#matt graver

[frankcastiglione]

JOSH BROLIN as Matt Graver ↳ Sicario (2015) dir. Denis Villeneuve

[pedroam-bang]

Sicario: Day Of The Soldado (2018)

[courtana]

Some bitchin' peanuts in the back. But it's kind of a self-serve deal.

JOSH BROLIN as MATT GRAVER in SICARIO (2015)

[reallyunluckyrunaway]

small wave

[mariamariquinha]

glory box (Matt Graver x f!reader)

Again, another unofficial sequel to another story of mine - this time, Rooms on Fire. You don't need to read the first one tho, even if there is a few references to things that happened before.

Summary: At the end of the day, you would always be back to track one.

Word count: 4.749

Warnings: Description of violent acts, bad language, mention of a major death (not of any person from the main group), discussions of manipulation and abuse of authority, alcohol consumption, brief mention of real political events, protected sex, mention of anal sex, and insinuation of subjectively pedophilic behavior. Men being assholes. I don't think Matt is a "good guy" here. +18 work.

Set after Sicario 2. Mention of a major event of the movie.

Author’s Note: The structure of this material is directly related to a 'routine day', that is, 'what would the personal and work relationship with a certain character be like under certain circumstances'. In this sense, I also relied on a very important discussion (which I unfortunately couldn't find anymore, but I give credit to whoever pointed this out) about how the first film also exposes the obvious fact that Kate is a woman in an environment that is purely masculine in essence, and how it affects her.

Julian Barker, the additional character I brought here, can be 'illustrated' as someone halfway between Frank Grillo and Jon Hamm, but you don't necessarily have to stick to that, so leave it open to interpretation.

I also want to emphasize that I do not try to bring any biased content to influence people to make any kind of political decision, mainly because I bring, even if very superficially, a mention of something that really happened. Despite my opinions on the current political system, whether in my country or others, if you consider that my content is not very 'democratic' for diverse opinions, it is because it may not be, so I prefer that you just do not engage.

Oh, yes, and before I forget: thanks @queennymeria for sharing some love and passion for these characters. You've been a nice surprise for me this year, so I hope you like it too!

****

References, inspo and links that might interest you:

Glory Box - Portishead

'Glory Box' is an Australian term for a piece of furniture, where women store clothes and other items ahead of marriage. The song had been misinterpreted as a call for the partner to take charge in the relationship, and reverting to traditional gender roles. Beth Gibbons (a.k.a., the lead singer of Portishead) was annoyed by this, telling the Independent: "Half the reason you write them is that you're feeling misunderstood and frustrated with life in general.”

"Then it's sort of successful and you think you've communicated with people, but then you realize you haven't communicated with them at all – you've turned the whole thing into a product, so then you're even more lonely than when you started."

‘Operation Uphold Democracy’: How the U.S. Military Intervention Still Shapes Life in Haiti

****

“Can I buy you a drink?”

You had already taken off your heels, undone a bit of your more articulate posture, your shoulders finally slumping with the tiredness you were feeling. The voice was familiar and, in a way, expected, but you didn't think he would be so immediate, or at least not so pragmatic in finding you at the bar almost next to the building where that meeting took place.

You could say he knew better than to offer that – that you didn’t drink alcohol, that you two were well aware of that. But, again, you were tired. You would have an early morning the next day, things to attend to, places and stuff to check. 

He sat down before you could answer, raised a hand to get the attention of the waiter. Martini: classic. He always wanted to feel like James Bond. He said that the name already allowed him to make an anagram of the first letters.

James Bond. Julian Barker. Almost there. If anyone tried hard enough, they could potentially confuse MI6 with the CIA, or whatever it was he was doing after all these years.

Julian still had that pair of very dark brown eyes, bordering on black (but they weren't black, you had already seen them up close), and his hair was well cut, his beard always well trimmed – no beard at all, in fact, polished. Always too clean cut to you, but fun. Attractive. Charming. There were a few strands of gray hair starting to adorn his head, but the fucker still managed to age like George Clooney, from the hair dye boxes for middle-aged men.

Put together. Great in bed. 

“Where have you been?” You asked when his drink came, watching him shrug as he adjusted himself on his seat, as if bracing for an answer. 

“All these years or recently?” He asked back. “Because if we’re talking about since we last saw each other, we would have to use the whole night to unpack everything.”

“Wouldn’t you like that.”

“Of course I would. You still look just as great as ever.”

You shook your head in amusement, averting your gaze to the bar window as you lifted that glass of soda to your mouth. An expensive glass, by the way, since they made a Pepsi look like a flaming drink from some Las Vegas casino.

His feet brushed your shin under the table – probably unconsciously, certainly on purpose. 

“Tanzania.”

“Neat,” You raised your eyebrows, glancing at him. “I heard you became a private analyst.”

“Yeah, it fits more with my current lifestyle,” Julian sipped on his drink, eyes darting towards your fingers tapping against the wood. 

“Right. And your Armani shoes wouldn’t be suitable for heavy work anyway.”

“I thought you always liked my shoes.”

“I don't have an opinion about them.”

“And what about me?”

You certainly had some, like the fact that he was in the position he was in at that moment, or you noticing that Dallas' eyes filled with interest as he listened to him give suggestions and ideas for the next job. As probably anyone in that room would open their pockets, their mind and their legs with the confident way he carried himself or spoke, with a fitted body, a guy who took care of himself.

Your phone buzzed beside your hand – a small, single text, one you’d been waiting, or, again, expecting. 

leaving at 5? 

Julian scanned the text, smiled a little, but said nothing. You turned your screen down on the table, because you didn’t want him to know a thing about that, or about anything on the matter of your work so far. It would be impossible, of course: Dallas basically gave you up to him for the sake of that specific work, which meant answering to his orders alone. 

You wanted to keep your cards close to your chest when it came to Julian Barker, but you knew he would push them until it was all splayed out in front of him. 

“Dallas told me what happened.”

The change of the subject came after a long beat of silence, and you almost spitted out a ‘don’t work yourself too hard about it’, but you knew you would find only a stern face, without a single glimpse of condescension. 

You nodded a little, pressing your lips in a thin line. 

“Did you go see her?”

“Mm-hm. This weekend.” 

“Good,” He was the one nodding then, probably thinking of an advice that you just dared him to say out loud. He didn’t, fortunately. “If you need-”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Then don’t. You’re malleable, not nice.”

Julian sent you a tight smile, then lowered his eyes to his drink, fingers brushing the condensation of the glass. “You say that like I was never nice to you.” 

And he made it sound like it was unfair, but you knew that tone and knew exactly what he was doing. God, Julian couldn't care less about whatever shit happened to you, and you could laugh at how predictable he sounded at that moment.

“Do the older ones still look down on you?” 

He tsked. “Or is it just me continuing to look for something they don't have.”

****

You were very young at the time; immature. It was kind of ridiculous, but it was around the time you lost your father, even though you knew it was inevitably going to happen, whether he was dead or not.

Julian taught you how to improve your ability to become more relaxed before taking a good shot.

Julian taught you how to stop wounds more efficiently.

Julian taught you to keep your back straight when a superior spoke to you.

Well, then he taught you how to bend it so he could hit it better. 

It bordered on fetish, you knew, because he had a vast availability of more mature and centered women, but it still hovered near you like a weight on your shoulders, making you bend, shrink, stretch and open, always with that little cloud of manipulation guiding your every step.

Until he got sick of it. Until your skin got too thick, and you stopped being very obedient.

Look, everything was fine for you. It was problematic, it was better that everything ended the way it did, when it did. 

Perhaps, of all people, Julian had been the first and only person you had ever truly, sort of, fallen in love with, and that particular kind of pain left you with a sour face, a bitter taste, and a huge sense of indifference to any similar feelings that might come after.

You were smart, though; you never needed more than one lesson to learn.

****

“Listen, erm… I know you’ll probably be travelling by the time you hear this but… I just… I wanted to say that it was nice to see you again. We could, I don’t know, get a drink one of these days? Whatever you get back to… you know, just call me. Take care.”

You stared at your phone screen after hearing the message. 

Mild weather expected for the next few days.

A confirmation of the landing location from Dallas.

leaving at 5? read, not answered. 

You slid your sunglasses back on your eyes, pressed the side button hard enough, and watched the device turn off. From a distance, you saw Julian arriving at his own car, then the pilot leaving the jet to greet him; with a dry swallow, you stuffed your phone into your backpack, fished your two suitcases off the ground, and walked towards them.

****

Matt wouldn’t ask you about your lack of response to that text, but you knew there were a handful of questions he’d ask about you and Julian. There was a palpable tension; positive or negative, the pace between you seemed reasonable, like old times, and you could tell he hadn’t changed much, just improved his tactics.

You weren't stupid enough to think he hadn't put not just his fingers, but both hands on who exactly would do some of the work; he probably frowned when he heard about Julian, certainly raised curious eyebrows at the mention of military service as your superior. When you two landed, he had that mischievous glint in his face, swiping his eyes between you and him as if he wanted to make you squirm, but was specifically waiting to scratch that itch at the right time. 

Now and then he would side eye you from his spot in the front of the car; with Steve driving and Julian beside you, his seat gave him the perfect view of your silence, then your clenched jaw – you braced yourself as soon as he cleared his throat, as soon as he said Julian’s name. 

“As I said, it’s smooth an’ easy as it goes.”

“As long as it's not like Haiti.”

That got your attention, and you probably should be better at disguising that, because fuck if Julian didn’t love to run his mouth around stuff he would notice someone didn’t know. And, yeah, you would like to be at least aware of the fact that ‘Haiti’, whatever the hell that meant, had something to do with him and Matt. 

“We both worked together once before,” He said, and you watched the way Graver kept his eyes trained on you. “Was it… 96?”

“94.”

“Yeah, 94… Helluva job, I'll give you that much.” 

“The first time he experienced taking orders from a real man,” Matt grinned, which sounded like something really fun between them, like an internal joke you were clearly being put out. 

“You were always a rake, Graver, the worst of us. Learned a thing or two from you, though,” Julian elbowed you lightly, but that didn’t make your frown go away, or put even a small grin on your face. “I definitely missed some of that for her.”

“Maybe that's why it works so well between us, right?” 

You glanced at Matt, then shook your head before turning your gaze back to the window. “I haven't shot your ass yet, you didn’t shoot mine. That’s probably a win.” 

Matt smiled – really smiled. A smile compared to the ones he would give you after a night in, when you would say something petty or throw a small offense at him, as if he knew that your words meant nothing if you were already adjusting yourself to straddle his lap or open your legs to tuck him in. It made you wonder if your words were losing their value, if you were perhaps becoming soft, if they were starting to look down on you like they used to, doubting you all the time.

They were talking about having to break something on you, but it sounded like you would have to break something on them.

Just to, you know, remind them. 

****

Matt was looking at you with a mixed expression of confusion and surprise, his rifle still raised as you pulled the radio from your ear and let out your labored breath as calmly as you could. Your heart was racing; your hands were firmly on your gun, without any tremor or hesitation; your back was straight as you gave him a stern look.

“It has to be cartel style, right?” You arched an eyebrow. “Clear bags on some of them, hang the others who were shot in the chest.” 

“You've done some damage, we'll be lucky to find one that isn't already falling apart,” He lowered his gun then, brows furrowed as you swiped your eyes over the scene below your feet. 

“You can handle it, can't you? I'm sure Julian can hold your balls in his mouth while you do this, master.”

Matt scoffed, a comment you knew was on the tip of his tongue but which he didn’t say out of a level of caution you would later come to admire. You stared at him for a moment longer before walking away, head buzzing, jaw clenching, and you felt like you were going to punch someone to death when you heard Julian halfway through your radio, a distant murmur.

“All teeth and claws, huh? That’s my baby girl.”

****

You purred like a cat, back arching as your naked chest brushed against the mattress. His movements were deliberate, sultry, wavy – where you expected the harsh touches, he came up with a firm grip on your hip, pulling you against him with each stroke, ever so slowly hitting you just right. 

Sex was almost always like this, tired, persuasive, discreet. Over time, you began to realize that Matt wasn't really a show off in that aspect, even if sometimes he worried about acting like an asshole, but never when he was inside you; no, inside you, Matt got into the moment head on, in the murmurs and moans he let out, in the curses that came out of his mouth, depending on how the day had been.

