#narcos mexico fanfiction

[ethereal-am]

¡ narcos mexico / griselda (rivi) content !

𝜗𝜚 kalila (lila) ⟡ she / her ⟡ mexicana ⟡ a twenty two year old sweet but sad daydreaming paradox ( i can’t tell if i’m rotting away 𓉸ྀི or a blooming flower ꫂ ၴႅၴ) i write and edit !

𝜗𝜚 malquerida — narcos mexico (amado carrillo x oc x ramon arellano : love triangle trope) on wattpad !

𝜗𝜚 curiosa — griselda (rivi x oc) on wattpad !

𝜗𝜚 all grown up — narcos mexico (ramon arellano x reader) on tumblr !

𝜗𝜚 spotify acc !

𝜗𝜚 pinterest acc !

𝜗𝜚 amado carrillo fuentes

𝜗𝜚 ramon arellano félix

𝜗𝜚 ismael “mayo” zambada

𝜗𝜚 rivi ayala (griselda)

pssst psst !! . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀི feel free to shoot me a message for whatevs ‹3 im always open to new friends and requests !! xoxo — tips & donations here if you enjoy my work or are feeling generous !! mwah (buy me a ko-fi)

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ྀིა

# IFB !! ♡

[cositapreciosa]

can you maybe write for kitty where he meets a girl thats similar to him personality wise?? and he falls in love w her immediately and stuff

Head first

Arturo '' Kitty '' Paez x female!reader (strong language, toxic relationship (not with kitty) mentions of cheating (not kitty/not you), spanish female pet names, you’re wearing heels/a dress, the usual for the show), 3215 words

a/n : @hausofmamadas once again saving the day with the Kitty gifs, amen 🙏🏻+ thank u my Kitty ride or die for pulling this one out of me @narcolini <33

As always it's the fictional, not the real deal, enjoy xx

‘’ You’re a fucking bitch, is what you are! ‘’

Between the loud music from inside and the half-open backyard door, Kitty is surprised when your voice reaches his ears. He can see you on the other side of the pool, been watching you like a hawk for a while now, sunglasses down his nose as you push around that boyfriend of yours. Palms on his chest, lips curling with every word that comes out of your mouth. Diego has always been too weak for someone like you, he has no spine, no guts. He didn’t like him. Arturo had decided that a while back, when you first started to bring him around at the house parties, at Roxanne’s.

Arturo doesn’t know you that well. He knows what Ramón tells him, when he finally gets tired of hearing him beg and whine about it, that is how he knows you would ‘eat him up and chew him out’ if he dared approach. Maybe that is why he never did. A friend of a friend, of a friend. He had always listened to Ramón and stayed back, simply because having to work hard for it is something he never liked doing. You could have anyone wrapped around your finger, as long as they were up to your standards. It is a shame, really, that he never made a move. Especially when he can see the fire in your eyes and how it matches his perfectly. Especially when he knows what kind of pendejo actually made it past your walls when he couldn’t.

You are screaming again, hands frantically pushing strands of hair behind your ears. He knows that he shouldn’t be spying on you like this, pretending to go out to light up his joint when he knows doing it inside is allowed. His hand wraps around the handle to push the rest of the door open, taking in the fresh air from the night. The music from inside is still loud even with the door closed, not one of you turning to acknowledge him.

The water reflects light on your legs, on that sparkly dress you are wearing tonight. Short, flamboyant, stunning. Arturo lights his smoke, watching your boyfriend screaming back this time, his finger pointing and piercing the skin of your chest with each word. He can see the disbelief on your face from here, the audacity of the man.

‘’ If it was such a problem, maybe you should have taken your cojones, Diego, and told me yourself, instead of going around and fucking about! ‘’

‘’ Fucking about? You’re the one walking around looking like a whore. ‘’

This one stings, deep in his bone, piercing his chest. All the way over here, he feels angry for you, cheeks hot and red burning his face. You don’t answer back after this, stunned or embarrassed, he can’t tell. He does see how flushed your chest is, how your jaw sets, tense with unspoken words. This is it. The last straw. He won’t allow Diego to insult you any further.

He calls out your name as he walks closer to the side of the pool, it’s more like a statement than a question, a greeting. I’m here, you’re good.

‘’ You’re all good here, mami? ‘’

He knows you heard him, even though you don’t turn to acknowledge him. He is surprised that your boyfriend does, scoffing as he looks him up and down. He is audacious, Arturo has to give him that. Does he think he’s safe in this house? Doesn’t he know who your friends are, who’s been paying for his drinks since he got here? Diego’s finger is pointing at him now, laugh dry and mocking. As if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

‘’ Him? ‘’ he says, ‘’ Him? ‘’

Arturo knows what he is implying, as if Diego wasn’t the one that was in the wrong, the one that had been fucking half the town behind your back. They had their suspicions in the beginning when you had started to run out of reasons for him not showing up to gatherings and birthdays. He knew he was right when Ramón told him you had given them five dollars for gas money and a few dozen eggs to throw at Diego’s apartment. He couldn’t believe it when he saw you with him the following week, acting as if nothing had happened.

Arturo’s attention turns back to you when you don’t answer, don’t bite into it like he thought you would. He can take a better look at you now that he is closer, inches away from the ledge. He sees the tears dancing on your lash line, your nails digging inside your palms, and he decides he hates it. He hates him. It must be horrible really, giving so much to someone so pathetic, having your words twisted back against you.

He tries to ignore how much Diego’s finger pointed at him bothers him. It is like a stab in the chest, a provocation, like he is making it personal. In a way, it is, he made sure of it the second he decided to belittle you like this in front of him. The thoughts of gripping his hand in his, crushing his joints- He blinks once, twice to shake the images out, and then he says your name again, an invitation now. Let’s leave this. Leave him.

‘’ You should leave. ‘’

Both sets of eyes turn to you as you speak up. Finally, he thinks. You are not asking, you are demanding, telling Diego his time here is over. Diego’s eyes twitch between you and Arturo’s side of the pool, he has to know he will lose if he tries to fight him. From the look of it, he is most likely smaller than him, unarmed. Arturo knows he only hangs out with them for the coke, maybe the small possibility of being one of them too, and then having you back in his bed after the parties. It breaks his heart to know you didn’t catch on to his bullshit before tonight. It is hot in his chest, a deep burn he can’t shake off, maybe it is jealousy.

Diego turns to you, as if your words meant nothing, like you didn’t just ask him to leave. His hand wrapping around your forearm as if you would follow him. The pool is the only thing keeping Arturo from jumping in between you two and sliding his hands around his throat.

‘’ Come on, let’s do this somewhere else. ‘’

‘’ Don’t touch me, Diego- ‘’

He can’t stand it, having to watch this asshole pretend he is still the one in control. Your upper arm is white from Diego’s grip and he can’t help how fast his hand goes to his back, feeling the gun tucked in his waistband with his fingertips. A reassurance that he could end this, here, right now. He will shoot him, he doesn’t care, five times if needed, as many times it would take for this idiot not to have a face anymore.

‘’ Are we gonna have a problem here? ‘’

He doesn’t stutter. It is a warning, his first and final one, spoken clearly in the open space between them.

‘’ Shut the fuck up, pendejo, can’t you read a room?! ‘’

‘’ Kitty… ‘’

You finally catch his eyes across the pool. Your voice is a warning, almost scolding him like a child, telling him to let you handle it, that you can take care of this. Can you? Should you? He notices the sparkles on your eyelids, the same color as your dress, the dried tears on your cheeks. He can’t be stopped, he doesn’t want to, he is too invested in this. Pendejo. Arturo doesn’t remember when he started moving, following the tiles around the ledge, opting to close his fists and take care of this naturally instead. If Diego wanted to play the tough guy, he would show him what it looked like.

He is halfway around the pool when you start moving, twisting in your heels. You grab Diego by the hair, using the momentum and his hold on your arm to push him into the pool. He is taken aback for a moment, stopping dead in his tracks, scared Diego’s grip on your arm will bring you into the water with him. But it doesn’t and you are tiptoeing around the edge, hands in the air, unmoving, like you just dropped something you shouldn’t have.

You yelp when the water splashes back on you, the bottom of your dress, your shoes. It shakes you out of it and you step back from the puddle of water at your feet. When Diego surfaces out from the deep, he is heaving, breathing through his nose, paddling around with both arms. A well-deserved swim, if he could say so himself, but Arturo is not even looking at him. He doesn’t matter, you do, and he only has eyes for you. He is not sure what to do now, he is surely not going to jump in the pool to finish this, who knows what chlorine would do to his Ralph Lauren shirt.

‘’ You’re a fucking bitch, Diego. ‘’

You laugh and it is music to his ears, loud, genuine. You are waving your hands around like you can’t believe this, free at last.

‘’ Stay the fuck away from me from now on, or he’ll shoot you. ‘’

You are pointing at him now, passing the eventual dirty work to him. Arturo knows you have never held a gun in your life, how you can barely accept those that are tucked in your friends’ jeans, but he would do it if you asked him, in a heartbeat, no questions needed. You push at the water on your thighs, probably wishing it would take the chemicals and the water out of the fabric. You turn to him, head thrown back, fists closed, like a child.

‘’ Look what he did to my shoes, Arturo. ‘’

You are whining and he is trying to pretend that his name coming out of your mouth didn’t make his knees buckle for a second. Eat him up and chew him out. You turn back to Diego.

‘’ They’re Versace you fucking bitch. ‘’

Your voice quivers on the last word, a small crack in an otherwise strong façade. Arturo’s hand moves from behind his shirt, leaving the comfort of the handle of metal at his back, motioning for you to come over. It is too cold tonight for you to stand outside, legs out for days, and a drenched skirt stuck to your thighs.

‘’ I’ll buy you new ones, mami. Let’s move before the fish comes out of his tank, yeah? ‘’

He is trying to be funny, but he can hear you sniff, see your hand raise from your side to wipe at your nose. He can understand how it’s too much, too fast now, adrenaline coming down, the cold seeping in.

When you turn his way and brush past him, his first instinct is to try and grab you, to be able to drape a warm arm around your shoulders, protect you when Diego couldn’t. It hurts him when you duck from his grasp, continuing your way to the door, but he swallows it and pushes down whatever angry, sad feeling is bubbling up in his throat. He chooses to follow you inside, follow what his guts tell him, and not take any of this personally. Easier said than done, but Arturo decides to focus on the sound of your heels against the tiles instead, to breathe in your perfume when he skips before you so he can open the sliding door for you.

You make a line for the kitchen and he is thankful no one stops you to ask what happened. Arturo follows your step, tall and burning behind you. You are holding back your tears, he can tell. He doesn’t know why he feels like he has to make sure you are alright. Diego might be an ass, but he wouldn’t dare enter the sharks’ enclosure after that. If this was his house, he would turn around and drown the fucker with his own hands. Nothing he hasn’t done before.

‘’ I’m not crying. ‘’

It’s the first thing you tell him when you enter the kitchen with him, your new shadow, still hot on your heel. You are, and it’s okay, he understands, right? You are alone in the room, just you, him, the marble countertop between you as you turn and pace. You are rummaging through shelves, one hand whipping at your cheek while the other chooses a glass.

‘’ It’s not- this isn’t because of him. I’m not crying- ‘’

A sob leaves your throat as you open the refrigerator door. He feels bad now, his heart squeezing at the thought of your makeup sliding down your cheeks. Arturo leans on the door frame and he looks as you pull out juice from the open door, the other hand grabbing a bottle of tequila left on the counter. The amount you pour into your cup makes his eyebrows frown.

‘’ It’s alright. ‘’

‘’ It’s the shoes. I’m not crying. ‘’

The tears on your face do tell him that you are, that it is about Diego. He doesn’t deal with heartbreaks often, he usually never stays around long enough to feel it. He is a grown man, he never cries, he shouldn’t care, but he does feel better when you open the juice jug, pouring enough that he is not too concerned about how it would taste in the end. He speaks up again.

‘’ It’s alright if it’s not just the shoes you know. ‘’

‘’ You would really buy me new ones? ‘’

He raises his eyebrows at that and you are now pushing yourself up on the counter in front of him, crossing your legs, glass in hand. Your eyes are dry and red, but the glitter on your lids is still pressed to the skin, unmoved. He likes it, he decides, the shimmer suits you, it reminds him of the diamonds he has on a watch at home. You are looking at him, waiting for an answer. Like it would fix everything. Your Versace heels, he would buy you new ones if you asked, the same pair if you wished, an even more expensive one if you begged him to.

‘’ Por supuesto, mami. ‘’

I would shoot him too, let’s keep our word. He doesn’t tell you that, but the thought crosses his mind, throbbing inside his ribcage. The things he would do for you. Something changed tonight, inside of him, changed how he looks at you, how he really looks at you. You laugh at this and he is thankful, happy to hear the sound again. He hopes it means he is doing something good, something to make you feel better.

‘’ I’m just messing. They will dry, I was just being dramatic. ‘’

Rightly so, he wants to tell you, that he would have done worst for less, but he doesn’t, he laughs it off with you.

‘’ All good, mami, I go crazy for less. ‘’

You haven’t touched your drink yet, playing with the rim and the ridges on the side. It is a good sign to him, that whatever he is doing is working, heart being fixed, tears kept at bay. He feels awkward, standing there and looking at you, trying to keep his eyes away from tracing the curve of your legs, the idea of your nails wrapped around his neck-

‘’ You like shopping? ‘’

It’s quick, out of his mouth before he even processes it, anything to keep the silence from going on any longer.

‘’ What? ‘’

‘’ Well, I- ‘’ he stuttered, he never does. Tongue rolling in his mouth, words knocking his front teeth on the way out. Of course you like shopping, ranking bills for days, and matching your shoes with your tops, who wouldn’t? Right?

‘’ Well, because I do. ‘’ He feels like the dumbest person in the house. ‘’ I mean- I mostly look, I don’t always buy. It gotta fit with the rest, you know? ‘’

You hum, nodding with the sound. Your lips touch the rim of the glass, bringing silence back to the kitchen, and he feels like he fucked up. He had to open his big mouth and spill out some none sense. Maybe you don’t like shopping. Maybe you think he is taking too much space, that he should leave you alone-

‘’ Let me tell you a secret. ‘’ Your hands are back on your lap, playing with the side of the glass once again. There is a glint in your eyes as you lean towards him, like you are sharing a secret. Lips pursed, you are not whispering, but he feels like you are. A secret for him, only for him.

‘’ Sometimes it doesn’t even match, but I still buy it, I can’t help myself. ‘’

You have glitter on your fingers from when you wiped your tears off and he can’t take his eyes off yours, you are pulling him in and he takes a step closer as you continue.

‘’ I always think I can make it work, but after a while, I send it to my primas, so it’s not really a loss, you know? ‘’

‘’ You’re free Friday? ‘’

You hesitate a moment, barely a second, but it’s enough to make him self-conscious again. ‘’ Why? ‘’

‘’ Let me take you out. ‘’ Let me make this right. Make you forget him. ‘’ We can go en el centro. I don’t think they got Versace there, but they got nice options. ‘’

He shrugs his shoulders, already pretending that he is going to be okay if you reject him. He knows he won’t, that everything, every minute spent with you until today wasn’t a random twist of fate. He can feel it, feel you deep in his bones, there has to be something there. He can’t be wrong, you have to say yes.

Your fingers move in the space between the two of you and, since he is closer now, you can reach and hook a finger around one of his longer chains, moving the golden cross around so it catches the light.

‘’ Is Thursday too early for you? ‘’

He is flushed when you look back up at him, too stunned to speak, too hot and too cold at the same time. He has asked people out before, multiple times even, but right now, with you, he can’t get a grip, he can’t get himself to breathe and not be putty in your hands.

‘’ Not at all. ‘’ Is all he finds to say when he is brought back down to earth. Arturo can’t stop the smile that pulls at his lips, he can taste your perfume on his tongue. ‘’ Even better, mami. ‘’

[narcosmx]

protective headcannon: ismael "mayo" zambada

a/n: based on the requested prompt:

"He said what to you?!" and "He won't hurt you again, I promise." and probably tw for like insinuating dv

"He said what to you?!" Mayo's voice boomed over the phone, you could almost hear the way his vein in his neck buldges with anger. "Please, Mayo, not now" you whimper back at him. Truly, you didn't know what came over you to call your ex in this situation. It was almost like muscle memory, you felt unsafe and maybe you unconsioucly knew only one person could restore that feeling within you. "Just..." "I'll be right there, mija" Knees up against your chest, you sat in the center of your bed focusing on your trembling breath. When you hear the front door unlock, you take a unintended breath of relief. Only one other person had a key to your home, and it was times like this when you were thankful you never got that key back. "Que chingados" Mayo murmurs to himself, stepping over the broken dishes and things thrown around the floor, before calling out to you. He turns the knob to your bedroom slowly and only peaks in, as if to reassure you it was really him. But once he saw you curled up, his stomach dropped nearly running to your side. The way you at first flinch away from his touch made him sick to his stomach at the thought of what you had gone through. What he had allowed to happen to you by pushing you away. "Mirame, soy yo, mi amor" Mayo said in a low and slow tone as he reached out his hand to which you immediately leaned your head against, nearly climbing in his lap once he settled on the bed. "Did he touch you?" he questioned after a moment of silence as he gently rocked you as he held you against his chest. "He just " you groan motioning to the door where the reminents of the fight you had hid behind, as if still trying to defend them. "He touched you?! He touched you" the difference in Mayo's breathing was apparent, noticing how much work he had to put in to calming himself down. "Sabes que, I'll be back" he starts to say as he stands but you grab his arm in protest, shaking your head meekly. "You can't leave me... you can't leave me again", he wears the way his heart broke into a million pieces on his sleeve. Nodding his head, he places a kiss on your forehead before insisting he steps out to make a call. As if he needed to hide what his intentions were from you. "'sta bueno, te lo encargo" he orders over the phone before coming back to lay on the bed, pulling you onto him with little hesitation. "He won't hurt you again, I promise" Mayo murmures, caressing your thumb against your cheek "I'm a man of my word, and when I said I'll love you forever, I meant it."

