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spaghettificationandpretzels · 9 months

Text

The New Bartender

Mayans MC Masterlist

Contains: Smut, MFM threesome, fluff, friendly rivalries. No beta read, probably full of mistakes I can't see.

4K words

Out of desperation, Bishop hires a real bartender.

Thank you to @burningtacozombie for the gif.

You looked over the ad, "The pay's alright but I don't think I'm going to gel well here, the poster I picked up didn't exactly say I would be working at a biker clubhouse."

Bishop swallowed and shot a look at Hank; you were the most qualified person they had spoken to all week, and the drinks you had whipped up were to die for, "We realise not putting the location on the ad wasn't the best idea but we're desperate. We can't keep people long and well, we're bikers, we like to drink."

You nodded, "Yep and I've been there and done that, I'm not interested in spending my night being disrespected. At least in a bar, I can get the fucker kicked out."

Hank held up his hands, "If you wanna toss someone, you can. The girls that are left could really use a hand. I promise we're nicer than we look."

You sighed, "Fine, a two week trial, you do sound desperate. But I ain't putting up with any shit and don't think I'm not going to take someone's keys from them."

Bishop smiled and stuck out his hand, "Done, you're hired."

You shook it and sighed before shaking Hank's hand too, "I have a feeling this is going to be an interesting two weeks."

That was two months ago, and aside from a few growing pains and walking out with all the other women in the middle of a party after a particularly rude Mayan took it one step too far, things had been amazing.

"I'll get an old fashioned please." You mixed the drink in a flash and slid it across the bar to Bishop, "Thanks."

You smiled, "Don't mention it. I know I've asked you this before but have you considered broadening your horizons? Maybe try something a little different."

Bishop sighed, "What do you recommend?"

You ran a finger over the liquor bottles, "You ever had a dark and stormy?"

He shrugged, "Probably."

"Ok then, when that's drained, you can give it another go." Bishop walked away with his drink and Guero and Bottles filled the space.

Guero gave you his trademark smirk and you handed him a beer, "What do you want? I know that look."

He chuckled, "Who do you like more, me or Mr Magoo?"

The question seemed to roll off Bottles' back, "I'm not going to answer that."

Bottles smiled, "Nah, we want to know."

You shook your head, "No, and if you keep this up, I'm cutting you both off."

Guero looked you up and down, "That's what we like about you y/n, this take no prisoners attitude is very hot."

You huffed, "You've both made your attraction pretty clear and it's not happening, I'm not going to be your tool to show up the prospect."

"Maybe we're just going to ask you to have a drink with us." Bottles hadn't yet developed the charm that some of the patched members had and if it wasn't so cute, you might have felt sorry for him.

"Come on y/n, I wouldn't be showing him up, we'd be helping the poor boy. You see how shy he is." You rolled your eyes but Guero continued, "All this flirting we've been doing has to go somewhere, just say yes and we'll show you a good time."

There was no denying they were attractive, and if the rumours you heard around the clubhouse were true, they knew what they were doing, "I'm not going to have sex with Bottles because you wanna torment him about it, that's really gross dude."

Bottles smiled, "That's not what it is, he's got a big mouth and I want to prove him wrong."

You blinked, you had no idea where his sudden confidence came from, "What fucking cave did you two crawl out of?"

Guero raised a hand in placation, "It ain't like that, we like you and we want to show you a good time, if you'll let us."

You sighed, "Fine, but no fucking bullshit and this doesn't mean I'm getting passed around." You held up a finger as the smirk grew on Guero's face, "Any fuckin bullshit and I'm putting you both out on your asses, understand?" They both nodded aggressively, "Good, I'll see you at my place tomorrow at six and bring food."

****

You rubbed your face as they fought over the last spring roll, "I swear to shit, cut it in half or I'll eat it." They stopped like little boys caught in the middle of roughhousing and did as you asked, "Thank you."

Bottles shifted in his seat and pushed up his glasses, "Thank you for agreeing to this."

You smiled, "You're both very handsome and I'm hoping to have fun too, it's not a big ask."

The corner of Guero's lip ticked up, "Oh, you're going to have more than fun."

You rolled your eyes, "If you keep bragging, I'm going to think you're overcompensating for something."

"Oh trust me, I'm compensating just the right amount." Sometimes his smug tone made you want to punch him.

Bottles shook his head, "You don't need to worry about that with me, I'm secure."

"You know, it might serve you to be this confident all the time, I like this side of you." He positively beamed at your praise. Guero kicked him under the table and you slapped his chest, "None of that, be nice to him."

Bottles smiled, "Yeah, be nice to me."

Guero's jaw ticked, "You are so in for it Prospect."

You shook your head and stood up, "I'm going to fix up the bedroom, I expect my kitchen to be clean by the time I invite you into my bed." Guero would have taken the chance to make Bottles do it had you not stopped him, "Both of you. You don't want me thinking you're lazy would you?"

Guero shook his head, "I love cleaning."

"Sure you do, you got ten minutes." With that, you headed to the bedroom and left them to rile each other up for the upcoming fun.

At eight minutes, you walked out of the bedroom and back into the kitchen, looking around before smiling, "Great job, shall we?"

Guero slapped Bottles on the back and grinned, "We shall."

You followed them into the bedroom and Guero flopped himself on the chair by the bed while Bottles stood in the middle of the room, "You're not taking part?"

Guero's tongue darted out and licked his lower lip, "I'm alright with watching, I'll step in when he can't do the job right."

You ignored him and stepped closer to Bottles, taking his glasses off his face and handing them to Guero without looking at him. "Are you sure you're alright with this? I don't want you to do anything you're not one hundred percent into."

He laid hands on your cheeks and smiled, "I'm really alright with this, trust me." He leaned in closer and bumped your nose with his, "Can I kiss you?"

You nodded, "Yes, I would like that." His lips were gentle when he pressed them to yours, holding a quiet confidence that made your skin burst out into gooseflesh.

One hand left your face and made its way down your body to unbutton your top before sliding it off your shoulders, "Holy shit."

You could feel Guero eyes on your body as he took in your bare skin, and you broke the kiss, "It's just my back dude."

He chuckled, "Yeah, but I can tell you got a hot bra on, and the Prospect's too busy kissing you to appreciate it."

Sure enough, when you turned back, Bottle's eyes were stuck on your lace covered breast, "It is a nice bra."

You nodded, "Yeah, you wanna take it off me?"

Bottle's hands rushed to remove it as his lips found yours again, "Wow Prospect, I thought you were a virgin but the way that bra came off makes me think we might be alright yet."

You broke the kiss again and shot a look at Guero, "You did crawl out of a cave, virginity isn't real."

Guero chuckled, "Sorry, continue."

Bottles' lips moved to your neck when you turned back this time, that same quiet confidence coming through as his hand moved to your breast to play with your nipple. His hand went to your ribcage and pulled you close as the other moved down to the zipper of your jeans, "Can I?"

You nodded, "Yes please." The zipper came open and a warm hand slid inside before settling over your covered core to cup you through your panties.

"You gonna take her jeans off Prospect? It ain't fair that you're keeping her all of yourself." Again, there was something in Guero's tone that made you want to punch him, he was clearly enjoying the power.

Bottles pushed your panties aside and his fingers grazed your bare flesh, "How about you come over here and do it yourself, I'm busy."

Guero hopped up with a skip in his step and took two long strides over to the middle of the room. His hand were warm as he ran his knuckles up and down your sides, getting lower and lower with each pass before finally going low enough to pull your jeans down your legs, "Did you dress up for us?"

Bottles' calloused fingers finally making direct contact with your clit made it hard to reply, "I think she did, but unlike you, I'm grateful for it."

