#narcoctober

[drabbles-mc]

First on Speed Dial

Steve Murphy x F!Reader

For @narcosfandomdiscord's Day of Absolute Filth: Create a smut fanwork that includes three different kinks and/or sex acts

Warnings: 18+, smut, language, phone sex, masturbation, orgasm denial

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: I know that today was supposed to be a day of Absolute Filth but i am who i am and i feel like there is just as much not-filth in this as there is filth. But i still had a good time writing it so fuck it, we ball 😂

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

Once he didn’t answer the phone at his apartment, you knew that you’d catch him at his desk. Despite knowing that, you still covered your bases and dialed Javi’s apartment next. When he asked why you were calling him, you gave the easy, mostly honest response of, “Tried to get ahold of Steve and didn’t get an answer—figured he might be with you.”

Javi chuckled, that easy way he always did. “I got better things to do this late than hanging out with your husband—no offense.”

You laughed. “None taken. I’ll try his phone at the base. Thanks, Javi. Have fun doing whatever it is that’s better than hanging out with Steve.”

Steve answered his desk phone on the second ring. The annoyance and exhaustion in his voice was impossible to miss. “Yeah, Murphy.”

You laughed, twirling the phone cord between your fingers. “Thought you’d be a little happier to hear from me.”

He huffed out a tired laugh, tension melting out of his muscles instantly at the sound of your voice. “Hey, baby. You alright? It’s,” he checked the time on his watch, “it’s late where you are.”

You hummed in amusement. “It’s late where you are too, and yet you’re still at work even when everyone else went home, so…”

He leaned back in his chair, running his hand through his hair. “And how do you know I’m the only one here?”

“Well,” you melted back into the couch, your head resting against the arm of it, “I called your partner and he was at home.”

“What are you callin’ Javi for?”

“You!” you replied with a laugh. When you both stopped laughing, you said, “I miss you.”

“Yeah,” he conceded, “I miss you too. How much longer you back home for?”

“One more week.”

“And you’re sure you gotta stay the whole week?” he laid it on thick, drawl cranked up to ten as he laughed.

You rolled your eyes, wishing he could see it. “Pretty sure.”

“Damn.” He paused. “You need somethin’?”

“Hmm,” you hummed in thought, dragging it out a little longer than necessary. “Kind of.”

Leaning forward again, Steve propped his elbows on the edge of his desk. One hand was holding the phone to his ear, the other was serving as a resting perch for his chin. “What’s going on?”

Your heart started to speed up a little in your inside your chest as you asked, “You really alone?”

His face contorted in confusion. “Am I really—” he stopped himself short, recognition washing over him. He couldn’t help but to laugh. “I’m not doin’ this here.”

“You said you’re alone. Why can’t you do this there?”

“Because I—I mean what if—” he stammered out the starts of a few sentences, “What if they’re list—”

“Like they don’t listen when you do this from your phone at home?”

He laughed, moving his hand from his chin so that the heel of his palm was pressed to his forehead instead. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love me for it,” you casually reminded him.

“I do.” He paused, long enough for you to say something but you didn’t, wanting him to give in instead of offering him an out. And then he did, because he always did. “If I get fired for doin’ this on my goddamn work phone…”

You smiled, face warming before it even started. “I’ll upgrade your one-way ticket home to first-class.”

He was a little hesitant at first, you could hear it in his voice. It was a little amusing to you, hearing him like that when he usually wasn’t like that at all. It added to the fun of the game for you, your quickened heartrate skipping a beat or two as he spoke, voice hushed like he was afraid someone was going to walk in and hear the things that he was saying to you. After a couple minutes, his typical cocky, self-assured demeanor came back.

You would have much rather it been Steve’s hand slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. Of course you would rather that. But given the circumstances, having his voice in your ear, prompting you along, telling you how good you were doing for him, was a good substitute. It was still enough to make your breathing hitch and your legs start to tremble.

A soft moan slipped out past your lips. Despite the fact that it was impossible, Steve could’ve sworn it trailed its way through the phoneline and straight down his spine. He took a deep breath, like that was going to do any good at helping him keep a shred of self-control.

“You sound so fuckin’ pretty,” he said, voice low, hand opening and closing on the top of his desk as he sat there wishing he could touch you and not just listen to you.

“Steve,” his name fell from your lips in the form of a choked whine, like you wanted to say something more but your mind was too preoccupied to come up with the rest of the sentence.

“Yeah, baby?” he asked, fighting the urge to follow your lead. There were plenty of things he was willing to do at work, or so he’d learned a handful of minutes prior, but there was still one line he had no intention on crossed. Especially not if it was going to be over the fucking phone. If he was going to do that he’d just as soon wait for you to—

You cut his thoughts short as you let out a needy, “I fuckin’ miss you.”

The laugh he let out was weighted down with just how much he wanted you. “How much?” he teased.

The noise you let out was somewhere between a laugh and a moan. Pulling your fingers away from your clit, you slid them down a little farther. The action pushed your panties a little farther down your hips. You dragged the tips of your fingers along your folds, collecting your wetness so that you could slide your fingers into you. They slid in with no resistance, and you arched into the contact.

“If you were here,” you rasped out as you started to find your rhythm, “you could feel it for yourself.”

“Fuck,” Steve muttered out, one hand gripping his thigh just above his knee so hard that he was sure he was going to leave indents even through the fabric of his slacks.

He still egged you on, willing to endure the insanity it inflicted on him as long as he knew he wasn’t the only one. He listened to you, each shift in your breathing, every sound you made and word you managed to say, each time you repeated his name over and over again. Even with the hundreds and hundreds of miles between the two of you, you still managed to drive each other just as wild as if you were sitting in the same room together.

“Steve,” you said desperately, “I’m, fuck, I’m gonna—”

“No, you’re not,” the words came out before Steve even clocked what he was saying.

You whined, a pathetic little sound. “Steve please.”

“Not until you’re here,” he said, voice firm now that you were both on this playing field. “Not until you’re here and I can really,” he chuckled, the sound a little more cruel and smug than it should’ve been, “really make you cum.”

You spent a long couple seconds weighing the pros and cons of telling him that he could, quite literally, go fuck himself because you didn’t ring him up this late at night to not get yours. But in the end, you gave in, the way you did with him almost as much as he did with you.

Letting out a shaky breath, you reluctantly pulled your hand back out of your panties. “Fuck. You, you owe me.”

“Just one week and I’ll gladly pay the debt,” he said with a chuckle.

“I hope your boss walks in,” you said, no malice in your breathless voice as you tried not to laugh. “’Cause lord knows you can’t possibly be looking very professional right now.”

“That’s just mean.”

“Yeah? Is it? Know what else is mean? Not letting your wife, who called you this late at night because she missed you very much, cum.”

He laughed, raking his hand back through his hair. “I love you.”

“You say that, but,” you pinned the phone with your shoulder so you could adjust your underwear and shorts with both hands, “it certainly doesn’t feel like it.”

“You know I love you,” he repeated, a little more warmth in his voice rather than the smugness he’d had before.

You let out a sigh. “Yeah, I know.” You paused long enough to make him squirm even though he didn’t have to. “I love you too.”

He chuckled. “That’s right.” He checked the time on his watch again. “Would you look at that? It’s after midnight. Only six more days.”

You couldn’t help but to laugh. “Go home, Steve. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“During business hours?”

“Hmm,” your hum turned into a laugh, “we’ll see. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#narcoctober #day of absolute filth #narcos #narcos netflix #steve murphy #steve murphy x reader #steve murphy x you #x reader #x reader fic #narcos fanfiction #narcos netflix fanfiction #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[garbinge]

For Old Time's Sake

Horacio Carrillo x F!Reader Steve Murphy & Javier Peña & F!Reader For the @narcosfandomdiscord October Prompts. Day 1 - Day of Firsts: Create a fanwork about a canon character you’ve never written about/used before. Summary: Your first day in Colombia on the Escobar case and you end up running into an old flame. A little reimagined moment of Steve's first day in Colombia if you will! Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: All my fics are 18+, regardless of content. Angsty. Javi being kinda lowkey jerky. A/N: Okay so this is my first time writing Carrillo and I feel like its wildly out of character/his voice/etc but we're out here TRYING okay. So excited for these prompts and hope to write for a good chunk on this list!

Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @narcolini

Your plane landed in the early morning hours, it was still dark out as you exited. Luckily there was no waiting on baggage or making your way through the crowd. When the DEA sent you out, they pulled out all the stops. It helped that you were top of your game at work, putting in the extra hours, sacrificing your social life. It basically meant you were eating, sleeping, and dreaming of work 24/7 but it brought you up as the highest agent in your division and because of that, it earned you the Escobar case. That and well, you had pretty well knowledge of Colombia since you spent your college years abroad there. 

This was the last of the luxury you’d experience from the DEA office in the states, however, and you knew that so you soaked up every ounce of it before you were now exiting the private plane, making your way down to the Ford that was waiting to take you to your accommodations. 

“Hola, senorita.” Someone in a suit greeted you and held the backdoor open for you. 

You smiled and placed your bags in the back, you knew that wasn’t what they were holding the door for, but you weren’t going to continue the special treatment. Quickly after dropping your bags, you moved to the passenger seat and waited for the driver to join you. After a few beats of silence they mentioned they would be taking you to your apartment so you could get settled but you disagreed and made them take you to the embassy. 

There it was, the habit that got you in this position, all work, no play. 

As you rolled into the embassy, you flashed your badge and quickly made your way in, stepping out as the car was still moving. 

“Muchas gracias.” You nodded to your driver who was panicking to brake. 

Two men in tan suits waited for you as you approached with your bags. 

“Peña and Murphy?” You stood staring at the two of them as they sized you up. 

“Yep.” Javier extended his hand out to shake yours. “Javier–Javi.” 

That was followed by the same gesture from Steve. 

“They were supposed to bring you to drop your bags off first.” Javi started to complain as he began walking inside the building.

“I told them to bring me here, I can drop my bags off whenever I go home. Wanted to meet the team and get briefed as soon as possible.” You spoke up, quick to keep up with both of the men who were holding the door open for you. 

As you entered the building you took in everything, making mental notes of every detail you thought would be important. The sign that listed each floor, where the bathrooms were, where each emergency exit was located. It almost made you miss the look Steve and Javi gave each other after you explained your eagerness to work. 

“I got myself familiar with all the notes on the plane but, I figured first hand accounts would be better. I know better than to believe everything that’s in the paperwork.” You spoke as you entered the elevator. 

