#narcos mexico fanfiction

[ethereal-am]

¡ narcos mexico / griselda

( read best in dark mode <3 )

⌨️ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི 𓊆¡ welcome all angels !𓊇 ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ 𓏲𝄢

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 ! — i do post nsfw content therefore beware !

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 second blog !

˚ . ྀིྀི୧ popular edits ୨ ྀིྀི.˚

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 —

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ྀིა

thank you so much for all of the ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ support amores !!

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

# IFB !! ᰔᩚ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡜⡔⢕⠄⠀⡴⢽⣽⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⠌⠲⢽⣺⡒⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀

⠀⣰⠏⠀⡧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⡳⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⣰⠇⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠏⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠀⠀⠀⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

[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. ‘’

[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 : Walt did everything he could to eliminate drug traffickers without realizing that ultimately, his actions were causing him to lose you forever.

AN: There're angst everywhere Lol. Get ready to be hurt

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𝙍𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙙𝙖♱ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

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[6]ᅳ 𝐋𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚 𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐥 ✟

The loud 'Bang' jolted you back to reality, back to the awareness of what you were and what this man was. He might be charming, he might be funny, he might be romantic, but Amado Carrillo Fuentes is a drug lord. He is your target, America's target, Mexico's target, and and the target of other drug trafficking gangs whose aim is to see him dead.

They know Amado is hiding here too. And they didn't want him to come back to Mexico.

Armed groups in tourist outfits reveal themselves amidst the growing chaos. They all aim straight for Amado, but they don't care about other lives.  Innocent people unintentionally caught in the crossfire are ruthlessly eliminated,  bodies scattered on the streets like fallen leaves.

The music is drowned out by the gunfire, laughter turns into screams, and in the blink of an eye, tranquility turns into hell on earth.

You're stiff; you should do something to stop it. You think you could if you had a gun with you, but the bad thing is you didn't bring one because you foolishly thought a regular musician shouldn't have a gun to be suspected by Amado, and you were confident you could handle everything well without weapons.

And you're wrong. It's your fault.

Amado yanked you up, dragging you along as he turned back to shoot at the killers chasing him from a distance. For a split second, you imagine pushing him away and escaping alone. Because these people only cared about getting Amado's life, not yours. His death might be a good thing; at least one of the drug lords would be gone. The crazy mission, and everything could finally end.

You should let him die. It would be much easier if Amado chose the same. But this man is now trying to protect you, even though he's been in danger. Yet, those big hands refuse to let go of yours, not even for a second.

You grit your teeth, eyes staring intensely at his hand holding yours firmly. No matter how much you want to reject, somehow you are a part of this fate. Throughout the time that has passed, you have lost and failed to save everyone. let many people die in front of you without being able to do anything. And you can't bear to feel guilty from failure any more, at least not for this time.

In this moment of imminent death,The CIA Agent finally makes the decision that you can't let Amado die.

All of this is for the mission. That's what you try to insist to yourself. In the moment when one of the assassins aims at Amado without him noticing, in the moment when you decide to push him out of the bullet's range, in the moment when you get shot by that bullet yourself.

The chaos still swirls around you, things flashing before your eyes too fast to make out what they are. Everything seems like mere illusions to you. There's nothing clear except the searing pain akin to flames burning inside your abdomen. You slide down onto the pavement, hands clutching your blood-soaked abdomen tightly, the sound of yelling ringing in your ears. It's Amado's voice, but you can't make out what he's saying. All you can do is raise your head to look at him, seeing the shock reflected in those wide-open eyes and your blood smeared on his face.

What went wrong? Your final suspicion is devoid of any clear answers.

Was it an unexpected reaction to the situation? Or the foolish intention to take the bullet instead of the man who deserved to die?

There's nothing funny about it at all. Yet, you let out a light chuckle, mocking yourself, realizing that this might be the end for you—shot foolishly on the roadside, another failure. But at least, there will be no more loss to bear except for your own life.

Perhaps it's a fitting end for someone like you.

You took another glance at Amado, the smile still lingering on your face until unconsciousness envelops every part of your body and fades away in the blink of an eye.

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

Walt never knew when to stop. That was always the problem.

Like a relentless machine, he never took a break, working tirelessly until either the energy ran out or the machinery broke into pieces. Even though he knew it was slowly destroying himself, he chose to keep going until he got what he wanted, or died trying, or worse — had to get his hands dirty and kill someone to get what he wanted.

