Nacho Varga Confessing His Feelings To You (With A First Kiss) Would Include...
Request: Omg I hope you feel better soon, this sucks so bad :(( oh ALSO question👀 on the nacho post you wrote you were gonna split the hcs into two sets so does that mean we're gonna have more of him at some point??? Because Let. Me Tell. You. Your Nacho hcs were like a literally masterpiece, I genuinely was not expecting to click the read more and be blown away like this WOW. Anyway, just I'd love to read more Nacho from you in the future if you feel like it, your writing is so lovely!
That’s so so kind and sweet and lovely of you :’) Thank you!!! I’m so so glad you enjoyed them, literally Nacho is my sweet boi so it’s so much fun to do!! <3
(I do not own Better Call Saul or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @lousolversons.)
☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°
Nacho, baby, my poor boy, my rotten soldier, my sweet cheese, I love you so much you deserve the world and everything good in it and so does your Pappi ily king :(
I mean, Nacho (king) is under constant surveillance at all times, 24/7, so getting even within a breath of you without either Fring or one of the Salamancas catching wind of it is pretty much near impossible. Bless his heart, is he going to try though.
He’s tried to leave little notes to you, although its a dangerous game to play and even more perilous line to balance upon: throwing them around the trashcans in the hopes that you’ll see them after picking up your morning coffee at ‘Los Pollos Hermanos’, and before Gus has left his office for the first round inspection of the day. He hands out extra wads of frumpled, obviously well pored over and assiduously crumpled envelopes for Mike to deliver at your doorstep, or leave crammed through your letter box, hidden in plain sight among the rest of the bills and mailers. He leaves notes on the back of Saul’s folded and fray-edged business cards when he slides over to his back office at the nail salon, roping the ‘lawyer’ into playing ‘piggy in the middle’ for your flirtatious little secret back and forth. It earns him a few disgruntled murmurs and the pointed finger wagging in his face telling him off for playing the ‘pathetic school crush card’ when he’s already been roped into the dangerous chess game of cartel business, but Saul does it anyway because ‘he’s a romantic at heart’. Plus, deep down inside (even if his sad doe side eye at a very despondent looking Nacho gives it away), he does want to see the kid happy.
But none of this is enough; Nacho can’t play this game of whispers in the dark anymore. Keeping all this love locked up within him is poisoning his soul. He can’t linger at home anymore, pacing around the shadowed outskirts of his house and wringing his hands with grief, a pale comparison of himself: a ghost haunting himself with his own failures. He feels like his head is about to shatter into a million pieces if he hears the women in the next room over change the television channel one more time. He’s one step away from ruination, as he slides his back down the wall and crumples onto the floor overlooking the thick tangles of brambles past the casement windows of his dining room. Because as much as their company keeps the void from swallowing him whole, they’re not you. They’re not you. They’re not his heart. He feels like he’s bleeding out from every pore, feels it choking out from his eyes as he wipes the wetness away from the edges of his devastated eyes and clasps his hands behind his head. He takes a deep sniffle, and looks up to the heavens, racking his head to find any conceivable way to get through this alive.
He has to take the chance, he finally decides after months and months of restless nights spent lying bright eyed and awake in bed, just staring up and burning holes through the ceiling. He wants his chance to live, he wants to live, not just to survive anymore. The next morning, he takes one last look at his fake ID as he tucks it back into his safe for later, before walking out the door. His hands shake with every step; he checks behind his back every five steps or so in a final scan to make sure he’s not being followed, before he swallows his fear and gets ready to take a step towards the life he’s dying for, no matter if fate may spit in his face and toss him aside with a discarding hand. He slides into his car, pulling out his mobile and calling Mike to clue him into the fact that over the last day or two he’s noticed Lalo Salamanca has made contact with you, and so an extra pair of eyes watching your movements couldn’t hurt security.
To his surprise, the heavy weight of guilt that plagues Mike’s conscience wins out, and he agrees to one night of ‘surveillance’, ‘and I mean one night only, kid. Just to make sure Salamanca hasn’t drawn Y/n into their little plot against Fring.’ He chooses the time and place, of course, but the dingy little abandoned plot the once vibrant and full of life playground rests on isn’t the worst spot in the outskirts of Albuquerque to end up at.