“Yea well, things are–” Javier paused his sentence to think about what to say, how to describe what you were getting into. 

“A shitshow.” Steve interrupted him to finish the thought. 

Mentally you noted that Steve was the more honest one, not one to get flustered by the presence of a woman. He was likely married, or in some serious commitment, and whether that was with a woman or his job you respected it. You nodded with a smile, answering him briefly with a some response about how it isn't always with the DEA or something of that nature before your eyes moved back over to Javier to get a read on him. 

Before you could nail down a thought, the elevator doors were opening and the group of you were moving fast. 

“Weaver and Wisnicki, meet our new DEA special agent.” Javier introduced you by name. 

You were quick to let go of your bags and reach over to shake hands and correct the title he gave you. “Supervising Special Agent.” 

Steve let out a chuckle before continuing the greeting. “Javi what is it you called these guys? R.I.P? Retired in place?” 

You let out a chuckle, you weren’t going to shit on what these two did, you weren’t here for that and with the amount of time you spent at work, you needed to make friends where possible. 

“Hey, we all earn it.” You lifted your hands up in an act of innocence. “It was nice meeting you two.” 

As the group of you moved through the different sections of the floor you got introduced to other agents, the Mil group, and the ambassador. Each group introduction went well. By the end of your journey, Javier was suggesting you leave your bags at his desk before they drove you in to meet the Search Bloc, seeing as you were about to go on an intel mission with them in the next 5 hours. 

“Now we should give you a heads up.” Steve spoke up as the car you were in pulled into Carlos Holguin School. “Colonel Carrillo can be–”

“Walking up right now.” Javier interrupted as he put the car in park and exited the vehicle. 

Steve was quick to look up and see that the Colonel wasn’t walking up, it was just his men approaching to escort the lot of you in. 

“No he’s not!” Murphy yelled before turning to you in the back seat. “He can be a bit of dick. Apparently a common trait around here.” His eyes went back to Peña before he was exiting the passenger door himself. 

You smiled to yourself at that. It was enjoyable to you to see the back and forth between the two men. 

The silence overcame the group of you as you were brought to an office door, the plaque on the outside reading Colonel Carrillo was a little outdated in style, meant he had a few years on his belt. 

As the door was opened by one of the search bloc soldiers, Javi began speaking. 

“Buenos días, Colonel.” 

The minute a voice responded, you felt your gut flinch, if that was even possible, before it sunk. Your head was whipping up to look at the major, taking in his green uniform, the badge on his chest, and finally, his face. 

Javier and him were mumbling to each other as they shook hands, leaving you to take in who it was in front of you right now. 

It wasn’t so much nerves you were feeling, you would have described it more as shock. Which, shock felt a lot similar to a panic attack. The noise in your ears got fuzzy, there was a slight buzzing in the background and your face went blank. 

“You alright?” Steve cut through the fuzziness in your ears, luckily and brought you back to reality. 

“Yea sorry, just fucked up from the time difference and the flight.” You shook your head and masked the shock you were feeling. 

“I want you to meet our new DEA supervising special agent.” Javi spoke up, calling the attention to you now. 

His eyes met yours, and the smile that slightly curved on his face tipped you off that he recognized you immediately. You saw his mouth move slightly open and before Javi or him could say your name you were quick to cut them both off by speaking it outloud and move towards them, extending your arm to greet the man. 

If that wasn’t enough to get the point across to the Colonel, your next words would have been. 

“Mucho gusto.” You smiled and prayed he didn’t say or do anything that would give away your connection. 

“Mucho gusto.” He spoke back to you with a frown. 

“We’re gonna move out and get intel in about an hour.” Steve spoke up from the back. 

“Murphy.” Carrillo spoke up, his face hardening as he stared at the man. 

With the context you had just gotten from Steve, you now realized that what Murphy meant in the car was, Carrillo was a dick to him. If you weren’t in the middle of this clusterfuck of a situation, you would have smiled, maybe even chuckled a bit but your mind was still trying to wrap itself around what was happening. 

“We’ll get out of your hair, just wanted to introduce you to the fresh meat.” Javi smiled at you. 

“Wait.” Carrillo spoke up and your gut did that flinching thing again. “I’d love to know more about what this means for your team, Peña.” 

You heard Javi start to make a noise, it was something adjacent to stuttering. His way of not wanting to devalue himself or shit on you while you were in the room. 

“My title doesn’t really pull weight, it’s just for the paperwork. I’m basically going to be working closely with Peña and Murphy on intel and raids. Only difference is my signature gets added to the documents.” You spoke up, looking back at the men behind you as you spoke. 

“Have you gotten a tour of Medellin yet, special agent?” 

He was teasing you. When you met him in Colombia all those years ago, that was exactly what he did. Give you a tour. He showed you the plaza, the museums, the best restaurants you never would have found otherwise. And again, in any other circumstance you would have been amused, but mortified was more the right word to describe your emotions at the moment. The comment was more obvious to you than anyone else in the room. It helped that Steve and Javi were oblivious to everything that wasn’t Escobar related so they weren’t exactly picking up on what was happening. 

“She flew in this morning, her bags are back at the embassy at my desk, she didn’t even get settled before jumping on the case.” Javi spoke up. 

“I’ll have it arranged that your bags are picked up and brought here.” Carrillo wasn’t even looking at any of you anymore. He was rummaging through paperwork at his desk. 

When no one responded he looked up to be met with confused looks. His eyes jumped from Steve to Javi to you. “Paperwork, after the intel trip. Going to need your signatures.” 

“Right.” You said it was obvious the entire time. 

“Alright, I’ll make the arrangements and meet you all at 1300.” He went back to looking at his paperwork, ignoring all 3 of you. 

It took you a couple seconds to make your feet move but eventually you were able to and out of his office. Steve was now leading the way to where you would meet a few more of the Search Bloc crew and gather up gear for the trip you were about to take. 

Luckily, the intel mission wasn’t awkward at all. Carrillo put his professional foot forward, as did you and as you all waited in the room for all the Narcos to show up there was no more tense or nervousness in the air. He clearly picked up on you not wanting to out any of your past personal life to Steve and Javier and quite honestly, he understood that. Having more time to think on it and not being thrown for a loop in the moment, he felt relieved about it too. These were not exactly the typical running into your ex conditions, this was work, this was catching a drug cartel and their leaders, this needed to be as far away from personal as possible. 

That was what both of you told yourselves. It was what you told yourself on the way back, while you sat next to each other in the car, when Javi leaned forward to tell you that the restaurant coming up had the best arepas de choclo. You knew that, because that was where you and Horacio would go when you were craving late night foods. And it was what you told yourself now, as you all pulled back up to the Carlos Holguin School and the awkwardness came back over you. 

“I had one of my men take your bags to where you’re staying.” Carrillo said as the group of you gathered together on the dirt lot. 

“We would have taken them back, her place is on the first level where me and Steve stay.” Javi spoke up, his hands resting on his hips. 

“One last thing we gotta lug back home from the embassy.” Steve shrugged as he leaned over to shake Carrillo’s hand in an effort to say goodbye.

“Wasn’t a big deal, I have a few men working at the embassy, keeps communication smooth.” Carrillo wasn’t in the mood to argue with Javi on this so he was quick to turn to you. “You ready to get started on this paperwork?”

“Yea, I’ll meet you in your office, let me just debrief with my guys.” You spoke confidently, anything to throw both of them off.

 All Carrillo did was nod and make his way back to his office. You turned to Steve and Javi, your face solid and serious. 

“We’ll take care of following up on the intel.” Javi spoke up now, like he was in charge. 

“I’ll give you a call on what the next move is.” Steve was cutting Javi off, staring at him with a frown before moving his eyes on to you. 

You nodded once, then turned to Javi. “Call me fresh meat one more time and I’ll be sure you’re riding desk for the rest of this case and you’ll be the one staying late to run through paperwork.” 

It was harsh, but true. You were new, but you weren’t stupid. Regardless of anything, you pulled rank over these two, whether it truly mattered or not. There was no room for disrespect. 

“See you two in the morning.” You offered them a goodbye and made your way over to the main entrance. Steve’s laugh could have been heard from even inside the building, it was obvious he was making fun of Javi, of what you just said. It was good, set the tone amongst them. 

The walk down the hallway was long, your head was filling with tons of thoughts, of memories, your heart was beating so fast it was a surprise it wasn’t coming out of your chest. As your hand rested on the doorknob of Carrillo’s office, you took a beat, a moment to take a deep breath and exhale it out as the door opened. 

Carrillo was sitting at his desk, his green button up shirt that houses his name patch and badge was hung on a coat rack in the corner, he was at his desk with just his tan t shirt on, the only light illuminating the room was the outdoor lights from the windows behind him and the desk lamp that was showing the frown on his face as he shuffled through things on his desk. 

“Thanks for going along with it.” You spoke up, alerting him of your presence. The immediate thought you had was why you were starting the conversation with that. There were a million other things you could have said. 

His head shot up, he clearly had not heard you open the door or your heart practically thumping out of your chest. 

“It’s no problem.” He answered you. “I hope you set Peña straight.” He was standing up now, moving his hand to the chair across his desk offering for you to sit. 

“Set straight?” You were confused, as you made your way to sit down. 

“Fresh meat.” He said as he sat back down himself. 

“Oh, yea. That won’t be happening again.” You let out a chuckle, still fidgeting around in the seat trying to get comfortable. 

“It’s probably good you thought quick, what happened with us… it’s just more fuel to the fire for him.” Carrillo was leaning on his desk, elbows resting on the stacks of documents. 

“What did happen with us?” The question came out so blunt it even shocked you. 

“You went back.” It was said like it was so obvious. Like those 3 words were the answer to it all. 

“I sent you letters.” The vibe had definitely changed from just mere minutes ago. 

Carrillo didn’t say anything, he sat there silent, his face neutral like that would be enough of an answer for you. 

“It’s crazy how you can know someone for just short of a year, spend pretty much everyday with them, learn the most intimate things about them, and truly know absolutely nothing about them.” 

“What are you talking about?” He was annoyed, and because of the time you spent with him, you knew it was deflection, a way to get out of the conversation, but you weren’t going to let it go that easily. 

“You never told me you were an aspiring police officer.” You pointed to the badged shirt on the rack. “In fact, I’m pretty sure you told me you wanted to come to the states, study, learn about architecture, the details of the buildings that people are so quick to dismiss.” It was a pretty direct quote from a young Horacio’s mouth.

