#Hinky's October Fic Fest

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 28: Baleful

10/28: Baleful

Universe // Characters: La Chaparrita Series // Horacio Carrillo 

“Chaparrita.” 

“Papa.” 

You let out a deep sigh. 

Horacio had been working nonstop for almost a week. He’s barely been home, coming in only to have a home cooked meal and a shower before heading back to the streets. Night three, your daughter had a nightmare. You had been feeling off, were exhausted, and so you let her crawl into bed with you. Night four, she came back and you let her. Night five she asked so sweetly and politely. Night six, she brought the cat with her. Now, on night seven, she’s defending what she believes to be her territory now. 

Technically, this is your fault and you need to clean up your own mess. You sit up and take notice of just how exhausted Horacio looks. All you want to do is hold him close and make sure he sleeps for as long as he wants. You also had to talk to him about something, something that your daughter shouldn’t be around to hear. Not just yet at least. 

“Mija,” you tug on the hem of her nightgown. “You need to go back to your room now, okay. Papa needs to sleep in his bed and you need to sleep in yours.” 

She turns towards you, indignation plastered all over her face. “But I was here first!” 

You chuckle at that. “No, sweetie. Papa was here first.” 

“Really, mi amor?” he asks you with a tired smile. “You’re going to open that door this late at night?” 

You wave him off and wrap a hand around your daughter’s arm. “Come on, sweetie. Back to bed.” 

“Mommy’s sick.” She plants her hands on her hips. “And I need to take care of her.” 

Horacio’s tired and slightly annoyed look turns into one of concern. “You’re ill?” 

It breaks your heart to hear the tone in his question. He’s concerned, yes, but there’s a twinge of guilt in there as well. You’re sick, he didn’t know, and now he’s lost the war on two fronts. “It’s okay, I’m fine.” 

“She’s been throwing up.” 

“Okay,” you physically pick her up and start to carry her from the room. “That’s enough. Time for bed.” 

She gives you a frighteningly baleful look, one that you’ve seen on Horacio’s face when he’s interrogating someone. “But I don’t want-” 

“I understand that but you need to be a big girl and sleep in your own bed tonight.” You pull back the floral quilt and sheets, setting her down in the bed. “Now, are you going to sleep in here or do we need to talk about consequences again?” 

Defeat washes over her little body as she tugs the blankets over her. “I’ll sleep in here.” 

You breathe a sigh of relief and kiss her on the forehead. “Good night, mjia. I’ll see you in the morning. Te amo.” 

“Te amo, Mama.” She looks over your shoulder towards the doorway. “Te amo, Papa!” 

“Te amo, Chaparrita,” comes the shouted response from your bedroom. 

You turn the bedside light out, leaving on a small night light, before closing the bedroom door. Tiredly, you head back to the main bedroom where Horacio is half way undressed and getting ready to shower.

“I didn’t realize I would have a turf war on my hands when I came home tonight.” 

“Sorry about that,” you straight out the sheets and blankets. “I guess it just became a habit this week.” 

“I’m sor-” 

You kiss him to stop his apology. “Don’t you apologize for doing your job.” 

The smile he gives you is tired, too tired to argue. “So tell me about your illness.” 

It’s your turn to smile tiredly as you crawl back into bed. “Tell me about how close you are to catching Escobar.” 

“What’s that got to do with it?” 

“Everything.” You wait for him to turn around and look at you, which he does. “We have a second one on the way. And if this one is anything like that one, I’m going to need you home a lot more frequently.”  

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #Horacio Carrillo #colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x you #horacio carrillo fic #la chaparrita series

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 17: Brambles

10/17: Brambles

Universe // Characters: Den of Thieves - IT Reader // Benny “Borracho” Magalon x IT Reader 

Rating: Explicit 

Benjamin “Borracho” Magalon is sharp. His slicked back hair, hawkish nose, goatee, tattoos. His eyes are sharp, attuned to pick out details around him, forget big picture bullshit. His words are sharp, when he decides to use them. When asked for information on a crime scene, he’s quick and concise with the facts. When asked a question by the brass, his answers are mostly one word. When getting busted on by the guys, his retorts are quick flicks of sarcasm and low blows.  