Guero went to reply, but you mustered your own, "I did it for me, I like nice lingerie. As far as you know, I could have been wearing something like this four nights a week."

Bottles swallowed and flicked his eyes to Guero who smirked, "Our bad, apologise Prospect."

Bottles didn't respond, and your panties went next while he gathered wetness from your entrance before sliding two of his thick fingers inside you. Guero stepped back, flopped on the bed, and pet the spot beside him, "You two wanna join me?"

You whimpered as Bottles pulled his fingers out and stepped backwards towards the bed, sitting on the edge as Bottles stepped between your legs, "You're both overdressed."

You reached out, pulled Bottles' belt free and yanked his jeans down while he removed his shirt and then a bare chest was being pressed against your back and Guero's lips grazing your neck, "Hey, fuck off, it's my turn."

Guero sat back, propped up on the headboard and smirked, "Sorry man, you were just taking forever."

You shook your head in disbelief, "Do I get a say in any of this you fucking troglodytes?"

Bottles suddenly looked very smug, "What do you want?"

You heard Guero's jeans coming off as they waited for your answer, "I want you to fuck me."

Bottles grinned and leaned over, forcing you to lie back, "I can do that."

You made your way up the bed and settled on the pillows and Guero bent over to take you into a kiss. His hand found your cheek and he pulled back while his thumb stroked your skin, "You want me to fuck you too or are you going to make me sit here and watch?"

Eyes got wide as you watched Guero's hand slide down his body to take his dick out, "Holy shit."

Guero chuckled, "That's not an answer."

You blinked, "That thing is fucking huge, what the fuck do you want me to do with it?"

Guero shrugged, "Whatever you want, I'm not fussed."

Bottles tapped your hip gently and drew your attention back to him, "Well you can decide later because I want to make you feel good, can I do that?"

You nodded, "Yes please."

Guero stroked his dick lazily, "So polite, who knew you had such great manners. Did you know about that Prospect?"

Bottles was looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive, "She's always sweet to me, it's not my fault you're an asshole."

"Can someone please do something before I have an aneurism?" No reply came from either of them as Bottles made his way all the way up the bed and hovered over you. His lips touched yours, the kissed deeper this time as his free hand rubbed your outer thigh and you placed one hand on his side and the other reached out to grab Guero's cock.

Bottles grabbed your wrist and shook his head, "Don't."

"But I want to." Your tone was far more desperate than you intended

Guero looked for you to Bottles and chuckled, "Yeah Prospect, she wants to. Are you going to deny such a beautiful woman?"

You could see the wheels turning to Bottles head before he let your hand go, "Alright, only because you've been so good."

Guero wrapped his hand over yours and placed it over his dick, moving in a barely there stroke, "Like that yeah?"

You nodded, "Ok." He smiled and leaned back, enjoying the sensation as he watched Bottles' lips return to your skin.

You slid your hand from Bottles' side and removed his boxers and his hard cock sprung free, "Well look at that, the Prospect's packing too. Who knew?"

Bottles chuckled, "Yeah, and unlike you, I know how to use it."

You huffed, "Can someone please fucking do something instead of just bickering, I could have gotten myself off five times by now."

Bottles smiled and nibbled your neck as he made his way to your breast, and Guero's hand wrapped over yours again as he tightened your grip slightly before pulling away once more. Bottles lips wrapped around your nipple as his hand came up to play with the other but Guero slapped it away, "You don't get to have all the fun, I've barely touched her."

Bottles took the chance to take to the hand that was on your breast and place it back between your legs, and you took in a breath as he went right back to where he was before, with his fingers sliding inside you.

Guero's finger moved in broad, teasing circles, his fingertips bearly touching your breasts as he moved closer to your nipple. Bottles, however, was kissing your flesh like it contained the answer to the universe. Before you could relax into the feeling, Bottles was pulling away and kissing down your body to your core.

Guero picked up the slack, his hands becoming more insistent as he had more room to work, and Bottles' fingertips crooked upwards to brush your G-spot as he used his other hand to lift your legs over his shoulders. He lifted his head and made eye contact with you before giving you a soft smile, "Can I?"

You nodded and wove your hand into his hair, "Please." His lips sealed around your clit and Guero shuffled down so he was lying next to you before taking your face in his hands and pulling you into a kiss. Guero swallowed your moans as Bottles worked you closer to the edge, all the teasing and stopping finally catching up with you as the orgasm rushed towards you like an oncoming train.

You bit down on Guero's pillowy lower lip and he let out a feral grunt as your hand tightened around his cock. You pushed Bottles head closer and ground yourself on his face as your clenched around his fingers and Guero broke the kiss to watch as pleasure overtook your body, "Fuck, that's so fucking hot."

Bottles pulled back and wiped his face with his palm and kissed back up your body, taking your chin in between his fingers and pulling your head away from Guero and towards him as he took you into a kiss. Guero's breath caught in his throat, but before you could act on it, Bottles grabbed both your wrists and pressed them into the pillow by your head, "Keep them there."

Guero was taken aback but recovered quickly, "I was going to complain but this might be better than the handjob."

Bottles removed his hands from your wrists and slid them down your body and bent your knees so he could slot himself in the space between them, "Condoms?"

"Top drawer." Guero twisted himself around and reached over, rifling through the drawer with a smile before pausing to look at something.

A smirk grew on his face as he pulled out a bullet vibe, "What's this?"

He and Bottles shared a look but you shook your head, "Next time."

"Alright, next time it is." Guero shot Bottles a pointed look and when he stayed quiet, the box of condoms was lobbed at his head, "You got something stuck in your throat? She's saying there's going to be a next time."

Bottles' brain caught up with his dick because he was grinning, "Hell yeah, I can't wait."

He picked the condoms up from where they had landed and pulled one out of the packet before opening it and sliding it over his cock. His hands ran up and down your legs as you threw them over his waist and he rubbed his cock up and down your slit and looked into your eyes in a request for permission, "Please."

He slid inside you slowly, biting back his moan as he bottomed out. Guero rested his hand on your cheek and turned your head towards him for another kiss as his hand returned to his dick. Bottles rocked his hips slowly, working up to a steady pace as he held himself above you on his elbows.

You pulled your hands off the pillow and wrapped them around his body, Bottles making no move to stop you as his hips picked up speed. Beside you, Guero tutted and slapped Bottles' shoulder before pushing him slightly, "Have you forgotten something man?"

Bottles hips barely slowed as he shook his head and Guero rearranged himself so he could slide his hand between your bodies to rub your clit, "The fucking basics man."

It took a few thrusts for them to get the rhythm but before long, the sensations overwhelmed you, "I didn't fucking forget man."

Guero smirked, "Ah I see, if you can't handle it I can take over."

"No, please don't stop." That only spurred Bottles on as he picked up speed, and then he was the one batting Guero's hand away as he took over. There was more light shoving as Guero pressed his lips to yours, and Bottles kissed your neck, giving you no time to warn with as the second orgasm swept over you.

Bottles' pace faltered, and they swapped places as he climbed his own high. Through the haze of pleasure, you were vaguely aware that Guero was nibbling bruises into your neck, but before you could protest, Bottles' breath shuddered, and he pulsed inside you.

Your hips twitched as Bottles pulled out and rolled off you with a chuckle, "Sorry."

Guero huffed, "He's not sorry, look at him." He rolled you over onto your side facing him and took your head in his hands, "Don't worry y/n, I'll be nicer to you."

Bottles settled behind you with his chest pressed against your back and ran his hands up and down your body while he pressed his lips to your upper back, "Do you believe him?"

Guero was brushing your sweat stuck hair from your face with a gentle smile, "I do."

There was a rush to find the condoms and Guero paused like he was deep in thought as he held the little square package, "What is it?"

