When the floor falls through; Nacho Varga/Reader
~ Ignacio Varga/f!reader (platonic)
Summary: when you and Nacho form an unlikely bond while working in an industry that is determined to destroy everything you care about, what lengths are you willing to go to, to protect eachother and your friendship?
- inspired by s3 ep6 where nacho beats up domingo
A/N: Hi!! This is my first fic so i hope you guys like it - icl this was mostly made because theres a severe DROUGHT in the nacho varga fics on here at the moment (istg ive read every single one on here and ao3, so if you have any /reader (platonic or romantic) recommendations they will be much appreciated 🤞), so I'm single handedly delivering this so the fandom doesnt have to suffer on crumbs 😭
Warning(s): non-explicit violence (reader takes a beating), mentions of drugs, past family trauma, you and nacho are too moody to admit that you don't hate eachother
Take a shot every time the word 'stubborn' is mentioned
Enjoy!!
W/C: 1.7k
- barely proof read -
The cartel was no place for feelings. The moment you let slip that you cared for anything, anything at all - you may aswell decide to wave goodbye to every good thing you know. It wont stick around for long.
Nacho figures it makes sense. Explains why the Salamanca's are all psychopaths, because there is no way in hell that anyone in that family is a human being. That much is proven through their lack of feelings.
He's done a damn good job so far. He'd pushed his luck by mentioning his father a few times but aside from that, his cold shell of an exterior was yet to be broken under the piercing stare of his superiors.
That was until you came along. A young girl who had grown up living and breathing the drug industry. Your dad was a small time distributor for 'Don Hector' and you being a 13 year old girl, supplied him with a weapon in plain sight, a pawn for his game rather than a daughter, because no one would ever suspect such an innocent kid to be involved in something so dangerous, right? So that was your childhood. Sitting on park benches at 1 in the morning waiting for suspicious looking men to come along and pay you cash in exchange for drugs, all for the hope that one day your dear old dad would look at you and tell you that he was proud. It never happened. And because of that you'd learned not to let vulnerability or feelings get in the way. They all already saw you as weak for simply existing as a girl; you wouldn't give them the excuse to let it become reality.
But as you got older and smarter, your father became sloppy. Sooner or later he got arrested and the Salamanca's made it your business to continue their business.
You were in too deep. You hadn't asked for any of this shit. But a high school drop out with no talents or qualifications aside from dealing, made you realise very quickly that if you wanted to get out of the game, you'd have to stay in the game until you made enough money.
Maybe thats why you and Nacho got along so well. You were united by your uphill battle.
Admittedly he was a tough one to crack. Sure you'd peaked his interest by going against the cartels usual demographic, and sure he was raised to be a gentleman by his father which led to him inexplicably keeping a protective eye on you when one of the guy's said something out of line, but this was all subtle stuff, he had survived this long he wouldnt let a stubborn, and quite frankly irritating, girl get in his way and mess shit up for him.
You teased him about his brooding, tourtured hero persona and he would roll his eyes and tease you back about how you were definitely too young and angsty to be involved in such intense business.
You would take the bait and argue back, not realising that you were proving his point as a knowing smile played on his lips.
So you'd roll your eyes and complain whenever you had to work with him.
And so would he.
But somehow he found himself looking out for you, annoyed when you'd mess up or do something reckless - and soon enough he figured out that 32 year old him was desperate to make sure that little old you didnt make the same mistakes he did. You were his second chance.
A sibling-like bond formed between you both (though you and him were too headstrong to admit it) and eventually you ended up hanging out alot. You'd sleep at his house most nights (or when he'd awkwardly had to tell Jo and Amber to go elsewhere after you'd teased him for days when you found a bra on his couch), and takeout every Thurday had become tradition.
But this unlikely friendship began to attract the attention of the cartel and you both became aware that you were feeling watched.
If anyone had found out that you didnt totally despise eachother, as most cartel members seemed to, it would put both of your lives at risk. Because if there's one thing that this business is good for, it's taking away anything you care about.
Hector Salamanca was more observant that you gave him credit for. He was a senile old man but he didn't miss a thing. And you realised that if you were going to convince anyone, it had to be him.
Tuesday, you stroll into El Michoacáno ready to hand over the money to Nacho for him to count. You owe $200 and before you enter you stash $70 in your back pocket. You've never been short before so you knew this would take him by surprise.