Your body shivered as he brought a palm to one of your buttocks, spreading you open as he placed a thumb on your asshole. 

“Think you should get it here,” He slurred, hips getting more intense strokes that made your toes curl and a long moan left your lips. “Get you outta your head, milk all the way inside you.” 

He just pressed – a little, a touch, just to make you grip the sheets and bite your bottom lip, eyes tightly closed as he played with you. Matt then spit in the area, and whatever reaction he saw in there, he used as an excuse to intensify his movements, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, making your mind do flips since you finally got what you really wanted. 

****

“What is it with the baby girl?” 

You should’ve been asleep, just as Matt should’ve been away, working, doing anything else but lounging on your bed. Still, you didn’t say anything when he wasn’t in a rush to get totally dressed, and given the question, you could see why he did so. 

Well, he was scratching. 

“What do you think it is?” You bit back, your focus on the ammo you were checking, everything splayed out on the desk you could arrange for your room. 

“That you two fucked.”

Yeah, right. For five seconds you forgot you were talking to Matt, after all. You didn’t need to answer, so when he snorted and made a point of getting out of the bed, you knew he was ready to push, so you braced yourself for it. 

“How did your metrics change so much?”

“What do you mean? You two seem to get along so well, I could even say you’re�� bros?” 

“He has nothing to do with me.”

“Because he uses Armani?”

“Look at me.”

Matt was invading your space, shirtless and with his pants unbuttoned, arms crossed. You resisted the urge to look him over, annoyed by the proximity and the tone, so you glared back at him with a sigh, throwing a rifle cartridge on the desk.

“You’re off the track,” He stated as a fact. “Is it interfering with your rhythm?”

“It’s not like you’re gonna do something about it.”

“But I can tell you to get your shit together. We’re always having that conversation and you seem to-”

“My mother died.”

The way you blurted it out came so out of nowhere, as if you would explode if you didn’t just spilled it out, and for a few seconds you really managed to shut him up. It felt like you’d been carrying an elephant on your back ever since you’d boarded that jet, or ever since you’d left that conference room in Washington, and it had to come out somehow. You knew it was irrelevant; you knew that somehow Matt would look away as soon as something more interesting came up, which it would, so you said it with a neutral expression, as if you were just letting him know.

You waited for him to say he didn’t know you had a mother – that he didn’t care. Somehow that was what he seemed to want to do. 

“And I think that's why Dallas spared me the crucial details of that job, like how Julian was involved in it, or how the two of you traded back taps while you were working in Central America.” 

“You could’ve turned it down.”

“Have I done anything that has hurt my performance since I arrived?” 

Which could mean anything to him, because he scoffed in dry amusement before shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re a bitch, do you know that?”

“You’re the one asking personal stuff here,” You raised your eyebrows nonchalantly, body turning back to the desk. “Whether or not I had sex with him, whether or not I was at a funeral when I got the job, that's none of your business.”

“Did you get the job at the funeral?”

“I would have if I had gone on one.”

You were just bothered, really. Bothered that it affected you, bothered that Julian and Dallas knew about it, bothered that you were somehow making it clear that there were things that were making you feel uncomfortable. You never gave in, or at least you never could. In that job, people had to remember that you were a person, and not necessarily a woman, because then you would blend in; then you could just get on with it without any problems. It worked. Especially after Julian, everything had changed.

But then Matt happened. Well, that burrito happened, then you getting shot happened, and then you falling on his bed happened. 

One lesson – you just needed one lesson. 

“That doesn't change anything,” You added. 

“Maybe it does since you are acting so weird.”

“Maybe, maybe… Why use that word, huh? You always say what you fucking mean, and now you’re all with that maybe bullshit!” You snapped, eyes back again on his face. “Fuck, Matt, I don’t need you to check on me just because you feel like I’m off the track. I’m not! I’m very capable of doing whatever the fuck you want me to and you know that!” 

“You’re the one affected by personal stuff!”

“Because I am a human being, goddammit! You have been making stupid decisions for the sake of your personal choices and not once someone held you accountable for that!”

“The fuck are you talking about?!”

“Where's Alejandro?”

You knew it was unfair; fuck, you knew you shouldn’t bring that up. To be honest, you shouldn’t know about the whole thing, but Dallas was around when that shit went South – when Cintia went on a full rant about what happened. And it wasn’t something related to you, something of your business, which you could regret in the future, but that was the whole fucking thing, right? To piss each other off, to hit a nerve, to go personal if you needed to. 

The whole room was filled with a thick, heavy silence. You were sure that if you weren’t you, he would have punched you in the face right at that moment, and you were so ready to punch him back if that was the case. You were fucking ready to a whole fight, fist to fist, to make your knuckles bloody. 

“... You’re right,” He nodded sarcastically. “Been making some really fucked up decisions for the wrong reasons.”

“If you're talking about me, I agree.”

“I’ve been talking about you since day one,” Matt took a single step closer, a finger pointed right in front of your face. “Since day one, butting heads with everyone because of your fucking attitude, making the job way harder, being a pain in the ass, and now seemingly not being able to keep your legs closed for any other man who-”

“You’ll need more than slut shaming me, Matt, don’t be pathetic,” You snarked. “Try to embarrass me by fucking you, for example, because that’s a thing I fucking regret.”

“It's a shame, because that was the best thing you've done since we started working together.” 

“For you.”

You’d never been able to get Matt out of your sight so quickly; you’d never been able to genuinely get him dressed and out the door as quickly as a man should, as if he were in a hurry, as if his wife and kids were on the other side of the door. Maybe they were: when it was Julian, they were.

And despite you needing just one lesson to learn, when you threw that damn cartridge against the closed door, you wished you had more – an act, a force, a perception. Something to not only make you learn, but also exterminate.

****

You were only half listening, but you were still paying attention to the tunnel map, the way Julian and Matt's hands were gesturing, and how everyone in the room seemed to be listening carefully. 

Steve was the first to send you a glance when the question came – arms crossed, face contorted in a certain way, as if he was waiting for something to come. Then, some of the others shared the same look to you, a mix of amusement and curiosity hovering in them, and when you turned back to the front of the room, Julian was absently rummaging through some papers, while Matt was staring back at you. 

“Okay,” You said, and you were almost sure you’d heard a snort coming from somewhere, but all you focused on was on the way Matt’s eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah, okay,” Julian answered absently, almost unimpressed, because you never quite bit back with him as much as you did with the other one. 

And that clearly didn’t sit well on him. “Okay?”

“... Should I say something different?” You were being petty, from your tone to your gaze, which made Julian raise his eyes to watch the scene. 

“You usually don't know when to shut your mouth.” 

“Don't tell me you set up this whole plan expecting me to fix it.”

He smiled. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”

“Okay, let’s hold our horses here,” Julian intervened as you laughed at that, hands raised as he seemed so openly confused by the banter happening right in front of him. “The plan is made and it will be followed as we have decided. Anyone who has any contrary opinion can get the fuck out.”

Everyone stayed quiet – you just shrugged, leaning back on your seat as, again, they all waited for you to say something. 

“Fine. Now let’s roll.”

The audience dispersed and you did the same, unpretentiously sharing a glance with Matt before leaving the room.

Asshole. 

****

It's not that it went wrong: it just wasn't perfect. And, really, it didn't need to be, as long as it was done, and as long as it had the necessary effects.

What seemed to bother Matt, and you found out later, was that Julian had almost last minute put you on the front lines with a recon team, not an extraction team, which would make sense if Steve hadn’t been lined up to do that in the initial agreement. Matt didn’t argue, at least not to your face; you could see him shaking his head as you went over the instructions with your team, though.

A reconnaissance campaign meant tracking enemy movement in a specific area, measuring possibilities, facilitating the process. The main idea was that Matt and Julian would just go in, take out a couple of key cartel members, and then just make sure the message got through.

“They can still be consistent in containment,” You explained, the plan of the complex stretched out on the hood of the car. “It's possible to estimate about 50 or 60 inside, but the east and northeast tunnels are easily accessible for entry and exit areas.”

“We can close these entrances,” Julian considered. 

“But you need to make sure they don't get out. Plus, the structure is not very sturdy, so it would be risky to think about explosives or anything else that could cause damage.” 

“Barricades?”

“Little time,” You dared a small look at Matt, then you turned back to the plan. “We can take a more extensive approach. Teams of three or four, split the action… If we do it right, they won't have much time to retaliate or group up. You and Julian can go in with a small team into the main area, corner whoever needs to be cornered.” 

The two of them looked at each other for a while, as if they were sharing some kind of idea, and there was a small discussion about air reinforcement.

“I'll stay in the tunnels, you go with Matt,” Julian announced after some thought, fingers brushing his chin. “You'll cover him, it'll be easier to guide him through the complex if someone with more advantage over the blind spots does it.”

“... Fine.”

“Easy, fast, agile. Just like the old days, baby girl.” 

****

Just like the old days. You knew it would get back to bite your ass. 

****

“What were you like in the old days?”

The car was still there at that moment. From afar, still at night and still dark, you stared at the end of the road, watching Steve going from one side to the other while waiting for instructions.

Matt was eyeing you in a demanding way, elbows on his knees as he tipped his boot with yours. You lowered your head to the touch, then to him, then back to the road. 

“Obedient.”

“Is that why you left?”

“I left because Julian convinced me that I would do triple the amount and with far fewer rules,” You rolled your head to the side, catching the way he narrowed his eyes. 

“So that's why you accepted the plan so easily? Because his word is a promise?”

“Do you want to talk about it now?”

“I can't think of a better time.”

“Right,” You smiled bitterly, doing as much as nodding in sarcasm. “But no, that wasn't why. It was just a solid plan.” 

“You know that the merit is also mine, don't you?”

“Just because you're an idiot doesn't mean you're a bad professional. Not always, at least.”

“Good.”

“Mm.”

“But I wouldn't call a soldier a baby girl just because she's obedient.”

He would, and you both knew that, but it was weird that Matt seemed so… consistent in pushing that topic back on track. You couldn’t help but giggle at that, touched by his curiosity. 

“Julian calls me that because he's a sick jerk who said he liked me because I still smelled like breast milk,” You arched an eyebrow in defiance. “I was 19, 20 years old, and he was already in his forties.”

Matt’s expression flicked just a touch, just enough for you to notice. 

“Consensual?”

“You know me.”

“I wouldn’t say you’re a baby girl in any kind, but he does, so something must’ve changed.”

You two stared at each other for a moment, a stretched beat of silence where you just analyzed whatever was in the cards for you. 

Fuck, you hated Matt – by instance, you hated Julian too. You tolerated Steve. Could get going with Dallas. You could also be honest in admitting that after you saw your sister (after your mother died), you came to the realization that the only solid thing you ever had in your life was that job, with those people, giving your energy and your life to purposes you were indifferent to, for people you never knew. You would never say these things to him; you wouldn't tell him that when you saw your sister, you felt terrible for not being able to hug her or say anything; that you didn't cry when you both went to the grave because her new family wouldn't let you go to the wake; that you recognized that, in a way, she liked you, and wanted you closer, but that you had lost any moral essence of family closeness with her.

You also wouldn't say that Julian scared you, then gave you attention, which you always reciprocated with subservience, but that suddenly he was back and right at that moment, so you were facing a lot of pasts that you thought you had already overcome or forgotten.

“That was the nicest thing you've ever said to me,” You teased, to which he just smiled while patting your tight. 

“The second nicest thing,” He said. “I'm sure the first one had to do with your tits.”

[lazybakerart]

Lawyers are trouble. Lawyers turned hitman bring a specific type of grief Matt can't shake off. In the basement of a Walmart sandwiched between Teatro Diana and a two-star hotel Matt's calling home, a Colombian doctor tells Matt he's lucky to still have most of his tongue. Alejandro lies on a whipped together bed with his head wrapped up like the doctor was trying for a less handsome papier-mâché version of Alejandro Gillick. Dark eyes attentive despite the hospice-amount of morphine pumping into him along with lactated ringer and a mess of shit Matt thinks can't be enough when you have two holes in your face. Entrance wound. Exit wound. Point blank. Jesus Christ. He'll need surgeries. He'll need a plastic surgeon flown in yesterday. Scans to see where the fractures start and end. A priest wouldn't be turned away.

