#amado carrillo fuentes x you

[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.

#whumpril #whumpril2023 #whumprilday29 #surrender #narcos #narcos mexico #narcos: mexico #nmx #narcos fanfiction #narcos mexico fanfiction #narcos netflix fanfiction #narcos netflix #amado carrillo fuentes #amado fuentes #amado carrillo fuentes x reader #amado carrillo fuentes x you #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[imgeekgirlfan]

Renegada♱

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

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

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

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

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

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𝙍𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙙𝙖♱ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

➡  Previous : Next

[5]ᅳ 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐢́𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐨 ✟

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can't find answers to these questions.

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

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

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

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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.

#narcos: mexico #amado carrillo fuentes #narcos mexico netflix #narcos x reader #amado carrillo fuentes x reader #amado carrillo fuentes x you #narcos fic #narcos mexico fanfic #narcos mexico fanfiction #narcos: mexico tv series #walt breslin #walt breslin x you #walt breslin x reader #jose maria yazpik #scoot mcnairy #Renegada♱

[narcolini]

nightmares

amado x gn!reader, 2080 words, hurt/comfort

contains canon typical gun violence 

using the day 2 whumpril prompts: Stress & “Get some rest.”

a/n: i hope this scratches the amado itch, dear anon!! (me vs taking months to write requests lmaooo) <3<3

tagging (my narco taglist): @drabbles-mc @cositapreciosa @purplesong1028 @ashlingiswriting @thesandbeneathmytoes @hausofmamadas @empireroyals @marissa53115 @iridescent-sol​ 

It started as a normal night for you. A car parked outside your window, a large palm over your knee once you were seated in the back of it. Amado purring words to your right, hip to hip, about his plans for the evening. Where he was taking you to eat, where you’d go afterwards, how long he intended to keep you for—if you liked. You could dance until the sun came up if you wanted to.

‘Y entonces?’ you’d asked him. ‘Will my bed miss me again tonight?’

He’d smiled, shrugged and ticked his head to the side like he was indifferent about it. ‘Sí, if you like, amor.’

You can’t say he doesn’t spoil you.

You’d ended up at a club, as promised, to dance into the sunrise and it wasn’t long until you had him moving too. Only took a few drinks, a hand to the side of his neck, an invite to put his own as low as he liked on you. He can move, when he cares to. His thigh went between yours, his skin close enough to swallow his cologne in gulps. Expensive, of course, and patted into the base of his throat, exposed by the undoing of a few top buttons.

‘Any more,’ he said, into the shell of your ear, ‘and I’ll be too indecent to stay.’

You twisted the third button between your finger and thumb, let him sway you from the anchor of his thigh. ‘Maybe that’s the plan,’ you teased.

‘You’re bored already, mi cielo?’

‘Bored, no.’ Hands down his chest, nails to the cotton, then back up and around his neck. ‘I’m distracted.’

That pleased him, sent a smirk onto his lips and lost half an inch of space between you, not that it was possible to be any closer than you already were. ‘One more drink,’ he bartered, ‘and then we’ll go home, bien?’

It was a fair deal, a fun one that snaked into your chest and blurred the senses. Filled you to the brim with lust, happiness, smoky indulgence that you’d never stop craving. You peeled apart from him and followed the feeling to the bar. Another of the same, you told the guy behind it, smiling as you said it, room spinning, pulsing. Overhead lights going in so many colours that the man looked like he was made of water, reflecting everything back at you, moving despite being stationary. He poured and you watched. Handed you the drinks and expected no payment in return, because it went on the tab, as always. He knew Amado near enough as well as you do.

When you arrived back to your spot, Amado was turned away from you, watching a man split the crowd in the opposite direction. You tapped his bicep with the drink you’d brought him.

‘Who was that?’ you asked, following the question with a sip of your own. The cocktails were long past tasting of alcohol, it was just juice and fizz and sugar by then.

‘Ah, no-one.’ He took his own and nodded a thank-you. ‘Just some guy jealous of my date.’  

‘Pfft, be quiet.’ If you weren’t both holding drinks, you’d have batted his arm for being so ridiculous, and so smug about it too. Instead, his dumb smile infected you, curling your lips though you tried to fight it. ‘You can’t flirt your way out of every secret, guapo.’

‘I can try.’ 

His arm went around your waist, forearm hot against the already warm skin between your shirt and your pants. Heat to heat. He put his lips to yours. You let him pull you into the kiss willingly, tongue chasing tongue. The edge of alcohol was there in his mouth, where it wasn’t in your glass, and you drank readily. Eagerly.

And then the gun went off; one shot to start with, so loud and unexpected that you sprung away from everything: Amado, your drink, the foot of space you’d been occupying. Your body acted before you’d even recognised it as a gunshot. Heart pounding through your chest, eyes running the course of the room.

‘Oye, pendejo,’ is all Amado said, at first. He put it under his breath, far too casual for the situation, like it was just a mild inconvenience to him. A fly in his beer. His palm found your back, at the base of your spine, fingers stretching to pull you to him again. I’m here, it said, nothing to worry about yet. ‘Let’s go, yeah? That way.’

‘Amado, what…?’

You know how you must’ve looked, wide eyed, frozen and deer-like. With the people fleeing around you and the flashing of the lights, you couldn’t even see who it was on the assault. Just heard the pop, the bang, the burst of screaming patrons that followed it.

Another rang out then, closer this time, and you know it was pointed at the ceiling now, because it crumbled overhead. Dust and glass and plastic. It littered your hair before Amado had chance to shield you from it. You aren’t ashamed to admit that a scream pierced out of you too, raw and unlike any noise you’ve made before, but still, Amado barely flinched. His arm went up, a second too late, and over your head, his body purposely put between you and the shooter.

‘That way, amor,’ he said again, steady as anything. ‘We’ll take the door out the back, okay?’

A third gunshot went into the roof, followed by his name shouted above the racket of it all. Whoever it was, he was mad, ravenous.

You had no more questions left in you, just blind, terrified obedience. You let Amado turn you, hands to your biceps, away from the chaos and guide you through the scattering crowd. Past the bar, through the store rooms you were never supposed to see, and out of the weighted fire door with little other explanation. The transition happened so fast, a blur, a stumble, that you only realised how far you’d come once the wall of cold hit you on the other side.

You were out. The club sat behind you, braying with noise. You felt like your lungs had stayed there, where you had been, on the sticky floor of the club. You couldn’t do anything but gasp, your chest didn’t fill no matter how hard you tried. Just half-breath, after half-breath.

Amado shut the door, firmly, and the riot went with it, muffled behind the thick plating of the fire-exit. ‘You okay?’ he asked, but you couldn’t answer him yet. You were still working on the breathing part. ‘My love.’ He moved so that he could stand in front of you. ‘Easy, amor. One breath and hold it, hm? You can do that.’

You tried. Sucked in as much air as you could and held it, eyes on his, counting as he did in the cold night, until he gave you the nod to exhale again. It helped. You repeated it, one breath at a time together.

He looked un-phased, slightly damp at the forehead, black hair pressed to his temples, but that was there from the dancing anyway. You could’ve been stepping out for a smoke, from the looks of him. Tucking behind the commercial sized dumpsters for the sake of privacy. It was only the shake of your hands that dispelled the possibility.

‘Who was that, Amado?’

‘I told you. Some güey, celoso de mí.’

You shoved him; it wasn’t like you, but it sprung out anyway, clumsy palms to his chest, new, hot anger behind your ears. ‘Don’t bullshit me, Amado. Someone fucking shot at us.’

And that was new. That was something your friends had told you would happen, but had never touched you before then.

Your anger rolled off him, bounced from the black shirt to the black night around you both. He couldn’t blame you for it. You could see in his face that he understood. ‘He was only trying to scare me,’ he reasoned, ‘scare you. Asshole’s too reckless for his own good.’

‘Who?’ you insist. ‘Who the fuck?’

And then the door swung open, breaking your solitude, handle hitting the bricks hard enough to spit dust into the air. 

Rafa, possessed and lurching forward, with the gun in his hand still. 

You can’t get in the way fast enough, the barrel is to Amado’s head in an instant. He inches to the trigger—

And that’s where you wake up, where reality twists into the surreal and you’re able to jump yourself free. That didn’t happen, there were shots, yes, an escape through the back, but Rafa never followed the two of you out. You never saw him, never saw the flash of metal to Amado’s head, that’s just the bullshit that’s come since. The dream that comes back every night; a memory you’ve tried to forget, with some sick twist plastered onto the end of it, just to grind salt into the wound. Just to make it all worse.

‘Amado?’ You find yourself dry-throated and unable to call any louder. He isn’t beside you, but the sheets are pulled back from where he’s been and left. The bedside lamp is on still. You force a swallow and try again, ‘Amado?’

In a moment he’s there, in the doorway of his bedroom, robe open and chest bare. He looks more worried now than he did a week ago, under the crumbling ceiling, in the face of danger. He looks at you like Rafa’s bullet had found somewhere worthwhile to land. ‘Sorry,’ he says, pulling forward without needing an explanation. ‘I was making a call.’

You dismiss the apology. It’s fine, you don’t want him to feel like he can’t leave your side, no matter how recurring the nightmare is. ‘That fucking dream again,’ you mutter, feeling the tightness lift as he sits by your legs. The mattress goes down, your chest goes out, one deep breath after the other. ‘Every night, I’m there again.’

His hand goes to your face, fingertips brushing the shortest parts of your hair behind your ear. ‘It’ll get better.’

‘Will it?’

‘Easier,’ he corrects. ‘With time.’

You resist the urge to throw yourself back onto the pillows in frustration. You shouldn’t need time, you shouldn’t be robbing him and yourself of sleep each night. ‘Nothing even happened, Amado. No-one was hurt.’ Your voice thins. ‘I never even saw him.’

Amado had. Tall enough to see over the ducked heads and fleeing bodies, but he’d kept it to himself until you were home, back at his place and away from danger. Where you’re safe, he’d told you, and why does it matter who it was? Rafa is no-one to you. To us.

‘Why sit and torture yourself any more than your dreams do?’ he asks, letting his hands settle on the bed either side of your thighs. ‘It’s normal to be afraid. Pendejo was shooting up a club.’

‘But you aren’t—’

He cuts you off, voice calm and even, ‘And who am I, then? A normal guy?’ He’s used to it, he means, he shouldn’t be, but he is. Guns and chaos. They follow him like fire and smoke.

‘I just hate,’ you try, unable to meet his gaze suddenly. ‘I hate expecting this of you. We’re supposed to be having fun, not, not this.’ You gesture to yourself, to the bed that feels more palliative care than honeymoon right now. Things aren’t how they used to be between the two of you, no matter how hard you try to fix it.  

When you look up again, he’s smiling faintly, face warm in the sunset of the bedside lamp. ‘Amor,’ he says, ‘I would never sleep again if that’s what it took.’

You scoff.

‘I’m serious.’ He shrugs. ‘I have books I’ve been meaning to read, I can stay up and keep the dreams away, if you need me to.’

‘You’re ridiculous,’ you tell him, but you’re smiling, just about. The nightmare feels worlds away when he talks like that, put quiet behind the fire-exit again.

‘Pues, that’s love, no?’ He leans forward, presses a kiss to your cheek, then your lips. ‘Making men ridiculous.’

‘Sí,’ you breathe, into the stubble across his chin, ‘I suppose so.’

‘Get some rest,’ he says, before offering a final taste. ‘I’ll be here when you wake up.’

It won’t make all the difference, but it’s enough to get you halfway.

#amado carrillo fuentes x reader #amado x reader #narcos mexico imagine #narcos mexico fanfic #whumpril2023 #whumpril #tw: rafa nonsense without explanation LMAO #im not bothering with plot continuity at ALLLLLLL #pov you are sofia #j`khgkzldhfg

[ethereal-am]

¡ narcos mexico / griselda (rivi) content !

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

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

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

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

𝜗𝜚 spotify acc !

𝜗𝜚 pinterest acc !

𝜗𝜚 amado carrillo fuentes

𝜗𝜚 ramon arellano félix

𝜗𝜚 ismael “mayo” zambada

𝜗𝜚 rivi ayala (griselda)

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

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ྀིა

# IFB !! ♡

#narcos mexico #narcos mx #narcos mexico edit #narcosmxedit #narcos mexico imagine #narcosedit #amado carrillo fuentes #ramon arellano felix #narcos edit #mayo zambada #alberto guerra #jose maria yazpik #manuel masalva #narcos mexico fanfic #narcos mexico fanfiction #griseldanetflix #griselda #rivi ayala #martin rodriguez #rivi edit #rivi #netflix #netflix edit #wattpad #fanfiction #70s #80s #90s #rivi fanfic #rivi fic

[narcosfandomdiscord]

narcos fandom smut alphabet - finished!

you know what goes really well with summer sunshine and narcos tv rewatches? SMUTTY FIC!

(they put that bisexual lighting on Isabella for a reason, after all!)

this was our first month of prompts over at @narcosfandomdiscord! for every letter of the alphabet, we had two smutty prompts that fanfic writers used for inspiration. 🥰 our group ambition was to create at least one fic per letter—26 new narcos smut fics during the month of July—and we totally smashed it, in large part thanks to prolific work from @salt-is-a-terrible-currency. happy reading!

if you prefer reading on ao3, check out our collection. all fics tagged as #nffalphabet on tumblr. and it's just that simple 🥰

if you have any questions, you can message us on tumblr or join our narcos fandom discord here!

🍰 Prompt List & Fic Masterlist 🍰

July 1 — A — angry sex, anal

Right For Once by @drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x f!Reader, angry sex, 2.3k

Infuriating by @salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, angry sex, 1.5k

Our Man In Mexico by @hausofmamadas — Horacio Carrillo x Andrea Nuñez, angry sex, 2.5k

July 2 — B — blood, bound & begging

Final Warning by @purplesong1028 — Amado x Pacho, bound & begging, 490

Please (with your finger) by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, bound & begging, 1.2k

blood on vacation by @ashlingnarcos — David Barrón x f!Reader, blood, 1.8k

July 3 — C — cuffs, choking

If I go too far by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, choking, 737

mentirosos by @narcolini — Kitty Paez x gn!Reader, cuffs, 1.1k

July 4 — D — domesticity, “don’t make a sound or they’ll hear us.”

Taking Care by drabbles-mc — Diego Ramirez (Narcos OC) x F!Reader, domesticity, 2.1k

Lipstick's smudged by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, domesticity and “don’t make a sound or they’ll hear us", 447

A Few Moments by @purplesong1028 — Miguel Félix/Pacho Herrera, “don’t make a sound or they’ll hear us", 482

July 5 — E — edging, eldritch

The first time I felt a ghost by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, eldritch, 716

July 6 — F — fight or fuck?, friends with benefits

No relationship talk by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, friends with benefits, 422

Unbroken Rules by drabbles-mc — Horacio Carrillo x f!Reader, friends with benefits, 2.9k

July 7 — G — gag/gagging, gun play

Paper-thin walls by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, gag/gagging, 361

Whatever He Wants by purplesong1028 — Amado Carrillo Fuentes x Miguel Félix, gun play, 416

July 8 — H — honor bondage, hatesex

Dress blues by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader x Gurney Halleck, honor bondage, 1.8k

THE DISTANCE BETWEEN US by hausofmamadas — Enedina Arellano x David Barrón, honor bondage, 2k

July 9 — I — infidelity, in public

Never meet your heroes by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, in public, 955

Don't Mention It by drabbles-mc — Javier Peña x f!Reader, infidelity and in public, 2.7k

No Strong Suit by purplesong1028 — Miguel Félix x Pacho Herrera, infidelity, 439

July 10 — J — jealousy, "just shut up already"

Unprofessional by drabbles-mc — Walt Breslin x f!Reader, jealousy, 4.3k

A bad idea by @artemiseamoon — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, jealousy, 2.3k

The ring by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, jealousy, 1.1k

July 11 — K — knotting, knocked up

Which time? by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, knocked up, 418

Secrets in the night by artemiseamoon — Horacio Carrillo x Original Female Character, knocked up, 3.5k

Someday When It's Over by drabbles-mc — Horacio Carrillo x Original Female Character, knocked up, 2.8k

July 12 — L — luxury, lingerie

Eres guapa by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, lingerie, 544

Desire by artemiseamoon — Enedina Arellano x Original Female Character, lingerie and luxury, 3.9k

Round-trip Ticket by drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x Original Female Character, lingerie, 7.7k

July 13 — M — mirrors, "make me forget (all about him/her/it/them)"

Another brick in the wall by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, make me forget, 812

Favors Owed by drabbles-mc — Maria Elvira x gn!Reader, make me forget, 2.7k

Like Old Times by artemiseamoon — Judy Moncada x Original Female Character, mirrors, 1.4k

July 14 — N — nipple play, "no one does it like you"

No One Like You by drabbles-mc — Javier Peña x f!Reader, no one does it like you, 2k

Sore by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, nipple play, 580

July 15 — O — on all fours, one night stand

Cascade by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, one night stand, 580

July 16 — P — praise kink, pulling hair

Dress blues, pt 2 by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader x Gurney Halleck, praise kink, 404

July 17 — Q — quiet (or trying to be), quickie

Sweet, sharp, addictive by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, quiet (or trying to be) and quickie, 464

July 18 — R — role reversal, ruined

Bad Guy Treatment by drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x f!Reader, role reversal, 3.8k

What is she to him by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, ruined, 444

July 19 — S — submit, "say my name"

Stoke the flames by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, submit, 387

July 20 — T — trapped together, tied up

On company time by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, trapped together, 574

July 21 — U — upper hand, underwater

The Weight of It All by drabbles-mc — Walt Breslin x Sal Orozco, underwater, 2k

he keeps his rules. you keep him. by ashlingnarcos — Horacio Carrillo x gn!Reader, upper hand, 1.1k

Polkadots by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, underwater, 359

July 22 — V — virginity (loss or roleplay), video

Off the Backburner by drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x f!Reader, virginity, 4.1k

In this moment of pretend by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, virginity roleplay, 435

July 23 — W — "we probably shouldn't do this", worship

Stay A Little Longer by drabbles-mc — Horacio Carrillo x f!Reader, "we probably shouldn't do this", 1.5k

Lunch break daydream by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, "we probably shouldn't do this", 497

July 24 — X — exhibitionism, exes having sex

It's complicated by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Helena, exes having sex, 971

Not Yours Anymore by drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x Original Female Character, exes having sex, 3.2k

no witness by ashlingnarcos — Walt Breslin x f!Reader, exes having sex, 2.4k

July 25 — Y — yearning, "you look good like this"

Superman (4) by @garbinge — Javier Peña x f!Reader, "you look good like this", 5k

Lost Time by drabbles-mc — Horacio Carrillo x f!Reader, yearning, 2.9k

If he closes his eyes by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, yearning, 442

July 26 — Z — zipper, zeal

Things Like That by drabbles-mc — Danilo Garza x f!Reader, zipper, 2k

Zealot by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader and Nathan "Cable" Summers from Deadpool x f!Reader, zeal, 4k

(note: we hit the link limit on this post so from now on, links will be to fics + to authors on their first appearance.)