He smiled, "I'm thinking about whether I should go down on you first, it's no fair that the Prospect gets all the fun."

You thought for a moment, "I think that might be a bit too much, my brain feels like it's swimming in maple syrup."

Guero smiled, "Maple syrup, are you a secret Canadian?"

You shook your head, "No, I was worried if I said chocolate syrup you'd leave us to get a hot fudge parfait."

Guero chuckled and pecked your cheek, "I wouldn't dream of it and that's alright, I'm happy to skip to the main event." He rolled the condom down his dick and lifted your leg over his hip before running his cock up and down your slit, "You wanna keep going? You don't need to say yes, we can do something else if you're done."

You smiled, "No, I want to keep going."

Bottles chuckled behind you and reached over to shove Guero lightly, "Who's denying the beautiful woman now?"

Guero snorted, "Hey, I'm being a gentleman." He sighed and his lips met yours as he began a slow, steady slide inside you. He paused for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his ample size before slowly rocking his hips, "You good?" His voice was tightly, clearly feeling the outcome of his own delayed pleasure.

You nodded, "Yep."

Bottles pulled you away from Guero and you twisted towards him like a pretzel so he could kiss you while Guero's hips picked up speed, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Guero exhaled sharply, "You wanna say that again?" Guero's fingers found your clit in an instant and he flashed a grin at Bottles, "I don't forget." He rolled his hips into you and Bottles swallowed your gasp as Guero brushed your G-spot with each forceful stroke.

Your breath caught in your throat and Bottle's lips turned gentle on yours, the mix of rough and gentle intensifying the sensations even. Bottles didn't let you pull your lips away to warn Guero of your oncoming release and you swore you could hear something break in his brain as you clenched around him, "Fucking fuck."

Guero yanked you away from Bottles and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that left your head spinning as he followed behind you, taking his hand from your clit and gripping your hip hard enough to leave bruises.

Guero rolled away from you and you flopped onto your back, unable to move much more without rolling onto Bottles, "Fuck that was amazing."

Guero chuckled, "You said it Prospect."

You sighed and pushed yourself up, "I really need to go have a shower, I'm all sweaty."

Bottles followed, looking helpful as always, "We can join you, I had a look at your shower and it will fit all three of us."

Guero shook his head, "What are you talking about Prospect, I'm going to help y/n clean up and you're going to change the sheets."

You crossed your arms over your chest, "Nope, I'm going to shower all by myself and you're both going to change the sheets, they're in the drawers under the bed and there are spare pillows in the cupboard." Guero glared at Bottles and you held up a finger, "No fighting or you'll be sleeping on the porch."

Bottles eyes went wide, "I wasn't fighting, it's all him."

You shook your head and turned on your heel, "Don't think I can't see how you rile him up. I'll be out in ten, that should be enough time."

Thankfully, when you came out of the bathroom, there were fresh sheets on the bed and they were getting along. They took turns in the bathroom and Bottles was thoughtful enough to bring you a glass of water while Guero glared at him.

You stretched and yawned then climbed into bed, Geruo and Bottles following after you, "So, who do you like more, me or Bottles?"

You shook your head, "I like you both equally now can I please get some sleep, I'm worn out."

Bottles chuckled, "That's my plan but I get the feeling that he's going to want to talk."

Guero reached over you and shoved him, "Do not, I know when to shut up, unlike you."

You huffed and climbed over Guero to turn off the lamp, "Goodnight, both of you."

They got the message because they arranged themselves so they could touch you, with all your legs entangled in a mess, while placing their arms strategically over you. Guero pressed his lips to your temple, "Goodnight y/n."

Bottles went next with his lips falling on your cheek, "Goodnight, thank you for tonight."

Guero kicked him softly, "Show off."

Fin

Y'all want this to become a thing? I'm not above making this a thing, where's there's I love yous and non sexual cuddling.

#mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc fanfic #guero smut #guero fanfic #guero fanfiction #guero #guero mayans mc #bottles #bottles mayans #bottles mayans mc #alex barone #andrew jacobs #guero x reader #bottles x reader #guero x reader x bottles

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ravennaortiz · 9 days

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Your Boyfriend is a Bitch Headcanon -Mayans Version

Summary: How the guys would react if they overheard some guy hitting on you and saying that your boyfriend is a bitch. Inspiration came from the song below.

Taglist: @keyweegirlie @hatersaremymotivators @meera10 @kikijackson-blog @im-just-a-mississippi-girl

A hint of mischief is in Coco's eyes as he turns to you after knocking the guy out who had went from telling you how beautiful you were to telling Coco he was a bitch and he could steal you away if he really wanted to.. "My bad ma" he states with a smile. You had been begging for a normal date night away from the clubhouse and brothers. As much as you loved them and the club sometimes it was nice to have a quiet dinner at a nice restaurant outside of town. You couldn't help the smile and laugh as you shook your head as you reached for his hand quickly moving to your car. "I can't take you anywhere. Always getting me in trouble" he continued as the sound of sirens could be heard in the distance.

"Oh, really? You think you have a chance of taking me?" inquired Angel his voice casual as he turned to the younger guy who had sat down at your table. The guy had been chatting you up since you had stepped into the packed clubhouse looking for your man. Not taking a single word you had said to heart as you told him to back off and that your boyfriend was not one to play with. You watched as the mans eyes widened as he took in Angel and his eyes flickered over the patches. Angel was an imposing man sitting down but when he stood up the guy took off. "Thought I was the bitch?" laughed Angel as he sat back down looking at you.

Short king Bishop oozes big dick, don't fuck with me energy. Which is why you are stunned into silence as well as Gilly and Angel at what the new prospect has just said to him. The air is tense as Bishop contemplates the young man who had just dared to say he could fuck you better than him. "I assume you only said this because you think my beautiful goddess of a wife is a club girl correct? " asked Bishop as he gently taps your hip. Once you have stood up off his lap he stands up and walks to the new prospect who has decided now to shut his mouth. "I'll help you out son. There is no correct answer" states Bishop as he grabs the guys arm and leads him out the door.

Manny is all slow blinks and tight smiles as he listens to the man next to him at the bar describe all the ways he would do you as they wait for EZ to get them beers. "Said she has a boyfriend, dumb bitch doesn't know what she's missing out on. He's obviously a winner since he left her alone." states the man as he nudges Manny who chuckles darkly. "Yeah, the mother of my four beautiful girls over there sure is missing out" he states before punching the guy in the face. "Also im her husband not her boyfriend" states Manny before making his way to you. "This is why I don't bring you out ma. Always got me acting up" joked Manny as he pulled you too him for a kiss.

Guero is all angry forehead press and fists the minute the guy grabs your arm to turn you too him. The two of you had been taking a break from dancing and wee making out in the back of the packed clubhouse. You had mentioned to Guero earlier that the guy had been hitting on you and said he could take your boyfriend in a fight when you mentioned you were not single. Guero had wanted to put his fist through the guys face then but you had been so amused he had pushed the idea down so that he could keep that smile on your face. Now though it was on. No one touched what was his.

The moment your sweet Teddy Bear said excuse me and stood up you knew the guy was done for. It never ceased to amaze you how many people thought it was fun to poke the grizzly bear of a man that was Gilly. You smiled as he blew you and your daughter who was cooing away in your arms kisses before grabbing the back of the guys neck and walking him out of the clubhouse. "Still getting guys in trouble, four days after giving birth" chuckled Coco, making you laugh, as he stood up. "I'll make sure he doesn't kill the kid"

Creeper is silent as he watches you and the guy go back and forth. You have just as much blood on your hands as he does, he knows you can handle yourself. He won't hesitate to step in though if you want him too. He patiently waits for your cue as he sips his beer, chuckling when the guy says he can do you better and asks what position you like. "Do you like having your ass fucked?" you inquire as you tap Creepers arm. "As her bitch of a boyfriend I like to watch her fuck guys in the ass" he states as he looks the guy up and down.

