#ossie mejia

[nocturnal-milk-dud]

Ok, you did say we can send more than one. Sooo Ossie + Dusk til Dawn

I know. I’m being greedy. I’m not sorry and thank you for this. I love the way you write Ossie, and imagining him in this scenario feels like a perfect spooky season story.

Thank you for your patience!!! I felt very rusty but I had fun. I hope you have fun too! 💗 (I maybe looked at this one too much and not enough) and I listened to after dark too many times

Knocking On The Devil's Door

Pairing: Ossie Mejía x Reader

Warnings/notes: blood; language; violence; gun violence; claustrophobia; choking/asphyxiation; Ossie gif credit to the lovely @cregan-starks 💓

Rating: R

Word count: 1318

Bad news, that's what this place is. He knew it when he saw it. Somehow this shithole had stood for one hundred years and it would stand for a hundred more. Bad news-that's what he'd told Walt. Lotta good it did him now. 

Ossie stifles a groan and air hisses through his clenched teeth as he peels himself out of his brown jacket, turning his attention to his wounded shoulder. He supposes he should consider himself lucky. When everything went to shit most guys ended up with their throats torn out. All he got was a stray bullet to the shoulder.

And you. 

Ossie is very aware of you watching him as he stanches the bleeding, and he's smart to be. 

You sit across from him in the storage room, listening to the fight raging in the bar. Glass shatters, tables crash under the weight of bodies, bullets fly, and you can smell the blood, as strong out there as it is in the room. 

You're hungry. 

It doesn't matter. You owe him a debt. He may not make it out of here alive but you won't be the reason. He doesn't need to know that, though. Best he thinks you're another survivor, caught up in the same crazy shit as him, or things could turn very ugly in the small room very fast. 

Ossie's struggling with the bandage, and you can feel the need inside you clawing at your throat. You get up-maybe too fast because Ossie stops working to look at you-and cross the room slowly. Your teeth dig into your tongue as you take the bandage from him and work to get it tied. You know you're lingering too long because you can feel him watching you, and blood from your own tongue has gathered in your mouth.

There's a loud thud that startles the two of you. Ossie gets to his feet, and you turn to face the door. Perhaps it was only a body thrown against it, but the silence sits heavy and you can't keep from holding your breath. Your eyes don't leave the door. You startle at the feel of a hand on your wrist. Ossie stands at your side, gun in hand. Lines of blood drip down his arm, one of them sliding over his thumb, and for a moment you've forgotten about the door and everything outside it. All you hear is a strong, even heartbeat.

"I can smell you." The voice comes from the other side of the door and you jump despite its softness. It seeps through the cracks like smoke, smooth and deadly. 

Santanico. 

You shove aside a stack of boxes and wrench open a dust covered trap door. 

"Go!" you hiss. Ossie looks at you in alarm and confusion. The door leads down to a large series of snaking tunnels, and the opening is pitch black. You wave at him to go and hope the desperation in your face is enough for him to trust you. Ossie takes one last glance at the door and decides there's worse things than what's beneath him, and climbs down. There's a crash as the door gives, but you've already hidden the trap door. Santanico steps over what's left of the door, cleaning the dust and debris out of her hair. 

"You're missing the party," she says, her lips shaping up into a deadly smile. She's like a cat eyeing a mouse, and you match her step for step as she slowly moves around the room. As she gets closer to the hidden door, you get closer to the wooden shards. Your eyes never leave her, watching how her neck arches and her fingers dance across her stomach, following the smell of blood that led her there. Santanico finds Ossie's jacket and you bite down on your lip to keep from grimacing. She brings it to her face, finding the dark red spot that had drenched the fabric. You find the piece you want, sharp and sturdy enough to do the trick, but before you can reach for it her eyes are on you. 

"Didn't anyone ever teach you to share?" Santanico demands. She throws aside the boxes, finding the hatch and a dark drop of blood in the dust near it. You grab the makeshift stake and charge at her, but she catches you by the neck without even turning her head. There's nothing but air beneath your feet. 

"Didn't anyone ever teach you to fucken say please?" you choke. 

"No." Santanico launches you like you weigh nothing, sending you sailing through the busted doorway, and crashing into the only table somehow still standing, dust billowing up around you. 

Ossie has no idea where he's going. His lighter offers a meager amount of light, enough to make sure he doesn't run into anything. The tunnels are tight, the walls dripping something dark. He doesn't want to stop but he's afraid if he keeps going the next turn he takes will be the wrong one. 

He shouldn't have jumped into this hellhole to begin with, shouldn't have left you up there alone. But Ossie knows he's the one in danger this time, not you. That you're aware this place exists tells him all he needs to know.  

He swears as he trips over something, landing hard on his chest, the air knocked out of him. Ossie fiddles with the lighter to get his bearing, and finds himself face to face with a human skull. The ground before him is littered with them. His blood goes cold and his heart throbs in his ears, and someone starts screaming.

No, not screaming. Someone's singing. A woman. Her voice bounces off the cool walls, off the skulls, comes from the skulls. It sounds like she's everywhere, like she's inside of him.  

Ossie snuffs the lighter and sits up, hugging the wall, trying to steady his breath.

"There's no way out down here," the woman calls, voice like velvet. "I'm going to find you." He checks his pistol, his fingers sweaty around the grip, and he worries he's starting to lose feeling-the wound maybe worse than he thought. But there's enough ammo to buy him time-he thinks.

Ossie keeps moving, picking his way carefully among the skulls.

It doesn't take you long to find the two of them. Ossie, not knowing where he was headed, had inadvertently taken himself in circles and is now staring down Santanico, gun tight in hand. The two of them stand in a small pool of flickering light. Neither of them see you. 

"And what do you think you're gonna do with that?" Santanico asks. You have to be quick. You know he'll only get one shot in and that it won't do anything but annoy her. The gun fires and you hook an arm around Santanico's neck before she can reach for him, bringing the makeshift stake down into her chest. Santanico howls and her body convulses, bubbles.

"Fucker," she spits, the word muddled and incoherent as she falls apart. You let her drop to the ground, melt into a tarry mess in the dust. 

Ossie hasn't lowered his gun, his eyes on you now. You raise your hands, give him space-not because you're worried about the gun-you're watching the rivulets of blood that are curving their way down his hand.

His face relaxes, his arm drops to rest at his side.

"A rainy night in Guadalajara, three years ago," Ossie says, and you smile ever so slightly, letting your arms fall. He remembers. He remembers you. 

"You saw someone being attacked in an alleyway. You didn't have to help, but you did," you continue for him. "You saved my life. For what it's worth." You give a half-hearted shrug, looking down at the remnants of Santanico. The two of you are quiet, thinking perhaps about that night, and everything that came after, everything that led you here.

"What next?" Ossie finally asks. 

[artemiseamoon]

Preview: If you die, I’ll kill you

Slate & Ossie ft. the smash and grab crew

Au to my fic After this is over

Words: 1653

Warnings: ambush with guns, injuries, gunshot and blood

An: this is an alternative outcome/ scene for the one in the fic. Ossie lives!

Whumpril 2023 (masterlist) day 27 | prompts: grabbed by the collar, forced to crawl

This is a preview * read in full on A03

Before

Unease has rooted deep into Slate’s gut, simmering as the hours passed by and latching on to her organs. Breathing through it, she kept her head high, mind focused, and didn’t get distracted.

They had a plan, and she hoped to God it would work.

Any sense of hope she had was thrown out the window when the overhead lights turned on at the airstrip, and numerous voices mixed as one as they shouted.

Rifle in hand, Slate ran to the tree line without consulting or looking back at Daryl. She was supposed to stay up here with him, but the guys were in trouble and outnumbered, nothing was going to keep her from trying to help. She could hear Daryl call for her as she sped through the trees, careful not to fall while moving as fast as she could.

By the time Slate reached the airstrip, she spotted Amat and Sal behind the flatbed truck, ducking oncoming fire and then returning it.

“It’s me! Don’t shoot!”

She announced as Amat looked back; he nodded in acknowledgment then focused on the guys ahead again. Bullets continued to fly as glass shattered from car windows. In between returning fire, she searched for Walt and Ossie, growing increasingly worried by the second as she didn’t see them.

“Where the fuck is Breslin? Ossie?”