#narcos mexico #narcos #narcos imagine #narcos fanfiction #nffalphabet

[proceduralpassion]

Take You Home

Day 30 of Narcoctober- Post a fanwork you started for any previous prompt but weren’t able to finish in time.

Character(s): Amado Carrillo Fuentes x Reader

WC: 845

A/N: Lol why did I make reader so down bad in this? This was what I was gonna originally write for the Day 18 exes prompt and I wanted to circle back and post it at some point, so why not for amnesty day lol

It’s easily the worst date you’ve ever been on. Which is all the more aggravating because it was the most excited you were to be on a date in a long time. New fancy restaurant. Semi-attractive date. The first outing you’d been invited on by the opposite sex ever since you and Amado broke up. 

The atmosphere of the restaurant is so relaxing, but you can’t seem to sit back and truly enjoy yourself. Your date has been non-stop yapping about himself, not even polite enough to ask you a question even once. He only shut up long enough to drain his glass of wine, which sounded terribly obnoxious as it gobbled down his throat. The sound was so loud and irritating that you wanted to switch your own wine for tequila and get straight hammered. 

Your patience was running thin and your date doesn’t even notice how you tune out of all of the words that fall out of his mouth and start people watching. 

Your smile lifts up as you watch the romantic older couple in the corner of the restaurant who stand up to dance on the open floor as the guitarist and singer on stage begins crooning a slow love song. The thought of growing old with someone and still being interested enough in them to dance the night away was appealing in thought, but you’d tear out your own eyeballs if that special someone for you was sitting across the table.

The food arrives minutes later and the man’s smacking and constant din of his utensils against the plate has you losing your appetite before you’ve gotten a few bites in. You feel bad for your waitress who’s ripping and running all around the floor, but the next time you see her, you know you’re going to ask for a to-go box and split the establishment shortly thereafter. 

In the meantime, you finish your wine and hope that it alleviates your short nerves. It doesn’t work because the next time you look up, your date is scanning your body with a leer that has you shuddering with disgust. 

Across the restaurant, Amado has been watching you, highly amused at the sight. His shoulders shudder as he keeps in his laughter from observing just how much you’d rather be anywhere else. He’s unable to tear his eyes away, afraid that he’ll miss the chance when you finally catch him sitting in the same restaurant as you.

It wasn’t purposeful. Sure, he’d been keeping tabs on you, but he didn’t know you’d be here tonight. He’d been conducting a meeting this evening over pasta and steak, and now enjoying dessert with his entourage now that the discussion had ended. 

Your heart stalls in your chest when you finally spot him. The left side of Amado’s face lifts in a smirk which makes your stomach flip. He’s never not had a knack for throwing you off and the way he sits, leaning back in his chair with one of his legs straightened out away from him, leaves you mesmerized. 

Once your eyes connect, Amado’s standing up and walking straight towards you. The fact that you’re on a date is inconsequential to him at the present moment. Doesn’t even spare the man  a second glance as he leans down at your side. 

“Hola, querida,” Amado greets, halting conversation off your date’s end, “That dress looks beautiful on you. Red was always your color.”

Your eyes darken at the compliment and then widen when your date opens his mouth up again.

“Hey, pal! What the fuck is your problem? We’re on a date here.”

Amado spares him no glance. He takes his hand into yours, softly caressing the back of it and admires your manicure. 

“I missed you,” he says, and then plants a light kiss on your hand.

You can’t help but smile, always too weak when it comes to how smooth he was with his words. He always had a way of making the center of your heart feel all gooey without much effort.

Your date waves a hand between the two of you’s faces, almost as if he expects the mounting tension between you to wipe away at his insistence. 

It’s Amado’s turn for his eyes to darken but, this time, they’re centered on your date. He gives the man a blank stare but doesn’t acknowledge him any further before standing and pulling you up with him. There’s no resistance in your frame as he helps you out of your seat. 

“I’ve never had good timing, mi amor, but I’m hoping you’ll allow me take you home?”

You’re not paying attention to the rough hands that settle against your date, keeping him in his seat as Amado walks away with you. 

“I believe I have some making up to you,” he says.

You chuckle, “Yes, you do.”

Your hand wraps within his, fingers interlocking as he leads you out the restaurant. 

He kisses your shoulder before opening the door and guiding you out, “Some might even say some begging would be required.”

Click here if you wanna be added to the taglist! Taglist: @asirensrage @drabbles-mc @ashlingnarcos @narcosfandomdiscord

#narcos #narcos mexico #amado carrillo fuentes #amado carrillo fuentes x reader #narcoctober

[moonlesslights]

Only love can hurt like this (Amado Carrillo x Reader)

Summary: Carrillo drags you to an unprevisted mission where the decision of which side you are on is finally in your hands. 

(Reader is an agent of the DEA, and we are ubicated in Mexico for this).

Warnings: Love triangle (AmadoxReaderxHoracio), some mentions of sex, angst, fluff.

...

“There is nothing here” You whisper, not knowing if you are trying to convice Horacio or yourself. 

In front of you, the house you have walked in so many times takes form between shadows of the rising sunset. You have memories in every corner of every room, laughs echoing in your ears, words you still carry next to your heart. 

“He is. And he is not going anywhere” He scoffs back, making his way two steps ahead of you. 

Your eyes wander to the windows surrounding the lounge you were into right know, watching from the second floor the silhouettes of the men Coronel Carillo trusted the most and their cars parked among the beautiful gardens of the house. You clench your jaw trying so hard to stop the frowning taking place on your features; but you just can’t fight it for too long. This isn’t your home, you wanted to say, leave us alone. 

“It is still hot” Your head turns to Horacio again, following his voice. The man kicks down some logs off the fireplace only to reaveal incandescent ashes that are fired through the room. “He is here.”

You feel your stomach sinking, hurting. No. He can’t be here. He knew it was too dangerous, he knew it wasn’t safe to be in this city while Carrillo was looking for him... But he also knew you were here. “You really think he is going to leave you here?” You could hear your brother repeating those words to you. Felix’s face pointing to Amado playing with his kids and María at the table. “Traes a ese bato de los huevos”

Maybe you should have insisted more, maybe you should have screamed at him until he took all of his damn black shirts and got his ass up on a plane to the center of the jungle. But no, you got lost trying to eliminate all of the evidence of him and the Arellano brothers, trying so hard to lead Horacio away from them that you ended up missing the moment you failed... And the Coronel found his own way to Amado. El cabrón that never left. 

“Where is your gun?”

“Uh?” 

Carrillo raises an eyebrow and your gaze drops to your hands, empty. Weight on you hip is the only thing that warns you about your gun still on its rest position. Of course, you walked in this house without even feeling the impulse of taking it out of there, like you would even use it. 

“I’m sorry” You answer vaguely, not being able to look into his eyes. 

“We have little time before someone alerts we are here, I need you with me.” The words hit you like a train. You frown. 

“You need me?” You think, wanting to spit in his face. “Now you need me?”. Your hands still clench in fury to remember his voice telling you then, in Colombia, that you just couldn’t be in his team anymore, not only breaking up with you in that very moment, almost in front of Javier and Steve; but also telling how distracting you were for him, how the relationship was only messing up everything. Yes, you still remember screaming in frustration when he prevented you to go on the mission Pablo was shot to dead, watching your work melting into nothing when your name just disappeared between the agents that helped to catch him. 

The voice of Felix at the other side of the line, telling you that it was better for you to be out of sight, that he knew everything you did, that you accomplished your own mission and your Cali’ friends will be very happy with the news, it wasn’t enough.

You did hate Pablo Escobar. He was a murderer, a guy that didn’t deserve anything in life, and when you and Javi spent years together, risking everything only to bring justice, crying at night when it was all too much, seeing the sun rise in front of the office after you two stayed the whole night just in need a god damn track; well, you got hopeful it would be you three who’ll catch him. And hope it is always a double sided coin.

So when Horacio took the lead and in the blink of an eye, you fell in love with the same man that would break your heart twice, things started to get out of hand. Thinking it would be on your favor knowing him, getting involve, so you could always be part of the investigation, to know the next move and alert Pacho and the others of being necessary, you grow close to him. And it was okay, it was working, yes; until Carrillo kissed you and your world fell apart.

You loved him. There is nothing to argue about it. But you also learned to hate him. So much. Because when you finally thought it was all behind, that he wouldn’t bring any more grief to your life, he followed you home, in Mexico. And now he wasn’t chasing Pablo, now he wasn’t asking you to catch a terroris t. Now he was chasing your brother, now he was asking you to catch your lover. And it would be a total lie to say that that fact didn’t complete piss you off.

“We should split up.” You suggest, looking at him. “It would be easy to find him”

He chuckles, gazing at you from the corner of his eye.

“And would you tell me you found him?” He asks.

“What?”

“Would you tell me you found him?” He repeats, walking a few steps on your direction.

“Yes. What the hell are you talking about?” You speak back.

He then remains quiet, looking at you with an indescifrable expression. Your heart is racing in your chest, thinking about all the possibilities of the mean of his words. He hardens his features, pursing his lips before he states:

“I don’t trust you”.

You have to fight the smile threatening to climb onto your face.

“I don’t trust you either.” He nods, lowering his eyes for imperceptible seconds.

“We are not splitting up. I’m going to put a bullet in his skull when I find him.” Carrillo mutters, sarcastic.

You have known him for so long and you still don’t get used to how easy he takes being in life or death situations. Because you are not, because you want to throw up at the security in his statement.

“I don’t think there’s a need for that.” Good God.

Your breath gets stuck in your lungs. So hard it makes your chest hurt as you feel the color draining from your face.

Even when Horacio turns to the stairs at your back and raises his gun ready to pull the trigger, it takes you a good few seconds just to collect the right amount of courage to look back.

You know it is going to be him there, you knew his voice, you knew the feeling of his presence in the back of your neck. Amado, Amado, Amado…

The thing is: Nothing of it matters, because the moment you see his eyes narrowing at you in the growing darkness, you still feel a bullet hitting your throat in the most cruel and painful way.

“Get down!” It is the scream right beside your ear that makes you look away, wake up again to this reality.

“I’m unarmed.” Amado assures, maintaining his hands up and open.

“Don’t fucking move.” Carrillo warns anyways, taking careful steps in his direction.

You look at him, incapable of doing shit. Your brain working as fast as it can, looking for options, for answers and an scape plan for fucking Tontín.

“I’m here. This doesn’t have to take any more lives.” Amado keeps his voice low, certain. “It’s me who you want.”

“I don’t think I can agree with that.” The Coronel tilts his head, raising the gun up to Amado’s head. “Some of your men may be more open to talk than you.”

Amado keeps and indifferent expression but you can see his features darkening.

“The men here haven’t killed or done anything, some of them are kids. Let them go and I’ll talk.”

You look at him and his eyes are directed to you for only a millisecond, and your heart crushes in your chest. Ah.

He wasn’t just trying to protect his men, he was trying to protect you. Of course he knew his men were loyal, but Carrillo was here, and the man was only good for one thing: torture. And not even all the money in the world was going to keep everyone with the mouth close. Your name was going to fall, one way or another. And it would be all over.

But I won’t, he wanted to tell you, you are safe with me, because I won’t tell how many times I have loved you behind these walls. Observing your silhouette from his position, he can feel you. Closing his eyes, he can still see you there.

Amado’s eyes go to look to the windows, the sound of careful steps and indistinct chatters just confirm his thoughts. There were too few men around the house for this to be an authorized operation. Carrillo was too smart to let this pass once he knew he was here, obviously not wanting to ask for an order and risk his intentions to be known by Amado.

“I don’t think you don’t know how this is going to work, malparido.” The Coronel smirks.

“Believe me, let them go and most of them will keep their mouth shut when others like me come looking for you.” Amado tilts his head “Te va a comprar tiempo, pues.”

“What are you playing to?” Horacio asks, more to himself this time.

Amado gulps, pursing his lips. With a gun pointed to his head, pointed by no one else than the Coronel Horacio Carrillo, he expected cold sweat on his temple, fingers tingling or racing heart bumping in his chest… But nothing was happening. Rhythmically, the muscle beats one, two, three times and it doesn’t seem to flinch at the thought: This is it.

The reason was, probably, too well know by his own mind that didn’t bother him anymore. It never did, it just came for him one day, looking at you sleeping on the passenger seat, snoring softly, when his chest got warm at the realization: You were totally asleep, unconscious and indifferent of his actions at the wheel. You trusted him that, you fell asleep knowing you will be okay with him there. It was that day he continued his way making everything on his power to make himself sure that you didn’t make a mistake. Not with him. That choosing him was the right decision.

“La suerte se acaba, sooner or later, Coronel.” He comforts, drawing his eyebrows together. “And let’s be honest, this was a good strike, but it wasn’t the cleanest one, verdad?”

Horacio wasn’t a man know for fearing of the system nor his superiors, but this was Mexico, and things were so different here. If Amado gets to the police, he’s not putting a single foot in jail, in less than an hour he would be out in the street again, that’s exactly why he decided to make of this operation his call: He’s not taking Amado to the justice, he’s only going to a damp basement where he will be interrogated in a much more effective way. And even though he’s eager for answers, the process isn’t safe, the operation was risky and his name will figure as the top enemy again.

Mistakes were and will be done. And he can’t get killed for it, not yet.

“We’ll see what can we do for your men. No more than little rats between all this, right?” Carrillo mocks, now, inspecting Amado’s position, who nods at his words.

What are you doing?, What were you thinking?, you want to ask, scream, at him. How was he so confortable with that idea right now?, all while you plead for some kind of miracle, to wake up, to make everyone forget, to just fucking get shot just so he can take the distraction and run from Horacio.

But nothing happens, and your options start to disappear with the same facility they came in.

Then, Carrillo looks at you, frowning. His free hand moves and gives you a sign to get close.

“Give me the handcuffs.” He orders, pointing to the metal piece on your hip.

Your hand tries to reach for the safety at least two times before you get it right. Yes, it is until that moment that you realize how bad your trembling is. Horacio was going to notice and you just were so fucking scared.

You never thought this day would come, maybe, that you would’ve been here, seeing how Amado Carrillo Fuentes gets handcuffed by one of the most feared men in the Narco’s world. That you would see his fall. You just never thought today, in the morning, while drinking your coffee and staring at his photo on one of the blackboards, that ten hours later you would be seeing him in person again, like this.

The thing is, when you came back to Mexico and began to know and catch up on what your brother had been building here, you weren’t really looking for someone. Specially not after what happened with Horacio. But you did know Amado, you always did: He talked with Pacho a lot while you were undercover in Colombia. You and the Cali guys tended to laugh at how oblivious Amado was that the girl sitting with them at the business table was no less than Miguel Ángel’ sister.

So obviously, when you came back and Amado was told everything, he was pissed. He ranted about how little trust was put on him and how all of the plazas would be hearing about the audacity… Until they didn’t.

He did, in fact, not speak to Felix for about two weeks until he began to listen and understand motives, but mostly because he visited you a lot and you were living in Miguel’s house, so he had to see his stupid face all the time. And also, you could add, Felix was clueless Amado was mad at him, so he talked to him like nothing was happening while your favorite guy in black held himself from throwing hands. 

So he stayed. You both got to know each other more, talking for hours about everything you could think of: your childhood, your friends, the business, y’know, even gossiping about all of the plazas. You could listen to him every day, ranting about the problems with the planes, with the routes, with an asshole that let himself catch, anything; oh, but you never get to listen when he talked with Mayo and Felix about how smart you were, how beautiful you looked wishing for the printer to die or how your voice was so calming to hear. You never saw how he looked at you, how he started to fall in love with your kindness and curiosity for everything, for your adoration to the smallest things in life.

You were so different from anything he had seen before. So clumsy that he wondered how the hell you were still alive. So determined he would choose you to lead all the god damn plazas if you wanted. You trusted to much that he was scared someone would hurt you. You were so cunning he trusted in every choice you made, following you blindfolded.

So, this time, he didn’t doubt to nod at you when the handcuffs were hanging from your fingers, Carrillo already outstretching towards them. “Está bien” he motions, “está bien”… Except, it wasn’t.

The metal slips off your skin, colliding against the wooden floor at your feet in two hits that freeze these very seconds. Horacio’s eyes follow the artefact on its way down, slowly starting to frown at the action while you gaze at Amado, trapped in his dark pupils. One hit. “No” He motions again, facing the defeat. “When did I ever listen to you?, when did you ever listen?” You wish to ask. Two hits.

In just what for you now it’s a reflect, your hand reaches for the grip of your gun, taking it out when Amado’s firm voice shouts a short and demanding “No!” at you. 

