#walt breslin

[imgeekgirlfan]

Renegada♱

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

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

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

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

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

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𝙍𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙙𝙖♱ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

➡  Previous : Next

[5]ᅳ 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐢́𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐨 ✟

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can't find answers to these questions.

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

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

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

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Aruba Island, Kingdom of the Netherlands

1600 (Military Time) *Three Hours Before the Incident*

Although it's approaching evening, the sunlight on Aruba Island is still bright and clear, no different from the afternoon. The scene in the travel magazine doesn't seem exaggerated at all when seen with your own eyes. The clean white sandy beaches, lush green coconut trees, and crystal-clear blue sea reflect the shimmering sun. It's breathtakingly beautiful here, and the atmosphere is just right—neither too quiet nor too bustling like the seas in Miami or Thailand.

This place is suitable for tourism, you think, and also suitable for opening a cocaine market for these tourists.

But Amado's purpose for coming to Aruba Island remains unclear, something you must urgently investigate while there's still a chance.

For you, every second is crucial and calculated, tension infiltrating every action.

But for Amado, it's the opposite. He seems completely at ease. You can tell from the relaxed smile on his face all the time.

You glance at Amado thoughtfully, not hiding your slight surprise as you see him change into a blue Hawaiian shirt, yellow shorts, and slip on sunglasses with a smile. He blends seamlessly with the other tourists. For you, this is quite a surprising and unexpected look compared to his usual all-black attire.

"What wrong, Mija?[1] You're staring at me too much, I'm starting to blush," he said, raising his eyebrows with a playful smile after handing you the Esquites[2] he bought from the nearby store. "Or am I so handsome that I'm stunning you?"

You chuckled and took the Esquites from his hand, then pretended to glance at him with a half-serious look. "It's not that much," you shrugged. "Just... average."

"Average? No, Mija. You should say, You look so handsome, Amado!"

You burst into laughter again, genuinely amused by this man's incredible sense of humor.

The dark stories you've heard about the drug wars in Mexico seem like distant memories here. There's no violence, no gunfire or explosions, and no cocaine. 

And your date, who was enjoying Esquites by the seaside with you at this moment, was hardly anything like a world-class drug dealer.

But beneath the seemingly ordinary and charming nature of Amado Carrillo Fuentes, you know what he's capable of and how dangerous he is.

Honey trapping [3] is another important method to access intelligence for secret agents worldwide. It's not your expertise compared to other spies, but you're confident that you can do it just as well. You intentionally charm him without going too far, being both a good speaker and listener, creating an atmosphere that's relaxed and friendly. Every conversation you have leads him to tell you what you want to know.

However, Amado's responses barely provide any significant information for the mission. It seems more like casual chit-chat. If it weren't for the fact that he is exceptionally clever and cautious, it would mean that he must be a very inane person.

Of course, you're damn sure he's not stupid. Amado is a true master of deception. What you can do is make him like you enough to let his guard down a bit, and that's the ultimate challenge of this mission.

There's still plenty of time. You think. And maybe...that was the first mistake that led to bad things in ways you never expected.

"I want you to answer truthfully, Mija."

That sounds like just another normal question from Amado, but not for you. You blinked slightly as you caught a hint of seriousness in his tone. Yet, you still pretended to smile as if everything were normal. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I do, right?"

For a moment, you hesitated. But you managed to maintain your composure, even though your heart was pounding with excitement and anxiety.

You couldn't predict why he asked you this question. You weren't sure if it was just one of Amado's tests, or worse, if he was starting to suspect you. But regardless, your answer would undoubtedly affect the entire mission, one way or another.

Because Amado was clear about wanting the truth. Ultimately, you chose to take the risk and answer as he desired. You softly reply, "i think I can figured as much."

"And aren't you afraid of me? Even when you know what I do?"

It could be either a threat or a challenge from the drug lord. You could feel Amado's piercing gaze, scrutinizing. However, this time, you handled it better than before. You turned to face him, inching closer without a hint of fear, even if just a little.

"Should I be afraid then?"

"Of course, you should be terrified, Mija," Amado's arms wrapped around your waist slowly, pulling your body closer until there was no space between you. The mingling sensation of his breath tickling your face, combined with the scent of cologne and cigarettes, made your heart race in a way different from before, clear and distinct.

It was too close—much closer than you thought. A slight flutter of nervousness crossed your mind, but you couldn't retreat, especially when you were under his tight arms.

Amado was too smart. He deliberately blocked off every escape route for you.

"My life has encountered many terrifying things,There's nothing left in this world that can make me scared anymore."

That was another truth you decided to reveal to him.

Certainly, you were afraid of the mission failing. But that didn't mean you were afraid of Amado. Years of CIA work exposed you to countless horrors. You had killed many and lost many. So, what reason did you have to fear someone like him?

It wasn't just Amado who tried to test or challenge you. You chose to do the same. It was a slight defiance and a steady gaze that showed your refusal to submit. That was enough to create even more surprise for the man known as the biggest in the drug trade, a man whom everyone else bowed to out of fear.

The sun had disappeared from the sky, gradually dimming Amado's face with shadows. However, his eyes still sparkled, no different from the streetlights. You tried hard to read his thoughts from his expression, but it was too difficult. You didn't know what he was thinking or what he would do next.

But his decision in the end surprised you.

His lips pressed against yours, catching you off guard. It was a brief  kiss, yet long enough to make you feel and remember every detail. the stubble of his beard, the bitter taste of cigarettes lingering on his tongue, the warm and humid heat in his mouth, intense with desire until your body trembled.

It felt as though your lips were being burned by an invisible flame, and the fire still smoldered deep within even after he pulled away. His hand lingered on your cheek, trailing slowly down to your chin, before using his thumb to touch your lower lip. Amado's eyes never left yours, and beneath those intense gazes, there was something dangerous and alluring hidden within.

"Will you dance with me?"

Even though you knew how dangerous he was, Amado was undeniably romantic. That was something you had to admit.

Nothing could be more romantic than dancing on the beach at night. And Amado knew it well. The moonlight shining brightly in the sky, the breeze blowing through your hair and skin, and the sweet melody of Latin music floating in the air. His large hand rested on the small of your back, and his arm wrapped comfortably around your waist, gently guiding your body to sway to the rhythm.

This time, there were no tests or challenge like before. "Just dancing with me" Amado said before pulling you back into his embrace. 

The dance proceeded quietly and calmly. The word 'calm' felt strangely out of place for a CIA like you. It was like a phrase that didn't exist in your life, But what was happening now might be the closest thing you could think of—a feeling of relaxation and comfort as you laid your head on his chest, and his thumb to massage your back.

This wasn't right at all.

Standing in a country where you hardly knew, in a street where you had forgotten the name, you felt safe next to a man you knew was dangerous. It wasn't something you should feel at a time like this with someone like him. You should say something, focus on the mission as you should, but at the same time, you didn't want to ruin what was happening. And Amado probably felt the same. He was silent, saying nothing, Everything between you and him was so quiet that you could hear the music, the laughter of other dancing couples nearby, the sound of the waves, and the sound of his breath blowing on your neck.

...Before the sound of the gunshots rang out.

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[1] Mija in Spanish means "daughter." However, in a slang context, it can mean "dear” or “honey"

[2]Esquites Another name for it is "elote en vaso" or "elote" (specifically in America). It's a well-known Mexican street food made with grilled corn, mayonnaise, spices, and cheese.

[3] Honey trapping is a method of investigation or espionage that has been used since World War II. It involves deception through the use of romantic or sexual relationships with a target individual who possesses important information or resources.