She ducked, a bullet missing her shoulder. Then she spotted them coming around the yellow truck. “Thank fucking god-” she focused ahead again, then fired, shooting one of the men in the shoulder, then chest.

Danilo was nowhere in sight; neither were the extra four guys. Slate signaled to Amat and Sal, then noticed Walt pulling Ossie up by the collar.

“Ossie! “She called out, making a quick run for the other truck.

Just before she reached it, Slate dodged another bullet, then crawled low to the ground until she reached them.

“I’m hit,” Ossie groaned, eyes darting to the spot Walt was putting pressure.

She could hear the guys yelling among themselves, but all she could see was the blood slipping through Walt’s fingers and the worry in his and Ossie’s eyes. It could be a fatal gut shot, or above it. She hoped for the latter, more chance he’ll survive. It was hard to tell with his clothes and vest on.

Ossie weakly gripped her wrist, then said to Walt, "Walt - the keys are in the truck, right?”

Walt pressed hard on the wound again, “the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m fucking dying, man!”

“Fuck, no, no you're not!” Slate cupped his cheek with her free hand, “If you die, I will kill you!” She glanced up, then back at Ossie, “Breslin, cover me,” She quickly pulled out a knife and cut the bottom part of her shirt off,

Read on A03

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A03: artemiseamoon

[thesolotomyhan]

i adore your writing!! do you know of any other accounts that write for narcos/narcos mexico??? i can't find much content for the show on here so just wondering if you know of any :)

oh :(( thank you so much my love :(( and i made a list a while ago but its buried by now on my page lol so ill just make a new one for you here and some of the folks i love reading from :))

@artemiseamoon writes for both narcos and narcos mx with the range of reader inserts and oc’s as well! i love getting the chance to read her brilliant works and if you havent yet read sin! its one of my all time fav pieces of writing she has done :)

@fleurfatale89 also writes for both narcos and narcos mx, a thing i love about her works are the length and descriptions she goes into, its very enticing work in my opinion :))

@rexsjaigeyes is a hidden gem for the narcos/narcos mx community she has written in the past but its still so worth going over and reading some of the magnificent writings she has done!

@nocturnal-milk-dud she has this amazing ossie mejia fic and series going on that just has me head over heels, so please go give it a read if you havent yet, they will have you falling in love with him and the other characters she writes for:(

@loveyhoneydovey and @lavenderhoney12 also have some narcos/narcos mx works that they wrote a while back but still hit to this day! go check them out!

@narcosmx and of course, one can never go wrong with reading the beauties that they have created in the narcos mx community :))

[arte-is-now-reading]

Welcome to Arte’s Reading list

A special reading list for the #stardust reblog challenge by @natrace

Ways to follow this fics

Save this list, or follow the tag: #artereadsstars and the above one

Reminder (house keeping rules)

This is multi fandom and I have lots of interest. So list will reflect that. Some stuff will be fluffy, some mature content, some angsty, and some nsfw. You control your content consumption, so don’t read what you don’t like, don’t be mean to creators if you don’t like something, and use filtering if you want to avoid certain things, including triggers. Overall my blogs are 18+, so no minors please.

The fics

*Please see the fics themselves for detailed warnings, detailed tags, and descriptions. I’ll summarize fics by fandom, you have to click the fic to see more info. Every time I reblog, I will add the character to the tags. Reblogs will be to this page.

🎃 = soooky szn stuff

SEPTEMBER + OCTOBER

Kingsman Golden circle

More than a moment - @clydesducktape 🦄

Ezra (Prospect 2018)

Stuck - @insomniamamma 🦄

Blue sunshine - @keeper0fthestars 🥵

Point of no return - @the-blind-assassin-12

The Mandalorian

Fennec - Just let me take care of you @oonajaeadira 🦄

Assorted Pedro Pascal characters

Dave York - Gimmie Shelter by @writeforfandoms 🧸

Frankie Morales - The Incident by @jaa1682-27 🥺🦄

Mayans MC

Angel Reyes- There’s no way he has a license by @ nocturnal-milk-dud 🎃

Bishop Losa - Someone could lose a heart tonight @ nocturnal-milk-dud 🎃

Narcos (both)

Horacio Carrillo - what’s the bad news @ nocturnal-milk-dud 🎃

Ossie Mejía - where did my lover go @ nocturnal-milk-dud 🎃

Ossie Mejia - hidden in his red coat is a red right hand

Walt Breslin - A good time @ /Drabbles Mc

Triple frontier

Jurassic frontier

Etc /assorted

Ray Merriweather - It’s lovely down in the woods, but safer to stay home by @ nocturnal-milk-dud 🎃

NOVEMBER

DECEMBER

About the challenge 😁

[bbylovell]

— tags —

regular content: fd. (fandom) | ch. (character)

dark content: 🔪.(fandom) | 🔪.(character)

t/w: tw.(trigger)

🔲 — read later

fandom:

fd. misc

fd. triple frontier

ch. frankie morales

ch. santiago garcia

ch. will miller

ch. benny miller

fd. bridgerton

ch. anthony bridgerton

ch. colin bridgerton

fd. harry potter

ch. sirius black

ch. tom riddle

fd. mayans mc

ch. coco cruz

fd. narcos

ch. ossie mejia

fd. marvel

ch. steve rogers

fd. shadow and bone

ch. the darkling

fd. twilight

ch. edward cullen

ch. jasper hale

fd. invincible

ch. mark grayson

— dark content;

🔪.bnha

🔪.aizawa shouta

🔪.haikyuu 

🔪.atsumu miya

— triggers

tw.noncon

tw.dubcon

---------

[artemiseamoon]

I miss them

I love them

This tiny fic with like 3 readers will always be in my top 10 i love it so much.

One day I still wanna write that Ossie Slate au…

I do want to clean up some editing things in this tho, likely in September only on the A03 version 🙂

I may fix the annoying old links on this version

After this is over

Status: Complete

Read on A03

Fic info

About

When Walt approached Slate with a job in Mexico, she thought about all the ways it could turn out, all the ways except this.

Characters

Slate, Walt, smash & grab crew esp Sal and Ossie, Calderoni, Joaquin (omc)

Chapters

One | two | three | four

Bonus! Chapters

All In

AU: if you die, I’ll kill you (Slate & Ossie)

Warnings

angst, blood, guns, injuries, violence, drug cartel, vague mentions of sex, character deaths

Moodboards

Joaquin FC

[artemiseamoon]

Pt 1: It wasn’t supposed to be this

A narcos mx one shot | Calderoni x Slate f agent*

Words: 6,200 | read on A03

Fic info | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 -finale

An: I made an exception and posted this in full. Anyway, I’m going back to my system after this, just previews on tumblr.

Warnings: violence, mention of injuries and blood, drinking, vague sexual content, drug traffickers, character deaths, lots of angst

Narcos disclaimer: I fully understand how sensitive all this is, which is why I struggled with writing for the show or not. But, I do, and I enjoy it so don’t plan to stop anytime soon. The show is naturally a very real trigger, so off the bat, you are triggered, block the narcos tag. I’m only one of many who write for this show (I blame the actors, it’s their fault, they charmed us). Filter the tag and save yourself and the writers unnecessary exchanges. Criminals, drug traffickers, drugs, really bad people who hurt so many are talked about in this show. In writing these little stories I’m not trying to erase that or gloss it over. Now that I’ve said my peace, remember it’s fully your choice if you continue and your fault if you get upset not mine. Last, if you don’t like the fic/story just move on. Plenty of other things to read. Don’t waste my time. Plenty of other fics around.

The full realization of what happened last night hit during the shower. She drank a lot; this job is stressful, and she usually limited herself to one beer or one drink as a calming agent for a few reasons; to keep in control and to avoid letting her defenses down.

Last night, she lost both those battles and ended up in bed with the Calderoni. Slate couldn't put her finger on why she was drawn to him. They didn’t trust him, she didn’t either he’s not even her usual type but there was something about him.

As they worked with him over the last four weeks, she shoved her curiosity away and denied it was real. She chalked it up to horniness, it had been a very long time since she got laid; a full two months before she came down on this mission. And hooking up locally was out of the question, with anyone in her team? An absolute no, a completely bad idea.  Living in abandoned warehouse with a bunch of dudes really limited her private time, so self-pleasure was also not an option.