"Who's the bitch now?" growled Bottles as he stood over the guy he had just punched in the jaw much to the shock of everyone. The guy had been following you like a scenthound, not taking your rejection of an offer to dance or to sneak off to a more private area. Even when you stated your boyfriend was a Mayan he was undeterred, going so far as to push you into a wall saying your boyfriend must be a bitch if he wasn't with you. Pushing Guero out of the way as he congratulated Bottles you pulled him to you demanding he take you home to bed now.

EZ is willing to let the guy slide. He's drunk and clearly overcome by your beauty. Who wouldn't be? He could not blame the guy for coming over and hitting on you. He probably figured you two were just friends sitting here having a drink and a chat. Its an easy mistake if you are new like he was. The two of you shared a look and small chuckle when the guy said your boyfriend was probably a bitch. He was going to let hat slide too but when the guy angrily slapped your beer out of your hand.....letting anything slide was out the door.

#Spotify #ravennasmasterlist #mayans imagines #mayans mc #bottles mayans mc #guero mayans #mayans x reader #manny mayans #angel reyes #bishop losa #gilly lopez #creeper vargas #coco cruz #ez reyes #mayans headcanons #mayans imagine #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc imagines

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drabbles-mc · 11 months

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Always Here Anyway

Mayans S5 Spoilers Ahead (no plot spoilers, just a new character)

Guero x F!Reader

Prompt: "I remember the first time we met."

Warnings: 18+, language, fluff

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: There is no real plot here because we know so little about his character. But Guero is my baby boy now and no one can stop me from becoming obsessed with him. 😌

Modified Taglist b/c it's a season 5 fic: @garbinge @withmyteeth @artemiseamoon @proceduralpassion @justreblogginfics @ciniluv @thegirlwhowritesfics

(pic is from the Mayans twitter account but I will barter fic for more gifs of this man)

The only sound in your small apartment was coming from the television in your bedroom. It was late enough, or early enough depending on how you wanted to look at it, that the streets outside your place were actually quiet. No cars, no fights, no motorcycles. Light from the lamp across the street barely made it to your bedroom window. The blue light cast off by your TV was enough to illuminate your bed and the wall behind you. It was more than either of you needed at that point.

Guero’s arm was looped around your back, his hand resting comfortably on the bare skin of your thigh. Even beneath the thin top sheet of your bed, you could still feel the extra warmth coming off his palm, seeping into your skin from the pads of his fingers. You smiled to yourself at the easy comfort of it as your cheek rested against his chest. The steady beat of his heart was easier to feel against your face when his kutte and his t-shirt were both discarded on the other side of your room, leaving the two of you skin to skin.

You shifted slightly, just enough so that you could look up at his face. The hand that wasn’t holding you was resting behind his head, elbow bent and jutting out as he rested back against the pillows that were stacked underneath his head and neck. There was enough light from the TV to see the ink that went down the side of his neck. His half-hooded eyes were still trained on the television. Your smile grew a little wider as you watched him fighting to stay awake even though he was clearly exhausted.

He must’ve felt you smile against his chest, because he glanced down at you, eyebrows raised to punctuate a question he hadn’t asked you yet.

“What?” he finally said, a cheesy little grin appearing on his face too as he looked down at you.

You shook your head. Bringing one hand up, you placed your palm on his chest where your cheek had just been before resting your chin on the back of your hand. “Nothing.” You paused. Not that it was what you’d been thinking about before, but you still asked, “You staying over?”

He laughed, pointing towards the window with his hand from underneath the sheet. “I already did. Sun’s gonna be up in a couple hours.”

“Mmm…” you hummed, tilting your head back and forth like you weren’t quite sold on what he was saying. “I think it might be more than a couple.”

He shook his head, letting his fingers drag lightly over the skin of your thigh. “This you saying you want me to go?”

You laughed as you rolled your eyes at him. “I didn’t say that—don’t be dramatic.” You moved your leg so that it was draped over one of his. “You can stay.” You paused for a moment as you laughed. “Might as well clear a drawer out for you at this point.”

Now it was his turn to roll your eyes at you. His feigned annoyance only lasted a second as his childish grin returned. “I didn’t unpack my shit at my own place. You think I’m gonna take the time to unpack it here?”

“You still haven’t unpacked?” you asked with a laugh.

He shrugged, holding his hand out for a moment as if to emphasize his question of, “What? When would I have had the time?”

Your grin softened into a gentler smile. “That’s true. You’re always here anyway.”

“See? That makes it sound like you want me to—”

You cut him off, leveraging yourself against him just enough so that you could catch his lips with your own. You both laughed into the kiss, Guero’s arm winding tighter around you, making it harder for you to pull away, not that you really wanted to. He brought his other hand from behind his head and placed it behind yours instead.

When you finally came up for air, you couldn’t help but to let out a soft, breathless laugh. “I like you staying over. Even if you’re living out of your backpack like a fuckin’ runaway,” you added on with a smirk as he brought his hand to cup the side of your face.

“Want me to move in?”

You couldn’t stop the laugh you barked out at that. “Hold your horses, there, caballero. I didn’t say that either.”

Neither of you said anything for a bit after that. Both your laughter and his drowned out the voices coming from your television for a minute. It wasn’t long until you were settled back almost how you had been before. If anything, you were a little more tangled up now. You felt your eyes starting to grow heavy as some of your attention drifted back to the television. You were only half-watching, half-listening. The other half of you was listening to Guero’s heartbeat, paying attention to the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

Even though you could feel yourself getting more and more drowsy, you didn’t miss the way that he tilted his head so that he was looking down at you. Not moving, you smiled and gave the tiniest shake of your head that you could manage.

“Yes?” you said, sleep creeping into your voice.

“What? I didn’t say anything.”

“I can feel you staring at me,” you murmured against his chest.

He squeezed you tighter. “’Cause you’re hot.”

You laughed. “Mhm.” You sighed contentedly, settling more against him. “What’re you thinking about?”

He pressed a quick kiss to the edge of your forehead. “You.”

You huffed out a soft chuckle. “Oh, yea?”

“Yea.”

“What about me?”

He lightly squeezed your leg. “You remember the first time we met?” he asked, and you could hear the way he was trying to hold back his own laughter, his voice dramatically wistful. “I remember the first time we met.”

You laughed, opening your eyes all the way and turning to look up at him. “Guero, it was like three weeks ago. I sure hope you remember the first time we met.”

He looked down at you, the charming grin on his face beaming even more than before when you didn’t think that that was possible. He laughed, and you could feel the vibrations throughout his chest as he did. “I do.”

For all his charm, and despite all the nights that he’d been crashing at your place because he refused to unpack and settle into his own apartment, things weren’t all that serious between the two of you. It was new but still comfortable. More than that, though, it was fun. What you had was working for the time being, and neither of you seemed to be in a rush to push it to be anything more than what it was.

“Three weeks and now look at you,” you said with a soft laugh as you kissed his chest before resting the side of your face back against it again, “you’re basically moved in.”

You heard the sound of his head hitting the pillowcase behind him. “One backpack at a time.”

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans mc fanfic #mayans fx #guero #guero mayans #guero mayans mc #guero x reader #guero x you #mayans mc season 5 #mayans season 5 #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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ashlingnarcos · 10 months

Text

play the refrain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m wide awake.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chapo wants you out,” you say.

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

You pretend to focus. “I mean dead.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kept it warm,” you say.

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

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

“Yeah?” you say.

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

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

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

Your lips part, and he catches that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I really fucking don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Güero hands you the gun.