Carrillo’s expression changes with violence, glancing at the Narco’ Lord an instant before the cold canyon holded in your hands its pointed to his very temple. A click accompanying the movement of your thumb gives him the one clear sign. 

Carrillo raises his eyebrows, letting his lips part for a desperate gulp of air. His eyes focus slowly on you and his loaded hand wavers in its position. The surprise that seizes his expression allows you to see that side of him, so vulnerable, that for so long you wished to be able to touch, even if it was for a few mere seconds.

“What are you doing?” His voice is purely a whisper above the wind. You open your mouth, believing you could just explain, that you could make up a valid excuse to betray everything and everyone you ever fought for. But you can’t make a single noise and Horacio disbelief starts to hit on his gut “Are you fucking kidding me!?”

You flinch a step back as an instinct, but your finger keeps a safe pressure on the trigger. You wish you could look at Amado but the fear of any movements Carrillo could make during just a second of your distraction keeps your eyes glued to his face. A betrayed face. 

How dare he look so hurt?, with his brows drawn together and his lips parted. You can swear if you listened closely, his racing heartbeat would echo off the walls. And the vision is killing you, because three years ago you would have sworn that you would share your entire life with this man; because two years ago you shared the same expression that his face bears now. And it was killing you.

Amado tries to move, stomping towards you calmly, the floorboards creaking under his weight. Horacio reaffirms the gun in his hand, turning to see him threateningly, rectifying in an expression that he would not hesitate to pull the trigger right there if Amado gave him a sufficient excuse to do so.

"Coronel, is everything okay, sir?" Footsteps approaching at alarming speed from the ground floor crown the damn situation. "Coronel, shall we proceed with immediate support?"

Your face pales at the threat of the intruder about to enter the room. Horacio's eyes remain looking at you, he doesn't flinch for a second and it's because he knows, because he must know that as soon as that soldier puts both feet on the last step, the situation will turn 180 degrees. He will have the upper hand again and it would be game over for you and Amado.

But Carrillo's head was far from starting to think about the only option in which you could. The voice coming up the stairs is distant but it awakens his senses quickly, senses that seemed numbed to the one now holding a gun to his head. What are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing...?

The second step in line creaked under the weight of a soldier, but the voices below told him that more than one were following him. His eyes dart at the shadows that kept asking for an answer to his name; just for a second, before returning to the front and losing the air when colliding, stopping against your wet lashes and suffocating irises that seemed to want to drink him whole.

Remember. He remembers. Everything. The sunny morning of the first day he saw you, scolding Javier Peña for not having ordered the documents the office needed while Agent Murphy held his stomach, laughing at the top of his lungs. He remembers the way your eyes found his... The way you smiled. Without warning, without a reason: You saw him and you smiled. Welcoming him so simply, so informally, it seemed like he was approaching an old group of friends rather than the officers tasked with telling him where to shoot.

He shook your hand and listened to every word that left your lips, amazed at the ease with which you handled any topic in the investigation, laying out information on each of the targets and expanding all the cards on the table before he could even think of one.

You were so different from anything he had ever seen before. A little light of hope among the horror that was lived. A pause for the restlessness of his nights, when you two spent hours locked in a car praying that the targets would just decide to leave their home at any given moment. Moons passed for the first time you made him laugh, other suns more when he decided to tell you the only joke he seemed to know, only in an attempt to be the cause of that thunderous laugh that characterized you. That was also the first day you hugged him goodbye, just like you did with Murphy and Peña, just like he hadn't hugged anyone in a long time. And you smiled, again, all the time; making him search for you like a fucking teenager.

And then he saw you crying, for the first time, and realized that he cared about you, that it hurt him, and that helplessness bothered him. And then he kissed you, for the first time, and realized that he had fallen in love with you, that between sheets and long nights, the only thing he wanted to see there before closing his eyes were you. And so, when you ventured into an ambush with the DEA and one of the hitmen managed to put two bullets in your body, things became clear right in front of him. The way he yelled at Javier for having carried out such a mission without his knowledge, for having put your life in danger in that way... Everything coincided with his heart wanting to escape from his own chest. Because when he saw you, asleep, breathing heavily, his soul was crushed; and when your eyelids fluttered limply at him, and your eyes shone at the sight of him, his legs went weak. And he realized that he loved you, with every little bit of his entire strength, he loved you.

So it wasn't fair, he knew, it wasn't fair for him to cut you off from the investigation and his team in a vile attempt to protect you, to keep safe the one thing that kept him fighting. It was selfish and ruin, but it was the only thing that would keep you alive. And with the list of attacks on those involved in Pablo's arrest growing daily, his mind was made up. You were out.

And what better than closing with a flourish and ending the relationship once and for all? You would never be able to forgive him, in any way, and he would become the main target for many in a short time. One thing is offset by the other and you, safe. He was determined, he was sure that in the end, all this would keep you out. But my God, with you nothing could ever be so easy.

After Javier was removed from the investigation, you were sure that they were not going to do the same to you. Out of loyalty to your brother and for screwing Horacio up even more in a game where he thought he was the only shooter... You weren't going to leave Colombia.

And he should have expected it, but he didn't. And he hated you for every time you called a superior to preserve a position, whatever it was, within the team. And he adored you even more for the way you stood up to him, the way you dusted yourself off and told him to go to hell.

So that was the problem, wasn't it? He adored every little bit of you, admired you, loved you. He loved your determination, your freedom, and who was he then to change you? If it was him alone who got stuck in time, loving on as cold as christmas eve, who was he to force you?... The problem then is no longer the DEA, it is no longer Pablo or the hit men, it is no longer pride or selfishness; The problem is that he kept loving you while you held a gun to his head.

And there was nothing he wanted to do to change it.

"Stop!" He exclaims suddenly, causing Amado and you to jump in your place. "Everything is well here, soldier, return to your position."

Silence fills the next few seconds, quickening the hearts of everyone present there.

"Are you sure, Coronel?"

"Agent Y/L/N here accidentally hit me hard, but I don't see why I have to be explaining myself just so my orders can be carried out, soldier."

That was it, that tone. The great Coronel Carrillo and his unquestionable presence. Ask one more question and you'll have your bags already packed outside your room. No one was against him, no one except, maybe... you.

"Yes, Coronel. Immediately." One of the uniformed men downstairs answers.

Each step that seems to sound further and further away becomes a soothing rhythm for your heart. However, your head continues to throb and cold sweat trickles down your temples little by little.

What now? You want to ask, what are we going to do?... What are you going to do?

But it is neither Horacio nor you who decide to speak first, but Amado. The only idiot without any weapon is the one who decides to take the lead in the game, taking it in directions that you wish would never have been an option.

"Ey, ya estuvo, ¿no?" The dark-haired man's voice joins in a whisper to his hands lowering to a more comfortable position. "You know what's going on here, right? It's over now."

"Amado..." The desperation in your voice goes unnoticed by Horacio, but your call makes the pilot's muscles tense. Still, his gaze remains directed at the other man.

"Si la agarran, la matan, cabrón." Amado snaps, frowning. His hand reaches out the window, pointing at the little of the Coronel's men he could see in the darkness. "Or what? Do you think that if one of my people gets her name out, they'll be very happy? They won't even let her get to jail, le van a meter un tiro un pendejo día y ya.”

Carrillo clenches his jaw, refusing to respond to Amado's threat, refusing to agree with him as much as this mattered to him. But the pilot had had enough, and if the feds or anyone else even thought to show up, everything would go to hell. He didn't have time to play this fucking game.

"This is over now." He repeats, looking to hit the target. "Tell them to release my men and you have me..." The Coronel's gaze travels from your position to Amado's, slowly, almost listening to the running of the blood through the arteries. The pilot gulps. "I'm going to give them everything they want... Names, locations, todo el pinche paquete, pues..."

“No.”

“¿Qué?”

“No.” Carrillo states again. His eyes are fire and his hand is so tense that you fear the movements of the digit on the trigger.

Horacio then bends his knees and stretches to take the handcuffs that were still resting a few centimeters from your feet. The sound of metal clashes between the pieces of the artifact echo in your ears, a chill becoming present with each one of them.

“I don’t give a damn about the names and the fucking rats that work with you, i’m sure they’re going to be very happy about the trash taking itself out of the competence…” He looks at you for a brief moment before putting his own gun to his belt again and getting closer to Amado, only the right amount of steps to take his hands and getting the handcuffs around his wrists. “But you’re not going to a fucking interrogatory, you’re not going with the americans. I know your type: you will say anything to get yourself out, information of false importance that would make us look in the other way.”

“I know I’m not getting out.” Amado corrects, closing his eyes for a second and then looking at the Coronel.

And that hits you. The calmness in Amado's voice makes you bite your lower lip only to not release a sharp cry when the meaning of his words clings onto your chest. But you can help the anxiety that runs through your entire system, weakening you; your brain stuck with the only thought the kind eyes of Amado can cause you: I’m going to lose you. I’m going to lose you.

I can’t lose you. 

The metallic pieces emit a soft "click" when they finish adjusting to the pilot's skin. The shock of that very fact draws your attention to your own hand and the trigger under your finger. And the world froze: Were you going to pull it? When? Now?... Were you going to kill Horacio?

And then, he found you, just like he did years ago, just like he did every time you needed. He stood there, ready to catch you, now and again. Amado’s eyes were looking in your direction, full and dark lashes on a tired gaze, bringing you back to him, only to him and his small glimpse of a smile on his face. This is it, you feel in your chest, this connection. This love that consumes every part of me when I’m with you. The moon makes a beautiful reflection on his eyes, parting in a thousand stars that dance on the blackness of his pupils. He wants to talk to you, to kiss you, but his eyes are telling everything, you can hear his voice running through your veins: Eres el regalito más hermoso que Dios me pudo haber enviado.

You remember, everything. The way you both fell in love with each other before even touching, the way he made you feel like home every time you were with him. And he learned to love you in so many different ways: by your intelligence, always supporting you, marveling himself by how smart you were; by your personality, always so happy, so lovely, so, so much you; by your body, loving every morning that you came downstairs with a beautiful summer dress, or maybe just his t-shirt and panties, or your work clothes, he was just so glad you were the first thing he saw when he wakes up.

And you can’t deny how much love you have for him. Because, spending entire nights watching movies, making love, sleeping so close you lose consciousness of where your body ended and his started, laughing. Days riding horses on some of your dates, when he took you to watch the sunrise en la sierra, kneeling before you, nervous as you had never seen him, but with a smile so bright that could overshadow the sun itself: “I know we can’t get married, not now, I know that we can’t wear rings as a couple should, but now, I’m just asking you that you let me wear this necklace on me…” He showed it to you, a beautiful golden necklace with a cross with two little rings crossed over its center. Your eyes were watery. “To let me have it next to my heart because I’m tired of not having something on me to prove that your with me all the time. I’m asking you to marry me, without papers, without anything, just us and God be witness, to let me have you as my wife for the rest of my life…”

‘Yes’ wasn’t enough, it will never be. And when he told you you didn’t need to wear a necklace if you didn’t want to, you knew you could cry, telling him: “But I do want one…”.

You were wearing it right now, under your shirt, cold against your skin, and burning still. And you love it so much, you loved him so much… So much that you would think it hurts, but it doesn’t. That’s the thing with the right one, isn’t it?, he gives you so much calm, so much safety, he loves you and lets you love him, making a daily lunch before going to work, the greatest gift of all.

And you can’t lose it.

But when you look at him again, feeling the salty tears burning on your lips, he asks you for it: Déjame hacer esto. Let me keep you safe.

“Good. Then I don’t have to worry you don’t know where are you going.” Horacio spills, looking directly to Amado’s face.

You came too late into my life, and you are leaving me too soon, you wanted to plead.

Amado wants to reassure you, smile at you and let you know that he knows. “Horacio Carrillo is going to kill me, I know, and he’s going to enjoy every second of it, but I promise I would hold on to your memory ‘till my last breath, so this love will be the last thing I can feel.”

“Let’s get you out of here, shall we?” The coronel murmurs, stepping back. “Your stupidity will get you on the river later.”

And that’s it for you.

You frown, Amado opens his mouth, but your mind was made up. The gun spins on your hand and with a movement so sudden and dry, the thud awakens your senses to the moment the body of Coronel Carrillo drops to the floor. Now, that was a little bit louder.

“What the hell are you doing?” Amado snaps, raising his brows at you.

“I could ask you the same damn thing.” You purse your lips, looking at the floor. “He will be fine, it was just a hit.”

Amado starts shaking his head, frowning with a growing concern. His hands try to reach you but the handcuffs force him to reconsider that choice.

“You need to let me do this, or you will loose all of this” He whispers, desperation filling his voice.

“I can’t let you go with Horacio.” You shake your head, slow. “I can’t.”

“This is the only way…” He hurries.

“No.” You frown.

Your eyes wander to the windows, then to the house you’re in: watching the memories in the pictures on the walls, the soft couches, the furniture full of ornaments, the easiness of breathing there…

“Amor…”

“It can’t be that bad, right?” Amado looks at you, tilting his head. “Living together, I mean. We can try to stand each other for some years.”

The pilot starts shaking his head, slow. Like thinking he didn’t listen right. 

“You love your job.” He whispers, looking at you, trying to understand what you’re thinking. 

“But I love my family even more.” 

...

“Get out the way!, The Coronel is hurt, please take him to the hospital!” Your screams gets everyone moving. 

“Where do you want us to take a este cabrón?” A soldier asks, pointing with his head at  Amado, handcuffed in front of you.

“I’ll take him. I need all of you clearing this site and releasing every worker.”

“But...”

“Orders of the Coronel.” You rush. “C’mon soldier.”

“Yes, agent. Do you need someone that help you with him?”

“No. I can do it. We need the maximum discretion.” He nods, still quite unsure of your decision. 

You and Amado get into the car you arrived in with Horacio. He can’t help a smile crossing his face once you’re in. Running away with your lover... That’s something you still didn’t tought you were going to do sometime. 

And hell, doesn’t it feels right?

...

The Coronel didn’t take that long to wake up. A horrific headache and a loose prisioner are the only things he registers before the soldiers already asking questions. 

He sits up, taking his face between his hands and asking for some space. Everything feels like moving and the colors are still blurry in front of his eyes. Only a sentence is what makes him go back to reality: 

“Agent Y/L/N took Amado Carrillo with her, do you want us to send some more protection for the site and for her?”

“What?”

“Yes.  Agent Y/L/N took Amado Carrillo...”

“Did she?”

“Yes, Coronel.” The soldier freezes under Horacio’s gaze. “Weren’t that your orders, Coronel?”

You were probably still around, he couldn't have lasted that long unconscious. If he sents someone to find you immediately... They can still get you and bring you back, as a traitor. They can still stop you and...

“Yes. That were my orders.” He clenches his jaw and stands up. “And free the workers. We’re done here.”

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[artemiseamoon]

Beside You

Amado x f Reader

Words:

AN: Sweet concerned Amado. An undisclosed event has the reader a bit shaken, but Amado takes care of her.

Rating: Mature content and hints at a traumatic event 

Gif credit: @nomoregoldfish

You didn’t want to talk about it.

You pretend to be okay. Most people buy it, but not Amado.

He knows you’re lying and insists you stay with him; you do.

“Stay with me, I’ll keep you safe.” He said. 

Truth was you haven’t been sleeping, not since that night. You didn’t feel safe at home either. By this point you lost count of how many times you said, “I'm fine.” You were selling a lie.

Many times you found yourself thinking about how Amado sometimes knew you better than you knew yourself; this was one of those times.

For you, Amado chose to stay at one of his more remote houses, with a beautiful view of the water. It was spacious and you had plenty of room.

Due to his work hours, you had plenty of alone time too. But he made sure to rush back as soon as he could, to check on you.

One week passes at his place, the nightmares still keep you from achieving deep sleep. You were tough, tough as nails, and you knew the nature of your job. Still, you weren't prepared for what happened, and you weren't processing it well either.

Amado was unsure of how to help at first, when it came to the nightmares. Aside from standing at your doorway, he didn’t know if doing more would help or aggravate the situation.  

He was careful with you, not just because you were his best friend, but because he loved you; he just didnt confess his feelings yet.

On this night, the nightmares were particularly grim and you woke in a cold sweat; finding Amado at the door. The softest look in the world on his face,

“Did I disturb you?”

“No, I was awake already.” You sit up, back against the bed frame.

“Can I get you anything?”

You were good at a lot of things; being vulnerable and asking for what you really wanted wasn’t one of them.

But you don’t have to tell Amado this, he knew what you needed intuitively.

Stepping into the room, Amado sits beside you. His arm gently wrapping around you as he pulls you close; you melt into him letting your eyes close.

“I’ll be right here, beside you.” 

“Thank you, Amado.” You look up at him, eyes moist.

Amado cups the side of your face with his free hand, thumb caressing your cheek.

You lean in, planting a soft kiss on his cheek before laying back down in the bed; Amado joins you, you rest your head on his chest.

As Amado caresses your hair, the soothing motion mixed with the smell of him drifts you off to sleep. For the first time in a long time, you sleep peacefully.

For the first time in weeks, you feel safe.

More Amado

#amado carrillo #amado carrillo fuentes #amado x you #amado x reader #narcos mexico #narcos masterlist #by artemiseamoon #oneshot #narcos oneshot #amado oneshot #masterlist

[southotheborder]

SIEMBRA

A Sequel to Narcos

Chapter 4: Libel

Title: Libel

Rating: 18+ (M)ature

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of death, violence, alcohol

Word Count: 2474

Pairing: Javier x Female OC

Masterlist || Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: Things are finally starting to tie together. It is all in the details. Spanish translations are at the bottom.

If you were a journalist in Mexico during the nineties, your life was on the front line. A prominent newspaper of the decade read: “The bullets that killed [the journalist]…were not directed at one man but at freedom of expression.”