[drabbles-mc]

Out of Time

Amado Carrillo Fuentes x F!Reader

For Day 29 of @whumpril's 2023 Challenge: surrender

Warnings: 18+, language, angst

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: In true drabbles-mc fashion, I have no idea what happened here with this one but I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. We love fics all based on vibes in this house lmao. Also, thank you @hausofmamadas for giving me a little nudge out of my comfort zone. tqm, df 🥰

Narcos/NMX Taglist: @thesandbeneathmytoes @garbinge @winchestershiresauce @panagiasikelia @616wilsons @hauntedforsst @mirabee @buckybarneshairpullingkink @boomclapxox @nessamc @southotheborder @supersanelyromantic @padbrookcottage @mysun-n-stars @raincoffeeandfandoms @justreblogginfics @ashlingnarcos @proceduralpassion @artemiseamoon @narcolini @cositapreciosa (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

Once it all started to unravel the way that it did, Amado decided that there was no other choice. Surrender was never going to be an option for him, not the way that it was for the godfathers. He wasn’t going to turn himself in and simply do his bid. What would it all have been for, then?

So there he was, packing his bags. All the work he’d put into his beautiful home, or rather, all the money he’d put into his beautiful home making others do the work, and now he was going to take off and leave it vacant. It was a small loss, he supposed. With the money he had he could afford to make just about anywhere home. It was a skill that was going to come in handy, too, because he didn’t know how long he was going to have to be on the run before he finally settled down somewhere quiet enough for him to live out the rest of his life in quiet, secluded luxury. That’s really all he wanted now: to be left the fuck alone.

The suitcases that were on the floor beside his bed were already filled with clothes. The zippers on them were strained, nearly to their breaking point, but they still held. There was another still on his bed, open and only half-full as he continued to pack away more clothes into it. Part of him felt like it was a bit ridiculous, packing up his clothes and some of his other easily replaceable belongings, but he still found himself doing it. Maybe it was sentimental, he wasn’t sure—there wasn’t enough time for him to sit back and try to figure it out.

He was the only thing in the entire house making noise, so it wasn’t difficult for him to hear the sound of someone else coming up the stairs that would lead to the hallway that held his bedroom. He reached for his gun even though he wasn’t quite sure who it would be. If it had been the cops, or the feds, they would’ve already caused a scene. They wouldn’t have been able to make such a quiet entrance—they wouldn’t have sent one man in alone.

He moved quickly, quietly across the floor of his room. He positioned himself so that he was hidden behind his open bedroom door. His breathing was slow, controlled as he listened to the footsteps slowly but surely get closer and closer to his room.

Through the sliver between the door and its frame, he caught the silhouette of the person as they started to step into his room. The second he was able, he stepped out from his hiding place, grabbing them and pushing them back towards the wall of his room with his gun pressed underneath their chin before he even had a moment to stop and check and see who it was.

When the wall stopped him from being able to keep pushing the person, he finally looked to see who it was. His eyes widened when he saw that it was you, the nerves that had been mounting went away, replaced instead by guilt when he saw the fear in your eyes with the mouth of his gun pressed harshly against your chin.

“A-Amado?” you stammered out, unable to even get your arms to cooperate enough to try and push him away from you.

He lowered his gun, tucking it back into his waistband as he loosened his vice grip on you. “Querida? Qué paso?” He knew that he should’ve been apologizing for nearly splitting your skull in two, but the question came out first instead.

There were still goosebumps on your skin even though the only thing still touching you was Amado’s warm palm. His fingers curled around your bicep, thumb tracing back and forth to smooth over the way that he’d gripped onto you so harshly before. You were trying to get out the words that you wanted to say, but it was proving to be more effort than you thought it was going to be.

“Estás saliendo?” you finally asked, a slight tremor to your voice.

He hesitated at that for a moment. The answer was evident—he knew that you knew. He wondered if you just wanted to hear him say it. Maybe you were looking more for the answer to the question that was coming next: Why? Although you were also smart enough to put together the broad strokes of the answers to that question as well.

Stepping back from you, granting you some more breathing room but with his hand still on your arm, he nodded once. He watched you look at the suitcases on his floor, the one sitting on top of his mattress. Your eyes traveled around the room—it was the only spot in the house where things were looking like they’d disappeared or were out of place. All that square footage and the only room with things that mattered enough to take with him was his bedroom.

“Cuándo…” your voice trailed off, not quite sure if the answer mattered once you started to ask the question. The exact time of his departure wasn’t what your real concern was. Whenever it was, it was clearly soon. Too soon.

Selfishly, the next question you wanted to ask was, “Were you just going to leave without telling me?” but you couldn’t manage it. It seemed small, childish even, to ask that when hardly two minutes before he’d had his finger on the trigger of his gun that was pressed against the bottom of your jaw.

Clearing your throat, you allowed yourself to lean back against the wall behind you for support, taking what you could get. “Adónde vas?”

He gave a slight shake of his head before shrugging. He made just enough of a motion with his arm, like an attempt at throwing his hands up in defeat without truly committing to it. “No sé.” He huffed out something that would’ve been a laugh if the air surrounding the conversation between you hadn’t felt so heavy. “Lejos de aquí.”

You nodded slowly, trying to process what he was telling you, still trying to process the scene that you were seeing in front of you. For as much of a mess as Amado’s life could be, his house had always been spotless. That was one of the perks of never having the time to be there—it never got to the point where it looked lived-in. The only person who had been around enough to even try to make a mess had been you, and you were always careful. But now his room looked like it had been pulled apart, broken down like an old car in search of decent scraps to put into a new one.

Pushing yourself off the wall, you slowly walked over towards his bed. Aside from the wrinkles at the foot of it where he’s been rotating out his suitcases, it still looked perfectly-made. The pillows were all in their correct spots, the blanket and sheet by the head of the bed still folded and set to perfection. You found a spot beside his suitcase and sat down, trying not to think about the way that he was watching you so intently.

You reached into the suitcase, fingers dragging along the fabric of one of the last shirts that he had thrown into the bag. The black cloth passed so smoothly beneath your fingertips. An impulsive part of you wanted to ball it up inside your fist, leave a set of wrinkles that he would have to contend with whenever he got to wherever it was that he was going. Leave him some nuisance to sort out that would make him think of you once he had left you behind. You thought about it, pressed the pads of your fingers harder into the fabric, but then you stopped and just smoothed over it with your palm instead.

“Esto es el fin?” you asked, “Para nosotros?”

For us might’ve been a little presumptuous on your part. But you still deserved an answer. After all, you’d caught the man getting ready to leave without offering you so much as a goodbye or a warning first. If you were here, you might as well make him to through the effort, the pain of stating the obvious. You’d earned that much at least, you’d like to think.

He frowned at the question, and you tried to figure out if he was frowning in confusion because the answer seemed obvious, or if he was frowning because he was actually sad about leaving you behind. Maybe it was something else entirely. Still, you waited patiently for his response.

He shrugged, pausing a moment, his brows knitting like he was trying to think of an answer that wasn’t the most obvious one. “Sí…” he dragged the word out for a beat longer than necessary as he reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment.

“Amado,” you said as you shook your head, sadness plaguing your voice, “what the fuck?”

His eyes snapped back to you at that. You weren’t sure what caught him more off-guard, the sudden switch or the heaviness and sadness that accompanied a question that was usually shouted between the two of you in anger.

He walked over to the bed, positioning himself so that he was standing between your legs. He looked down at you, silently waiting for you to look up at him. “Qué quieres de mi, mija? Hm? Digame.”

“I—” you started, stopping yourself short as you shook your head. The reality of it was that you weren’t really sure what you wanted from him. A heads-up? An invitation? For him to go back in time and not wind up on a path that led to him having to make the choice to either live on the run or to surrender and die in prison? Sighing, you dropped your chin towards your chest as you admitted, “Yo no sé.”

“Hey.” He rested his hand on your shoulder. When you didn’t look up at him, he said, “Mírame.” When you finally looked up at him, he repeated his question. “Qué quieres? Quieres salir conmigo?”

You found yourself shaking your head even though you weren’t quite sure if that was your real answer. You tried not to think too hard about the way his hand warmed your shoulder, about the look in his eyes that you almost thought meant he wanted you to say yes to the question.

“No puedo…” you started, stopping and shaking your head, “I can’t just…”

He tilted his head, like he was curious, almost confused. “Por qué no?”

You leaned back, shock all over your face, “Por qué n—” you cut yourself off, shaking your head, unable to believe that he really just asked you that.

Maybe you should’ve expected it. The rest of the people in his life could pack it all up and leave just like he could, after all. You were the one thing that wasn’t like all the others. You were the only one in his world who couldn’t trade it all in with the flip of a switch. Maybe that’s what the offer was, though, an opportunity to change that.

Despite the fact that you’d thought about it, contemplated it for longer than you thought, you knew that you weren’t going to go. It was an easy choice for Amado. If you had been left with the same choices that he was, you’d probably pick the same thing. But those weren’t the choices that you had. There was so much more left for you here than there was for him, and despite every hopelessly romantic bone in your body, you knew that neither one of you was enough to sway the other. Amado was going to leave no matter what you said, and you were going to stay no matter what he offered.

Reaching, you took his hands in your own. You tried not to think about the tears gathering at the edges of your eyes as you gave him a small pull towards you, trying to coax him to come just a little closer to you before he left you for the last time. You watched him, all of him, the slight slump in his shoulders when he made the decision to give in, when he realized the answer you were going to give him.

He knelt down in front of you, putting himself just below eye-level with you. Your fingers were still threaded through his. Your lips twitched as you tried to keep your tears from spilling, keep your bottom lip from trembling. Leaning forward, you rested your forehead against his.

Taking a deep breath, you said, your voice shaking more than you’d ever admit to after the fact, “Tu sabes…”

You felt the rise and fall of his shoulders and chest from the deep breath that he took. Precious seconds that he didn’t have an excess of anymore, still being spent on you, for you, with you. “No puedes salir,” he said, his voice heavier than you thought it was going to be.

He didn’t know why it hit him so hard. Just a few minutes ago he was ready to leave without even saying goodbye, knowing that for one reason or another he wasn’t ever going to see you again. He’d been ready for that. Maybe the melancholy would catch up to him when he finally slowed down, maybe then he’d feel a passing twinge of regret. What he felt now though was so much more than that, heavier on his shoulders.

Leaving without telling you would’ve been all on his terms. He was in control of it. He wouldn’t have had to stick around to see the pain on your face over it, either. By then he would’ve been long gone. Also, if he had just left without telling you, he wouldn’t have been stuck in the situation he was currently in—he wouldn’t have been getting rejected by you.

Taking one of your hands out of his and resting it on the side of his face, you traced your thumb along his cheekbone, over the stubble that was growing longer, somewhere between unruly and an actual beard.

“No,” you finally said, your voice soft.

The two of you lingered that way for a moment, letting that one word hang between you, the short, simple confirmation that this was the end of the road for the two of you. It didn’t have to be, but it did. Amado couldn't resign himself to what life would look like if he chose to stay, but you could. You had to.

He took a deep breath, and for a fleeting moment you thought that he was going to have something profound to say, something that would shake the foundations of the entire situation. Or maybe he’d kiss you, something so fierce that it would blot out the heart-wrenching reality that the two of you were facing something that would sweep you off your feet one last time. But he didn’t do either of those things. Shaking his head with his forehead still pressed against yours, he let out the breath he’d taken in before getting back up onto his feet.

Neither of you said anything else as he went back to packing up the last of his things. Every item he put into the pile, you found yourself running your hand over it. The next shirt, each pair of pants, rinse and repeat.

By the time he was done, with all of his bags now stacked by the door, you were hoping to have something more to say. He was hoping you’d have something more to say too, because this part had never been the part that he was good at.

Walking from his doorway back to the bed, he sat on the mattress beside you. He let his hand wander, allowed his fingers to hook into yours. He was looking down at your joined hands rather than in your eyes. “Estas segura de esto?” he asked.

You chuckled quietly at that, the sound a little sad beneath the humor of it. It felt like you were supposed to be the one asking him that question. He was the one leaving everything behind to start over somewhere else, drop his old life in favor of a new one without knowing how it would play out. Your life was staying startlingly the same. The only thing that was going to change was that Amado wasn’t going to be in it anymore.

Finally forcing himself to look you in the eyes again, he saw the hint of a smile on your face. He mirrored your expression, knowing exactly what you were thinking. He gave your hand a light squeeze. “Ven conmigo.”

Your smile widened a bit at that, the tears in your eyes growing. “Es mi última oportunidad, yea?”

He nodded. “Yea.”

Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his. It was soft, drawn out longer than it would’ve been any other day because you both knew that it was going to be the last one. He leaned back into you, not the way that he usually did, not in a way that was aimed to escalate or rile you up. He was soaking it up, savoring the feeling in a way that he didn’t take the time to do nearly enough before.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were still closed for a few seconds longer. You studied his face while you could. When he finally opened them, all he said was, “Lo siento.”

Your automatic reaction was to tell him that it was okay, but you both knew it would’ve been a lie. Part of you wanted to make a joke about how he should get going before he missed his flight, both of you knowing that the humor lied in the impossibility of it. But nothing was making it past your lips. Instead, you leaned in and kissed his cheek, unbothered by the stubble when maybe on a different, better day you might’ve been.

With more effort than he thought it would’ve taken, Amado forced himself up onto his feet. He leaned down, pressing his lips to the top of your head before walking towards the door. He picked up his bags, lingering in the doorway as he turned back to you. You could spot the lingering sadness in his eyes that hadn’t been there when you’d shown up. Still, he managed to give you a smile.

“Disfruta la casa, yea?” He took another step back out into the hallway. “Para mi.”

You nodded, the sad smile on your face pairing a little too well with the tears that were beginning to trickle out onto your cheeks. You desperately wanted something more to say, but the same emotions that were clouding your mind were also choking out any chance to give him a comeback, to end things on the same note that they’d started so long ago. But you couldn’t, so you watched him turn and disappear out of the doorway, the last of your seconds with him finally spent.

[narcosfandomdiscord]

narcos october masterlist i

This masterlist is for days 1-10 of the @narcosfandomdiscord's october prompt event, which you can read about here and join in!

For days 11 onwards, check out the second masterlist and the third masterlist.

(Note: character x character indicates a romantic/sexual relationship; character & character indicates a platonic one.)

October 1 — Day of Firsts

Create a fanwork about a canon character you’ve never written about/used before.

↳ fanart by @tofuwildcard — Javi smoking, digital art

↳ Claro Que No by @drabbles-mc — Chepe x gn!Reader, 462

↳ Waiting Red by @narcolini — Isabelle x Chepe vampire AU, 600

↳ Depth Over Distance by @proceduralpassion — Mika & OC sibling backstory, 2.2k

↳ For Old Time's Sake by @garbinge — Carrillo x Reader, Steve and Javi & Reader, angst, 3.5k

↳ In the morning by @artemiseamoon — Marta x Amado established relationship, 2.8k

↳ Vengeance For Me by @kesskirata — Gustavo & Tata angst, ficlet

↳ what we do now by @ashlingnarcos — Feistl x Van Ness post-canon, 1k

↳ Tu cómplice by @hausofmamadas — Mayo x Benjamín pining, 2.8k

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October 2 — “Porque No Los Dos?” Day

Create a crossover for the original Narcos show and the Narcos: Mexico show, featuring at least one character for each.

↳ Looking On by @drabbles-mc — season 3 og DEA & season 2 mx DEA, unite! 3.5k

↳ How Do You Do This Shit For Fun? by @proceduralpassion — Walt & Javi crossover, 1k

↳ Late nights, early mornings by @artemiseamoon — Javi & OFC, Mayo x OFC, 1.8k

↳ two tests by @ashlingnarcos — Carrillo & Trujillo & Calderoni ficlet

Anything involving polyamory, ex: a fic about somebody who has two or more partners.

↳ Aggressive Negotiations by @kesskirata — Javi x Steve x Connie, 1.1k

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October 3 — Day of Music

Create and post a playlist for fic/wip of yours OR your favorite episode and explain why each song resonates for that fic/wip or episode.

↳ Three playlists by @rerorero-my-cherry — for Ramon x OFC fic Sola con mi Soledad

↳ Playlist for episode 2.1, Salva El Tigre by @artemiseamoon

Put your favorite playlist on shuffle and whatever song comes up first, that’s your prompt.

↳ Tainted by @drabbles-mc — Carrillo & Steve angst, 3.1k

↳ I need you tonight by @artemiseamoon — Amado x OFC, 1.1k

↳ on your mind by @narcolini — Javi x gn!reader ficlet

↳ Amado fanart by @tofuwildcard

↳ Foldin' Clothes by @garbinge — Steve Murphy x F!Reader, 3.2k

↳ Promise by @proceduralpassion — Carrillo x OFC smut

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October 4 — Day of Conflict

Many people seemed to combine both prompts for this day! Ambitious day.

Anything involving a fistfight or a gunfight.