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

[drabbles-mc]

📁

😁

Arte!!! Mi amor! 💖

As a member of the elite club of Walt Breslin Enthusiasts, I think it's only right that we do a little headcanon for him!

There is no one in this life or the next that can convince me that Walt should be left unattended in the kitchen to cook. 😂 I think maybe, at one point, he perhaps had some cheffing know-how. But *gestures to his current life* he probably hasn't used those skills in the last decade. And you know what they say: use it or lose it, and that man has definitely lost it lmao

He needs a roommate, a partner, a someone to have eyes-on when he tries cooking for a while. Once he gets off his diet of beer and cigarettes he needs to be monitored closely or he's gonna burn down their newest safe house 😂

That man has lived on takeout, nicotine, and alcohol for so long, I would love to be a witness to the reacclimation process. Dani probably would've gotten him right eventually. A true queen 😌

(Like i love him dearly but this is not the face of a domesticated man sksks 😂😂)

Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have!

#ask #asks #walt breslin #folder hc #artemiseamoon

[cregan-starks]

Walt Breslin + sunglasses

#narcosedit #narcosmxedit #narcosmexicoedit #netflixedit #userbreslin #userfrodosam #fuckyeahscootmcnairy #maevemills #narcos mx #narcos: mexico #narcos mexico #walt breslin #scoot mcnairy #original creations

[proceduralpassion]

How Do You Do This Shit For Fun?

Day 2 of Narcoctober - Create a crossover for the OG Narcos show and NMX, featuring at least one character from each.

Characters: Javier Peña x Walt Breslin (DEA besties)

CW: language, discussion of drugs

WC: ~1k

A/N: Another day of Narcoctober down! Played a little fast and loose with canon and events bc there's no rules to this fandom shit. If you see any spelling/grammar errors, no you didn't. Enjoy some humor and a twinge of angst.

There’s something to be said about feeling out of one’s league when you’re comparing yourself to the guy who’s got like ten years on you.

Javi meets Walt a few months after his training period since becoming a DEA agent. He’s working out of El Paso, not on one given assignment, but working on multiple cases in the efforts to prove himself. He’s skirted by without much hazing or abuse as the new kid on the block, but he still draws the short straw and assigned the paper trail-intensive type of cases. It’s nothing you can seek your teeth into, but he bares it because this is the road to proving himself.

Walt’s able to transition out of his desk job in Sacramento and joins the crew down in El Paso under Kuykendall’s command. He takes a liking to Peña and brings him up under his wing, so to speak.

Javi’s heard the rumors, listened to the rumblings of what happened of the airfield disaster. He’s already been warned to be wary of Breslin for fear of having his own new DEA career in the hairs of being flushed down the toilet. On the other side of the spectrum, he’s heard guys rave about how much they admire the ballsy moves he’s willing to make to smoke traffickers out. Javi pays it all no mind though, wanting to form his own notions of the guy before passing judgment.

And so far, the guy’s an enigma.

He’s got a subtle way of making people feel inferior to his own thoughts and intentions. Not in a spiteful kind of way, but Javi can tell he’s probably pissed off a lot of people across the border with his aloof attitude and superiority complex. He’s found that when working with Mexican law enforcement, the ethnocentrism steaming off of American officials pisses them off more than the actual cartels sometimes. But Walt also seems to care deeply. He puts in the work, willing to go the extra mile. He’s quick to get back up after being kicked down to the ground. He takes the time to show Peña the ropes, genuinely wanting to share gems that’ll help him down the road as he continues on his journey.

They start running together in the mornings, Breslin’s way of making sure Peña stays sharp and non-complacent in his paper trail cases. Running, itself, is a relatively new hobby for Walt, something he wanted to pick up now that he’s serious about quitting smoking.

He gets up to five miles and Javi feels like he could die before he’s two miles in. What’s worse is that Walt is just talking as usual, spewing off random pieces of advice and sharing new developments about the rising beef between the Sinaloa and Tijuana cartels. Javi can’t get anything but grunts and squawks out as he voices acknowledgement that he’s listening as they run along.

Even his fucking jogs in between his sprints are fast as shit, Javi thinks to himself. It may be off hours, but he’s not going to be outdone by this guy. Call it a chip on his shoulder or just a guy thing, but it wasn’t happening even if his lungs felt like hot ass cotton right about now.

His descent to the ground is less than graceful when they take a break in the midpoint of their run. Walt simply sits on the nearby stoop while Javi stumbles and then flails his legs open on the ground. It’s a quiet area in the neighborhood, but he’d just have to get hit by a car if one happened on this silent road because he simply wasn’t moving.

He heaves in heavy breaths of air, fiending for oxygen much like the addicts that kept the cartels rich.

He opens his eyes when he hears movement and the sound of grunts next to him. They widen when he realizes that Breslin is doing fucking sit ups on the sidewalk. Peña curses to himself when he gathers himself up to start right alongside him.

“Gotta work the full body out,” Walt remarks.

This time, Javi makes no effort to hide rolling his eyes, but Walt doesn’t notice because he’s striking up another conversation about Gallardo possibly being the key to getting intel about just how expansive the cartel’s pockets were when it came to influence and corruption. At this point, Javi isn’t even trying to be engaged in the dialogue anymore. He’s just ready for this workout to end and to lay prone on his bed for the rest of the day.

It’s only when the discussion veers from work to the potential idea of their workouts becoming a regular occurrence that Peña finally snaps.

“How do you do this shit for fun?!”

His elbows scrape against the concrete like a vinyl record cutting off suddenly. He tells Breslin “fuck you” in his head when he looks over to see him still doing sit ups with perfect form, no less.

He has the nerve to fucking shrug as his reply to Javi’s question before finishing up and finally standing. He gives him a hand to help him rise along with him, which the younger DEA agent takes. “Call it a vice,” Walt shrugs again and looks down, almost as if embarrassed, “This job’s gonna suck the shit out of you. Better to have running as an outlet or shit instead of something else.”

Javi rubs at his elbows and watches the way Breslin morphs his face back into neutrality after the grim lacings in his tone just now.

They finish running the rest of their trail and Javi thinks that maybe he’s cracked a piece of the Breslin Rubik’s cube. The one-track mind when it came to tearing down cartels. The failed operations and burnt bridges. The occasional whiff of alcohol he emanated at random times throughout the work day.

This crusade might be the death of him.

Before he goes down, he wants to make sure the game doesn’t take others down too.

“There’s another way, Javi,” he says on another run, “There’s always gonna be another way, a better way to win.”

A/N: This was originally just gonna be a funny little fic but somewhere along the way, it became a mini character study as well? Sawry bout it. Click here if you wanna be added to my taglist. Taglist: @asirensrage @narcosfandomdiscord

#narcos #narcos mexico #javier peña #walt breslin #javier pena x walt breslin #narcoctober

[ashlingnarcos]

no witness — Walt Breslin x f!Reader, 2.4k @narcosfandomdiscord's july smut alphabet, prompt 24: exes a day late, but who's counting? warnings: smut (barely), angst, past divorce, illness

It’s been so long that his old phone number doesn’t work, but if there’s one way to reach Walt Breslin, it’s to call the DEA and lie. After ten minutes, which you mostly spend being on hold, you’re connected to his office. Pretty easy. Hopefully the rest of this ends up easy too.

“Hey, Walt,” you say. 

After a beat, he says, “Hey.” His voice is casual, but the pause has already given him away. How the man manages to conduct interrogations with drug lords and the like, you really don’t know. Bless his heart. 