“Tell me more about tu morrita,” Cesar was half drunk in the corner of Cantina Los Gallos. “She looks like…like…oh, that’s it… Dolores Del Río,” he whistled as he looked at the small photo in Eduardo’s wallet.

Anibal, the young bartender dropped the check on the table. “A lighter too, please.” Eduardo held a five-dollar bill between his fingers.  

“You think he’ll learn that he should stick to beer?” He asked as he took the cash.

Anibal was a nice kid. He could’ve gone to college, studied mechanical engineering, and gotten outta that small Texas town, but he felt bad about leaving his parents.

They brought him and his sister to the United States a decade ago when he was seven years old.

The money they made running the cantina was sent back to his family in Ohinaga.

Things had taken a turn for the worst after the death of Pablo Acosta Villareal, the narco notorious for his love affair with the Texan Mimi Webb Miller.

Former DFS Police Commander Rafael Aguilar Guajardo took his place, but when the Juarez drug lord, Amado Carrillo Fuentes killed him, and took over the territory, things got bloodier.

Eduardo listened to Anibal’s story intently one night after the boy’s shift was over. He took notes and promised to keep the report confidential as he gathered information on Carrillo Fuentes and the Mexican officials who cooperated with him.

“I’m worried about him, we played together as kids…and now, there’s rumors that he’s joined a gang working for the Juarez cartel.”

“Doing what? Do you know?”

“I’m not sure. Abuela says that he’s bringing in steady money each week. But how’s that possible in Ohinaga? He… he’s trying to convince me to go back…sayin’ that the money is better…”

“You think you can find out more?”

“I can try…” For Anibal, sharing what he had meant that one day, he too, might be able to return to a country that wasn’t run by drug lords.

“I’m counting on you to not serve him any more shots next time we stop by,” Eduardo patted him on the arm before saying goodbye.

He still couldn’t believe this was the man Mauricio entrusted him to. Cesar was a decent journalist, he was objective, and had thick skin, but the balding man couldn’t drink a quarter of a bottle of tequila without making a fool of himself.

Eduardo didn’t like him when they first met. The drive along the country road in that old white Bronco to Agua Dulce, Texas wasn’t the most pleasant. After a month of sharing an apartment, he couldn’t bear the sight of him. Not that he expected luxury accommodations in his current circumstances… but he was growing anxious to know what was next. When could he return to Mexico? When would all the typed articles he had laying on top of his flimsy desk be published under his pseudonym? Mauricio hadn’t said much on the phone, just to bite his tongue and keep a low profile.  

“You don’t think any of this is going to raise suspicion? By now, mi abuelo probably has everyone on high alert,” Eduardo paced around the dingy bedroom as he spoke into the wireless phone.

“You don’t think I took care of that? He thinks you’re in Oaxaca…doing what you do, traveling, researching.” Mauricio answered matter-of-factly.

“So everyone just thinks I’ve decided to send them a la chingada at the last moment to take a little retreat in the south of the country?”

“What would you rather have me say, Eduardo? That as a result of your latest publication on the secret cooperation between los gringos, los federales, y los narcos, I had to put my life and my family’s life on the line to smuggle you up north?”

“I was doing mi pinche trabajo! Or do you not remember that it was you who asked me to write for this newspaper!”

Mauricio closed the door of his office and squeezed the phone. “Callate, Eduardo! For one second, just callate! They want to suspend the newspaper; they’re calling us out for libel. Por Dios, I’m doing the best I can to keep everyone here afloat, but…,” he took a second to breathe. “Listen, you wanna come back here so bad? Document everything you’ve investigated so far on los federales. Don’t worry about expenses. I’ll make sure you’re paid weekly in cash. Everything you write, you write under the pseudonym. See what else you can get on these cabrones and their connections up north. If they’re gonna fuck us with a libel lawsuit, we might as well fuck them right back with more evidence.”

Eduardo laid Cesar on the couch and walked over to his bedroom. He rolled up his white sleeves and stationed himself at the typewriter, organizing his thoughts.

1977: Operación Condor fails

1980: Miguel Angel Felix Gallardo operates from Hotel Las Americas with the protection of the DFS

1984: Journalist Manuel Buendia Tellezgiron is assassinated by the DFS for reporting government and law enforcement corruption, drug trafficking, and covert CIA operations in Mexico; going as far as publishing the names of the American officials involved. His murder is not investigated for another five years, and several pieces of evidence are obstructed. A prominent newspaper reads: “The bullets that killed Manuel Buendia…were not directed at one man but at freedom of expression.”

1985: DEA Agent Enrique Camarena is killed and the DFS is dissolved by the Secretary of the Interior Manuel Bartlett Diaz under the Presidency of Miguel de la Madrid.

1989: Miguel Angel Felix Gallardo is arrested; Members of the DFS arrested for the murder of Buendia Tellezgiron, thereby closing any further investigations on the perpetrators behind ordering his assassination.

1996: The Mexican President Ernesto Zedillo with the enthusiastic support of Washington DC appoints Jesus Guitierrez Rebollo as the head of Instituto Nacional para el Combate de Drogas holding the title of the country's top-ranking drug interdiction officer. They call him the Anti-drug Czar. His position gives him access to intelligence – local and national - provided by the Mexican authorities and the United States. With a trove of wiretaps, operations files, and informant names, Gutierrez Rebolla provides confidential information to the notorious drug-trafficker known as El Señor de los Cielos, Amado Carrillo Fuentes. The General’s cooperation with the Juarez Cartel sends a clear message to the citizens of this country and the world that there is no rule of law in this narco-terrorist state.

He inserted a new sheet of paper into the typewriter.

Do you think of me as often as I think of you? If only somehow the words I type would reach you across the border, and whisper everything into your ears. Every morning, when I look out of my window, I see the same old classic mustang that you like, parked across the street. Then it reminds me of the summer we drove from Guadalajara to Puerto Vallarta. We snuck out a bottle from your parents’ cellar and set out on the road. For two weeks, we did nothing but smoke, read, and dance…and it was glorious. For two weeks we looked at the Pacific Ocean and even joked about hopping on a ship and sailing to Asia. If I knew it would be our last summer together, I would have never stopped driving. I hope you know how much I miss you, how much I love you, how much I want you every morning and every night. Mi flor querida, I truly hope you think of me as often as I think of you…

Everyone has different ways of mourning- whether it is the loss of a loved one or the loss of one's own purpose. Eduardo coped by writing…writing things that would never make it to the hands of his intended reader. He couldn’t fathom how Cesar lived in that dingy apartment, away from his wife and kids, constantly talking to himself simply because he had no one else to talk to. And what was worst about it all was that, at one point, Eduardo truly did have it all – a loving family, a beautiful girlfriend, respectable colleagues, a trove of memories to share over long dinners. But now, what did he have? A keg of explosive information that could derail the government, a publication that jeopardized his life and those he loved. Even if he gathered more evidence against Gutierrez Rebollo, he wasn’t even sure if it would change anything.

•••

“If you can’t source it, you can’t use it,” Javier leaned against the bookshelf in his office.

“What if it’s a classified source?” Thomas cut him off. “I did include a citation as ‘personal communication.’”

Javier suddenly thought of his former informants and looked Thomas over with brief suspicion. Where the hell is this kid getting any classified information?

“Look, you want me to give you a letter of recommendation for law school? You’re doing just fine in the class. More than fine, honestly. What’s with the classified source? I’m not CIA,” he joked.

“I just… I don’t think the topic is getting the attention it deserves…and the more I research, the more it seems like no one wants to talk about it. It’s not a coincidence that after the establishment of NAFTA, there’s a shortage of Mexican labor, prompting those that didn’t cross the border to join the cartels in massive waves. A new 'Anti-drug Czar' is appointed to mitigate the issue, but the numbers only get higher?”

“Let me ask you… why NAFTA? Why Mexico? A smart kid like you…why not pursue constitutional law?” He put his hand on his hip.

Thomas shrugged. “It’s just…an area of study I’m interested in pursuing.”

Javier squinted.

“My girlfriend…she’s Mexican. You might’ve seen her outside your classroom before. She’s a nursing major…,” He blushed. “She means a lot to me and I’m making the effort to understand what her family has been through.”

Ok, so he’s not sleeping with an informant to get this information.

“Seems like a lot of work just to understand. Anything else you’re not telling me?”

“We live two hours from the border. I’d think all of us here should care about what’s happening a few miles south…You’re teaching a class on terrorist networks. We’re in the center of a massive one.”

“So you’re seeking out classified information and submitting extra work for this class? I’m sorry if I’m not clear on what’s going on?”

“I mean, you’re not just any professor, you were the DEA agent that took down Escobar and Cali. You lived in Colombia for almost a decade. Yea, you didn’t write books like the other professors here, but you did something that matters. Theres…I’m sorry for being so frank, but there’s still a lot of work to do and it would mean a lot to me if you looked at my research and told me if what I’m working on is solid.”

It took a moment to process those words. He looked at the kid standing in front of him and nodded. “Yea, I’ll read it.”

"It means a lot," he gave him a curt smile before turning around.

“Thomas…,” Javier called out. “Bring me all you’ve got.”

It’d be a lie to say he wasn’t keeping up with the events in Mexico. The last time he was there was in ’85 during Operacion Leyenda on a task-force searching for Agent Camarena. The experience made him briefly reconsider whether he made the right choice to join the DEA. Would he end up tortured and mutilated like that? Kiki was also a Mexican American…and he was betrayed by both sides.

The problem with the DEA strategy in Mexico is that it was only chopping off the head of the leaders, and not the entire operating body. It was a fucking joke. In Colombia, Pablo Escobar was untouchable until all the men that defended him were taken down. Miguel Angel Felix Gallardo’s arrest made everything worse. The bastard had to be put in jail for his crimes, but so did the entire conglomeration of plazas, and every bastard that worked for them.

Thomas was right. There was still a lot of work to do, but the drug war had already blown up in their faces, and he didn’t think they could even do anything about it anymore.

Javier had an instinct to reach for his gun as he unlocked his apartment door. Except…he didn’t carry a gun anymore. So he quietly made his way to the kitchen counter and grabbed a knife. There was radio static coming from corner.

“Hi baby,” Jenny popped out from hallway.

“For fuck’s sake…,” Javier exhaled.

“Christ Javi, If I’d known that’s how you’d react to my visit, I wouldn’t have driven over in this storm.”

He wasn’t a fan of surprises. Not one bit. His brain still hadn’t gotten used to civilian life. No one in Kingsville, Texas was out to kidnap him. Sure, he gave her the key to his apartment, but if he was being honest, he did it as a courtesy, not as an invitation.

“Don’t you have…work?” He set the knife back in the drawer and looked for the pack of cigarettes that she had hidden.

“I got done at noon today,” she reached in for a kiss. “Look what I got.”

He removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt as he watched her pull out a long blue bottle from her overnight bag.

“It was a gift from the project managers.”

Javier playfully wrapped his arms around her. “A gift? What’s the occasion?”

“The engineers got approval for the construction of a new warehouse that’s going to be used as a distribution center.”

“Distribution of what?” He looked at the art on the bottle. It was an intricate pattern of agave plants with red dahlias sprouting throughout. At an angle under the light, the glass displayed a combination of aquamarine hues.  

“You’re holding it.”

“Tequila?”

“Tequila and mezcal.”

“I’ve never heard of this one before. Looks expensive.”

She grabbed two shot glasses. “That is because you don’t drink anything but whiskey. And it is expensive, very expensive.”

He opened the bottle carefully, pulling out the agave-shaped cap, and sniffed the hints of smoke and pepper.

She sat on his lap as they took the shot together and chased it with lime and salt.

He savored it a bit longer than she did. “Not bad actually.”

“It’s the smoothest I’ve ever tried.”

Javier grabbed the bottle from Jenny as he balanced her on his lap. The name on the bottle was nestled between the red dahlias. The glass engraving read:

Garza Azúl ~ Colección Xóchitl ~ 100% Agave

| Hecho en Mexico |                                                                                                   

Next chapter

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

Translations:

Tu morrita – Mexican slang for your girlie

A la chingada – Mexican slang for to hell

Mi pinche trabajo – my damn job

Cállate! – shut up!

Por Dios – for god sake

Instituto Nacional para el Combate de Drogas – National Institute for the Combat against Drugs

Añejo- aged

Hecho en Mexico – Made in Mexico

Mi flor querida - my dear flower

DFS - Dirección Federal de Seguridad (the Federal Security Directorate)

El Señor de los Cielos - the Lord of the Skies

#javier peña fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #javier peña #narcos #a narcos sequel #javier x f #new chapter #pedro pascal #amado carrillo fuentes #narcos mexico #diego luna #miguel angel felix gallardo #tequila

[cregan-starks]

Colibri | Beholden

Summary: A stranger offers Walt a light.

Words: 5,459

Pairing: Walt Breslin x OC (not really)

Warnings: politics, Ronald Reagan, Christianity, mentions of death, mentions of torture, mentions of blood, mentions of drug trafficking, mentions of guns, mentions of communism, implied nudity, one innuendo, sexism, alcohol, smoking, cussing. Under no circumstances can you copy, plagiarize, steal my work, or post it somewhere else!

Notes: This chapter totally didn’t take ages ‘cause I had to figure out Magnussen’s apartment on my own. If you wish to be added to or removed from my taglist, my DMs and ask box are open.

Credits: Huge thank you to my beta @maharani-radha-writes​ 💛 and to my darling @cleastrnge​ for the Mexican Spanish translations 💜

Previous | Ao3 | Masterlist | Next

MARCH 4, 1986

GUADALAJARA, MEXICO

          The trip to Belize had been an unforeseen but welcome win, with Calderoni’s intel on Amado Carrillo Fuentes actually turning out to be useful. Federation’s building its own air fleet. Carrillo Fuentes had bought six Boeing 747s at the auction, and Ossie had successfully planted transponders on all of them. Walt hoped that this would give them a new lead to pursue. Progress had been slow in the past few months, so he expected Heath to be satisfied with the latest achievement. He hadn’t taken it well when Walt had shown him the list of the expensive equipment that their Belize mission would require. The positive aspects pretty much ended there. Calderoni would inevitably come to demand updates and, although Walt didn’t entirely trust the commander, he had to admit that he hadn’t steered them wrong, yet. Besides, Calderoni was the most valuable informant that they had. He wasn’t exactly disposable.

          Oh, and on top of that, Heath had notified him that another agent would replace Kenny, which Walt considered suspicious. What the fuck’s that about? He had selected his colleagues himself, but, for some reason, the DEA wouldn’t allow him anywhere near this guy. Walt despised being kept in the dark. He had been assigned to head the operation, and he firmly believed that Leyenda didn’t need an additional team member. Worst case scenario? They would send a rich asshole’s Ivy League prick of a son.

          Walt lightly kicked Danilo’s bag with his foot, to move it away, releasing a yawn that he shamelessly didn’t hide. He felt exhausted – having not rested the previous night – and despite his efforts, Walt couldn’t rub the sleep out of his eyes. He put his aviators on his nose, further sinking into his seat before lifting his wrist to check his watch. His partners had abandoned him roughly fifteen minutes ago; Ossie had gone to the bathroom, and Danilo had left to grab food. Based on their prolonged absence, they were both stuck waiting in endless queues. The Guadalajara airport seemed particularly crowded today; people stood in line at counters to purchase tickets, boarded their planes, dozed off in their chairs, and the security personnel supervised everyone like teachers at a playground. If the smell of cheap coffee weren’t overwhelming enough, the place was loud, too – from the chatter of the staff and tourists to the sound of squeaky wheels sliding across the tiles. Occasionally, a woman announced in Spanish the departures and delays on the speakers.

          A couple of rows in front of him, a kid insistently tugged on her grandfather’s sleeve, to get his attention. The elderly man continued to read his newspaper, unfazed, causing the girl to cross her arms over her chest and pout. Walt smiled fondly at the sight. Looks like we’ll both be here a while. With napping off the table, the last resort appeared to be indulging in his favorite vice, so he started to fish in the pocket of his jeans for a cigarette.

          When he attempted to light it, however, Walt failed spectacularly. Second time, third, fourth, fifth, same result, testing his thinning patience. That kinda day, huh? He eventually gave up on the endeavor with a heavy sigh, running his hand through his curls, in frustration. Maybe he should call Sal and ask him where the fuck he was, since he was supposed to pick them up.

          ‘Need a light?’, quipped a smooth, feminine voice, next to him.

          Fuck. Walt turned towards the intruder, slightly startled. He hadn’t even noticed the woman’s presence until then. Shit. I’m getting old. Or she sneaked up on cops for a living. She held out a lighter, expectantly, and her own already lit cigarette in the other hand.

          ‘Uh, thanks,’ muttered Walt, accepting the offering, hesitantly.

          ‘You are welcome,’ she chirped, in a thick European accent.

          A passenger plane landed on the tarmac, outside the immense windows, temporarily distracting Walt, but a custodian dutifully mopping the floor blocked his view. Great. He took a drag from his cigarette, pushing his aviators back on his head, to study his companion more meticulously. Her young features attested that she couldn’t have been older than thirty. The sunlight reflected in her eyes – remarkably green – yet Walt found them unsettling. Her dark hair fell in waves, framing her oval face, ending above her shoulders, and her bangs revealed her full, arched eyebrows. She tittered, averting her gaze, shyly, fiddling with the key ring attached to the luggage trapped between her knees. Walt glanced at the dark red lipstick stains on her cigarette.

          ‘You are staring,’ she commented, practically murmuring, leaning a bit closer.

          Walt remained silent, unsure what to add. What can I say? Guilty as charged. To his knowledge, staring hadn’t been criminalized… and, honestly, she wasn’t unpleasant to look at. He unclenched his fist to examine her golden lighter. Colibri. How fancy. Because “smoking” and “pretentious” were mutually exclusive.

          ‘You’re not from here,’ guessed Walt, casually; he could tell from the everything about her, mostly her peculiar accent that he couldn’t pinpoint on the global map – not that he encountered many Europeans.

