with something less complex, actually. Any allergies I should know about?”

He shakes his head, mischievous grin beginning to form on his handsome face. There he is, you think. He’s with me.

“I’m going to make you a latte. It’s milky, and not too strong or too sweet. I think you’ll like it.”

She thinks I’ll like it, he muses. And he trusts you - whether it be with his life, or just a cup of coffee.

You reluctantly let go of his hand, and begin to flit around, gathering everything you need. Bucky leans back against the counter and watches carefully. He watches the way you bite your lip when you measure out the milk. He watches the way the steam from the coffee machine blows your hair back from your face gently. He watches the way you’re trying to make everything perfect. He can’t remember the last time someone paid attention to him like this. His mind is telling him to sprint in the opposite direction, to excuse himself and never come back. He’s terrified. But he stays. I deserve this, he thinks. I deserve something good.

You pull him from his thoughts by handing him the mug of warm coffee. He takes it from you carefully, and, without breaking eye contact, takes a sip. He smiles, really smiles. That’s all the validation you needed.

“Let me show you where we bake everything,” you say quietly, as if you’re afraid to burst this bubble of warmth and trust you’ve created. You’re scared he’s going to bolt if you give him the chance. So, you don’t. You take his hand once more, and guide him through to the kitchen.

“Have you done much baking in your life, Bucky?”

No, he thinks. But I will. I’ll bake everyday for the rest of my life if it means you’ll love me. If you’ll make me coffee and smile at me like that.

Instead, he answers cautiously.

“Not really. I’d like to, though.” He adds that last part bashfully. You smile back at him earnestly.

“Well then you’re in the right place,” you wink. He has the overwhelming urge to drop to his knees. To pray at your altar. To worship you like an angel sent down just for him. He’s surprised he’s still stood on two feet.

Before he can even register what’s happening, you’re beginning to create a mixture for your infamous cookies. You direct him to stir, while you add meticulously measured ingredients into the bowl.

“Put those arms to good use,” you’d smirked, and a blush had risen up to his cheeks almost instantly.

You click the radio on, and a soft, jazzy melody begins to drift through the room. You’re humming quietly, gliding around the kitchen, and he decides that this is it for him. You’re it for him. He could watch you do this every day and die a happy man.

Cookies baking in the oven, you jump up to sit on one of the counters. Bucky moves to stand in between your legs, still being careful to keep his distance ever so slightly. He knows if he touches you, he won’t ever want to let go.

“This wasn’t as scary as I thought it was going to be,” he confesses.

“What, me?” you tease.

“No. Coffee. And cookies,” he chuckles.

“Are there lots of things that you haven’t done because you find them scary?” you ask genuinely. You want to know him. All of him. Fears, wants, quirks. All of it.

“Yeah, actually. The world is so different now. I don’t really know where to start. It’s all terrifying, honestly,” he laughs. You laugh with him, but you know there’s truth to his words. You want to wrap your arms around him. He may be 6 foot tall and made of solid muscle and vibranium, but you want to protect him.

“Why don’t we do it together?”

A pause. He’s confused again.

“Do what together?”

“All of it. The learning. I’ll help you. Everything is less scary if you do it with someone else.”

It’s now that he’s convinced he’s dreaming. You can’t be real. Why would you be here, offering him everything, after all that he’s done? He has to remind himself. I deserve this. I deserve something good.

You can sense his trepidation, so you keep talking.

“Why don’t we make a list? You write down the things you want to learn about. I’ll write down other things I think you should know. You’ll be an expert on the 21st Century before long, Buck.”

Buck. The nickname sounds like a gift coming from your lips.

“Okay. Yeah. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

The anxiety is coming off him in waves. He’s panicking. You grab a hold of both of his hands, and place one on each of your legs, just above your knees. He steps in closer, and takes a breath. You’re warm, and you’re soft, and you’re love personified. He’s okay.