Quote prompt: “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

↳ Who You're Dealing With by @drabbles-mc — Steve & Javi & OFC, 3k

↳ Luna de Lobo by @artemiseamoon — Ramón x OFC, Barron x OFC

↳ Country Store Cherry Chocolate by @garbinge — Steve Murphy & Reader (his sister), 1.9k

↳ Unwritten by @proceduralpassion — Carrillo x OFC, 1.1k

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October 5 — Day of Visual Art

Visual fanworks: post a screenshot, meme, gif, gifset, video, or other non-fic visual fanwork.

↳ a glitchy Pachito by @tofuwildcard — fanart

↳ NUGGETS OF BENJAMAYO by @hausofmamadas — gifset + commentary

↳ If Narcos Had A Group Chat by @proceduralpassion — video of groupchat texts

↳ If Narcos Had A Group Chat pt ii by @proceduralpassion — video of groupchat texts

Create a fanwork about a character interacting with a piece of art (e.g. buying decoration for a new home, stealing a piece, hitting on a stranger at a gallery, creating art themselves, etc)

↳ Things I Should Have Said by @garbinge — Javi x F!Reader, 2k

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October 6 — Day of International Relations

Write non-English language fic.

↳ Dos Opciones by @proceduralpassion — language: Spanish, Maria Elvira x Miguel, Maria Elvira x OFC, ficlet

↳ ¿Qué? by @ashlingnarcos — language: Spanish, Eduardo x OFC, ficlet

Use a random country picker and utilize that country in your work in some way: a character is from that country, a food from that country shows up, there’s international politics, etc. You get two rerolls if you don’t like the first or second country you get. If you get the United States, reroll automatically.

↳ House Special by @drabbles-mc — county: Japan, Walt x F!Reader, 3k

↳ Lespwa fe viv by @artemiseamoon — country: Haiti, Chepe x OFC, 1.3k

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October 7 — Day of Darkness

Make something centered around non-death dark topics (we have a specific death day already). Morally or emotionally dark topics/themes.

↳ The Oil Has Run Thin by @proceduralpassion — Walt x OFC ficlet

↳ Twenty-Four Hours by @drabbles-mc — Carrillo & gn!Reader captivity 1.4k

One-word prompt: Blackout.

↳ Control pt 1 by @artemiseamoon — Verdin x OFC smut, 1.6k

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October 8 — Day of Light

A day of pure fluff: anything insanely, unambiguously, self-indulgently, luxuriously enjoyable.

↳ Moving Day by @drabbles-mc — Steve x Connie fluff, 1.1k

↳ Happiest I've Ever Been by @proceduralpassion — Steve x Connie fluff ficlet

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October 9 — Day of Gay

Create anything devoted to an LGBTQ+ character.

↳ Watching Time by @garbinge — Chepe x Pacho ficlet

↳ Bisexually-lit Dina by @tofuwildcard — fanart

Create anything with a queer and/or trans original character or reader insert.

↳ Down in the 305 by @drabbles-mc — Steve x M!Reader

↳ Would You Kill For Me, My Love? by @proceduralpassion — Pacho x OMC ficlet

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October 10 — Day of Tough Shit

Write a fic whose exact wordcount is divisible by 500 (500, 1000, 1500, etc).

↳ The distance between you & me by @artemiseamoon — Calderoni x OFC post-divorce 1.5k

↳ Four People You Meet by @drabbles-mc — Carrillo x Juliana, Carrillo & Martinez, 500

↳ Talking Heads by @ashlingnarcos — Arellano family humor, 500

↳ The Bungalow by @proceduralpassion — Amado x Reader, 500

Make a fanwork in a medium you’ve never used before. If you make GIFs, write something. If you write, draw. Etc. As long as it’s uncharted territory for you!

↳ Hi, I'm a Slut (Amado's Version) by @tofuwildcard — fanvid

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↳ narcos october masterlist ii with prompts from day 11 onwards

[imgeekgirlfan]

Renegada♱

Taglist: @707otto @juxt4p0siti0n @arcticversed (If you want to be added in this fic, just tell me in reply )

Pairings:  Amado Carrillo Fuentes x f!reader(Latina Reader) x Walt Breslin  [From Narcos: Mexico TV Series]

Content Rating : Mature 18+  Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

Synopsis : Everything that was happening on Aruba Island wasn't right at all. You know damn well when Amado kissed you. And when you heard the sound of the gunshots behind you

AN : I was almost giving up on updating this fic until I found new comments. Thank you to those who still enjoy my work. I will try to update as long as there are people waiting to read.

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𝙍𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙙𝙖♱ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

➡  Previous : Next

[5]ᅳ 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐢́𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐨 ✟

"Amado Carrillo Fuentes is more like a businessman than a drug lord. His background is clean compared to others in the same industry. This man is cautious and stays under the radar all the time. We need to know everything about him. Every detail matters.

That's a summary given by Bill Carter in the last meeting before you leave Mexico tonight.

And when the time comes, you have to leave everything about yourself behind. From now on, you'll have to breathe under the name of Camilla, a musician from Cuba. And it will be like this until you can safely return to Mexico again, if there are no mistakes during that time.

Amado's fascination with airplanes is more than what you imagined. You realize this when you're brought to his private airport. Lined up are all types and sizes of planes, totaling no less than a hundred. Every plane here belongs to Amado. Also, it's the same plane used to secretly smuggle tons of cocaine into America every year.

El Señor de los Cielos is the nickname drug dealers use to refer to Amado, the most powerful man both on land and in the sky. The man on top of the food chain

And this same man is waiting for you in front of a private jet. It's not difficult to notice him, with his flowing hair and the same old black shirt you first met him in, now covered with a bomber jacket. A satisfied smile passes through his sunglasses when you step out of the car. You briefly catch Amado's eye before flashing a smile back at him.

Starting the drama with a beautiful face and a survival instinct, just follow a few simple rules: just hold hands, just smile, and just turn a blind eye and pretend to fuck him a few times. Just run away before getting caught.

Throughout the time you step straight into him, you never know what you're really getting into.

Life can change suddenly and easily. One day you're still a CIA officer, and the next you become the partner of a criminal. And what will happen next? How many bombs will explode in front of you? How many people will die in your life? And when will death finally become yours?

You can't find answers to these questions.

Lately, you've often imagined the end of yourself, from the moment you closed your eyes to the moment you woke up—every pain you've ever experienced in the past, which still remains and continues to haunt you. It will never disappear until the end comes for you, just like it did for others before.

The end must come one day. And for the law enforcer who fights against the dark power all the time, there's no way this story will end well. Either with you or with Amado.

You know. You're prepared, unwaveringly. But it still turns out worse than expected.

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

Aruba Island, Kingdom of the Netherlands

1600 (Military Time) *Three Hours Before the Incident*

Although it's approaching evening, the sunlight on Aruba Island is still bright and clear, no different from the afternoon. The scene in the travel magazine doesn't seem exaggerated at all when seen with your own eyes. The clean white sandy beaches, lush green coconut trees, and crystal-clear blue sea reflect the shimmering sun. It's breathtakingly beautiful here, and the atmosphere is just right—neither too quiet nor too bustling like the seas in Miami or Thailand.

This place is suitable for tourism, you think, and also suitable for opening a cocaine market for these tourists.

But Amado's purpose for coming to Aruba Island remains unclear, something you must urgently investigate while there's still a chance.

For you, every second is crucial and calculated, tension infiltrating every action.

But for Amado, it's the opposite. He seems completely at ease. You can tell from the relaxed smile on his face all the time.

You glance at Amado thoughtfully, not hiding your slight surprise as you see him change into a blue Hawaiian shirt, yellow shorts, and slip on sunglasses with a smile. He blends seamlessly with the other tourists. For you, this is quite a surprising and unexpected look compared to his usual all-black attire.

"What wrong, Mija?[1] You're staring at me too much, I'm starting to blush," he said, raising his eyebrows with a playful smile after handing you the Esquites[2] he bought from the nearby store. "Or am I so handsome that I'm stunning you?"

You chuckled and took the Esquites from his hand, then pretended to glance at him with a half-serious look. "It's not that much," you shrugged. "Just... average."

"Average? No, Mija. You should say, You look so handsome, Amado!"

You burst into laughter again, genuinely amused by this man's incredible sense of humor.

The dark stories you've heard about the drug wars in Mexico seem like distant memories here. There's no violence, no gunfire or explosions, and no cocaine. 

And your date, who was enjoying Esquites by the seaside with you at this moment, was hardly anything like a world-class drug dealer.

But beneath the seemingly ordinary and charming nature of Amado Carrillo Fuentes, you know what he's capable of and how dangerous he is.

Honey trapping [3] is another important method to access intelligence for secret agents worldwide. It's not your expertise compared to other spies, but you're confident that you can do it just as well. You intentionally charm him without going too far, being both a good speaker and listener, creating an atmosphere that's relaxed and friendly. Every conversation you have leads him to tell you what you want to know.

However, Amado's responses barely provide any significant information for the mission. It seems more like casual chit-chat. If it weren't for the fact that he is exceptionally clever and cautious, it would mean that he must be a very inane person.

Of course, you're damn sure he's not stupid. Amado is a true master of deception. What you can do is make him like you enough to let his guard down a bit, and that's the ultimate challenge of this mission.

There's still plenty of time. You think. And maybe...that was the first mistake that led to bad things in ways you never expected.

"I want you to answer truthfully, Mija."

That sounds like just another normal question from Amado, but not for you. You blinked slightly as you caught a hint of seriousness in his tone. Yet, you still pretended to smile as if everything were normal. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I do, right?"

For a moment, you hesitated. But you managed to maintain your composure, even though your heart was pounding with excitement and anxiety.

You couldn't predict why he asked you this question. You weren't sure if it was just one of Amado's tests, or worse, if he was starting to suspect you. But regardless, your answer would undoubtedly affect the entire mission, one way or another.

Because Amado was clear about wanting the truth. Ultimately, you chose to take the risk and answer as he desired. You softly reply, "i think I can figured as much."

"And aren't you afraid of me? Even when you know what I do?"

It could be either a threat or a challenge from the drug lord. You could feel Amado's piercing gaze, scrutinizing. However, this time, you handled it better than before. You turned to face him, inching closer without a hint of fear, even if just a little.

"Should I be afraid then?"

"Of course, you should be terrified, Mija," Amado's arms wrapped around your waist slowly, pulling your body closer until there was no space between you. The mingling sensation of his breath tickling your face, combined with the scent of cologne and cigarettes, made your heart race in a way different from before, clear and distinct.

It was too close—much closer than you thought. A slight flutter of nervousness crossed your mind, but you couldn't retreat, especially when you were under his tight arms.

Amado was too smart. He deliberately blocked off every escape route for you.

"My life has encountered many terrifying things,There's nothing left in this world that can make me scared anymore."

That was another truth you decided to reveal to him.

Certainly, you were afraid of the mission failing. But that didn't mean you were afraid of Amado. Years of CIA work exposed you to countless horrors. You had killed many and lost many. So, what reason did you have to fear someone like him?

It wasn't just Amado who tried to test or challenge you. You chose to do the same. It was a slight defiance and a steady gaze that showed your refusal to submit. That was enough to create even more surprise for the man known as the biggest in the drug trade, a man whom everyone else bowed to out of fear.

The sun had disappeared from the sky, gradually dimming Amado's face with shadows. However, his eyes still sparkled, no different from the streetlights. You tried hard to read his thoughts from his expression, but it was too difficult. You didn't know what he was thinking or what he would do next.

But his decision in the end surprised you.

His lips pressed against yours, catching you off guard. It was a brief  kiss, yet long enough to make you feel and remember every detail. the stubble of his beard, the bitter taste of cigarettes lingering on his tongue, the warm and humid heat in his mouth, intense with desire until your body trembled.

It felt as though your lips were being burned by an invisible flame, and the fire still smoldered deep within even after he pulled away. His hand lingered on your cheek, trailing slowly down to your chin, before using his thumb to touch your lower lip. Amado's eyes never left yours, and beneath those intense gazes, there was something dangerous and alluring hidden within.

"Will you dance with me?"

Even though you knew how dangerous he was, Amado was undeniably romantic. That was something you had to admit.

Nothing could be more romantic than dancing on the beach at night. And Amado knew it well. The moonlight shining brightly in the sky, the breeze blowing through your hair and skin, and the sweet melody of Latin music floating in the air. His large hand rested on the small of your back, and his arm wrapped comfortably around your waist, gently guiding your body to sway to the rhythm.

This time, there were no tests or challenge like before. "Just dancing with me" Amado said before pulling you back into his embrace. 

The dance proceeded quietly and calmly. The word 'calm' felt strangely out of place for a CIA like you. It was like a phrase that didn't exist in your life, But what was happening now might be the closest thing you could think of—a feeling of relaxation and comfort as you laid your head on his chest, and his thumb to massage your back.

This wasn't right at all.

Standing in a country where you hardly knew, in a street where you had forgotten the name, you felt safe next to a man you knew was dangerous. It wasn't something you should feel at a time like this with someone like him. You should say something, focus on the mission as you should, but at the same time, you didn't want to ruin what was happening. And Amado probably felt the same. He was silent, saying nothing, Everything between you and him was so quiet that you could hear the music, the laughter of other dancing couples nearby, the sound of the waves, and the sound of his breath blowing on your neck.

...Before the sound of the gunshots rang out.

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[1] Mija in Spanish means "daughter." However, in a slang context, it can mean "dear” or “honey"

[2]Esquites Another name for it is "elote en vaso" or "elote" (specifically in America). It's a well-known Mexican street food made with grilled corn, mayonnaise, spices, and cheese.

[3] Honey trapping is a method of investigation or espionage that has been used since World War II. It involves deception through the use of romantic or sexual relationships with a target individual who possesses important information or resources.

[ashlingnarcos]

play the refrain

>>> Güero Palma x Reader, 5k words, post-canon, childhood friends with benefits, warning for implied sex & violence

It's been so long since you last saw Güero that the moment you see his face, you're stricken with doubt that you can read it anymore. A stranger would be easier. He looks frightened, you think, but that's absurd—and then the prison door slides shut with a final metal clang behind him and he blinks at the sound. No fear, just Güero squinting at you bemusedly in the harsh noon sunlight.

It still stings a little. Not to be an asshole, because the day's not about you, but it would've been nice if he'd been happy to see you, or at least tried to pretend. You've made promises. You have rituals. This isn’t his first time getting released from prison, though, given everything, it will probably be his last, one way or another. Of course you were going to come. 

From your place in the driver's seat of the car, you lean across the empty shotgun seat and open the door. 

Güero strolls across the street, not bothering to look either way. The jail’s too far out from any town for traffic, and the surrounding flat fields are completely empty. It’s just you, him, the guard up in the tower, and a whole lot of dust.

Once he’s up close, he doesn’t get in, just leans on the hood of the car with one hand, ducks his head down a bit so he can study you through the open door. Oh, you know what you look like. Two gold chains around your neck, shirt half-unbuttoned, belt buckle tacky as hell. You pop your gum at him— what you looking at? —and take your sweet time looking your fill in return. It’s only right. It’s been seven years.

That gray striped shirt’s too small for him now. He was never skinny, but he’s got shoulders and a stomach on him now that fill up the open door real easy, sort of thing that makes you want to bite into the meat of his forearm. Some things time has passed over lightly, others it hasn’t. His hair remains dark, but his beard is threaded with gray. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes have deepened. They’re noticeable because he’s smiling, and that’s noticeable because it seems oddly sad. 

“I didn’t think it would be you,” he says.

Your smile nearly slips. Why’s he talking like some kind of telenovela hero? He should know that if the two of you are very, very lucky, you might get away with just being bit players. Why is he still looking at you like that, the fucking weirdo.

“Who else would it be?” you say. “Get in before you let out all the air conditioning.”

He does. There’s something viscerally satisfying about having him solid beside you, the thud of him in the seat and the way he shifts to get comfortable—fat chance, in this car—and then the click and slide of him opening up the glove compartment, finding the lighter and pack there waiting for him. Flick. The flame, the smell of the smoke. It’s real. It’s all real. And unlike most days that you’ve spent too much time dreaming up, this one isn’t outworn by the time you touch it. This one thrums, exhales, smiles cocky beside you. Asshole, is all you can let yourself think. 

You turn the key in the ignition, rev the engine, and accelerate stupid fast. He gets slammed back in his seat, but he just chuckles, rolls the window down a few inches, and then—you catch it in a quick sideways glance—closes his eyes. 

Idly, it occurs to you to be insulted by this. That seems like a good choice. That seems better than the other ways you could choose to feel about the way he lets his weight sag against the seat with his eyes closed. You put your right hand on his thigh, feel him tense up beneath the rough jeans, and feel a little better about it.

“You gonna fall asleep on me before we even get to the river?” you say. 

Güero takes your hand in both of his, his thumbs tracing slow circles against your skin. He doesn’t open his eyes. He doesn’t let go. 1972 was a hell of a long time ago, but apparently, he hasn’t noticed. 

Against the blast of air conditioning, his open window gives you a whisper of hot wind and an earful of rush. Still, you can hear him.

“I’m wide awake.”

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.

.

You finally reach the right place, park the car, and stretch. It’s a short trudge down to the riverside through a narrow footpath that only gets narrower every year. The scrub encroaches, nasty, scratching at his arms and yours, until you make it to the flat rock that juts out into the river here, where the river’s shallower, more like a stream. The rock is the color of sand and big enough to hold three or four people, but it’s never held more than you two, and if you have it your way, it never will. 

Güero is very careful to put his takeaway boxes of chicken and rice in the middle of the rock. He had been so excited about it while picking it up that he couldn’t even be bothered to make small talk with the kid behind the counter, who was clearly a little starstruck about the c-list criminalebrity. You toss him a mocking, fond look for the care he’s taking with his food, and he shrugs, unabashed. The fact that he didn’t open it and eat it right there in the car is proof he does remember. There’s an order to these things.