          ‘Neither are you,’ she teased, flirtatiously, wide lips flashing him a charming grin, ‘So, where are you from?’

          The fuck’s it to you? His disorientated radar didn’t help much. Walt blew the smoke away from her direction as the corners of his mouth tilted upwards. A harmless piece of information, undoubtedly. What if she were a stranger, simply making small talk? Walt ought to loosen up. Not everybody was a narco with ulterior motives.

          ‘Houston,’ he provided, truthfully, stroking his mustache, ‘You?’

          ‘Napoli,’ she acknowledged, then paused in contemplation before curiously inquiring, ‘What brings you to Guadalajara?’

          State secrets, so, mind your business, sweetheart. A Texan in Mexico wasn’t uncommon, but a young Italian woman on her own? Definitely a rarity. Worse, she didn’t strike him as Italian.

          ‘I’m on vacation with my buddies,’ lied Walt, automatically.

          Surely, tracking down Carrillo Fuentes to Belize counted as a vacation. Working for the DEA permitted agents to travel more than the average bureaucrat. Dream job, if one overlooked the shootings, illicit drugs, and shitty salary.

          ‘Well,’ she began, kindly, ‘I hope you enjoy your stay. It is a beautiful city.’

          And an oasis for drug traffickers, but they don’t include that in brochures and leaflets. Judging by her phrasing, it wasn’t her first time in Guadalajara.

          ‘What about you?’, prodded Walt, nodding once, ‘Why are you in Guadalajara?’

          Her answer might’ve been the only highlight of his day – or of the next weeks. This better be good.

          ‘I am doing my PhD,’ she declared, smugly, crossing her arms over her chest, careful of her cigarette.

          Bullshit. Who picks Guadalajara for their PhD? Anyhow, every student had an inner peacock, and Walt might have just discovered how to ruffle this one’s feathers.

          ‘PhD, huh?’, repeated Walt, impressed, ‘What’s your field?’

          Dibs on Arts. If her eccentricity weren’t a testament to it…

          ‘Diplomacy,’ she replied, her half smirk anything but subtle.

          PhD in Diplomacy. What the fuck does that even mean? Walt recalled having a conversation with Heath about the consequences of Leyenda’s actions, following Machaín’s abduction. Heath had warned him about diplomatic repercussions, among others. It’s a good thing we’re not diplomats, Walt had sassed. Miss Napoli here could fit the bill, though.

          ‘That’s rough,’ he snorted, downright patronizingly.

          Walt grew increasingly wary of her, yet he couldn’t identify the major flaw. The polite stranger narrative checked out… until it didn’t. Two gabachos at the airport, and she somehow managed to find him. Strength in numbers, right? Unfortunately, Walt didn’t believe in coincidences.

          ‘I do not mind,’ she admitted, shrugging, ‘I quite like it.’

          ‘Yeah, I bet you do,’ huffed Walt, tone unintentionally implicit.

          They peered at each other, both amused by the innuendo, her eyes flickering with mischief. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, biting her bottom lip. Walt fought the urge to smile. So, she has a sense of humor.

          ‘You haven’t told me your name,’ reminded Walt, spreading his legs to sit comfortably.

          ‘Sofia,’ she disclosed, extending her hand for him to take, ‘What about you?’

          Fair enough. Pretty name for a pretty girl.

          ‘John,’ he introduced himself, dryly, shaking her hand and simultaneously inspecting it.

          She had long, slender fingers, several decorated with rings. Walt noticed the tattoo on her inner wrist; a cat sitting on a crescent moon. Interesting choice. Too bad that the DEA’s policy strictly prohibited him from showing his own tattoos.

          ‘I like your sunglasses, John,’ complimented Sofia, chuckling.

          Was she hitting on him? At this point, Walt couldn’t tell, and he didn’t have time to find out, either. Try again in ten years, sweetheart. After I’ll retire, and you’ll… have a doctorate in Diplomacy or whatever the fuck.

          ‘I like your T-shirt,’ he asserted, referring to Electric Light Orchestra’s colorful spaceship, ‘What’s your favorite album?’

          Walt couldn’t decide what stunned him more: her toned biceps – unusual for a PhD student – or her firm, confident grip – unlike her demeanor. Bit by bit, her alibi fell apart. Or she was an odd character. Convenient excuse.

          ‘Out of the Blue, obviously,’ she claimed, playfully, ‘Mr. Blue Sky is a masterpiece.’

          ‘I prefer Secret Messages,’ grumbled Walt, flicking his cigarette in a nearby trash can.

          Their discussion ended abruptly when a middle-aged man burst into an angry rant in Spanish, at Customs. He seemed to be having problems with his passport. Walt shifted his attention to the screens that displayed flight numbers and cities, despite the blending of colors making him feel dizzy. He craved to lie down and close his eyes, just for one minute. Meanwhile, Sofia used the opportunity to take her leave. She was shorter than Walt anticipated, though the size of her hand compared to his should’ve been a sign.

          ‘Someone is in trouble,’ she observed, nonchalantly, putting out her cigarette with the heel of her shoe, ‘Well, it was nice to meet you, John.’

          ‘Thanks for the lighter,’ said Walt, intending to return the item, after its owner had finished gathering her bags.

          ‘Keep it, cowboy,’ encouraged Sofia, sending him a wicked wink.

          Walt’s breath hitched involuntarily, his response having died on his tongue, promptly followed by panic. He spotted Ossie in the crowd of people, heading their way, his facial expression indicating confusion. Fuck. Seriously? Now? Walt was prepared to jump out of his seat and do damage control, but Ossie and Sofia walked past one another, blissfully unaware – until the former caught the latter turning her head and smiling warmly at Walt. Shit.

          ‘Who was that?’, laughed Ossie, heartily, elbowing him in the side.

          Walt groaned in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose. Fucking hell.

          Confirmed: taxi drivers are talkative in every country. And a little too friendly for Magnussen’s taste. Carlos – who joked that driving is his job and his name is Carlos – had been delighted that his client spoke fluent Spanish and had bombarded her with questions – “¿De dónde eres?”, “¿Es tu primera vez en México?”, “¿Has estado en Guadalajara antes?”, “¿Qué te trae a Guadalajara?” (Where are you from? Is this your first time in Mexico? First time visiting Guadalajara? What brings you here?). Magnussen had politely answered all of them, avoiding the details. After the initial stop – an exchange, of course – Carlos had briefly rambled about the weather before allowing the faint music on the radio to replace him.

          While the taxi drove in comfortable silence, Magnussen absentmindedly stared out of the window. Guadalajara hadn’t changed much since she had last been here. It had an eerie, almost haunting feeling to it, because of the horrors that had happened, yet people had moved on with their lives. Strange, how the world stopped for some, but carried on for most. Coming back reminded Magnussen of the lack of safety that the city brought with it. Except, this time, she wouldn’t attend classes and write papers. Instead, she would become a target for narcos who wanted nothing more than to put a bullet between her eyes.

          Nevertheless, Guadalajara and its rich history continued to fascinate Magnussen. Although its reputation had been tainted by criminal activities, things hadn’t always been like this. The name originated from Arabic, meaning “fortress valley.” Home to the mariachi, tequila, and birria, Guadalajara was “founded” on February 14th, 1542, by the Basque conquistador Cristóbal de Oñata, as the capital of the kingdom of Nueva Galicia, part of the Viceroyalty of New Spain. Allegedly, only 126 people lived there. Several epidemics had dramatically reduced the indigenous population, but by the 19th century, Guadalajara had taken its place as Mexico’s second largest city. In 1810 – the year that marked the beginning of the Mexican War of Independence – priest Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla established the first revolutionary government here. In 1823, it became the capital of Jalisco. The Three-Hour Revolution overthrew President Santa Anna in Guadalajara, and in 1856, at the time of the Reform War, President Benito Juárez made the city the seat of his government. Although Guadalajara had flourished during the Porfiriato, Jalisco saw multiple regional wars following the 1910 Mexican Revolution. The city’s landmarks included Hospicio Cabañas, Templo Expiatorio, the Sanctuary of Guadalupe, and the Metropolitan Cathedral, and it had served as the cradle and dwelling of important figures such as José Clemente Orozco and Luis Barragán.

          When they arrived at the address that Bowen had provided – Av. Ignacio L. Vallarta, nearly three blocks away from the U.S. Consulate – Carlos miraculously found an empty spot in the parking lot, behind the building. On the outside, the construction looked ordinary: a regular, concrete four-store, recently painted. Ironic. Last year, Mexico City had been hit by an 8.1 earthquake; thousands still didn’t have food, water, shelter. Add to that the national economic crisis and you got yourself incompetent leadership. Or worse, ignorant. In Guadalajara, however, the local government was busy repainting shit. The PRI has its priorities sorted.

          Magnussen declined Carlos’ offer to help with her bags, making sure to tip him generously before biding him goodbye. It was a surprisingly cloudy day for Guadalajara, yet pleasantly warm. The gathering of the clouds. She had lived there for two years. Why would the city represent a source of unease? Maybe because the rules had shifted, and so had the territory. Magnussen needed to adapt and accept that she would be obliged to do things she disliked or hadn’t previously done. Her hands would only get dirtier. Bloodier.

          Kiki is worth it, she tried to reason.

          According to Audrey, the neighborhood was quiet, fairly isolated, and far enough from the main road. Good. Magnussen felt safer surrounded by tall buildings. Once indoors, she made the unfortunate discovery that the complex lacked an elevator. You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. Since her apartment was on the fourth floor, she ended up practically dragging her luggage up the stairs, on her own. The natural light barely illuminated the place, so she had to be extra careful.

          Magnussen’s arms had already begun to object by the time she reached her apartment door. Number 9. She scanned her surroundings, sighing deeply, recalling Bowen’s instructions. Your keys will be in the Aloe’s pot. Luckily, the mission didn’t require any gardening tools; they were hidden among the plant’s fleshy leaves. She inserted the item in the lock, twisted, and entered cautiously, searching for the light switch.

          The grand reveal… Not bad. The hallway was spacious enough to fit a wardrobe. Magnussen closed and locked the door after hauling her bags inside. She stepped out of her shoes, relieved to be rid of the heels, then regarded herself in the mirror on the wall. While she fixed her bangs, Magnussen realized that she saw what she had always seen. A woman, uncertain about her choices and her actions. A tired, fractured soul. A lucky impostor who refused to die. A survivor with slightly uneven eyeliner wings.

          The white oak hardwood flooring creaked softly under her feet as she explored her new home for the upcoming months, possibly years. An idea she had better become adjusted to. I never had a home, she corrected. But that’s not why I’m here.

          In the living room, two steel blue recliners flanked a large, polyester sofa of the same color. The TV – situated opposite the sofa – sat atop a wooden dresser. A rectangular X-base coffee table rested on a burgundy nylon carpet. Further to the right of the TV stood an umber, laminate bookcase. Instinctively, Magnussen pulled the burgundy drapes over the window beside it. One of the tricks she had picked up courtesy of Kiki. The cartel had frequently run surveillance on DEA agents. Lip readers and tailing vehicles may had been their preferred methods, but they hadn’t shied away from violent measures to remind the gringos who was in charge. Magnussen vividly remembered the incident when the DFS had shot at Agent Knapp’s car. He and his family – including his young kids – had been in their house, oblivious, about to have breakfast. Following the attack, Knapp was transferred back to the States. Standard procedure, embassy’s call, that kind of fuckfest. Others hadn’t been so fortunate. Kiki’s neighbor had wound up shot in a restaurant, in broad daylight.

          Kiki’s death had changed things. Supposedly. Magnussen wasn’t familiar with the Federation’s operations nowadays. The bloodthirsty sharks were undoubtedly still in the water. You just couldn’t see their fins anymore.

          The bedroom – down the second hallway, to the left – contained a California King bed, with coal grey sateen duvet covers, cool to the touch. The white bedside three-drawer chests each had a lamp on them, and the grey drapes behind them matched the light grey wool carpet. Magnussen curled her toes through it, relishing in its texture. The writing desk and chair had been positioned next to the sliding door wardrobe, where she found a vacuum, a broom, a dustpan, a clothing basket, and an ironing board. Mandatory polishing. A few cacti and a stereo, for starters. A lover or two, eventually.

          White ceramic tiles decorated the kitchen, contrasting the mythic blue cabinets, which stored pots, pans, jars, plates, bowls, food containers, cups, and glasses. At first glance, the place seemed to have everything; top-freezer refrigerator, four-burner gas stove, island, stools, sink, microwave, cutting boards, blender, toaster, garbage can, cupboards containing cutlery and can openers. The one essential component missing was food. Magnussen wasn’t opposed to going shopping for necessities, but she was too lazy to cook today. She figured that ordering some birria from Birriería Aceves would suffice.

          Her full bladder led her to the final destination: the bathroom, covered in grey tile. Magnussen removed the rings on her fingers and set them on the edge of the sink before washing her hands with cold water, too impatient to wait for the hot one. If it weren’t for the infernal queues, she could’ve solved this problem at the airport. And lose the chance to talk to Breslin? Never.

          While she urinated, she busied herself with studying the rest of the room. The majority of the objects that she expected was there; toilet, sink, mirror, front-loading washing machine, small window, mat, hair dryer, towel bar, bucket, mop, cleaning supplies. Admittedly, the custom shower and the built-in tub astonished her. They’re really spoiling me… Shower curtains are ugly, though. She flushed the toilet, washed, and dried off her hands, then slipped her rings back on.

          Okay, time to unpack.

          Magnussen began by laying out her footwear in the entrance hallway – shoes, sneakers, boots, sandals, flats, high heels, Oxfords, moccasins, slippers. The pairs that didn’t have any space left went inside the wardrobe, along with the umbrella, headwear, bandanas, sunglasses, ties, gloves, scarves, shawls, shoulder holster, hoodies, sweaters, coats, jackets, blazers, cardigans, and vests. The bathroom had the honor of hosting her perfume, deodorant, shampoo, body wash, hairbrush, toothbrush, toothpaste, and makeup. She hastily arranged the books she had brought in alphabetical order, according to the author’s surname, on the bookcases’ shelves.

          When she organized the living room dresser, Magnussen realized that she had yet to decide what to wear to her reunion with Heath tomorrow. Bowen had repeatedly warned her about that. Heath had been appointed to oversee Leyenda, so Magnussen would inevitably bump into him. She had met with Audrey on so many occasions that she had memorized every damn wrinkle on her face, as well as her physical and verbal ticks. By week three, the paperwork had become torturous. Magnussen must’ve been signing shit in her sleep. They had even subjected her to multiple drug tests. Most nights, she craved to crawl into bed and nestle against Maia, who had been ridiculously patient and supportive throughout the mess. They had discussed the situation thoroughly, and after Maia had expressed her reservations, she offered a precious piece of advice.

          ‘Look, I’m not questioning your intentions,’ clarified Maia, gazing down at Magnussen, whose head rested in her lap, ‘I understand why you want to do it… You know these people better than I do. What they’re capable of.’ She caressed her hair, cautioning, ‘Don’t let them sink their teeth into you. Turn this on you. It’s a big change. Stakes are high.’

          Maia had been right. Switching from researching and profiling criminal behavior to working with the DEA was a significant leap. Magnussen had had enough time to think over the issue, and she had made her decision – albeit not easily. She wouldn’t allow anyone to intimidate her into budging. She placed the socks, bras, panties, and lingerie in the dresser’s first drawer, the bedsheets and pillowcases in the second drawer, and the belts and suspenders joined the swimsuits and bikinis in the last one.

          Moving on to the bedroom, Magnussen deposited her book, Chapstick, phone, and contraception pills on the nightstand and hid her ID and passport in one of its cupboards. She had lost her train of thought somewhere among the clothes and semi-existential crises regarding the U.S.’ procedures for selecting people for the bureaucratic apparatus. Don’t be so hard on them. They have the electoral college.

          Alas, I digress.

          Edward fucking Heath. He had graduated with a degree in Being a Misogynistic Asshole and had perfected the art of it. Benefit of the doubt privilege suspended indefinitely. Knock-off Ronald McDonald had been constantly useless to the agents in Guadalajara – rejecting or ignoring their intel �� but he had truly outdone himself when Kiki had gone missing, refusing to act until forced to do so – mainly by Mika, who had embarrassed him in the presence of both Administrator Lawn and Ambassador Gavin. Magnussen wasn’t particularly elated about seeing Heath again, though a small part of her hoped that she didn’t have to deal with him that much. Shouldn’t it be Breslin’s duty to report back to Heath? As far as she was concerned, she only had to pick up her gun, car, phone, and DEA badge from him. Their obligatory interactions ceased there, and Magnussen had no intentions whatsoever of applying for any optional ones.

          The wardrobe turned out to be the most challenging, and it quickly became obvious that she would require more hangers. Magnussen divided the rest of her belongings into six categories, as if they were sectors of the economy, arranging them into two sections.

          trousers, leggings, shorts, jeans – shelves

          gowns, dresses, skirts – hangers

          tuxedos, suits, jumpsuits, overalls, rompers – hangers

          robes, bathrobes, pyjamas – shelves

          blouses, tops, shirts, T-shirts, turtlenecks, V necks – shelves

          accessories – cupboard

          Magnussen’s eyes lingered on a silver bracelet – a treasured gift from the Camarenas, when she had completed her dissertation. They had even invited her out to celebrate – a fond memory, the closest one that she associated with “family.” Magnussen had eventually summoned the courage to reach out to Mika and shamefully confess that she had agreed to join an operation meant to bring justice to Kiki. No matter how she phrased things, it sounded wrong, but the reality was that Mexico City didn’t plan to finish the job. They had swept what they could under the rug, wishing that no one would bat an eyelid – or that everyone would forget.