“So I’ve had a shit day, and I’m thinking why not just get to the point,” you say. “That okay?”

“Shoot.”

“I’m in town for a couple days, visiting, and I was wondering: any interest in a one-night stand?” 

He laughs. There are miles and walls between you, to say nothing of time, but you know that laugh. You know that he’s scratching his jaw with his knuckles, turning away from the world and towards the sound of your voice, shoulders rising half an inch. Private, a little defensive. He never likes taking personal calls at work where he can be overheard, but it’s been a couple years since you’ve talked to each other. He must have missed you. That accounts for his reply.

“One-night stand seems kind of inaccurate, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, not to nit-pick—”

“Too late.”

“—but I think we’re disqualified a couple different ways. A one-night stand is something you have with a stranger, right? For the first and last time.”

“And I’m not a stranger.”

“Last I checked, you’re my ex-wife.”

“And it wouldn’t be for the last time.” That just slips out of you, and you know better than to say it as soon as it’s out of your mouth. You slump in your chair, smooth your yellow flip-flop over the peeling kitchen linoleum, and wait to see if the hammer drops.

“Wouldn’t be the first time, is all,” he says mildly.

Mercy hits you harder than cruelty would’ve. As always. “Sorry,” you say, abrupt.

“’s okay,” he says, and that’s not true, but it’s perfect. There’s not forgiveness between the two of you quite so much as there is a shared desire to get the hell out anytime the house starts burning. At this point, one whiff of smoke and you both sprint. Doesn’t matter if it was just a cigarette. 

“Yeah, so,” you say desperately, “be seeing you.” 

“At eight,” he says, and hangs up.

Oh.

.

.

.

You’re smoking under the carport when Walt pulls up and parks on the side of the road. It’s raining. You watch him get out of the car. He’s tense, you think. Whatever made him reserved and a little lenient earlier, all that’s gone now. Nothing easy about this version of Walt. 

That’s fair. It’s been a couple years, and you gave him no explanation. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t slam the door either. Good enough.

You walk towards the front door, holding out your cigarette and letting the rain snuff it out before you throw it in the bucket by the front door. When you go inside, you leave the door ajar. 

He comes in fast. You barely have time to get your flip flops off before you hear his footsteps behind you, turn, and then there he is: a stab in the gut, a scarecrow, scruff and then some. On you fast, his hands your hips his mouth your mouth and that wet sundress doing near nothing at all between the two of you. You can feel the top of his sodden jeans pressing a line into your stomach. You can feel he’s half-hard already. Without looking, he kicks the door shut.

Okay, then. 

You didn’t plan on fierce and this isn’t fierce exactly, but it sure as hell isn’t peaceful. He kisses you like he’s on a mission and you return the favor, clinging to him like you might fall over otherwise. He tastes like cigarettes and he’s this close to biting. You’re fine to hurry. You grope your way along his sides till you find the hem of his shirt, wrestle that off, and drop it to the floor as you start walking backwards into the cramped living room. 

You’ve got your hands on him now, fuck, exactly how you wanted, digging your nails into the back of his neck and feeling every finger a conduit to the rough, freckled, panting reality of him. His eyes are half lidded and he’s kissing you slower, deeper. It’d be drowning if you paid attention, but the whole point is your mind turning mercifully off. 

Between the big green sofa and the air mattress, there isn’t much room, but you break away from him just long enough to get down there in the narrow strip of rug, get down on all fours, and look back at him. He’s on his knees behind you in a couple seconds, moving a little slower than you. Is he hurt? Before you can sit back and try to interrogate him, he’s already shoving your skirt up off your thighs and over your hips.

“Shit,” he says. Not derailed, just surprised. He smooths a callused hand up your inner thigh and trails a couple fingers through your folds, feeling how wet you are already and sending a shiver through you. Your stomach clenches as he inspects at the slick coating his fingers. His silent self-satisfaction is so fucking annoying, and unfortunately, it makes you want him all the more. 

“Hey,” you say. “That’s my work, not yours.”

You were hoping he’d make some kind of move on you, but instead he sticks both fingers in his mouth and sucks till his cheeks go hollow. Maybe he thinks you deserve the delay for trying to provoke him. Or maybe the sight’s a reward—you’ve always enjoyed watching him with his mouth full, that’s for damn sure. 

When he finally slides out his fingers with a sick little pop, his eyes have gone completely dark. No smirk yet, but imminent. Even before he opens his mouth, you know he’s gonna say something.

“Big fan of your work,” he says. 

You hate how much you want him, how much you can feel now that you’ve missed this. “Come here,” you say roughly.  

He does. As he works you open, slowly, his hunger is so subordinated by his intent that it can’t read as anything but careful, can’t read as anything but care, and sure you asked him here to be cared for, but you don’t want to fucking witness it. You drop your head between your shoulders, try to relax around the stretch of him, and let the carpet blur. It’s not enough. 

“C’mon,” you say so low that you think he doesn’t hear you, but then he slides out his fingers and the raw wet weight of him is at your back, his teeth sink into your shoulder, and he pushes in. Pushes your eyes closed. Pushes the last thought out of you. 

Perfect. 

.

.

.

When he rolls off you and onto the mattress, panting, he lays there a second and you clamber on beside him. He’s sprawled out on his back with his hands behind his head, you’re sprawled out on your stomach. He’s staring at the ceiling, and you’re staring at him. After a second, he looks over at you. Get what you wanted?

Truth is: not yet, no, but what you’ve got so far is good. You tilt your head, offering him a bit of doubt, ehh, but your eyes are merry traitors. 

He snorts. 

“You wear me out,” he says. He’s not touching you, but he says it comfortable, like a caress. 

Presently, you inch a little closer and bite the closest bit of him, which happens to be his elbow, hard and dry and unappealing. You don’t bite that hard. He stretches out his arm so you can come tuck yourself into his side, and he doesn’t watch you as you do it, which is gentlemanly of him. You’re greedy for this, this is what you wanted, but you don’t want to be witnessed at it any more than you want to witness it yourself. If neither of you can notice that this is happening, that’d be a continuation of perfect. 

Course, your curiosity makes sustaining that impossible.

“How’d you know?” you say, after a while.

“Know what?” he says sleepily. 

Everything. “That I’d be at my mom’s place. That she wouldn’t be here.” 

He pauses, noticeably, then shrugs. You feel it more than you see it, the movement of his shoulder under your head. 

“Kinda fits the pattern, doesn’t it?” he says.

Any other night, and you wouldn’t let that stand. But for a collection of grudges and bones, rough stubble and unyielding everything else, the man feels good to hold, and you’d have to let go to fight. 

So you go the light angle. “Hey, man. I’m mysterious.”

“Oh, you’re mysterious, all right.” There’s a smile in his voice, and then there isn’t. “So what’s the problem?”

“Nothing really.” Beat. “Looks like we’ll be going round two with April. Chemo, the whole nine. Barely a remix, more like time travel. Whatever.”

Silence, the kind you were dreading. His hand has been clasping your hip for a while now, but it feels too heavy all of a sudden. You consider squirming away, but for once in your life, you can’t think of an excuse to pick a fight. 

“She’ll be okay,” he says. And worse, he says it like he believes it. “She’s tough as nails, your mom.”

Again, it just happens: “Shame she had such a soft-ass daughter, huh.”

“Don’t do that,” he says at once.

“Sorry,” you say, and you mean it, and then—what the fuck? Why are you apologizing to Walt fucking Breslin, of all people? That’s something the divorce was supposed to end as easily as it ended dinner traditions and having a nephew and sleepless nights. What the fuck. 

