
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7534906.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage, Rape/Non-Con
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Overwatch_(Video_Game)
  Relationship:
      Jesse_McCree/Reader
  Character:
      Jesse_McCree, Reader, Deadlock_Gang_-_Character, Original_Characters(gang
      members)
  Additional Tags:
      lots_of_Spanish, young!_jesse_mccree, Romance, smut_probably_later_on,
      idk_-_Freeform, be_warned, Tags_will_be_added_as_necessary, Female
      Reader, real_world_past_events_in_a_fictional_world, Possessive_Behavior,
      Overprotective, Borderline_Yandere, like_damn_mccree_chill, Slow_Build
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-07-20 Chapters: 1/? Words: 1596
****** Love and a .45 ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     (Inspired by the movie, Love and a .45.)
     Orphaned and angry, the notorious Deadlock Gang took Jesse in, unlike
     the rest of the children who fought back against them. Now working in
     an large auto shop, which imports thousands of illegal products into
     the country, Jesse manages to avoid trouble with the law for quite
     some time.
     That is, until, he met you.
Notes
     First of all, I apologize for using abrasive and insulting language
     in this fanfic, but I felt that it was necessary to convey the
     intensity of the characters.
     For my non-spanish-speaking readers, here's a list of the terminology
     used in this story. I am not incredibly fluent but I know enough to
     have a conversation. If a spanish-speaking reader feels the need to
     correct me, then please do comment below the correct spelling/
     phrasing.
     Te voy a matar!-I'm going to kill you!
     Eres un estúpido? Contéstame, baboso!-Are you stupid? Answer me,
     retard!
     Pendejos/as-Assholes
     Mira-Look
     Gabacho/a- A nasty word for an American.
     Borracho- Drunkard
     Manzana Roja- A fictional cigarette brand created by Quentin
     Taratino. Otherwise know as "Red Apple Tobacco."
     Gringo- A person of white skin color.
     Mami- A degrading slang word referring to women.
"Te voy a matar!"
"Eres un estúpido? Contéstame, baboso!"
I didn't answer. It was simpler just to let Emilio and Mateo knock me around a
bit and then leave me be than argue with them. I mean, I was a kid then. Still
legally couldn't buy a pack of cigarettes or a bottle of whiskey, but that sure
didn't stop me. I usually was against drinking at work, but with those two
pendejos running the place a shot never hurt anyone.
"Mira, gabacho," Emilio pushed his finger into my chest. "You see this paint
job? Mira!"
Oh I saw it. I saw it every day of my life since I was no longer a street rat.
The 1997 Mazda RX-7 was used in the filming of Fast and the Furious, and Emilio
treasured the thing since he stole it from some rich bastard a few years back.
Could have been an antique, except he coated the whole thing with a sky blue
color with black details. Stripped the insides, gave it a new stereo system.
I nicked it while carrying some supplies into the store up front, just on the
edge, barely noticeable. But the sound was loud and obvious, and when Emilio
heard it, he knew his baby was in danger. Mateo was equally upset, if Emilio up
and got himself killed- he'd be the one to take it under his wing.
So I wasn't too surprised to have two Mexicans up in my face, spit flying
everywhere.
"You're gonna pay for this, gabacho. Comprendes?"
"Yes," I said, rubbing my shoulder from where Mateo jerked me.
Emilio leaned in closer and sniffed my face. Then he muttered, "Borracho."
They watched me as I grabbed the box of parts and brought them to the front.
Some man called earlier asking if we had any left over parts from our last
scrapping. Now he's been on hold for at least 6 minutes while the pendejos
kicked me around.
But, to my surprise, he was still on the other end. He was patient, I give him
that.
"Yeah I got a box of parts here, a lot of them are kinda rusted anyway. You can
have them if you want them, but I gotta ring you up still."
"Oh that's fine, how much you think?"
"Well, what are you looking for?" I reached into my pocket, and looked for my
cigs. And sure enough, one last Manzana Roja fell out of the carton.
"Not sure, but how much would the box cost? Like the whole thing."
"I'd say 2...." I lit my cigarette. "$250, for all of it. I mean, these parts
are absolute shit. Pardon my language."
"That doesn't matter, I'll send someone by."
I flipped open the notebook, and reached for a pen, "And your name?"
He told me his name and thanked me for all the trouble. Then he hung up and I
leaned back in my office chair. Nothing like doing nothing all day but smoke
and drink and occasionally do some math and swindling. Maybe flirt with a
pretty woman who has no idea what she's looking for, or chat up one who does.
But hardly anyone comes into this auto shop unless their looking for Mateo or
Emilio or anyone else from the Deadlock Gang. Most people know the deal, and
have learned to stay away. An auto repair shop is the perfect place to hide
trucks filled to the brim with illegal weapons or coke or whatever else. Emilio
and Mateo just managed the shop, the big guys in the Deadlock Gang were out in
the canyon somewhere. I knew them. They were just like Emilio and Mateo:
Pendejos. Except these guys were Pendejos Grandes.