“I joined 4 months after you left. Things got bad here. After that incident where– where you got hurt. I couldn’t shake it.” He explained thinking back to one of the last memories of you here with him. It wasn’t one either of you liked to remember, you had a permanent scar on you to remind you of it more frequently, but in Carrillo’s case it looked like he had a career profession to keep the memory alive. 

“Why did you ignore my letters?” Your voice softened now as you came to the realization that maybe you could actually come to some closure tonight. 

“We should probably start on this paperwork, make everything ready for your team to move forward tomorrow.” He was taking a stack of blank documents and handing it over to you. 

“Why did you ignore my letters, Horacio.” You spoke his name with such pleading, not just because you knew it’d get him to answer but because you truly missed saying his name in that way. 

“It was too much.” He couldn’t bear to look at you as he spoke. “Loving you and giving my all to training, to the big picture, to Colombia.” 

There it was. The most truthful thing he might have ever said to you. You knew he loved you but deep down, you always knew he loved his country. The two of you fell in love as he showed you the sights, it was written in your story for it to come down to this.

“If I had to lose you to someone I’m glad it was to her.” You managed to make a joke, just being happy that he had been honest with you. 

He smiled at that too. Now that things were a little more settled, a little less awkward, you began rummaging through the papers, filling out reports and findings, signing pre-typed notes for approvals and compliance. About 20 minutes went by when Carrillo was clearing his throat to get your attention. 

“I’m glad you’re here to fight this fight with me.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The firmness in your voice came back over you, your eyes glaring at him.

He got flustered a bit, neither of you having been in a situation where flirting, romance and charm weren’t the leading tones of your conversations. 

“I just came here for the best arepas de choclo in Colombia.” A smile grew on your face and his was soon to follow. 

He was quick to stand up and grab his jacket, which was hanging next to his badged work shirt and place it on. 

“Well I guess I better not disappoint.” He was nodding towards the door. “For old times sake? I believe that’s what they say back where you’re from.” 

You stood up and grabbed your own jacket from the back of the chair and made your way to stand in front of him, dangerously close to him, you could feel the slight breeze of his breath on you as he waited for some verbal response from you. For old time’s sake, if that was the excuse he needed to justify going to get food with you, you’d take it. To be honest if that was the excuse he needed to do anything with you, you’d allow it. Little to your knowledge, but those 4 words would end up being all the invitation either of you needed to revisit old times in the next five months, whether it was your favorite restaurant, your apartment, his house, even a couple times in his office. 

So you stared up at him, at the eyes of the man you had fallen in love with all those years ago, and despite them looking a little more dark and unruly now, you smiled and opened your mouth to speak. 

“For old time’s sake.” 

#Narcos #Narcos Netflix #Horacio Carrillo #Carrillo #Horacio Carrillo x Reader #Carrillo x Reader #Steve Murphy #Javier Peña #narcoctober

[narcosfandomdiscord]

narcos october prompts

The Narcos Fandom Forever discord server is introducing a month-long challenge, the Narcos October Prompts, which is open to fan creators for both the OG Narcos and Narcos MX TV shows.

Creators of all kinds are encouraged to make all types of fanworks! Fic, art, gifs, vids, and other miscellaneous fanworks are all welcome. 

Each fanwork must be published on the day that corresponds to the prompt. There are two prompts for each day of the month, and you can choose which you prefer.

For example, you can post a fanwork inspired by the Day 7 prompt “Blackout” on October 7. If you create something late, you can publish it on the amnesty day, which is October 30. 

Please use the hashtag #narcoctober to submit your entries, so we can find them and reblog them! 

EDIT: the event is now over. To enjoy the things we've created, peruse masterlist i (days 1-10), masterlist ii (day 11-25), and masterlist iii (day 26-31).

🍰 Prompt List 🍰

October 1 — Day of Firsts

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

Create a fanwork of an alternate universe you’ve never tried to create before.

October 2 — “Porque No Los Dos?” Day

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

Anything involving polyamory, ex: a fic about somebody who has two or more partners (with their partners’ knowledge and consent, aka not infidelity. That’s a different prompt).

October 3 — Day of Music

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

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

>>> more prompts below the cut

October 4 — Day of Conflict

Anything involving a fistfight or a gunfight.

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

October 5 — Day of Visual Art

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

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

October 6 — Day of International Relations

Write non-English language fic.

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

October 7 — Day of Darkness

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

One-word prompt: Blackout.

October 8 — Day of Light

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

One-word prompt: Sunrise.

October 9 — Day of Gay

Create anything devoted to an LGBTQ+ character. This can be your headcanon, but if you want a canon gay character, Pacho and his boyfriends are canonically gay. Also, one of Pacho’s biker lady criminals is played by a trans actress.

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

October 10 — Day of Tough Shit

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

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

October 11 — Day of Fun

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

Create a fanwork with at least one joke in it (that YOU think is funny, fuck everyone else if they don’t think it’s funny lmao).

October 12 — Day of Death

Kill a character who lives in canon.

Create something with a character who is mourning a dying thing rather than a person (their dying relationship, their dying career, their dying city, their dying memories, their dying friendship, their dying dreams, etc etc etc)

October 13 — Day of Life

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

Create a fanwork about characters having kids (sex to have kids, pregnancy, the birth itself, the kids growing up) or choosing not to have kids. It's a free country (it’s sorta a free country) (it’s sorta kinda a free country) (depends on which country we’re talking about i suppose)

October 14 — Day of Support

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

Quote prompt: “I got you.”

October 15 — Day of Absolute Filth

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

Create a fanwork about a character’s moral corruption.

October 16 — Day of Surprises

These prompts were revealed at the start of the day.

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

Shrimp.

October 17 — Day of Rare Treasures

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

“I laughed and said, Life is easy. What I meant was, Life is easy with you here, and when you leave, it will be hard again.”

October 18 — Day of History

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

Create a fanwork about two exes meeting unexpectedly.

October 19 — Day of Hurt

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

Make a spitework (that is, a fanwork addressing something in canon that pissed you off, whether it was a character or a plot point).

October 20 — Day of Comfort

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

Create a fanwork inspired by your #1 narcos comfort episode (not necessarily “the best” but rather the episode you rewatch the most often because you love it so much).

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

Create a f/f-centric fanwork.

Create a fanwork focused on the character development of a woman from the show.

October 22 — Day of Cross-Fandom Pollination

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

Create a fanwork with the plot or setting stolen from another fandom (and cite which fandom it is). For example, a daisy jones and the six fic where món is a 60s singer.

October 23 — Day of Threes

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

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

October 24 — Day of Monsters

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

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

October 25 — Day of Wow, That Escalated Quickly

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

Quote prompt: “It’s surprising how much can change in just one hour.”

October 26 — Day of Echoes

Pick a quote from the show that you love and use it as inspiration for your fanwork. Then share what the quote is at the end of your post.

Create a fanwork inspired by any mythological story (Greek, Norse, Aztec, Celtic, etc. get weird with it. Bible counts as mythology, fuck it)

October 27 — People of Color Day

Create a fanwork about an original character or reader character who is explicitly a person of color.

Create a fanwork about a canon character of color (e.g. Truijllo, Enrique, Kiki, Rafa, Azul).

October 28 — Day of Friendship

Create a fanwork inspired by somebody else’s fanwork, or including a cameo of somebody else’s original character (fanvids, fanart, moodboard, etc included — just please ask for permission from the original creator to use inspo before you do it!)

Quote prompt: “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

October 29 — Day of Horror

Create a fanwork inspired by your favorite horror movie.

Prompt: came back wrong.

October 30 — (penultimate day, October 30) Day of Amnesty

Post a fanwork you started for any previous prompt but weren’t able to finish in time.

Quote prompt: “I forgive you.”

October 31 — (final day, October 31) Day of Legacy

Create a sequel or counterpart to a fanwork you posted previously this month.

Quote prompt: “This is [my/your/their] legacy.”

November 1 — Bonus — Day of Celebration

reblog a fanwork that is your favorite creation that you made in the month

#narcoctober #narcos #narcos mexico #narcos fandom #narcos fanfiction #narcos imagine #javier pena x reader

[tofuwildcard]

Narcoctober 17 — Day of Rare Treasures

“I laughed and said, life is easy. What I meant was, life is easy with you here, and when you leave, it will be hard again.”

Or, Marta deserved more screen time.

#narcoctober #narcos mexico #amado carrillo fuentes #narcos mx #marta x amado #marta linares #Idk man I am the biggest sucker for a couple where one person has to leave for long periods of time so this was good stuff.

[proceduralpassion]

Narcos Incorrect Quotes

Day 11 of Narcoctober- Create a non-visual, non-fic fanwork: quiz, game, playlist, incorrect quotes.

[at Horacio's funeral] Javi: places his hand on the headstone and sobs Javi: How could you do this to me? We are so understaffed. Javi: On a scale from “damn Daniel” to “fre sha vaca do” how are you guys feeling? Trujillo: I’m in between “it’s an avocado, thanks” and “how did you defeat captain america” but as a solid answer I would say “I don’t need a degree to be a clothing hanger.” Murphy: Probably “road work ahead.” Carrillo: I speak multiple languages and this is none of them. Felix: You know, guys are kind of scared to talk to y– Maria: Good. Connie: Thanks to Steve, Olivia has taken up swearing. Connie: Yesterday, she referred to bedtime as a ‘fucking crisis.’ Pacho: I’m not interested in being polite or heterosexual Javier: I think you made them anxious. Steve: Oh yeah? Well that’s because they’re all a bunch of bitch ass white boys. Javier: I hate to break it to you, but you’re also a bitch ass white boy.

Maria: The term girlfriend implies the existence of of a girlfoe. This is a service I am willing to provide.

Rafa: People say “forgive but dont forget”, but I forget but dont forgive Rafa: I’ll be walking around town like I don't know your name but I know a BITCH when I see one

[gunshot] Amado: So sorry, new ringtone.

Javier: I sort of did something and I need some advice, but I don't want a lot of judgment and criticism. Carrillo: And you came to me?

#narcos #narcos mexico #narcoctober #javier pena #steve murphy #horacio carrillo #maria elvira #amado carrillo fuentes #rafa caro quintero #miguel angel felix gallardo #pacho herrera

[narcolini]

On Your Mind

javi x gn!reader, sort of hurt sort of comfort, 866 words for day 3 of narcoctober: song prompt, there is something on your mind - big jay mcneely a/n: i can't believe this is my first time writing javi and i cant believe its something like this and not a 30k friends to lovers kjfhg tagging: @narcosfandomdiscord @garbinge @drabbles-mc @hausofmamadas @cositapreciosa

He’s home before you are, though you never gave him a key. The lady downstairs is kind and stupid enough to let anyone into the foyer, as long as they ask politely, and you’re kind and stupid enough to have told him exactly how the lock jimmies open, if you get it just right. So here he is now, un-expectantly expectant of you. 