And that is how Nacho Varga finds himself leaning uncomfortably timid against the hood of his car, foot anxiously spurring up the dust. His arms clench as his muscles spasm across his chest, fingers near tearing the skin away as he breathes out heavily in anticipation. He’s not used to being so out in the open, as he glances around the burning desert skies; he’s not used to being so vulnerable, but god would he do it for you over and over and over again. He nearly falls to his knees in relief when your car rolls up to stop just before a flood filled ditch in the ground and you clamber out of the driver’s side with a confused smile lighting your face at the sight of his drenched face.
‘I thought you weren’t going to show up’, he starts as he scratches behind his neck. He looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights, about to run away with his tail tucked between his legs at the first sign of hesitancy or disagreement from you.
‘And miss an opportunity to be babysat for the night by the Ignacio Varga?’ You laugh at how bashful he looks before continuing, ‘Mike said you were so anxious to meet me that you were near blubbering on the phone.’
‘Yeah, he would say that.’ He’s looking westward out towards the far stretch of the golden hazed horizon as he replies sardonically, but he’s still smiling through the words as the two of you, as if drawn by some invisible red band of fate, head over to sit on the quite crooked rusted swing set. You sigh as you take your seat. ‘I hear you’re supposed to watch me for the night. Is that seriously all we can get?’
He blinks slowly, exhaustion set in his bloodshot eyes, before he closes them wearily for a moment. ‘For now, I promise’, he whispers out through tightly pursed lips after a few moments thought. ‘I promise.... But it’s enough - it’s more than enough. It’s everything, okay? This is everything to me.’ He looks so serious as he turns to stare at you tensely through the chained ropes that run past his neck that you can’t help but reach through the barred gap and squeeze his hand. He refuses to let go, never once breaking his gaze from you as he places your intertwined fingers down onto his kneecap as delicate as one might hold the fresh bloom of a spring petal.
The two of you end up kicking your feet across the sand and talking far through the night, not stopping even as the sky begins to burn a mulberry purple and the stars begin to break through the streaks of haloed light that shroud his eyes that glow with ecstasy. He realises, for the first time since his mother had died, he’s spent the whole time smiling.
You catch him glancing down to your lips every few sentences or so, but they always flick right back up to your widening eyes with the sweetest joy in them. It was if his soul was finally being allowed to unlock itself; all the beauty furled up inside of him blooming out through every crevice until it trails around him and roots itself around his body like a desert rose finally beginning to thrive through the drought. Until there’s nothing left of him but the thought, the prayer, the touch of you.
He comes to a breaking point; to the pass of no return, and he can’t hold himself back anymore. So he just leans out over his seat while you’re talking and kisses you between the ropes. For him, for a moment, the world and all it’s vexations seem to stop, and the softness of true life seems to seep in. He focuses in on the small details, trying to etch every single thing he can feel into the recesses of his brain so he can play it on repeat till his dying day: the way his nose is pressed up, squashed against your flushing cheek. How soft, how pliant your lips are despite your surprise, and how tenderly he brushes his bottom lip against your own and feels it set its corners in fire. How cold the tears running down the side of his nose are, despite how alight he is inside. How his breath can’t seem to escape past the gasps of his throat: too busy half-moaning and half-whimpering against your open mouth until you swallow them with your needy lips.
He gasps as you pull away from him to look up tentatively at his closed eyes, and for a moment you think he’s about to pass out with how intensely his face is screwed shut. He just swallows thickly, before surprising you and stomping up and leaving the swing seat thundering in his wake. He’s so flustered, and furious with himself for giving in so easily to something that he knows will only end in heartbreak and exploitation for you: how could he? How could he do anything but get up and leave, to get as far away from you as possible?
Yet you surprise him by skidding to a halt in front of him and cupping his cheeks, bringing him back down to earth by titling his chin down to look at you. You reach up to meet his lips again, and bless his heart, he just lets go in one big sigh and nods with that serious frown in his face when you teasingly whisper against his lips if he was seriously that flustered just by kissing you.
And his hands are shaking from where they cup round to rest against your sides, because he knows this is it. A rose can’t grow without a thorn within its stem, and his will be the death of him. But he doesn’t care. He just couldn’t care less, because while it’s a risky love, Nacho Varga would choose again and again to give all of himself away for you.