“Of course I don’t mind. I’m excited!” you assure him. Then, quieter, “It means I get to spend more time with you.”

He aims a beaming, megawatt smile in your direction. He feels as if his nerve endings are alight. You’ve awoken something in him. He’d forgotten what it was like to feel like this. To feel alive.

You reach over and grab your notebook. In it, you simply write his name, followed by a love heart. Then, underneath, you begin to list everything you can think of that you want to teach him. You hand the list to him, and he adds his own requests. Between you, you manage to write 50 different lessons.

“Perfect. We’ll start with number one, and work our way down. Are you busy tomorrow evening?”

He chuckles at your eagerness, but secretly, he can’t wait. He knows he’ll be counting down the hours until he can see you again.

“Nope, I’m not. You are my only priority, sweetheart.”

The term of endearment seeps into your skin, settles in your ribcage. You’re convinced it’ll warm you up from the inside out. If he keeps calling you sweetheart in that Brooklyn drawl of his, you’ll never be cold again.

　            ⋆ 　　 .  ✵　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 

You’re not sure if you’ve been swaying in your kitchen with Bucky to Marvin Gaye for 2 minutes or 2 hours. You’re comfortably settled into him, as if the space in his arms was made especially for you. Maybe it was.

Bucky’s voice breaks through the solitude.

“You know, I’ve created my own list,” he murmurs against the top of your hair, where he’s resting his head.

You pull back, still in his arms, to look at him carefully.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Read it, and tell me what you think.”

He untangles himself from you and crosses the room, to retrieve his leather-bound notebook. He returns, and places it carefully in your awaiting hands.

You flick open the cover to reveal the first page. You recognise his handwriting instantly. It’s spiralling, and imperfect, but so Bucky. At the top of the page, you spot the title – your name, with a love heart next to it. Exactly the same as you’d done for him when you’d originally created your list together.

Underneath your name, only one thing is written.

I love you.

You look up at him, to see him watching you, holding his breath. Neither of you know what to say. You know what you want to say. You want to tell him that you hope the list never ends, so you always have an excuse to spend time with him. You want to tell him that you watched him walk past the door of the Bakery every day for 3 months because you thought he was the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. You want to tell him that every time he looks at you, you feel as if you’re going to pass out. You want to tell him that you can recognise him anywhere, by touch or smell alone. Instead, you say,

“You do?”

That genuine, million dollar smile is back, etched on his face. He’s glowing, light radiating from his bones.

“Yes. I do. I think I’ve loved you ever since I saw you waiting for me on the doorstep of the Bakery that day.”

You think you might be floating. Levitating above ground, fuelled by love. You laugh.

“That’s the exact moment I fell in love with you.”

He laughs with you, then. You could get drunk off the sound.

“I didn’t think love at first sight was a real thing. I thought I was going crazy,” he confesses.

He’s convinced that the two of you have discovered something, invented it even. Because he doesn’t understand. If love feels like this, so all encompassing, so consuming – how does anyone live? Every moment of every day, Bucky thinks of you. How does anyone go to work? How does anyone ever feel sad, or angry, when love like this exists?

You drop the notebook and cross the room to him. He closes the gap, and throws his arms around you, spinning you in circles, laughing with joy. He sets you back on your feet, and tilts your chin up, so you’re looking into his steel blue eyes. You could drown in the ocean of his irises if he let you.

He leans down, and presses his lips to yours. He’s giving you all of the love, the joy, the laughter – everything good that he has ever felt, because of you – through his kiss. Your knees go weak, and he holds you up by your waist, his strong arms encircling your frame. He tastes like coffee, and sugar, and promises. You’ll never want to taste anything else.

Eventually, you break away for air. You gaze up at him, and he sees sunshine in your eyes. He’s not sure what he did to earn a love like this. You seem to sense his doubts creeping in, because you say, in the most assured voice he’s ever heard –

“No one has ever loved anyone as much as I love you.”

I deserve this, he thinks. I deserve something good.