Both of you sit down on the rock, taking off your shoes and peeling off your socks. It’s a simple rhythm, a good one. The day has nearly reached its worst heat, but that’s what the river is for. You stand up beside him, bare soles soaking up the warmth of the rock, and then you unbuckle, unbutton, shuck off your jeans. Roll up your shirtsleeves. 

Looking to see if he’s looking would be a mistake, so you don’t do that. You just wade into the water, avoiding the area of the bank on the right where there’s an especially slimy kind of river weed that always gets stuck between your toes. You reach in when you see a blur of red under the clear water and pull up an airtight cooler with one heave. Güero takes it from you at once, sets it down, opens it up. You just stand there for a while with the water up to your thighs, watching him. Out here in the water, the world always feels over and done. It’s a comfort. No urgency. 

Way back when, at his first arrest, you’d been so anxious to get it right, you packed a stupid amount of food and ended up bored of eating the same thing day after day afterwards. Now, some two stays in jail or prison later, you keep it simple: some flan that your aunt made and kept extra safe an old plastic butter container. Fresh fruit. Beer. 

There’s one twisted, knotty, stubborn little tree just to the left of your flat rock. Güero reaches up into its branches and finds his brother’s old bottle opener within seconds, tucked into the spot he had carved for it. At the sound of the first beer bottle opening, his shoulders drop half an inch. He offers the bottle to you.

You wade over and accept it, but you don’t drink until he does. Then you sit down at the very edge of the rock, feet still dangling in, no longer watching because you no longer need to, the sound and the presence of him by your right hip more than enough. He makes quick work of the chicken and rice. You decline the offer to share that, but when he chooses a ripe mango, you pass him your pocketknife. 

Güero hesitates before he takes it, offensive though he meant no offense, again, did he think you’d forgotten? He likes to shave off the thinnest slices of fruit and eat them right off the blade. It used to unnerve you, the sharp edge so close to the pink of his open mouth, but now you just lean in and accept your own slices with your tongue laying low and a deliberate prickle of teeth. 

Somewhere in the middle of the river, something goes plop. You haven’t gone fishing around here in a while, not since your nephew started shunning everyone around him in favor of his obsession with some girl. He’ll be back soon enough, but until then, you should take Güero fishing. He’s easy to be silent with. Usually. Just now, he’s at ease, but not completely; he’s still angled so he can catch the path in his peripheral, he’s still sitting, not lying down, no feet in the water. But that figures. 

It might reassure him to know that you’ve taken security into account, too. 

“Chapo wants you out,” you say.

“I am out.” He licks stray mango juice from the knuckle of his thumb. 

You pretend to focus. “I mean dead.”

“I know,” he says, but it comes with a flicker of annoyance, not concern. “Can we talk about it later?”

You hum your assent. Maybe it’s nothing to do with Chapo, then. Seven years is a pretty long stretch. You’ll let that lie. You keep noticing his hesitancy with you, his wariness, but those are papercuts you can ignore; it’s what’s behind his caution that nearly ruins the sound of running water. Seven years is so long, and you rarely called as a matter of policy. Phones are always listened in on, or they can be. What happened in there exactly, you don’t know. Maybe you don’t want to know. You’re definitely not asking. 

But they’re just flickers, his hesitancies. Right now, he’s back to the slow deliberate slice and eat, cross-legged contentment. 

His shirt really does look ridiculous, the small white buttons straining. You budge over and begin to undo them, smiling a little to yourself about it; he goes still.

“I’m not rushing you,” you murmur. “Keep eating.”

With the pad of his thumb, he brushes along your skin, just behind the corner of your jaw, right where he’d take your pulse. With the hand that’s still holding the knife. There was nothing to for him to brush away, so you flick one wry glance at him: prison really has changed your tastes, weirdo, but fondly. He won’t cut you and you know it. Whatever this is, you let it pass when he offers you more mango. You just chew and unbutton, till it’s the stained white undershirt and a bristle of chest hair—half-memory, osito —and a reminder of what you forgot.

You take off his chain from around your neck, and fasten it around his. Tricky clasp, but you’re used to it by now.

 “Kept it warm,” you say. 

He chews, he swallows. Eyes you. It’s not lust or affection alone; you can’t read it, but that’s okay. You sit back, then lay down on the sun-warmed rock, and close your eyes. It’s been a while. But it’s all gonna be okay.

.

.

.

Some time later, you hear the lid of the cooler close, and you open one eye just in time to see the mango’s core sailing through the air. It lands with a plop in the water.

“Yeah?” you say.

One of the things you can’t get in prison is good food. The other is incoming.

Güero crawls the short distance to you, and then he’s on his knees beside you, looking down at you. You don’t so much as lift your head. He presses one hand to your stomach, skin to skin in the slice between your boxers and your shirt. 

The stupid does burst and it is inside your chest, but it can’t be helped. No, it’s not separate from you, it’s you. You could never help yourself for almost as long as you’ve known him, and the fact that there is no expiration date on this is something you’ve long ceased to think of as a burden and begun to think of as a promise, a reward, or a large flat rock. Play the refrain. Again, and welcome. Your hand on his jeans-clad knee, your hand on his bearded cheek; his dark eyes are hesitant, but seven years is a long time. You let him linger, enjoy it even. The warmth of his hand against you is obscene. He can feel the muscles of of your abdomen clenching. You’re sweating already, can feel it in the stickiness of your neck, bits of your hair clinging to your forehead. 

Your lips part, and he catches that.

You say, lazily, “Are you trying to make it to eight, or—”

And there it is. Mango and beer, messy, his tongue in your mouth, your neck straining because you surged up into it, his fingers slipping underneath your shirt, and sunlight everywhere. Affectionately, you think, you missed it, huh, and then you stop thinking.

.

.

.

It’s near to dusk, but that’s fine. The sun has done its job and dried the two of you off after your long swim. You’re exhausted, but you earned it, and flan for dinner tastes so good when you’re with him that you didn’t even need any of the chicken and rice, though you had a little because he insisted. 

You’ve both updated your mental rosters, though he was ridiculous about it. Kept stopping and asking, “You really don’t know him?” about every two bit little so-and-so he ran into during Year Three, which was apparently the busiest one, though he’s still vague on the details in a way that makes you both grateful and queasy. No, osito —and here you had to break off a little so he could laugh at the nickname—no, I don’t give a fuck how many baby felons are out there praying on your downfall, to me you’ll always be that guy who still owes me a 1978 King Cobra Mustang—yes it’s ugly, that’s the whole point, you idiot.

He’d wrestled you back into the water. You really are exhausted. But it’s good now, perfectly calm. You can hear the sound of water and the sound of the little crepuscular creatures beginning to stir in the underbrush.

Güero has his head is in your lap. You’re wearing his gray striped shirt, and he, in turn, is wearing almost nothing. In a while, you’ll need to head home, but that will mean having to share him, so you’ll do the drive in the dark if you can, keep this as long as you can. When you ask him, “So, what now?” it’s only to make sure that he’s okay with being kept for longer. 

The silence lasts so long that you think he’s falling asleep, so you lean over him and bite his nose. He pushes your head away and clambers up off you, which wasn’t really what you wanted, but from the clearness of his eyes, he was awake the whole time. He’s not sleepy in the least.

“What?” he says, leaning back on his elbows, astonishingly ill-tempered. Right, fine, you’re not gonna keep him for longer.

“Where do you want me to take you first?” you say. “What now?”

He holds a blank look for a second, and then shifts just slightly. Physically, it’s not much, it’s nothing you could ever describe to anybody else without making yourself sound crazy, but this is Güero, so when you know, you know. Your face shows your alarm, and he, in turn, doesn’t bother trying to put the façade back up. 

“You know what now,” he says, quietly. 

“I really fucking don’t.” 

What makes your stomach drop is this: he’s trying to be brave. You’ve seen that look on his face before, not very often in recent decades, but all the time when you were younger, all the time, and the survival response is built into you, skittering along the nape of your neck, sharpening your hearing, where is it? Where’s the danger? You glance to the path, but it’s still, and you haven’t heard any cars whizzing along the road since a few that went by around dinnertime. It’s getting dark much more quickly now, though, and that makes it worse. There’s something you’ve missed.

“Here’s a good a place as any,” he says. 

Something clicks, way back in your head. When you picked him up, your first thought on seeing him was that he looked frightened. 

You stare at him helplessly. There’s no pushing it down this time. Every little thing that’s been wrong since you went to get him, the hesitancies, the idiosyncrasies, the odd moments where you surprised him, it all raises itself up between you, and you can barely see him anymore. Maybe you never could.

He sits up, reaches into the cooler, and pulls out the gun. 

Between the two of you, if one person is released from jail, they wait to get picked up. If they don’t get picked up, they hitch a ride down a ways and then walk to the rock. If a day goes by and the other person doesn’t show up, that means shit’s gone bad and it’s time to take the cash, the map, and the gun and make some fucking moves. It’s an insurance policy you cooked up to make yourselves feel better, to give your picnics of freedom and gluttony into something with maybe a purpose, maybe an edge. In all honesty, the worst you ever expected was that both of you would be in prison at the same time, but other than that, you never really expected to get out and not have him there waiting, or for him to get out and not have you there waiting. Stupid. Faith. Whatever. 

Güero hands you the gun. 

“I’d rather it be you,” he says.

On automatic, you check the gun, as you always check any weapon you’re handed; yeah, it’s loaded, and yeah, there’s one in the chamber. 

You look at him in astonishment.

“It’s okay,” he says, like he’s the one sparing you, and that’s when you know it’s real.

“I don’t know who told you that I would be killing you today,” you say, just barely eking out the words out, jaw tight, “but we should kill them instead.”

He still won’t look at you. 

“Héctor.” 

Chin up. He holds your gaze, then wavers, and your grip tightens. What did they tell him to make him ever believe you would hurt him? What did they do to make him think that? What did you ever do to make him think that? Was it always this way, and you just didn’t know it?

Conflicting emotions play across his face, and for that, you feel more outrage than anything else; you know how this ends, of course he walks away. Of course he gets to live. What is there for to consider? It’s him. It’s you. 

Finally, you can see certainty settle on him. A moment later, he says, “I’m sorry.” There's a little relief in it, but mostly defeat.

There’s nothing you can say to that because you’re choking on the thousand things you need to say, watching him and thinking, shouldn’t you be happier than this? You get to live, asshole, and that’s all I wanted, this was all I wanted. This hurts more than anything. But the only thing you manage to speak is your rage.

“I mean, you’re so far off the fucking map there are dragons , you shit-for-brains son of a—”

He cuts in surprisingly swift. “Did you not accept an order from Chapo to kill me?”

“Of course I did!” you say, aghast. “That doesn’t mean I was going to do it. Just how stupid are you?”

He doesn't answer, because he can't. You both know stupidity has nothing to do with it.

In the back of your head, you note that he has an informant at least as high as you are in the organization, and kept that from you too. 

You're all but shaking now, the whole warm day curdling to poison in your stomach. He walked over to you, got into your car, laid his head in your lap and closed his eyes—the whole time, this? You don't understand it and you don't understand him and that is worse than any sentence you've served. The rock is gone in every way that matters. You never saw this coming.

"Why did you come to me, then?" Why deliver himself to the slaughter? He's been so many things, you've chided him for so many things, but meekness is not one of them.

His dark eyes are direct but ashamed.

"I'm tired," he says, simply.

You can only look at him now. There’s nothing left to say. The sun has set and the air’s becoming cold; that’s the desert, enough heat to kill you or none at all. So he’s willing to die. How long has it been like this? You can’t even hold onto your anger anymore, and once that goes, you’re left empty-handed. Empty.

Héctor’s voice rises half an octave, like you’ve accused him. 

"They killed my—” He stops himself, tries again. “I don’t—” 

He’s not clamoring against his lot, only against your judgment. 

“What do you want from me?" he says. 

"What about—" As soon as you realize where the sentence ends, you shut your mouth. What about me. Vestigial. The last of your mistakes, the foundational mistake; what you had taken for granted that you never fucking should have. The idea that you’d matter. The idea that you’d be enough.

He goes to you then, far too late. Apologetic, he cups your face in his hands, and you want to shrink away, but that would be giving away your hurt pride, wouldn’t it? You’re not enough, and he decided this. You can’t even look at him anymore. A thought is forming, though slowly, and you give it time as you push him away and get to your feet. If you’re not enough, then—and there you stutter as the world around you holds fast. It takes forever to catch hold of it, because you don’t want to. But it’s too obvious to miss. You know what you have to do. This is the last time. 

Fuck it, you think, though it hurts so bad you can feel it in your body. If he wants to lay down on the highway, you won’t be the fatal car, but you don't have to stick around to hear the crunch, either.

You put on your jeans. He’s hovering, though he knows enough not to move closer, not to touch you. Wordlessly, you tuck the gun into your waistband—this is the last time, but you’re not gonna make it that easy on him, you’re just not. 

In the shadows, your last look at him is a gleam of his eyes, the eyes of boy you knew very well in a face of a stranger. Then you turn and go. As you make your way back up to the road, crashing through the underbrush with vicious satisfaction in snapped twigs and scratched arms, you hear him say your name. There’s so many things you could say to hurt him now, but what would be the point? There’s nothing you can do that they haven’t already done. 

"You can walk home,” you say, and feel a dull, muffled pride in the flatness of your own voice. He taught you well.

"Home?” he says. “Where the fuck is that?" 

.

.

.

You’re whizzing north so fast that when the cop car lurches out from its hiding place on the side of the road and gives chase, you’re almost happy to see it—you could beat it, if you wanted. But in this territory, you don’t get stopped without reason. Not for something stupid as speeding. So instead, you hit the brakes, with a great screeching and a cloud of dust, grimly enjoying the drama of it and not even pulling over to the side of the road. Maybe someone will drive up behind you. So what? Let them go around.

The cop turns out to be Abel, a calm, moon-faced captain, curious choice for traffic duty. He parks alongside you, rolls down his window, and waits with dull patience as you stare at him through the glass of your own window. Dull patience. He’s used to dealing with you and your type. What a shame he’s not here to fight you after all. You roll down your own window after a while.

“Do you want my license and registration?” you say.

Again, Abel gives you nothing but patience. 

“Because I haven’t got any.”

“Chapo has new plans for the body,” Abel says. “Where did you bury Güero?” 

Ah. With all the heat of your argument with Güero still clouding, you hadn’t bothered to figure out what came next, and so what you do next comes automatically. You lie. 

“I didn’t bury him yet,” you say. “I was going to ask Chapo if I could bury him in his family’s plot, with Lupita and the kids. As a favor.”

Patient, yes—but Abel is no fool. His expression barely changes, but you suddenly realize he has not come out of his car for a reason. He doesn’t trust you. He shouldn’t trust you. Seven years isn't long enough for any veteran of the force to forget about what you and Güero have gotten up to together, not even if the vet's corrupt—especially if the vet's corrupt.

“So where is he?” Abel says.

You pretend to think about lying, and then you pull out a defeated look. Not a well-practiced one, that look, but passable. 

“In the trunk,” you say grudgingly. “I’ll shift him from mine to yours; you take him to Chapo.”

“I don’t—”

But you’re already getting out of the car, wearing a look of distaste, walking round to the back, so Abel gets out of his car too. 

“You’ll have to help me lift,” you say. “I could barely get him in on my own.”

“Chapo just told me to escort you there with the body, not take it there myself.”

“You think I want to see whatever he has planned?”

Abel shrugs unhappily. “I have orders. Just open the—”

His reflexes are too good for you to knock him out at once; he catches the intended blow on his forearm, and then you’re both down on the ground, grappling. It’d be really nice, trying to catch hold of him, trying to win. It’d be perfect, really, except that gaining the rank of captain in your area is no picnic, so he’s good and he bloodies your nose and you’re not really getting to play with your food. By the time you have him in a chokehold, your adrenaline has spiked but you can’t even enjoy it. It’s not quite right. He’s not the one you want to kill. So you cut it short, with your elbow clamped around his throat, cutting off his circulation, your ribs taking the brunt of his elbow trying to slam back into you, his back pressed sweaty to your front. You almost feel bad for him.

“Abel,” you say, with infinite weariness, “I really will kill you.”

He stops struggling. You hit his head against the asphalt just hard enough to knock him out. 

Two minutes later, you’re driving back the way you came, with Abel in the trunk of his own car. They’ll find him in less than a day. He’ll be fine.  

You nearly miss Güero in the dark, you’re driving so fast; you brake, and then reverse, and then it’s a mirror of you picking him up at the jail: you leaning over the shotgun seat to open the door for him. He’s wearing your shirt. He looks over at you with dull resentment, and then sees your bloody nose; one glance down the deserted road, and then he hops inside.

“Yeah?” he says. 

“I just fought a cop,” you say. For you goes unsaid. Then you hit the gas. 

You’re looking down the road at what lies ahead. There’s nothing for a couple miles, and then there’s one huge truck coming along the opposite way, a big one. Nothing local, if you’re lucky. You drag the sleeve of his shirt across your mouth, under your nose. Blood smears the striped gray fabric. You were a mess to start with and this makes no difference. That’s the argument you’d like to make, anyway. That’s your story and you’re sticking to it. 

“Thank you,” Güero says quietly. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Your voice is too loud, but you don’t apologize, and you don’t take it back. Maybe you should.