“Like you don’t do that,” you say.

“I don’t.”

See, this is why Walt isn’t to hold; there’s not enough barrier between you when you’re in his arms. Everything’s dead obvious. You’re both tensing up and he’s fucking terrible to hold again.

“Well, you look it and you think it, and that’s nearly as bad,” you bite out.

“Still beats fucking saying it.”

“Count on a cowboy to prescribe me repression.” And you meant it exasperated and derogatory and not funny at all, but when you say it, you hear it, and Walt snorts in lieu of a laugh that he can’t help.

“I’m not…” He looks over at you, and he’s smiling like a husband would. This shit should be bottled and mass-manufactured. Or outlawed. Either would work. 

“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not a cowboy,” he says.

You pinch his chin between thumb and forefinger. “But you are, though.”

“I’m not a cowboy, you’re just a Northerner.”

Oh, that old thing. You roll your eyes and don’t bother saying you’re from Kentucky. You haven’t bothered saying it since fucking 1985. 

“You still gonna be pissed at me, then?” you say. “And don’t say what do you mean, I’m sleepy and I don’t want to go nine rounds. You were pissed when you came in, before you got distracted.”

“I just thought you were pulling my chain.”

“Well, that’s very fucking self-obsessed of you,” you say, before it hits. “And why would I be pulling your chain?”

He shakes his head, and you raise yourself up to look down at his face, all your weight going down into the godawful air mattress with your right hand, your left on his bare chest. 

“I was seeing somebody,” he says to a patch of ceiling off past the side of your head. “Never mind.”

For all the time you’ve spent trying to fuck things up for him on purpose, the discovery that you might’ve fucked something up for him on accident really frightens you. What if it was a good thing? What if this other woman was a good woman? You’d never been one of those, never even met one of those, but you hear about them on TV sometimes and you think one of them would be a nice thing for him. Like a new car or a month without nightmares, one of those things he’s never had. A good woman. Fuck. You knew this was all a mistake.

You already know, but you can’t stop yourself from asking. “Did I—”

“Never mind.”

And he’s been nice enough to not witness you, so now you should be nice enough not to witness him, you think. You go to lay back down, but first you brush a kiss just under his collarbone. Negligible, deniable. Apologetic. 

Wrong move, obviously. Nothing can be an apology if it’s deniable; it’s either one or the other, and there it is, he’s getting up and wrestling on his boxers and jeans in one go. Not angry, even, just set. This is what he’s doing. He’s going. Who could blame, et cetera.

“Look, this was…” he says. 

“Yeah.” 

He doesn’t bother putting on his shirt, just balls it up and stuffs it in his back pocket. Half-naked Breslin walking out the door on a Thursday night, breaking news for nobody, least of all your neighbors. You’re sitting on a deflating air mattress with your arms hugging your knees, not very hard, just waiting for it to be over. Practically rote.

He bends down and presses a kiss to your temple. You really are sorry, so you twist your neck and reach for him and kiss the full apology into him, sweet like you only ever are in some kind of aftermath. 

“You know,” you say. “Next time.” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah.”

It’ll be his turn. You’ll pay him back; you’re a thief and a bastard but you’re always fair when it comes to shit like this. You’d kiss him for longer, but you can feel the dull burning and pretty soon it’ll be full-on actual pain, so you just nudge at him, your forehead to his. You get the angle a bit wrong and nearly get him in the eye. 

Maybe he smiles at that, maybe he doesn’t. Soft footfalls. You’ll need to wash the sheets and your dress and your memory, figure out a way to make tomorrow livable. The door closes behind him.

Next time.

#walt breslin #walt breslin x reader #narcos mexico imagine #narcos mexico #narcos mexico fanfiction #this one goes out to all my readers. just kidding it goes out to tay specifically #you know what it is!!!! #mine #nffalphabet #readerfic

[artemiseamoon]

A rose for you for the wip game! 🌹

Hello friend 💕

(I haven’t gotten any yet and was like 🤷🏽‍♀️ guess that’s that 😂) thank you for asking! 💜

Okay, I got one for you…since I know you share my soft spot for a certain meerkat man…

The sentence

There at the very end of the bar she saw a man by himself, staring down into his whiskey like it was some kind of crystal ball.

More 👀

The tension in his brow tells her he’s had a shit day and was just trying to forget, to numb it all so he could get some sleep later. She notices his hands as he brings the cigarettes to his lips.

With his head still hung low, she can’t fully see his face. His mustache seems almost too big for his thin frame, he’s skinnier than she usually goes for, but there was something about him, something that kept her watching and waiting for the full face reveal.

He slips the pack of cigarettes back into the pocket of his red plaid shirt and slowly raises his head. A pair of big brown eyes meet hers from across the way.

If ya want, send me a 🌹this weekend, I’ll send ya a sentence or more from a wip.

#🌹 ask #narcos mx #Walt Breslin

[narcos-narcosmx]

The way this makes me happy tho - 🥰

After this is over

The fic is complete, next week both alternative endings drop.

I have not found the ideal faceclaim for Slate yet. But if anyone has pictured her a certain way, I’m very curious! What have you imaged?

#narcos Mexico #calderoni narcos mexico #Walt Breslin #sal orozco #ofc Slate

[theold-ultraviolence]

🌹

Sorry if I'm late to the party

(it's tori-reads from my main blog)

Not late at all, thank you for sending me this, I always get excited when I receive asks <33

This is from a a new story I plotted out last night when I was trying to sleep and I wrote this this morning while waiting on the cafeteria of the university where I teach:

It’s in such dire need that you find yourself sitting in your own little corner of the cafeteria, on a Monday morning, alone and with one of your hands anxiously thumbing the pair of concert tickets that you had had in your possession for about a month now.    

You gaze at the table on the other side of the room, where Eddie Munson and his Hellfire club sit and wreak havoc. Were they on the receiving end of it, or the provokers, they’d always find themselves at the heart of some conflict or another. 

Which is why you were debating whether this was a good idea.

for every "🌹" received in my inbox i'll post one random sentence of a random WIP i'm currently writing

#walt-breslin #my writing #eddie munson

[narcosfandomdiscord]

narcos fandom smut alphabet - finished!

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

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

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

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

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

🍰 Prompt List & Fic Masterlist 🍰

July 1 — A — angry sex, anal

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

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

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

July 2 — B — blood, bound & begging

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

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

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

July 3 — C — cuffs, choking

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

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

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

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

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

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

July 5 — E — edging, eldritch

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

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

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

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

July 7 — G — gag/gagging, gun play

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

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

July 8 — H — honor bondage, hatesex

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

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

July 9 — I — infidelity, in public

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

July 11 — K — knotting, knocked up

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

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

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

July 12 — L — luxury, lingerie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

July 16 — P — praise kink, pulling hair

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

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

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

July 18 — R — role reversal, ruined

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

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

July 19 — S — submit, "say my name"

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

July 20 — T — trapped together, tied up

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

July 21 — U — upper hand, underwater

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

July 24 — X — exhibitionism, exes having sex

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

July 26 — Z — zipper, zeal

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

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

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

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

[dancingtotuyo]

Scathed Master List (Javier Pena)

In progress, Rating: Mature

Javier Peña X OFC

“No one who went through it, even the survivors, came out intact.” - Walt Breslin

Summary: Javier and Emily experienced the drug war on different fronts in very different ways. Maybe, they’re what the other needs to heal.

General Warning: trauma, panic attacks, past grooming, past abuse, drug war, canon typical topics. Chapter specific warnings before each chapter.