FOOL on AO3

Alejandro Gillick/Matt Graver | R: T | W: 754 | CH: 1/1 | COMPLETE

[tmwwriting]

Snippets of a fic I’ll never write: (3/x)

Matt Graver x small town reader

The diner is small, nondescript: the standard four walls and a dingy vinyl floor, every surface peppered with dings and scrapes and carelessness. There's a sign for it just before the freeway off-ramp, generic and unpromising: a deep blue stamped with cartoon cutlery and a fuel pump for the gas station across the street. An H for hotel is on there, too. That one's a lie, but there is lodging, in the dingy strip mall motel further up or the RV parks stashed around the valley. The types that want cash, the paper per diem. All of it—lies included—make up the tiny little holler for passengers who can't wait for the bigger city just up the interstate. Families, mostly, on road trips with children who overestimate how long they can hold it. Some tourists—usually hippies with too much sense of adventure. Van life, whatever that is. Shirking the ocean for the mountain, waves for land. They all move on quickly, though.

No one ends up here on purpose.

The people that do are the people who get stuck. They stay and pretend it's a choice, like pitching a tent by the side of a car-wreck. There’re houses splattering the dirt roads that branch off from Main Street, fences made of wire, posts stuck haphazardly every so often. Bent and wrecked, a hit and run of neglect that means nothing ever looks new around here. It may have been a sparkling little town at one point, a postcard-cute sampling of good ol' country living. Now it's been painted over with a filter called Abandoned.

No police department, nor fire. The county handles all that. "Better for the budget", as though bureaucrats have ever concerned themselves with line items like Affordable Housing or Cost of Living. None of you are worth the investment, is what they mean. Even the YIMBYs and the NIMBYs don’t bother playing tug-of-war with this scrap heap.

But it's enough. It's a life, anyway. Small and boring, a persistent trickle from dilapidated water faucets, tinted brown with oxidized metal. Boil it, and you're good. You've always been an accomplished pretender, anyway. Daydreamer. You have to be, before the day-in, day-out monotony makes you forget what real music is supposed to sound like. But the chime of the diner door brings you back to reality with a thud each and every time, marks the end of whatever symphony was filling your head, like a conductors last grand flourish. By now you have a shorter distance to fall—you know not to stray too far away. Hurts less, this way, as you leave the towel at the half wiped-down table, and head out to the front.

He saunters into this life with the noon day sun, shoulders set like he owns the place. Modestly dressed, an untucked shirt that might have looked nice when he first bought it five years ago. It all fits well, though—certainly not new, but taken care of. No accessories other than utilitarian ones. Watch. Sunglasses.

He's handsome, is your first thought, even though the glasses’ frames cut harshly into the outline of his face. Strong features though, the ones that are visible. Proud forehead, arrogant chin. It juts out when he notices you staring, cheekbones widening in a little grin as he moves the glasses to his collar.

He doesn't wait for you either, just settles himself into a seat at the counter with a view of the parking lot. You wipe your hands on your jeans, hoping there's no damp imprints now, cheeks hot as you approach him like he's the sun. He slides over, eyeing you, and doesn't look away even as you set the plastic menu in front of him. 

He opens with, "Always this hot around here?" Not the worst line you've ever heard, and dropped so confidently you know that's just the way he talks; there’s no stakes in this for him.

"Not even real summer yet,” you counter. “Schools are barely out. You just wait another month, month and a half. Place’ll turn into a sauna. Now, can I start you off with something to drink?"

He doesn't hesitate. "Coffee, but—that thing it? Might need something stronger."

He tilts his head to get a look over the counter. The little drip machine looks as depressing as everything else in the place, but the bitter liquid it spews out can make a horseshoe stand upright. You don’t have time to defend the thing’s honor—just perk upright, hands on your hips. 

"The closest bar is ten miles down the road. Only thing stronger I've got is the bleach under the sink." 

"Stick with the coffee, then." He smiles. "No tiny little cups, ma'am. You bring that thing out in a punch bowl." 

Out of spite you search for the daintiest little teacup you can find in the place. It's certainly not a punch bowl, but he toasts you with it when you set it in front of him, like you've brought him the grail. 

You're bringing another table a refill of ketchup when you see him down the thing like a shot. Doesn’t even make a face, though you’ve seen grown men sputter and cough and choke on the bitterness. You quirk an eyebrow and go back to your cleaning.

He doesn’t want anything else—checking in a few times afterwards only gets you dismissed with grins and a wave of a hand. Finally, he asks for another cup, about thirty minutes after he finished the first. And then he stays, eyes now stuck to the TV up on the wall, wires duct taped strategically out of sight behind it.

Wiping down the counter a few spots next to him is a tad obvious, perhaps, but it lets you watch the news with him: big thick chyron about missing hikers; stone faced reporters with grim tones; a cut away to the grieving families issuing statements, huddled outside what looks like the county sheriff’s office. 

"Awful, all that,” you pretend you’re saying to no one in particular. “Didn't use to be so bad a few years ago. Now people going missing, just on trips to the Park. Even on private land, like a couple months ago. They find ‘em sometimes…after.” 

"Yeah, I imagine AKs shoved in their face didn't make it into the home movie."

He says it so flatly you almost wonder if you misheard. It’s the tone you’d have taken with a cashier who insists on chatting to you about your day, not grisly murders up in the hills. 

But then he grins and stands up, slaps down what you can tell is already a disproportionately high tip, and nods to you as the sunglasses come back on. 

“Excellent coffee here, though. Gonna remember that.” 

The door chimes again—it can’t tell an exit from an entrance—but this time there is no thud of disappointment, no bitter fading of your daydreams as reality bleeds through. Just a thin sheen of dampness in your palms, and a jolt stronger than any caffeine patch as you pocket the tip and the note he left, the news story still playing in the background. 

[meduzza13]

- Good luck! -Luck doesn't live on this side of the border (c)

[migrationsradio]

"If you guys would start wars someplace cloudy, I wouldn't have to."

Sicario (2018)

[rogue--nation]

Don't put these two in one room

[pedroam-bang]

Sicario (2015)

[charcoalgrayswriting]

The Meeting

Read on AO3 HERE!

Words: 3623

Summary: Alejandro finds Matt after the events of Day of the Soldado and they fuck about it.

Warning: Smut

Matt transferred from sleep to wakefulness in a split second, just as he had been trained. But it was not clear why he had woken up, no obvious trigger for his wakefulness, eyes blurry with sleep as he scanned his sparse room.

His bed was centered along the back wall, on his right was a nice small balcony and on his left was the blank wall that his dresser stood against. There was no place in his apartment for an attacker to hide, and he had long trained himself to notice anyone trying to sneak up on him.

Dismissing the balcony as an entry-point, as he was three floors in the air, Matt didn’t notice the figure slip in from the open balcony, crouching low in the moonlight. Slowly sitting up he shoved his hand under his pillow and grabbed his gun.

As Matt turned his head to the left, the figure pounced. His was gun dislodged from his hand quickly and efficiently flung to the floor with a clatter. Both of his hands were pinned above his hand in a very familiar grip as he laid stunned on his bare back.

The man straddling his legs leaned down low, a large hand came to rest against Matt’s neck, right on top of his rushing pulse, squeezing just enough to be a warning, but not enough to hurt him.

“Why are you in Argentina?” the low accented voice ghosted next to his ear, the hand pinning both of his flexing.

“Alejandro?” Matt whispered, “I thought you were dead!” he looked into the face above him, the large scar from where he had been shot in the head took up a majority of his face.

“Why are you here?” Alejandro growled low into his ear, and Matt swallowed as he tried in vain to pretend that it didn’t do something to him. God it had been so long, and he had thought Alejandro was dead. Though he couldn’t blame the former asset for his hostility.

“Got saddled with a desk job here, if you must know,” he muttered, petulant, shifting his legs under the sheet, trying to see what he could get away with. But the hand around his neck squeezed in warning, and reluctantly, he laid still.

Alejandro simply gave a small disbelieving hum in response. Seemingly without conscious thought, Alejandro’s thumb stroked over the pulse-point of one of the hands he held in his grasp as he contemplated Matt’s words. His pulse jumped in response to the sensual touch.

“Why did you get sidelined?”

“No, it’s your turn to answer some questions,” Matt shifted his arms in Alejandro’s grip. Bucking, he attempted to throw Alejandro off and roll away, but even though he was the one who trained the sicario, Matt was out of practice from the last nine months he spent sitting at a desk.

Alejandro laughed, low and dark, as Matt struggled to break iron hold, flexing his strong hand against Matt’s vulnerable neck as he did so, cutting off air and blood flow for a few seconds.

His vision blurred and his head became light before Alejandro released the pressure. Just long enough to make him panic, not long enough to actually hurt him.

Alejandro’s lips brushed Matt’s ear, breath warm, “You are not the one asking the questions now, Matt, I am.”

With how much of their bodies were touching, Matt was sure that Alejandro could feel the shudder that ran through him, could feel the way his pulse stuttered beneath his nimble fingers.

Matt let out a shuddering breath as Alejandro shifted, letting his hips rest flush against Matt’s body. “Let me ask you again, what got you sidelined?”

Maybe it was Alejandro’s low accented voice, maybe it was the way he held Matt down, or maybe it was just a Pavlovian response, but he tilted his head to the side, eyes fogged over. “Mmh, it was the last op we did. I didn’t follow orders.”

“Oh?” Alejandro nosed at Matt’s ear, laying his full weight down on Matt, further pinning him, “What were you supposed to do?”

“Fuck, I was supposed to kill Isabel. Kill you. The higher-ups needed someone to blame because things didn’t go their way, and since you were supposedly dead, it fell to me.” he subtly tried to arch into the killer, and distantly reflecting that pain and pleasure had always been tied in his mind.

“You thought I was dead?” Matt couldn’t understand the tone of Alejandro’s voice, already too far gone. God he had already broken and it couldn’t have been more than five minutes. He was truly pathetic.

That didn’t stop Matt from leaning into Alejandro’s touch though.

“Had I known you were alive, I still wouldn’t have contacted you. You got burned bad working for me in that last op. For what it’s worth, if I knew they would have wanted me to kill you, I’d have pulled you out. I wouldn’t have even recommended you for the op.”

“I know. That’s why you’re laying here alive and not dead.” The thumb on his neck, which laid over his pulse, stroked slowly. This time, it seemed intentional.

“Well, I appreciate it.” Matt laughed weakly, leaning into the touch. Not many people touched him nowadays. Not even casually.

“You gonna turn me in if I let you live?” Alejandro asked in that low gravely voice that made his brain fog, and damnit if Matt couldn’t say no to him.

Matt scoffed. “You’re already marked dead. If they didn’t confirm the kill, then that’s not my problem.”

“You’ve changed.” Alejandro’s hand was now massaging Matt’s shoulder with the tips of his fingers, feeling the accumulated stress there. The palm of his hand still laid across his throat, the threat of suffocation still very much there.

“I was ‘promoted’ to a cushy desk job teaching newbies the ropes. Of fucking course I changed.” he thought about his younger coworkers, who he affectionally referred to as his kids.

Alejandro didn’t respond, simply hummed and moved his hand away from Matt’s neck, but still kept him restrained. Slowly, he removed his other hand from Matt’s wrists, almost as if Alejandro were telling Matt to remain still.

For once in his life, Matt complied.

Alejandro looked down at Matt, at the scars that covered his exposed chest, still toned and tan. Bracing one arm beside Matt’s side, he ran a calloused hand over the scars, watching the skin ripple as Matt shuddered with a soft sigh. Alejandro had been there for many of those scars.

Unnoticed by Matt, Alejandro smiled. It felt so fucking good to still have this affect on his partner. He slowly stroked the skin, reveling in the goosebumps he left in his wake.

Matt didn’t want to move. He was fine with just laying like this until Alejandro decided on what he wanted to do. Maybe he could have escaped if he wanted, but if Matt was going to die, he wanted to die by Alejandro’s hand. It seemed like a decent way to go. Poetic, in a twisted roundabout way.

Braced on opposite sides of Matt’s head, Alejandro leaned on to his arms, ducking his head to ravish his partner.

Arms still above his head, Matt made no attempt to move or escape, and Alejandro felt confident enough to lay a light kiss just under his handlers ear. At Matt’s long, relieved groan he smirked against the soft skin, and considered that approval.

He continued to lavish that spot, kissing and sucking and biting it until it was an angry red color. Red had always looked good on Matt. Especially when Alejandro was the cause of it.