The hands of the DEA agent were covered in bruises and blood, the throbbing pain clinging to every bone forcing him to slightly adjust his grip.He wiped off someone else's blood onto a dirty handkerchief lying on the floor before looked up at the young man tied tightly to the chair.His face and bare body bore only the traces of severe abuse inflicted by his own hands. 

"Alex Aragón," Walt slowly uttered the name, studying the almost unconscious response from the boy, who seemed barely aware of his surroundings. 

He's still so young, looked like he had just emerged from adolescence not long ago. the pampered, harmless rich kid unless you knew that this guy wwasone of the high-ranking members of the Arellano drug cartel,who just apprehended three days ago.

"If you want to see your parents again, you better tell me right now where Ramón Arellano Félix, your buddy, is and what he's planning," Walt held the cigarette in his mouth before turning his gaze to Diego and the two Mexican cops standing solemnly in the same room. "My Mexican friends here aren't as friendly as I am, and I won't hesitate to hand you over to them if you don't talk to me."

"But...but I'm American!" the young man rushed to say. "I was born in America, I have American citizenship. You can't do this to an American! If anyone finds out, you'll be in serious trouble!"

"So what? Do you think America cares about a bunch of drug dealers like you?"

He lied. When it came to America's image in the eyes of the world, those at the top of politics did care.

But America was also adept at covering up its own dirty scandals.

And if America was good at covering up scandals, Mexico was even better at making them. So, Walt decided to leave the task of tormenting duties to the Mexican police, as he had said earlier.

Walt walked out of the interrogation room to smoke a cigarette, listening to the echoing screams echo with an expression of indifference, devoid of emotions. It was just another ordinary day in his line of work. There is nothing to feel bad about when dealing with someone who deserves to die.

Not long after, Walt remembered that he had only taken a few puffs of smoke when the heavy metal door of the interrogation room was suddenly opened. He saw Diego stepping out with a strangely alert demeanor.

Walt furrowed his brows, quickly flicking away the cigarette that wasn't finished. He didn't feel too good hearing what Diego said, "That bastard finally talked, but it wasn't about Ramón."

"And what did he say?"

Diego hesitated, feeling conflicted. He wasn't sure if he should directly discuss this with Walt. But in the end, he decided to speak up.

"He mentioned an assassination against Amado Carrillo Fuentes."

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

The two junior officers in Policía Ciudad de México(The Mexico City Police) were taken aback when an American DEA agent suddenly burst into the room with a look as if he wanted to physically harm someone. Julio, who was seated at his regular desk, looked up for a moment. His expression didn't change much upon seeing Walt. The boss exhaled deeply before waving his hand to dismiss the other officers, leaving just the two of them in the room.

"Ramón Arellano sent assassins to kill Amado on Aruba Island. We need to hurry to help Y/N, she's in danger," the DEA agent exclaimed.

"I already know about it," Julio responded with an unchanged expression. "Netherlands embassy just reported about a Mexican drug cartel incident in the tourist area of the island. The bodies were sent back to Mexico this morning."

Walt sighed lightly, both surprised and irritated by the calmness of his superior. "So, what now? You know about this, yet you're not going to do anything?"

"Calm down. We've checked everything. We didn't find any bodies matching Amado's or Y/N's description. It's highly possible they're still alive."

"Then we need to hurry and help her. We don't know if there are still Arellano's men left on the island. This mission is too risky for Y/N. We need to abort."

"You'll have to talk to America yourself then, Agent Breslin." Julio's tone grew more serious. "Y/N is a CIA agent. Mexico has no part in this."

Walt's face turned pale. It was a feeling when hit by what's called 'Reality'. A reality that Walt hadn't fully grasped until now.

Mexico wouldn't extend a helping hand in this matter, and neither would America. The covert mission regarding Amado is an elite secret known only to a few. Even the Netherlands isn't aware of the CIA's unauthorized incursion into their country. If this mission were to be exposed, it would severely damage trust and international relations.

So, whatever happens to Y/N during this mission should not be linked back to America. They won't hesitate to abandon her immediately. This means she could end up in a state of disappearance without an identity or even a grave to bury.

Does You know about this before deciding to go there? Walt started to doubt. He looked back at Julio's face, seeing him nod slowly, as if already knowing what he was thinking.

"It's her profession. She knows well about the risks, and she's chosen it herself."

A dry chuckle escaped Walt's throat, sounding sarcastic and bitter at the same time. The American officer sank heavily into the chair, hands raised to hold his head, exhaling softly. There was no trace of anger or resentment, not a single word spoken.