‘I should look into getting an alarm system,’ you say, shutting the door behind, and pouring the day from your shoulders to your feet. 

‘Maybe.’

‘Are you here for long?

He shrugs. ‘Maybe. I don’t know.’

You pause where you are and look at him. He’s leaning against the table, which stands against the cabinet by the bed, because you’re yet to buy any dining chairs, and he’s yet to find a way to be comfortable here, as often as he comes, which makes you both look like strangers, really. Neither of you have settled. It’s more of an introduction on neutral ground than anything else.

He’s got his arms crossed. Bare forearms, rolled sleeves. He looks from you, to the floor, to the half-drawn curtain over your window. Nobody’s bothered to turn the overhead light on, so he’s orange, and you’re blue. 

‘Bad day?’ you ask.

‘No worse than the rest.’

You try a smile, pull that card from your deck. ‘Something a whiskey might solve?’

‘Look.’ He sighs and draws his gaze back to you. ‘We should talk.’

The lamp on the bedside flickers. He waits until the amber glow is steady again, and then he nods, like you’ve asked something, and his brows pull together like he’s apologising for it. 

‘Can I take my shoes off first?’

‘It won’t—’

‘Please.’

You get another nod, and a raised hand to wave you on, before it’s tucked back under his forearm again. Crossed and waiting. 

The lace of your boot has become knotted, so it takes a pregnant minute for you to get it off, leather fighting the curve of your heel, then it drops to the ground with a thud. 

The second comes off easy and quiet. 

‘You want a drink?’ you ask, sock-footed and able to move again. You cross the room before the offer’s been answered, hand on the fridge before drink has even tilted up into a question. 

‘It won’t take,’ he tries again, ‘I shouldn’t stay.’

‘That’s what you say every time.’

‘This is different.’

You take two beers from the case on the shelf. White light there and gone again. 

‘You’re different?’ you guess.

He lets the quiet have its turn before answering. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

‘Yeah, I noticed last time.’ You could tell he wanted to talk then, too, but he’d been too scared, or too happy, or too greedy, to want to tell you so. ‘You don’t fuck the same when you’re thinking about something.’

There’s a laugh that you reward with one of the beers, handing it to him as you reach his side of the studio. 

‘And you’re just telling me this now?’ he says. 

‘I could hardly tell you then.’

He snorts and you match it, smiling, before dropping onto the side of the bed. From here his cheek is gold, his hair is gold, and the rest of him is grey, muted by the moonlight through what’s left of the window. 

‘Please sit,’ you say, and when he doesn’t move you add, ‘it won’t hurt less from the table.’

‘I was trying to give you space,’ he admits, standing as he does. Arms slack, knees straight. He walks two steps then dips the bed as he goes down beside you, shoulder to shoulder.

You switch the lamp off. No more orange, just blue.

He starts before you’ve even tasted the beer, which sits damp between your palms. 

‘I don’t think,’ he says, ‘we can keep doing-’

‘Wait.’

‘-this.’ His eyebrows trick his eyes into looking soft. Or tired. 'Baby,’ he reasons.

‘You’ll have to give that up,’ you reply. ‘Baby.’

You imagine his palm on your thigh and his thumb running the outer seam. Replace it directly with the sight of his fingers now, threaded together, and balanced in the gap between his knees.

‘In the morning,’ you offer him. ‘Let’s save it for then, okay?’

He exhales and looks away before the last of it can hit your face. ‘It wouldn’t be fair.’

‘To who?’ You’re smiling somehow. ‘I’m the one suggesting it.’

‘We can’t just keep on—’

‘Don’t say it,’ you interrupt again, because you know already. ‘Don’t tell me until the morning, Javi.’

‘How is that any better?’ he asks. ‘For either of us?’

‘How is it any worse?’

You’re both orange, and you’re both blue, and you’ve known the colour of him since the beginning, really. Since you first told him how to get the lock just right. There’s nothing here that you hadn’t seen coming, and nothing left to say, either. 

‘One more night?’ you ask, for a final hopeless time. ‘Don’t tell me now.’

You watch his throat as he swallows the request, his lips as he nods in reply. ‘Alright,’ he says, ‘until the morning.’ 

And then there’s his hand. There’s your thigh. 

______

#narcoctober #javier pena x reader #javi x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña x reader #Spotify

[artemiseamoon]

Preview: Late nights, early mornings

Javier Peña & Kami (ofc) | Kami x El Mayo

Read in full on A03

Summary: Before flying out to see her lover in the morning, Kami shows up for her night shift to see the familiar face of another man she’s grown affection for over the last month.

Words: 1,868

Warnings: Pretty mild really. Drinking and smoking. Not the real people of course, and not glorying anything.

October prompts Day 2 “Porque No Los Dos?” Day| Crossover w/a character from each @narcosfandomdiscord (one pairing is platonic)

An: I don’t know enough Spanish yet to write it properly. So you can imagine it’s spoken between the characters. OC (Cameron aka ‘Kami’ ) is in her mid 30s. This is my first Mayo 🫢! season 3 Javi is 😍❤️! We may see them again this month for another prompt

Kami slipped behind the bar, giving her coworker a little wave as she focused on the man at the far left.

In his favorite seat, just like all the other times. Tie loose, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. That mop of dark hair in her eye line as he started down at his drink, like he was waiting for some kind of answer.

Kami helped another patron, giving out two beers before the man finally looked up.

“Hi.” Javier sat up, pulling his tie off completely. The heavy shadow over his face lifted a little.

“You were too busy using your drink like a magic 8 ball to see me,” she went over to him, “one of those days?”

Javier answered with a slight eyebrow raise and tilt of his head. Kami flashed that warm smile of hers then turned to make him a drink.

Javier watched her, that calming effect she has on him already working.

He finished the drink before him, making room for hers.

“It’s better when you make them.” He said as he picked it up and raised it in the air.

“Such a flirt,” she made herself a shot, then raised the glass to his, “to a better night.”

Javier made a face, like he was sure that wasn’t going to happen. It was a shitty day on top of a shitty week. All he had to look forward to was a hot sleepless night, then do it all again in the morning.

But he chose this.

He could have been on his father's ranch right now. Trying that normal life thing. But he was so damn restless, and he had unfinished business here. Javier still wasn’t sure if coming back was a stupid fucking idea or not.

Read on A03 (yes you will need an account)

No tags

@artemiseamoon-updates

Masterlist for the October prompts

#Javier Peña #Ismael Zambada #narcoctober #Javier Peña & ofc #el mayo #narcos crossover #narcos mx #narcos og #el Mayo x ofc #el Mayo narcos mx

[hausofmamadas]

| Tu cómplice |

⁂

Pairing: Ismael “El Mayo” Zambada x Benjamín Arellano Félix

For @narcosfandomdiscord NarcOctober Fanworks collection [October 1 - Day of Firsts]

Word count: ≈ 2.8K

TWs: Canon-consistent violence? Much angst but like in the supes casual way I imagine Mayo does..?

Just the two of them seated at the wrought iron table in the backyard, up till dawn, smoking and talking. It felt quite the honor just to see the man laugh. Ngl guys, this is Basically just Mayo internally but actively pining for Mín? for like kinda no reason?? while he’s negotiating with Dina because Mín’s gone into hiding after the assassination of Cardinal Juan Posadas Ocampo. Idk this is literally just 3k words of nonsense and insanity. It’s legitimately one of the most aimless and ooc things I’ve ever written sksks but hey!! it exists now..?

⁂

The ornate, gilded door knocker felt heavy between his fingertips as he rapped a few times and waited, stubbing out his cigarette in the open mouth of one of the lion statues placed on either side of the stairway. He chuckled to himself. If it wasn’t an ashtray before, it was one now. To him it looked like one anyway. The mansion’s pretentious decor always screamed “New Money” to him, no matter how hard the Arellanos tried to bury Sinaloa in their past.

By his count, Mayo had only ever been to Arellano house three times. Once by invitation, another by accident, and a third - the last - by mistake. A mistake he couldn’t muster the good sense to regret no matter how hard he tried.

It never pays to fall for a family man, isn’t that what the girls say? Certainly the ones he’d shared a few fleeting nights with between the sheets, a wad of folded bills on the nightstand, couple packs of cigarettes, and some pillow talk that always told some tale of woe about falling for a family man. But is that what happened? Had he fallen? Or was he just at sea like always? Either way, it made for no less than an interesting ride.

The relief-distorted disappointment when it was Pancho who answered the door should’ve told him something, even if he didn’t care to pay it much mind just now. A matter for tomorrow. Except that’s what he’d told himself the whole time. Shit, that’s how he got into this mess. Surely there’d come a point when tomorrow was today, no?

Pancho smiled, “Qué húbole, compa?” and pulled Mayo in, clapping his back twice in a way that was warm and sincere as much as it was overwhelming. But Pancho was good people. He always liked Pancho. Shit, who didn’t like Pancho.

“Nada mucho, nada más,” Mayo winked, tipping his hat as he crossed the threshold into the foyer of the Arellano mansion.

He smirked to himself at the same private joke he had every time he’d set foot in this house: the place’s grandiosity might be as intimidating as it was meant to be if it weren’t so fucking cartoonish. But he supposed that’s what happened when you let an overgrown manchild, dressed head-to-toe in Versace, stick his gold-dipped cuerno de chiva against the decorator’s temple and threaten to blow them away into semi-automatic oblivion, just for a discount on silk drapes from Rome or wherever-the-fuck.

Mayo's eyes stung a bit, hit with the phantom smell of the cigar smoke that came tumbling out of Benjamín’s mouth when he’d laughed himself nearly to tears telling Mayo that story. It'd been just the two of them seated at the wrought iron table in the backyard, up 'til dawn, smoking and talking. It felt quite the honor just to see the man laugh. He got the feeling Mín didn’t laugh much. That was the second time Mayo had been here.

He shook his head, the image etch-A-sketched away like nothing and followed Pancho through the foyer to the dining room and then the living room. Or rather, one of the living rooms. The house smelled so strongly of floral-scented candles and potpourri, he worried he might get a headache sitting in here for too long. They must’ve just had the place cleaned. It bothered him that he even noticed and it especially bothered him why. That it was because there was no hint of that familiar, faint musk that should’ve been there, expensive without trying too hard, that seemed to trail Mín along with a perpetual cloud of neurotic discontent, everywhere he went.