His ministrations caused Matt to let out another moan, this one longer and slightly louder. With one las long lick that he continued up to the shell of Matt’s ear, he whispered. “May I continue?”

“Yes, please.” And Alejandro wished he could bottle the feeling he got when Matt submitted to him. This loyal, fucked up man, was his. All his, and he was never letting go.

“Good.” Now he was ripping the cheap white sheet that separated them down, revealing Matt’s sleep clothes, a simple pair of old navy boxers. Perfect. Nibbling the shell of his ear, he continued downwards licking and sucking down Matt’s perfect chest.

Alejandro placed an open mouthed kiss on Matt’s nipple, swirling his tongue around the sensitive nub before continuing to lick down his sensitive body. As he did this, he ground his hardening cock into Matt, wanting him to feel what he was doing by just laying there.

Alejandro slid his hands down to rest beside Matt’s hips as he teased the hem of his handlers boxers. He paused, fingers trailing over Matt’s navel, watching how he shuddered at the touch.

“Once I start, I’m not stopping,” Alejandro warned, playing with the small trail of hair above Matt’s boxers.

Letting out a small whine, Matt twitched, “Get on with it. Please.”

“Oh?” Alejandro pulled down Matt’s boxers, and laid a kiss on Matt’s cock which was already half hard.

Arching his back, Matt let out a moan as Alejandro took his cock into his mouth, applying a light suction to the tip of the head, tonguing Matt’s slit, holding the rest of his cock in his hand. One of his hands fondled Matt’s balls, rolling them around and playing with them.

“Please, please.” Matt begged, trying his best to keep his arms still above his head, no matter how much he wanted to touch.

With a low hum, Alejandro swirled his tongue around the tip of Matt’s cock. A thin sheen of sweat now covered Matt as his back arched off the bed and he let out another long moan. His hands flew from their place above his head to touch Alejandro. He buried them in the assassin’s hair, tugging lightly as he ran his fingers through the soft fluff.

He wasn’t reprimanded, in fact, he was rewarded when Alejandro took Matt to the root, his nose in the trimmed thatch of hair at the base of Matt’s cock. Hollowing out his cheeks, he slowly bobbed his head up and down the shaft of the thick cock in his mouth. The other hand stroked up and down a long sensitive scar on the inside of his left leg.

Matt threw his head back and came down Alejandro’s throat with a loud shout. Swallowing, Alejandro lifted off his cock with a smirk, watching as Matt went boneless beneath him.

“Enjoyed that did you?” he gloated, taking Matt’s limp hands from his hair and simply holding them, grounding his partner as he rode out his post-orgasm haze.

“Mm, that was very good.” Matt agreed, feeling loose and floaty, all of the stress he hadn’t realized he was carrying melted away.

“Good, because I’m just getting started.” before Matt could inquire as to what Alejandro meant, he was already stripping off his dress shirt and flinging it somewhere in Matt’s bedroom.

Lifting heavy arms, Matt began to shakily trace Alejandro’s scars, new and old. For a second, Alejandro leaned into the soft touch, before he refocused, gently taking Matt’s hands and placing them at his sides.

“I don’t want you to move until I say so.”

Matt gave him an annoyed noise but, tellingly, didn’t move.

“I need you to give a verbal response, Matt.” Alejandro was teasing him, looking at Matt slyly from under his lashes as he unbuckled his belt.

Cheeks slightly darker than before, Matt muttered a slightly petulant, “Yes sir.”

Drawing his belt slowly through the loops of his belt, he smirked down at Matt, watching as his eyes followed his hands before they landed on his cock. It was still hard, making a rather sizable tent in his jeans.

Tossing the belt in the same general direction as his shirt, Alejandro then made quick work of his pants, allowing Matt the pleasure of seeing all of him.

Leaning down, Alejandro situated himself before cupping the back of Matt’s thighs and lifting them over his shoulders. Then he bent down and gave a long slow lick over Matt’s asshole.

“Fuck,” groaned Matt, his hands twitching as he felt Alejandro’s tongue on him. It massaged his anus, slowly loosening him up before it pressed inside. Slowly, Matt’s cock began to harden again.

The intrusion in his ass burned slightly, but in a good way. He hadn’t had sex in so long, just Alejandro’s tongue felt like he was being split open. Once the tip of his sinfully skilled tongue was inside, Alejandro began to twist and thrust the muscle expertly.

Rocking back against the muscle involuntarily, Matt let out a low groan at Alejandro’s skillful ministrations as his body slowly opened up. His hands twitched as he fought to keep them still, and he fisted his hands into the fabric of his sheets below to stop himself from moving them against Alejandro’s wishes.

Once Alejandro could fit his whole tongue inside of Matt, Alejandro removed one of his hands from where he was clutching Matt’s thighs, and lifted his head from his prize only long enough to give Matt an order.

“Suck.” he commanded, and Matt followed through, taking Alejandro’s fingers into his mouth and wetting them with his saliva as best he could. Alejandro wasted no time in continuing to eat Matt’s ass as his ex-handler wet his fingers.

Matt lapped at the fingers, trying his best to follow the order, nearly gagging on them as he took them deep into his mouth.

Retracting his hand, Alejandro slowly pushed one, now wet, finger into Matt’s ass alongside his tongue.

Matt’s moans rose in volume, feeling the first finger joining the tongue. He gasped for breath as Alejandro slowly and steadily pumped his finger and tongue in tandem with each other, loosening his ass.

Grinding into the fingers, Matt began to loose himself in the pleasure, so much so that he almost didn’t notice when Alejandro removed his tongue and added another finger.

What Matt did notice, however, was Alejandro finding his prostate. His vision whited out as Alejandro stroked the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of him, his poor neglected cock leaking precum all over his stomach.

“Please,” he begged up at Alejandro, who loomed over him, fingers deep in his ass as he massaged Matt’s prostate with brutal efficiency.

“I think you could cum, just like this, don’t you Matt?”

Matt’s next response was cut off, as a third finger joined the other two, in favor of a long loud moan. His eyes squeezed shut, before a smack on his thigh had them flying open again.

“Eyes on me, Matt. You look away again, and I’ll be hitting you somewhere a whole lot more sensitive.” The hand that hit him slowly trailed down his thigh to play with his cock teasingly but not giving Matt enough to get off.

“Fuck, please, please!” Begged Matt, thrusting into the hand Alejandro was using to tease him. But as quickly as it was placed there, it was removed, tracing up Matt’s chest to rest against his bared throat.

“You are going to cum like this one more time, then you will cum on my cock.” Alejandro informed him, leaning forward so that Matt’s thighs were almost pressed against his arms.

Alejandro’s dark eyes board into Matt’s as another well timed thrust of his fingers had Matt closing his eyes against the pleasure, before snapping them back open before Alejandro could hit him.

Smiling cruelly, Alejandro continued to abuse his prostate, massaging Matt’s scrotum with his thumb while his fingers inside of him worked their magic.

Matt’s cock was so hard it was painful, he wanted to cum so bad, he just needed one final push.

“Please Alejandro, please,” he begged again, clenching around the fingers inside of him, trying to get to his orgasm.

“Poor little thing,” Alejandro taunted with a particularly cruel twist to his smirk, “Can’t do it by yourself?” and Matt was embarrassed to say he was getting closer to his orgasm the more Alejandro degraded him.

“Oh look at how pathetic you are. Begging for my help.” His fingers were no longer leaving his prostate just making tight circles on it, keeping it stimulated.

Matt’s back arched and he threw his head back as he came, completely unexpectedly, shaking and loud. Alejandro’s hand on his neck was the only thing grounding him as he slowly came down from the high, the hand in his ass working him through one of the best orgasms of his life.

“What a good job you did for me Matt.” Alejandro praised, pulling his hand out and slicking his cock up with it. “I’m sure you can do it for me one last time.”

When Matt tried to shake his head no, Alejandro pushed inside, quickly bottoming out with a moan. He dropped his head against Matt’s thigh, giving the gruesome scar there a quick lick and a kiss before he began thrusting.

It was not the slow buildup of before. This was just Alejandro seeking his pleasure, and Matt was just along for the ride. Not that he minded, of course. There was a specific word he could use if he wanted to stop.

The slick hand that had been inside Matt’s body trailed up and down the outside of his thigh, grounding him.

“Please, let me touch you.” Matt begged, his hands dangerously close to tearing through his cheap fitted sheet from how tight he had them clenched.

“Well,” Alejandro’s breathless voice replied, “Since you’ve been such a good boy, I don’t see why not.”

Not wasting a second, Matt’s hands were bracing on Alejandro’s broad muscled shoulders, running up and down them, feeling the scars there. His nails dug into the supple skin and Alejandro hissed, his mouth curling into a cruel sneer.

The hand on his neck trailed down to one of Matt’s nipples and began teasing it. Matt just continued moaning and thrusting unsteadily against Alejandro’s large cock.

As Alejandro chased his pleasure, Matt felt his cock, again, becoming hard. The overstimulation of Alejandro hitting his prostate head on was bordering on too much. The clever fingers teasing his nipple trailed down his chest, giving his breast a generous squeeze before it traveled down his stomach to his cock.

Loosely cupping the base of Matt’s cock, the hand offered a minimal stimulation as Matt thrust back onto Alejandro’s cock, jostling the hand holding him.

This time, his orgasm gave him a warning, and he tapped Alejandro’s shoulder just before he came again, arching forward to catch Alejandro’s mouth in a searing kiss.

They continued to kiss as Alejandro came, fucking Matt through both of their orgasms, gnashing their teeth together in the rough kiss, following Matt back down to the mattress, his legs pressed to his chest.

Alejandro slowly moved Matt’s legs down around his waist so as to not strain the other mans muscles while he came down from his third orgasm.

Both men were still panting when Alejandro pulled out of Matt, who made a low whine in the back of his throat at the action. Alejandro knelt on the bed, running his hands up and down Matt’s shaking sides.

“You still good?” he inquired, low and concerned.

“Yeah, just been a while,” Matt confirmed, eyes closed and face serene.

Alejandro just hummed, sliding out from between his partners legs and started towards the bathroom to find a cloth to clean them up.

Once Alejandro had settled down next to Matt and had cleaned him up, Matt began to talk.

“Thought you were gonna kill me there for a sec.” he muttered, melting into Alejandro’s strong hold, resting his face in the crook of his neck, laying half on top of him. Alejandro startled, wrapping one arm around Matt’s back, the other around his waist, pulling him in even closer.

“Why?” callused fingers began to card their way through Matt’s sweat damp hair.

“I almost got you killed, didn’t know you were keeping me alive until halfway to my second orgasm. I wouldn’t blame you if you did decide to kill me.”

“I could never kill you.” Alejandro almost sounded offended at the thought, and Matt smiled into his shoulder, attempting to snuggle even closer to the sicario.

“I’m very grateful,” Matt assured him, clumsily patting Alejandro’s arm with a kiss.

“We still need to talk you know.” After a few minutes of silence, Matt prompted.

“Mm, we’ll sleep for now. We can talk tomorrow.” Alejandro continued to run his fingers through Matt’s hair, slowly lulling him into a restful sleep.

For a while Alejandro laid awake, staring at Matt, who had fallen asleep so quickly in his arms. It was gratifying, that even after everything, Matt still gave him this level of trust.

When he had sought Matt out, he had intended to kill him, blinded with rage. But, in the week he had spied on his ex-handler to learn the best time to strike, Alejandro found himself loosing the urge. He watched Matt help with the subtle training of the others who worked in the office with him, nudging them closer towards the realities of their work.

He remembered Matt doing it for him, how he had never pressured Alejandro for anything more than he would give. Looking down at the ex-spook in his arms, Alejandro smiled.

“I can feel you thinking, stop it and go to sleep.” Matt groaned, batting at Alejandro’s face, forcing him to shut his eyes.

“Sí, sí,” he muttered petulantly, pulling up the cheap bedsheet to cover them, before snuggling into Matt’s pliant body and closing his eyes, falling into a peaceful sleep.

Banner from @cafekitsune

[doughmonkey]

"'What the fuck have you done?'

The voice at the other end of the line was not annoyed, it was more ... resigned than angry.

Alejandro turned his tumbler of whisky around, and watched the liquid gently moving, and leaving a faint oily layer inside the tumbler's wall.