You entered the building greeting your friend and the boss before sitting down and handing Nacho your money.
Hector Salamanca's watchful eyes bore into you both as you nervously committed to the plan. Nacho, ever-confident, counted his meticulously, slowing down as he realised you were playing a twisted game.
Hector's face contorted into a sinister grin, his eyes narrowing. "Nacho, your little friend here seems to be shortchanging us."
Nacho glanced at you, an unspoken question in his eyes, and then he turned his attention back to Hector. "She's new at this, Hector. She'll get it right next time."
You leaned against the table, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, 'cause counting is rocket science."
Hector's amusement was palpable as he opened his newspaper, his breath chilling. "Discipline is essential."
Nacho clenched his jaw, his gaze flickering to you, a flicker of concern crossing his face. He nodded, defeated. "I'll take care of it."
You stood up, and made sure to draw attention to the bills sat in your pocket.
Your heart raced as you met Nacho's gaze, realizing he understood your plan—by intentionally handing over less, you were forcing his hand, making him hurt you to avoid any suspicion of your friendship. His tough exterior cracked for a moment, revealing his internal struggle, but he knew there was no way around it.
You began to leave the restaurant, acting as if you wanted to make a quick escape, but Nacho caught your arm and dragged you to the floor.
"Don't make this harder than it has to be."
You smirked, though it was laced with pain. "Wouldn't dream of it."
As you braced yourself, Nacho's knuckles clenched, his hesitation palpable. He took a deep breath and then, with a swift motion, he struck you hard. The impact jarred you, pain blossoming across your cheekbone, but you bit your lip to stifle any cries.
Nacho's face was a mask of frustration and regret, his heart clearly at odds with his actions. You could feel his turmoil, his reluctance to hurt you, even though you knew this was the way it had to be.
Hector's chilling grin spread wider as he watched the scene unfold. Satisfied with the display, he turned away.
When Nacho finally ceased his assault, you met his gaze through swollen eyes. Slowly you raise an eyebrow, a silent question of whether he was done.
He offers you a grim flash of concern his eyes reflecting his reluctance.
"Get up." He demands.
You squint with confusion but the look on his face and the subtle tilt of his head lets you know that under the watchful eye of 'Don Hector' nothing could be safely communicated.
You stand. It's funny, Nacho doesnt do anything to hide his muscular physique, but damn, you weren't expecting a beating from him to hurt this much for some reason.
He leads you to the back room and shuts the door. The hum of ceiling light hiding your strained breathes.
Then, in a gesture that cut through the tension, he hands you a pack of frozen peas. It was a strange mix of circumstances that led you to this point, but there was an overwhelming feeling of gratitude for the strange camaraderie you shared.
Slowly, you sink to the floor against the pale, yellow wall and wince as you hit the ground.
Your head feels like its been poked with a hot iron.
Sitting side by side, the weight of both your secrets and the danger that surrounded them rested heavy in the air. The comfortable silence spoke volumes, a testament to the unbreakable bond that was forged. You knew Nacho was always there, just as he knew you were stubborn enough to take a beating to keep the cover intact.
As you sat, the pain in your body slowly easing under the cold compress, you shoot a sideways glance at Nacho.
"You know, this 'sibling' rivalry thing is really starting to get old," you quip, a wry grin playing on your lips.
Nacho chuckled softly, his tough exterior giving way to a warmth that only you had the power to elicit.
"Yeah, yeah," he retorted, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation before being replaced by a brroding look of concern. "You're crazy you know. And stubborn as hell. I could've done with a heads up - you're lucky I'm such a good actor."
You know deep down he's right. This type of plan should be communicated a lot better but trust wasn't a natural instinct for you, you were still learning. Instead you do what you do best, replace vulnerability with sarcasm: "crazy awesome you mean. It was pretty badass of me to take a beating like that you have to admit."
He laughs at that, shaking his head in exasperation before muttering something in spanish that you couldnt quite understand.
You break. A drop of vulnerability slips through the cracks and you allow yourself to breathe.
"Just remember," you whispered, "we're in this together, like it or not."
Nacho's tough exterior finally gave way, a warmth in his eyes as he nodded. "Yeah, I won't forget that."
And so, you sat there, side by side, two souls bound by circumstance, stubbornness, and an unspoken bond that felt strangely like the family you had always been looking for.