On the other hand, he doesn’t actually shut the fuck up. He speaks, again, in that weighty, quiet voice, that voice you hate because there is an intimacy you can only get when he’s that quiet, and you don’t want to want it any more. You are on the same side, sure, yeah, of course. You don’t want to notice it. 

“Lean forward,” he says. 

You do, and he reaches over, pulls the gun from your waistband, and checks it. You glance over at him, quick. In the dark of the car, there’s not much to see, but he was the one who taught you how to handle a gun and you quickly surpassed him in discipline on that front, so you could simply imagine him checking a weapon and it would look the same. The thin gleam of gold is his chain at the nape of his neck. You give up. You look back at the road.

“Go to sleep,” you say, quiet like he is. “It’s a long drive.”

You hear what happens next more than you see it. He’s a flicker in your periphery. He puts the gun in the center console at his side, leans back, sighs. He’s probably closed his eyes. Maybe he’s asleep by now.

“Thank you,” he says again. 

“Shut the fuck up, Héctor,” you say, gently, and that’s all. 

[narcolini]

almost to regret

arturo ‘kitty’ paez x f!reader, smut/angst, 18+, 1759 words

warnings for douchebaggery </3

for day 14 of whumpril: false smile & ‘i said i’m fine.’

a/n: thanku to @hausofmamadas for the gif, eres mi heroe, the best gifmakeraderro of all time

tagging: @cositapreciosa​ @empireroyals​ @drabbles-mc​ @marissa53115​ @iridescent-sol​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ (hope ive remembered the right ppl for nmx ahh) 

If it wasn’t for his hands, his eyes, the way he remembers how you like it, this would feel like a bigger mistake than it is. Or maybe, the right amount of mistake, because it is Kitty, of course. You’ve been down this route before. He charms you, you let him, you fuck—and fuck and fuck—and then he gets bored. And you let him.

He smirks up from beneath you, palms running up your thighs. ‘It’s been a long time, right?’

‘Don’t,’ you stop him, ‘lets not talk about that.’

He laughs. You bounce with it, rocked by his waist in-between your knees.

‘Why not?’

Because then you’ll have to tell him, remind him, what kept you away. What sits like a nervous time bomb in the base of your stomach. You outgrew him, outgrew this, being one of his many conquests. It was fun then, you didn’t mind being a spin on his wheel. Now, it’s different. You told yourself you wouldn’t sleep with him again, until you knew it was you and only you, that crossed his mind. Until you were top of that little list of his. If you ever would be, that is.

He’d almost convinced you of it tonight; at dinner, at the bar afterwards. Asking about you, your family, how you’ve been since he saw you last, and listening with his full attention. No wandering gaze, no smirks across the room. If you didn’t know him better, you would’ve taken that alone as proof but, you know him better than anyone. It’s never that simple. You left the bar knowing that there was a bridge left for the two of you to cross, validation that you were looking for still, and maybe after another date you’d get it. Maybe after he’d opened up to you in return, it would feel genuine.

You were set on that.

Then he’d done what he does best, and convinced you of it anyway, keenly, with his lips on your neck, and his hands under the curve of your breasts. He got you home with him and willing, impossible to deny. What’s one time, right? You’ve been disciplined enough to resist him for months, so what’s one extra night, with the man you’ve already shown everything to. It’s a mutual exchange, a one time deal. You won’t let him sweep you up again, have you waiting on his call and wishing for his heart—he still has to work for that.

He’s lay waiting against the pillows, wondering what it is that you won’t tell him.  

‘You want to or not, Kitty?’ you say, tilting your head. The offer is timing out, Arturo. You might change your mind yet.

His eyes flash, excitement flitting across them. He looks up to you, your eyes, your lips, then down to your hand on his stomach. You watch the goosebumps purl up his skin, feel the length of him beneath your lap. He wants to.

‘Si, mami.’ He sits up, fingers spreading across your back as he holds you to him. ‘I want what you want,’ he says—purrs—into your neck, nose brushing the edge of your jaw.

You can feel him smiling, celebrating. You’ve been denying him of you, as much as you’ve been denying yourself of him, his touch. It’s only right that he enjoys it now.

You sigh, putting your head back, throat exposed and free for him to devour. Kitty doesn’t suit him, not all of the time. Tiger would be more accurate now. His kiss on your neck, hot and open-mouthed, his nails up the line of your spine. He goes to the clasp of your bra hungrily, but you stop him, leaning back before the hook can slip.

‘You first,’ you decide, peeling away.

He doesn’t complain, flopping back against the bed with a boyish grin, his arms propped up behind his curls to watch. The shirt’s undone already, split open and covering nothing at all, but his pants are annoying in place. The metal of his belt buckle is cold through your underwear, a sensation you’d enjoyed until it became an obstacle.

Shuffling backwards, you move down his legs far enough to get your hands where you need them to be, lifting his belt free of the clasp to sit open at his hips. He’s straining against the zipper already, eager now he knows it’s coming.

You take your time with it. Zipper down, button open. Kisses to the space beneath his navel—before you begin to pull. When you’ve got his pants off, with his help, kicking them from his feet, you work back up slowly, like you aren’t as keen as he is. You’ve got the patience to enjoy it. Hands up his shins, along his thighs, skimming over his boxers. You don’t remove them as he expects you to, but carry on past, up his body to savour the rest.

A taste of his chest, a nip at the skin by his collar bone.

You’ve missed this. Missed him.  

‘Diosmio,’ he breathes, barely audible, ‘m’estás matando, ya.’

You smile, by his head now, your tongue curling around his earlobe. ‘It’s only fair,’ you whisper. It’s what he’d do to you, if you let him.

Before he can reply, or ask for more, you roll your hips over his lap, allowing him the friction he’s desperate for.

He groans, fills his lungs with air and then, on the exhale, he sighs with someone else’s name on his lips: María.

You pause, pulling back to frown at him.

María.

He’s caught it in the same second you have, his eyes snapping open, your name said in recovery, over and over.

‘Sorry,’ he says, ‘I don’t know why I—sorry.’

But you do, you know why he said it, because after a few, they all get muddled, right?

‘It’s fine.’ It is fine. You shake your head, hair falling from behind your ears. ‘Just kiss me.’ Just get her name out of your head, and fast, put him in its place instead. Shit happens, right? It doesn’t mean anything.

You don’t have to let it mean anything.

He kisses you quickly, holding the side of your neck, winding his tongue in with yours. Trying too hard, suddenly. Moaning like you’re doing something you’re not. It doesn’t help the way he thinks it does, because he’s faking it now. Desperate to get you back to where you were. You can taste it, feel it. The insincerity pools in your mouth, dripping down your throat. It makes you sick, suddenly, knowing he’s kissing you like that, just to convince you—just to act like he’s glad that it’s you.

This is what you expected, remember? What you were testing the waters for. No matter how nice he was this evening, how attentive, you still aren’t the only one he plays with. You never will be, will you? It was crazy to expect that of him. To believe the touches were just for you, just how you like it. They must work on everyone, really, come on, they must work on María.

‘Wait,’ you say it against his lips before pulling away. ‘I don’t. Let’s just. Yeah.’ You sit upright, inviting the cool air between your bare stomachs; it can finish the sentences that you can’t, send the message for you.

In his defence, he looks genuinely upset about it. Eyebrows titling, expression doe-like. You had expected him to roll his eyes. ‘Really?’ he asks. ‘But it does’t mean anything, she doesn’t mean anything.’ He laughs—a nervous tick. ‘It just came out, ya sabes.’

You nod, resolve settling in, you don’t want this. Won’t go through it all again. You’re shuffling down the bed, away from him, as he continues his defence.

‘Mami, por favor,’ he wines, hooking a hand around your wrist. ‘Forget I said it. You know what it’s like once you start doing that with your mouth. My dick takes over my brain.’

You scoff. As if that’s a compliment. Even his cock can’t remember you.

‘No, I think I should.’ You swallow, pulling free of him to reach for your jeans. ‘Yeah, I’m gonna go.’

Go, and forget this even happened, right back into a life of ignoring his calls and pretending he has no effect on you. You dress with a clumsy speed that leaves your jean leg half-way up your shin, and your shirt on inside out, but it doesn’t matter. The embarrassment of the situation, your own misjudgment, crawls up your neck, hot in your ears. The sooner you’re out of here, the better.

He’s off the bed and after you, bare feet slapping on the floor as he follows you from the bedroom. ‘No podemos hablar de eso?’ he asks, voice thick with surprise. ‘Are you that mad?'

‘It’s fine, Kitty. I’m fine.’ He didn’t do anything wrong, after all. You can’t fault him for being exactly who you expect him to be. ‘I have to go.’

You bend to scoop your shoes from the hall, juggling them in your arms along with your coat, your bag. The further you get from his bedroom, the more things you gather, collected from the trail you’d left on your way in.

‘Then why are you running away?’ he pants, voice elevating slightly. The further you get from his bedroom, the more he loses, pieces of you chipping from his grasp. ‘Let me fix it, baby, let me show you.’

You turn, to stop him chasing you any further, and put your hand out to his chest. Palm an inch from making contact. ‘I said I’m fine. Please,’ you sigh, closing your eyes briefly, ‘just let it go, and I will too.’

His head tilts, falling to his shoulder. ‘Mami…’

‘No, Arturo.’ You force a smile, a soft one, so that it might be convincing. Gentle, even. ‘We had fun, no? Before now?’

You wait for him to nod.

‘Let’s leave it like that, then.’ Your arms tighten around the bundle of belongings over your chest. ‘Let’s not ruin it by pretending to be people we aren’t, okay?’

The edge of his jaw flexes; he’s biting down on a response that he knows you won’t take, holding back on arguing, because he knows that you’re right. Eventually, he nods again, and you meet it with another false smile, before turning to unlatch the door.

Nothing lost, nothing gained. You’re both back to how you’re supposed to be—better apart, than you ever were together.

[artemiseamoon]

Flirting with Danger

Chapter one: A family business

Words: 2,372

F reader x Ramón

A Narcos MX| A 4 chapter fic | Timeline: S3 events

* to the Anon who asked about this, here’s a taste!

GIF credit to owners 💕

Next | fic info

AN: Y’all want a preview of what’s happening? I have three WIPs about undercover agents, all different stories and outcomes. I’m not rushing them, letting them form organically. As I sat to write one today, this one took over. So just rolling with it! I’m still undecided if I’ll only post a preview here and the full thing on A03 only. I’m on the fence. Anyway, this is looking like a 4 parter. 5 max. I’m working on it. 😁

⚠️ overall Warnings: canon show warnings, if you know those, you know what to expect. Adult 18+ mature content. Violence drugs, sexual themes, deaths, etc. Dont read what you dont like. Don’t read what upsets you. You have the free will to keep scrolling. Expect some angst, some conflict, some grey morality, some mutual pining, some angst. | Content disclaimer: You know my usual narcos disclaimer, this is fan fic, not an effort to glamarize the horrific acts of real persons. I do not support what these people have done. Thanks!

Everyone who worked closely with the Arellano Felix family was blood, grew up with them, or underwent a serious vetting process before being let in. It was like a special club that barely admitted new members.

Your job sounded simple on paper but was indeed very complex. Get close to the family and acquire as much intel as you could. You remember the day you got the assignment. They were desperate to get something on the family, in response, this job was created.

You can visualize that first meeting like it was yesterday. You sat in your boss's office and stared down at the file, then the blank look on his face. You were pushing for a challenge since being sent down here. Desk duty, answering phones, and listening to audio recordings weren't really what you signed up for. But you assumed, rightfully so, that being a woman was the very reason they gave you a 'safe' job.

The first day you heard about the undercover gig, they intended it to go to one of the guys. You made a comment about how much harder it would be for a guy to gain their trust, next thing you knew, you were sitting in that intimidating office.

Though the job sounded impossible and you weren't sure if you could do it, you said yes. You said yes to test yourself, to test your long list of skills developed over the years, and you said yes as a big fuck you to the men who snickered upon hearing you were taking the job. Not the pretty girl who organized their files, surly, you couldn't handle such a thing.

Feeling emboldened, you took the job while swallowing the massive lump in your throat and pushing your fears deep down inside. Back in the states, you’ve done plenty of undercover jobs, you could do this - just, none held as much danger and risk as this one.

…

In preparation, you made an extensive list of ways to get near the family. After going through each option for what felt like 100 times, you settled on Roxanne.

It wasn’t aggressive, like showing up out of nowhere in their lives, and plenty of people needed a job. Besides, you knew the brothers, except very loyal and very married Benjamin, had a thing for pretty faces. So getting a job as a bartender or cocktail waitress would be easy.

It helped that your 4 months in Mexico so far were extremely low-key. If you weren't at that godforsaken desk, you were at home, in the very bland apartment the embassy provided for you.

Your social life was pretty much non-existent, so you could be anyone, it gave you a blank slate to work with. They even provided another apartment in a different part of town for you to use, everything now under your new identity. Once the paper trail of this new you was created, you went in for an interview.

The interview went well, but inside you were nervous as hell. They had a hiring manager, but it seemed like a front anyway. You knew the final word had to go through the family.

Seeing how busy they were, they couldn't be on hand to handle things like this. But the hiring manager seemed to like you enough, and he wasn't exactly hiding his flirting. He was very impressed with the fact you spoke 3 languages fluidly.

You knew, the moment you walked out of here, you would be investigated through and through, and you hoped the team who created identities didn't make any errors.

You don’t know if it was good luck or bad, but during the end of your interview, as you left the office, Ramon and his crew rolled in early, just before the club would open for business. Catching each other eyes, you keep your composure as you stroll past him and flash a small smile.

Ramón smiles back. You break eye contact and head for the door. Time slows down. Feeling his eyes burning into you, you glance over your shoulder and see he’s still watching you.

Even with everything you know about him, his smile is almost childlike. Big, bright, beaming. It was hard to believe such a chaotic violent man had such a smile. You feel your heart thump in your chest as your body temperature rises.

Regaining your composure, you grab the handle of the door and walk out. The moment the door closes behind you, you realize you were holding your breath. Taking a deep exhale, you touch your stomach and try to ground yourself.

Holy shit.

You just saw Ramón , the Ramón Arellano Félix up close and he was - gorgeous? No, no you can’t think such things. You had a job to do and no matter how devilishly attractive he is, you cannot, will not get distracted.

As you walk away from the club, past the forming line, you feel ashamed. You did notice how cute he was before. Yeah, you shouldn’t but you did. Still, the many photographs you’ve looked at over the months didn’t compare to seeing him in the flesh.

As you walked by him, taking in the tall drink of water he is, you also imagined yourself running your fingers through those luscious waves. He was cute before, but the longer hair - there was just something about it.

By the time you reach the end of the block, someone runs up behind you. You notice it’s the hiring manager and he’s out of breath. When you turned to fully face him, he asks how soon you can start working, and if tonight was an option.

I’m in. You could barely believe your luck, or, lack thereof…it was too soon to tell. You nod, smile, and reply, “I could start tonight.”

The manager escorts you back into the building and shows you the rooms where the staff put their things, he also shows you the uniforms. It was a simple outfit, black, short, and cute.

After you get changed, the manager pairs you with a more seasoned bottle girl on the main floor, someone to show you the ins and outs of working in Roxanne.

You had some experience in your younger years, serving was a side job as you got through college. This kind of thing was like a muscle, you never really forgot how to do it. So you weren't too worried about fucking up.

As expected, though the place is busier than any other place you've ever worked, you start to get the hang of it. You were aware getting intel wasn’t going to happen right away, but as one week turns to two, you observe the family when you can. Working the first floor meant you weren't close enough to hear any of their conversations, so you knew, you had to get the second-floor gig.

As the days pass by, you notice Ramón watching you from the balcony. He was always looking, always watching, but yet he didn’t approach or speak to you. Being under his gaze made your skin hot, your cheeks warm, it awakened parts of you that needed to remain silent to do your job properly. You were here to watch the family, and Ramón was watching you.

As you meet your one month mark, you work on your first report for headquarters, you saw a lot working that floor, even if it wasn't directly tied to the family with concrete evidence, yet. The people who came in, their associates, who they gave VIP treatment, all it was important, even if it couldn't be used yet.

You focused your report on these elements and then turn it in. One month down meant you had 5 months left to get the real dirt. 5 months could either be a long time, or a short time, it depends on many factors.

When you arrive for your shift, on the first Friday of a new month, you receive news that you’ve been promoted. You would solely work bottle service for VIPs. Upon hearing the news, you play it cool and chill, but inside you were freaking out.

If you could do this and succeed there would be no more shitty desk jobs. And finally, those assholes in the office would take you seriously. You could make a real name for yourself - if this goes right.

That first night your adrenaline pumps so intensily through your body that it feels like you’re vibrating. You’ve seen the woman they paired you with plenty of times, she was one of the main girls up here. You follow her lead, smile, and do your job.

For the first few hours of this shift, some of the family are seated at their VIP, just behind the Roxanne sign, but Ramón is nowhere in sight. When you finally do serve their table, it takes everything in you to stay cool.

It was so much easier with the others. Sure, they were important people but being this close to the Arellano Felix family was jarring. Even, exciting, if you let yourself admit it.

Going from shoveling papers around while men in the office ogle your figure and call you sweetheart to serving drinks to the most powerful drug cartel family in Mexico? Talk about extremes. Danger could be encountered anywhere, hell, just crossing the street or leaving your front door. But, this puts you on the doorstep of real danger.

As you drop off a bottle of champagne at a neighboring table, you can hear a rowdy group coming up the stairs. You know from the sounds alone, it's Ramón and the Narcos Juniors. Casually glancing over your shoulder, you watch as they walk by. There’s a girl on Ramón’s arm, which is not surprising, but the moment he notices you, he loosens his grip around her waist, his eyes locking on your own.