Even from the beginning Mayo liked that about him. The discontent he wore right on his sleeve. He’d noted it when they’d first met at some meat market in Mazátlan, right around the time he first linked up with the Sinaloa crew, just before they arrested Miguel and the whole Federation got dissolved. Just in Mín's discontent, his raw, kinetic ambition, Mayo saw something of himself, even if the two fo them strove for very different things. He used to think, what a strange little something you are, Benjamín Arellano Félix, the way one would think fondly of a pet they had growing up. He found himself wishing now that Mín felt just a pet to him.

But they belonged to each other in a new way now. Darker, tenuous, and confounding in just exactly how straightforward it was. No implications, no questions to be asked. It said nothing about either of them except that they belonged, if only for and evening. Or the amount of time it takes to smoke a full Montecristo and down a stiff drink of scotch.

He turned to the fish tank and stared at his warped reflection, saying to no one in particular, “Things are changing real fast, huh? The army in Tijuana fucking shit up. Coming after your family, no less. Now Benjamín’s gone. Fucking mess, huh?”

He felt it coming. This meeting. Depending on the outcome, it might signify a breaking point and he’d have to choose between what is and what should never be. The Arellanos got caught flying far too close to the sun and they knew it now. (And everyone wondered why he preferred boats.) It’s what set Mín on the lam, no telling how long he would be out there. Floating around wherever he was. Away.

Shaking his head, “Just hoping it all blows over and Benjamín can come back home,” Pancho spilled a glass of some brown liquor, as he set it down on the beverage cart in front of Mayo.

Amused, Mayo tried mopping it with only his fingers until he gave up, taking a sip. There was still plenty to drink, since Pancho had filled it nearly to the brim, almost as high as his own. Suddenly, it made sense why Pancho wasn’t in charge of the family business despite being the oldest. Hombre couldn’t bluff for shit.

Mayo took the seat by the beverage cart, as Pancho practically melted back onto the giant couch across from him. Doing his best to affect it, almost like an afterthought, Mayo leaned back in the chair and said, “Send him my best, yeah?” He took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pockets, giving them a little jiggle and raising his eyebrows.

Pancho got what he was asking but Dina startled him with an answer before Pancho got the chance. She spoke from behind them, standing at a large window, “Of course, please. Make yourself at home.” She waved her own lit cigarette as if to hammer the point home. “I do it in here all the time. Drives mamá mad. The smell gets in the drapes, she says.”

How long had she been standing there? Her beige suit blended so well with the drapes she spoke about with such indifference. Mayo half wondered if it was some kind of business tactic, camouflaging with the furniture. Better to hear all chisme whispered in these halls by house staff or other scheming subordinates a quien no le gustaba tener una jefa. In truth, he didn’t much like it either. But he hadn’t figured out if it was just because she was a woman or because of the kind of woman she was. He never had much patience for anyone with a chip on their shoulder.

Though he’d certainly made an exception for Mín who’d carted around a chip so heavy, it was a wonder he never tipped over. So, maybe it was the woman thing. Did it much matter? Not really cuando sabía que ella había planeado quitarle sus huevos. All these months later, and that cool twenty mil still burned a hole in their coffers and there was no making eyes at Dina to make it all go away, least of all when they were hurting for the cash. Not that he wouldn’t try. That is after all how he and Benjamín started off doing ... Well, whatever the fuck they did.

He thought of Dina’s wedding, how light and alive, self-assured Benjamín was. In his element. A new look he wore so well that, in Mayo’s estimation, he didn’t get to enjoy for long enough. Now look where they all were.

“So look, Pancho,” he brushed Dina off because if her goal was to blend in with it, well, he was happy to treat her like the furniture. “Amado’s expanded operations. Taken over the port in Peñasco, made it hard for my boats to unload. I was hoping to redirect them through San Ysidro, and not pass them through Tijuana.”

“That would put all your business in our plaza, wouldn’t it?”

The smirk of a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar broke across Mayo's face and he dragged on his cigarette, nodding in the affirmative.

“And yet, you refuse to join our organization?”

He offered the answer that seemed to satisfy anyone who challenged his go-it-alone approach. It satisfied Mín well enough when he'd approached Mayo at the wedding. “Es qué, a mí me gusta ser mi propio patrón.”

Nothing less than the truth. In an industry of professional con artists, backstabbers, hustlers, and murderers, maybe like her brother, she’d appreciate it.

“Yes, so you’ve said.” She didn’t.

And she still hadn’t turned around to face them. For people so concerned with blending into high society, the Arellanos weren’t the most well-mannered. Mayo’s working-class manner of dress might, to the untrained eye, indicate that manners weren’t something he cared about. But he did. Even in his blackest moments, twisting his knife in someone’s gut or getting ready to light them on fire, he couldn’t much find a reason not to be at least cordial.

Fighting for a lifeline, he glanced at Pancho who almost looked like he was trying to become one with the couch, drink limp in his hand, as he stared at the All-Knowing Queen in white.

She finally turned to grace them with her full attention, gliding over and resting her hands on the back of the empty couch next to him. “You owe us twenty million dollars. What’s your plan to repay us?”

Back in the days when Miguel held court and favored the Sinaloa faction at the expense of his own family, dicking the Arellanos around as though the petulant kids he’d watched grow up would remain petulant kids forever, Mayo remembered thinking that Mín’s attempts at diplomacy weren’t well-earned by their uncle. And he’d told Mín as much. Even Dina agreed at the time.

But all these years later, with Dina the sharp tip of the lethal spear that was now the Arellano Félix Organization, Mayo wondered if they couldn’t do with some of Benjamín’s trademark diplomacy. Mín liked people. He knew how to talk to them. Dina was trickier to deal with. Though savvy like her brother, she was nothing but prickly, sharp edges. Good for dealing what needed to be dealt to their enemies. Not much for making friends.

Mayo tried his hand at diplomacy, “Money in shrimping, eh … moves slower than I’d like,” but ire crept in anyway when the absence of his— his— of Benjamín was screaming at him. “Benjamín understands that. I pay as it comes.”

Understands, yes. Present tense. He was gone, not dead and even with Dina in charge, he still must’ve been keeping tabs from somewhere. She couldn’t have the final word here. Not really.

Unwilling to follow his lead in diplomacy, she shot back. “How much have you got?”

“Here with me?” Now he was annoyed.

And that was met with a haughty huff from her, along with a scorn-filled smirk, so acrid and bitter he nearly tasted it in the air between them. She had him where she wanted him and it twisted his gut, knowing where this was about to go.

“You aren’t moving anything through this plaza until the tax is paid.”

It was over already and he knew it. That didn’t stop him from trying one final time, “Qué dice, Pancho? Esa es la última palabra de la familia?” like it might speak Benjamín into their living room.

Of course, when it didn’t work, the thought of Mín, knowing what he’d have to resort to next, only served to make his stomach churn more. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. What’s that thing they say about purple elephants? Because before the first don’t, the image of Benjamín’s gentle brown eyes in the moonlit backyard, full of that kinetic ambition, not for success but for something else —belonging— flooded Mayo. The third time he’d been here.

᪣

It had only been a few months since the wedding. A celebration at Roxanne’s gone awry and he’d had to bring Ramón home before he tore the club apart, going after Chapo for some snide comment about what they all knew happened to Rayo. The bad blood between the Arellanos and the Sinaloa crew was so long standing without erupting into an all-out war, it seemed to make sense at the time to at least attempt to avoid tipping it over the edge. In hindsight, the whole shitshow was gripped with such inevitability, it seemed more like going against the will of the gods, now that he thought about it. But you only know what you know when you know it. So, he done the sensible thing, intervened before things got ugly, agreeing against his better judgment to remove Ramón from the equation, by driving the rowdy motherfucker home while he sat in the passenger's seat of his pickup, three sheets to the wind, sprawled out, passed out, and snoring. Despite the fact he’d had no love para el pinshe huevón, there was love in his heart somewhere. And so it was easy to say, “yes” after shucking Ramón off his shoulder onto one of their house staff's, when Mín offered him a cigar and a drink. An opportunity for another of their little chats that they’d come to enjoy whenever they crossed paths. Though Mayo had noticed, in the distinct lack of one, every one of those times happened to be under the unconscious supervision of a crowd. So that when Benjamín complimented him on his business savvy, and said things like, “Fuck, man. You’re better than that,” the grin that spread across his face never got as wide as it wanted to be. They never stood as close as they’d wanted to. They never talked for as long as they wanted to. It was for the best. Because without the safety net of nosy onlookers, talking about life, growing up in Sinaloa, the incessant hustle, the never ending grind to the top, commiserating over the absurdity of this business they’d both come up in, ambition, what all of it even meant? Could they do something else? Should they do something else? Was it really worth it?— they both folded like a pair of cheap suits. And so he didn’t remove it, when Mín’s hand found itself on top of his. The contrast of how smooth, almost manicured it was compared his own, weather-worn, brought to light disparities that extended far beyond the physical and yet didn’t make a bit of difference. The words tumbled from Mín’s lips suddenly. “You know ... I do love my wife.” And that trademark cloud of anxiety that made him think too much came swept over them with a fury. Not long for this world, Mayo waved it away. “I know you do.” “You do?” It was almost funny. Despite the evident affinity they shared in these little chats, Mín’s shock reminded him just how little they really knew each other. How much of a gamble he’d just taken. “You know that I know that this,” Mayo lifted their hands, fingers interlaced together, and placed his lips against one of Mín’s knuckles, “and that,” then bobbed his head toward the house, “can be different but true, at the same time.”

᪣

He sighed and swallowed the memory hard.

“‘Ta bueno, ‘ta bueno,” nodding vigorously because he saw the whole fucking thing coming before he’d set foot in the house. Standing up and putting his hat back on, he muttered cooly, “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time.”

Striding toward the fish tank, he thought of Mín again and turned back around. He met Dina’s eyes in a challenge, you did this but simply tipped his hat, “Patrona,” a gesture of faux respect she was undoubtedly smart enough and petty enough to see for what it was.

On his way out of the house, he was already hard at work, scouring his brain. What was the last number that he had for Amado? Fuck, that shit was months ago. He'd probably have a new one. Oh, well. It'd be worth it. Or ... would it? Well frankly, if he was really honest with himself, he'd probably stopped giving a shit the second the words, "make yourself at home" came out of her mouth.