Maybe all the drinking, combined with a need to get laid led to this. Still, Calderoni didn’t seem like the type to just end up in someone's bed. The man was like a fucking wall; he said what he had to say, made his point, and wasn’t trying to make friends. So maybe the curiosity was mutual, had to be.

Calderoni never outright flirted with Slate, in fact, she was sure he was pretty indifferent to her at first. But then she caught it, the briefest lingering stares, the short, well-hidden glances when he thought she wasn’t looking. At the time, she didn’t know if the attention excited her, scared her, or a little of both.

Slate was thankful he was gone upon waking, seeing him in the light of day, would make all of this worse and she was pretty sure Walt was likely losing his shit because she hadn’t checked in yet. To be fair, she wasn’t that late, just 10 minutes or so. But he already wasn’t a fan of her leaving the place for the night, no matter what bullshit reason she gave him.

...

Walking into the warehouse after a night in a real bed and a decent hotel made it feel gritter than usual. With her shades still on, Slate found the guys gathered into one room.

“Look who decided to join us.” Ossie commented with a grin.

Slate flipped him off and he chuckled. She sat on the edge of the L shaped countertop and sipped her coffee.

Though she felt Walt's stare, she didn’t make eye contact. “I needed a night away from all you stinky boys and a damn shower.”

The reply seems good enough for most, except Walt, who continued to observe her.

She's not too worried though, she's known him a long time. “So, fill me in, what's going on.” She sets the coffee cup aside.

Walt took out a cigarette, lit it, then caught her up with the few minutes she missed.

-The Next day-

Back pressed against the wall, Slate crossed her arms and listened intently as Calderoni addressed the room. It took some work, but she was able to shift the events from a day ago to the back of her mind.

“Felix was in Panama last month, meeting with members of the Cali Cartel.” He walked into the center of the room, hands in his pockets. His profile was still facing the group.

“What was on the agenda?” Walt asked. Calderoni made eye contact with him and stopped walking.

Calderoni responded, “Not sure, but it ended with Felix committing to move more weight. Lots more.”

“Why now?”

"El Padrino’s feeling the pressure.” Calderoni switched to Spanish at this point.

With the tension between the plazas, this intel could be a big win; it had to be connected. Slate and Ossie look at each other, then back at Calderoni.

Calderoni rested his palms flat against the table. “There’s been talk of major construction somewhere outside of Juarez.”

“Construction of what?” Daryl asked.

“Runways.” Calderoni responded. He flipped open the folder he previously placed on the table. Everyone moved closer, including Slate. Walt remained on the opposite side of the table, beside Calderoni.

Calderoni continued, “Amado Carrillo Fuentes. Used to be some kind of pilot, among other things.” Walt examined the file as Calderoni addressed at the group, “Now, Felix has him buying up passenger planes.”

Slate doesn’t hold his gaze for too long, she breaks away first and leans over the table to view the file. This is weird. Just play it cool.  

Gaining control of her thoughts again, Slate’s eyes moved to Walt as he spoke. “Federation’s building their own air fleet.”

“And running it out of Juarez.” It’s the first comment she’s made since the meeting started; her voice almost felt unfamiliar to her ears.

Walt adds, “Yeah, if we can pin down Felix’s distribution hub, then we can unlock his entire route network.” Walt hands the file over to Danilo.

Daryl spoke next, “Track shipments across the border, pick them up one by one.”

“That’s right,” Walt nodded, “bleed the motherfucker.”

Done with the file, Danilo passed it to Slate who looked it over before passing it to Ossie and Amat.

Walt leaned over the table. “Starve him of his cash until the government cuts him off.” His eyes met Daryl's. “You know, hang him out to dry.”

“Now, we need to track Amado and the purchase of planes. Especially in large numbers. Maybe discount sales.” Slate said.

Calderoni made eye contact with her, before addressing the group again, “well, Amado just bought a one-way ticket to Belmopan, Belize.”

“What the fuck for?” Ossie asked.

Slate looked at him, then Walt, “Let me guess, an out of business airline getting rid of planes?”

Impressed, Calderoni raised a brow. “That’s where Aero Tropical is based. It’s an airline. It used to be. They just declared bankruptcy. They’re liquidating their entire fleet at an auction next week.”

Walt’s eyes scanned the group, “Looks like we're going to Belize.”

-One week later, Belize-

This might be a win, and it feels damn good.

At the same time. Slate doesn’t get her hopes up. Wins were rare in this work, it's something one just got used to and had to find a reason to keep pushing, to keep trying to make some kind of difference. Some days it was easier than others. But right now, she feels glad she said yes when Walt asked, maybe all this could amount to something useful.

Though they’re here for work, it feels good being in a different setting, like a breath of fresh air. Not just because of the dusty ass warehouse, but because of the whole Calderoni situation.

What happened that night, when she grabbed a drink at the same bar he happened to be at, was never discussed. She went about her job like nothing happened, and even after the meeting last, he didn’t say anything extra to her; just spoke to her as needed according to the situation.

It seemed like that was the end of things. One messy ass slip up. One very wrong but sensual one night stand. Just as Slate was making amends with that fact, she found a little envelope slipped into her jacket pocket after he left.

She stepped away to the broken-down bathroom for privacy. Inside the small envelope was a room key, she recognized it from the other night, same hotel. They had eyes on him the whole time, how he got it in here? She wasn’t sure. On the back of the little envelope was some kind of code, but once she figured it out, she deciphered it as a time and a vague date.

One of the things about being on this crew is most of their time was spent sitting around, talking, coming up with plans, going over information for the 1000th time. Action was few and far in between. Now with this trip to plan, she knew she couldn't get away in the coming days, but from the code on the back, Calderoni was aware of that too.

She didn’t use the key until 5 days later, once all the travel plans were set and all their new equipment arrived. She didn't know if it was pure curiosity, or if she really wanted to see him again; but something led her to that room.

Upon stepping in, she was gently swept inside. Once the door was closed, and locked, his lips met hers. There was no talking, no conversation, just two people swept up in desire and need.

-Flashback-

After drying off with the towel, Slate started to get dressed. Calderoni was still in bed. Though her back was to him, she felt his eyes on her, but didn’t turn around.

“Being seen together once at the bar was dangerous enough, we need to be careful.” She slid her jeans back on and pulled the zipper up.

He sighed behind her, but it had a more relaxed tone to it.” Neither of us knew the other would be there.”

“Because it’s so out of the way.” She glanced at him over her shoulder with a smirk,” that was my hidden spot. Now I have to find another.”

“No,” he sat up against the headboard, “it was mine, then you showed up.”

She turned to face him, “I barely leave the safe house, except a couple of times to get a drink there. Now, I don’t even have that.” She poked his arm playfully.

Calderoni shrugged,” shit happens.”

“Asshole.” Slate chuckled and glanced at her watch. “I need to get back. And, if this happens again, we cannot come to his hotel.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he inched closer and gently caressed her bare back with his fingers. “Relax, there won't be any issue with this place. Trust me.”

Calderoni moved his fingers from her back to her arm, making feather light strokes over her soft skin.

“We’ll have to end this.” He said, his fingers wrapping around her arm with a tight grip before pulling her closer to him.

“I know.” Slate steadied herself with one hand as he drew her into another kiss. Her other hand cupped the side of his face. In between kisses, she whispered, “last time?”

“Last time, or” he slid one of his hands behind her head, “second to last time? Third to last?”

Slate smiled and kissed him once more before breaking away. “I guess we’ll see where the cards fall.” With her lips still tasting of him, she finished getting dressed and grabbed her things.

“I’ll have one of my guys drive you back, drop you off a block away.” He pushed the sheet off and started gathering his clothes. He stopped to look back at her, “Be careful.”

Slate tapped her holstered pistol then moved toward the door, “I usually am.”

-Flashback over-

Belize is beautiful, Slate reminds herself to come back some time, after all this is over and long in the past.

Glancing to her left, she sees Walt using the binoculars. To his left is Ossie, Danilo, then her. Amat, Daryl and Sal are taking care of the other end of things in Juarez.

The auctioneer: Next we have a 1779 Boeing 727, registration number N-1779. Featuring forward and rear galleys. Currently featuring 12 first class seats and 136 coach seats and this aircraft is ready, willing, and able…”  

Her eyes drop to Danilo’s hands and his notes.