Everything about him is honed like a razor’s edge, safe if you rub your thumb over it one way but incredibly damaging if you don’t. He likes being this way. When you’re sharp, people are cautious of you, keeping you at arms length to keep themselves from being cut and hurt. Even the guys in Major Crimes handle him cautiously in the bullpen but not when they’re all out in the field. They use him like a knife: sheathed until needed then wielded with abandon. 

You apparently have missed the memo completely. 

He hears noise coming from the server room and goes to investigate because it’s a slow day and he’s tired of listening to guys share their conquest of the flavor of the week stories. As he gets closer, he hears a variety of beeps and then a muttered “fuck.” Peering into the room, he sees you sitting on the floor, a laptop balanced on one knee and a handheld device in your hand scanning for something. 

“Did you try turning it off and on again?” he quips. 

But then karma knocks him on his ass swiftly. You turn your head surprised at his sudden appearance, and you’ve got a small flashlight in your mouth. Your lips are wrapped around the cylinder and your cheeks hollow when you spit it out and drop it on the floor. All his blood rushes southward at the sight and the innocent, wide-eyed look you give him isn’t helping matters either. 

“Can I help you?” 

He glances around looking for the guys or video cameras. Surely he’s getting pranked. Or else he just walked on the set of a very poorly funded porno. This actually has Big Nick written all over it, he’s sure of it. Well, if he’s having a joke played on him, he’s going to take it as far as he can. 

“Maybe. I’m a little bigger than that flashlight though.” 

It takes you a minute to understand the innuendo but when you do, you roll your eyes. “Disgusting.” 

The realization that this isn’t a prank hits him like a cold bucket of water. Before he can apologize, you slam the door shut in his face before going back to your work. He shoves his hands in his pockets and heads back to the bullpen, trying to shrug the nagging feeling of guilt. 

He’s sharp and you got nicked. But there was sharpness to you and he got nicked as well.  Now you both know better for next time. 

***

“Internet is down.” 

“Again?” 

“Z, call IT.” 

“I ain’t calling down there again.” 

Henderson laughs. “Oh that’s right, that little girl boxed your ears last week.” 

Borracho lifts his head up and glances around at the guys. “What happened last week?” 

“Z tried to ask that cute little IT girl out on a date last week,” Henderson is overcome with laughter for a couple beats. “And what did she say to you, man? ‘Not if you were dipped in-” 

Tony Zappata is not used to being turned down by women and this is evident by the glare he’s giving Henderson. “I actually offered her a bite of my sub and she said no.” 

“Actually,” Connors chimes in, “She said ‘not if you skipped it to me across a pool of antiseptic.’” 

Seems like Borracho isn’t the only sharp one. He picks up the phone and calls down to the IT department. 

“Dan in IT.” 

“Magalon in Major Crimes. Internet is down up here.” 

He sighs. “I’ll send MIT back up.” 

Back up. It might be you so he heads over to the server room and sure enough, you turn the corner with your laptop and bag of equipment. You have white headphones wrapped around your neck with some kind of podcast playing through the speakers. You tap one side of the headphones and the talking stops. You glare at him as you approach the server room so Borracho holds up his hands. 

“I’m sorry about last time.” 

“Really?” 

“I thought the guys were setting me up. Playing a prank.” 

You open the door and prop it open. “What made you think that?” 

“Because you’re too cute to be a computer nerd.” 

You’re back to glaring at him but Borracho stands by what he said and holds your stare. You eventually sigh in defeat and turn towards the servers. 

“Why do they call you MIT?” 

You give him an incredulous look. “Because I graduated from MIT.” 

“Wow. That’s impressive.” 

You glance over your shoulder before opening your laptop and pulling up a diagnostic program. “So which one of the Major Crimes guys are you?” 

“Borracho.” 

“The drunk?” 

“You know Spanish?” 

“Born and raised in LA, yeah, I know Spanish.” You hit a couple of buttons. “I’m not going to call you a drunk, so what’s your real name?” 

He’s sharp but so are you. Iron sharpens iron. “Benny.” 

You reach behind one of the server boxes and snap a wire back into place. “There we go. Loose cable. Internet is back on for you guys.” 

He watches you close your laptop and stand up, dusting off your jeans. “So what’s your name.” 

You smile at him. “MIT works for now.” 

***

Borracho stops by the server room a couple days later and unplugs the cord that you had fixed. He goes to the bullpen but hears Henderson calling down to IT, apparently giving whoever is on the other end of the line some grief. Borracho turns on his heel and goes back to the server room. He’s propping open the door when you come around the corner. 