“I’d rather it be you,” he says.

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

You look at him in astonishment.

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

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

He still won’t look at you.

“Héctor.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His dark eyes are direct but ashamed.

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want from me?" he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again, Abel gives you nothing but patience.

“Because I haven’t got any.”

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

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

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

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

“So where is he?” Abel says.

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

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

“I don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” he says.

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

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

“Thank you,” Güero says quietly.

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

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

“Lean forward,” he says.

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he says again.

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

#guero palma x reader #hector palma x reader #guero x reader #güero x reader #narcos mexico imagine #narcos mexico #narcos mexico fanfiction #mine

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narcolini · 6 months

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not in this life

güero x gn!reader, sort of pining, sort of enemies, 795 words for day 16 of narcoctober: dreams a/n: plot? i don't know her! AU? quite possibly! don't ask questions because i do not have answers <3 tagging: @narcosfandomdiscord @drabbles-mc @cositapreciosa @ashlingiswriting @hausofmamadas

There’s no opening, no invite, no explanation. No route that he can remember. Only you and him, in the home you’ve never stepped foot in, because you didn’t know him then. One minute elsewhere, and the next—

‘Güero?’

He hums, head lifting from nothing, to find you across the room.

‘Can I?’

You’re standing by his wardrobe, fingers dug deep into the shirts within. Ready before he’s even answered.

He shrugs. ‘If they fit.’

‘Of course they’ll fit.’ You pull a brown striped one from its hanger and put it over your shoulder, freeing your hands to unbutton your own. ‘I told him the colt was a bad pick,’ you say.

‘He’ll learn.’

‘Acosta, or…?’

‘Don’t.’ He sighs. ‘Both.’

You’re pleased with that, his warning and his submission. He clocks it on your face before it’s away again. ‘But seriously,’ you continue, ‘how long will that take?’

‘How long have you got?’

You laugh, half turning toward him. He watches it twitch out of you, watches your rib cage go in and out again afterwards, between the column of open buttons. In this world, he’s allowed to look. That’s obvious without asking, or hearing you say it, that’s beneath the bones themselves. In the blood.

He can look. You want him to look.

‘Shingamadre's ruined every shirt I’ve put on this week,’ you complain, moving again to show him the horseshoe stamped onto your checkered back. There must be a matching one beneath the cotton, raised and discoloured, hot to the touch from the swelling, but you turn again as the shirt drops; he’s left staring at your chest when you pull on the replacement. His shirt over your shoulders, his buttons bracketing your navel.

‘It doesn’t hurt?’ he asks.

A smile slings across your cheeks, point to point. ‘Not at all.’

He can’t match it. His head shakes. ‘You’re crazy.’

Then you’re in front of him—in exchange of a reply—having never moved, or raised a foot, but being right there all the same, hot breath to his neck, hands comfortable on his collar. ‘Crazy enough to say no to?’ you ask.

‘No.’

‘Never?’

‘I don’t like boring,’ he explains. ‘You aren’t boring.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘I do,’ he says, ‘but this is a dream, so it doesn’t count.’

You pull back. You kiss him. You don’t touch him at all.

‘What?’

He says it again into the black. ‘This is a dream.’

When he wakes, you’re standing over him. You as you are every day, in your own clothes, with that usual indifferent expression. It sits on him like that was what summoned him back, not the sudden awareness of himself, of his false consciousness, but the call of that look you give him every fucking day.

It’s not quite hatred, but it’s a distaste constant enough to sting just the same.

‘You fell asleep again,’ you snark, tossing his car keys onto his chest. They land with a thud, cold metal hitting his gold chain. ‘I’m bored of waiting.’

He sighs, dragging a flat, dry palm across his face. ‘We’ll go then.'

‘They’ve called twice already.’

‘I said we’ll go.’

‘You also said you were done sleeping on the job.’

He sits upright, unable to stop the low groan that follows. This couch was never made for naps. It’s barely made for sitting at all. He flexes his shoulders to no avail, then gives you a look instead of a warning, also to no avail.

‘You could have driven yourself,’ he says, low and unconvinced of the idea. He’s only saying it to say it. And because there’s enough sleep around his tongue to lead it astray.

You don’t move as he stands, putting him and yourself face to face in defiance. ‘Are you dreaming still?’ you ask, scoffing in between. ‘Drive myself?’

‘We’re going.’ He pushes past you, avoiding your shoulder, avoiding the image of your shirt, un-done to your waist. ‘But it’s the last time.’

‘Yeah, sure.’ You’re following him, mocking him. ‘Because that’s your decision to make.’

It will be, one day. Once he’s left the dreams behind and the ranks under his feet. Once you’re the one driving him.

‘Do you know horses?’ he asks, light like it’s small talk and not an anchor in the deep.

You’re frowning, no doubt, he can feel the scrutiny in the back of his head. But you humour him with an answer all the same, ‘No, never liked them.’

‘Good,’ he says, ‘then it’s a nightmare, not a dream,’ and he doesn’t expand, and you don’t ask. You just walk in silence, car keys rattling from the hook of his finger. He’s awake and welcomes it, all thoughts of borrowed shirts and unbroken colts, left on the shallow couch behind.

#narcoctober #guero x reader #narcos mexico fanfiction #güero x reader #narcos mexico imagine

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calliopecalling · 2 years

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Summary: What might have happened if James had woken up in time to intercept Teresa's kidnapping the morning after 3x05?

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mandaloria314 · 2 years

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Queen of the South fics

I’m watching QOTS and churning out (pre-)OT3 fic featuring Teresa, James, and Guero, because their Bolivia trip grabbed me by the throat.

Tempest

On a ship leaving Bolivia, a truce emerges that could be more than temporary.

Relationship Building (for Narcos and Other Idiots) [crossover with Narcos]

James and Guero try to blend in at a gay club as part of a scheme to secure the Cali cartel as a new supplier. Where does the acting end and the real feelings begin?

#qots fic #queen of the south fic #queen of the south fanfiction #teresa/james/guero

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jerepars · 3 years

Link

The first time Teresa kissed James it wasn’t even real. It was during a hallucination after El Santo fed her the poisonous beetle.

But it felt real.

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talistheintrovert · 5 years

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she’s a killer queen

@yourereallyhere asked for the Bellarke QOTS AU from my WIP list and I had SUCH a blast writing this, so I hope you like it my love!

and on ao3, if you prefer!

*****

Finn being alive was certainly a revelation.

She hadn’t decided if it was a good one or a bad one yet, but it was definitely a surprise.

One she really didn’t have time for.

But, unfortunately, surprises were what Finn was best at.

“I’m sorry, what?!” She snapped.

Finn winced. “She’s my ex. If she sees me she might kill me, you have to go in without me.”

They were on the border into Polis, planning to meet with a dealer on Diyoza’s behest, someone who ran most of the trade here - codename ALIE - and Finn had promised her and Bellamy that he had a contact who could hook them up with a meeting. Only he failed to mention that said contact apparently violently hated him.

“I don’t give a shit if she’ll kill you, she’s your contact, we need you to get in.” Bellamy snapped, shoving him forward. “So move.”

He stumbled through the beaded curtain and into the club, and Clarke followed, Bellamy bringing up the rear with his hand firmly planted on the gun at his side.

Ever since they’d arrived at the border, he’d been overly protective of Clarke, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it. If she didn’t have time to deal with Finn being alive these past few weeks, she definitely didn’t know how to decipher that.

“This place is like a neon sign saying ‘Raid Me’.” Bellamy muttered to her as they walked through the crowds of chipped up dancing tourists. “Your boyfriend’s dimwittedness is gonna get us killed.”

“Not my boyfriend.” She responded.