“We can get in through the north side of the fence. Bad sight line for security,” Ossie said quietly to Walt. They are in the furthest row from the auction, nosebleed seats with no one sitting directly next to them. But there are a few people in the row before them.

Walt replied, “Cut through. Two in, two outside for lookout.” He hands the binoculars over until they make it Slate. She takes a look and listens as they continue to talk.

Ossie, “We need radios. A ladder too.” he paused, chewing his gum. “We can get in through the rear airstairs, under the fuselage.”

“You figure it’s open? Can you even lock up a fucking 727?”

Ossie grinned.” Either way, I can pop the lock.”

“Of course, you can. Troublemaker” Slate commented with a smile. And for a fleeting second, a tiny grin flashed on Danilo's stoic expression too.

Ossie continued grinning for a little longer. Light banter is exchanged between the guys, with little interjection by Danilo.

“I definitely went astray somewhere,” Ossie stared straight ahead, “end up sitting here with you three broke motherfuckers.”

Danila makes a micro expression in response, Slate chuckled, and Walt turned to him,

“I got an amen to that.”

Slate adjusted her shades, while holding her grin a little longer, "You mean four broke motherfuckers.”

-Later that night-

The night sky was dark and starless; the only light is coming from the airstrip, the guard center, and the city in the distance.

Slate took a ground position, on the other side of where Danilo is in the jeep. Covering both angles was a good idea, and so far, everything was going as planned. With the mics, they could all hear and communicate with each other.

Carefully concealed, with a good vantage point, Slate continued watching through the binoculars.

Walt over the mic, “okay talk to me. Are we clear?”

“He’s still there.” Slate answered.

Danilo is watching the same thing she is. “Okay, hold on…"Up ahead the guard left the center and stepped outside. “Guard moving”

Slate and Danilo watch him enter this vehicle and head for the landing strip.

“He’s making his rounds.” She said,

Danilo waited a moment, then gave them the signal, “All clear. You’ve got three minutes. Go!”

Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she waited. Her eyes dropped down to her watch, 2 minutes and 55 seconds to go.

55 seconds later, Danilo’s voice met their ears, “2 minutes, get a move in it.”

Two seconds passed by.

“Heads up. Security on the move.” She leaned forward, following the guards' movements. A nervous flutter filled her stomach. “Fuck, come on guys, hurry up.” She muttered under her breath. The guard's jeep is getting closer to where the guys are.

“Walt - " Danilo warned.

“Yeah, yeah.  We see him. We see him.”

Ossie and Walt exchanged a few words, as Ossie worked on the lock.

Danilo, growing increasingly concerned, spoke again, “Walt, you’re running out of time.”

Slate watched closely with bated breath as the guys finally made it inside the plane. She continued holding her breath until the craft door closed. The guard drove by almost immensely after.  “Thank fucking god,” she exhaled.

Everything fell quiet for a moment. The guard was now headed to Danilo's view and was out of hers.

Danilo's voice was next over the mic, “He’s going out again. You’ve got three minutes. Move!”

If Slate smoked, she would have a cigarette right now. She hated the things too much to ever indulge.

-Minutes later-

Danilo drove as Walt slipped a cigarette between his lips. His expression full of pride as he glanced back at Ossie. “Six for six baby. He’s a goddamned artist.”

Danilo glanced back through the rear-view mirror, “nice work”

A closed mouth smile grew on Ossie's face. “Thanks man.”

Sitting there, next to him, it almost feels like a proud father kind of moment, in both the way Danilo speaks and holds himself, and Ossie’s response.

Slate gently nudged him, “Nice job, that shit’s impressive as hell.”

Ossie’s smile grew a little wider, “thank you.”

Slate settled her eyes on the landscape through the window again. It’s been a while since everything felt so hopeful, and she hoped this is a feeling they can hold on to a little longer.

-Juarez - Early morning, Chiapas airfield-

Standing on the rocky dry edge, the group waited as Walt viewed the plane and its inhabitants, which included Amado.

Walt lowered the binoculars and turned to his team. “Alright. Find a spot to set up surveillance. Two teams. Sal, me and Amat work the first rotation.” he handed the binoculars to Sal. “This is it.” Walt paused. “Fuckin’ A.”

- Flashback, the day before -

The coffee was still too hot to drink, Slate placed it on the floor and fixed her eyes on Walt. The team is in a half circle, some sitting, some standing, all facing Walt the evidence board.

The room is fuller than usual, there are 4 more guys present, Slate didn’t know them, but she assumed they were working with Walt too, just in a less direct way up until this point. But, if they were about to do what she thinks Walt is going to suggest, they need all the help they can get. The odds are far out of their favor.

“We’ve been over the risks.” Walt takes his time, making eye contact with each one of them. “But I want to be really clear on something. This is no longer the same job you’ve been hired for.” he moved into the center of the circle, “We have no support on this. Shit goes south, it’s on us. Believe me, this is not worth the shitty stipend you’ve been getting paid. Some of you have kids and families.”

Walt continued, his eyes on the other guys now, “Just because you’ve been helping us run surveillance and have known this asshole your whole life, doesn’t mean you're locked in, so if any of you are feeling any hesitation or nervousness, you need to tell me now.”

The room falls dead silent.

Slate stared down at the ground as her mind worked overtime. If they were lucky, a few of them would make it out, but not all, and she didn’t know what side she’d be on. A lifetime of trying to make a difference and help, just to die on some floor like so many others. It’s not what she wanted, but it’s a realistic outcome to all this.

Or, she could go home, pack her bags and head back to the states. It felt like the easy way out, especially after everything, even if it was the safest option. Though her answer scares her, she’s not a quitter, or a runner; she's seeing this through, no matter how terrifying that thought is.

Ossie was the first to speak, he asked “We do this, we cripple Felix’s entire operation?”

From where Slate is sitting, she could see the serious look in his eyes, the determination, she knows his answer too.

“Si.” Walt answered with a nod.

“Fuck being nervous.” Ossie said with more umph to his words. “We’ll never get this chance again.” He flashed a half smile, then looked at Daryl, “come on, let’s do this shit.” Ossie kept his eyes on Daryl and extended his hand.

Never a man of many words, Daryl leaned in and affirmed his answer with a brief slap to Ossie's hand. He then set his eyes on Walt. Slate glanced at Danilo whose eyes were cast down, his left brow slightly raised. With a small head nod, Danilo confirmed his answer, yes.

In short succession, Amat and Sal also say yes, followed by Slate and the remaining guys.

Walt proceeded. “Okay, let’s fucking cripple it.”

-Flashback over-

-Now -

“All right, everybody be safe out there.  I’ll be in your ear. Stay alert, stay alive.”  

Slate’s original station was on the high point, back at the jeep with Daryl, until shit hit the fan. It started with the overhead lights of the airstrip coming on, followed by yelling. She didn’t know it at the time, but Danilo was shot dead then.

“Fuck!” Slate grabbed a rifle and ran for the trees.

“Slate!”

“I’m going to help!” She called back at Daryl before disappearing into the trees. Running as fast as her legs would take her, she made it down the side of the ridge.

Eventually she made it to the guys and ducked behind the red flatbed truck where Amat and Sal were, both firing from either side, she announced herself as he approached, to avoid getting shot by one of her guys.

With a quick glance to her left, she saw Walt pulling a badly wounded Ossie to the side of the yellow truck, Danilo was nowhere in sight; neither were the extra four guys. Bodies are already piling up in the airstrip.

“Ossie! “She called out,” are you okay?”

“No! We’re fucking pinned!” Walt yelled back. “We gotta move!”

Amat takes cover behind driver's seat door and aims his rifle, then fires, “And fucking go where!”

Sal stayed low to the ground on the other side of the truck, “let’s head to the mountains!”

“We’ll never make it!”

Slate could barely hear Amat over the shattering glass and bullets. What's left of the truck's windows are gone, she lowers her head and shields her face from shards of glass before taking fire again.

Two tires of the truck get shot , the truck titles with a slant. Walt kneeled to the ground and shields Ossie from the continuous gunfire.

Sal was behind the truck now, with Slate, “what the fuck else are we gonna do?”

Slate’s eyes jumped to Ossie again, she needed to get to him. She takes a few more shots and makes a run to the yellow truck, then ducks behind it. “We have to do somethin, or we’re going to fuckin die!”