I was flipping through a dirty magazine that Emmanuel purchased some time ago.
But it was all boring. Boring women in boring lingerie in boring poses. The
naughty blondes and the seductive brunettes, all with arrogant, teasing faces.
That wasn't my style. I wanted tears and red marks and eyes that begged me to
stop-
"Busy?" the voice scared me shitless. I grabbed the magazine and pushed it
under the counter. A girl smiled and stared up at me, with a knowing look. She
apparently managed to enter the place without ringing the bell. After a few
moments, the girl said, "I believe my dad called you earlier. Asked for a box
of parts."
"Oh? Oh! Yeah, here it is," I slapped the side of the box and she dug into her
wallet for cash. I counted it out and intentionally neglected to inform her
that she had given me an extra $20. She didn't seem to care.
"Do you need help carrying it out to your car?"
"What? Oh, no, I don't have a car," she grabbed the box, and smiled. "Thank
you."
"Wait, what do you mean you don't have a car?" I asked, leaning forward.
"Just what I said," she said. My brow scrunched.
"There isn't a house for miles."
"I mean, I walked here."
"And you plan on walking back with a huge box of metal?"
"Exactly."
"No," I jumped the counter and walked to the front of the store. I grabbed our
sign and wrote "one hour" next to the neatly printed "Returning in."
"What are you doing?" she asked, her arms already looking a bit weak from the
box. I managed to lift her box onto my shoulder and walked to the back of the
garage, where she followed like a confused dog.
"Excuse me?" she said.
I knocked on the garage office window, "Mateo, I'm taking the car out, want
anything?"
"Manzanas Rojas."
"Two packs, gabacho!"
I set the parts in the back seat of the old, beat up Civic '96. I climbed into
the front and waited for her to get in.
"What are you doing?" she asked again.
"I'm giving you a ride."
"Oh no, you don't have to do that," she said nervously.
"I don't bite, I'm just trying to do something nice. It'd be a crime to let you
walk out in this heat. So get in."
She shuffled a bit before climbing into the front seat. I grinned a bit and
started the car, begging that it turned over. After the second try, the old
thing managed to get going. I turned the AC on blast, and she sighed and said a
small, meek thank you.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Jesse McCree. Whichever you wanna call me that works. The people around these
parts call me garacho or gringo," I said, backing up out of the garage.
"Bye bye mami!" called Mateo from inside the office, blowing kisses to the
girl. She looked repulsed. Good on her for recognizing an asshole when she sees
one.
"What does that mean?" she asked, looking at me. It took me a second to know
what she was talking about.
"American, white boy. The usual. Your name?"
"Hmmmm..... Huh? Oh it's ________," she said. "Ummm.... Thank you, again for
doing this."
"Oh it's no problem darlin'," I grinned. When we got ourselves righted, I
looked both ways down the long and empty road and asked, "So left or right?"
She pointed to the left, towards the diner. I frequented the establishment but
the food tasted like shit and the coffee was the same consistency as motor oil.
I turned on the radio. It was on the hard rock channel, so I just left it.
________ seemed really into most of it. Head bobbing slightly, leg bouncing. It
was kinda cute. She looked nervous, and I could understand. Last time someone
offered me a ride, I was thrust into a life of criminals and thieves. However,
I couldn't help but feel a bit hurt(if not offended) at this notion, because I
was nothing like the men who ruined my life.
"Oh take a right up here, it should be on the left," she said, leaning forward.
"This may be a strange question.... But do you know of the auto shop?"
"You mean the fact that hundreds of pounds of drugs go through it? Yeah, I know
of it...." she said, her hand gripping the seat. She was smart. Playing dumb in
this town didn't get anyone anywhere. It was better to admit you know than
pretend you don't. The sheriff knew, the governor knew. There wasn't anything
anyone could do without getting an eyeful of pulse ammunition. She looked at me
and said, "You're a Deadlock Member."
I laughed a little, and that made her uncomfortable, "No.... I wouldn't
consider myself one of those.... They took me in when I was kid, fed me. That's
about it. I don't owe them anything but to work up front and pretend that
nothing is wrong."
"So you are in the Deadlock Gang," she said.
I gave her a look, "I suppose...."
She laced her fingers together, "My cousin was killed by the Deadlock Gang. I
loved them a lot...."
"I.... I'm sorry.... I'm not like them. I'll never be like them...." I said,
gripping the wheel.
She sighed, "No, I-I'm sorry.... I shouldn't have just pushed the blame onto
you...."
"I did that too at first, but I just learned to get over it...." I leaned over
and cautiously placed a hand on her back. She stiffened but smiled at me.
"If you ever....need anything," I said, trying my best to sound comforting.
"I'm always at the shop. Just call, or come see me...."
________ smiled, "Thanks.... Jesse, right?"
And I smiled back, "Jesse McCree, at your service."
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