Julio laid the documents in his hands on the table. He looked straight at the man opposite.

"Remember the conversation in Cuba? When you were furious because you were worried about her, I told you to trust in her," Julio said with a smile. "I know you're tired of hearing this, but this time I want you to continue to trust her, as long as there's hope. Anything is possible."

"That sounds more like self-consolation than the truth."

"This world is cruel. Sometimes, we get by just by consoling ourselves."

Walt closed his eyes briefly. There were only a few times he showed vulnerability to others beyond his usual demeanor of anger and unfriendliness. "If I knew it would turn out like this, I should say something to her."

He had been thinking about his feelings for you—something more than just a coworker. Every time they locked eyes, shared cigarettes, talked about trivial matters, and laughed together over nonsense, it all seemed clear. He has known it. But he chose to overlook it. Because his job was filled with blood and death every day. There's no space for romance and for a heart that has to bear the pain of sorrow and a painful past.

But the decision to remain indifferent to the feelings in his heart only makes him feel even more sorrowful today.

If on that day he had hugged you tight, if he had asked you not to go to Aruba, if he had decided to tell you how he truly felt, maybe the story could have ended differently. And sometimes, you might have felt the same too.

It's pointless to dwell on things that can never happen again.

The silence persisted until Walt stood up again. He pursed his lips, looking as if he wanted to quickly leave the room. However, Julio stopped him first. "Where are you going, Agent Breslin?"

"I'm just going back to the interrogation room," the DEA replied calmly. But Julio saw the clear anger and darkness in his eyes. "If anything happens to Y/N, I'll make sure they're all going to pay for it."

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

[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

[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.

[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.”

.

.

.

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. 

[mrs-stardustt]

first date ft. narcos mx characters

a/n: hiiii, permission to be delusional on the main???? alright so here we goooo

if you like to add more characters don't be afraid to ask, I just follow however character intrudes my mind<3 so reach out if you want any specific request

INCLUDES: Benjamín Arellano Félix, Ramón Arellano Félix, Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo, Amado Carrillo Fuentes

gif credit: @southotheborder​

Benjamín:

my sweet man<3

first date has to be as soft as he is, so I'm thinking a nice park walk with nieves if it's hot outside or just something wholesome

so going on a walk and getting to know each other seems fitting

like imagine the stuttering mess he would be, how gentleman he is OMG

everything will be perfect, he will make sure of it

he most likely blush if you compliment him

we know that’s his time to really put into the work to impress you, to show you he is fucking fr

my Min doesn't fool around, so if you're on a date, he's interested on going serious

but everything is so nice and sweet, he makes you feel comfortable and loved<3

so if he's feeling bold, a cheek kiss would be the peak of the day

but if YOU'RE feeling bold???? kiss him, I swear to you, even a peck barely on the lips and he is a goner

without adding more, it's clearly that with Min a date can't go wrong, he won't do anything bad in my eyes, argue with the wall lol

Ramón:

let's bffr, alright??? it would probably be in a club lol

and of courseeee it will be Roxane

everything is just so chill and funnn

if anything Món is funNY

just you two being HOT PEOPLE, dancing in the middle of the dancefloor, feeling each other iykyk

he would a 100% flirt shamelessly all. the. time.

and add a few drinks to the equation???? girrrrrrrrl

he’s so hot, i can’t help myself

imagineeee: you two dancing, the whole world disappearing, your back to his chest, feeling the music AHHHHH  

so expect to have a very fun night, to end the night a little tipsy and barely feeling your legs of how much you dance

and of fucking course, if you let him, he will kiss you

but don’t worry, my man is a tease  

he might kiss you, but that’s it

he keep you waiting up until your second date

and don’t lie to yourself, it will be to a second date babes

Miguel Ángel:

big ass fancy restaurant, that’s it

if something we all can agree is that Miguel likes to flex

he will take you to the most expensive place to have dinner (yep dinner, somewhat having a first date with him has to be at night, okay????)

and let’s indulge a little, he will probably send you a fancy dress, fancy shoes and everything and anything his princesa might need

he is very interested in you so he’ll ask questions about you, you likes/dislikes, a bit of talking about your past and shit

i don’t believe he will share too much about him

and for obvious reasons

he will taste the waters, to kinda know if he can trust you, not really going for it that soon

but don’t worry because either waaaaay

he is a romantic 

and old school romantic

he’ll touch your hand a bit, give you a little smile while you talk 

EYE CONTACT OMGGGGG

he don’t flirt too openly but he OBVIOUSLY calls you nicknames

“que hermosa te ves, mija”

it could end on two ways: you kiss and that’s it but if we are bold, enjoy the ride to his home girly AYYYY NO