“Again, Benny?” 

He shrugs. “Looks that way. Was thinking I was going to try to fix it.” 

“Oh, you have a degree from MIT now?” 

“Yeah, course I do.” He grins and points to his neck. “That’s where I got this tat.” 

You laugh, a genuine soft sound, before going into the room. He has to remind himself that he’s sharp and needs to be careful with you. He’s not sure when it happened, but he likes you. You’re pretty, sweet, and smart. You’re sharp but only when you need to be. Genuinely, you’re soft. And his palms itch to find out just how soft you really are. He wants to kiss you, feel your perfect mouth against his. He wants to feel how you would fit in his arms, underneath him, staring down at him. 

But he doesn’t want to hurt you, get you caught in the brambles of who he is. You’ll only emerge with cuts and scrapes that will heal but will leave you scarred. He’s sharp and he doesn't want to leave his mark on you. 

“Benny?” 

He snaps out of his thoughts just in time to see your toe catch on your equipment bag and send you stumbling towards him. He instinctively reaches out and catches you as you crash against his chest. Details start gathering in his brain: the nervous flex of your fingers in his flannel shirt, the wild beating of your pulse in your neck, the nervous huff of a laugh that leaves your lips. Oh God, your lips. 

You’re going to hate him, hit him and never come back up to the server room but he can’t help it. He kisses you and knowing this is the only time he’s going to have with you, he holds nothing back. He kisses your top lip, scrapes his teeth against your bottom one, and even risks sweeping your mouth with his tongue. 

He feels you moan more than hears it, a vibration in your ribcage that his hands are holding. Your hands hold either side of his face and press him even closer to you. He feels your tongue slide against his and all his senses short out momentarily. Is this happening? Are you really kissing him back? Are you okay with this? 

A door slams down the hall and you both jump back away from each other. You end up staring at each for half a heartbeat before you grab your bag and laptop and dart out of the room. He stands there for another moment before pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

“Fuck!” 

***

Three days pass and Borracho can’t stop thinking of that kiss. He can still feel you under his hands, against his mouth. The guys are starting to notice he’s more surly than ever. He needs to get you out of his system. And if he can’t have you, then he’s going to have to find a replacement. Nick always gets more than enough girls for the post piss test party and maybe he’ll take advantage of that tomorrow. The door to the bullpen opens and there you are, eyes roving around the room. He can’t breathe.  

“I figure with all the issues you guys have been having with the internet, I may as well show you how to do basic troubleshooting.” You look around at them. “Who’s the most reliable?” 

Z stands up. “I am.” 

“Sit down, Subway boy,” you snap and your eyes land on Borracho. “You up for the job?” 

He’s sharp and he notices little details. He sees the minute smile that touches the corner of your mouth. You know exactly what you’ve just said and also know that you’re making him walk across the room to get out of the bullpen now that half his blood is on its way to his groin. 

He’s in love with you, he realizes, at that exact minute.  

He throws his pen down on the desk. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?” 

You make a hasty retreat towards the server room, your pace picking up the closer you get. He hears you giggle when you swing the door open and stumble through it while he grabs the doorknob and closes it behind him, locking it for good measure. You’re on each other immediately, lips crashing together, hands pulling at clothes. Did he still have a condom in his wallet? Please let there be a condom in his wallet. 

“Wait, wait a minute,” you whisper, pushing him away slightly. 

He tries to refocus, calm down, but he just wants and it’s been so long since he’s felt this way, desperate and…not sharp. Your hands run over his chest, his shoulders, around his back. You smooth your palms over the planes of his body and it doesn’t hurt you. It hurts him though. He feels vulnerable, like you’re the one with the razor blade, getting ready to nick and slice and cause him to bleed. As he stares down at your face, lit with the blinking lights of the servers, your eyes searching his face for what, he has no idea, he realizes he would cut his own throat and bleed out for you if you wished for it. 

But you’re too kind to ever wish that on him. You would sooner turn the blade on yourself than hurt him. He can see the apology you’re trying to muster, to offer for your abrupt departure the last time you were in here together. He knows the kind of person you are because he’s come across so many people that are your opposite. Criminals, party girls, girlfriends, ex-wife…coworkers, you are the antithesis of all of them. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally manage to say. “For running out last time. I…got scared.” 