Staying low to the ground, Slate made her way over to Ossie and Walt. She covered them, continuing to fire as Walt turned Ossie over.

Ossie was in bad shape, her eyes jumped from him and Walt, and back to the caret ahead. Walt kneeled on the ground, over Ossie,

Ossie gritted his teeth, pushing through the pain, "Walt, wait. The keys are in the truck, right?”

Walt continued checking his injury, “the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m fucking dying, man!”  

Slate continued to fire back while trying to hear what Ossie is saying to Walt. A heavy feeling of dread washed over her.

“Hang on Ossie! You can make it dammit!” She yelled, her eyes trained ahead; she's working twice as hard to take out as many as she could.

Ossie’s voice was strained when he responded, “no I, won’t Slate.” Even with his hand in the way, they could see the blood pouring out of his gunshot wound. Its fatal, the organs, right under the hem of the fucking vest.

She looked down to find his wet eyes on her. Above him, Walt was still. Slate cursed under her breath and lowered to the ground, by Ossie and Walt.

“Don’t die on me asshole, we have rock concerts to see.”

“Rock out for me,” he forced a grin then looked at Walt, “Please, Walt. Let me fuckin' do this!” he grunted.

The cartel pressed forward, Slate rose back to her feet and returned fire. Walt joined in, then returned to Ossie.

“I can help you get out. Get me in the truck.”

Amat, Sal, and Slate continued to fire. She catches sight of Walt helping Ossie into the truck.

Part of her wanted to run to them, to convince Ossie not to do whatever he’s going to do; but they were dangerously outnumbered, and the cartel continued to get closer and closer.

“Walt, what the fuck are you doing!” Amat called out.

Once Ossie was in the truck, Walt stood on the driver's side door, “cover me!”

Walt made his way to the passenger side where Slate was. Before she could ask a question or, think a thought, Ossie was already moving, driving the truck head on into the cartel as they littered it with bullets. In seconds, he ran over some of the cartel and ran the truck into the gas tank. A huge red-orange fire erupted with black smoke.

With feet hitting the ground hard, Slate, Walt, Amat and Sal ran for the woods, returning fire over their shoulders as they sped away. They had no idea how many the explosion killed, but it did what Ossie said it would, it gave them cover to run.

Walt and Sal reached the tree line first. Amat and Slate stop to take out a few more guys. Slate is first back on her feet, Amat just steps behind her until she heard a body drop. Taking a fearful glance back, she saw Amat was down and continued to zig zag as she ran.

Finally reaching the trees, Slate looked around for Walt and Sal as her heart banged in her chest. Spotting them to her left, she limped over, careful to stay in the shadows.

Walk grabbed her arm and pulled her deeper into the shadows, his eyes moving from her to Sal.

“This is on me.” He pushed Sal forward, “get the fuck back the safe out, both of you, Go!”

Sal looked ahead where Amat was, hesitated then turned to run.

“Get the fuck out of there Slate!”

“I’m not leaving you out here alone!” She walked past him and crouched down, “we’re both making it out of this!”

“Fuck!” Walt crouched down too, the both of them peering through the trees. He would drag her back if he could, make her leave; but there’s no time for it right now, and there’s no way he's going to leave one of his alone out here.

A car pulled up, even in the dark of the night, the sight of it makes Slate’s heart drop. She knows that fucking car; it’s a black Cadillac. Her grip tightened on her pistol; her throat was closing up.

An ill feeling washed over her as Amat laid on his back ahead, a guy on either side of him, rifles trained on his body. Each time their fallen friend groaned, the sicker she felt. Slate shut her eyes quickly then opened them, she hoped the person getting out of that car is a stranger, maybe he just has the same car as -

“You guys got one?”

It’s his voice. His fucking voice.  

“Fuckers still alive.”

Calderoni came into full view, the car lights on him like a spotlight, his right hand raised; gun in hand and ready to shoot. Calderoni then shoots both the cartel guys, each one a kill shot to the head.

He kneeled down beside Amat, Slate and Walt were too far away to hear what Amat was trying to say as he spit up blood. Slate narrowed her eyes and saw Amat motion back to them with his head, followed by Calderoni looking that way.

It seemed he was helping Amat up when four guys came running in the near distance. Calderoni dropped Amat, looked back at the guys, then fired once, killing Amat. Walt shut his eyes and lowered his head.

Slate gripped the tree tighter and closed her eyes, tears fell down her cheeks. Her eyes were still closed when Calderoni addressed the men.

“One went that way, and the other went that way.” She opened her eyes to see him pointing in the opposite direction, then another wrong one. “Run, you can still catch them.” The smaller group quickly broke off, leaving Calderoni alone again.

“Stay behind me.” Walt orders as he aims his pistol at Calderoni.

“You out there Walt?” Calderoni takes a step closer, also ready to fire. Then another, the two men inched forward. “There’s nowhere to go.”

“What the fuck did you do?” Walt asked, his eyes glued on him.

“What you made me.” He paused. “If you hadn’t cut me off, I could have warned you this would happen. They found the transponders two days ago. You walked into a trap. But you wanted to go your own way.” Another pause. "He deserved to walk away Walt, they all did. But they were never going to. You made sure of it.”

Slate moved over slightly; a sliver of her face came into Calderoni's view.  

Calderoni raised his chin, his brows tensed as he looked at her. He released a heavy sigh, then shifted his eyes back to Walt.

“You should have been the one to die tonight, Walt. But I’m going to let you live.” His eyes moved back to Slate. “Get the fuck out of here and don’t stop walking until you hear them speak English.”

Slate took a step back and gently placed a hand on Walt's arm. They had to get the fuck out here, there was no winning. Even if they could get a shot at Calderoni, dozens of men would descend upon them, and they had no chance of surviving that.

Walt slowly stepped back, his face eventually disappearing from Calderoni’s view.

Late that night at the warehouse

Slate trudged up the dark staircase behind Walt. With the rush of adrenaline gone, the pain in her leg came back full force. Her skin is coated in dirt, sweat, blood; hers and others.

“Who else made it out?”

Daryl appeared first; Walt walked right past him. Slate stopped in place and made eye contact but couldn’t find the words to speak. Her eyes then darted to Sal, who stepped into the room next.

Daryl’s eyes landed on Slate again, then Walt.

“Walt! Who else made it out?”

Walt pulled out a chair at the desk and sunk down into it with a silent breath. He looked broken, completely broken and more fragile than she’s ever seen him before, even counting the times she was around him back home.

Slate sniffled and shook her head, no, to Daryl.

Walt put the gun down, and when he finally spoke his voice was shaky and low, “ eveyones gone.”

Daryl paced, hands on his hips, shaking his head in disbelief. Sal sat on a nearby bench, slouched over and lowered his head, his hands clasped together.

Slate leaned against the nearby wall and looked up at the ceiling, swallowing the lump in her throat and trying to will the tears in her eyes to stop.

-Five days later-

Slate tapped the rim of the glass and watched as the bartender refilled the drink.

“Thanks.”

She quickly knocked it back and lowered the glass to the counter. They were out of Mexico in less than a day. Since being back, it’s been meetings and other bullshit, but to a lesser extent than whatever Walt had to do, since this was his operation. After her last meeting, Slate put in her request for extended leave; she turned down her reassignment papers.

It felt wrong, being back. Maybe she was supposed to die out there. She hasn’t slept much because all she sees is dead friends, especially Amat and Ossie. Then there’s another ghost haunting her waking and sleeping hours. The man she shared a bed with and later watched as he shot her friend and teammate dead. A man she snuck off to see two more times before the trip to Belize and Juarez, a man she had a weird comfort with she could never describe or explain away. A man she now hated with every bone in her body.

She felt betrayed by him. Even if he had a point, even if playing both sides was the only way to get shit done there. Even with that understanding, she still felt angry, and hurt.

Though they all knew death was a possibility when they didn’t walk about that room, none of them deserved that. Not even the ones who had to do sketchy shit in the past. They did not deserve to die; not Ossie, not Amat, not Danilo. From the brief conversation she had with Walt, Ossie and Amat were denied what he promised them, and written off as criminals.

Three weeks later

Slate got out of the elevator and turned left to her new apartment. She wasn’t sure how much it would help, a new city and a new place, but she was desperate at this point to shake the events of Mexico.