“But you still won’t let me shoot him.” He grumbled, and she was pretty sure he was mostly saying it to diffuse the tension, but there was also a definite element of annoyance in his voice. Finn had caused nothing but trouble since he’d turned up.

“Allow me.” A voice said, and they froze as an snaked out, pistol pointed at Finn’s head.

He smiled weakly. “Hey Raven. Long time no see.”

“Hey jackass.” She snapped back.

“Hey.” Clarke said, stepping closer with her hands raised in surrender. “I don’t know what he did to you, but that’s nothing to do with me. I came here to trade with ALIE.”

Raven cut her eyes across to her. “Who?”

“Don’t play dumb with us.” Bellamy growled, fingers tightening around his gun.

“I suppose with you it’s hardly playing is it?” She smirked. Her finger slipped off the trigger. “Fine. But I’m not taking either of the muscleheads. I think we need to have some girl time.”

She grabbed Clarke’s elbow and dragged her through the crowd. They lost Finn and Bellamy in seconds, and Clarke didn’t like it one bit. They reached the bathroom and Raven closed the door behind them.

This was beginning to feel more and more like a trap with every passing minute.

“How do you know Finn?”

“He was my boyfriend. He faked his death and put me through hell so he could escape a death sentence from the Mountain Men Cartel.” Clarke said frankly. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

Raven snorted. “Well, at least you’re more honest than he is. You dating the muscly one?”

“Bellamy’s my friend.”

“So not yet then.” She mused. “You sure need Finn returned in one piece?”

“Yes.”

“Pity.”

“I thought we came in here to talk shop, not gossip about boys.” Clarke said, eyebrow raised.

Raven grinned. “I like you. So, you wanna trade?”

Clarke nodded.

“ALIE doesn’t do that. She’s the only distributor of the chip down here and she’s not letting anyone else encroach on her territory. And especially not Diyoza.”

“We’re not trying to move down here-” She faltered, swallowing, and took a hesitant step back. “We never said anything about working for Diyoza.”

“Yeah, well,” Raven shrugged, “ALIE doesn’t let anyone across the border without knowing exactly what they want in Polis, and Finn isn’t exactly subtle. She doesn’t trade, and she doesn’t like Diyoza. Her plan is to own everything on this side of the line, and for every other cartel to respect that goddamn line.”

“Like I said, we’re not trying to move down here. We’re trying to bring her product further North.”

Raven tilted her head, ponytail swishing. “Why?”

“It’s the best product in Arkadia.”

“True. What does ALIE get out of it?”

Clarke didn’t say anything. It didn’t seem like a question that actually required an answer.

Raven frowned a little, thinking it over. “Alright, you got yourself a deal. But if you’re doing this, you go all the way.”

“What are you talking about?”

And then Raven moved, shoving her over the basin and holding her down. Clarke fought her, but it was too late, and she felt a sharp pain in her neck, coursing through her veins, and then she felt nothing at all. It was like she was floating. All her worst memories were drifting behind a curtain, and all the scrapes and bruises she’d acquired over the last few weeks didn’t feel like they were there anymore. She blinked a few times, dizzy-headed, and Raven released her and stepped back.

“What did you do?” Clarke asked, tongue feeling heavy in her mouth.

“You wanna sell ALIE’s product, you’ve gotta be part of the family.” She said cryptically, and then a woman in a red dress swam into view, perfectly manicured nails tapping on the counter near Clarke’s drooping head.

“Well done, Raven. Welcome to the City of Light, Clarke.”

Clarke felt her knees go out from under her and had to catch herself on the basin, and when she blinked her heavy eyes open once again, Raven was gone.

The woman in red was still there, but Clarke had a feeling she was in her head.

A feeling that was confirmed when the bathroom door was kicked open and Bellamy ran right through the woman to get to her.

“Clarke?” He caught her around the waist and guided her to the floor, holding her to his chest while his eyes darted over her face. “Fuck. Clarke, stay with me, okay?”

“She made me take the chip, Bell…” She mumbled. “I can see her.”

He cursed again, arms tightening around her. “Stay with me, okay? I’m right here.”

He reached up and turned the tap on, trying to cool her forehead with water. This happened with four percent of everybody who took the chip - their bodies started rejecting it, fighting back against the infection in the brain, and the likelihood of death got higher the longer the chip stayed inserted.

Clarke tried to remember the statistics, to keep herself focussed while Bellamy lifted her slightly so he could douse her face and hair with ice-cold water.

He was talking to her, muttering promises and swearing he wouldn’t let this go unpunished, and stroking her damp hair back from her face so he could check her pupils.

Finn ran in, out of breath and glancing over his shoulder as if expecting someone to follow him. He flicked the latch on the bathroom door shut, and then turned around.

When he saw the two of them on the floor, his eyes widened in confusion. “What the hell?”

“Where the fuck have you been?!” Bellamy snapped, furious.

“Dealing with Raven, what happened to Clarke?” He said, crouching down on her other side and trying to touch her.

Bellamy smacked his hand away. “Get me something for her to bite down on.”

Finn looked like he might argue, but instead he undid his belt and folded it in half, offering it to Clarke. She let him place it between her teeth, locking eyes with ALIE as she did. The woman only smiled, empty.

“Knife.” Bellamy said, holding his hand out, and Finn handed his over.

“Are you sure-”

“-Clarke, this is gonna hurt, okay?” He said, ignoring Finn completely. He manoeuvered her forward, pulling her hair over her shoulder before trailing his hands soothingly down her back. “But you’re going to be fine. I promise.”

“Bellamy, I don’t like this, what if it-”

“I’m not interested in a single thing you have to say right now, Collins.” He barked. “You nearly botched the deal because you have a habit of screwing over your exes, and now Clarke is dying on a bathroom floor, s-”

“-THAT’S what this is about, isn’t it?” Finn retorted. “This is about her. Well you can forget it, because it’s-”

“-stop it.” Clarke whispered, pressing her eye socket against Bellamy’s knee. His jeans rubbed against her skin but she barely felt it, and she could still see ALIE’s shoes in the corner of her vision.

The men forgot their fight and Finn gripped her arms to hold her still, while Bellamy leaned closer, breath fanning over her neck.

“On three.” He said, and then pain ripped through her neck and ricocheted through her head. It was worse than anything she’d ever experienced - all the lowest moments in her life, all the broken fingers and cut legs and dark memories - everything came back at once, and it was agony.

She was dimly aware that she was thrashing against them, and there was a scream echoing around the tiled bathroom, but all she felt and saw and heard was pain.

Finn’s hands fell away - she was pretty sure she kicked him - and then Bellamy was at her back, strong arms banding her waist and keeping her arms pinned. His lips were pressed below her ear and he was murmuring something; it didn’t matter what, but she focussed on the sound and tried to drag herself back to the present.

Finally, she became conscious of her limbs again, and of the burn in her lungs. She gasped, throwing her head back against Bellamy’s shoulder, chest heaving, and he slumped with relief, loosening his grip.

“Clarke?”

She swallowed thickly. “You didn’t even count to one.”

His laugh was small, drained. “Figured it would go better if I went for the element of surprise.”

“Fuck you.” She breathed, but she turned her head slightly, nuzzling against his jaw.

“You okay?” He asked, reaching up to feel her forehead.

“No.”

“Okay.” He let his head fall, resting his forehead on her cheek.

She stretched her arms out, loosening them, remembering the cut on her forearm as she did, which made her wince. It was exhausting, trying to move, so she gave up and simply placed her hands on Bellamy’s thighs, grounding herself.

“Me neither, by the way.” Finn’s voice was muffled, and she glanced at him. There was blood gushing out of his nose, and he was pressing a huge wad of toilet paper against it.