'What did I do?' - he asked in a low voice. The bar was practically empty, no-one came in so early (it was barely open up for the evening), but the bartender was nearby, watching the door, trying to manifest more customer to ease his boredom.

'Like you don't know...' - A whoosing sound told Alejandro that Graver changed position, wherever he was sitting or standing. He kept watching the tumbler, mentally preparing himself for the taste and for the warming, loosening feeling it promised. God, he needed it. He needed to supress this feeling, this longing, this heaviness in his chest.

'Do you know who did you beat to pulp?'

Alejandro lifted the tumbler. Of course, he knew. Learnt it, after. But he was surprised that the news reached Graver. Why does he care?"

[mariamariquinha]

Rooms on Fire (Matt Graver x f!reader)

Summary: He was irritated by the idea that no one would go anywhere because you were good at what you did, and one of the things you did was to get on his nerves.

Word count: 9.4k (and to think that there was a time when 5k was my maximum)

Warnings: Violence, guns, blood, talks about narco trafficking, stabs, wounds, death, bad words, alcohol coconsumption, slight mention of alcoholism, enemies-to-lovers and protected p in v sex.

Author’s Note: What can I say? I knew the moment I watched the film this would happen.

I didn't put it as 'one-shot' because when I do that, I almost always write more than one part, so leave it as is. I also didn't find a very solid fandom for this character, which is already common in my criteria; if you like Josh Brolin's characters, there you go.

I don't know how I feel about the action scenes I wrote here, but I tried!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

******

The question wasn't whether you liked Graver, no; it was very easy to not like him, enough so that it wasn't even a question. Maybe the right question was who liked the guy, which was already more ambiguous: they liked him to do the job, but they wouldn't necessarily invite him to their children's birthdays. 

They also liked what you did, and although you were a little more malleable, this similarity to Graver made every encounter a joke. Yes, you could be easy going, and yes, you were more likely to become a 'peer' in the middle of it all, but maybe that was why Matt Graver was good at what he did: he brought out the worst in anyone.

“If you don't like it here, you can leave. Your lazy ass is better suited behind a desk.”

And you knew that you weren't lazy, just as you knew that you could even change careers to get as far away from him as possible, but you were also aware that what he called laziness, you understood as a challenge. Your little smile every time the team agreed with an idea of yours (which he almost always either disagreed with or pointed out some flaw), the verbal retaliation full of venom that came soon after, your little nicknames…

He was irritated by the idea that no one would go anywhere because you were good at what you did, and one of the things you did was to get on his nerves. 

******

“I was fucking your mother.”

Everyone in the room was quiet, a little lost between laughing or waiting for Matt to react to decide how to proceed. He looked at you for a while with narrowed eyes as you sat down, seeing how indifferent you were to the immodest and even immature way in which you responded to him. After a while, when you noticed that no one said anything at all, you pretended to be confused.

“What? She liked it, don't worry.”

“I hope you did the job right, since you’re late,” He said, which made no one laugh because it wasn't funny at all. Bad day, you thought, smirking at the prospect of being able to attack him more easily. “As I was saying…”

You didn't like him, that was a fact, but you weren't stupid in assuming that he wasn't competent at what he did either. During all the planning and strategy meetings, Matt was a methodical guy, sure of what he said, aware of any consequences that the missions could bring. If he wasn't such an asshole, you might even find him attractive (which, curiously enough, he seemed to recognize), and you would spend some idle time lost between paying attention to what was being said and noticing the way his mouth could say things that weren't pure atrocities.

It was a shame, indeed, but you didn't mourn because of it.

*******

You had a ritual when you were in the South: there was a taco place near where you stayed, so at least one night you would go there for dinner. It wasn't very responsible considering what you did, but it wasn't like you had a particular concern for your privacy working for those you worked for.

The other guys went to a bar, so you took advantage of the ride and stayed there, sitting at a table near the exit while you waited for your food to arrive. Despite the banality, you took the opportunity to watch the evening news on the restaurant's TV and, sometimes, watched the city's activity through the window while going over the plan in your head.

Matt walked in casually with calm steps, not hesitating for a second to go straight towards you and sit down. You knew it was him even if you were paying attention to the TV on the other side of the room, but you wouldn't feel like talking about it just to ignore him.

“Mexican?” He asked after a while.  

“It wouldn't be French, right?” Your chill tone made him grin falsely on your peripheral. 

“I thought you would be with everyone else.”

“Is that why you're here?”

He really had that stupid look on his face when you lowered your eyes to look at him, pretending to be unaware when he knew exactly why you were being incisive with the question. Matt, however, didn't say anything for a while, just shrugged and  crossed his arms over the table.

“Own, don’t tell me you felt lonely,” You teased him with a forcedly cute voice, pouting your lips and tilting your head to the side. “Poor thing.”

Your tacos arrived before he could respond: three, completely well filled and with that smell of homemade sauce that you loved. You thanked the waitress and ordered another soda, but hearing Graver order something for himself also made you lose your polite smile for half a second.

“I don't want people here to think you're my friend.”

“And I’m not?”

It wasn't always, but sometimes that happened: you'd share some words, then you'd sit quietly and stare at each other, waiting for the other person to do something about it. He stuck to it, you noticed, to the small moments in which you gave him some kind of attention, even if just to avoid giving him a hard time. You were sure he was one of those annoying preschool boys who thought girls were disgusting until he reached puberty and had sex in the backseat with the silliest ones.

But sometimes, again, you went into that spiral of thinking he was a man you would give a chance to if you didn't know his ideas and his personality. Given time and an excuse, you actually noticed him, and it was sad to think that incompatibility was hindering any chance of him being a potential bed partner.

It was a difficult and lonely life, you justified it. If you really wanted the context to be so different, you wouldn't even look at a guy like Matt Graver twice.

“It’ll rain tomorrow,” You were the first one to break, nodding to the TV before grabbing one of your tacos. 

“Yeah,” He answered while eyeing the device from over his shoulder. “Lots of mud.” 

“Mm.”

A silence followed, with only the sound of your chewing while eating the tacos, the other customers' conversations and the TV filling the space between you. When you weren't looking at your tacos, you were staring at something in the news, then sipping your soda while going back to watching the street. Every now and then you felt his legs invading your space under the table, which made you shift uncomfortably on the bench.

“I've been talking with Forsing,” Matt was right after a mouthful when he mentioned Steve, cleaning the sides of his mouth with a napkin. 

“Do I really want to know what you talk about with Steve?”

“You would be surprised.”

“Ugh, please,” Your scoff made him raise his eyebrows. “Considering you're here, I'm sure it's important. Spit it out, maybe you'll impress me.”

He left the napkin next to his own plate and leaned over the table, just to make himself heard in a reasonable tone of voice.

“Lead the extraction team tomorrow.”

You looked at him stupidly, your glass halfway to your mouth as you waited for him to say it was a joke. Well, it didn't seem like it. Matt was neutral, staring back at you as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if the idea didn't eat at him inside.

“Did he agree to this?”

“Yes.”

“Did you agree to this?”

“This matters?”

“Well, yeah,” You placed the cup on the table again, not suppressing a smile from appearing. “He must’ve given you a blowjob to convince you of that.”

“I sell myself for more than that.”

“Oh?”

“Competence, for example. It wouldn't be the first time you'd led an extraction team.” 

“Careful, Graver, that almost sounds like a compliment. I don’t like this. Are you suffering from terminal cancer or paying some kind of bet?”

He laughed without humor, but didn't say anything again, just fished out some chips that were on his plate and calmly chewed them. It was enough time for you to absorb what he had said, for you to lose the shine of the joke and reality to sink in.

“... Fuck, you’re serious.”

“I am.”

“Okay, erm…” You cleared your throat, as if that would help you collect your thoughts more efficiently. “It won't be a problem.”

“I didn't imagine it would be.”

“No?”

“Not at all,” And he took another bite of his sandwich, his chewing so loud that it sounded aggressive. “When you bring the guy back without a scratch, I'll believe it can stay like this.” 

“So now it's a bet.”

“I just don't understand the appeal people seem to have for you. Your boss always recommends you, your colleagues praise you, even fucking Steve likes you,” That got you to raise your eyebrows in good humor, then a smile as you went back to biting your taco. “Let's face it, you're not that special. And having to entrust this mission to you is stupid.”

“Do you want me to deny it?” 

“I don't want you to do anything other than your job.”

“That doesn't justify why you're here.”

“I wanted to test whether the appeal really exists.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Don't worry about it.”

If you said it didn't hurt, it would be true, because really, you wouldn't even bat your eyelashes at any shit Graver said. Yes, you had to work harder than everyone else to get where you are and yes, being a woman didn't make it easier, but he just seemed to not like you regardless of your gender. Maybe the fact that you were a woman only intensified the fact that he should treat you differently and just couldn't because you wouldn't let him. 

You looked back at the TV and pretended not to see him getting up to leave without paying the bill, saying goodbye or finishing his own dinner.

*******

The car was absolutely silent. Your left leg was soaking the backseat in blood, and even though you were in pain, you tried not to make any noise during the ride. You were rambling, sometimes you almost blacked out and other times you closed your eyelids just for a few moments before opening them again in fright; when that happened, it was Graver slamming the car to the brakes to keep you awake.

All in all, the mission was a success, but that was the secret of things done in secret: they should stay that way. It was only in a moment, after the target was in the car on his way to the AIC, that one of the almost dead guys still managed to stab you in the leg before you could scatter his brains on the floor.

“I’ve already been vaccinated for tetanus,” That's what you said when you returned limping and in pain to the meeting point, but no one thought that was funny either.

Whoever had to get into the car got in, and Matt did so indifferently until he saw you in the rearview mirror and, when he turned around, he accessed the wound on your leg with his eyes.

“He was the one who had to come back in one piece, right? You didn't say anything about me.”

The cut was deep and you really didn't want to bleed to death in the middle of the El Paso desert, but before you could demand Matt drive a little faster, you caught his eyes in the rearview mirror and stopped yourself with a grunt of pain just to not give him that satisfaction. Furthermore, he could be going slow on purpose just to punish you for your recklessness.

He also didn't say anything when he stopped in front of the base, nor when the others suggested taking you to the infirmary immediately and you said you could handle it on your own. Usually no one questioned it, except Matt, and him giving up the advantage of making fun of you made you uncomfortable.

“Is your plan to let me dwindle right here?” You asked sharply as soon as you got out of the car and saw him stop right in front of you.

“I would have much less work if you had just died back there,” And before you could respond, he put his arm around your back, then behind your knees, and picked you up to enter the building.

“The fuck are you doing?!” 

“I'd dig a shallow grave, put you in there, and take all your identification, right? I wouldn't send you back to your family in a black bag because I know nobody cares about you there,” He continued mumbling to himself as he walked down the hallway and you tried, unsuccessfully, to free yourself from his grip. 

At that point, if you succeeded, you would probably stay there on the ground anyway because he a) would throw you like a potato sack and b) would prohibit anyone from getting close to you, so you just forced your weight against him as much as you could just to make things difficult. 

“I didn't ask for your fucking help.”

This silenced him at the same time it quickened his steps. As soon as the two of you reached the infirmary, he threw you onto one of the gurneys without batting an eye for your injured leg. And then, before you could really feel the pain, Matt leaned over to be face to face with you.

“Shut the fuck up. Just shut the fuck up, got it?” 

The agitation left his eyes dark, almost filled with unjustifiable anger. He looked at you with heavy breathing, the smell of the mission still permeating his clothes while the sweat remained intact on his sun-tanned skin. You were confused between feeling pain and facing him, as if your brain had an urgency to know an answer. 

That wasn't an order, but you'd blame yourself later for not saying anything and making it seem like one. You pushed him instead, which put an end to the conversation. In a moment, Matt walked out of there with severe steps, slamming the door behind him.

“... That’s… a way to keep yourself conscious,” The doctor said as he approached, which made you glare at him impatiently.

“Give me morphine and get it over with.”

*******

He was right: you didn't have family back in the States. Your father was an alcoholic for years, your mother abandoned the family when you were little, and your sister never kept in touch. When your father died, you already had your enlistment card, and after years of no contact with anyone else, your emergency numbers were always empty spaces on your file.

This has always justified people's behavior towards you. Your superiors put you on the front line of things, your colleagues gave you dirty looks when you threw yourself in front of bullets and you acquired a record of scars due to recklessness. That's how things were. Graver felt comfortable acting that way because you didn't bring any baggage other than yourself and nobody quite knew who you were. 