Does the hot-heated and very dangerous Ramón have a thing for you? You were pretty convinced at this point. What confused you was his lack of contact. He seemed like an overly confident guy and watching the way he was with other women, it seemed more normal he would have hit on you on the spot, that first day. It was surprising, how could a guy like this be coy?

You were honestly torn about Ramón's interest in you. On one hand, it was flattering. On another, you knew enough about the man to know he was dangerous, like a walking hazard sign.

Your investigation could really hit a peak if you got close to him, but at the same time, it's like laying across train tracks, you’d willingly be putting yourself in a level of danger were not interesting in being in. Maybe, he should admire you from afar, you decide, it would be safer.

As the night goes on, you go about your business and focus on your job, while never really escaping the heat of his gaze. When you stopped at their table to bring a fresh batch of drinks, his brown eyes watch your every movement.

You’ve never felt as seen, as studied as you do under his gaze. When you look up at him from under your lashes, he flashes that heart-warming smile and you almost, almost make your first mistake of the night. You nearly drop the empty beer bottle in your hand, you add it to the tray of empty bottles.

The little slip-up gains a chuckle from him. You feel your face grow hot as embarrassment rushes you. Ramón digs in his pocket, pulls out a wad of cash, and drop two 100 bills on your tray.

“Thank you,” you smile at him and back away from the table, your eyes locked on his. Before you turn away, the sound of your name on his lips captures your attention. Balancing the tray, you turn back and meet his waiting gaze.

“Have a drink with us later.”

You can barely believe your hearing. Did he just invite you to his table?

“You know what,” Ramón stands up and motions for the other server to come over, “your shift ends now.” He points at the tray, the other girl makes eye contact with you, then takes it.

Ramón wasn’t known for his patience. He was a make-it-happen yesterday kind of guy.

“Oh, okay “ you grab your huge tip from the tray and shove it in your bra. Much to his pleasure, as Ramón watches with a grin. Not knowing what to do with your hands, you keep them at your sides.

Ramón tells the girl next to him to get up. She shoots you a death stare and leaves the spot next to him. Ramon sits back down and pats the cushion with his hand. "Come, sit with me.”

The handsome criminal continues to grin at you as you sit next to him. The space provided is small, your thigh touches his as you sit. You admired his outfit from afar, but this close, you can really see the details in the nice gold and white top, the first buttons open, teasing his chest and his fitted black pants leave little to the imagination. Everything about this outfit, including the shoes, screams rich. He even smells good, really good.

Ramón sits with his hands in his lap, a stark contrast to the relaxed arm he had around the other girl. Was Ramón still acting shy?

He motions to the table. "Anything you want, it’s yours.”

He’s cute, really cute like this. With you, his cockiness seems to be gone, like a shy boy with a crush. You smile at him and look over the drinks you just delivered to them.

In the middle of the table is a bottle of champagne with a price tag that makes you do a triple take. You weren't really a champagne person, but shit, you had to taste it. You had to know why it cost that much.

Almost as if he can read your mind, Ramón leans over and pours you a glass. As he hands it to you, your fingers touch. The brief contact earns another smile from him, and your heart skips a beat.

Oh fuck. You were in trouble.

Next

More soon 💕

Tags? Just ask. I’ll tag ya.

Pt about 60% done. If you want a tag let me know. It will be out either later today or tomorrow.

[senoramadofuentes]

Amado Ch. 2

In NO WAY am I romanticizing the actual Amado Carillo Fuentes, this is all based on the Netflix Character played by Jose Maria Yazpik. 

 Minors DNI!

The story starts right before Felix got arrested by the DEA

Amado Ch. 1

It had been a month since you had last seen or heard from Amado. It stung even more when Valeria would come to you and ask you if you had spoken to him. He was busy was all the explanation she could offer, a lie she heard from Vicente you guess. You rack your brains thinking of what could have happened from the time you met him to the time you fell asleep in his bed. Yes you had left early in the morning but you also left a note explaining why. Maybe you were too uptight, Valeria did tell you to let loose and not be soo strict on yourself or any potential lovers. Maybe that rubbed him off and the many women you assumed he was flirting with during his birthday party were better suitors. It did suck having to be this way, but you couldn’t let yourself get into the same situation that you found yourself in with your ex husband. 

However this weekend, you were going to enjoy your time. Valeria was asked to sing at a launch for a new museum show in the city and you were one of her plus ones. You had stopped asking her about Amado after the second week and assumed the man wouldn’t be in attendance but Vici would be. The outcome was good, there were a lot of people, not so much that you couldn’t see the other side of the room, but a nice crowd. You smile when you hear Valeria’s voice through the speakers as you at art pieces. You look down at your watch to get the time, Vicente had yet to arrive and you hoped he would soon because the museum was set to close within the next 2 hours. 

When you move from the paintings to the sculpture exhibit, the room was relatively empty because most of the guests were listening to a panel of the artists speak. You hold your breath when you hear that familiar gait walking up towards you. You don’t even move a muscle pretending to be really into the roman like sculpture that you were currently looking at. When he stopped right next to you, the cologne confirmed that it was him. Just as you were getting him out of your system here he comes sauntering back into your life like he had a right to be there. You secretly thank yourself for the hairstyle you chose to wear, big curls that cover your peripheral line of sight, easy for you to pretend you don’t really know anyone is near you. You went for an old Hollywood glam look, long gown, red lips, and big hair. Both of you say nothing and you side step pretending to circle the sculpture. 

“Y/N” he calls your name softly. It was music to your ears and ugh, you hated it. 

You turn around and fake surprise “Amado!” You smile. He smiles back and God did you miss that smile. He wore all black with his leather jacket. “Como estas?” 

“Estoy bien, ¿y tu?” 

“Bien” you respond curtly, turning your attention back to the sculpture. 

He felt a prick in his heart, when you didn’t open your arms for a hug but he knew he could smooth things over. For the month that he had been m.i.a he was simply doing a background check on you. Making sure the things that you told him matched up. He was able to find court records of your divorce that explicitly went into detail about the abuse you experienced at the hands of your then husband. Your ex husband was indeed a low ranking PRI member at the time that easily got dismissed after the scandal of your divorce got to high ranking members. In retaliation he did burn down your house which ended him in jail for 2 years. You had to work your way up, taking buses, working low paying jobs until you could finally get on your feet. Currently you work as a manager at an American company based in Mexico city. You did speak 3 languages (Spanish, French, and English) and you were not just telling him phrases you learned. As well as being a part time language  tutor for American families. However the most interesting was your family ties. You definitely didn’t talk to your family at all, and Amado was in sort of a business relationship with your dad. You mentioned him but in more of a you guys don’t talk about falling out due to the divorce thing. All the other details came from Valeria, he was mad that you were divorcing your husband, somehow he managed to rub shoulders with the PRI members and gain benefits from them. Yes you kind of  were a nepotism baby but not as much as your older brother. Your dad got him a job at a firm from his connections, but he got fired from that job, and your dad found him another, however he was constantly in and out of jail, drunk driving, fighting, drugs, you name it he was always in trouble. Still living with your parents expecting them to bail him out which they always did. So your resentment of being born a woman was not something he could fault you for. 

“You look nice” you compliment him

He looked down at his attire “thanks” but you really meant his slicked back hair. You smiled and moved onto the next sculpture with him close behind. When he didn’t say anything you turned to face him. “Why are you here?” 

“He venido a apoyar a Vali (I came to support Vali)” You nod accepting his explanation. No way were you going to read more into that, if it was Vali that he was here to support then so be it. 

You were just as beautiful as he could remember and he was determined to make you his and make it known to you just how much he cared for you. But as he was standing in front of you trying to come up with a reason he had basically disappeared from you for a month, he couldn’t think of anything that would suffice, that wouldn’t raise your concerns for why he was spying on you even though he was confident about what he was going to say to you. 

He hated how you could always have him tongue tied. “¿Qué vas a hacer después de esto? (What are you doing after this?)” He blurts out after moments of silence. 

You turn to look at him “Vali y yo vamos a cenar. (Vali and I are going to dinner)” You say moving around the exhibit

Now he had to figure out a way to separate you two, because not only was Vicente going to be there but his other sicarios as well. 

You give him a look, if you didn’t know better he looked nervous and that was odd. Amado was always calm, cool and collected. He did look calm, cool and collected now, just seemed like he was thinking about a million things at once. 

Before you could stop yourself you ask “Did you have something in mind?” Why did you do that? You could kick yourself into next year for extending an olive branch. He smiled and you can almost see the relief in his shoulders as they dropped a little. “En realidad quería llevarte a cenar (I actually wanted to take you out to dinner)” 

You offer a smile and go into the next exhibit. He doesn’t say much else, making small comments about the exhibits, till you both end up in the back of a crowd where people were listening to Valeria. You both grab a flute of champagne and raise your glasses as a toast to each other. When Valeria stopped you had walked away talking to one of the artists. 

“Thank you for coming Amado” She spoke as she hugged him 

“I told you I would be here” “Almost got me in trouble with Y/N” she pinched his arm

“AY!” Amado squeaked moving away from her

“Did you like it Vici?” 

“Suenas como un ángel (you sound like an angel)” He complimented 

“¿Has visto el cuadro de Y/N? (Have you seen Y/N’s painting)” she asked looking at you to make sure you weren’t privy to what she was doing. That was your little secret, the other way you made money. 

“El cuadro?” “Si!” she grabbed the pamphlet from Amado and pointed to a painting. Amado thinks back to how he watched you from afar, how you had taken your time to look at each painting carefully but this one you just walked by quickly. 

“No es de extrañar que Vici os llame los artistas de Juárez (No wonder Vici calls you two the artists of Juarez)” 

She grabbed the pamphlet “put it away she’s coming!” 

“You did great!” you say while hugging her “Thanks, Amado is here!”  She says joyfully motioning towards him in a ‘tada’ type of manner. 

You give her a look indicating you knew she was lying “Yo se” 

She grabbed your shoulders “¡Amado, ella estaba preocupada por ti! Dónde está amado? Estoy preocupado! (Amado, she was worried about you, Where is Amado? I am worried!)” 

You roll your eyes “ella está mintiendo (she’s lying)” Amado smirks and looks you up and down and you turn to look away not wanting him to see you blush. 

At dinner you both sit across from each other, you drinking wine while he drinks whisky. “I’ve been thinking about what you said” “What did I say?” you ask

“You want me” 

You shrug “Oh, if it’s too much of an ask then don’t worry about it” 

“That’s not it Y/N” “So what is the issue?” He leans in, “Why did you ask for me?” “What am I supposed to ask for?” He remained silent thinking for an answer “Most women would ask for some money, purse, shoes, clothes” he waved his hand “That type of thing” “Amado no soy la mayoría de las mujeres (Amado, I am not most women)” He smirks “Yo se” “If I wanted power and status, I would have gone out with the many PRI deputies who keep trying to date me.” He rubbed his temple. “What are you worried about?” He opened his mouth to respond but closed it right away. “Más excusas? (anymore excuses?)” 

He shook his head and scoffed 

“Amado no te pido que descifres jeroglíficos. Mi petición es simple todo lo que quiero es a ti, el casi siempre bueno, a veces malo, raramente peor, tú. (Amado I’m not asking you to decipher hieroglyphics. My ask is simple all I want is you, the mostly good, sometimes bad, rarely worse, you.)” you say getting frustrated with his excuses. 

“Yo se” “¿Cuál es tu problema? (What is the problem?)” “Are you sure that’s all you want?” “Yes! Do you want me to be with you for material things or just you?” He smiled “Me” You sigh and take a sip of your drink “It’s okay, if you feel like I am asking for a lot I get it I won’t hold that against you”

“Quiero estar contigo Y/N”  he leans over and grabs your hand to caress. You take a deep breath and let him speak. “Este mes lejos de ti, sólo me hizo extrañarte más, más de lo que admitiré (This month away from you only made me miss you more, more than I will admit.)”  you smile at him, and place your other hand into his. Maybe Amado was like you, in a way that he had a hard time letting go of control and letting the pieces fall where they may. 

“Amado, El amor es difícil, pero puede ser lo más gratificante de experimentar. (Amado love is hard, but it can be the most rewarding thing to experience)” “I know” 

“What’s holding you back?” “I don’t want to hurt you” he speaks thinking of his ex wife and daughter, people he had yet to tell you about.

You give him a sympathetic look “Then do everything in your power to not do so” 

He smiled and leaned back in his chair. Food came and you both ate in silence, both of you absentmindedly thinking of everything that has transpired between you two. 

“¿Quieres un postre?” the waiter asked as he took the dinner plates from you . 

“Si!” you answer 

“Si sólo me quieres a mí, entonces te daré a mí (if it’s only me that you want, then I will give you me)” he smiles after he finishes his statement. The joy that takes over your face is all that he needs to see to know he made the right decision. He extends his hand for you to shake “Trato?” 

You look down at the hand and back at him “No soy tu socio comercial (I am not your business partner)” 

He smirks and rubs the back of your hand. You smile at him as you tease him with how you lick the ice cream off the spoon. 

“Tienes que mudarte conmigo para mantenerte segura (You have to move in with me, to keep you safe)” 

“Pero mi apartamento (But my apartment)” He interrupts you “but your apartment will always be there your safety is now my number one priority” When he notices your reservation he tells you to think about it and get back to him soon. The rest of the night he showers you with compliments and love phrases. During your ride home, you stop to think about what you actually get yourself into. Dating a drug trafficker?  Of course you had to move in with him! Things were getting more violent. It was impossible for you to be safe in your apartment. 

The car stopped at your apartment building, bringing you back to reality. Amado softly grabbed your face and leaned in for a soft kiss, always ending it with butterfly kisses. When you pull away you look up at him, you have that drunken smile that he loved to look at. 

“Dime, nena” 

“Necesito dos días” he was confused for a second before he smiled, you agreed. “Y dile a tus conductores que no lleguen tarde (and tell your drivers to not be late)” you open the door 

“Sólo ropa y documentos importantes (only clothes and important documents)” You giggle and step out “Buenas noches Amado” “Sólo ropa y documentos importantes!” He insisted You blow him a kiss and sashay your way into the building. 

He chuckles as he watches you walk in “Esta maldita mujer sera mi muerte (this woman will be the death of me)” 

A/N: Please tell me what you think. 

[ethereal-am]

There’s no way you could mistake him for your man, are you insane? (Not yours, but mine)

[cositapreciosa]

Can I please request an Amado x reader fic where he slowly starts to fall in love with her? and, if it's possible, can she be a non-fluent Spanish speaker? Somewhat like Mimi. Thank you so much!

By proxy

Amado Carillo Fuentes x female!reader, (mention of you wearing heels/skirt/painted nails/lipstick, no warnings, the usual for the show) 1545 words

a/n : hopefully this is what you had in mind ! let me know how you like it

As always it's the fictional, not the real deal, enjoy xx

When he arrived, you were already seated in the chair next to his assigned one. Sunglasses perched on your nose, colored lips matching your nails, and satellite phone opened to your ear, ushering things in the receiver he couldn’t understand. Amado wouldn’t usually pay attention to all those details, but the space between the seats is narrow and you don’t seem to realize he needs you to get up so that he can finally sit down.

The heat is unbearable today. Of course he knew Belize was going to be hot, but the humidity mixed with little wind is making sweat run down his back. A temperature you don’t seem to mind, deeply invested in whatever conversation you are having, with your freshly pressed shirt, not a bead of sweat on your forehead. He has to cough to get your attention, and the look you give him makes him feel like he is intruding, your palm cupping the receiver so as to not disturb whoever is on the other side.

‘’ Puedo ayudarle? ‘’

That is when he notices your accent, the way the r comes out round and unrolled. You speak English, he thinks, but he can’t figure out more. He’s never really been one to notice the subtleties between accents.

‘’ That’s my seat, ‘’ he begins in English, ‘’ Do you mind if..? ‘’

‘’ Oh. ‘’

You are quickly on your feet, pressing the back of your knees to the chair to make more space for him to pass through. He can smell your perfume, feel the softness of your silk shirt as his hand brushes your elbow as he moves forward. You sit back down at the same time as him, one of your legs moving on top of the other. Before he can even say thank you, you are back on the phone, throwing phrases and fancy words he can’t understand. Is English is good, but it clearly wasn’t fluent enough for whatever business conversation you were having. You close the antenna with a snap.

‘’ I’m sorry about that, not very lady-like of me. ‘’

There is no point for you to try talking to him in Spanish anymore, and as much as he can’t shake away his own accent, he knows his English is probably better than your Spanish. You don’t really mean it, half an apology, half small-talk, too focused on what is happening up front, the first plane being manoeuvered on the tarmac. He offers you a polite smile nonetheless.

‘’ It’s all good. ‘’

The plane isn’t even stopped behind the podium that the auction starts, loud voice coming from the speaker, bragging about the size of the crew cabin, the space in between the seats. Nothing he needs to know, nothing that would make a difference in the type of business he plans on making with those buys. Rip it all out, he would say, start loading it up. It goes pretty fast after that, when the auctioneer finally stops talking about the whys and the hows and starts selling the plane.

He can feel you watching, chin turning his way every time he buys a plane. Probably because, compared to him, you haven’t bought much so far, no one did really.

‘’ May I ask you what all those planes are for? ‘’

You are bold, he can give you that, biting your questions, answers rolling off your tongue just as quickly. He doesn’t even realize when he started smiling, cheeks touching the underside of his sunglasses.

‘’ I could ask you the same question. ‘’

Your bite the inside of your cheek, as if you are thinking it through, if you should actually give him an answer or just another question in response.