Stepping out into the midday sun at the top of the steps leading down to the driveway, he caught the carcass of his cigarette laying in the lion's mouth out of the corner of his eye.

Dina would regret this and probably never even know why.

But Benjamín would.

En ese mundo de complicidades y traiciones, un día tu mejor enemigo es tu cómplice y al otro se convierte en tu peor enemigo.

═

taglist: @narcosfandomdiscord @ashlingnarcos @narcolini @drabbles-mc

#ismael zambada x benjamin arellano felix #ismael el mayo zambada #benjamin arellano felix #narcos mexico #benjamayo ..? #The result of me making something out of nothing #aka taking the above giffed scene #analyzing the highkey flirty googoo eyes btwn these two for jyeezus #and pretending like it’s a thing!! #*laughs maniacally* #yes welcome to actually the most cracked ship ever #which is cracked asf coming from me #the most ooc thing ever written in history that I somehow got so carried away writing and yet did nothing?? with #imsorryforeverything #i blame the gifs #i blame the way weddings make it seem like everyone's flirting with each other #even if they're actually mortal enemies #netflix narcos mexico #narcOctober #October 1 #narcos fanfic

[ashlingnarcos]

what we do now

for day one of the narcos october challenge: create a fanwork about a canon character you’ve never written about/used before.

Victory lasted them a little while, until one night in some overpriced bar near the embassy, Van Ness looked at his glass and found it was empty.

“Damn,” he said. “I was just getting a taste for that.”

“Aguardiente?” said Feistl. 

Van Ness looked at him. Under the yellow lights, and through the thick glass of several drinks, he found that his partner looked older than he expected. Worn out, like an embassy vet. When exactly he’d lost that eager Boy Scout look, that look like a golden retriever about to pounce, Van Ness couldn’t figure out.

Feistl had undone the top button of his collared shirt and loosened his tie so the dark knot of it hung below the hollow of his throat. That was another thing Van Ness noticed.

“Hey,” said Feistl. “Earth to space cadet.”

It was no use protesting that his mind had been in the present. 

“You’re the one who dragged me here,” Van Ness said. The words came out of his mouth, bypassing his brain entirely. It occurred to him that he was drunk.

“Uh, no. I said I wanted to get arepas at the street stall Trujillo recommended, you said it was too far to walk.” Feistl chuckled, finished his beer, gestured at the bartender for another. 

“This fuckin’ guy,” he added fondly to nobody in particular. “Can’t hold his aguardiente for shit.”

Van Ness heard himself saying, “You remind me of my ex-wife.”

Feistl leaned back an inch, eyebrows shooting up comically, mouth sketching a willingness to smile just in case this turned out to be a joke. “The fuck, Dan?”

“I meant Colombia,” Van Ness said. “You’re the one who dragged me here.”

Feistl slumped his weight a little to the side, onto the elbow he had rested on the bar. Van Ness didn’t think for one minute that meant his partner was relaxing; he knew better.

“You’re the one who followed me here,” said Feistl, and they’d never had this argument before, not exactly, but it felt familiar in the way it felt dangerous. He felt his mouth go dry.

Then, magically, he got saved; Feistl’s eyes flicked over to catch something happening behind Van Ness’s back, and a mischievous smile touched his lips. “Oh shit. Pay up.”

Van Ness turned. In the back corner, Peña had just gotten up, followed by a tall brunette.

What do we do now? Van Ness had asked Peña only ten minutes ago, or maybe it had been Feistl, he couldn’t remember, it was funny how he couldn’t even remember, but anyways, Peña had said nothing. Just downed his drink, stood, and made his way to the back corner where a couple beautiful women were sitting at a table all to themselves.

Van Ness had bet that he’d go for the blonde, Feistl the brunette.

As they watched, Peña started making his way through the crowd, followed by the brunette, followed by—“You pay up,” Van Ness said—the blonde too.

At the door, Peña opened the door for the two women like a gentleman, returned Van Ness and Feistl’s little waves with a cool kid’s nod, and disappeared back into legend. 

Van Ness looked at Feistl, shrugged, and swapped five-dollar bills with him. 

“Guess that’s what you do now, huh,” said Feistl.

“Guess so.”

The two of them eyed each other, Feistl taking a swig of his new beer, Van Ness having nothing to do with himself at all but sit there, feeling unaccountably cheated. He had wanted things to go back to normal, and they had, and now he didn’t want normalcy anymore.

“You want another drink?” Feistl said. 

“No,” said Van Ness. It wasn’t at all what he said, but the way he said it, that made his partner’s expression get a little tireder, a little warmer. His brown eyes were wise; Van Ness missed the early days, when he thought the new rookie was stupid. 

He almost missed that Feistl was speaking, only maybe by now it wasn’t Feistl, it was Chris. He couldn’t be sure, and he thought another aguardiente would’ve helped. It was probably Feistl.

“Dan,” Feistl said. “Don’t.”

“It’s what we do now,” Van Ness said. He felt a little lightheaded.

“What’s what we do now?”

“What we want to do.”

Chris—it had to be Chris, by now—looked at him like he’d just pieced together a fresh, cartel-sized new lead, only a really fucking weird one, ‘cause whatever it was, it seemed to entrance him and amuse him and hurt him and piss him off all at once, and also, somehow, he was smiling. A small, forgotten kind of smile, but still noticeable. To Dan, at least, who noticed all his smiles.

Slowly, after a second, Chris said,“You do know that you don’t have to work a hundred hours of unpaid overtime and catch a cadre of internationally wanted drug lords just to have the thing you want, right? Please tell me you know that.”

“Sure, I know that. Everyone knows that,” said Van Ness “But I worked a hundred hours of unpaid overtime and I caught a cadre of internationally wanted drug lords, so I damn well better get what I want.”

He had aimed for sweeping and gruff and masculine on that last part, but ended up petulant; the difference was doubt. As always. It didn’t help that Chris had stopped smiling.

Chris said, “I wouldn’t want to drag you anywhere.”

He didn’t say it mean, but Dan flushed anyway. Dark bar, hard liquor, he could’ve gotten away with it, too—could’ve figured his way out of the conversation and fled on back to his shitty little apartment for the night. But it wasn’t his shitty little apartment he wanted to fall asleep in.

“I’ll follow you,” Dan said.

And he did.

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[ my narcos fic masterlist ]

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blame it on the alcohol? no, blame it on the @axreliono.

#narcoctober #feistl x van ness #narcos #narcos fanfiction #we are most severely out here

[rerorero-my-cherry]

Day 3: Day of music

As some of you may know, I am currently writing a Narcos: Mexico series called Sola con mi Soledad. I’ve made three whole playlists for it!

Thank you to everyone at the Narcos Forever discord server for your love and support. Los amo y adoró ❤️

#narcoctober #narcos mexico #narcos #narcos mx #shameless self promo #ramon arellano felix #Soledad Alcalá #sola con mi soledad #scms #Spotify

[drabbles-mc]

Palliative Care

Horacio Carrillo & F!Reader

For @narcosfandomdiscord's Day of Horror: came back wrong

Warnings: 18+, major character death, angst, scars, blood, hospitals, all the sad angsty things idk

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Is this a day late? Yes. Is this one of the strangest, saddest fucked up little things I've ever written? Also yes. No clue where my brain went during this but here we are. I also think this might be my first ever fic with no dialogue. What a day!

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

palliative care (noun): treatment that reduces the pain without curing its cause

You had been one of the lucky ones. You knew it, too. With the minor exception of a few scars running up the side of your body, you came home fully intact. And compared to what you’d seen happen to so many others, a few ridges along your ribcage and thigh were hardly worth mentioning. You were grateful, in your mind at least, even if you didn’t always feel it all the way down into your bones.

The only thing that had gotten you through the atrocities that you’d seen, the losses that you’d suffered despite how hard you tried to prevent them, was the knowledge that one day you would be back home again. You weren’t going to live out your days wading through the carnage of war. And even though there was no guarantee of it, you were determined not to become and be buried as part of the mess yourself.

Unfortunately, no amount of determination and wishful thinking prepared you for what it was going to feel like being home again. All the days and nights you spent begging for some stability, some peace, maybe even a little bit of quiet, and once you got it you had no idea what to do with any of it. So many months in the midst of war and once you were relieved of that sense of urgency, your body just couldn’t accept it. There was no turning the dial down. The last thing you wanted was more chaos, but it felt like you were constantly filled with adrenaline, ready to handle crises that weren’t even there.

After months of struggling with guilt and the dreaded thought that you were somehow subconsciously ungrateful for the opportunity to be home and safe again, when you were asked whether or not you wanted another change of venue, it felt like the only answer was yes. It’d be different than last time, they assured you, but it wasn’t going to be some quiet hospital in the middle of a relatively safe city like where you’d been in the interim. Part of you knew that this was the last thing you probably needed, but if peace and quiet wasn’t fixing you, maybe getting thrown back into it would do the trick. So, off to Medellín you went.

It was different, just like they’d said. But in a lot of ways it was also the same. The apparent spontaneity felt familiar. There wasn’t always an obvious rhyme or reason to when the violence would crescendo, although you supposed that was the point.

The thing that felt the most familiar, though, was the underlying feeling of futility that you felt. More officers, more soldiers brought to you begging you to not let them die. You’d spent enough time doing triage on battlegrounds to know relatively quickly if you were going to have any control over the outcome. You hated how often you didn’t. But you knew better than to let them know that. Calm, collected, reassurance even if it was a lie was the best you could do for any of them regardless of whether or not you could help them.

You didn’t like the feelings that came rushing back, the familiarity of it all, but even though that was the case, it was the first time in a long time that you didn’t feel like you were out of place.

You grew to recognize the people that filtered in and out of the hospital on a regular basis. Sometimes they saw you frequently because they themselves were getting injured. As much as you hated seeing people getting hurt over and over again, at least return trips meant that they kept surviving.

The other people you saw frequently were the officers in charge. Sometimes they were getting patched up by you, but other times they were coming through to check on their men. All you could hope was that you had good news for them. The same way you could tell within moments of seeing someone getting brought in whether you’d be able to help them or not, officers soon learned to be able to tell whether or not you had good news for them. They never held it against you when you didn’t—the families were another story.

You didn’t know much of anything about Colonel Carrillo outside of the things you’d heard about him in passing. Your conversations with him were always short, always professional. He never seemed to show any emotion to you one way or another regardless of whether you were delivering good or bad news to him. His expression almost always stayed the same. Neutral, hardened. No matter what you said, he’d always conclude the conversation with a tight nod, and an even tighter “Thank you” before going off to wherever he was needed next. He never seemed to want to listen to your apologies, whatever condolences you used to try and offer him. You stopped giving them after awhile—he seemed almost relieved about it.