          Mika had been encouraging and polite upon hearing the news, yet Magnussen struggled to assess whether she had been genuine or not. She must be thinking, “They recruited a child for a professional’s task.” Magnussen couldn’t blame her. A year had passed since Kiki’s demise, and Mika hadn’t been granted a sense of privacy, to mourn and move on. This would haunt her and their sons forever. Magnussen couldn’t comprehend what that felt like. She wouldn’t want to live long following her partner’s death. To her, it resembled a version of hell. She had once been told that those who died shortly after one another had been soulmates. For a moment, it was nice to believe. To be naïve.

          Nevertheless, Mika had thanked Magnussen for getting involved. “Kiki would be proud,” Bowen had said. I assume that he would rather be alive. I’m not doing this to make anyone proud. Kiki was gone, and what had happened to him had been a tragedy, so cruel and vicious that it was difficult to wrap your head around it. Leyenda had slowly but surely advanced towards achieving its goal. If Magnussen could contribute at all, she would try. At least it’s better than Reagan’s shitty phone call to Mika. Magnussen’s best guess? It was somehow supposed to comfort Camarena’s widow and offer reassurances, which was bizarre, because “comfort” and “reassurances” weren’t concepts that Magnussen would affiliate with Reagan. He probably gave a delirious Hollywoodian speech about patriotism, remembered that communists existed and got a raging erection, then had a stroke when he entertained the idea of sane healthcare policies.

          Before stepping out to run her errands, Magnussen replaced her ELO T-shirt with a peach blouse, pulled on a black maxi coat and a pair of sneakers, and grabbed her keys, wallet, and pack of cigarettes. The habitual chaos was deafening – unnecessary honking, cars and trucks driving by, tires screeching, pedestrians conversing, shouting, or laughing – an anthesis to her apartment’s quiet bubble of solace. Trees of various shapes and sizes lined the sidewalk, as well as tall streetlights and colorful traffic signs that few obeyed. The wind increased, causing her hair to whip her cheeks and the strong smell of gas to invade her nostrils. The corners of her eyes watered, in protest. Magnussen almost gagged. Urban charm.

          She decided to take a detour, so she started down the congested boulevard, tightening her coat around herself. A stray cat sneaked between the bars of a fence, into someone’s front yard. Early in the morning, Magnussen would wait for the bus in a station, not too far from here. After class, she would sometimes go to the park and read on a bench for hours. The image of kids joyfully playing might’ve been permanently soiled by the looming threat of the cartel. The youth grew up defenseless, exposed to violence, with little to no opportunities. Many viewed illicit activities as their salvation. Everybody had become absorbed by narcotics, but the equation wasn’t that simple. The War on Drugs was a hydra, stretching its tentacles and suffocating all aspects of life. The current strategy seemed inherently fucking Christian; concentrating on the sinners, disregarding the victims. It should be their new motto.

          The U.S. Consulate General looked bleak and deserted, just as the last time Magnussen had seen it; neither imposing, nor welcoming. And they didn’t get rid of the hideous beige paint. Memories flooded her mind, both bitter and sweet. She had lost count of the number of instances that she had walked in and out of that building, usually accompanied by Kiki or Jaime. While Magnussen hadn’t been authorized to join the DEA on their missions, she had participated in discussions at the office, analyzed files, and helped piece together intel. At first, their knowledge had been so deficient; how the cartel operated, who its members were, the officials it had corrupted. They still didn’t have much, yet they had gathered enough to attract the attention of the narcos and turn the U.S. Consulate into a crime scene. Magnussen wasn’t standing far from the spot where DFS agents and sicarios had abducted Camarena, in broad daylight, in February 1985. Her stomach twisted, mouth going dry. The beginning of the war. Of the nightmare. Searches, news reports, political tensions. The U.S. government had even shut down the border with Mexico and ordered every vehicle to be inspected.

          The longer a person is missing, the slimmer the chances of finding them. Kiki had been gone for a month. Doomed from the start. All of the parties involved had been aware that the cartel was behind it. Then, the bodies had been discovered, and hell had slowly and silently broken loose. Truthfully, Magnussen had been surprised when Fonseca and Quintero had been arrested. When Félix Gallardo hadn’t been, however, things had finally begun to make sense. The system had worked; sacrificing Camarena and protecting the Thin Man. Kiki hadn’t had any information about the politicians on the cartel’s payroll. Neither had Zavala, though there hadn’t been tapes of his interrogation. Magnussen rejected the theory that Camarena had been in the wrong place, at the wrong time. No, they had sought him out; threatened him, followed him. The cartel had known precisely where he would be on that day, at what hour, and what he would be wearing. The entire fiasco was a splintered mosaic, mutilated maybe beyond repair. Kiki had been obsessed with the idea of Félix Gallardo knowing his name, and, in the end, his wish had been granted – at an enormous cost. His patriotism had flown him too close to the sun.

          Now, it was Magnussen’s turn. One way or another, Félix Gallardo would learn her name.

          Magnussen’s shopping trip had resulted in a strategic disaster. She had returned with more bags than she had anticipated, having to balance them and the birria when climbing the stairs to her apartment. A success, nonetheless. It hadn’t been until Magnussen had smelled the meat grilling that she had realized how hungry she was. Luckily, the queue hadn’t been long. Magnussen had passed the time by listening to the ranchero music playing at the diner, harmoniously joined by cutlery clinking against plates, smokers coughing, stools creaking, and people slurping coffee.

          Magnussen drank the rest of her red wine and sat up to deposit her glass on the floor. Her back touched the cold edge of the bathtub – causing goosebumps to erupt all over her skin – so she sank into the hot water, taking a drag from her cigarette. In the living room, Judas Priest’s Love Bites blasted on the stereo, which she had set up after she had eaten.

          Softly you stir

          Gently you moan

          Lust’s in the air

          Wake as I groan

          In the dead of night, love bites

          The butterflies tattooed on her right ankle peeked out of the bubbles, droplets trickling over their wings. Magnussen watched the smoke rise to the ceiling, her thoughts wandering to her earlier encounter with Breslin at the airport. Accidental encounter. He had looked familiar, but things hadn’t initially clicked. Once they had, Magnussen had improvised and half lied during their unofficial introduction. Breslin had seemed a bit stiff and antisocial; probably common, given that he’s an undercover cop. Ironically, his appearance hadn’t wholly indicated that he was in law enforcement. What if the curls are meant to throw everyone off? Breslin’s photo in the Leyenda file had definitely been deceiving; his hair was dark brown, not black. Magnussen felt betrayed. His sad eyes were a distinctive shade of brown, almost hazel – especially if light reflected in them. Breslin’s voice had been the most striking; low and deep, likely because of the smoking. The other details she had deemed uninteresting. Magnussen hadn’t been able to help herself when Mejía had materialized and fucked up Breslin’s state of Zen. She had deliberately flashed him a smile, making sure that Mejía would notice the action.

          Professional relationship, off to a great start. Magnussen had never assumed that it would be smooth sailing. A European woman in her mid-20s born in a communist regime amidst conservative American cops in a propagandistic narco-war in Mexico? Peachy. Except Magnussen would fight the war on two different fronts; against the cartel and the DEA. Nothing new. She had faced much worse.

          Yet, Magnussen hadn’t come to Mexico to prove something to her future colleagues or to do the U.S. administration “proud” or to be awarded a medal. While some might ignore or forget the reason why they were there, to Magnussen the message resonated loudly and clearly.

          I’m here for Kiki.

TAGLIST: @a-dash-of-random-magic​ @agirllovespancakes​ @artthurshelby​ @buttercup--bee​ @captn-andor​ @cleastrnge​ @dameronology​ @frodo-sam​ @itssmashedavo @maevesdarling​ @maevemills @maharani-radha​ @miawallace​ @mitchi-c​ @moonlight-prose @nicolettegreen​ @operator-sero @pascalisthepunkest​ @queenofthefaceless​ @revolution-starter​ @sullho @tisbeautifulfreedom​ 

END THE WAR ON DRUGS: Equity Organization & Drug Policy Alliance

READ MORE: Guadalajara, U.S. Consulate, Police Policy on Tattoos, Birriería Aceves, Love Bites by Judas Priest

#narcos fanfic #narcos mexico #narcos mexico fanfic #walt breslin #walt breslin x oc #walt breslin/oc #walt breslin x reader #walt breslin/reader #ossie mejía #danilo garza #sal orozco #amat palacios #miguel ángel félix gallardo #amado carrillo fuentes #daryl petsky #ed heath #kiki camarena #mika camarena #scoot mcnairy #tori's beholden

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Renegada♱ Masterlist (Update)

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

(Narcos: Mexico)

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

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

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

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

All Chapters

╰┈➤[Prólogo]ᅳ 𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐫 ✟

╰┈➤[1]ᅳ 𝐋𝐨𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐥𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐚 ✟

╰┈➤[2]ᅳ 𝐄𝐥 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐛𝐨 ✟

╰┈➤[3]ᅳ 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐚𝐫 ✟

╰┈➤[4]ᅳ 𝐎𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐚𝐫 ✟

╰┈➤[5]ᅳ 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐢́𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐨 ✟

╰┈➤[6]ᅳ 𝐋𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚 𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐥 ✟

╰┈➤[7]ᅳ 𝐓𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐣𝐨𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐨𝐬 ✟

╰┈➤[8]ᅳ 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐚𝐬 ✟

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

╰┈➤[10]ᅳ 𝐄𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚 ✟ (Soon)

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

╰┈➤[12]ᅳ 𝐌𝐢 𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫 ✟ (Soon)

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

╰┈➤[14]ᅳ 𝐑𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐝𝐚 ✟ (Soon)

#narcos: mexico #amado carrillo fuentes #narcos mexico netflix #narcos x reader #amado carrillo fuentes x reader #amado carrillo fuentes x you #narcos fic #narcos mexico fanfic #narcos mexico fanfiction #narcos: mexico tv series #walt breslin #walt breslin x you #walt breslin x reader #jose maria yazpik #scoot mcnairy #Renegada♱

[imgeekgirlfan]

Renegada♱

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:You find that what is even more challenging than your missions or dealing with the big drug dealer is having to cope with your feelings for Walt, which seem to grow stronger every day.

AN : This episode for those who love Walt, Lol. I believe many people are charmed by Walt, just like me. So, I would like to dedicate this episode to all the Walt fan club (of course, I haven't revealed who the Male Lead is yet, so let's all guess together whether it's Walt or Amado that will win the reader's heart).

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

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

𝙍𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙙𝙖♱ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

➡  Previous : Next

[2]ᅳ 𝐄𝐥 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐛𝐨 ✟

Mexico City, Mexico

1300 (Military Time)

"So, tell me, how did you manage to survive Amado?" That was the question that everyone in the DEA office had been dying to know, but only You and Julio knew all the details.

You weren't surprised at all when you saw many faces peeking at you through their office desks with curiosity. As soon as you stepped out of your boss's office after reporting the progress of your undercover mission in Cuba, You felt all eyes on you. And the first person brave enough to ask you directly was Bill Carter, a DEA Agent who had a mischievous glint in his eye and was waiting for you in the office kitchen with a cup of hot coffee for you. He wasn't doing it out of kindness, but because he was nosy.

You took the coffee and two donuts from a large box left on the white table and started eating them hungrily. You almost forgot that you hadn't eaten anything substantial since coming back to Mexico.

These people wouldn't let you catch a break, but you found Bill's curiosity amusing, and you glanced at him while munching on a donut. He seemed eager to hear the story you were about to tell, and you felt like teasing him a little. "You want to know so badly, huh?"

"Sure, nobody else got as close as you did," Bill said, and although he had a bright smile on his face, You could sense the worry hidden behind it. "He didn't do anything to you, right?"

At least Bill's questions were more cautious than Julio's. You recalled the straightforward question from their honcho earlier: "You didn't sleep with him, did you?"

"At least almost" was what you replied to both Bill and Julio.

You wondered if there should be more to it. You had been thinking about it since you saw the fiery look in Amado's eyes. Of course, this man was like a supernova, surrounded by beautiful models waiting in bed for him with a snap of his fingers. So It surprised you that he didn't take you back with him that night, even though you knew he wanted to.

But no, he didn't. He didn't take you with him; he just asked to walk you back to your fake apartment, and it turned out to be quite an odd experience for you as a CIA agent. You had to hold hands and walk side by side with a drug dealer on a street late at night in Cuba, engaging in meaningless conversations completely unrelated to drugs and the missions you carried on your shoulders.

Amado was an excellent and fascinating conversationalist. He shared various stories about himself, none of which were mentioned in his official file. From his personal life (growing up in a large, impoverished family with more than ten siblings, getting married once and divorced), to his hobbies (passionate about flying planes to the extent of considering joining the Navy due to his love for Top Gun movies), and sometimes he would play quirky jokes that made you burst into laughter. Everything Amado did seemed natural, sincere, and charming, without any pretenses, which was different from how you were acting towards him.

It was only for a moment that you inadvertently thought of yourself as an ordinary woman, and the person beside you was just an ordinary man as well. But you would never be just an ordinary person, And Amado would too.

That was all that happened that night—almost. The strange and intense feelings lingered when you and he stood in front of the old wooden door, both sides stealing glances at each other in the midst of an awkward silence. While considering some thoughts in your head, you finally decided to lightly kiss his cheek before bidding a gentle farewell.

And he didn't touch you any more than that when you showed you didn't want it.

"I want to see you again next time," Amado said. But you secretly hoped you wouldn't meet him again, no matter where or when.

You sipped the hot black coffee, almost choking, when a fit of coughing sent the coffee splattering all over. Bill, flustered, quickly grabbed a tissue to hand over to you. "Hey, take it easy. Where do you need to hurry off to?"

"Sorry," you smiled sheepishly, wiping the coffee stains off your shirt and your mouth. "But that's it. Now we know for sure that Amado and the Cali Cartel are teaming up, which means there might be another major cocaine shipment coming into the U.S. The border will probably have some heavy work to do."

"A new Pablo is born," he sighed.

"Not really. Amado is different from Pablo. Pablo was reckless, but Amado is smart. He does things that neither Pablo nor Miguel would do."

Bill raised an eyebrow, considering your words and expression. He could tell that something was on your mind, but he didn't push any further. "I won't judge you for whether what you're doing is right or wrong, but I want you to know that you're playing with fire, literally. and make some people worry so much."

"What do you mean?" you asked casually, already knowing the answer.

"Walt is almost ready to fight Julio because that idiot thinks you might be in danger. And I don't blame him because I probably would have done the same if my partner did something foolish like getting involved with danger like that," he said, emphasizing the words ‘my partner’ His eyes glinted mischievously. You felt a surge of annoyance and wanted to push his face away.

"He's not my partner. The CIA doesn't have partners."

"But not for the DEA. Here, we work as a team. We all have each other's backs, whether you like it or not," Bill said, tossing the coffee cup accurately into the nearby trash bin before turning back to look at you. This time, his expression was more serious than before as he placed his hand gently on your shoulder.

"Remember that you're not alone," he said.

Bill's remark still lingered in your mind as you returned to your apartment. You opened the bathroom door and turned on the shower forcefully before letting the cold water flow through your dark brown hair and down your face. It felt like washing away the heavy burden that couldn't be seen, but you knew it was there, attached to you like a ghost.

"You're leading yourself into danger." That's what the CIA boss warned you about when you returned from Saudi Arabia, three years after his death. And suddenly, you felt a pang of remorse. toward Bill, Walt, and him.

Every mission you've ever done has always been a solo operation, and you've become accustomed to relying on yourself. You always built walls to keep everyone out For one reason only: you didn't want anyone else risking their lives for you, like something that happened to you in the past.

Raymond was right: "You're leading yourself into danger." At least you wanted to be sure that you were the only one who had to face the consequences.

You still closed your eyes, and in the darkness of your mind, you heard screams, explosions, and gunfire echoing from the depths of your soul. You didn't want the tragedy that happened in Saudi Arabia to repeat itself in Mexico.

A knocking sound grew louder as you had just finished taking a shower and dressing up. You tossed the hair towel on the hanger before walking to the white front door. Through the peephole, you saw Walt standing outside. You hesitated for a moment, thinking about what Bill had told you earlier about Walt almost fighting Julio because he was worried about you.

You weren't sure if Walt was still upset about it, and you weren't certain if you could handle arguments from him. But the truth was, you liked that Walt cared about you, and you couldn't deny the deep desire to see his face without any special reason.

Finally, you reached out and opened the door. There he was, dressed in a red plaid shirt and dark jeans, almost like his usual uniform. The only missing element was the black glasses that he had tucked away in his left chest pocket. Walt had one hand carrying multiple beers. bottles, and the other held a bag with the name of a popular restaurant in Mexico City. His face showed a hint of fatigue, but he managed a half-hearted smile as he greeted you.

"I guess you probably haven't had dinner yet; so I brought some taquitos for you," Walt said, breaking the ice. 

In the end, there was no arguing like you had anticipated. You both sat together on the blue leather sofa, enjoying tacos and beer as the television played a popular telenovela, creating background noise to keep things from getting too quiet. And certainly, no one was interested in watching silly soap operas at all. You absentmindedly fiddled with a beer bottle, trying to steal glances at Walt without him noticing.

But Walt always knew. He smiled slightly as your eyes met for a moment.

"You seem tired lately," Walt started to bring up the topic, "Maybe you should take a break, like two or three days off."

It was his intention for today to check on you and make sure you are alright after the risky mission you just went through.

You smiled back, knowing exactly what he was thinking. "I'll rest when you rest."

Walt's pros were his concern for others, but his cons were that he never included himself in that. If you worked hard, Walt worked just as hard. He was always the first one to arrive at the office every day and the last one to leave. Of course, he never took a break or leaving early

You and Walt are alike in this aspect. There was no way both of you would willingly stop and take a break.

Walt looked at you, chuckling softly at your answer that he had anticipated. "I could never defeat you, could I?"

"It's quite an honor for me to be able to outmatch a brave man like you, who even challenges every single person, including your boss."

His face under the mustache changes almost instantly, looking embarrassed like a child caught doing something wrong. Walt opened his mouth as if he was about to defend himself, but you raised your hand to stop him.