‘’ Fair enough. Maybe our bosses’ business isn’t for us commoners to talk about. ‘’

‘’ Oh, no, you’re mistaken. I’m the boss. ‘’

That catches your eyes, knees turning to his side, body following shortly as your own sunglasses slide down your nose with the movement. He knew it would, maybe that is why he said it. There is something fun about you, carefree, that feels like it could turn this chore into something enjoyable for once. He never liked making small talk, but he does appreciate this back-and-forth that is happening. Amado watches as your elbow drapes over the back of your chair before you speak.

‘’ What’s your name again? ‘’

You do be asking many questions, he realizes, but he gives you his name nonetheless, finding himself to enjoy it when you give yours back.

‘’ Then, Amado, ‘’ You continue, ‘’ Why do the dirty work? It’s hot as hell on this tarmac. No budget for shades, the paddles are plastic, no wine bar, what’s in it for you? ‘’

‘’ Good company, clearly. You seem to be doing those a lot. ‘’

He loves the way his name sounds coming out of your mouth. You barely acknowledge his statement, raising your own paddle for a small luxury plane as your attention turns back to the front. A few second passes, before the gavel smashes the podium. As the applause dies down, the auctioneer talks into his microphone, voice booming and with more spectacle than he usually enjoys.

‘’ Told my boss I could speak Spanish, but I’m more at a 4-year-old level than anything else. You mind translating that for me? ‘’

He can tell you are flirting, trying to keep the conversation going. Your eyes are playful, meeting his and twisting his insides, sparkling warmth to his chest. This feels different, and he wonders if he has gotten too old for this. Still, he plays into it.

‘’ He said the plane’s all yours, mija, but that you have to pilot it back to the US if you want to keep it. ‘’

Your laugh makes the people in front of you turn, you don’t mind them though, continuing to look at the vendors as they parade the planes around.

‘’ I would crash the damn thing. You don’t happen to know a good pilot, do you? ‘’

He leans his head to your side, close enough to smell your perfume again, almost tasting the salt from your skin.

‘’ Hmm. I got someone in mind. ‘’

‘’ Well I hope he’s any good, I plan on coming back in one piece. ‘’

You are raising your paddle again, two, three times until the sale is yours. He is sure you get more Spanish than you let him on, or maybe you just go for looks and hope the plane fits your budget, if you have any. You haven’t talked much about why you are here either, and he can’t help but wonder who would buy almost as many planes as him. It is not as much, clearly, he is here to buy the biggest ones, all of them, but you have been weirdly focusing on the smaller ones, the cleaner ones, rivalling all the white heads on the tarmac.

‘’ Don’t worry, ‘’ He says as he adjusts himself on the chair, ‘’ I’ll land us safe and sound. ‘’

You find this funny, beaming at him, smile wide and refreshing in the heat. He can tell your eyes are curious, squinting from the sun as you look at him over your sunglasses.

‘’ How romantic. ‘’

There is no real implication behind your words, mostly mocking him, brushing off your actual surprise that he is in fact a pilot. Amado buys the last three planes, it is a quick process, raising his paddle, gavel knocking, and before he knows it you are on your feet, heels clacking on the asphalt the moment they end the auction.

He watches as you pull down your skirt, gathering your things in one hand while the other moves towards him, wide open for a handshake.

‘’ Well, Amado, the pleasure was all mine. I guess I’ll see you at the next one? ‘’

Probably not, he thinks, but he gets the sentiment, appreciates it even. He shakes your hand, your warm palm against his, a fingernail grazing the inside of his wrist.

‘’ I thought I was supposed to fly you back home? ‘’

‘’ Are you asking me out on a date? ‘’

‘’ Maybe. Are you saying yes? ‘’

You don’t answer him straight away, sizing him up and down. He can’t tell what you are looking for, but the small smile on your lips makes him think whatever he is doing is working. You take your hand back, pushing hair behind your ear.

‘’ I’m staying in San Ignacio tonight. The hotel’s bar is pretty good if you’d like to drop by for a drink. ‘’

You don’t wait for him to answer, turning on your heels and walking down the aisle, waving to a man in a suit that is quick to walk you to a black suv. He can do nothing but mirror your smile, pushing his sunglasses up his head. He wouldn’t mind doing the drive, especially if it means he could see you again.

He doesn’t have to think more about it, you had him at ‘bar’, ‘drink’, the notes of vanilla in your perfume. A cold Whiskey actually sounds like a good idea.

[narcosmx]

being the arellano baby and being into ismael "mayo" zambada would include

got covid after nearly 3 years of dodging sick children and watched narcos mexico all over again... as you do

anyways here we are again with my absolute obsession with being in the arellano-felix family

the stranglehold this family has on me is absolutely astonishing

okay but hear me out, being ramon's T W IN

T W I N

and this could go one of two ways; being ramon's literal identical, his partner in cirme, the moment when the both of you get this twinkle in your eye everyone in tijuana should be afraid

oR OR OR the complete opposite like ramon is like looks like a cinnmaon roll, would kill you and you're the is a cinnamon roll is a cinnamon roll one

completely and utterly seperated from the family business, don't want to get you involved until ...

okay so i am going to go with the being the opposite to ramon, being the sweet as pie, doe eyed, glue to this family... the apple of benjamin's eye and ramon's light and acknowledgement that he could be better you're basically the same person anyways

i am just imagining that scene in season 2 when ramon is walking around listening to his cd player or walkman or whatever

and you doing the same thing bopping to some fucking early luis miguel and dancing through the house

GOD YOU BRING SO MUCH LIGHT INTO THIS HOME

preppy fresa princess

so it's not like they kick you the fuck out when business is happening, you're around and moving through life but listening... always listening

when people come around for business you observe and notice people, usually don't peak your interest they don't get more than a kiss on the cheek and a faint smile before you skip off bringing a levity to situations that benjamin would always take advantage of

until you see this ruggedly handsome man making his way through tijuana

can you just imagine with me if you will, coming down the staircase in the arellano-felix home, just your polished pretty self and you walk through the corridor of the dinning room and see someone new sitting at the dinning room table

you giving him this curious doe eyed look with a soft smile and mayo getting all nervous kill me

he like gets to his feet real fast, takes off his hat and bows his head a little like "buenos dias, herm

osa" and he's just looking at you like you're an absolute gem literally like this delicate little flower

and benjamin walks in and is like "mayo, mi hermanita. nena, mayo" and you literally have to snap out of your little trance and walk over to mayo to give him your customary kiss on the cheeck and i just him holding your hand loosly when you come over to kiss him

HIM KISSING THE BACK OF YOUR HAND lightly before you scamper off mostly in embarrassment because you couldn't squeak a word out

ramon coming up behind you giving you a knowing look as you communicate in pure twin telepathy, averting your eyes immediately because if you don't literally he will read your mind

crying at you muddling around the kitchen, wandering around pretending to do something as you walk past the walkway to the dinning room every 5 minutes to look at mayo and exchange these little smiles :( :(

you making something for them fucking idk why im imagining you making something like your abuelas agua de melon and bringing it over to them

and bringing it over all excited and benjamin is just doing that soft adoring smile, ramon is like fuck yeah aguas frescas and and mayo just whispers "gracias, princesa"

i just i just at the end of the meeting when they're saying goodbyes, you pop in and are like "benja, you invited mayo to dina's wedding right ?" batting eyelashes

benjamin being like oh yeah yeah come celebrate with us

and and you come to say goodbye to mayo and you're giving him a kiss on the cheek and he's like "nos vemos pronto, mi angel"

and you're left standing like heart eyes

and i'm dying, enedina coming up being you and being like "close your mouth, mija, you'll let flies in" and tickling your sides because twin telepathy may be a thing but your older sister knows you better than you know yourself

and so now the wedding you've been buzzing about for the past like year is now all you can freaking think about because you get to see mayo again and maybe steal a second away from your brothers

listen, the wedding day, you're walking down the aisle as one of the bridesmaids and you're like not so sneakily looking for mayo good lord

he flashes you the sweetest smile, he's looking at you like your his fucking bride and i

you turn redder than the dress you're fucking wearing

for the first time in a long time your like can we get this over with so we can fucking party

and and next time i'll write a whole mayo at the wedding thing and i ahh

[drabbles-mc]

Unprofessional

Walt Breslin x F!Reader

For Day 10 of @narcosfandomdiscord's July Smut Alphabet: jealousy

Warnings: 18+, language, smoking, alcohol, smut

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: The way that I had to fight myself to not let this turn into a 10k fic 😂 I'm already in love with this reader and the general vibe of this fic and idkidk maybe I'll write more for them down the road. Who knows? Not me!

NMX Taglist: @narcolini @ashlingnarcos @hausofmamadas @garbinge @cositapreciosa @southotheborder @artemiseamoon @proceduralpassion (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

Walt watched as Sal’s car rolled up to the motel that you and Walt were staying at. He was glad that you at least let someone else bring you home, because based off how you were when he’d left the bar a little more than an hour before, you probably shouldn’t have been behind the wheel. It was usually him that was driving you to and from wherever you had to go, or vice versa on days when Walt didn’t want to put up a fight about it. Judging by the way you were laughing as you opened the door and stepped out of Sal’s car, you didn’t seem to mind the switch up.

He watched you as you leaned on the edge of the window, smiling and laughing still as you thanked Sal and told him that you’d see him tomorrow.  Walt caught the way the man waved to him as well, and he returned the gesture from his chair. It was your chair, actually. It’d come out of your room. You set it up in the little stretch of space between the door to your motel room, and the door to Walt’s. You’d be sitting there with your coffee in the morning, and Walt would sometimes be out there in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep, dragging on his cigarettes, not unlike he was now.

You were practically sauntering up to him, the headlights of Sal’s car behind you rendering you as nothing more than a silhouette in the few seconds before he turned around and peeled out the lot to head back to his own spot.

“Hey,” you greeted him with a smile, “you left early.”

He shrugged, noncommittal. “Yea.”

You still felt like you were buzzing, warm more from the alcohol than the actual temperature. Still, even in your slight haze, you could see the annoyance on Walt’s face. “You okay?”

He gave a short nod, his tone and his words not lining up in the slightest as he said, “I’m fine.”

You were in no mood to try and pull it out of him, and even if you were, you didn’t know if you would be anything close to successful. So instead, you swiped the pack of cigarettes off the arm of the chair he was sitting in and took one out for yourself. The two of you were in a constant loop of bumming them off each other—neither of you bothered asking anymore.

“You know,” you spoke as well as you could with your lips wrapped around the cigarette—you sparked the lighter before continuing, “I know shit has been real rough lately, but that doesn’t mean you can’t ever have a good time.”

Walt shook his head, like you were saying the most ridiculous thing in the world. “Looked like you were all having a good enough—”

“Would’ve been nice if you were there, though,” you cut him off, smoke swirling out from between your lips as you spoke. “Couldn’t take, what, three hours out of the twenty-four to not be all broody?” you said, just enough of a smile on your face to keep that question from starting a full-blown argument. Walt gave you another shake of his head and it only caused you to double-down. “We missed you.”

He scoffed. “Didn’t seem like you were missing much of anything when I left.”

You burst out laughing at that. “I’m sorry?”

“No, I’m just,” he took a drag off his cigarette, “just surprised that Sal brought you back. Looked like you were gonna be goin’ home with your new friend there at the bar.”

You rolled your eyes at him, laughing as you tapped the ash off the end of your smoke. “You think I’m that easy, Breslin?”

He frowned slightly as he shrugged, an expression that was less about being upset and more about being uncertain. “I don’t know what I think about you.”

The statement was a little bit of a lie. Walt thought about you plenty. Some of it had to do with work, a lot of it didn’t. He’d had plenty of time to think about you since he met you, but there was still a lot that he didn’t know. Like how suave and flirty you could be when you were trying to get a free drink or two out of someone, like how watching you do that put a knot in his gut that had no right to be there.

It was the first time the two of you had ever worked together. Before you all got pulled together into the Smash & Grab that you now were, Walt was working in El Paso while you came over from Miami. Neither of you had known each other prior to this, and while you noticed that Walt seemed to have built a rapport with a few of the other men on his team, you were flying in completely blind. You didn’t know anyone. Walt quickly noticed, however, that that didn’t seem to slow you down. You quickly made it part of your job to get to know everyone at least a little bit, just enough to figure out how you should interact with them for the sake of not letting the team fray apart at the edges. It was a good skill, one Walt made a mental note to work on if you all made it out of this mess alive.

All of you had your own rooms, scattered across a few different low-budget motels. You were all smart enough to not all hole up in the same place together, but no one wanted to be completely alone. There was a fine line between having safety in numbers, and making yourselves easy targets to get wiped out in one fell swoop.

Your rooms weren’t adjoining, but you and Walt did share a wall. The walls were thin enough for him to hear the muffled sounds of your television, or for you to hear him if he was on the phone with someone, but you’d have to have your ear pinned tight to the wall if you wanted to make out the exact words on the other side.

He felt like he’d learned a fair bit about you in the relatively short span of time that he was your neighbor, one flimsy wall away from being your roommate. You were always up early, but went to bed late. He only had the latter part of that down for himself—he’d never mastered being a morning person. He’d step outside to have his first cigarette of the morning and you would already be up, coffee in one hand and a manila folder packed with information in the other. But there were still too many blanks for him to have any right feeling the way he felt about you.

“Hey,” you said with a quiet laugh as you tapped the side of his boot with yours, “Earth to Breslin.” You waited for him to look over at you. “Are we good?”

He shrugged, nodding. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I don’t know,” you said as you took an inhale from your cigarette, the warmth from your liquor at the bar fading for the moment as you tried to figure out why it felt like things were suddenly off-kilter between the two of you. “You took off, and now you’re acting different. So…are we good?”

“You just,” he looked everywhere but at you, knowing that he was digging himself into a hole that was going to be a bitch to try and get out of, “you gotta be careful.”

“About what?”

“About all of it!” He dropped his cigarette to the ground and put it out with the ball of his foot. “You can’t trust anyone we—”

“The guy bought me a drink, Walt,” you cut him off, unable to believe that this was the conversation the two of you were having. “I wasn’t telling him trade secrets. Fuck, I didn’t even give him my real name. As far as he knows,” you gestured to where Sal had been a few minutes before, “Sal is my fuckin’ boyfriend.”

Leaning back in the chair, he finally looked at you. “Alright.”

You shook your head. “Alright.” You paused for a beat. “You know, maybe you should’ve stayed for an extra drink or two. Maybe you could loosen up for all of two minutes.”

He didn’t want to keep arguing with you. Really, that was the exact opposite of what he wanted. Even so, it took more effort than it should’ve for him to finally say, “Maybe.”

You weren’t really looking for an argument either. You’d left the bar in a perfectly chipper mood and the last thing you wanted was for it all to fizzle out now. You hadn’t expected to come back to this. Walt always had that edge to him, an overtone of sourness, but this felt different.

“There something we should talk about?” you asked.

Of course there was. There were plenty of things that he should talk to you about. But he wasn’t going to start those conversations, didn’t really know how to. Instead, he pushed up out of his chair, standing up so that the two of you were hardly a step away from each other.

“Shit’s different down here,” he finally said. “So just, just be careful.”

“It’s a little late in the game to have doubts about me now,” you told him. “If you have issues with what I did, how I operate, then you shouldn’t have brought me all the way—”

“It’s not that,” he cut you off. He could tell by the look on your face that you wanted to snap and say, “Then what the fuck is it?” but he didn’t know if he was ready to get into all of that. It definitely didn’t feel like the right time now. “I just…don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” He knew that the statement was skating too close to the complete truth, so he tried to cushion it with, “All you guys, you’re my responsibility. I don’t want shit going south if we can prevent it.”

“Can you be less of a pain in the ass about it?” you asked, the smallest hint of lightness returning to your tone.

He let out a weary chuckle. “I can try.”

You waited for him to have something else to say, but when it didn’t seem like he was going to, you prodded. “Anything else?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but then he backpedaled on it. “No.”

You had the nagging feeling that the conversation wasn’t done, but you didn’t know how to continue it without letting it devolve into another argument. Putting out your cigarette, you gestured to your room. “Drink? Since you bailed early.”

Walt knew that he shouldn’t go, that he should just turn and head back into his own room. But he felt like he owed you this. It was the best he could do for an apology without having to actually apologize.

“So,” he sat on the edge of one of the two beds in your room, the one that didn’t seem like you slept on it every night, “what’d you tell him?”

“Hm?” you asked as you poured liquor from the bottle in your bag into two paper cups. It wasn’t as nice as drinks at the bar, but Walt lost that opportunity quite a while ago.

“Said you didn’t tell the guy your real name. What’d you tell him?” He was as curious as he was jealous. It was a side of you he’d never seen before and he wondered if any of it was genuine.

You laughed as you handed him one of the cups, taking a seat on the end of the bed next to him. “I’ve got a whole rolodex of lines I give people in bars,” you took a sip of your drink, “especially when I’m working.”

He chuckled at the mental image of that, just cards upon cards flipping through in your brain whenever someone approached you and offered to buy you a drink. “Yea?”

“Yea. Why? Looking for some pointers?” you asked as you nudged his shoulder with yours.

“No, no.”

“Sounds like you might be,” you joked. “Should’ve stuck around and seen it for yourself.”

“I saw plenty,” he mumbled out without thinking better of it.

The statement didn’t give you pause so much as the way he said it. Turning to face him, you asked, “What was that?”

He shook his head, a little too quick to be casual. “Nothing.”