April 8, 1989

October 22, 1993

October 23, 1993

December 3, 1993

April 8, 1994

May 2, 1994

May 25, 1994

July 16, 1994

In progress

Read on AO3

—

Thank you to Mads (@chaotic-mystery) for making this mood board! I fall more in love with each time I look at it ☺️.

#javier peña #javier peña x ofc #narcos #Pedro Pascal #javier pena fanfiction #Scathed

[jksprincess10]

🕖 shoutout to @dancingtotuyo one of my favorite people and a writer who deserves so much love 🤍 all her fics are amazing, but especially scathed has me in a chokehold 🫶🏻

Thank you for the suggestion, this looks really good ! I will add it to my tbr!

2400 followers celebration!

#jksprincess10 celebration

[imgeekgirlfan]

Renegada♱ Masterlist (Update)

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

(Narcos: Mexico)

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

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

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

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

All Chapters

╰┈➤[Prólogo]ᅳ 𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐫 ✟

╰┈➤[1]ᅳ 𝐋𝐨𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐥𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐚 ✟

╰┈➤[2]ᅳ 𝐄𝐥 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐛𝐨 ✟

╰┈➤[3]ᅳ 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐚𝐫 ✟

╰┈➤[4]ᅳ 𝐎𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐚𝐫 ✟

╰┈➤[5]ᅳ 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐢́𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐨 ✟

╰┈➤[6]ᅳ 𝐋𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚 𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐥 ✟

╰┈➤[7]ᅳ 𝐓𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐣𝐨𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐨𝐬 ✟

╰┈➤[8]ᅳ 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐚𝐬 ✟

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

╰┈➤[10]ᅳ 𝐄𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚 ✟ (Soon)

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

╰┈➤[12]ᅳ 𝐌𝐢 𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫 ✟ (Soon)

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

╰┈➤[14]ᅳ 𝐑𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐝𝐚 ✟ (Soon)

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

[drabbles-mc]

Unprofessional

Walt Breslin x F!Reader

For Day 10 of @narcosfandomdiscord's July Smut Alphabet: jealousy

Warnings: 18+, language, smoking, alcohol, smut

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: The way that I had to fight myself to not let this turn into a 10k fic 😂 I'm already in love with this reader and the general vibe of this fic and idkidk maybe I'll write more for them down the road. Who knows? Not me!

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

Walt watched as Sal’s car rolled up to the motel that you and Walt were staying at. He was glad that you at least let someone else bring you home, because based off how you were when he’d left the bar a little more than an hour before, you probably shouldn’t have been behind the wheel. It was usually him that was driving you to and from wherever you had to go, or vice versa on days when Walt didn’t want to put up a fight about it. Judging by the way you were laughing as you opened the door and stepped out of Sal’s car, you didn’t seem to mind the switch up.

He watched you as you leaned on the edge of the window, smiling and laughing still as you thanked Sal and told him that you’d see him tomorrow.  Walt caught the way the man waved to him as well, and he returned the gesture from his chair. It was your chair, actually. It’d come out of your room. You set it up in the little stretch of space between the door to your motel room, and the door to Walt’s. You’d be sitting there with your coffee in the morning, and Walt would sometimes be out there in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep, dragging on his cigarettes, not unlike he was now.

You were practically sauntering up to him, the headlights of Sal’s car behind you rendering you as nothing more than a silhouette in the few seconds before he turned around and peeled out the lot to head back to his own spot.

“Hey,” you greeted him with a smile, “you left early.”

He shrugged, noncommittal. “Yea.”

You still felt like you were buzzing, warm more from the alcohol than the actual temperature. Still, even in your slight haze, you could see the annoyance on Walt’s face. “You okay?”

He gave a short nod, his tone and his words not lining up in the slightest as he said, “I’m fine.”

You were in no mood to try and pull it out of him, and even if you were, you didn’t know if you would be anything close to successful. So instead, you swiped the pack of cigarettes off the arm of the chair he was sitting in and took one out for yourself. The two of you were in a constant loop of bumming them off each other—neither of you bothered asking anymore.

“You know,” you spoke as well as you could with your lips wrapped around the cigarette—you sparked the lighter before continuing, “I know shit has been real rough lately, but that doesn’t mean you can’t ever have a good time.”

Walt shook his head, like you were saying the most ridiculous thing in the world. “Looked like you were all having a good enough—”

“Would’ve been nice if you were there, though,” you cut him off, smoke swirling out from between your lips as you spoke. “Couldn’t take, what, three hours out of the twenty-four to not be all broody?” you said, just enough of a smile on your face to keep that question from starting a full-blown argument. Walt gave you another shake of his head and it only caused you to double-down. “We missed you.”

He scoffed. “Didn’t seem like you were missing much of anything when I left.”

You burst out laughing at that. “I’m sorry?”

“No, I’m just,” he took a drag off his cigarette, “just surprised that Sal brought you back. Looked like you were gonna be goin’ home with your new friend there at the bar.”

You rolled your eyes at him, laughing as you tapped the ash off the end of your smoke. “You think I’m that easy, Breslin?”

He frowned slightly as he shrugged, an expression that was less about being upset and more about being uncertain. “I don’t know what I think about you.”

The statement was a little bit of a lie. Walt thought about you plenty. Some of it had to do with work, a lot of it didn’t. He’d had plenty of time to think about you since he met you, but there was still a lot that he didn’t know. Like how suave and flirty you could be when you were trying to get a free drink or two out of someone, like how watching you do that put a knot in his gut that had no right to be there.

It was the first time the two of you had ever worked together. Before you all got pulled together into the Smash & Grab that you now were, Walt was working in El Paso while you came over from Miami. Neither of you had known each other prior to this, and while you noticed that Walt seemed to have built a rapport with a few of the other men on his team, you were flying in completely blind. You didn’t know anyone. Walt quickly noticed, however, that that didn’t seem to slow you down. You quickly made it part of your job to get to know everyone at least a little bit, just enough to figure out how you should interact with them for the sake of not letting the team fray apart at the edges. It was a good skill, one Walt made a mental note to work on if you all made it out of this mess alive.

All of you had your own rooms, scattered across a few different low-budget motels. You were all smart enough to not all hole up in the same place together, but no one wanted to be completely alone. There was a fine line between having safety in numbers, and making yourselves easy targets to get wiped out in one fell swoop.

Your rooms weren’t adjoining, but you and Walt did share a wall. The walls were thin enough for him to hear the muffled sounds of your television, or for you to hear him if he was on the phone with someone, but you’d have to have your ear pinned tight to the wall if you wanted to make out the exact words on the other side.

He felt like he’d learned a fair bit about you in the relatively short span of time that he was your neighbor, one flimsy wall away from being your roommate. You were always up early, but went to bed late. He only had the latter part of that down for himself—he’d never mastered being a morning person. He’d step outside to have his first cigarette of the morning and you would already be up, coffee in one hand and a manila folder packed with information in the other. But there were still too many blanks for him to have any right feeling the way he felt about you.

“Hey,” you said with a quiet laugh as you tapped the side of his boot with yours, “Earth to Breslin.” You waited for him to look over at you. “Are we good?”

He shrugged, nodding. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I don’t know,” you said as you took an inhale from your cigarette, the warmth from your liquor at the bar fading for the moment as you tried to figure out why it felt like things were suddenly off-kilter between the two of you. “You took off, and now you’re acting different. So…are we good?”

“You just,” he looked everywhere but at you, knowing that he was digging himself into a hole that was going to be a bitch to try and get out of, “you gotta be careful.”

“About what?”