Amado:

Amado is a chill man

so whatever you like, he likes

you want to have dinner? let’s go to your favourite. wanna go for a walk? sure, chose the place. club date? pick your dress he’s on the way

he will liveeee to make you happy

and that is ALL you need to know to assure that your first date will go smoothly as possible

but for this i choose a bar

why? idk makes sense somehow lol

the talking will be immaculate, with my man, conversation neverrrr ends

he tell you a bit about himself, crack a joke here and there just to make you laugh, he’ll ask questions about you

he WILL flirt

and if you flirt back????

MY GIRRRRL you have him eating from. your. hand.

no for nothing Acosta call him tontín so deal with a little of clumsiness

and because he loves you he let you make fun of him, just know he’ll have that energy backkkk

A LOT OF TENSIONNNN

not only sexual lol but for anythinggg

the chemistry is PLAUSIBLE

so at the end we can know a kiss is happening, that is not up to discussion

buuuut, just a maybe (and a very firm maybe) you can go home together AHHHHHHHH

[feasibilities]

Se acabó la clase ⚒︎

Warnings: Angry!Rafa, Oral S3x, Spanking, Degradation, Teasing, etc.

Author's Note: My first Rafa fic after watching Narcos: Mexico over and over. Enjoy! ⚒︎

The monotonous lecture of your professor was interrupted by Rafa & his comrades bursting in. You were shocked to see him as you broke it off with him last week—over the phone. He pursued you heavily until you finally relented. He had become too unruly for your liking, so you wanted out before you got in serious trouble. This obviously didn't sit well with him. 

"Se acabó la clase." Rafa announced to the class. Everyone looked around confused. You saw fire in his eyes when they landed on you. You looked down & acted like you were taking notes. 

"Fuera, ahora!" Rafa's comrade yelled, pulling out a gun. Everyone gathered their things & walked out in an orderly fashion. The professor was escorted out with a gun pressed to his back. Following his orders, you tried to escape in the organized chaos. Rafa suddenly grabbed your arm and pulled you back. You huffed in defeat and sat your bookbag on the desk. He slammed the door behind you, making you flinch. 

“You didn’t even have the courage to end this in person.” He hissed. 

“I know, Rafa. I just can’t risk it. You live such a dangerous life and-“ You confessed.

“You didn’t have a problem with my lifestyle when we were fucking or when I was buying you jewelry.” He interrupted, pulling you closer. 

You finally realized why he was so upset—his ego was hurt. He thought he got played by some rich college girl. You had him wrapped around your finger & he hated it so much. However, it was a thrill for you compared to the mundane life of a politician’s daughter.

“Let me make it up to you…” You cooed, feigning innocence. You kissed the corner of his lips gently. You then started to unbutton your blouse. He had no choice but to surrender to your seductions.

You watched him intently as you knelt in front of him. You undid his belt & unzipped his jeans at a painstakingly slow speed. You kissed up & down his shaft.

“Don’t tease, perra.” He warned.

Ignoring his demands, you gently slapped his manhood on your tongue. You made sure to stare into his eyes to rile him up even more. You watched his anger transform into pure desperation. You took his length in your mouth & bobbed your head slowly. The obscene noises you made his eyes roll back.

Feeling him throb, you sped up your movements and held his thighs tightly. Saliva  dripped down your chin & neck. Tears blurred your vision as you struggled to breathe. Rafa uttered a multitude of obscenities at you in Spanish, but his eyes were full of love. He took a handful of your hair & thrusted into your mouth as he came. 

“Traga cada gota, amor.” He purred. 

You followed his orders & sat back to catch your breath. He thought you were so beautiful like this—mascara running, hair messy, blouse unbuttoned. He wished he brought his camera so he could add this moment to the filthy polaroids he had of you.

“So beautiful…” He whispered, running his thumb across your moist lips. You smiled and kissed his thumb. He pulled you up on your feet and bent you over the professor’s desk. You pulled up your skirt to reveal that you didn’t have on panties. You couldn’t see Rafa, but you felt his lustful gaze on you. 