His absence wouldn’t have been something that crossed your mind at all if you hadn’t heard other nurses and doctors talking about it in passing. People stopped showing up all the time—you considered yourself lucky if you weren’t there to find out the reason why. If you hadn’t heard the murmurs, you never would have given it another thought. You would have just hoped the best for him, while in the back of your mind knowing it most likely wasn’t the case.

But then you heard them talking about how he’d gotten sent away. You watched the news enough to put it all together. Part of you felt relieved knowing that at least he was one person who wasn’t being sent away from the war in a pine box. Another part of you felt the tightness reappearing in your chest the more you thought about it. You knew what it was like to try and leave the fight. You’d done it of your own volition and you still couldn’t handle being away from the thick of it all. You could scarcely imagine what being pulled away before he was ready would do to someone who seemed to operate the way that Carrillo did.

He faded from your mind eventually, the way that most people tended to when you saw so many of them each day. You had much more present issues to think about. All of Colombia did. The surges of violence had you feeling like your hands would never be clean of blood no matter how hard you scrubbed them, no matter how scalding the water was. More officers than you could try to count or keep track of, dead before they got to you if not shortly after. There was no way to keep up with it. It was a feeling of drowning that you had felt before, one you never wanted to feel again. This time around, though, you at least knew how to tread water—exhausting but vital work.

The days had blurred together so completely that you lost track. You didn’t know how long Carrillo was gone for, but suddenly he was back again. He strode across the hospital floors like he hadn’t even been gone a day. You saw the difference in him, though. Soldiers all reached a point where they get pushed so far that they will either break, or they’ll evolve. You’ve seen the fallout of both those options and it was impossible to say that either one was preferable. But you could tell by the set of Carrillo’s jaw that he wasn’t broken. He was different, but not broken.

He spoke to you like no time at all had passed, so you returned the favor. Right back into old scripts, old routines. He had more jagged edges now where you just had more exhaustion. Maybe when all of this was said and done you’d simply be too tired to do anything but adjust to a quiet, normal life. More wishful thinking.

You felt like you had needed to claw your way out of your shift. The hours just kept slipping on by. Just when it seemed like there was no end in sight, you were told to go home. You didn’t need to be told twice, immediately taking off to get your things so you could grab what precious few hours of sleep that you could manage.

Your car keys were in your hand when you heard the sudden rush of yelling voices and running feet. It would’ve been so easy to pretend you’d missed it all, to slip out the back and cross the lot to your car. Avoiding it was infinitely easier than confronting it and throwing yourself into the middle of it. You knew that. Easier would’ve been such a nice change of pace. And yet you threw your keys back into your locker and headed back out towards the floor.

There was chaos and cussing and men groaning in pain. Immediately it became a game of Tetris trying to organize and find room for everyone, both patients and hospital staff alike. Only so many of you could populate a floor and still do your jobs without tripping over each other.

You were trying to figure out where the hell you were supposed to start when you felt someone’s hand reach out and grab yours. You returned the gesture on instinct, never one to deprive a desperate soldier of a last hint of comfort. However, when you looked down at the person who had grabbed your hand, you couldn’t hide the surprise on your face. You’d never seen the Colonel being anything other than cold and composed—never the one on this end of the equation. You’d definitely never seen him reaching out to anyone for comfort.

When you took in the state of him, you couldn’t help but to wonder if he was just looking to you to confirm what he already knew. No amount of tactical gear in the world would’ve saved him from whatever he’d gone through before he got brought to you. Despite all the blood and the pale look of his face, the grip he had on your hand was surprisingly strong.

All of your usual words got caught in the back of your throat, things you would typically say to provide comfort in moments like this. But it was Colonel Carrillo, a man who wanted nothing to do with being placated. It was better that way for both of you now because the lump at the back of your throat made it impossible for you to say anything at all, comforting or not.

The tighter he tried to hold onto your hand, the more you tried to match his grip. You brought your hand that he wasn’t holding to rest on his shoulder, fingers wrapping over the curve of it. You tried not to pay attention to the blood that seeped from his uniform into the pads of your fingertips. Even as the seconds ticked by, and his grip started to weaken, and tears began to cut the edges of your eyes and his, you didn’t apologize. He didn’t ask for one either. He didn’t ask for anything. He just held your hand until he couldn’t anymore.

#narcoctober #horacio carrillo #day of horror #horacio carrillo x reader #x reader #x reader fic #horacio carrillo x you #narcos #narcos netflix #narcos netflix fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[garbinge]

Foldin' Clothes

Steve Murphy x F!Reader For the @narcosfandomdiscord October Prompts. Day 2 - Day of Music: Put your favorite playlist on shuffle and whatever song comes up first, that’s your prompt. Summary: Song Inspo - Foldin Clothes - J.Cole // Steve makes a surprise visit home, but things aren't as picture perfect as either of you would like them to be. Word Count: 3.2k Warnings: All my fics are 18+, regardless of content. Angsty. Mentions of illness, sickle cell disease, blood transfusions, etc. Fighting, arguing, not a happy ending, but not like too too harsh. Slight mentions of smut like blink and you'll miss it type stuff. A/N: First off shout out to Tay's fic inspo playlist for this one!!! Second, it doesn't exactly follow the tone of the song buuuuut it def takes from things said within it!

Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @narcolini

The sun from the window hit Steve’s eyes and stirred him awake. It took him a minute to come to, taking a few seconds to wipe his eyes with his watched hand and sit up to take in where he was. It wasn’t home, he wasn’t really sure if he had a real home these days, he technically lived in Colombia, in a small apartment building that he shared with other DEA agents, it was the furthest thing from home. He sold his house in Miami before leaving for Bogata, but that never felt like home either. This, where he was waking up, wasn’t home, but it was the closest he ever got to it. 

He rolled over to find himself on the edge of the couch. Funny how it was probably the most comfortable night of sleep he had gotten in a while. You were pushed up against the backrest of the couch, looking completely at peace as light snores left your mouth. He smirked as he got up, taking a moment to look at the clock. 6:17AM. There was no way he was going to wake you up this early, no matter how much you would argue his ear off when you did wake up. Every minute was valuable since he was set to go back to Colombia tomorrow. 

He didn’t think he was going to come visit you, but the minute he landed in Miami he was telling the taxi driver your address. 

“Hey, can I use your phone? I need to tell my parents I won’t be able to come visit them on my break.” 

Those were his first words to you. Of course you let him in, and he did just what he asked. Said something came up and that he wasn’t able to come home. And then ensued your night of catching up. You did what two people who were stupidly in love with each other would do, you had sex, you talked, you ate copious amounts of food, from all of Steve’s favorite Miami spots, you watched movies, but to say you really watched them was a stretch. Most of the time you were doing the previously mentioned items. You drank a lot of wine, Steve mentioned how it felt like forever since he had a glass of wine, his thirst was generally quenched by some sort of amber alcohol that was hidden in someone's drawer. 

It was a great night, but a late one, which is why Steve was going to let you rest. He moved over to the pile of discarded clothes from the both of you and scooped them into his arms. His head moved back to make sure he didn’t miss anything before making his way to your laundry room. He knew his way around here, it helped that he stayed here pretty much daily for a year before he got pulled away to Colombia. Each room had a memory, some good, some bad. The laundry room’s memory wasn’t the best, the first thought that came to his head was his first kill on the job. It was a kid. He came home, and you were quick to meet him at the garage door and grab his things, tell him to disrobe and throw his dirty, bloody, clothes into the washing machine. It was your attempt at erasing every memory of the day that you could but it was too late. His words echoed in his head.

“That was the first person I ever shot, a teenager not even old enough to buy a 6-pack.” 

This room was permanently tainted with it. But this time, after the initial thought, it felt lighter, it felt different, like things could be different. 

Steve was tossing the clothes in the wash, grabbing the detergent and putting the machine to the right setting and then making his way back out to the kitchen. He saw you still on the couch, but now you were sprawled out completely taking up the entire space. It made him smile to himself, waking up with you, to the sight of you, it was something he’d never take advantage of again. As he entered the kitchen, he began to put together something for breakfast. He was careful in what he chose, wanting to keep the noise level low so as not to wake you. As he opened the cabinet above the fridge, he was met with an array of cereals, he laughed as the memory of you begging him to eat the raisin bran for once over the honeycomb came to his head. Something about the sugar. 

As he looked around the rest of the kitchen, he noticed the slight mess of things, dishes in the sink, pots and pans uncleaned on the stove, bags of groceries still on the counter not put away. It would have been nothing if he didn’t know you, how you normally kept things around the house, but the real telling factor was the calendar on the fridge. It was filled with tasks and meetings, but what caught his eye was the amount of doctors appointments. It was constant, phlebotomy appointments, nutritionists, general practitioners, the list went on and on. 

The bowl was now empty, just a little bit of milk and the remnants of honey comb still floating in the liquid. It was his third bowl, between the first and second he had made his way back into the wash room so he could switch over the laundry, it’s what caused him to stop focusing on the calendar on the wall trying to figure out what was happening. Now he was sitting there, windows open, looking out the backyard, seeing the palm trees sway from the wind, the clouds were rolling in, which meant there was a likely chance for a drizzle later, typical for Florida. To be honest he missed it, not the rain, or the palm trees, or even Miami even, but this yard, this house. Waking up like this, calm, being able to enjoy these mundane tasks, that was what he missed. 

The ding from the dryer had brought him out of his thoughts, he was making his way to the wash room, taking a quick peak at you still to make sure the dryer bell didn’t wake you. You were back squished up against the backrest of the couch, the sight of it made him smile. 

Folding clothes. Another thing that brought him back to that night. Folding the clothes that used to be soaked in blood, how easy it was to wash away the evidence of it, but yet somehow the memory was still so permanently in his mind. If he saw a therapist, they’d likely connect it to how that was the jumping off point to everything he’d gotten himself into since then. Colombia. Escobar. The whole thing. But that was the thing he didn’t see a therapist, the closest he got to it was a bottle of whiskey and a few mumbled words to Javier Peña, his DEA partner. 

“My dad volunteered to fight in World War 2 because of Pearl Harbor. He laced up his army boots and went to fight. It was his duty. Cocaine in Miami? Kilos in Colombia? This is my war. This is my duty.” 

Those were the words he spoke to you when he told you his assignment, where he was going. Before he could think of your response, your voice said something else, but this time in the present moment. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” The sound of your groggy voice brought Steve’s attention onto you as you leaned on the frame of the doorway. 