Two doors away from her own, she stopped cold in her tracks. A familiar face stared back at her, dark brown eyes, hair combed back, his arms crossed.

The moment their eyes met, he uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, using a calming tone to speak, “you’re a hard woman to find.”

Slates heart rate sped up with each step toward Calderoni. “Get the fuck out of here!”

He called her by her real name and raised a hand, in an attempt to calm her down. “Take it easy.”

“Take it easy! Take it easy!” She rushed toward him and shoved him hard in the chest, he barely budged, and remained rooted on the ground.

Slate shoved him again, this time tears coming to her eyes. He grabbed her shoulders and lowered his eyes to hers.

“Calm down. Can we talk? Inside?”

She wants to shoot him, to take every bad feeling in her body and mind out on him. Down the hall, a door opened, someone stepped out.

Slate cursed under her breath and tore herself away from his strong grip. After fumbling with her keys, she got the door open, went inside, then slammed it in his face.

Distraught, she headed to the Livingroom and sat on the couch, covering her face with her hands. When the door opened, she jumped to her feet and retrieved the gun she kept hidden behind a desk.

Calderoni didn’t budge at the sight; or show any signs of worry.

“I can’t stay long. Put the gun away.”

“No! You set us up!”

Calderoni stood directly in front of her and pried the gun from her hands. He clicked the safety back on and put it aside.

“Listen to me, “he lowered voice, “I did not set you up.”

Slate stared at him; he could see her mind going a mile a minute. She was also trying to decide if she believed him or not.

“It’s not as simple as you, Walt, and those agents who try to help think it is. Everyone, even the good guys, need to be bad and make some grey calls. It’s the only way. You’re smart, you know that Slate.”

She pulled her eyes from his and sat on the couch again.

“Those guys didn’t deserve that, I meant what I said.”

She shook her head and pressed her palms into her knees. “Why didn’t you warn us? Me?” She raised her eyes to his.

“I would have, you heard what I said out there. I was telling the truth.”

Slate rounded her shoulders, getting smaller on the couch. She shrugged weakly and stared at the floor.

“Hey,” Calderoni took a seat next to her on the couch, “I hoped you weren’t there. That you were smart enough to say no and go home.”

She turned her head to shoot him a dark look, “and abandoned the team? What kind of person do you think I am?”

Calderoni started to speak, then stopped himself. It was properly for the better, Slate was nearly shaking with anger now.

“We’ll talk about this, if not now, later, when you’re ready.”

She clenched her jaw, speaking through gritted teeth, “I never want to see you again.”

Calderoni lowered his gaze. He reached out and carefully placed a hand on her thigh. Her eyes dropped down to his hand, but she didn’t move it.

“Tell me to fuck off in the morning, but for now, “he raised his eyes to hers, “let me be here for you, even if it’s in silence.” he forces a small smile. “Keep the gun close if you want.”

Slate scoffed and stared at the table before them. Calderoni stood, retrieved the gun, and put it in her hands before sitting back down.

He watched as she looked it over, turning it, then placed it on the table.

Shooting him could feel cathartic, or it could make her feel worse.  

Slate exhaled and closed her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper, “I don’t want to look at a fucking gun again for a while. I’m so fucking tired - I’m tired - “she let her head hang low.

A moment later she felt his hand on her back, caressing her in a slow circular motion. At first, she stilled to his touch, then, she relaxed into it. With his right hand, he slid two fingers under her chin, angling her face to his. She opened her eyes.

Slate wanted to scream, to yell, to kick him, to use a time machine and take saying yes to this job back; but she couldn't. She couldn’t do anything but sit here right now, as her body felt everything at once, anger, rage, disappointment, grief, loneliness.

Maybe she would yell at him tomorrow, tell him all the things she wanted to say, but for now, she doesn’t have the energy. Calderoni wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him.

Slate leaned against him with a sigh and let her eyes fall closed.

Next

More Narcos

Masterlist

[artemiseamoon]

I guess random narcos thoughts are a late night thing when I rewatch. On this episode…non-main/ popular characters I adore!!

Narcos

Van ness was a tall cute drink of water ❤️ (that Fanny pack 😭)

Narcos Mx

Ossie (I love this cutie, he’s freakin adorable)

Plus, as a long time Scoot fan, of course I love Walt. My stressed bb. I wanna feed him a good meal and wrap him in a blanket.

[nocturnal-milk-dud]

Nocturnal-Milk-Dud’s Masterlist

Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales

Goodnight, Frankie

Morning Light

Someone To Take Care of You

Call Me

There’s No More Room In Hell (Frankie Morales and Dawn Of The Dead)

Somebody’s Got A Case Of The Mondays (Frankie Morales and Cooties)

Ray Merrimen

The Man in The Mask

It’s Lovely Down In The Woods Today, But Safer To Stay At Home (Ray Merrimen and Friday the 13th)

Our Business Is Life Itself (Ray Merrimen and Resident Evil)

Horacio Carrillo

Man Made of Stone

Desperate Measures

Tender Acts (A Horacio Carrillo Imagine)

What’s The Bad News (Horacio Carrillo and Dawn Of The Dead)

It’s Too Quiet In This Room (Vampire!Carrillo)

Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon

Unfinished Business

Black Lace and Wine

These Klowns, Honey, Gonna Make You Die (Benny Magalon and Killer Klowns From Outer Space)

Send In The Klowns (Benny Magalon and Killer Klowns From Outer Space)

Kevin 'KJ' Jimenez

How Good It Is

Ossie Mejía

After Tonight

Golden As They Come

Where Did My Lover Go? (Ossie Mejia Request)

Obispo 'Bishop' Losa

Let Me

Troubled Minds

Say It (part two to Troubled Minds)

One Last Time-Right?

His Name Is Trouble

Someone Could Lose A Heart Tonight (Bishop Losa and Near Dark)

Juice Ortiz

You're A Natural

Neron 'Creeper' Vargas

Playing Games

Walt Breslin

Don't Know How To Be Alone (A Walt Breslin Drabble)

William “Ironhead” Miller

Designated Driver

Operation NESTWRECKER (Will Miller and Resident Evil)

It’s Because I Love You Most Of All (Will Miller and Fear Street)

Hassan el-Shabbaz

Room For Two

Angel Reyes

There’s No Way He Has A License (Angel Reyes and Gremlins)

[thesolotomyhan]

EXCUSE ME?? i did not know i was going to have my heart STOMPED ON TODAY FOR OSSIE MEJIA??? i-

After Tonight

Pairing: Ossie Mejía x Reader

Summary: “At any moment you would wake up, find yourself alone in the dark, tallying another night without him beside you.”

Rating: PG-13

Warnings/notes: HE’S MY BABY, OKAY There is something very terrifying about writing for a character that doesn’t have a lot of content; this will probably get like five notes but I DON’T CARE it’s completely and utterly self-indulgent; this isn’t related to the snippet I posted the other day, I actually had this sitting in my drafts for a bit; language; FLUFF because Ossie deserves softness; some sensuality; implied sexual activity; based off of this dialogue prompt; if you’re on the taglist it’s because you indulged me, if you don’t want to be, let me know. Excuse me, I’m gonna go hide now. 

Word count: 1153

You folded your keys back in your hand and turned the knob, pushing the door open. Letting out a deep sigh, you stepped into the darkness of the entryway and dropped your bag on the floor. Your keys clattered into the bowl that sat on the table near the door. 

“You have got to stop breaking into my house,” you said into the darkness. 

“I wouldn’t have to, if you’d just give me a key.” Ossie’s voice floated out to you from the living room. You could hear the smile in it. You pictured him sitting on the couch, his ankle resting on his knee, arm stretched out over the back, casual as ever. You stepped into the doorway of the living room and leaned against the wall. He was exactly as you pictured him and you could just make out half of his face in the dim light from a streetlamp. 

“I believe I also told you to get a better lock,” he said. 

“You don’t call, you don’t write,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest and playing with the pendant at the end of your necklace. You fought the urge to cross the room and settle yourself on his lap, curl your fingers in his hair. He glanced down at his hand, tapping his knee with his fingers.

“It wasn’t safe,” Ossie replied, his voice soft.

Keep reading

[artemiseamoon]

After this is over

Status: Complete

Read on A03

Fic info

About

When Walt approached Slate with a job in Mexico, she thought about all the ways it could turn out, all the ways except this.