He lets his hands drift down your arms, feeling the smooth skin against his fingertips. “I get it. I do.” 

“I don’t have the best track record when it comes to relationships.” 

He tries to not laugh at that. “You don’t have the best track record? I’d like to bet it’s better than mine, mamí. 

Your smile is one of pure relief. “You’re different from the other guys.” 

They’re grenades and he’s a dagger. They explode and cause as much damage as possible, not caring who gets caught in the explosion. He’s for up close and personal damage and does it well. That’s why he has to be more careful with you. 

“You’re kinder than they are.” 

He scoffs at that. “That’s not a word that’s usually used for me.” 

“That’s because people don’t take the time to notice you. Or you don’t let them get close enough.” You press yourself closer to him. “I’d like to get to know you better.” 

“Aren’t there any other boys closer to your age?” He doesn’t really know how old you are but you certainly look significantly younger than he is. 

You wrinkle your nose. “None worth the time getting to know.” 

Good enough for him. He leans down to kiss you again but stops. “How old are you?” 

“Thirty-one.” 

His heart almost stops. He’s forty-six. Fifteen years difference. That was definitely something to address. Later. Maybe this is all you want, a quickie in the server room. If he’s lucky, you’ll want a couple of them before you grow tired of the sullen, middle aged man and move on with a computer programmer who lives in the suburbs and telecommutes to Silicon Valley. 

“Benny?” 

He immediately refocuses back on you. “Yeah?” 

Your hands go back to kneading the soft fabric of his flannel shirt. “Is this…I mean, are you okay…we can-” 

He kisses you as sweetly as he can in the moment. He holds you gently, kisses you softly, and does everything in his power to keep from spinning you around and taking you against one of the single server boxes. He feels your lips curl into a smile against his and suddenly the game is back on for the two of you. 

As sweet as your mouth is, he wants to taste all of you. He breaks away from your lips, and starts nipping and sucking on the column of your throat. Your hands are just as busy as his mouth as you tug his flannel off his shoulders and then pull his t-shirt over his head. You lean back and trail a hand down his chest, a small, deep groan coming from your throat. As if he needed any more encouragement to keep going. 

He pulls your shirt off over your head before filling both his hands with your satin encased breasts. You were gorgeous. All soft skin, everywhere he touched was smooth, firm…young. He stops that train of thought by pulling your bra off and immediately drawing one of your nipples into his mouth. His tongue flicks over the hardening peak while you run your fingers through his hair and bite your lip to keep from making noise. He drops a hand to the button of your jeans and flicks it open, dragging the zipper down. You squirm just enough for him to get his hand inside your panties and his fingers slip easily through your folds. 

“Dios mio, mamí,” he presses his cheek to the swell of your breast, “you’re so wet.” 

You scrape your fingernails through his hair. “All for you. Can’t…can’t stop…” 

He slides a finger inside of you. “What was that?” 

The moan you give is full of sin. “Can’t stop thinking about you. About this.” 

Benny returns to your mouth, kisses you with zero gentleness as he slides a second inside of you. He swallows down your moan as you try to spread your legs further apart. Your hand slips below the waistband of his jeans and firmly runs over his length. You break away from the kiss and smile up at him, eyes almost black with lust. 

“You are a bit bigger than the flashlight.” 

“Fuckin’ tease,” he grumbles as he pulls your jeans and underwear off in one movement. 

You reach into his back pocket and pull out his wallet, slipping the black and gold foil packet out and tearing it open. 

“How did you know-” 

You shrug. “You seem like a guy who’s always prepared.” 

He pushes his pants and underwear down just low enough to roll the condom on before pulling you to the end of the server box and lining himself up. “You sure this is okay?” 

You hook one of your legs around his hip and plant your other foot on the floor. “Yes, please.” 

You keep eye contact with him as he pushes forward, easily sliding into you. He rests his forehead against yours as you both take a moment to adjust but the sounds you’re making, the quiet whimpers, almost send him over the edge right there. He either has to move or this is about to be over before it begins. But then you roll your hips and he takes that as his sign to move as well. You’re perfect. Your body fits perfectly against him, his hands molding perfectly to each curve and rise of you. You’re tight, but not uncomfortably so. He moves his head slightly so his lips brush your ear. 