"I don't mean anything against you. Sometimes I just want to punch my coworkers too." You leaned back on the sofa and crossed your legs, making sure through your gaze that he wasn't feeling upset about the matter. You then reached out and lightly tapped his arm.

"But I don't want you to have problems at work," you added.

"It won't be a problem if you stick to the original plan," Walt argued, his voice more serious than before. "What you're doing outside of the orders is too dangerous. You could get killed."

"This is our work. We know well about the risk," you replied. 

The truth is hitting harder than ever. Even Walt couldn't argue against that. Mexico was a city of sin, where death was almost ordinary and could be found around every corner, whether it was for officers, criminals, or innocent bystanders. Every day as a DEA agent, he witnessed numerous losses, and sometimes he had to be the one to break the devastating news to the families or loved ones of his coworkers who were suddenly gone. and he couldn't help but wonder when it would be his turn.

"I know," Walt said softly, surprisingly vulnerable. "But I don't want you to die."

For a fleeting moment, it was you who couldn't argue anymore.

Silence filled the air as you gazed into his deep brown eyes, seeing the confusion, concern, and turmoil hidden within them. And sometimes, you felt like he could see the same in you.

At that moment, for a brief second, you thought you could just kiss him right then and there.

In the end, you chose to look away, deciding not to cross the line that could lead to regrettable consequences later on. You handled the remaining beer, letting its warmth flow down your throat, before exhaling a long breath while staring at the yellow wall in your room.

"Do you think we can do it?" You mumbled, unsure. "Can we catch him?"

Walt didn't answer immediately. He pondered in the silence for a while before finally sliding his hand to firmly grasp your hand.

"We can do it. Trust me," he said, his determination clear.

Even though you warned yourself not to look into his eyes again, the desire from the depths of your heart still won. In the end, you turned back to meet Walt's gaze once more.

Amidst the seemingly long silence that lasted only a few minutes, neither of you uttered a word. It was as if even a slight disturbance could destroy something that was quietly and delicately taking shape. You could feel the thumb from the large hand gently caressing the inside of your palm, warm and tender. Once again, you found yourself sinking into thoughts of wanting to pull him in for a kiss, but you weren't sure if he felt the same way.

Ironically, being a CIA agent taught you to read the thoughts of others as a profession, and you could do it with everyone. But now, you couldn't read the thoughts of the man right in front of you, not even the slightest bit.

"I think I should go now." 

Walt was the one who disrupted the quietness, clearing his throat before removing his hand from yours and standing up to his full height. Yet the warmth still lingered in your hand, and you felt disappointed with how it all ended. Nonetheless, you composed yourself gracefully, pausing briefly before walking him to the front door and bidding him a polite goodnight, as you should.

Whatever happened in Cuba has rewound in your mind again. It was just a change of characters, from Amado to Walt, but everything seemed almost the same. The strange sensation of standing by the door and looking into each other, lost in deep thoughts, hiding something within, until one person started saying farewell and the other walked away into the darkness

Although a part of you wanted to beg him to stay, in the end, you could only watch the back of Walt walking away until it vanished from your sight.

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#narcos: mexico #narcos x reader #amado carrillo fuentes #walt breslin #narcos mexico netflix #narcos fic #amado carrillo fuentes x you #amado carrillo fuentes x reader #walt breslin x you #walt breslin x reader #jose maria yazpik #scoot mcnairy #narcos mexico fanfic #narcos mexico fanfiction #narcos: mexico tv series #Renegada♱

[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

➡  Previous : Next

[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.

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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."

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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."

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#narcos: mexico #amado carrillo fuentes #narcos mexico netflix #narcos x reader #amado carrillo fuentes x reader #amado carrillo fuentes x you #narcos fic #narcos mexico fanfic #narcos mexico fanfiction #narcos: mexico tv series #walt breslin #walt breslin x you #walt breslin x reader #jose maria yazpik #scoot mcnairy #Renegada♱

[imgeekgirlfan]

Renegada♱

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: You have to take on the role of a musician to infiltrate a restaurant filled with high-level international drug dealers.There, you meet Amado as expected, However, it seems that everything is not going according to the plan anymore.

AN : Just in case you're wondering, in this story, Pacho is the same person as in El Paraiso de las Pandillas. I imagine him as bisexual. (Please don't attack me; it's just my imagination and has no relevance to real individuals.)

I used to think that I wouldn't continue this fanfic, but because there are still people waiting to read it, I thought I would give it another try. However, if it doesn't really work out, I probably won't update it anymore. Thank you to everyone who has been following and reading it all along. I truly appreciate it.

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𝙍𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙙𝙖♱ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

➡  Previous : Next

[1]ᅳ 𝐋𝐨𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐥𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐚 ✟

Havana, Cuba

1830(Military Time)

It has been over three hours since you sat and played the grand piano in the restaurant of the capital city. Your fingers ache from pressing down on the black and white keys as you continuously perform well-known classical pieces to entertain the sole guest here, who is seated at the large table in the middle of the restaurant.

A tall, dark-skinned man with an unruly beard and disheveled hair, always dressed in black and adorned with brand-name sunglasses hanging over his chest on the edge of his shirt

That is Amado Carrillo Fuentes, the target you've been waiting for.

You watch this man intently, alert and attentive. Since the mission began, this is the first time you have seen this man so closely. Close enough for you to shoot him dead without missing a beat.

But that's not the objective this time, and you're not playing the role of an assassin or a CIA agent. Here, you're just a "Camila," an ordinary female musician hired to provide some entertainment during an important meeting of the Latin American drug cartel.

"It's too long." Diego's voice crackles through the earpiece, sounding irritated. "Are you sure the intel is correct?"

It's not just him who feels irritated; you feel the same. "I risked my life to obtain this information. If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't be here," your words barely whispered, but the tone sounds like a shout

"I think this should be enough," says the voice that comes back, belonging to Waltz, with a Texan accent that is so familiar to you. "You find a way out, and then we'll discuss what to do next."

No way, you think, but you don't say it out loud.  You deliberately ignored that command.

Suddenly, your bare back under the yellow floral-patterned dress shivers as you notice three more individuals walking into the empty restaurant. They are dressed in vibrant, tailored suits, adorned with thick gold chains and expensive watches 'drug lord uniforms.' That's what Diego told you—the first rule of identifying suspicious individuals—and it proves very useful this time.

Those people are the most powerful drug lord syndicate in Colombia, called "Gentlemen of Cali" Today, they have appeared together, all three of them. You discreetly observe the two Rodríguez brothers, Gilberto and Miguel, They both seem like ordinary old men with no apparent threat. No one knows that beneath that façade, they are the heads of 'Cali Cartel' the most powerful drug cartel in Colombia, controlling over 90% of the cocaine market worldwide, ever since Pablo Escobar fell.

However, the most frightening person is Pacho Herrera, the second-in-command of the gang. He is still young, handsome, and charismatic, with a strong sexual appeal to both men and women (mostly men, as confirmed by one of the prostitutes who is your informant that Pacho is bisexual). His appearance is strikingly different from that of other drug dealers. The reason why this man often takes on the role of negotiating and bargaining for the gang's benefits is that Pacho is always able to fulfill his duties and responsibilities. He is clever, cunning, and ruthless.

Nevertheless, Pacho's relationship with Amado seems to be going well. As far as you have learned, Pacho greatly admires this Mexican drug dealer. Although it is uncertain whether their relationship is strictly professional or romantic, there is a high possibility that this negotiation will succeed without any issues.

Although you are sitting closest to them, you are still considered distant. There is no way for you to hear their conversation, but you can read their lips to some extent.

—I want to make an offer.

—What offer?"

—A transportation exchange with Cocaine and market sharing in America

—You want to compete with my gang?

—I don't want to compete, and what I'm doing will help your gang in America.

That's all you know, albeit not much. However, it's enough to confirm that these two gangs are indeed negotiating a drug trafficking agreement.

There was a tense whispering between the Rodríguez brothers before they abruptly stood up without touching the food on the table. They didn't look upset but rather seemed deeply engrossed in their thoughts about that proposal. As for Pacho, he remained seated at the table, continuing to sip his drink, and began to casually ask Amado, "How are you, friend?" while spraying empty words for several minutes before finally getting up and patting Amado on the back, saying, "Wait for a phone call tonight."

"What happened then?" asked Diego anxiously, but you didn't respond. At that moment, nothing else on that table could divert your attention from the remaining Amado.

Suddenly, he raised his face—the only moment you and he made eye contact without intending to. He smiled at you, and you felt an instant chill when you realized it was the most dangerous smile in both America and Mexico.

And the man slowly stood up before confidently walking towards you.

You stopped playing the piano immediately. The last note resonated in the air before it fell silent. One of your hands instinctively reached to the back, a familiar gesture, only to realize later that you hadn't brought your gun with you.

This was an unexpected situation for you, and the most unsettling part was that you had no idea of his intentions or what kind of danger might arise within the next few minutes.

Perhaps this plan leaked to Amado. Maybe you would die at his hands.

No matter how nervous you were, you tried to smile calmly back at him, the calmest you could be. Your heart pounded when he stopped right in front of you, closer than ever.

"You play the piano very well," was Amado's first sentence. "May I ask your name?"

"I'm Camila."

"And I'm Amado," he said, extending his hand. You shook hands, feeling like it was a dream, but the firm and rough palm confirmed it was real.

The man fell silent, contemplating something deeply in his heart. You didn't dare move again; you remained seated, still wary what was happening.

He must have a plan. That's what you're thinking right now

And Amado also had a plan for you, just not the kind you had imagined.

"I think I'll have to stay around here for a while. It would be good to have a friend with me. If you have no business and don't mind being my friend," he said,

You raised an eyebrow, almost letting your jaw drop.

You didn't react immediately. You knew what he wanted from you.

"Well, I'm just a musician. If you need..." You left a small gap for him to figure out. "I think you can contact some women from outside."

"No, no, not like that." Amado quickly waved his hand, looking surprised and chuckling at the same time. "I just want you to join me for a drink and sit with me as long as I stay here, that's all."

You blinked in astonishment, realizing that everything happening was beyond the mission and beyond expectations. No matter what, you have obtained what you want now, and you should leave as soon as you have the chance before anything bad happens.

But deep down, you also knew that this was an opportunity—a once-in-a-lifetime chance that might never come again.

You tried to smile again and chose to do the opposite of what you should do.

"Sure, why not, if you're paying"

You accept his offer

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Inside the modified black van, loud conversations in Spanish resonated. Before Diego's face emerged from the van's window, he glanced at his boss, who was waiting outside with American officers, his expression not looking too good.

"We can't contact Y/N anymore, but we know she's with Amado now."

The deputy police chief, who had just finished smoking a cigarette, exhaled a puff of smoke before squinting at Diego. "What does it mean that She's with Amado? Did they catch her?"

"Nah, I think she chose to stay willingly." Diego took off his glasses, a rare occurrence unless he was feeling stressed. "That idiot lured her to drink, and she said yes!. I've invited her before, and she refused all the time. But now she chooses to go with that scumbag drug dealer without a second thought!”

Julio chuckled, He smirked before extending his hand to slap him on the back. "Because you're not as handsome as he is, little boy."

"I don't see what's so funny." Walt spoke up, leaning against the van door with a tense expression: "She's in danger, and we need to get her out of there quickly."

"Calm down, White Boy." Julio's voice remained relaxed, knowing that the American officer genuinely cared for their lone teammate. "She's C.I.A. Somehow she managed to survive, right?"

"But the C.I.A. isn't God," Walt retorted. "She could have been shot and killed just like me and you."

Diego glanced at Walt and immediately decided that this was not about himself. So he quickly turned his face and stepped back into the van. There was a faint shout from one of the Mexican soldiers on the other side, suggesting, "If you guys want to fight, do it in a secluded place." Walt responded to the advice by raising his middle finger in return.

Such situations were common in the battle against drug trafficking. Sometimes the tension of the mission led to heated arguments

If Americans were like tongues, Mexicans were like teeth. Julio knew this truth well, as did Walt himself.

The Mexican man calmly lit up another cigarette, exhaling a cloud of white smoke from his mouth and nose. "Listen, Walt, I know that the C.I.A. is not a god. Americans like you have never been my gods, and I know Y/N is going to do something by herself. No one is controlling her. That means she believes in herself, and you should have faith in her too."

With his long, pointing finger, he directed it straight at Walt, locking him in an intense gaze. Fatigued eyes still held a spark. 'We're all tired, and we don't want anyone to die’ conveyed Julio through his gaze, leaving the DEA agent at a loss for words.

Walt wanted to trust in you, as Julio told him, but that didn't help alleviate the anxiety in his heart.

Because you were the youngest agent Walt had ever worked with. You were the same age as his younger brother, and you had a bright future ahead of you. Walt didn't want you to make a mistake, and he didn't want to do anything that would restrain you in any way.

Walt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, he saw a fresh cigarette being offered to him by Julio. Walt accepted the gesture by taking it and holding it between his lips, whispering a soft thank you. As Julio lit the cigarette for him,

They both stood there, smoking side by side, exchanging understanding through the smoke and silence. Walt gazed at the darkening sky as the streetlights gradually turned on one by one, illuminating both sides of the road. He took another deep smoke before turning to the person beside him and asking, "So, what do we do next?"

Julio smiled briefly, tapped the end of his own cigarette against the side mirror of the van, and let the ashes fall to the ground.

"All we can do is wait," he said.

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#narcos: mexico #narcos x reader #amado carrillo fuentes #walt breslin #narcos mexico netflix #narcos fic #amado carrillo fuentes x you #amado carrillo fuentes x reader #walt breslin x you #walt breslin x reader #jose maria yazpik #scoot mcnairy #narcos mexico fanfic #narcos mexico fanfiction #narcos: mexico tv series #Renegada♱

[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 : Since surviving the Aruba assassination attempt, you've been plagued by recurring nightmares. Amado's attempts to comfort you begin to unsettle your mind, blurring the line between duty and desire. (Soft Amado,Fluff,Hurt/Comfort)

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𝙍𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙙𝙖♱ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

➡  Previous : Next (Soon)

[8]ᅳ 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐚𝐬 ✟

Walt is not the only one facing nightmares. Everyone has their own nightmares—those born from imagination, from guilt, or from memories.

And on the remote, solitary island of Aruba, thousands of kilometers away from the violence in Mexico, nightmares haunt you too. 

Throughout the tormenting periods of pain and unconsciousness, under the influence of painkillers that need to be taken every six hours, you're not sure what they are. If it's not Nalbuphine [1], it must be something stronger and nerve-pressuring, helping to alleviate the symptoms but also potentially addictive, just like drugs.

Every time the bitter pill slides down your throat, the foggy veil of memories rises, like the wrecked ship stranded in the depths of pain and the haze of painkillers. It becomes hard to distinguish between dreams and reality. Often, you wake up with rapid, shallow breaths and a racing heartbeat, unable to remember what you dreamt, but it leaves you scared and crying every time you sleep. The moist face and teary eyes upon waking up are clear evidence of this.

However, there are many times when you can feel it during the twilight of sleep, between endless nightmares and midnight screams. Someone comes to embrace you tightly, providing warmth enough to calm you down. That was the only time the nightmares seemed to fade away, as if they had never existed before.

Initially, you thought it might just be layered dreams—tiny good dreams sneaking in to erase the pointless nightmares. But you soon learned the truth when your body was strong enough to move, and Amado decided to take you outside for short walks to exercise. When his arms wrapped around your shoulders to support you, it felt warm, just like a dream. You realized that all of that was real. He had been there with you every night. But he never mentioned it in front of you, and you never thought to ask him about it either.

It's embarrassing for you. To be in such a state, fragile both physically and mentally, and unable to help yourself in any way, Even walking to the bathroom requires much more patience than usual. You try to remain indifferent to the sharp pain in your abdomen, clenching your teeth in frustration and bending down to splash water on your face before reluctantly raising your head to look at your reflection in the old bathroom mirror above the sink. There, you see what you've always seen—a mentally fragile and confused young woman, unsure about her choices and actions.

“Mija, you shouldn't be moving around by yourself. Why didn't you call me to help you?”

Your eyes shifted away from the mirror, and you looked at Amado, who was standing leaning against the bathroom door frame. He was dressed in his usual black shirt and still looked as good as ever, hardly resembling someone whose life had been in danger, especially when compared to your recent appearance reflected in the mirror.

“I had to handle some personal matters. Do you want me to change my clothes in front of you?”

Amado shrugged. “Why embarrassed? I've seen it before, you know.”

“When?” Your eyes widen in shock. Your surprised face made Amado break into a smile—the kind of smile that had been annoying you all week.

“I'm the one who cleaned your wounds and stitched them up, Mija. I probably wouldn't be able to do it if I didn't take off your clothes first.” Amado's tone was calm when he spoke. like seeing your naked body is not important to him. 

You tapped on the wound that had started to heal. The rough stitches would later turn into a repulsive scar. Amado told you yesterday that it was almost time to remove the stitches, meaning you would have to take off your clothes in front of him again.

Shame has long vanished from your thoughts since you've been with him here. However, it was still somewhat annoying to think, "Gracias, but I'd rather do it myself."

“But I don't mind. You can take off your clothes now if you'd like.”

You furrowed your brows, looking at the tall man with a face that wanted to slap him if you weren’t already injured. And Amado knew well what you were thinking. He laughed heartily, amused by your sour mood.

That's a part of what has been happening between you and him since you started living together here. You both constantly exchange words, like a married couple living a boring life together for many years. Perhaps that's Amado's only way to alleviate boredom; he never misses a chance to tease and provoke you.

You want to be more angry at him, but you can't. You're exhausted from everything. And more importantly—something you don't want to admit—Amado has taken care of you as best as anyone could in such a dire situation. Always helping with small things that you couldn't manage yourself or bringing painkillers even when he risks going outside. He also comforts you from nightmares at night. Part of an unbelievable tenderness from the dangerous man who makes you calm enough to sleep dreamlessly.