Characters

Slate, Walt, smash & grab crew esp Sal and Ossie, Calderoni, Joaquin (omc)

Chapters

One | two | three | four

Bonus! Chapters

All In

AU: if you die, I’ll kill you (Slate & Ossie)

Warnings

angst, blood, guns, injuries, violence, drug cartel, vague mentions of sex, character deaths

Moodboards

Joaquin FC

[artemiseamoon]

✨highlighting completed works

After this is over

Status: Complete

Read on A03

Fic info

About

When Walt approached Slate with a job in Mexico, she thought about all the ways it could turn out, all the ways except this.

Characters

Slate, Walt, smash & grab crew esp Sal and Ossie, Calderoni, Joaquin (omc)

Chapters

One | two | three | four

Bonus! Chapters

All In

AU: if you die, I’ll kill you (Slate & Ossie)

Warnings

angst, blood, guns, injuries, violence, drug cartel, vague mentions of sex, character deaths

Moodboards

Joaquin FC

[arte-is-now-reading]

Okay so excited to read! Here we go-

As soon as I saw this line; “You're hungry. 🫢 (I was thinking, oh man is she a..."

Also, love how it starts! And I feel like Ossie would def. survive somehow, his personally just screams it.

“You know you're lingering too long because you can feel him watching you, and blood from your own tongue has gathered in your mouth.“ I missed your writing, I could visualize this so well 😍 I’m also very intrigued by this debt….

“Didn't anyone ever teach you to share?" Santanico demands.“ - she’s so perfectly on point, I can see it, I can hear it in her voice 👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾

“ That you're aware this place exists tells him all he needs to know. ” yesss, this says so much!

😂😂😂 “ "Fucker," she spits, the word muddled and incoherent as she falls apart. ” again, she’s perfect.

I love this so much, seriously. Thank you!

Ok, you did say we can send more than one. Sooo Ossie + Dusk til Dawn

I know. I’m being greedy. I’m not sorry and thank you for this. I love the way you write Ossie, and imagining him in this scenario feels like a perfect spooky season story.

Thank you for your patience!!! I felt very rusty but I had fun. I hope you have fun too! 💗 (I maybe looked at this one too much and not enough) and I listened to after dark too many times

Knocking On The Devil's Door

Pairing: Ossie Mejía x Reader

Warnings/notes: blood; language; violence; gun violence; claustrophobia; choking/asphyxiation; Ossie gif credit to the lovely @cregan-starks 💓

Rating: R

Word count: 1318

Bad news, that's what this place is. He knew it when he saw it. Somehow this shithole had stood for one hundred years and it would stand for a hundred more. Bad news-that's what he'd told Walt. Lotta good it did him now. 

Ossie stifles a groan and air hisses through his clenched teeth as he peels himself out of his brown jacket, turning his attention to his wounded shoulder. He supposes he should consider himself lucky. When everything went to shit most guys ended up with their throats torn out. All he got was a stray bullet to the shoulder.

And you. 

Ossie is very aware of you watching him as he stanches the bleeding, and he's smart to be. 

You sit across from him in the storage room, listening to the fight raging in the bar. Glass shatters, tables crash under the weight of bodies, bullets fly, and you can smell the blood, as strong out there as it is in the room. 

You're hungry. 

It doesn't matter. You owe him a debt. He may not make it out of here alive but you won't be the reason. He doesn't need to know that, though. Best he thinks you're another survivor, caught up in the same crazy shit as him, or things could turn very ugly in the small room very fast. 

Ossie's struggling with the bandage, and you can feel the need inside you clawing at your throat. You get up-maybe too fast because Ossie stops working to look at you-and cross the room slowly. Your teeth dig into your tongue as you take the bandage from him and work to get it tied. You know you're lingering too long because you can feel him watching you, and blood from your own tongue has gathered in your mouth.

There's a loud thud that startles the two of you. Ossie gets to his feet, and you turn to face the door. Perhaps it was only a body thrown against it, but the silence sits heavy and you can't keep from holding your breath. Your eyes don't leave the door. You startle at the feel of a hand on your wrist. Ossie stands at your side, gun in hand. Lines of blood drip down his arm, one of them sliding over his thumb, and for a moment you've forgotten about the door and everything outside it. All you hear is a strong, even heartbeat.

"I can smell you." The voice comes from the other side of the door and you jump despite its softness. It seeps through the cracks like smoke, smooth and deadly. 

Santanico. 

You shove aside a stack of boxes and wrench open a dust covered trap door. 

"Go!" you hiss. Ossie looks at you in alarm and confusion. The door leads down to a large series of snaking tunnels, and the opening is pitch black. You wave at him to go and hope the desperation in your face is enough for him to trust you. Ossie takes one last glance at the door and decides there's worse things than what's beneath him, and climbs down. There's a crash as the door gives, but you've already hidden the trap door. Santanico steps over what's left of the door, cleaning the dust and debris out of her hair. 

"You're missing the party," she says, her lips shaping up into a deadly smile. She's like a cat eyeing a mouse, and you match her step for step as she slowly moves around the room. As she gets closer to the hidden door, you get closer to the wooden shards. Your eyes never leave her, watching how her neck arches and her fingers dance across her stomach, following the smell of blood that led her there. Santanico finds Ossie's jacket and you bite down on your lip to keep from grimacing. She brings it to her face, finding the dark red spot that had drenched the fabric. You find the piece you want, sharp and sturdy enough to do the trick, but before you can reach for it her eyes are on you. 

"Didn't anyone ever teach you to share?" Santanico demands. She throws aside the boxes, finding the hatch and a dark drop of blood in the dust near it. You grab the makeshift stake and charge at her, but she catches you by the neck without even turning her head. There's nothing but air beneath your feet. 

"Didn't anyone ever teach you to fucken say please?" you choke. 

"No." Santanico launches you like you weigh nothing, sending you sailing through the busted doorway, and crashing into the only table somehow still standing, dust billowing up around you. 

Ossie has no idea where he's going. His lighter offers a meager amount of light, enough to make sure he doesn't run into anything. The tunnels are tight, the walls dripping something dark. He doesn't want to stop but he's afraid if he keeps going the next turn he takes will be the wrong one. 

He shouldn't have jumped into this hellhole to begin with, shouldn't have left you up there alone. But Ossie knows he's the one in danger this time, not you. That you're aware this place exists tells him all he needs to know.  

He swears as he trips over something, landing hard on his chest, the air knocked out of him. Ossie fiddles with the lighter to get his bearing, and finds himself face to face with a human skull. The ground before him is littered with them. His blood goes cold and his heart throbs in his ears, and someone starts screaming.

No, not screaming. Someone's singing. A woman. Her voice bounces off the cool walls, off the skulls, comes from the skulls. It sounds like she's everywhere, like she's inside of him.  

Ossie snuffs the lighter and sits up, hugging the wall, trying to steady his breath.

"There's no way out down here," the woman calls, voice like velvet. "I'm going to find you." He checks his pistol, his fingers sweaty around the grip, and he worries he's starting to lose feeling-the wound maybe worse than he thought. But there's enough ammo to buy him time-he thinks.

Ossie keeps moving, picking his way carefully among the skulls.

It doesn't take you long to find the two of them. Ossie, not knowing where he was headed, had inadvertently taken himself in circles and is now staring down Santanico, gun tight in hand. The two of them stand in a small pool of flickering light. Neither of them see you. 

"And what do you think you're gonna do with that?" Santanico asks. You have to be quick. You know he'll only get one shot in and that it won't do anything but annoy her. The gun fires and you hook an arm around Santanico's neck before she can reach for him, bringing the makeshift stake down into her chest. Santanico howls and her body convulses, bubbles.

"Fucker," she spits, the word muddled and incoherent as she falls apart. You let her drop to the ground, melt into a tarry mess in the dust. 

Ossie hasn't lowered his gun, his eyes on you now. You raise your hands, give him space-not because you're worried about the gun-you're watching the rivulets of blood that are curving their way down his hand.

His face relaxes, his arm drops to rest at his side.

"A rainy night in Guadalajara, three years ago," Ossie says, and you smile ever so slightly, letting your arms fall. He remembers. He remembers you. 