The fresh wave of warmth washing over you from the drink you’d been sipping on didn’t slow down the turning of the gears in your brain. “Is…is that why you—”

“No,” he cut you off, already knowing where the sentence was going and not wanting it to go there.”

Your eyes widened for a moment. “All that shit about me being careful,” you shook your head, “and you’ve been sulking here this whole time because you were jealous?”

“Don’t fuckin’ say it like that,” he told you, unable to look you in the eyes.

Leaning back, you braced the palm of your empty hand against the mattress. “Then look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong.” The silence that passed spoke volumes, as did the fact that Walt’s eyes stayed glued to the cup in his hands. “You could’ve offered to buy me a drink,” you said, shifting your tone a little bit, softening the conversation just slightly.

Walt rolled his eyes, not liking the fact that this was all starting to feel a lot like pity. “It’s not,” he sighed, bringing one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “just forget it.”

“No,” you said with a laugh, “I won’t.”

Finally, he turned and looked at you. “I have never seen you act like that with anyone before.”

You chuckled. “Yea, well, that’s because they say it’s usually bad form to flirt with your coworkers. Bedroom eyes are unprofessional, apparently.”

That got a choked laugh out of him. “Apparently.”

“I like you, Walt,” you said.

His eyes widened for a moment as he registered what you’d just said. “Yea?”

You laughed, nodding. “Yea. When you’re not pouting quite so much, I like being around you. I’m, you know,” you gestured to the wall behind you, behind the headboards, “I’m glad I share a wall with you.”

His eyes dropped back to the floor. “It’d be stupid to do something, right?”

You shrugged, finishing off your drink. “Yea. But, I mean,” you laughed softly, “it’s also kinda stupid to get jealous over some random guy in a bar buying me a drink sooo…” your voice trailed off.

Walt sighed, letting his head drop back so that he was looking up at the ceiling. No matter what did or didn’t happen next, he knew that he wasn’t ever going to live that down. “Right.”

He followed your lead, finishing off his drink as well. You could see it in his body language that he was about to get up and leave, take the few short steps that would get him back to his room on the other side of the wall. You didn’t want him to go.

Clearing your throat, you said, “Walt?”

He looked over at you, and only got half a syllable out of whatever his response was going to be before you leaned in and brought your lips to his. You felt the way he froze for a moment, a brief hesitation that almost had you pulling away and apologizing. You two had just finished saying it would be a stupid idea.

But then Walt’s brain caught up with the rest of him and he was kissing you back. Empty paper cups fell almost silently to the floor as you brought the hand that wasn’t helping you keep your balance to his chest, fingers curling into the cloth of his flannel and pulling him towards you even more. Walt had one hand on your thigh, the other barely grazing the side of your face, like he was afraid to commit to holding it.

If the circumstances had been different, maybe you would’ve taken your time. Knowing that Walt had been stewing on those feelings for however long would’ve made you a little more patient. But every second since you crossed the border had felt borrowed, and you didn’t want to waste a single one. So you quickly maneuvered yourself, swinging one leg over him so that you were sitting, straddling his lap.

You ran both hands up Walt’s chest, and despite the fact that he still had on his flannel and his t-shirt, he still let out a, “Fuck,” under his breath as your palms and fingers raked over him. His hands settled on your hips as you kissed him again. All either of you could taste off each other was liquor and cigarettes, but at least it was honest.

Your hands gripped onto his shoulders as you began to grind your hips against his. He moaned into your mouth as he kissed you, hands sliding from your hips to your ass. Whatever hesitation he’d felt before was long gone now, along with the annoyances the two of you had been volleying back and forth since you got back.

You pulled away just enough so that you could pull your shirt off over your head. Walt was left slack jawed for a moment, taking in the sight of you on his lap with nothing on but your bra and jeans. When the gears finally started turning again, he ran through all the buttons on his shirt faster than you’ve ever seen anyone ever do it before. Within seconds, both his shirts were discarded onto the floor alongside yours.

His hands came to rest on your sides, gentle at first, like he was still wrapping his mind around the fact that he got to touch you like this. Then he gripped onto you with a little more force, bringing you back in so he could kiss you again. His arms wrapped around you, hands splaying across your back. Every motion was punctuated with blunt fingernails and rough callouses, the sensation of it making you put a little more urgency in your movements as your hips moved against his.

Letting his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, he spoke, words coming out muffled against your mouth but you could make them out well enough as he said, “C’mere.”

Deceptively strong in a way that caught you off-guard, Walt had you on your back on the mattress, himself positioned between your legs and hovering over your chest. He kissed you on the lips one more time before pulling away from you. He pulled away just enough so that he could undo the button and zipper of your jeans. You quickly toed off your boots, making it easier for Walt to pull your pants and underwear down your legs and completely off you. You shimmied a little farther up the bed as he rid himself of the last of his clothing as well.

Then he was right back on top of you, one hand cupping your face, one hand gripping onto your thigh. You didn’t let him pull his lips back off of yours, desperate for just a little more. Sliding one hand down between your bodies, you wrapped it around him. The contact immediately caused him to moan, made him buck into your hand even though you hadn’t started moving it yet.

Smiling into the kiss, you brought your other hand up, lacing your fingers through his hair and gripping, tugging just slightly as your other hand started to slowly move up and down his length. He muttered curses against your lips as he brought the hand that was on your thigh between your legs, pulling sounds out of you that he hadn’t even dared to daydream about.

Not wanting to wait any longer, you lined him up at your entrance. You let him feel how wet you already were, dragging the head of him up and down your slit. His hand was balled into a tight fist on the sheets beside your head, trying to have a modicum of self-control. You saw how hard he was fighting to keep it together, and you almost wanted to have something slick to say, but more than that you just wanted him inside you, so you guided him in and he had no hesitation about thrusting the rest of the way into you.

All the stress, the anger, the weight of the world that Walt always made himself carry around on his own shoulders, it all seemed to disappear for a moment. You wondered if it was because he finally found a good enough distraction, or if it was because he could channel all that anger with the world into the thrust of his hips. Maybe things just seemed a little less hopeless when he had you saying his name against the shell of his ear, asking for more.

You made it so easy for him to not have to think about anything but you. Every single part of you felt like it was there for him in that moment, and that feeling alone almost had him seeing stars right off the rip.

He could hear it in your voice, the way you gasped and whined, that you were close. Your nails raked down the side of his face, over the stubble that was getting longer by the day, searching for any kind of tether to hold onto. Your nails left a series of crescents behind, digging into his shoulder and back as you came, your hips desperately bucking up against his. He followed shortly after, reveling in the feel of you, in knowing that he was able to get you like this. He kissed you hard as he came inside you, rough enough to put a little pain in with all of the pleasure.

When the two of you finally pulled apart, you slipped beneath the thin sheet and blanket on top of the bed. Up until now it’d been perfectly made the entire time you’d been staying there. You watched Walt as he swiped his underwear off the floor, pulling them on before grabbing yours as well. He held them out slightly, a wordless question, and you couldn’t help but to laugh as you nodded and let him toss them to you.

You saw the flicker of apprehension on his face, like he was trying to figure out whether or not he should be putting the rest of his clothes back on too. “You can stay,” you told him with a nod, propping the side of your face in your hand. “No point in leaving just to be on the other side of the wall.”

He visibly relaxed at that, relief coursing through him. “Right.”

He climbed in on the other side of the bed, laying close but still leaving a bit of a gap between you. He didn’t know what was supposed to happen now, what the protocol was supposed to be. None of this had been in his plans.

Rolling over, you swiped your pack of cigarettes and your lighter off the night stand that was between the two beds. You held the pack out to him, offering him one. He took one, of course, and since you were the one with the lighter in your hand, he even let you light it for him before you grabbed one for yourself and sparked it up.

He watched as you laid on the bed beside him, staring up at the ceiling as you blew smoke rings. You looked so pleased with yourself, bedsheet pulled up over your chest as you watched the smoke rise and then disappear.

“That your party trick?” he asked.

You laughed, turning your head to look over at him. “Hardly. My last partner, the one I had before I came down here, he taught me how to do it.” You took another drag off your cigarette, puffing out another ring for emphasis. “Too many hours cooped up in a shitty car on stakeouts with nothing better to do.”

He chuckled. “Oh yea?”

“Don’t worry,” you looked over at him with an amused glint in your eyes, “I wasn’t doing this on stakeouts.”

“I didn’t say—”

“You would’ve thought of it later and never let it go,” you cut him off, giving a small dismissive wave of your hand, painting a swirl with the smoke coming off your cigarette as you did.

There was more to be said, you were sure of it. There were discussions to be had, probably boundaries to be laid out. But you didn’t want to get into all of that in the moment. It was good. Things felt good and easy after weeks of everything feeling anything but good and easy. Judging by the look on Walt’s face, he was having very similar thoughts. So you both finished your cigarettes in silence. Walt leaned, reaching over you to drop it into the ashtray. On the way back, he stopped, letting his arm drape across you for a moment. The look on his face was one of asking for permission, like he needed to know that this little bit of softness was okay after everything that had happened.

You just smiled before reaching and turning off the lamp, sending the room into darkness. Rolling onto your side so that your back was to Walt, you gently grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm around you. He slid up behind you so that his chest was pressed to your back, keeping the two of you close. This would do for now. Everything else could at least wait until morning.

[narcosfandomdiscord]

narcos october masterlist ii

This masterlist is for days 11-25 of the @narcosfandomdiscord's october prompt event, which you can read about here and join in!

For days 1-10 of the event, check out masterlist i, and for days 26-31 of the event, check out masterlist iii.

(Note: character x character indicates a romantic/sexual relationship; character & character indicates a platonic one.)

October 11 — Day of Fun

Create a non-visual, non-fic fanwork: quiz, game, playlist, incorrect quotes.

↳ Narcos Incorrect Quotes by @proceduralpassion — many characters from OG & MX

October 12 — Day of Death

Kill a character who lives in canon.

↳ Behind The Curve by @drabbles-mc — Hugo Martinez Sr. & Hugo Martinez Jr, 1.4k

↳ It's You by @proceduralpassion — Rafa x Reader

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October 13 — Day of Life

Create a fanwork in which a character avoids their canonical death.

↳ Adamant by @drabbles-mc — Enedina x Claudio, 2k

↳ Undefined by @artemiseamoon — Danilo x OFC, 1.1k

↳ I'm The Sky To You by @proceduralpassion — Carrillo x OFC, 1.1k

↳ Chasing ghosts and choices by @hausofmamadas — Enedina x Claudio, 1.7k

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October 14 — Day of Support

Create a review, response, or analysis of a Narcos or Narcos Mexico fic, in the style of an Amazon review or a NYT book review or something like that. Please keep it constructive and positive, no roasts.

↳ In defense of Wonderbread White: Eureka!Character moments by @hausofmamadas — Steve-centric fanfic analysis

↳ she's got the range by @ashlingnarcos — analysis of the #narcoctober fics written by @drabbles-mc

Quote prompt: “I got you.”

↳ Debts Paid by @drabbles-mc — Navegante & Salcedo ficlet

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October 15 — Day of Absolute Filth

Create a smut fanwork that includes three different kinks and/or sex acts (basically you could tag it with at least three tags that are Pure Filth).

↳ Control pt 2 by @artemiseamoon — Verdin x OFC 1.5k

↳ First on Speed Dial by @drabbles-mc — Steve x F!Reader 1.5k

↳ XTASY by @proceduralpassion — Rafa x Reader 1.4k

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October 16 — Day of Surprises

These prompts were revealed at the start of the day.

Create a fanwork that focuses on dreams, either literal or metaphorical.

↳ not in this life by @narcolini — Güero x Reader ficlet

↳ Crumbled to Dust by @drabbles-mc — Carrillo x F!Reader (+OC Diego Ramirez), 1.2k

↳ TO THE SMASH N GRAB CREW by @hausofmamadas — Smash & Grab Crew, also Kenny x Cici, gifset and meta

↳ One Uniform by @proceduralpassion — Trujillo focused ficlet

↳ To live and leave fast by @hausofmamadas — Andrea x Carrillo angst and smut, 2.3k

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October 17 — Day of Rare Treasures

Create a fanwork about a character that only shows up in one (1) season of the show. the rarer the better honestly

↳ Marta fanart by @tofuwildcard

↳ One day at a time by @artemiseamoon — NYC hairdresser from Narcos S3, trauma recovery, 1.2k

↳ Cómo Puedo Ayudar? by @drabbles-mc — Sal & Cece Garza, 1.7k

↳ Denouemont by @proceduralpassion — Dani x Walt ficlet

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October 18 — Day of History

Create a fanwork about characters experiencing, participating in, or witnessing a real life historical event (could have been depicted in canon or not) e.g. moon landing.

↳ The Moon Landing by @garbinge — Javi & F!Reader, 1.3k

↳ Get To You by @proceduralpassion — Javi x OFC, 1.2k

Create a fanwork about two exes meeting unexpectedly.

↳ Ninety Days by @drabbles-mc — Walt x GN!Reader, 2.9k

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October 19 — Day of Hurt

Create a fanwork about a character so emotionally or physically hurt that they can’t help but start crying even though they don’t want to.

↳ Could've Been It by @proceduralpassion — Javi x OFC ficlet

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October 20 — Day of Comfort

Create a fanwork about a character getting exactly what they need from someone unexpected.

↳ Best Bet by @drabbles-mc — Carrillo & Connie, 1.3k

↳ Walls Closing In by @proceduralpassion — Amado x Reader ficlet

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October 21 — Day of Women Who Will Step On You For Free

Create a f/f-centric fanwork.

↳ At Your Service by @drabbles-mc — Andrea x F!Reader, 1.3k

↳ Don't Question by @proceduralpassion — Maria Elvira x F!Reader ficlet

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October 22 — Day of Cross-Fandom Pollination

Create a fanwork that includes at least one Narcos character and at least one character from another fandom.

↳ Flying In (1) by @drabbles-mc — Narcos OFC & multiple Narcos and Mayans MC characters, 2.8k

↳ Family Reunion by @drabbles-mc — Steve & Rick Flag (from Suicide Squad), 2.3k

↳ A Bad Habit by @artemiseamoon — Chepe x OFC, Lalo Salamanca x OFC, Better Call Saul crossover ficlet

↳ Borgias & Narcos Mexico crossover fanart by @tofuwildcard

↳ And You? by @garbinge — Jax Teller (Sons of Anarchy) & Steve ficlet

↳ The Job by @proceduralpassion — Billy Russo (The Punisher Netflix) & Miguel ficlet

The occupational hazards of living by @hausofmamadas — Rust Cohle (from True Detective) & Barrón, 4.5k

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October 23 — Day of Threes

Create a fanwork that includes three items you can currently see.

↳ Sweet Dreams, Angel by @proceduralpassion — Steve x Connie ficlet

Create a fanwork including three canon characters. extra difficult version: three canon characters that have never met.

↳ Acquaintances at Best by @drabbles-mc — 3 characters are: Steve, Jorge Salcedo, Don Berna, also Steve & Javi, 2.7k

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October 24 — Day of Monsters

Create a fanwork about a character turning into a supernatural creature.

↳ Wolf Pack by @artemiseamoon — Ramón & OC ficlet

↳ Amado as an angel fanart by @tofuwildcard

↳ Night of the Comet by @proceduralpassion — Walt x Reader ficlet

Quote prompt: “The world isn’t made up of heroes and monsters. Just broken people balancing between the two.”

↳ Hard to hate up close by @hausofmamadas — Andrea & OC, 3.2k

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October 25 — Day of Wow, That Escalated Quickly

Create a fanwork that begins in a canon-compatible place, but ends up going somewhere more dramatic.

↳ Distant Echoes by @proceduralpassion — Carrillo x Juliana ficlet

[imgeekgirlfan]

Renegada♱ Masterlist (Update)

It’ s where the first shot was fired, the one that started the Drug War. And after that, none of it would be the same. How could it be?

(Narcos: Mexico)

Pairings :  Amado Carrillo Fuentes x f!reader(Latina Reader) x Walt Breslin  [From Narcos: Mexico TV Series]

Content Rating : Mature 18+  Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

Status: work in progress (I have already finished writing this story in the Thai language. Just need to update with translation.)

Summary: Taking down Amado Carrillo Fuentes, the drug lord, is what the CIA, like you, is determined to do, even if it means having sex with him. However, the longer the days go by, the harder it becomes to eliminate him, especially as your feelings towards him start to change.

All Chapters

╰┈➤[Prólogo]ᅳ 𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐫 ✟

╰┈➤[1]ᅳ 𝐋𝐨𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐥𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐚 ✟

╰┈➤[2]ᅳ 𝐄𝐥 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐛𝐨 ✟

╰┈➤[3]ᅳ 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐚𝐫 ✟

╰┈➤[4]ᅳ 𝐎𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐚𝐫 ✟

╰┈➤[5]ᅳ 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐢́𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐨 ✟

╰┈➤[6]ᅳ 𝐋𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚 𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐥 ✟

╰┈➤[7]ᅳ 𝐓𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐣𝐨𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐨𝐬 ✟

╰┈➤[8]ᅳ 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐚𝐬 ✟

╰┈➤[9]ᅳ 𝐋𝐚 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐨́𝐧 𝐌𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐚 ✟ (Soon)

╰┈➤[10]ᅳ 𝐄𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚 ✟ (Soon)

╰┈➤[11]ᅳ 𝐒𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐢𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐨 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐫 ✟ (Soon)

╰┈➤[12]ᅳ 𝐌𝐢 𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫 ✟ (Soon)

╰┈➤[13]ᅳ 𝐀𝐬𝐢́ 𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚 ✟ (Soon)

╰┈➤[14]ᅳ 𝐑𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐝𝐚 ✟ (Soon)