Maybe it's due to the haziness caused by the pills, making your emotions more fragile than usual. Just temporary sensitivity. It's not empathy, not attachment—nothing more than that. This is what you've been trying to convince yourself of.

"Hey, Mija, is everything okay? You don't look well."

"It's nothing serious," you deny, better than letting him know what you're thinking. "But do you still have some pills left?"

Amado looks back with a knowing glance.

"You're becoming a junkie, you know?" he says. "But today, I have something better than pills."

Amado refuses to say more about what it is, only insisting firmly that he'll take you to see it for yourself.

'Something' that Amado mentioned was placed on the wooden table in the house when he took you there. It was a regular whiskey bottle with two glasses. You quickly turned to look at him in surprise, seeing the smile he sent back with his words, "No need to thank me."

A bottle of whiskey might be something commonly found, costing at least three hundred pesos [2] in Mexico. But in your eyes, it looked no different than an oasis in the middle of a hot desert. You missed whiskey as much as you missed cigarettes, and your old life before ended up in this place with Amado. 

At least having a bottle of whiskey made the present life a bit more bearable.

Amado poured the liquid into both glasses equally before handing one to you. His eyes locked on yours as he sipped from his own glass. "Reminds me of our first date in Cuba."

"You told me Cuba had a terrible mezcal." You chuckled, slowly sipping the whiskey.

"Because the mezcal from my hometown is the best." Amado paused before raising his glass for another sip. It wasn't just you who missed old life; he missed it too. "Once we get out of here, I'll take you to taste the mezcal there."

It wasn't a casual remark like before. You felt the whiskey taste even more bitter when meeting his sincere eyes.

You didn't immediately respond. You glanced at the nearly half-empty glass of whiskey, deliberately avoiding his gaze. However, Amado noticed the subtle anxiety beneath your calm facade.

"Do you think it's possible?"

Your voice cracked slightly, carrying multiple implications in that statement: Is it possible to survive this? Is it possible for us to be together after this is over? Is it possible that there won't be any more losses?

"We'll make it out together, and I promise it won't happen to us again."

Promises were a curse for you because every time there was a promise involved, it often ended up being broken.

Ever since Farris promised over the phone to come back to you safely, he ended up facing torment and dying at the hands of the criminals. And Janet, the friend who promised revenge for you, A promise that never came true, especially when you were the one who decided to bury a bullet into your own friend's head.

Everything that has happened has made you distrustful of anyone's promises.

But this time, you couldn't help but hope that Amado's promise would be true.

You felt the warmth from his large hand holding yours and the gentle squeeze that conveyed comfort without the need for words. You locked eyes with Amado again in silence. At that moment, you felt something, just like the time you locked eyes with Walt. Something delicate was emerging between you and him.

Some things you had to hold back before it got too much and before you had to regret later.

"Don't feel regret later" Amado once warned you. However, you felt no trace of regret when you made the most foolish decision—you kissed him.

Before, you had imagined what it would be like to kiss Walt, but you never had the chance. For Amado, it was different. Even if it was just a simple kiss filled with the taste of cheap whiskey, it happened amidst raw, genuine emotions without pretense. There was nothing profound or delicate about it, but it was a mixture of fear and relief revealed after a near-death experience. And it taught you the meaning of 'Fuck it'

You and him might die tomorrow, or might go separate ways without ever meeting again. At the very least, you wanted to follow your heart just once, even just once.

His dark, intense eyes were wide with the same desire as yours—a desire to feel closer and more intimate. His large hand began to trace from the shoulders, down the collarbone, and to the waistband. But when you pulled back slightly in pain, everything ended abruptly. Amado quickly withdrew from you with a sense of urgency, confusion evident in his face and eyes for a fleeting moment, before he took a deep breath, straightened up, and rubbed his own face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," he murmured just loud enough for you to hear, filled with regret and an attempt to restrain his emotions. "I should let you rest."

Amado stood up without looking at you again. But you managed to grab his wrist before he could walk away. You accidentally licked your own lips when his eyes met yours again. "You can stay with me tonight if you want," you said.

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by your request. Before he could accept or decline, you quickly added, "Just to sleep, that's all. It's like when you used to come and cuddle me at night when I had nightmares."

For a brief moment, you saw embarrassment in the face of the tall man for being caught. And for the first time, you began to genuinely feel that Amado was cute when he was shy.

There was no more teasing or arguing that night. Eventually, Amado yielded to your simple request. In fact, it seemed he didn't have much choice after you made it clear you knew about everything he had secretly done.

The large old bed seemed cramped when two bodies lay together. You tensed slightly as you turned your face toward Amado. He wrapped around you cautiously with both of his arms, feeling the warmth in a way you had felt from him many nights before.

Even in the darkness, it was hard to see anything, but you could vividly feel that he was looking at you, just as you could feel his breath gently caress your face. Then the man leaned in closer and gently pressed his lips against your forehead, whispering softly as he pulled away. 

"Sweet dreams, Mija."

And what Amado said turned out to be true. You didn't have any nightmares throughout that night.

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[1] Nalbuphine is a medication for treating moderate to severe pain, which contains opium extract. The medication acts on the brain and nervous system to numb the sensation of pain. It has various side effects and can cause addiction

[2]The Mexican Peso is the currency of Mexico. The currency code is MXN and it uses the symbol $.

#narcos: mexico #amado carrillo fuentes #narcos mexico netflix #narcos x reader #amado carrillo fuentes x reader #amado carrillo fuentes x you #narcos fic #narcos mexico fanfic #narcos mexico fanfiction #narcos: mexico tv series #walt breslin #walt breslin x you #walt breslin x reader #jose maria yazpik #narcos mexico #scoot mcnairy #Renegada♱

[imgeekgirlfan]

Renegada♱

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: The operation to overthrow the drug lord, Amado Carrillo Fuentes, is the new mission assigned to you by the CIA. However, you have a lingering sense that this mission will not go smoothly, for sure.

AN:  This is my new fanfiction (of course, the old story el paraiso de las pandillas. is not finished yet Lol) when I watched Narcos: Mexico. I love Amando and Walt Breslin so much that I had to write a fanfic about them. I wrote it in Thai on Readawrite(Fyi : it a website for novels in Thailand) before translating it into English to share on Tumblr (apologies if the translation is a bit off, I'm not very good at English). This is an expanded universe from a series with quite a lot of details. I hope you enjoy what I wrote.

𝙍𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙙𝙖♱ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

➡  Next 

[Prólogo]ᅳ 𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐫 ✟

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

(Narcos: Mexico)

Looking back into the past, reflecting on the origins of all the evil, Walt and other American DEA Agent would say it started with a man named Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo. 

But for you, You think the real evil came from Amado Carrillo Fuentes 

Who is Amado Carrillo Fuentes? You should remember this name well.

Mexico has been a significant trading partner of the United States for hundreds of years due to the proximity of their borders, making it a strategic goldmine for trading all kinds of goods, from agricultural products, consumer goods, luxury goods, to drugs. It all started with a clear-headed Mexican man named Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo who saw the opportunity to make a fortune from importing drugs to the United States. He coordinated with cocaine producers from Colombia and consolidated the power of various criminal gangs throughout the country into one. Moving cocaine from one point to another by car, plane, or ship, in order to smuggle it into the United States, he became a lord of the drug trafficking world.

Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo, a man with multiple definitions, The godfather of Mexico.The boss above all bosses. Speculations were made that he might have been one of the richest men in the world from the drug trade. It was impossible to topple this man. However, it eventually happened in the end.But Miguel's downfall did not come from the DEA agents. Rather, it came from internal conflicts. Nevertheless, the end of Miguel can be considered the end of the drug war and a victory for America. That is what the government believes, and that is what all Americans think, but they are all horribly wrong.

Miguel was the center of the drug trafficking industry. He held everything in his hands and controlled it all. And when he was gone, the various cartels scattered like broken beehives. They competed against each other for power and were ruthless, with bullets and bloodshed spreading across Mexico. This was a more sinister era than when Miguel was still around.

Amidst this war, there was one man who emerged to play a prominent role above all other drug lords, and that man was Amado Carrillo Fuentes.

Amado was once Miguel's right-hand man, doing everything to protect The Godfather's interests until he learned the ins and outs of the dark business. But in the end, Amado chose to betray his own boss and was partly responsible for Miguel's downfall. He quickly rose to power and surprised everyone with his rapid ascent, even making major drug producers in Colombia fear him. 

The truth is, Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo's departure was not the end but rather the beginning of a new era of power, with a new drug lord named Amado Carrillo Fuentes taking over. His name was crossed out with a red pen by the United States.

That's all you knew before you were sent on a mission abroad, joining the DEA team to collaborate with the Mexican army under Operation Special to bring down Amado Carrillo Fuentes.

"Do you know why I called you here?"

That's what happened on a Monday morning in Washington, D.C., the first time in months you were urgently summoned with a special order. In the large conference room, there were Raymonde Pemberton, the head of the CIA, and two unfamiliar men with unshaven faces, dressed casually in wrinkled shirts and black jeans. They sat on separate chairs, each holding your dossier in their hands, but no one bothered to read it. All eyes were focused on the woman in the room. –You

"Officer Y/N, formerly Marine and now a CIA agent, 27 years old, unmarried..." The man in a blue suit, who appeared to be the youngest, spoke in Mexican-accented English. He slowly took off his sunglasses before leaning back in the chair. He gazed at you, assessing and considering in a manner that made anyone being looked at feel uncomfortable. "No boyfriend and no children, right?"

"No,Sir." You responded calmly, understanding well why he asked such personal questions. Having attachments is not good for operatives, who are constantly at risk of death. That's why those who are entrusted with important missions are usually single.

"And what have you worked on before?"

"I was part of Operation Neptune Spear.[1]" You noticed the question lingering in the eyes of the two unfamiliar officers. You then elaborated, "Referring to the OBL[2] assassination, sir."

Both men turned to face each other, exchanging tense glances. A moment of uncomfortable silence passed before the young man resumed his questioning.

"Mexican-American? Can you speak Spanish?"

"Yes, I can," you replied clearly in Spanish this time. Although you had never been to Mexico in your life, growing up in Texas had instilled a strong sense of being Mexican in you, just like a true Mexican.

The older man smiled with satisfaction. "Finally, America chooses someone who speaks Spanish for us." He stood up to give you a pat on the back. "Go back and pack your things, and say goodbye to America. You won't be coming back here for a while."

He was right. After that day, you never returned to America again.

This mission is called "White Storm." They say it's part of the Mérida Initiative[3], with the main leaders being two strange men you met in the conference room. You later found out who they were—the older one is General Jesús Augusto, from the Ministry of Defense, and the younger one is Julio Merrieta, the Deputy Chief of Police in Mexico, along with about four or five competent DEA agents and several Mexican police officers who were fully supportive of this mission.

The reason why the CIA needed to be involved in this mission was to reconcile the conflict that existed in the past between the DEA and CIA, including the disclosure of classified information alleging that the CIA secretly received money and weapons from Mexican drug traffickers to use in operations against communists in Cuba. This has caused significant damage to the CIA's reputation. so they needed to urgently repair their image. by sending a secret agent to directly assist the DEA. However, the problem is that no CIA agent is willing to work with the DEA. because, in the eyes of the CIA, the DEA is nothing more than a bunch of local cops. Being assigned to this mission is considered a downgrade or even a punishment. It has become a hot potato that everyone wants to pass on, and no one wants to hold it in their hands. That's why they decided to assign this hot potato to you instead.

Because you are neither DEA[4] nor PJF[5], your status as a CIA agent sets you apart from both sides. Additionally, being the only woman on this mission makes it difficult for you to be accepted by others. The initial phase of working together was filled with tension and numerous obstacles. However, after facing life-threatening situations together for several months, a slow bond began to form for everyone on the team. Although there are still some disagreements and conflicts, there is a growing camaraderie among the team members, and some have even become like family.

However, you are not particularly close to anyone to the point of calling them a best friend. But if you were to identify someone you were closest to and trusted the most, that would be Walt Breslin.

an American from Texas who grew up in the same hometown as you and was also a soldier like you. He speaks Spanish fluently. Walt is older than you by almost ten years. He is tall but physically lean, with a scruffy beard that he rarely shaves. This man's face often appears worn and melancholic. You never quite understood why until you heard a story from a coworker that Walt lost his beloved brother due to excessive drug use. He blames himself for this and has been obsessed with fighting against drug trafficking as if it were the only way to compensate for the guilt he feels within.

Walt was the first person to offer you simple camaraderie, handing you a cigarette at a police station in Mexico City. conversed about hometown stories and delved into criticizing the flawed workings of both the Mexican and American systems. He made you laugh from the moment you set foot across the border and has helped you on several occasions since then. He introduced you to the DEA team, protected you when you had issues with certain male colleagues, and made it clear that he did not agree with the sexist remarks made by other male officers towards you. These were not things you had ever received from anyone, even during your time in the CIA.

It took a while for you to realize that the feelings you have for Walt go beyond just the label of "friend."

When did it start? Perhaps it was when you and him were held at gunpoint by drug traffickers, or maybe it was when he pushed you out of the way of a bullet before it exploded your brain. What he did was incredibly foolish. You are a well-trained CIA agent, and there is no way you could have easily died at the hands of amateurs. Yet, despite that, Walt still continued to protect you. And every time you saw that dumb smile of relief on his face when you managed to handle those people without getting hurt, your feelings for him grew stronger and stronger.

You're falling in love with your teammate.

That's the last thing that should happen, especially when your work and his can turn into a graveyard at any time. You're well aware that a dangerous life is not conducive to long-term relationships. That's one of a million reasons why you've decided not to love anyone again, not to mention the unprofessionalism of it all. Although there have never been explicit rules against it, it's just not worth it to have love in the midst of working together.

Keeping these feelings a secret would be the best decision, both for yourself and for him.

"You look like you just got into a fight with a dog."

Diego Gillick, one of the members of the Mexican police team, was the first person to greet you after you walked into the National Police Headquarters that evening. You turned to look at the reflection in the glass door you had just walked through and realized that what was said was not an exaggeration. Your face was bruised, with a small amount of blood and dirt on your forehead.  Some parts of your white shirt wet stained and it didn't seem like they would wash out easily.

"I just had some business to take care of," you replied. The business in question was nothing other than undercover work. That was a job that the intelligence officers were good at. Sometimes it relied on technology, sometimes on people, and sometimes on their own strength. just like what happened three hours ago. 

There was nothing much except for being almost shot at twice while investigating a Cuban man who was suspected to have some connection with Amado Carrillo Fuentes. But that was something worth risking for. for the reliable information you finally obtained. You smiled before placing a cigarette in your mouth and lighting it with a flick, defying the "No Smoking" sign stuck on the adjacent wall. Inhaling deeply, you exhaled a light puff of smoke.

Julio, the Deputy Chief of Police and Head of the White Storm Mission on the Mexican side, was the first person you disclosed the good news to, including the verified documents. He carefully flipped through each page before his narrowed eyes looked up at you. "Amado is in Cuba. Are you sure about this?" he asked.

"I've known that he has been interfering with the Colombian drug traffickers ever since he started selling drugs in America. He needed to clear them out to avoid any problems with his own business in the future," you said, pointing to a document in Julio's hand. "There's a report of a private plane that flew out of Mexico yesterday. Its destination is Havana, Cuba. This could be a significant meeting between two major drug lords from both countries, which may indicate a major change in the drug trade that would impact all parties involved. I think we should take this opportunity to gather more information."

A major change in the drug trade is not an exaggeration when it comes to someone like Amado Carrillo Fuentes. If Amado succeeds with cocaine, this man will not only be the top drug lord in Mexico and America but also the world, surpassing even Miguel in his prime, and Mexico will become the paradise of drugs, replacing Thailand, which has held this position since the Cold War era.

The United States and Mexico need to closely monitor this matter.

"You're right," the Mexican officer said. and you could sense his focused gaze on you, indicating that he was thinking about something. "We need to make sure our people are there when they gather..."

"And that person is me," you interjected without waiting for him to finish.

He chuckled softly at your response. "There's no other damn fool in here who can infiltrate as well as a CIA agent. Be glad you've been given this opportunity." Julio's face remained unchanged, but his tone showed admiration. "And one more thing, those scumbag drug lords always like a beautiful woman like you."

At that moment, you felt a strong premonition of something bad happening in the future, something you yourself were not aware of yet.  However, you could sense it strongly, as if feeling your own breath. You felt the tension in every muscle and a sense of unease in your chest like a gaping void.

That's what you felt after accepting the role and saying, "Yes, I'll do it."

Part of the fleeting emotions that passed through your mind made you want to change your mind and reject it instead. But it's too late to retreat; it's too late to turn back.

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[1]Operation Neptune Spear : It is a classified mission under the Obama administration, with the cooperation of key organizations such as the CIA and SEAL Team Six, to covertly raid and assassinate Osama bin Laden in Abbottabad, Pakistan

[2]OBL is an acronym used by the military to refer to Osama bin Laden, the notorious terrorist and founder of the jihadist organization Al-Qaeda.

[3]The Mérida Initiative is a cooperation agreement on security matters between the United States, the government of Mexico, and Central American countries. Its objective is to combat drug trafficking, transnational crime, and money laundering.

[4]The Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) is a United States federal law enforcement agency tasked with combating illicit drug trafficking and distribution within the U.S. 

[5]Policía Judicial Federal(PJF) was the federal police force of Mexico until it was shut down in 2002 due to its own rampant corruption and criminal activity.

#narcos: mexico #narcos x reader #amado carrillo fuentes #walt breslin #narcos mexico netflix #narcos fic #amado carrillo fuentes x you #amado carrillo fuentes x reader #walt breslin x you #Walt Breslin x Reader #jose maria yazpik #scoot mcnairy #narcos mexico fanfic #narcos: mexico tv series #Renegada♱