Still, the only thing that bothered you was the idea of not taking that moment off your head.

*******

Some might say you were a little too concerned with control, a little too organized. 

It wasn't a lie – not entirely.

It has always been such a chaotic life, with so many responsibilities, that you adapted to things being done well so that unforeseen events would not take you off the path. You had a financial organization, you had time to eat and, more than that, you didn't drink alcohol. Or at least you avoided it, especially on missions, essentially if you were alone. 

Everyone was reorganizing. Although things didn't happen as slowly as in work officially commissioned by the Army, you had made good strides, but not enough; this left the team stagnant. You heard that the Deltas returned to the States, that the DEA was a little impatient with the lack of progress, and Graver was… tired. Not visibly, but no one was made of iron.

“You know you can come back if you want,” Dallas, your boss, had said once when he paid a visit, to which you waved him off. 

“It's either that or Colombia. I want to finish here first.”

The idea of ​​going for drinks came from the people who were still there and, deep down, you weren't so against it, despite your hesitation in going. You were a little tired too, bored with the city, but that was better than a night in your hotel room alone. So you went, with a ride and wearing your usual worn-out jeans, sitting at one of the tables in the corner while the action was happening a few steps away from you.

Matt was standing next to the counter, curiously enough with boots that probably itched his feet because he hated them so much, and considering your almost furtive position, you had the luxury of noticing. 

“A beer, please,” You asked the waitress who was passing by unconsciously. 

He shouldn't relax so much, but all that… chaos suited him well, as if every step was already known and he never worried about anything. You hated that about him, in general, the way he acted like 'everything was fine' when it wasn't so much; that night, as he sipped his own beer and you sipped yours, the thought of his comfort comforted you. If at any point during all of this he was stiff-shouldered and very sullen, it meant that no one would get anything done without a little added stress.

Well, maybe. Maybe it would comfort you. On the day of the stabbing, Matt was incredibly irritated with you, almost growling, swearing in your direction. And since that day, even with your glances, you never had him on your mind for more than a day. You didn't think about the details you had access to about his face, the color of his eyes, the width of his shoulders and neck, specifically, the vein pulsing while he told you to shut up.

Matt was older – more experienced. You knew what that meant to you and the consequences of your shitty life in this type of choice. It was always you deciding, following the rules, taking care of those who should take care of you; there was never an order that didn't come from you or a superior, and the fact that you were good was in your ability to follow a given command. Your doubts, questions and suggestions were always based on contexts that allowed you to provide clarifying answers.

It wasn't that you thought Matt had the ability to take care of you, so to speak, but what attracted you (and you took a sip as you finished this) was the fact that he could and would shut you up; at best, he could do the same to your mind.

*******

Because you don't drink much, by the fourth beer you were already excited. Not singing or dancing, but without your jacket and folding napkins at the table. For two hours, while drinking, you talked a little about this or that with others, laughed, talked loudly over the music and even risked dancing a little.

When you decided to stop with a fifth half-empty beer in your hand, you were blinking slowly as you stared at a replay of a football game on TV. Then, when the noise prevented you from paying attention, you went outside and, through the glass window, watched the same game from afar.

“What's your thing with TV?”

He kept a respectable distance despite getting a little closer. You sighed with a roll of your shoulders, head lolling to the side as you kept your eyes fixed on the green lawn and the little men in blue and red uniforms.

“I never watched much when I was a kid, I guess.”

“That's why you ask too much, you're not so alienated.”

This made you smile a little, almost in a drowsy state, but you didn't respond, you just continued watching. Matt was by your side, you knew, maybe watching the game too (you didn't know if he liked football or was too American for that) or taking some air; everything was silent, except for the creaking of the wooden fence where you were leaning and the customers inside.

“Mm?” 

You turned your face to him slowly and saw him looking at you with a frown, almost smiling.

“I asked how much you drank of it,” He gestured to the bottle dangling between your fingers, to which you just grimaced. 

“Enough to stop.”

“Wise decision,” Gently, Matt took the bottle from you and placed it in the corner, which you watched with confusion. “... What?”

“Why are you here?”

“You're gone and your things are still inside.”

“You don't have to be my babysitter, you know?”

“I promised Dallas I'd try to get you back in one piece.”

“That's a pretty stupid thing to do.”

“I know better now.”

Your body staggered a little, just a little, and when you unconsciously put your arm against his to steady yourself, Matt stared at your movement with amusement until he raised his eyes to meet yours. You must have looked dazed, not very noticeable to your surroundings, because he stared at you for so long that you wished you were less drunk to understand what his gaze meant.

“Do you think they'll miss me if I ask you to take me out for a burrito?”

“No one misses you that much,” He bit back. “And who said I want to do that?”

“You don’t?”

The two of you stared at each other for a few more moments while he considered.

“... You'll owe me one.”

“You owe me, idiot. You made me pay for your dinner the other day and I didn't even invite you.”

“Good heavens, you can't even pretend you’re not you when you drink.”

Interestingly, or out of a hint of condescension, Matt grabbed your things from the bar and gave you a ride to the burrito place, which was a little further away than the taco place. On the way, you stayed quiet as you stared at the city through the window, and he drove in silence without even turning on the radio.

He had a Bronco that night, and you thought you'd see it disappear as soon as the two of you arrived at the restaurant, but Matt asked what you wanted and went inside to get it, coming back with enough bags for more than just for you and offering to you guys ate in the parking lot because they were closing.

You sat on the curb, him next to you.

“I've never seen you drunk before,” Because he couldn’t help himself, Matt asked after you almost finished your own burrito. 

“I don’t like to drink.”

“Why?”

With a knowing look, you looked at him and he raised his hands in surrender, pretending to back away. You rolled your eyes and went back to your burrito, staring at the meat inside as if the question had made you think. One should not speak or not, but analyze whether the decision to remain silent would have any weight. Suddenly you wanted to say why; you wanted him to have a piece of a life that, perhaps, he knew what it was.

It would be a chance for control, wouldn't it? You being the one to say and not a family background printed on a file?

“My father was an alcoholic,” You almost murmured the answer, but you couldn’t dare to eye him even if you knew he was watching you. “He died of cirrhosis. They say that alcoholism is hereditary, so I decided to take precautions.” 

Matt didn't say anything, which you hoped would stay that way.

“When was it?”

“What?”

“When you decided to stop drinking. Or avert it, whatever.”

“This will say more about my life than I want to share,” With a shoulder roll, you bit the burrito again to put an end on the topic. He accepted, and you two finished in total silence. 

You didn't drink as a precaution, yes, but also because you were emotional, almost nostalgic. There was an internal aversion to being human like others; no, you didn't want to share stories of high school sweethearts with your sister, or your mom teaching you how to use a tampon or your dad being a dance partner in your marriage. You decided you didn't want any of that, so you also didn't want to get drunk and whine about a life you didn't have.

“How's the leg?” The question took you a little by surprise, but it wasn't unwelcome.

It was strange, however, just like that moment when it seemed like you didn't have the energy to face each other. You would even say it was pleasant, even when the two of you started to sit side by side in the open trunk of the car.

“... Better,” You moved the once injured leg one way and another. “The stitches got a little inflamed, but I'm fine.” 

“And your boyfriend didn't complain about the new scar?”

“Since when do you think I have a boyfriend?”

“I don't think so. I’m poking your personal life right now.” 

He was smiling as you looked at him indignantly, then scoffed as you shook your head at his boldness, as if it still could shock you. 

“Well, I don't have one and even if I did, it wouldn't be with someone who’s bothered by my scars.” 

“Back in the States the guys can be pretty annoying.”

“Do you speak from experience?”

“Being one of the annoying guys, yeah. There was a time when I didn't bang the chubby or the hairier ones.”

“And when was that? Yesterday?”

“Walked right into that one…” He groaned in defeat, which made you let out a spontaneous laugh. “But no, that was a while ago. The experience made me less demanding.”

“I can look at it as you using any type of person as long as they are available. That's not very… virtuous.”

“That wouldn't be a surprise to you, would it? I'm already an asshole, you can’t expect more.” 

Which was true: the admission only reinforced what he really appeared to be. A facilitator, but also a lover of things that came to him alone. No challenges or elaborate conquests, just a hot hole for the night.

“Unless you expected,” He suggested with a question in his tone when you didn’t answer him right away. 

“No, Matt, I didn't expect it. I never expect anything from you.” 

“So you didn't expect me to bring you here and pay for your dinner?” 

You weren’t sure what to say in response, but you tried anyway.

“... I thought you were going to tell me to fuck off and that you weren't going to pay attention because I was drunk. Then you'd tell everyone I'm pathetic when I drink and that would be your joke for a couple of weeks.”

“But I didn’t.”

“You didn’t.”

“And does this change anything about what you expect from me?”

“You don’t care about it.”

“I always care what a beautiful woman thinks of me. It's what defines how the night will end.”

He wasn't serious, was he? Because you were incredulous about it, looking at him with an expression of shock as he continued there, calm as if none of it was absurd in the slightest. There was a difference between having thoughts about the subject and externalizing it as an intrusive thought. Well, it would make sense if he acted like it was an intrusive thought, but all Matt did was say it and, as much as you expected, without feeling any shame.

“Fuck…” You laughed it off with disbelief.

“I never denied that you’re attractive.”

“No, but you made it seem like we had a moment here.”

“We didn’t?”

“While we ate cold burritos on the sidewalk? No, I don't think so. I didn't have a lobotomy, I’m just drunk,” Which was a bit false, actually. If you tried a little harder, you'd know it was a tiny moment, one he could recognize.

Matt moved next to you, almost as if he was bothered by the way you weren't looking at him at all, and stopped in front of you where he had a positional advantage; you would need to lift your face to look at it. When he did, he squinted his eyes and turned his face here and there, as if he were silently accessing you. Your legs were a little open, so he just had to take a step forward to be between them, which made you put your hand on his chest on impulse to stop him.

He was hot. Like, not hot in the sense of… Okay, hot in that sense too, but his body in general was… hot. Lukewarm. And his heart beat calmly, without worry, and the fabric of the shirt he wore was rough. If you moved your fingers up a little further, they would touch the skin of his chest that met his neck, very close to his Adam's apple, which looked tempting when you saw it up close (without the distraction of your pain). 

“No,” You said when he obediently stopped. 

“I won't try to convince you otherwise.”

“Good.”

“But I know you.”

“You don’t.”

“I do,” He was insistent, using the proximity to eye you above his nose. “I know your mother left and your sister is a bitch who disappeared. I know you don't have anyone up there. I also know that you've never had a firm hand in this fucking life to give you a decent order and tell you what to do, I know that's what you want.” 

This was making you more horny than angry, which left you confused and, consequently, speechless.

“I know you ride horses in Chicago and didn't make a career in the Army because you think you like money and freedom, but really you need someone to tell you to shut the fuck up.”

Horny. Definitely horny.

“What I don't understand is why I'm the one who does all this to you and you still don't like me. Any guesses on the matter?” 

You didn't answer – of course not. Your face was serious, firm, irritated; if you opened your mouth, you would deliver a type of feeling that you dare not express.

“In my opinion, you’re nothing more than a little girl who’s a slut for some attention. You want me but you insist on denying it because it's impossible for you to want someone you hate so much, right?” 

Then you dared to speak, eyeing him dead in the eye with fury and a specific kind of… proximity. 

“I don't know, what’s it been like for you?” With that you pushed him with your hand still touching his chest, taking the distance to get up and move away before you could do something stupid, just like the battlefields you were always on.

Matt grabbed your arm before you could take any more steps, placing you against the side of the Bronco roughly and huffing in your face.

“You're an immature bastard, you know that? All this, this… your need to spit truths in my face and for what? If you really wanted to, you would’ve done something about it by now or told me to fuck off, like you always did.” 

You broke away from his touch abruptly, fixing another angry look on his face and pointing a finger right at him.

“Yeah, I don't like you, because you're a cowardly son of a bitch who doesn't honor his own pants. Want to take advantage of this? Go for it! Look in the mirror knowing that, yeah, I might want you, but you manage to ruin any chance of me even considering being that person because you’re here pretending.”

Silence. He was huffing, you were huffing, and suddenly the anger was almost dissipating into what you were suppressing with the venomous words coming out of your mouth. You looked away and ran your hand over your mouth, shaking your head in disbelief.