BCS HC's because I've been up all night and the brain rot is unreal
JIMMY/SAUL:
(More Saul?) Loves himself a cocktail, the sweeter the better. Fruity cocktails for a fruity little man. Only thing he can’t stand about them is how overpriced they are, no matter where he orders them.
Very strongly considered buying rings when he married Kim. Something about the symbolism stuck with him and really wanted their marriage, business arrangement or not, to present as more “socially official.” Would’ve definitely had them engraved with Wexler-McGill on the inside of the bands, too.
Eventually became pretty good at the guitar. Still struggles with tuning it and has, on more than one occasion, had a meltdown while attempting to replace broken strings.
Loves his white Cadillac, but definitely misses his Esteem.
KIM:
Smokes whatever cigarettes are on hand but is a ride-or-die menthol enjoyer.
The only person allowed to call her “Kimmy” is her mother. Jimmy tried once and wound up in a long, long conversation about her distaste of the nickname.
Similarly, she doesn’t go by her full first name (at least professionally) because she feels it’s too preppy/thinks Kimberly Wexler sounds too much like the name of a ditzy blonde side character in a John Hughes movie.
Talkative drunk. Will have a conversation with anyone about nearly anything. Out for drinks and there’s a game on TV? She’s chatting up the nearest patron about every. single. play. Song she recognizes comes on the radio? She’s breaking down the lyrics, symbolism, and the artist’s motivation for writing it. Will apologize profusely the next morning for “talking too much.” Jimmy, naturally, finds it absolutely adorable and insists she shouldn’t feel bad.
NACHO:
Extremely shy as a child!
Grew up listening to/singing along with classic Mexican love songs and sings them softly to himself when completing any sort of task that doesn’t require a lot of focus. Very few people have actually heard him sing, but those who have all tell him he has a lovely voice.
He’d be lying if he said he disliked Lalo calling him “Nachito.”
Huge fan of an ice-cold Coke Zero.
Easily cries at tv shows and movies, most notably if there’s a trope pertaining to a father and son. Less than five seconds into a commercial for the ASPCA/Humane Society and he has tears in his eyes.
LALO:
In the rare instances he’s able to sleep more than an hour or two at a time, he snores. LOUD. Like, keeping the house up half the night loud.
If it wasn’t for his responsibilities to the “family business,” he would have pursued work as either a professional chef or professional hitman. Yes, the two couldn’t be farther from each other. Yes, they somehow both make total sense.
Would’ve 1000% slept with Nacho or Jimmy if the situation presented itself.
Opposite to Nacho, he was an extremely outgoing child. He was the type of kid to wander off with other children or walk up to total strangers and introduce himself.
Initially bothered by how quickly his hair went grey, but once he found out women (and men) thought it made him more attractive he never gave it a second thought.
HOWARD:
Strong aversion to water. He’ll get into a swimming pool and that’s about it, but even then he won’t go out farther than he can stand. His fear of drowning is the only thing preventing him from becoming a triathlete.
Keeps a photo of his parents in his wallet.
Definitely has anxiety. His tells used to be much more obvious when he first became an attorney (leg bouncing, shakiness in voice) but he has since been able to control it, most of the time. It’s a part of what keeps him up at night, why he’ll always opt for tea, and why he picked up boxing and cycling. It almost never interferes with his work the way it once did, but every now and again he can be seen swiftly pacing around his office or picking the skin around his fingers.
Despite his agility/flexibility, he’s an absolutely terrible dancer. Even in a bout of romance, an after-dinner slow dance in his own home proves he has two left feet.
Mailroom Era Jimmy definitely called him “Pretty Boy” to piss him off. It made him blush and/or stutter every time without fail and it took both Chuck and his father to convince him that Jimmy was insulting him and didn’t mean it as a compliment.
warning: somno and cnc/noncon under the cut. dead dove do not eat.
HEHEHE IM SO GLAD U LIKED THAT JOKE >:33 i gotchu (also this gif is making me foam at the mouth 😵💫)
this weirdo does not sleep so ofc he's gonna use that to his advantage.
if you're staying the night at his place for whatever reason i think he'd just watch you for a little bit bare minimum. you just look so cute and sweet and innocent... 🥺
...and vulnerable.
he wouldn't do anything but watch the first couple times, and as he learned your sleep patterns he'd try to push the boundaries more.
he'd crawl into bed with you and stroke your hair, wrap his arms around you, fondle you, just any way he can get his hands on you without causing too much trouble.
he'd whisper to you about how cute and precious you look, how innocent you are, etc.
if you start to wake up he'd be quick to calm you down.