"You saw someone being attacked in an alleyway. You didn't have to help, but you did," you continue for him. "You saved my life. For what it's worth." You give a half-hearted shrug, looking down at the remnants of Santanico. The two of you are quiet, thinking perhaps about that night, and everything that came after, everything that led you here.

"What next?" Ossie finally asks. 

[artemiseamoon]

Self shout out ✨ All week I’ll share one completed fic I wrote last year and love. 💜

After this is over

Status: Complete

Read on A03

Fic info

About

When Walt approached Slate with a job in Mexico, she thought about all the ways it could turn out, all the ways except this.

Characters

Slate, Walt, smash & grab crew esp Sal and Ossie, Calderoni, Joaquin (omc)

Chapters

One | two | three | four

Bonus! Post fic chapters

Alternative ending 1

Warnings

angst, blood, guns, injuries, violence, drug cartel, vague mentions of sex, character deaths

Moodboards

Joaquin FC

[artemiseamoon]

Alt ending one is officially in editing. Us Joaquin gals, we get a treat. Yes he appears!

After this is over

Status: Complete

Read on A03

Fic info

About

When Walt approached Slate with a job in Mexico, she thought about all the ways it could turn out, all the ways except this.

Characters

Slate, Walt, smash & grab crew esp Sal and Ossie, Calderoni, Joaquin (omc)

Chapters

One | two | three | four

Bonus! Post fic chapters

Alternative ending 1

Alternative ending 2

Warnings

angst, blood, guns, injuries, violence, drug cartel, vague mentions of sex, character deaths

Moodboards

Joaquin FC

[artemiseamoon]

OMG Emily!!!! This is such a pleasant surprise!!! I’m diving in very shortly! Yay!!!

Ok, you did say we can send more than one. Sooo Ossie + Dusk til Dawn

I know. I’m being greedy. I’m not sorry and thank you for this. I love the way you write Ossie, and imagining him in this scenario feels like a perfect spooky season story.

Thank you for your patience!!! I felt very rusty but I had fun. I hope you have fun too! 💗 (I maybe looked at this one too much and not enough) and I listened to after dark too many times

Knocking On The Devil's Door

Pairing: Ossie Mejía x Reader

Warnings/notes: blood; language; violence; gun violence; claustrophobia; choking/asphyxiation; Ossie gif credit to the lovely @cregan-starks 💓

Rating: R

Word count: 1318

Bad news, that's what this place is. He knew it when he saw it. Somehow this shithole had stood for one hundred years and it would stand for a hundred more. Bad news-that's what he'd told Walt. Lotta good it did him now. 

Ossie stifles a groan and air hisses through his clenched teeth as he peels himself out of his brown jacket, turning his attention to his wounded shoulder. He supposes he should consider himself lucky. When everything went to shit most guys ended up with their throats torn out. All he got was a stray bullet to the shoulder.

And you. 

Ossie is very aware of you watching him as he stanches the bleeding, and he's smart to be. 

You sit across from him in the storage room, listening to the fight raging in the bar. Glass shatters, tables crash under the weight of bodies, bullets fly, and you can smell the blood, as strong out there as it is in the room. 

You're hungry. 

It doesn't matter. You owe him a debt. He may not make it out of here alive but you won't be the reason. He doesn't need to know that, though. Best he thinks you're another survivor, caught up in the same crazy shit as him, or things could turn very ugly in the small room very fast. 

Ossie's struggling with the bandage, and you can feel the need inside you clawing at your throat. You get up-maybe too fast because Ossie stops working to look at you-and cross the room slowly. Your teeth dig into your tongue as you take the bandage from him and work to get it tied. You know you're lingering too long because you can feel him watching you, and blood from your own tongue has gathered in your mouth.

There's a loud thud that startles the two of you. Ossie gets to his feet, and you turn to face the door. Perhaps it was only a body thrown against it, but the silence sits heavy and you can't keep from holding your breath. Your eyes don't leave the door. You startle at the feel of a hand on your wrist. Ossie stands at your side, gun in hand. Lines of blood drip down his arm, one of them sliding over his thumb, and for a moment you've forgotten about the door and everything outside it. All you hear is a strong, even heartbeat.

"I can smell you." The voice comes from the other side of the door and you jump despite its softness. It seeps through the cracks like smoke, smooth and deadly. 

Santanico. 

You shove aside a stack of boxes and wrench open a dust covered trap door. 

"Go!" you hiss. Ossie looks at you in alarm and confusion. The door leads down to a large series of snaking tunnels, and the opening is pitch black. You wave at him to go and hope the desperation in your face is enough for him to trust you. Ossie takes one last glance at the door and decides there's worse things than what's beneath him, and climbs down. There's a crash as the door gives, but you've already hidden the trap door. Santanico steps over what's left of the door, cleaning the dust and debris out of her hair. 

"You're missing the party," she says, her lips shaping up into a deadly smile. She's like a cat eyeing a mouse, and you match her step for step as she slowly moves around the room. As she gets closer to the hidden door, you get closer to the wooden shards. Your eyes never leave her, watching how her neck arches and her fingers dance across her stomach, following the smell of blood that led her there. Santanico finds Ossie's jacket and you bite down on your lip to keep from grimacing. She brings it to her face, finding the dark red spot that had drenched the fabric. You find the piece you want, sharp and sturdy enough to do the trick, but before you can reach for it her eyes are on you. 

"Didn't anyone ever teach you to share?" Santanico demands. She throws aside the boxes, finding the hatch and a dark drop of blood in the dust near it. You grab the makeshift stake and charge at her, but she catches you by the neck without even turning her head. There's nothing but air beneath your feet. 

"Didn't anyone ever teach you to fucken say please?" you choke. 

"No." Santanico launches you like you weigh nothing, sending you sailing through the busted doorway, and crashing into the only table somehow still standing, dust billowing up around you. 

Ossie has no idea where he's going. His lighter offers a meager amount of light, enough to make sure he doesn't run into anything. The tunnels are tight, the walls dripping something dark. He doesn't want to stop but he's afraid if he keeps going the next turn he takes will be the wrong one. 

He shouldn't have jumped into this hellhole to begin with, shouldn't have left you up there alone. But Ossie knows he's the one in danger this time, not you. That you're aware this place exists tells him all he needs to know.  

He swears as he trips over something, landing hard on his chest, the air knocked out of him. Ossie fiddles with the lighter to get his bearing, and finds himself face to face with a human skull. The ground before him is littered with them. His blood goes cold and his heart throbs in his ears, and someone starts screaming.

No, not screaming. Someone's singing. A woman. Her voice bounces off the cool walls, off the skulls, comes from the skulls. It sounds like she's everywhere, like she's inside of him.  

Ossie snuffs the lighter and sits up, hugging the wall, trying to steady his breath.

"There's no way out down here," the woman calls, voice like velvet. "I'm going to find you." He checks his pistol, his fingers sweaty around the grip, and he worries he's starting to lose feeling-the wound maybe worse than he thought. But there's enough ammo to buy him time-he thinks.

Ossie keeps moving, picking his way carefully among the skulls.

It doesn't take you long to find the two of them. Ossie, not knowing where he was headed, had inadvertently taken himself in circles and is now staring down Santanico, gun tight in hand. The two of them stand in a small pool of flickering light. Neither of them see you. 

"And what do you think you're gonna do with that?" Santanico asks. You have to be quick. You know he'll only get one shot in and that it won't do anything but annoy her. The gun fires and you hook an arm around Santanico's neck before she can reach for him, bringing the makeshift stake down into her chest. Santanico howls and her body convulses, bubbles.

"Fucker," she spits, the word muddled and incoherent as she falls apart. You let her drop to the ground, melt into a tarry mess in the dust. 

Ossie hasn't lowered his gun, his eyes on you now. You raise your hands, give him space-not because you're worried about the gun-you're watching the rivulets of blood that are curving their way down his hand.

His face relaxes, his arm drops to rest at his side.

"A rainy night in Guadalajara, three years ago," Ossie says, and you smile ever so slightly, letting your arms fall. He remembers. He remembers you. 

"You saw someone being attacked in an alleyway. You didn't have to help, but you did," you continue for him. "You saved my life. For what it's worth." You give a half-hearted shrug, looking down at the remnants of Santanico. The two of you are quiet, thinking perhaps about that night, and everything that came after, everything that led you here.

"What next?" Ossie finally asks.