“... This just shows how hypocritical you are,” Matt managed to spill back at you, to which you just shrugged. 

“Put it like that, Graver, I know I’m not a good person and I’m not scared of that reality. You're also not the type who should care about this in this shitty context we're in.”

“I don't care about resolving my differences with you, I care about the work being done.”

“Well, the work continues to be done with or without me. Either you're fooling yourself or you want to find some weakness in me to feel better with yourself, which I don't doubt since you're nothing more than a pathetic guy full of ego and a small dick.” 

“You don't know what you're talking about.”

“And you never did anything to change my perception of either of those things. Don't start now.”

Despite your tiredness and the buzzing in your head from the alcohol still circulating through your veins, you picked up your things from the front seat of the car and walked out of the parking lot with minimally resistant steps. The burrito had given you more sobriety, it would have to be enough for the blocks you would walk to get to your hotel.

In the background, just as you put on your jacket and hugged yourself against the cold night breeze, you heard the Bronco start and pass you quickly.

Good, you thought. At least I can do my digestion correctly before going to bed. 

*******

You threw up in a trash can on the way to the hotel. When you arrived, you took a long shower and, despite the comfort of the bed, you slept feeling like shit.

*******

“Since when do you smoke?”

“Mm?” You lifted your head at once, seeing Dallas point to the cigarette stuck between your lips with an amused smile. You blinked a few times, then took it out of your mouth and threw it on the floor. “I bought a pack on the way. Force of habit.”

“Remembering the times in Afghanistan?”

“Remembering high school times.”

“I always thought you’re really precocious.”

“Can we continue or are we disrupting the tea party?”

Yes, there was one way of working with Matt and another when it was with Dallas; in that context, one side seemed uncomfortable with the merger and, interestingly, it wasn't you. 

It was the CIA who included Dallas in the story and, for a moment, it was clear that the decision somewhat questioned Matt's ability to lead the mission. You two had entered a dark zone of behavior, so when everything started to take a new turn, you didn't say a word to Matt that wasn't work. There was no provocation or jokes, just rigid phrases and shaking of heads that amused Dallas.

You tightened your grip around your rifle and, again, didn't respond when Matt swore on the other end of the radio. After a few moments of stillness, while you watched the movement below from where you were placed in the forest, you heard the click of the radio being turned off next to you and Dallas moving a little in his sniper position.

That made you sigh. 

“What?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“C’mon, I’m your boss but I’m also your friend.”

“Yes, and look at which title you chose to say first.”

“Has the limit been reached?”

That was another thing he had told you when the differences became noticeable: set your limit for me. He had more people on duty, you didn't have to worry, and you relied on it because you trusted him. That wasn't the case, you were sure of that. It was a disagreement, indeed, but not a… complete discontent.

“No,” You murmured your answer, eyes back on track with the team from afar. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Gimme a heads up if necessary, eh?”

Your nod was all the confirmation he needed before the small buzz of the radio being turned back on reached your left ear. 

That conversation, at least, seemed over, but you knew that the condition of that specific event was bothering you more than your issues with Matt. Dallas had managed to trace the offline communication that that specific group had, and if everything went as planned, that time of night was perfect for the attack. Until then, no surprises. The forest was dense, with few access roads, so it was easy to intercept land transport… but there was a risk, one that you drummed into your head as a real concern.

It wasn't an area you were familiar with; if it was the desert, where there was little to hide other than underground, basically, rainforests were problematic. Cold, dark to the extreme, full of natural traps that the other side knew like the back of their hand. You thought about suggesting that Alejandro be in Dallas' place (and maybe that had crossed Graver's mind too), at least for the advantage of territorial recognition, but he wasn't there and there was a risk that you would be too exposed.

You entered the house through the back. The situation wasn't as intense on that side, and you'd be able to inspect any trail left by Matt's team; by the time you arrived, they should have already been finishing what they started. There were bodies in the hallways, rooms and furniture. The house was huge, but the smell of blood was already starting to fill your nostrils when you arrived in the living room.

“Matt, I'm already at the house. All set?”

“No, not exactly,” In the background, you could hear gunshots much louder than the noises coming through the walls, so you didn't even hesitate to run up the stairs until you found them.

There was the element of luck, sometimes you played, even though you knew it was just the result of your own memory exercises. Through idle time and a good dose of commitment, you memorized a good part of the house plan, so despite the impulse, your mind was creating a strategic path for where Matt could be and how to approach it. You killed three in a 'secret' side corridor until you managed to go around the shooting room, seeing through the crack in the door the heads of the enemies and, further ahead, Matt hiding with the other boys to escape the shots.

Your heart was racing and by a slip you almost got ahead of yourself again. That time, there were people on the front lines, you remembered, and the casualties would be more than just you or something superficial; there was Matt, the others, maybe even Dallas.

It was strange, but you had lost count of how many times you ended up tasting your own blood without meaning to. It wasn't like a cut in the kitchen that you stopped by putting your finger on your tongue; it was unconscious, splashed in your face and occupying your senses. The shot hit your shoulder and threw you back against the wall. Sometimes it was disorienting, which was the case, but you had dropped a good number and you could give in to waiting for the pain to overcome you before acting again.

Try to act again, in this case. Before you could move your body forward and follow where Graver's men were going, a hand pushed you against the wall again.

“Matt, what the fuck?!” 

“Dallas, tell her to stay here.”

One of his hands was right over the wound to stop the bleeding, and Matt wasn't looking anywhere but at your confused face. Your breathing was a little labored, you felt tied with the weight of him there, and you even put yours on top of his hand to avert him. 

You didn't make it, though. For the first time in years, you froze and hesitated. It was as if he, in the middle of everything happening, was also the first to put your feet on the ground and remind you what was actually happening.

“Dallas, fuck, tell her to stay here!”

“Don’t you move.”

Your boss's voice made you blink a few times, as if waking you up from a trance; Matt immediately pulled away and ran away, perhaps to where the others were also going, perhaps elsewhere. You took a deep breath before pulling a balled-up bandage from inside one of the pockets of your tactical vest and pushing it against the wound tightly.

On the other hand, everything remained a mess. You regained your breath and strength as you observed everything, suddenly having a full vision of what you were supposed to do, what the job actually was.

“Dallas,” Your voice was rough but heard. “There are a lot more people than expected. The extraction point may be compromised.”

“You’re right. We manage here, but you'll have to find a plan B. Shoulder?”

“My…” You took a deep breath, staggering a little around the space with his eyes attentive to everything, trying to come up with something urgent. “I'm fine, damn it. Forget it, just… There’s a vehicle on the west side. It's further away, but I can get there in time with the team.” 

“Traceable.” 

“I make a point of blowing it up when we're at a safe distance.” 

“I thought you wanted to put an end to the house.”

“I know how much you like the drama, Dallas. See you on the other side.” 

“You got it.”

*******

Matt didn’t seem mad when you showed up at his bedroom door. It was late at night, a whole day after the operation in the woods, and it was a stroke of luck to see him still awake, but your heart was racing as if it were another one of your impulses. There was always that impression that, with him, everything was a battle.

“Can I come in?” Your question was low, almost secretive. 

He watched you suspiciously before arching an eyebrow.

“Did you bring dinner?”

“It's 2 am.”

“Just making sure you didn't have a concussion,” But the door was left open when he turned and walked back into the room, so you entered.

It was all a bit… memorable, coming from someone like Matt. Things were messy, as if he were right there, and not as impeccable as yours. On the other hand, his bags were packed, so at least this wasn’t a total surprise. 

You didn’t know what to say, nor if you should say anything. Maybe Matt understood intrinsically, absorbed the kind of feeling that was eating you up inside, that intensified in the house. You didn't sleep. Your shoulder hurt more than usual, your body was agitated and your mind was in a whirlwind.

You drove there and didn't know what to ask for, even though you knew what you wanted. 

“When is your flight?” He was closer than expected, you noticed as soon as you heard the nearby tone and the curious scent of soap.

“Tomorrow morning. Yours?”

“Also.”

“Mm,” You hummed, averting his gaze while he took just one step closer. You could feel the heat from his body, the fabric of his shirt almost touching you.

“Come back with me on the jet.”

“What?” That made you snap your head back to look at him, just to find Matt watching every move of yours. 

“Your flight is earlier than mine. Come back with me.”

“Do you need that much time?” You smirked. 

“It's never that simple with you.”

You expected adrenaline, aggressive energy and even retaliation. The two of you had just come back from something that would leave you both on edge, pushing and pulling, demanding; maybe it was what you wanted.

Matt gave you a first kiss that was almost delicate, although a little abrupt. He tested you before, holding the back of your neck calmly and just touching his lips, almost convincing himself that it was a good idea. You exchanged a few wet and long kisses, warming up the sensation little by little, until he moved his mouth down to your jaw and neck, handling your head while he ran one of his hands down the length of your back. Your eyes closed when he reached a specific spot below your ear, where he nibbled before smoothing your ass to elicit a whimper from you.

“Shoulder?” He whispered, hands wandering your whole body while you kept yours on his covered belly. 

“Not good,” You moved back a little to gain access to his face again, which he granted with a bit of impatience. “Go easy on me.”

“It seems like you came on purpose to make me be nice to you.”

“I can leave if you want.”

“I didn't say I can't be,” With both hands on the small of your back, Matt ran his palms up your spine, a contact that made you shiver and caught his attention. “No bra?”

“I didn't think you knew how to open one.” 

The provocation came with a light push on him, which made him go backwards awkwardly. You did it again, without much effort because he was already going without resistance, and as soon as Matt sat on the edge of his own mattress you unconsciously took both hands to his hair. 

That's why you were going slow. It wasn't the injured shoulder, much less an unprecedented overwhelming passion; you and he needed to taste that because you wanted to test each other, do or feel what you always wanted but refused to do. You threaded your fingers through his hair as he placed almost voracious kisses on your stomach, lifting the fabric of your shirt in the process while holding your waist as if you were going to run away, as if you would change your mind. 

You could; in fact, he thought about it as soon as you took off your shirt, almost too meticulous about how Matt would see you or what he would think of you. For a few moments, when he was looking at your naked breasts there, in front of him, you almost had the instant reaction to cover yourself, but then he took off his own shirt and you forgot what resentment could arise from that.

He had strong arms, even though he wasn't muscular. His torso, which you could analyze as soon as you straddled him, had signs of Matt's age, which looked even sexier than you could have imagined. You caressed his shoulders, his biceps, until you stopped with both hands on his much-admired neck, where you felt near his jugular and his Adam's apple.

Your admirations, however, were almost silenced when Matt leaned you back just a little and brought his lips to one of your burning nipples, sucking lightly while playing with the other. You took a hand back to his hair, pulling him close while running the tip of your tongue over your sensitive breasts and making you bubble inside, trying to look for friction as you moved your hips against his.

“You’re so responsive…” He murmured as soon as you started to sigh at his ministrations. “Could easily fuck you right now. Pretty sure you’re wet enough.”

“So don't let me wait any longer.”

The smile he gave you when he lifted his head was, to say the least, devilish, and it made your pussy throb.

It would be a long night.

*******

For some reason, he had condoms, which at least saved you from the defeated route to a plan B or STD testing. You thought that, given the context, he would be a lazy partner who would lie around while you did everything else, like not having condoms and saying that if you wanted, you should take it anyway. 

Matt locked the door after throwing (not handing, throwing) a box of condoms at your head while you were taking off your boots.

“Are you serious?” 

“I like to consider myself a forewarned man.”

Which was a good point, but you didn't give it right away. He walked back to the bed, starting to work on the button on his pants while you analyzed the box.

“Is it that hard to believe?” He teased while trying to take the thing out of your hands, just to be received with a nudge and a frown from you. 

“I'm checking to see if they're not expired.”

“You don't trust me to have good condoms, but you're going to come on my dick in a few minutes. Stop being a mood killer and come here.”

With a soft pull, Matt made you fall on top of the bed, purposely mounting you and throwing the box on the mattress. Before you could complain, he threw you on the mattress next to him like he did on the day of your stabbing, leaving you on your back while he stood up to take off (or almost rip) your pants. You couldn't even react, being manhandled like that, and only when he stopped for a few moments, placing both hands on your knees to keep them open enough, that you realized how thirsty he looked, deep breathing, full of adrenaline. 