“About all of it!” He dropped his cigarette to the ground and put it out with the ball of his foot. “You can’t trust anyone we—”

“The guy bought me a drink, Walt,” you cut him off, unable to believe that this was the conversation the two of you were having. “I wasn’t telling him trade secrets. Fuck, I didn’t even give him my real name. As far as he knows,” you gestured to where Sal had been a few minutes before, “Sal is my fuckin’ boyfriend.”

Leaning back in the chair, he finally looked at you. “Alright.”

You shook your head. “Alright.” You paused for a beat. “You know, maybe you should’ve stayed for an extra drink or two. Maybe you could loosen up for all of two minutes.”

He didn’t want to keep arguing with you. Really, that was the exact opposite of what he wanted. Even so, it took more effort than it should’ve for him to finally say, “Maybe.”

You weren’t really looking for an argument either. You’d left the bar in a perfectly chipper mood and the last thing you wanted was for it all to fizzle out now. You hadn’t expected to come back to this. Walt always had that edge to him, an overtone of sourness, but this felt different.

“There something we should talk about?” you asked.

Of course there was. There were plenty of things that he should talk to you about. But he wasn’t going to start those conversations, didn’t really know how to. Instead, he pushed up out of his chair, standing up so that the two of you were hardly a step away from each other.

“Shit’s different down here,” he finally said. “So just, just be careful.”

“It’s a little late in the game to have doubts about me now,” you told him. “If you have issues with what I did, how I operate, then you shouldn’t have brought me all the way—”

“It’s not that,” he cut you off. He could tell by the look on your face that you wanted to snap and say, “Then what the fuck is it?” but he didn’t know if he was ready to get into all of that. It definitely didn’t feel like the right time now. “I just…don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” He knew that the statement was skating too close to the complete truth, so he tried to cushion it with, “All you guys, you’re my responsibility. I don’t want shit going south if we can prevent it.”

“Can you be less of a pain in the ass about it?” you asked, the smallest hint of lightness returning to your tone.

He let out a weary chuckle. “I can try.”

You waited for him to have something else to say, but when it didn’t seem like he was going to, you prodded. “Anything else?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but then he backpedaled on it. “No.”

You had the nagging feeling that the conversation wasn’t done, but you didn’t know how to continue it without letting it devolve into another argument. Putting out your cigarette, you gestured to your room. “Drink? Since you bailed early.”

Walt knew that he shouldn’t go, that he should just turn and head back into his own room. But he felt like he owed you this. It was the best he could do for an apology without having to actually apologize.

“So,” he sat on the edge of one of the two beds in your room, the one that didn’t seem like you slept on it every night, “what’d you tell him?”

“Hm?” you asked as you poured liquor from the bottle in your bag into two paper cups. It wasn’t as nice as drinks at the bar, but Walt lost that opportunity quite a while ago.

“Said you didn’t tell the guy your real name. What’d you tell him?” He was as curious as he was jealous. It was a side of you he’d never seen before and he wondered if any of it was genuine.

You laughed as you handed him one of the cups, taking a seat on the end of the bed next to him. “I’ve got a whole rolodex of lines I give people in bars,” you took a sip of your drink, “especially when I’m working.”

He chuckled at the mental image of that, just cards upon cards flipping through in your brain whenever someone approached you and offered to buy you a drink. “Yea?”

“Yea. Why? Looking for some pointers?” you asked as you nudged his shoulder with yours.

“No, no.”

“Sounds like you might be,” you joked. “Should’ve stuck around and seen it for yourself.”

“I saw plenty,” he mumbled out without thinking better of it.

The statement didn’t give you pause so much as the way he said it. Turning to face him, you asked, “What was that?”

He shook his head, a little too quick to be casual. “Nothing.”

The fresh wave of warmth washing over you from the drink you’d been sipping on didn’t slow down the turning of the gears in your brain. “Is…is that why you—”

“No,” he cut you off, already knowing where the sentence was going and not wanting it to go there.”

Your eyes widened for a moment. “All that shit about me being careful,” you shook your head, “and you’ve been sulking here this whole time because you were jealous?”

“Don’t fuckin’ say it like that,” he told you, unable to look you in the eyes.

Leaning back, you braced the palm of your empty hand against the mattress. “Then look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong.” The silence that passed spoke volumes, as did the fact that Walt’s eyes stayed glued to the cup in his hands. “You could’ve offered to buy me a drink,” you said, shifting your tone a little bit, softening the conversation just slightly.

Walt rolled his eyes, not liking the fact that this was all starting to feel a lot like pity. “It’s not,” he sighed, bringing one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “just forget it.”

“No,” you said with a laugh, “I won’t.”

Finally, he turned and looked at you. “I have never seen you act like that with anyone before.”

You chuckled. “Yea, well, that’s because they say it’s usually bad form to flirt with your coworkers. Bedroom eyes are unprofessional, apparently.”

That got a choked laugh out of him. “Apparently.”

“I like you, Walt,” you said.

His eyes widened for a moment as he registered what you’d just said. “Yea?”

You laughed, nodding. “Yea. When you’re not pouting quite so much, I like being around you. I’m, you know,” you gestured to the wall behind you, behind the headboards, “I’m glad I share a wall with you.”

His eyes dropped back to the floor. “It’d be stupid to do something, right?”

You shrugged, finishing off your drink. “Yea. But, I mean,” you laughed softly, “it’s also kinda stupid to get jealous over some random guy in a bar buying me a drink sooo…” your voice trailed off.

Walt sighed, letting his head drop back so that he was looking up at the ceiling. No matter what did or didn’t happen next, he knew that he wasn’t ever going to live that down. “Right.”

He followed your lead, finishing off his drink as well. You could see it in his body language that he was about to get up and leave, take the few short steps that would get him back to his room on the other side of the wall. You didn’t want him to go.

Clearing your throat, you said, “Walt?”

He looked over at you, and only got half a syllable out of whatever his response was going to be before you leaned in and brought your lips to his. You felt the way he froze for a moment, a brief hesitation that almost had you pulling away and apologizing. You two had just finished saying it would be a stupid idea.

But then Walt’s brain caught up with the rest of him and he was kissing you back. Empty paper cups fell almost silently to the floor as you brought the hand that wasn’t helping you keep your balance to his chest, fingers curling into the cloth of his flannel and pulling him towards you even more. Walt had one hand on your thigh, the other barely grazing the side of your face, like he was afraid to commit to holding it.

If the circumstances had been different, maybe you would’ve taken your time. Knowing that Walt had been stewing on those feelings for however long would’ve made you a little more patient. But every second since you crossed the border had felt borrowed, and you didn’t want to waste a single one. So you quickly maneuvered yourself, swinging one leg over him so that you were sitting, straddling his lap.

You ran both hands up Walt’s chest, and despite the fact that he still had on his flannel and his t-shirt, he still let out a, “Fuck,” under his breath as your palms and fingers raked over him. His hands settled on your hips as you kissed him again. All either of you could taste off each other was liquor and cigarettes, but at least it was honest.

Your hands gripped onto his shoulders as you began to grind your hips against his. He moaned into your mouth as he kissed you, hands sliding from your hips to your ass. Whatever hesitation he’d felt before was long gone now, along with the annoyances the two of you had been volleying back and forth since you got back.

You pulled away just enough so that you could pull your shirt off over your head. Walt was left slack jawed for a moment, taking in the sight of you on his lap with nothing on but your bra and jeans. When the gears finally started turning again, he ran through all the buttons on his shirt faster than you’ve ever seen anyone ever do it before. Within seconds, both his shirts were discarded onto the floor alongside yours.