After a few hard spanks, you felt him slide into you & hold your shoulders tightly. You moaned in response. His thrusts were so merciless and reached your deepest depths. Your eyes teared up at the sting his actions left. The sounds of skin hitting skin filled the lecture room. Rafa couldn’t care less if any unsuspecting students heard you two from the hallway.

Your mind went blank as you orgasmed. You convulsed and screamed in pleasure. Rafa held you up & watched as arousal spewed out of you. A perverse smile came across his face. He reveled in the thought that no one could fuck you like him.

[ethereal-am]

hi. i miss Irán and Rosario 😔

omg hii <3 i miss them too pls 😔 those women live rent free in my head — (update for both stories coming up soon tho !! hopefully …)

[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.

[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.

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

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.

[namorslutfanfiction]

THE SHADOWBAN ON @namorslutfanfiction HAS FINALLY BEEN LIFTED

For those that haven't realized this or don't know

@theatreslave is the writer behind @namorslutfanfiction and this sideblog has been shadowbanned, blocked from messaging, and from appearing in tags for awhile now.

But today I got the response from tumblr that the blog was flagged as spam because of too many original posts on the same tags at once. So me being super prolific with my writing got me banned because they thought it was a bot.

But the blog is fully reinstated. I can now be tagged in posts under the @namorslutfanfiction handle, can receive messages on this blog, and I should appear in tags again.

I am so happy about this so please go check out my fanfiction blog if you haven't already!

Please remember to Reblog, Reply, and Follow!

You can also find my work on AO3 under NamorSlutfanfiction77 but all new writing gets posted on @namorslutfanfiction first!

Thank you to all my readers, mutuals, and followers who have continued to support my writing and blogs! I love you all!

I am going to find time on Sunday to make any edits on existing fanfiction, updating my masterlist, and finish the blurbs.

I'm going to be correcting the various languages used and any other errors to the best of my ability. I will also be changing all readers to "you" writing without use of 'y/n'. Most of my fics are female readers but it will be marked NB if its ambiguous enough. So if you see posts that say it's new but it's something you've read before, it's because I'm making edits.

So stick around and join me as I make my return to the mainstream!

[drabbles-mc]

Unrecognizable

Miguel Ángel & Isabella Bautista

Warnings: 18+, smoking

With the help of This Prompt List by @creativepromptsforwriting and my trusty Wheel of Names with every character I’ve ever written for, I’m aiming to write a fic in 500 words or less every day of March. We’ll see how far we get!

Prompt: feathers

Word Count: 448

A/N: there's no plot here, just vibes. but it's...it's something!!!

She slowly made her way through the expanse of the mansion. Her heels clicked against the spotless tiles that made up the floor, the sound louder than it should have been due to the large space being filled with nothing but empty silence.

When she reached the other side of the house, she walked right out into the back yard. Her heels sank into the lush grass but it didn’t slow her down. Continuing on, she went right up to Miguel, who was standing with one arm folded across himself, the other holding a cigarette to his lips.

She stopped right beside him, noticing how his gaze flickered to her for a moment. He offered a wordless nod in greeting before returning to what he’d been staring at before her arrival. She joined him in that, in the silence but also in looking at the birds that were casually making their way across the lawn.

The peacocks seemed unbothered by their presence, not even hesitating when Isabella walked over. She watched them closely, half-tempted to crouch down and run her fingers along the bird’s back right down to its tail. Its feathers were so vibrant, looked like they’d be so soft. Extravagant like everything else around her at the moment.

The longer they stood there in silence staring at the birds, the more she wondered what Miguel really needed or wanted with them in the first place, what he wanted with any of what he had now.

She turned to look at him, his chin hooked over the collar of his orange turtleneck. He was still Miguel, she supposed, but not in any of the ways that mattered to her. Not in any of the ways that would have rendered him recognizable. The Miguel she pictured when someone mentioned his name wasn’t the man standing beside her in that moment. The Miguel that lingered around her thoughts didn’t care about mansions he wouldn’t ever spend any time in, or birds that he would do nothing with other than occasionally stare at them. He’d veered so far off-track, and so far away from her in the process. She wondered if there was any way to right the course at this point, or if she should just turn and leave the same way that she showed up—without a word.

Just as she was about to turn and leave, deeming it all a lost cause, he held out his cigarette to her. She hesitated for a moment, but she took it from him. As she brought it to her lips, the first thing that crossed her mind was that it was the most familiar he’d felt in a long time.

[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