That was so fucking hot.

He didn't give you much time to think about anything, too. Anything you had to say, complain or tease died in your throat as you watched him tear the wrapper off a condom and place it on his dick. You couldn't look at anything other than his concentrated face, firm, with strands of disheveled hair touching his forehead as he pulled you closer to the edge of the mattress. His strong arms were almost stiff, lost between the effort of what you did hours before and his stubbornness in being on top at that moment. It was a necessary persistence, just like your urgency for him to just get over that. 

“I said go easy, motherfucker,” You growled in a relapse of conscience, not quite feeling any particular pain but ready to complain if necessary. In that moment, when you finally managed to remember who Matt was, you leaned on your good arm and saw, in fact, how small you thought he was.

His face must have given away his true reaction because you heard him chuckle softly.

“You’re a big girl, you can manage,” But at the same time, he stuck two fingers in his mouth before bringing them to your entrance, where he massaged your clit before inserting them very easily. “Fuuuuck, you’re sucking them in so good, baby… It’ll be easier than you think.”

“So go quickly.”

“Shhh… None of that.”

Fuck, he was enough. You opened your mouth to moan, but nothing came out, nothing but a feeling of him filling you. Matt watched you the whole time, capturing your face contorted with pleasure as he placed inch by inch inside you. 

“That's the only way you'll shut up, right?” He leaned over you, sliding his forearms on the mattress and putting his hips flushed against yours. When you didn't respond, he leaned closer to your ear to whisper. “When I'm in the room, you shut the fuck up and take it.” 

With the first thrust, you realized that your jokes had no basis at all: it had been a long time for you, perhaps, but Matt had an ideal dick to stuff you up. He had experience in the way he went deeper, testing until he found your point and, when he found it, he didn't lose focus from the objective for a second. He grunted as you finally started to moan and react, grabbing his shoulders while he held your face so you wouldn't look away. The bastard wanted to see and he wanted you to see, he wanted proof of what he could do besides making you look bored, angry and disdainful. You were giving everything away, you couldn't sustain your act of dominance while his darkened eyes looked back at you, nor could you free your fingers from almost penetrating the flesh of his shoulders.

Your body was bubbling with pleasure, from the way his hips moved with long, slow thrusts, to the firmer in a way that made your boobs shake in time with his moves. You didn't know where to put your hands; whether they stood firm, gripping the sheet or whether they held his waist or keep them on his shoulders, begging him to go deeper, begging him to mistreat you just a little.

“... More,” Was all you could let out. 

“What?”

“Fuck, Matt, I want it to hurt.”

With your eyes closed, the force of his hips brutally moving against yours increased, until he was able to rest one knee on the mattress and lift one of your legs to increase the intensity. Your moans became stupidly loud in his ear, obediently handing over all your letters to him; your mind went blank, with nothing but an echo saying 'Matt, Matt, Matt' over and over.

When it became unbearable for him, you felt your body being placed on your stomach and being penetrated again, this time on all fours, which made you grip the fabric beneath you tightly to be able to meet his thrusts. You were on the verge of orgasm, able to feel the idea of ​​the relief of cumming, and he pulled you up, placing your back against his chest without stopping the rapid movements inside you. The new angle made you sigh, taking one of your hands to his hair and seeking stability there while he held you by your neck, the other palm going down to your clit.

“Matt, I-”

“Gonna cum?” His voice was a growl against your neck. “Go on, cream on my cock, baby. Gimme all that.”

The wave of pleasure that consumed you only didn't knock you down because Matt was still holding you, even though he himself was shaking from the orgasm that invaded him soon after. To contain a noise with his mouth, he buried his face in your shoulder and pushed into you one last time before staggering a little without letting go of you.

The two of you were there, quiet, catching your breaths in sync without saying a single word.

*******

“Want me to go sleep on the couch?”

“Stop being an idiot. We already fucked, sleeping together is nothing.”

Matt huffed, pressing a kiss on your injured shoulder before making you turn your body and face him. His hair was a mess, but curiously (or not so much) post-sex managed to make him even sexier, with the disheveled strands falling into his eyes as he bit his lip and admired what was exposed of your body.

“Looking for some body hair? Because shaving isn't really a priority when I'm here,” Your comment made him laugh, truly laugh, before looking at your face with amusement. 

“I don't think you'd shave just because I asked you to.”

“For the first time I agree with you.”

“Look at it… If that were the condition for you to be less annoying, I would’ve fucked you sooner.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” You tried to hit him with a punch, but because you used your injured arm, it ended up resulting in an ordinary slap accompanied by a low grunt of pain. 

He shushed you again, this time bringing his face closer for a kiss. You responded almost immediately, aware that you had barely had the luxury of a little more makeup, and when you opened your mouth, he deepened the kiss, almost climbing on top of you again. Your tongues connected here and there, which made considerable heat build up inside you again.

“No more getting hurt, huh?” Matt cooed, his body sliding down the mattress until he stopped between your open legs, where you saw him wet his lips as he stared at your pussy. “Relax and cum on my face this time.” 

*******

Dallas looked at you, then at Matt, but no one said anything. You sat down in an armchair with some discomfort while he got ready to lie down and take a nap.

“I'm pretty sure I missed something.”

“I barely slept a wink tonight, Dallas. Leave the questions for later.” 

Your boss looked at you suspiciously, but you shrugged your shoulders and turned your face to the window next to you, where you hid a smile with the palm of your hand.

[monstersandmaw]

Quick bit of really niche info for writers from a metalworker about 'etched' vs 'engraved'.

It doesn't really matter at all, but it bothers me when I read one term and the author clearly wanted to describe the effects of the other process.

Engraving is done with a tool, called a graver, hence the name. It works by mechanically carving lines into a metal which is softer than the graver, and can produce some extremely detailed and lustrous shapes, almost like gems, because you can keep the facets really sharp and clear (and shiny). It's often found on the metal parts of guns, as well as in jewellery and things like pocket watches and signet rings. It's how wax seal rings remain so detailed, even at such a tiny scale.

[source]

Etching is done with an acid and a resist. The resist is a paste or a wax that is resistant to the acid, and protects the metal from being munched by the acid. The design is then scratched through the resist so that the acid then eats into the metal, creating a pattern. (You can also do it the other way around to eat away the background and leave the design standing proud of the metal). It often creates a kind of matte, stippled effect on the metal. It's really common on armour.

[source]

There you have it. It's really not a big deal, but the effects are different enough that I thought I'd mention it after reading it somewhere recently and pulling a little face at the use.

[hausofmamadas]

GODDD YESSSSSS MATT GRAVER IS THE PERFECT MF TO BE ON THE OTHER END OF A JEALOUSY LOVE TRIANGLE SITUATION!!!!!! YOUR MIND DF

The ring

Written for day 10 of the Narcos fandom smut alphabet over on @narcosfandomdiscord

Fandom: Narcos

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Words: 1 110

Pairing: Javier x OFC Aurora

Prompt: jealousy

Warnings: smut, exhibitionism, angsty

Cameo by a young Matt Graver, my favourite asshole from the Sicario movies!

“That a Cane corso?” Aurora looks up, caught off-guard by the unfamiliar man’s voice at her left side. She’s met by bright blue eyes with dark blonde hair falling into them and a grin that she can’t interpret though she narrows it down to either self-assured or intoxicated, or possibly a combination of the two. He’s a couple of years younger than her, maybe late 20’s, and thick tanned arms poke out from the white t-shirt. He’s pointing to the tattoo on the outside of her left shoulder. It’s a portrait of Bane, the dog gifted to her by her grandfather when she went to college. The tattoo itself was her gift to herself for Christmas last year.

“Yeah.” Aurora rubs the tattoo absentmindedly. “She was my first dog.” The man grins even wider, like he’s won a bet.

“Always wanted one,” he says, “but I don’t think my lifestyle would allow it. I travel too much. Name’s Matt, by the way.” Matt reaches his hand out and, although hesitantly, Aurora shakes it. He’s got to be law enforcement, she thinks. His hands aren’t blistered like a rancher’s, but she’s never seen a businessman in bluejeans and drinking Lone Star.

“Good to meet you, Matt.” As she takes him in, another detail catches her eye. His footwear. Flip-flops. Who the hell wears flip-flops to a bar?

“You new in town?” she asks, trying her hardest not to stare at his exposed feet. Matt shrugs.

“I’ve passed through once before,” he explains, “but this time I’m staying a bit longer.” He might’ve gotten reassigned then, or maybe he’s doing part of his training here. Aurora nods in recognition but does nothing else to further the conversation. Matt props both elbows onto the bar, raises an eyebrow at her.

“So what’s your name?” he presses. Aurora considers the options. She doesn’t find him particularly intimidating, that icy feeling that runs down her spine whenever she speaks to people that are objectively bad news not making its presence known. Still, she doesn’t trust him.

“I don’t give out my name to strangers.” Aurora says it as politely as she can. She’s not in the mood to cause yet another scene at this particular bar, and hopes that Matt will have the decency to take the hint. He nods, flags down the bartender for another beer, then turns to her.

“Fair,” he agrees. “Let’s get to know each other then, so we won’t be strangers.” There’s that icy feeling, just a hint of it at the base of her skull.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says, a little sterner now. Even if it wasn’t for Javier’s furrowed brow and pursed lips which she spots across the bar where he’s catching up with an old coworker from the sheriff’s office, she’d have no intention of continuing the conversation. Matt’s grin fades. Not fully, it just dims.

“Alright.” He throws his hands up. “I can take a no.” His voice is so easygoing, enough so that for a split second Aurora questions if she’s read him wrong. She silences that doubt quickly: so the guy’s charming, that doesn’t mean he’s not an asshole.

“Was nice talking to you though, Matt,” she says. “Hope Laredo treats you well.”

⁂

“Who was that?” Javier asks as soon as he’s reached her side. She shrugs, takes another sip of her beer.

“Some guy who’s in town for a bit. Tried to flirt but I shut him down.” Javier pouts and throws another glance over his shoulder at Matt, who has retreated to a booth where he’s talking to a redhead who she’s seen around but doesn’t know the name of. Aurora’s already moved on in her mind, wondering if the rest of the week will be as hellishly warm as the first three days have been, when Javier pipes up:

“What did he say to you?” There’s nothing subtle about Javier’s jealousy. He wears it on his sleeve, just like he does with his anger and his joy.

“Asked about my tattoo, gave me his name, asked me mine and when I said no he backed off,” Aurora summarizes. She turns to face Javier, reaches for his fingers and squeezes them gently. That finally makes him look at her instead of at Matt. He squeezes her fingers back.

“We need to fix your ring,” he states. He’s not wrong. The second Javier went to slip his mom’s ring around Aurora’s finger three weeks ago it became obvious that Maria and her did not share a ring size. Javier’s ears turned red with embarrassment and he mumbled his way through an apology for not finding a window to discreetly check Aurora’s size. She kissed him soundly and agreed that they could get it fixed sometime when they were running other errands in town.

“You’re right. How about tomorrow?” she suggests. “It’s about time for a grocery run, don’t you think?” It’s really not but she can see the way his mind is spinning out of control, and knows that if she doesn’t pull the brakes for him he’ll be up all night wondering if she’s about to regret the engagement and take off. Javier’s jaw, tense ever since he sat Matt lingering at your side, begins to relax.

“Tomorrow,” he agrees. “But there’s something we can do right now that would make it clear you’re taken.”

⁂

The pickup really isn’t made for this. Aurora raises herself as much as she can to give Javier space to work his jeans and briefs down, her head touching against the roof. She pulled her underwear off before climbing in, leaving them on the passenger seat while her skirt spreads over his lap to provide some cover should anyone come knocking at the window. He parked far enough away from the entrance that they’re not in plain view of anyone coming and going but not so far away that it could be considered hidden away. Javier fumbles his way inside of her, unused to the cramped space. He hasn’t done this in years, after all, not since his back started aching. Aurora lets him control the pace, the movements. Just rocks with him in the driver’s seat of the old car.

“Let me see the ring,” he rasps. She obeys, pulling the thin silver chain from where it’s fallen into her cleavage and lays it to rest on the outside of her tank top. Immediately, Javier’s eyes focus on it and the stabs of his hips turn more forceful. She rests her chin atop his head, presses a kiss to the damp curls.

“We’re getting it fixed tomorrow,” she promises.