"oh, sorry, chiquito. it looked like you were having a bad dream. are you alright? i can stay here if you need me. 🥺🥺🥺"
if you say yes he'll have you cuddle up next to him for "safety" (it's definitely not so he can get better access to grope you nope not at all)
once he can safely get away with that, he's going to try sexual stuff.
he'd prefer it if you didn't wake up, though. it just spoils the fun and makes more work for him. he may drug you if it comes down to that.
he also won't finish on or inside you without cleaning you up for the same reason.
i doubt he'd do full on penetrative sex unless you were drugged or he wanted to wake you up. otherwise he'd just tease you with his hands and mouth.
he loves watching your face and the noises you make while being violated in your sleep. it makes him laugh knowing you have no idea what's going on in the real world while you're off in dreamland.
on the off chance he does penetrate you and you do wake up and catch him, he's not even going to pretend to lie about it. he'll just fuck you even rougher and cover your mouth so you don't scream. he's going to take what he wants.
sleeping naked around him is a death wish. he just sees it as easy access, and if he wasn't planning on doing something before he DEFINITELY is now.
Lalo overstim and edging headcannons? Thanks in advancee
omg yesss i love me some lalo "fuck me silly" salamanca 🤩
anatomical terms: cunt/pussy, dick
call him pharoah salamanca the way he’s the king of denial 🥵
LMAOOO ok but he loves it. he loves getting you riled up, having you writhe in his grasp as he pins you down, sobbing for him to fuck you and let you cum already bc it’s been hours.
stares you down the entire time you beg. if you want something he wants to see you debase yourself to ask him.
he coos to you and strokes your hair while he’s torturing you, giggling at how needy you are. he talks down to you like you're a petulant child. shh, it's okay, he's got you. he's gonna make it all better, you just have to wait.
he’d kiss the tears off your cheek and whisper to you “not yet, chiquito. i keep telling you. we do this the way i want, okay?”
he’s tracing his fingers up and down your cunt. you’re bucking your hips up into him, wailing for him to stop teasing and to fill you up.
"please, lalo, i need it... please don't make me wait any longer... just fuck me already..."
eventually he takes pity on you…
…and then he puts it in your ass instead because he’s fucking mean. 🖤
he won't do it often, but on days he's feeling particularly sadistic, he'll deny your pussy and just fuck your ass. he loves the despair in your face when you realize what he's doing.
"what? you said 'fuck me already'. isn't that what i'm doing? don't be so ungrateful, chico."
he flicks his thumb across your dick, just barely giving your cunt the attention it so desperately needs, but it's not enough. it's nowhere near enough, and he knows it. he's just doing it to taunt you, to tease you with the idea of an orgasm that you're not going to get.
also i’ve seen a couple people say that lalo wouldn’t like sex toys because he sees them as competition. fools. i know the truth.
he would absolutely use toys on you to overstimulate you. vibrators are his favorite because he loves watching you squirm on them, but he's a fan of anything that can make things more intense for you.
i'd imagine him going out and asking you to keep your holes plugged while he's gone. just to tease you all day and make sure you're ready for him when he gets home. :3
when he finally, finally lets you cum, it's otherworldly. he's kept you pent up and desperate for release for so long that when you do let it out, you can feel all the tension and anxiety leave your system. your nerves overload with pleasure and your mind goes blank.
lalo's just enjoying himself when it happens, so proud that he can break you this easily.
"good boy! that's it, let it out, just like that. feels good, no? was it worth waiting for?"
more BCS headcanons, but this time I wrote them in the time between taking a melatonin and falling asleep
Kim has a butterfly tattoo. It’s quite small and discreet enough that hardly anyone knows she actually has a tattoo in the first place. Possibly regrets it now, but again it’s small and hidden from most so maybe not? May be in her favorite color/black and white but she definitely got the tattoo during her early college years and you can’t convince me otherwise.
After a particularly heated shouting match with Chuck at HHM, Jimmy all but sprinted down the stairs to leave the building only to trip, miss the last several stairs, and wipe out on the ground floor (the lobby was packed). He only ended up with a few bruises, but the sheer embarrassment of the situation was enough to keep him away from the office for well over a month.