His hands came to rest on your sides, gentle at first, like he was still wrapping his mind around the fact that he got to touch you like this. Then he gripped onto you with a little more force, bringing you back in so he could kiss you again. His arms wrapped around you, hands splaying across your back. Every motion was punctuated with blunt fingernails and rough callouses, the sensation of it making you put a little more urgency in your movements as your hips moved against his.

Letting his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, he spoke, words coming out muffled against your mouth but you could make them out well enough as he said, “C’mere.”

Deceptively strong in a way that caught you off-guard, Walt had you on your back on the mattress, himself positioned between your legs and hovering over your chest. He kissed you on the lips one more time before pulling away from you. He pulled away just enough so that he could undo the button and zipper of your jeans. You quickly toed off your boots, making it easier for Walt to pull your pants and underwear down your legs and completely off you. You shimmied a little farther up the bed as he rid himself of the last of his clothing as well.

Then he was right back on top of you, one hand cupping your face, one hand gripping onto your thigh. You didn’t let him pull his lips back off of yours, desperate for just a little more. Sliding one hand down between your bodies, you wrapped it around him. The contact immediately caused him to moan, made him buck into your hand even though you hadn’t started moving it yet.

Smiling into the kiss, you brought your other hand up, lacing your fingers through his hair and gripping, tugging just slightly as your other hand started to slowly move up and down his length. He muttered curses against your lips as he brought the hand that was on your thigh between your legs, pulling sounds out of you that he hadn’t even dared to daydream about.

Not wanting to wait any longer, you lined him up at your entrance. You let him feel how wet you already were, dragging the head of him up and down your slit. His hand was balled into a tight fist on the sheets beside your head, trying to have a modicum of self-control. You saw how hard he was fighting to keep it together, and you almost wanted to have something slick to say, but more than that you just wanted him inside you, so you guided him in and he had no hesitation about thrusting the rest of the way into you.

All the stress, the anger, the weight of the world that Walt always made himself carry around on his own shoulders, it all seemed to disappear for a moment. You wondered if it was because he finally found a good enough distraction, or if it was because he could channel all that anger with the world into the thrust of his hips. Maybe things just seemed a little less hopeless when he had you saying his name against the shell of his ear, asking for more.

You made it so easy for him to not have to think about anything but you. Every single part of you felt like it was there for him in that moment, and that feeling alone almost had him seeing stars right off the rip.

He could hear it in your voice, the way you gasped and whined, that you were close. Your nails raked down the side of his face, over the stubble that was getting longer by the day, searching for any kind of tether to hold onto. Your nails left a series of crescents behind, digging into his shoulder and back as you came, your hips desperately bucking up against his. He followed shortly after, reveling in the feel of you, in knowing that he was able to get you like this. He kissed you hard as he came inside you, rough enough to put a little pain in with all of the pleasure.

When the two of you finally pulled apart, you slipped beneath the thin sheet and blanket on top of the bed. Up until now it’d been perfectly made the entire time you’d been staying there. You watched Walt as he swiped his underwear off the floor, pulling them on before grabbing yours as well. He held them out slightly, a wordless question, and you couldn’t help but to laugh as you nodded and let him toss them to you.

You saw the flicker of apprehension on his face, like he was trying to figure out whether or not he should be putting the rest of his clothes back on too. “You can stay,” you told him with a nod, propping the side of your face in your hand. “No point in leaving just to be on the other side of the wall.”

He visibly relaxed at that, relief coursing through him. “Right.”

He climbed in on the other side of the bed, laying close but still leaving a bit of a gap between you. He didn’t know what was supposed to happen now, what the protocol was supposed to be. None of this had been in his plans.

Rolling over, you swiped your pack of cigarettes and your lighter off the night stand that was between the two beds. You held the pack out to him, offering him one. He took one, of course, and since you were the one with the lighter in your hand, he even let you light it for him before you grabbed one for yourself and sparked it up.

He watched as you laid on the bed beside him, staring up at the ceiling as you blew smoke rings. You looked so pleased with yourself, bedsheet pulled up over your chest as you watched the smoke rise and then disappear.

“That your party trick?” he asked.

You laughed, turning your head to look over at him. “Hardly. My last partner, the one I had before I came down here, he taught me how to do it.” You took another drag off your cigarette, puffing out another ring for emphasis. “Too many hours cooped up in a shitty car on stakeouts with nothing better to do.”

He chuckled. “Oh yea?”

“Don’t worry,” you looked over at him with an amused glint in your eyes, “I wasn’t doing this on stakeouts.”

“I didn’t say—”

“You would’ve thought of it later and never let it go,” you cut him off, giving a small dismissive wave of your hand, painting a swirl with the smoke coming off your cigarette as you did.

There was more to be said, you were sure of it. There were discussions to be had, probably boundaries to be laid out. But you didn’t want to get into all of that in the moment. It was good. Things felt good and easy after weeks of everything feeling anything but good and easy. Judging by the look on Walt’s face, he was having very similar thoughts. So you both finished your cigarettes in silence. Walt leaned, reaching over you to drop it into the ashtray. On the way back, he stopped, letting his arm drape across you for a moment. The look on his face was one of asking for permission, like he needed to know that this little bit of softness was okay after everything that had happened.

You just smiled before reaching and turning off the lamp, sending the room into darkness. Rolling onto your side so that your back was to Walt, you gently grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm around you. He slid up behind you so that his chest was pressed to your back, keeping the two of you close. This would do for now. Everything else could at least wait until morning.

#nffalphabet #jealousy #narcos mexico fanfiction #narcos mexico #narcos: mexico #nmx #walt breslin #walt breslin x reader #walt breslin x you #x reader #x reader fic #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[cregan-starks]

Walt Breslin + flannels

#narcosedit #narcosmexicoedit #narcosmxedit #netflixedit #userbreslin #usermirna #userfrodosam #maevemills #narcos mx #narcos: mexico #narcos mexico #walt breslin #scoot mcnairy #original creations

[proceduralpassion]

The Oil Has Run Thin

Day 7 of Narcoctober- Make something centered around non-death dark topics (we have a specific death day already). Morally or emotionally dark topics/themes.

Characters: Walt Breslin x OC (Soraya Turner); platonic but could be more 👀

CW: drugs/intoxication/hallucinations

WC: 884

A/N: Something smol for the Walt girlies, y'know?

Was it a knock that had woken her? Or was it the screaming? So loud. Incessant shrieking. Soraya opens her eyes and they bounce around the room, looking for the source of those horrible shrieks. 

When her vision focuses, she realizes that she’s in a hospital room. Pain ricochets throughout her head as she thrashes around. Her arms and legs are sore and she finds that she’s restrained when she looks down at herself. There are scratch marks on her hands and clots of dried blood are lodged beneath her fingernails. 

There’s no one else in the room with her at the moment, but a flash of movement at the door garners her attention. It’s her partner, Walt. They’ve been partners ever since they were given their assignment in Mexico together. A kinship had arisen between the two of them, and it feels sudden how they’ve gone from complete strangers to people who’d take bullets for each other.

Her mind is rattling around with so many thoughts, so many questions. She’s able to see through the fog for a second and see the crushed look on Walt’s face. Why did he look so broken? 