“It was a late night, figured you needed rest.” Steve smiled at you as he was folding the last of the clothes. 

“So this is what you came here for? To do my laundry.” You crossed your arms and got comfortable in the standing position you were in. 

“Was trying to keep busy.” Steve chuckled as he tossed the last of the clothes in the basket above the dryer. 

“Yea, you should have woke me up.” You kicked off the doorway and approached him, wrapping your arms around his middle and bringing him closer to you. 

Steve fell into the embrace easily, his arms encasing you, his head resting on yours. 

“When’s your flight?” You mumbled, not ready to break the embrace. 

“8AM tomorrow.” His mouth was speaking just over your head before he placed a quick kiss there. 

“24 hours.” You inhaled deeply as you accepted the fact. You pulled away from him, took a few seconds to look into his eyes, try and puzzle together what he was thinking that he wasn’t telling you. 

“A lot can happen in 24 hours.” Steve spoke up, the comment was meant as a tease, as a flirtatious comment, and that’s how you took it, at first. 

He leaned down to kiss you, his lips touched yours and his hands moved to cup your face. It was an attempt to bring you closer to him, for him to soak in every kiss, every touch, every feeling. You smelled the honeycomb on his breath and it made you laugh into the kiss. 

“If you’re gonna sneak the sugary cereal you should learn how to hide the evidence.” You whispered to him in between kisses.  

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps them in the house. Can’t blame me there.” He spoke back to you, his head resting on your forehead. 

“Maybe I kept them there for you, you ever think of that?.” Your eyebrows raised and you could see his face change. It was slight, but you picked up on it immediately. 

Steve however, pushed right by it and was immediately kissing you. You were propped up on top of the dryer and he was starting to move his hands under your clothes. 

Before you even could realize it, he was inside you. Your hand was gripping the back tuff of his hair as he entered in and out of you, your head fell back as you felt every emotion ever get sent into overdrive. This was Steve, your Steve, he was back, he was here, and he was inside you and nothing could beat that emotion right now. Both of you didn’t last long, despite the countless times you went at it the night before, but it had been a long time for the both of you. 

Steve had thrown his clothes back on and you were in the process of putting your shirt back on. He was quick to grab the shirt, bringing it down your body and situating it on correctly. He went back to resting his head against yours once you both were settled. You closed your eyes, feeling exhaustion come back over you.

“Tell me not to go.” Between Steve’s voice and what he said, it jolted you awake. 

“What?” You didn’t need the clarification, but you did need another couple seconds to get your thoughts together. 

“Tell me not to go.” He repeated himself, same tone, same voice. 

“Steve.” You slipped by him now, breaking the closeness you had and made your way to the kitchen to grab breakfast for yourself. 

He was behind you immediately. 

“I’m being serious. Tell me not to go. I won’t go.” He said now with more firmness in his voice, putting that pressure on you. 

“You know I can’t do that.” You said as you reached in the cabinet for a bowl. 

“You can, just say it and I won’t leave for my flight tomorrow.” Steve was practically begging now. “I’ll stay here and we can eat take out from wherever, and I’ll do the laundry, fold the clothes for you, I’ll eat the fuckin’ raisin bran like you want me to.” His voice was pleading now. 

“Steve. You can’t come here, unexpected, and then just throw this decision on me.” The sentence was true, but harsh, which is why you spoke it in a way that didn’t come out mean or strong. 

“I’m not an idiot. I see what’s happening around here.” Steve raised his voice now. Your face twisted up and that was just more fuel for him. “You’re fucking sick. You told me that shit wasn’t serious, you let me leave when you knew what it was, you lied to me.” 

You didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t wrong. You were sick, you did tell him it wasn’t serious. But you did that for his own good, he needed to go to Colombia, staying back to take care of you would have meant resentment and stress, and fighting. You were never the couple that fought, you didn’t want to become that. The irony. 

“But whatever, I don’t care about that. It’s clear you have a lot on your plate and I wanna help. I miss this. I miss waking up calm, I miss the fuckin’ palm trees, doing laundry.” In a quick instant he was back to pleading.

“Steve.” It was the only thing you could think to say at this moment. 

“I wanna do the right thing.” His voice was soft and he had tears building up in his eyes.

You approached him, taking his head to rest on your shoulder as he cried. Standing there together you rubbed your hand up and down Steve’s back. 

After a few moments of standing there in eachothers arms, you spoke up. 

“You are doing the right thing.” 

Steve didn’t speak, although you knew if he was going to say anything he was going to argue with you or deflect. 

“I miss you.” Deflection. 

You weren’t sure which was better of the two, at least with arguing there was a chance of getting down to an agreement or to some type of closure, deflection just buried things deeper. But instead of trying to pull at deeply rooted weeds, you decided to bring a new argument to him. For his own good. 

“Can I be blunt?” You asked him, hand still tangled in his hair as you pulled away to look at him. 

Steve just gave you a look, one that meant, ‘even if I say no you’re still going to say whatever it is.’ It made you smile, but you didn’t want to chuckle too much because you knew the next statement was going to sting. 

“You don’t miss me. You miss normalcy. You miss home.” It was now that you fully pulled away and crossed your arms. There wasn’t anything angry about what you did, because you weren’t angry, you were just being honest. It didn’t hurt you, whatever Steve had going on in Colombia was bigger than anything you could understand. The things he’d probably seen, the things he’d probably done, it made this situation entirely different. 

Before Steve got the chance to open his mouth, likely to now argue, you cut him off. 

“You didn’t say you missed me once, until two seconds ago. You said you missed this,” you waved your hand around, “that you missed waking up calm, the palm trees, laundry.”  Your head dipped to look directly into Steve’s eyes which were now staring at the floor as he knew you had made your point. “I’m not mad.” You added quickly to let him know, taking your hand to move his chin up to look at you. “I get it, I can’t even imagine what it’s like down there, how the lines blur, how heavy the days must feel, but you’re doing the right thing.” 

There was something in Steve’s eyes, maybe it was sadness, maybe it was desperation, maybe it was a mix of both. But regardless you knew the question out of his mouth was coming sooner or later. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were this sick?” His hand was coming up to caress your face now. 

“You wouldn’t have gone. I can’t be the reason you stay behind.” It was a easy answer, as hard as it was to get out. 

“I would’ve wanted to stay.” He argued. 

“You would have resented me, even if it wasn’t obvious.” You were doing a good job avoiding talking about being sick. 

Steve scoffed and lowered his head before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “How bad is it?” 

“It looks worse on paper than it is.” You turned around now, filling up a glass of water. “I’m at the doctor a lot to monitor my reactions to some new pain meds, sometimes I need the occasional blood transfusion, it’s normal for someone with sickle cell disease. But I haven’t needed one in a while.” You explained. 

“You lying to me?” Steve asked, knowing this wasn’t a topic you wanted to stay on much longer. 

“Through my teeth.” You smiled and caved. “I’m a part of a clinical study for sickle cell disease, it’s a genetic therapy thing. I know you hated the trials mentioned back–”

“No, no, it’s a good thing. I’m glad.” He was also lying through his teeth, you knew he hated the unsureness of a trial, but you also knew that he was aware he wasn’t in the position to make judgments on your choices. 

“I’m okay, Steve.” 

He nodded at that. “Can we just forget about the last 30 minutes and just enjoy the time we got?” He said, clearly trying hard to swallow the pain of the last half an hour. 

“I’d love nothing more.” You agreed with him. 

The next day was like nothing happened, like those 30 minutes of tension and arguing never existed, you weren’t sure if it was a good or bad thing in the long run, but for both of your mental states in this moment, you were glad it happened that way. You spent the day dancing around the house to music, going to the beach for a bit, walking the boardwalk, but your favorite part of the night was the couch cushion fort you two created. You christened the fort, multiple times, before the night was over, you shared laughs, you shared kisses, new memories and old ones until the both of you fell asleep. 

Steve woke up, like clockwork at 6AM, and in typical Steve fashion, he didn’t wake you up to say goodbye. He didn’t want a repeat of the morning prior, which he knew it would be. He would have asked you to tell him to stay and you would have said no. He would have said that you needed his help since you were sick, and you wouldn’t have been as nice as the day prior. It wasn’t the way he wanted to leave things, so even if this was a dick move, it was the better move. 

He gathered his belongings, and was out the front door, looking back once through the blinds, he saw you still asleep through the front of the couch fort. He smiled and took one deep sigh before stepping towards the taxi waiting for him on the road. Maybe one day he could come back here and fold laundry with you, but he knew today wasn’t that day. 

#Narcos #Narcos Netflix #narcoctober #day of music #Steve Murphy #Steve Murphy x Reader

[narcosfandomdiscord]

narcos october masterlist i

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

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

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

October 1 — Day of Firsts

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

↳ fanart by @tofuwildcard — Javi smoking, digital art

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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October 2 — “Porque No Los Dos?” Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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October 3 — Day of Music

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

↳ Amado fanart by @tofuwildcard

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

↳ Promise by @proceduralpassion — Carrillo x OFC smut

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October 4 — Day of Conflict

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

Anything involving a fistfight or a gunfight.

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

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

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

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

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

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October 5 — Day of Visual Art

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

↳ a glitchy Pachito by @tofuwildcard — fanart

↳ NUGGETS OF BENJAMAYO by @hausofmamadas — gifset + commentary

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

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

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

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

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October 6 — Day of International Relations

Write non-English language fic.

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

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

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

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

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

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October 7 — Day of Darkness

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

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

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

One-word prompt: Blackout.

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

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October 8 — Day of Light

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

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

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

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October 9 — Day of Gay

Create anything devoted to an LGBTQ+ character.

↳ Watching Time by @garbinge — Chepe x Pacho ficlet

↳ Bisexually-lit Dina by @tofuwildcard — fanart

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

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

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

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October 10 — Day of Tough Shit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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↳ narcos october masterlist ii with prompts from day 11 onwards

#narcos fanfiction #narcos imagine #narcos mexico fanfiction #narcos #narcos mexico #narcos mexico imagine #narcoctober

[tofuwildcard]

Narcoctober Day 5 — Day of Visual Art

Have a glitchy Pachito.

#narcoctober #pacho herrera #narcos #narcos mexico #narcos mx #alberto ammann

[proceduralpassion]

Take You Home

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

Character(s): Amado Carrillo Fuentes x Reader

WC: 845

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You chuckle, “Yes, you do.”

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

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

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

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

[narcolini]

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