Nacho’s girlfriends have definitely painted his nails and he almost always “forgets” to take off the polish before business with the cartel (they always pick such nice colors and he can't bring himself to wipe it off). No one ever makes fun of him for it but no one compliments him, either.
Lalo is a Modelo man through and through. There is not a single other beer he will drink, and he’s tried plenty of them. One sip of Corona (despite being a product related to Modelo) and he spit it out immediately. While at a restaurant, the waiter offered him a Bud Light with lime as their take on Mexican beer, to which Lalo only laughed and opted for water.
Said waiter hasn’t been seen in months, but Lalo swears it was because of more than just the beer, writing it off as something about “bad tableside manners.”
Pairing with his love of being out in nature, Howard is an unapologetic animal lover. He’ll strike up conversations with dog walkers on the street just for a chance to pet their dogs and has been known to greet any stray cat in downtown Albuquerque that’ll let him. There are a number of bird feeders and bat houses are scattered around his yard and, more than once, he’s picked nuts and seeds from a bag of trail mix for the squirrels that linger around HHM to prevent them from getting sick from eating old sandwiches or salads out of the trash cans.
Today I took the day off work because I just came off three weeks of 24/7 and I’m exhausted. Husband was at work so that means it’s time to watch SLOW AS FUCK PERIOD DRAMAS which he hates and I love. I watched Vatel and I liked it even though everyone else somehow hates it? Mostly I think this is because I have an unreasonable tolerance for slow as fuck period dramas and also a lingering crush on Gerard “I am literally a lump of bread dough soaked in wine” Depardieu.
look at him. he is so lumpy. i know you want to smooch him, urma.
Anyways all I could think of was WOULDN’T THIS MAKE A GREAT BCS AU. BCS as a slow as fuck period drama! Errybody in ridiculous wigs and heels! Hamlin as a pompous aristocrat who owns a huge palace and prances around in a giant wig and metric tons of lace but is also broke af and relies on his “worked my way up from nothing” majordomo Charles to run his entire life. And then Charles’s ne’er-do-well brother James shows up in trouble with the law for running like, a pick-pocketing ring of adorable urchins and has nowhere else to go and Charles is like “ugh, fine, I’ll give you a place at the palace just do some fucking work for a change and DON’T EMBARRASS ME.”
And then the king comes to the palace for a visit and turns everything upside down, and Charles is completely overwhelmed and sick and Jimmy STEPS IT THE FUCK UP and saves everyone’s ass and is completely under appreciated, like:
Charles: “Mon dieu we have no more custard for the king’s dessert!”
James: *casually invents whipped cream*
Charles: “YOU’RE NOT A REAL PASTRY CHEF.”
James: *cries in the corner for six hours*
Kim is of course an icy aristocrat hiding a sordid past, and she and Jimmy have that special kind of Period Drama Meet-Cute where she like, loses her handkerchief during a ball and has to get it back because that dastardly Ignacio Varga, the emissary from Foreign Land picked it up and will use it to prove to the king that she is giving away her “favors” and is maybe a spy, and Jimmy has to use his pickpocket skills to get it back, and also one afternoon she is playing the harpsichord and he stares at her from the doorway with inconsolable longing and half a boner? She is so grateful to get her handkerchief back again guys but THEY CAN NEVER BE TOGETHER and there are a lot of secret meetings in the hedge maze and flutterings of fans and that part where she hitches up all her skirts and marches away from him with determination and tears in her eyes.
And Mike is there of course as the king’s head of security (like he’s the Monsieur de Treville of this AU) and tries to take Jimmy under his wing like “THIS KID’S ALL RIGHT” but Jimmy is super suspicious of him because nobody has ever thought he could be capable of anything and why should this weird old bald dude appreciate him, he doesn’t even wear a wig.
and sure we can have tim roth being creepy af in there too bc why not.
And Ignacio is really super impressed by Jimmy for pickpocketing the handkerchief and offers to let him do spy work for him against the king and Jimmy is like “MY LOYALTIES and yet NO ONE APPRECIATES ME what am I to do?”
IDK if I would ever actually write this considering the enormous amount of research and work that would have to go into it but COME ON GUYS this would make the best period drama ever.