She frowned, vaguely remembering the foot she’d sent into his face. “Sorry.”

He shrugged. “I probably deserved it.”

“Probably?” Bellamy muttered darkly, and Clarke elbowed him. His only reaction was to bundle her a little closer, nudge his nose against her skin, and she realised how scared he must have been to find her dying on the floor. She was resting against his chest, in the V of his legs, and he was drenched; whether from sweat or from the cold water on her she couldn’t be sure.

“At least we’ve got a deal, right?” Finn pointed out.

“Seeing as that deal nearly killed Clarke, I hope you’ll excuse me if I don’t jump up and down in glee.”

“Down boys.” Clarke said sternly.

“Sorry Clarke.” Finn said sheepishly. “I didn’t know Raven would do that, I thought it would be me she would put the chip in, I never… it never crossed my mind she’d take you instead.”

“S’okay.”

Bellamy was less moved by the apology. “Are you sure I can’t shoot him?”

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spaghettificationandpretzels · 10 months

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FRIENDS, I AM IN DESPERATE NEED OF A GUERO PIC THAT I CAN USE FOR A FIC MOOD BOARD. I'M LOOKING FOR SOMETHING SIMPLE THAT CAN GO WITH ANY THEME.

Sorry for the yelling but I've been looking for forever.

#guero mayans mc #guero mayans mc fanfiction #guero fanfiction #guero fanfic #mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc smut

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ravennaortiz · 2 months

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Three: The Magic Number Series Masterlist

This is a mix of Sons/Mayans boys with reader or occasionally one of my OC's. Purely smut, occasionally minor plot/humor. 18+

Story 1: Chibs xJax

Story 2: Bottles/Guero

Story 3:Angel/EZ

Story 4: Bishop/Chibs

Story 5: Half-Sack/Juice/OC Raven Trager-

Story 6: Happy/Juice

Story 7: Kozik/Tig

Story 8: EZ/Manny

Story 9: Coco/Gilly

Story 10: Opie/Jax

Story 11: Happy/Tig

Story 12: Chibs/JuiceTBA

Story 13: Creeper/Gilly TBA

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rokhal · 4 years

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Doing one of those end of year fic wrap ups

Holy hell what happened in 2019.

Well I got over the shock (I didn’t get over the shock) of the US 2016 election outcome and donated a bunch of money and when that didn’t make me feel useful enough, I sublimated all my dad issues into All-New Ghost Rider fanfiction, a fandom that expresses my dad issues like no other fandom has before. This worked out to 298,000 words published on A03 this year.

Wow.

Also I started doing flashfics. Because comment memes are no longer a thing.

List of fics below the cut. Uh. Lots. of them.

Wrong Reyes ANGR/Blue Beetle bodyswap genfic. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17355413

Vocation ANGR background character flashfic about student reporting and reintegration after a long prison term. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17863649

The Coming Of THE ORB ANGR supervillain fight. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17991902

Eli, My Friend ANGR villain backstory about reckless driving. https://archiveofourown.org/works/18046283

Robbie And Noble’s Hellish Road Trip Robbie Reyes, All-New Ghost Rider, and Noble Kale, 1990′s Ghost Rider, fight the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, one 15-minute ficlet at a time. https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125408

You Must Feel The Burn Robbie and Noble get chicken wings. https://archiveofourown.org/works/18163847

Redshift ANGR background characters. Baby’s first femslash! https://archiveofourown.org/works/18425343

Vengeance Drives For Uber 115,000 words, guys. The longest Ghost Rider fanfiction I know about. TREMBLE BEFORE ROKHAL’S DAD ISSUES. https://archiveofourown.org/works/18378101

Evil Coffee aka cocaine. ANGR again. https://archiveofourown.org/works/18676000

Incredible, Edible rokhal is slowly sinking into insanity due to real life being full of too much real shit. ANGR fanfic based on a PBS Frontline documentary about forced labor in the poultry industry. https://archiveofourown.org/works/18786538

Word On The Street ANGR background character investigates an X-File. https://archiveofourown.org/works/19059556

Don’t Trust Anyone You Find On Craigslist ANGR. Shockingly, nobody wakes up in a tub full of ice in this fic. https://archiveofourown.org/works/19388023

But Lose His Soul aka the most cliche title ever. ANGR depressing dream sequence. https://archiveofourown.org/works/21370654

Totally Awesome Automotive Diagnostic Tool Another Ghost Rider novel. This time AFTER rokhal spent 100+ hours researching automotive repair. https://archiveofourown.org/works/21378097

Ice Cream And Bullion The only fanfic rokhal wrote for Robbie Reyes’ actual active fandom. My brother has returned, after a long journey at sea... https://archiveofourown.org/works/21856831

#fandom #all-new ghost rider #fanfiction #my fanfic #fic roundup #ghost rider #robbie reyes #gabe reyes #eli morrow #guero valdez #lisa (ghost rider)#pyston nitro

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distant-rose · 6 years

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hey :)! how do you think the situation with james is gonna play out? epic argument, avoiding each other or one-ep-arc? i'm conrcerned about how the writers are gonna handle it, not solely for shipping reasons, mainly because teresa and james are such a good team, their goals align, in the moment (concerning the business) and long term(doing things in a better way). but the show has lots of ups and downs and i don't want james to be the ultimate casualty.what do you think about it?

I am concerned…concerned and at the same time, I’m not. This is a terrible comparison and I’m actually disgusted with myself for saying this but it’s like I’ve been in abused relationship with writers of shows so that I’m constantly second-guessing them and their motives. Like I want to trust them and I hope they do right by us but at the same, I’m waiting for the bomb to drop and I’m not going to be okay until I find out how this craziness ends. Queen of the South is that show where the last three episodes of the season are BIG. FUCKING. GAME. CHANGERS. Like after season one and season two’s finales, I’m waiting for the apocalypse especially since we don’t know if the show is getting renewed or cancelled yet. I feel like it would be travesty to end this show because it’s phenomenal and if it does get cancelled, I’m pretty sure either Alana or myself will be first line to Netflix’s office to campaign for them to continue it.

Now, back to the subject at hand - Jeresa. I think if there’s anyone in the world Teresa is going to trust, it’s going to be James but at the same time, I don’t think that trust is unwavering, which considering the position she’s in, it’s a smart move. While Jeresa is nothing like the Vargas shit show that is Camila and Epifanio, Teresa got very upfront side-court seat to the toxicness that was their relationship and just how easily they could damage each other. I think that’s always going to be in the back of her mind regardless of whom she’s in a relationship with, including James. Teresa is first and foremost a survivor, the last three seasons have proved that. (Killian Jones has NOTHING on this girl when it comes to surviving. She’s going to be the goddamn queen for a reason.) So, while we the shippers think and will probably even get angry with Teresa for even mistrusting James after all they’ve been through, I think it’s a pretty understandable thing to do for someone in her position and in their line of business.

James is not the mole. I’m 90% sure of that. James is just too loyal and has gone too far for Teresa to be the mole. We’ve known from season one that James is as loyal as they come and Teresa rates above everyone when it comes to lines of loyalty. He’s made that clear and I can’t help but think about on his conversation with Guero where he stated that he would NEVER hate Teresa the same way Guero did, which has also sorts of layers to it and in my view encompasses the James would never turn rat the same way that Guero did. He’s proven time and time again that Teresa is always going to come first and that he understands the business possibly even better than she does…which is why I’m hoping he’s not going to hold it entirely against her when she confronts him about it. He’s going to be hurt. I always said to you and to @hencethebravery/ @floresdeldoza (Alana) that her confronting him about this is going to signal to him that she doesn’t trust him nearly as much as he trusts her and that he’s going to be hurt by it. In a private discussion between Alana and myself, we both expressed that we would like them to really have an honest conversation about the situation with each other and hopefully they will both understand and empathise with each other on where the other is coming from as a result of this instead of the typical “break up” scenario. Considering the heart-to-hearts we’ve had so far in this show, I don’t think that this is too much of a long shot. I really hope they go that way instead of breaking up or some other dumb shit.