It hurts her. Her heart feels cracked because she’s never seen him so shattered before. They’ve seen a lot of each other. Frustration. Anger. And yes, even sadness. But this is utter misery painted on her partner’s face right now and she can even see the fear that he lets through. Usually, she can tell when he’s scared because he has intricate little tells like a twitching of his fingers or the inability to sit down. But that’s because he hides it and hides it well. To anyone on the outside looking in, he seems impatient and maybe even pissed off, but Soraya’s always been able to differentiate when he’s scared because of how much effort he puts into making it not look like so.

But he’s terrified right now as he looks at her and she doesn’t know why.

She doesn’t know a lot of things. She’s not sure she even knows why she’s in the hospital, much less restrained.

Her whole body’s in pain and she can barely focus, but that’s not giving her any answers right now. 

Walt, himself, was still trying to come to terms with what happened. He’d been on coms the entire time during the undercover sting. The work the two of you had put in was mostly paper trails and listening to tapes, but you two were also dedicated to chasing down any and every lead possible. When you get the tip on a new low level runner within the Guadalajara cartel, you take the opportunity to create a sting and get him on charges. The hope was to get him a lighter sentence in exchange for more intel that would help them catch and fry the bigger fish.

It all happened so fast. Too fast for Walt to even realize what was happening. He’s not even sure what happens in the short time it takes for him to realize that he’s lost comms with her. As he waits for news on his partner, he reflects and tries to think back to how he missed it. How her cover was blown. When exactly it was blown. What had happened to her in the time between when her comms went out and when he was picking her up bridal style and rushing for an ambulance. 

“The cocaine was laced,” the doctor explains, “We’ve got to run more tests to get a better idea of what exactly is causing her symptoms. Until then, she needs to be in restraints. For her own safety.”

In the ambulance, Soraya had started clawing at her arms, frantically screaming that there was a chip inside and that the mad men were out to get her.” 

Her eyes were like pinballs in an arcade game, dotting everywhere with an unfocused gaze. She wasn’t making any sense as Walt held her arms and it was like she wasn’t even aware of her surroundings. 

The doctor had gone to go check on Soraya and let Walt know whether he could see her or not. As he waited, he rubbed his forehead continually before wringing his hands and pacing the floors. He was infuriated. At their perp, who was now in the wind. At himself, even more so. His plans were always failure after failure and now they had gotten someone he cared about in a dire situation. 

When the doctor gives him the go ahead, Walt knocks on her door, although he’s sure that she probably doesn’t hear it. He walks in and is stuck to his feet at the sight of her. 

He did this.

The restraints.

The deep scratches on your arm.

The crazed and scared look on your face.

Your eyes meet him and for a second, Walt thinks she recognizes him. 

But then, she’s back to wracking her body and scanning the room, looking for something, even as Walt rushes over, trying to calm her.

Soraya looks at him again, fear and inquiry coloring her features, “What is that?! Who is that screaming?!”

Walt’s breath catches in his throat as he continues stroking her arm in what he hopes is comforting.

“It’s you, Soraya.”

A/N: Def plan on writing more for them at some point, kinduva obsessed with them idk Click here if you wanna be added to my taglist. Taglist: @asirensrage @ashlingnarcos @narcosfandomdiscord @drabbles-mc

#narcos mexico #narcoctober #walt breslin #walt breslin x oc #c: soraya turner

[hausofmamadas]

ALL ABOARD THE POBRECITO EXPRESSWAY | The Man, the myth, the OG Pobrecito, Javier Peña

♫ To the tune of One for the Road by Arctic Monkeys ♫

✧

Wow, okay Jesus H Christ. I made another thing? A thing I never thought I’d make. Bc frankly, I’m an insufferable contrarian to my grave, despite the fact that I hate hipsters. I do see the irony. I don’t really— Okay, look. Listen. Doing a massively popular fanfav character has always seemed like a lot of hoopla? There’s already so much content out there, and I’m always like my favs have to be randos that only had like 3 lines in the whole show “Meeeh, what do I have to say that hasn’t already been said. What do I have to add that hasn’t been done yet?” tbh I’m not at all confident that another One for the Road Javier Peña edit isn’t already out there bc the combo is like PB&J

But there is good news porque por lo visto, parece que tengo un bien chinga de cosas que decir about our Javier Peña. He is, as everyone knows, a multi-faceted man: he’s a lover, hes a fighter, but most importantly he is the OG sad!boi, sad sack, bury my feelings in any woman within a 5mi radius bc I prefer that to processing trauma bc who needs sanity or true human connection and King Pobrecito, for which we members of the Narcos/Nmx Fanfic Writer’s Discord have dubbed him, Conductor of the Pobrecito Expressway.

Oh praytell, what is the Pobrecito Expressway? So veryfuckingglad you asked you didn’t, shhhh. It is a train driven by Javi head engineer is naturally, Walt Breslin that dutifully shepherds passenger cars of similarly precious, forlorn pobrecitos from the Narcos/Nmx franchise.

Now, to be a pobrecito, one must have:

a) sad puppy eyes b) a personal life in shambles c) a will to succeed at all costs including their sanity and at the expense of those around them d) Many Problems, not entirely of their own making but that are undoubtedly exacerbated by the their inability to reconcile their emotional natures with the toxically masculine environments they are immersed in namely The Law and/or a Life of Crime.

And let me do tell you, there are many. Actually it might be easier to list those not on this crazy train. Hmm, so btwn the 2 shows, it'd be: Steve, Kiki, Benjamin, Miguel who did try to board the train but everyone hated him so much, they threw him off the back, Pacho, Chepe, Gilberto altho Navegante does, from time to time, end up rail hopping and everyone’s always yelling at him bc he is neither Big Sad, nor does he have a ticket. Oh, and I feel like it goes without saying, none of the incredible women are on this train. No, they’re enjoying champagne on a private jet pa’ todas las pendejadas they’ve had to deal with.

But yeah, basically everyone else is there. All food groups equally represented. Just moping from passenger car to the restaurant car, chain smoking, trying to untangle themselves from the red string they’ve been pinning to their walls, or trying and failing to remember how many drinks they’ve had and if there’s enough blow on the train to make them feel sober enough to continue drinking (you know who you are…. Rafa, Ramón.) And at the head of this train of absurdity is a one Javi Peña! A light(?) in the dark, to show them the way thru Pobre-dom. Which is to say he has no guidance, no idea where he’s going, doesn’t have a license even to conduct a train, pero se fue alaverga and we out here and no one’s crashed yet so! yay?

Anyway, I’ll shut up now. Here’s the thing I made.

✧

✧

taglist: @narcolini @ashlingnarcos @cositapreciosa @purplesong1028 @mandaloria314 @artemiseamoon @thesolotomyhan @narcos-narcosmx @tinylittleobsessions @salt-is-a-terrible-currency @anunhealthydoseofangst @criatividad-e @dashavau @cherixrosa @complete-nonsequitur

#javier peña #javi peña #pedro pascal #narcos #narcosedit #arctic monkeys #one for the road #also the way i was like lowkey panicking #when i finished this shit #bc despite the fact that there are: #3 explosions #4 diff on-foot street chases #a plethora of shots and clips where mans is either #beating the piss out of someone #or holding/shooting a gun #......... after aaaaaaalll that #i was still like sksksk ... #there's not enough action #but like you have to understand the metric fuckton of footage of javi #that exists between all 3 seasons #never in my life have i had a problem of TOO much avail raw footage of a character #every time it's me tearing my hair out and shaking my fist into the sky trying to figure out how to stretch a 3 ep appearance #into a full fucking 3-4 min video #idk which i hate more tbh #all that is to say there is so much shit i wanted to cram into this mf #and literally could not without giving myself and/or someone else a seizure #bc the cuts and transitions would've been like milliseconds sksksk