Now regardless of what happens, if they have an honest conversation or if they break up, I do not think that they would permanently damage or destroy Jeresa as a romantic or business partnership long term. The relationship between these two characters is without a doubt the most fundamental to the show. I think destroying that relationship would be a terrible decision and also a very uncreative one. It’s a decision made by writers who think that a stable and healthy relationship cannot make a show interesting and frankly, I’m not interested in being involved in projects with that mindset, which is why I often ignore a lot of what happens on television shows (such as OUAT for an example) that do crazy shit and just read fanfiction instead.

With that being said, if these writers decide to be morons and decide to nuke jeresa…well, @floresdeldoza makes amazing jeresa fanfiction and if I have to, I will survive on the content she and other jeresa writers/artists/creators make and not be a dick and whine too much about it. If I had a penny for any time I’ve been disappointed by something and went to on to by satisfied by fic instead, I would be a very, very, very rich woman.

So, in a nutshell, what do I think? That Jeresa is perfect but I don’t blame Teresa for thinking the way she does while at the same time I believe in my heart of hearts that James is not the mole here and that I’m hoping the writers will be smart about this conflict and give us something new, fresh, exciting and fulfilling instead of the same all “misunderstanding leads to blow out break up nonsense because god forbid we have a healthy and stable relationship on television where people talk about their issues and actually try to understand each other.” However, I won’t be terribly surprised if we get that nonsense because that’s what I’ve seen a million times before and if it does happen, I’m counting on fandom content to feed the void of my soul…the same way the bellarke fandom has been surviving really…

#asks #answered #shady swan jones #ro speaks #queen of the south #jeresa #qots spoilers #qots season 3 #RO TALKS ABOUT SOMETHING ASIDE FROM CS AND IS SUPER EXCITED #I have a lot of thoughts obviously

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coffeeandtin · 6 years

Note

Vasquez and Faraday: B-13 And can I request it with the added detail of it being a Borrower AU? I am shamelessly fixated on teeny tiny cowboys. :P And it doesn't matter to me which one of them is the small one, so whichever you prefer. ^_^

I’m quickly coming to the conclusion that every fandom needs a borrower AU! This actually ended up as fanfiction of your fanfiction where that a-hole absconds with Vasquez; since it works so well with the Lost and Found theme. It’s a couple of scenes where he and Faraday sort of deal with the aftermath of that. I hope you enjoy!

Faraday returned to his and Vasquez’s room in the localboarding house after seeing to it that Jack was reshod. The price had beenoutright robbery, but it was –much to the horse’s chagrin –done. He stopped andprocured some food before returning to the room. It was dark, just the way he’dleft it. He lit the lanterns and looked approvingly at the way the light added warmth.All in all, not a bad place. They had arrived there several days before, andthey would stay until Vasquez was healed.

Faraday shut and locked the door, while thinking aboutdollhouses. Did they make cups and such that would be the appropriate size forVasquez? He’d have to find a place where he could inquire. He called Vasquez’sname.

No reply. No tiny voice, no anything.

Past events automatically set Faraday on edge. Every possible,terrible scenario played itself out as his eyes wandered the room. There wereso many places he could be hidden in that building, let alone the whole, wideworld. There was the gnawing certainty that he wouldn’t be lucky enough to findhis friend a second time. But nothing was amiss, and as he set the food on the desk and crossed the room tothe dresser, he assured himself that he was being ridiculous. He pulled openthe bottom dresser drawer.

Right where I left you,he thought when the tiny man stirred beneath the paisley bandana he was usingas a blanket.

The corners of Faraday’s mouth tippedupward with relief and affection.

“Hey, Vas.”

Vasquez blinked up at him by way of a sleepy greeting. Hebegan to stretch, and grimaced when he was reminded of his injuries. Faradayfelt a renewed swell of abhorrence for the man who had done that to his friend,and his expression changed from one of fondness to concern.

“You okay?”

“Si,” Vasquez said as he regrouped and, withdifficulty, attempted to stand.

Faraday crouched and lowered a hand, offering help ifVasquez needed it. Vasquez frowned before deciding to accept assistance. Helooped his good arm over Faraday’s thumb, reclined into his palm and allowedhimself to be held. There was body heat beneath the fabric of Vasquez’sclothing, and his weight was almost negligible in Faraday’s hand. A whole,thinking, living, breathing person, sitting in the palm of his hand; andVasquez trusted him. Faraday doubted he would ever tire of that.

Faraday carried Vasquez over to the desk where he himhelped him into a seated position. Vasquez’s feet were bare, and Faradayremembered the difficulty of having to help Vasquez off with his boots. Thatpaled in comparison to having to tend the wounds, though.

Several days ago…

Faraday sucked in air through his teeth when he saw justhow swollen and bruised Vasquez’s arm and leg were.

“I should have killed that sonofabitch.”

Atop the room’s desk, Vasquez lay back and swallowed hard.

“Perhaps.”

Faraday sat down at the desk, preparing for the task athand, deciding that, perhaps it was best he hadn’t killed Vasquez’s captor,after all. Once would not have been enough.

“Ready?”

“Let’s get this over with, guero.”

Faraday nodded, and noted the way Vasquez’s head lolled totoward the windowpane, and away from him. Faraday guessed it was a combinationof pride and alcohol that caused Vasquez to do so. Faraday had plied his smallcompanion with whiskey beforehand. He doubted that it was medically advisable,but they’d had little other recourse by way of pain relief. Faraday hadabstained. His hands would need all of their considerable dexterity if theywere to help put his friend back together.

“I ain’t a doctor,” Faraday confessed before starting.

It took time, and care.

Faraday worked with small strips of cloth and smoothedpieces of wood to splint and bind Vasquez’s injured limbs. Vasquez never intentionallymade a complaint, but Faraday stopped when it appeared that the pain was becomingtoo much. How much pain could one little body take? He apologized as often ashe thought Vasquez would tolerate, and by the time he was done, they both satin weary silence.

Faraday stood and scooped up Vasquez with gentle handsbefore moving him over to a pillow. On the opposite side of the bed, Faradaypropped himself on the headboard and laced his fingers over his middle.

“How?” Vasquez began as he tilted his head toward his newlyset arm and leg.

Um,” Faraday said. Vasquez’s question was clear enough.Until then, Faraday hadn’t even considered what qualified him to help Vasquez. Heonly knew that with every move he’d made, he’d been certain he was makingthings worse.

“Tying flies,” he said. “I guess I’m pretty good at that.”

Cradled in the softness of a pillow, Vasquez made athoughtful sound in the back of his throat.

“Thank you, Josh.”

“Any time.”

“Suppose I’d make a good lure, huh?”

Faraday frowned, and looked at his friend, finding himselfunaccountably emotional at the thought of anyone using Vasquez for their ownpersonal gain. But the tired, lopsided grin on Vasquez’s face told him that thestatement was all in good fun. Faraday decided that he was far from being thearbiter of good humor.

They both laughed.

Not because it was particularly funny, but because theyneeded to.

Now…

Theysettled down to eat. Vasquez picked from the plate what he wanted, and Faradaydidn’t fully commit to sating his own hunger until he was sure Vasquez wasdone. When they both sat back with full bellies, Faraday broached the subjectof dollhouses and the contents thereof.

#mag7 #mini fic madness #vasquez #joshua faraday #borrower au #borrower!vasquez #sorry this took so long #life's been well...life

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