“Feels so good, like you were made for me.” 

You don’t say anything but you shift, canting your hips at a different angle and then biting your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. 

“Does that feel good?” He’s murmuring nonsense, anything to stave off his orgasm and let this last for as long as possible. “You like feeling me inside of you?” 

“God, yes. Please,” you gasp and dig your fingernails into the meat of his shoulder blades, “Please don’t stop.” 

He couldn’t stop if he wanted to at this point. “You’re going to come for me, mamí?” 

You bury your face against his neck. 

“Let me feel you come. I want to feel you co-” And he does. He feels you clench down on him, hard, and then your entire body shakes with the force of your orgasm. He presses himself as deep as he can as he spills himself into the condom. In the back of his mind though, he wants to know what it feels like without that barrier, to come inside of you and watch it drip out. Maybe, if this continues to be more than just a once and done thing, you’ll let him. You’ll trust him enough to do that. 

He peppers kisses along your neck before pulling out. Both of you set about cleaning up and getting re-dressed. He ties off the condom and drops it in the trash can in the corner of the room, while you cover it with the tissues you used to clean yourself up. When you’re both dressed and look more or less presentable, you lean forward and kiss him. 

“Thank you.” 

He kisses you back. “Thank you.” 

“We should do this again sometime,” you smile up at him. 

“I think we’re going to have to, considering you didn’t show me anything about troubleshooting the internet.” 

You pick up your bag and laptop. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep coming up here whenever there’s a problem.” 

Oh no. What a shame, he thinks to himself. He watches you unlock the door, give him one last smile, before leaving the room. He gives himself another moment, a chance to enjoy the dwindling lightening feeling under his skin before heading back into the bullpen. 

Benjamin “Borracho” Magalon is sharp, but you, despite your intermittent sharpness, are ultimately soft. He only hopes you’re soft enough to bend when the blade passes over you so you won’t be cut.

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #benny magalon #benny borracho magalon #benny magalon x reader #benny magalong x you

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 15: Warlock

10/15: Warlock

Universe // Characters: Los Regalos // Horacio Carrillo 

You’re acquiring a reputation around Medellín. 

La mujer del coronel. 

The Colonel’s woman. 

It doesn’t go unnoticed that you’re known as this in all the bakeries and most of the food stalls. Horacio must have, at some point in his gift gathering, talked about you. It’s something that makes you smile during the stretches of time when he is off chasing leads with Javi, Steve, and Search Bloc. Sometimes he comes back with just dirt and grime that easily rinses away. Sometimes he comes back with more lasting marks. But you try to distract yourself with butter cookies and fruit filled empanadas, using their company as a poor replacement for his. 

You also hear whispers of Horacio’s reputation too. They call him a brujo, a witch or warlock rather. The sicarios and their sympathizers are convinced he is tapping into black magic, not phone lines, to find his leads. They are convinced that the devil himself has blessed his rosary and allows him to exact his vengeance on the cartel. It leaves the narcos with the burning question of “who’s side is the devil really on?.” 

You’ve become convinced, in these quiet nights of solitude and baked goods, that it’s both. The devil is on both sides because the one thing that evil loves most is chaos. And that is what Pablo Escobar has brought to Colombia: chaos. And Search Bloc is creating its own chaos as it fights the chaos created by the cartels. 

It’s during one of these long stretches of loneliness that the phone calls with your family start to take a turn. The basic niceties remain. How are you? Fine. Are you staying safe? Yes. Have you caught any big names yet? Just one really. But then new questions start to pop up. When are you coming home? I don’t know. How many years are planning to dedicate to this? As many as it takes. But then one evening, your mother stops tip-toeing around with the questions and goes straight for your throat. 

“You’re not getting any younger, sweetie. When are you going to come home and settle down? Having kids when you’re past thirty just makes things so much more complicated. You still want to have kids, a family, right? And men, they want a wife that they can take care of, not one that can take care of themselves. All this running around a foreign country with guns and drugs, it doesn’t make you look very feminine.” 

You’re missing Horacio, haven’t slept well for three days while he’s chasing sicarios in Cali and waiting for news that he’s on his way home, and that is why your regular good nature fails so horribly. “Mom, maybe I don’t want a husband and kids. Maybe I’m okay with taking care of myself and not settling down. Maybe I want something different than what you do since I’m not you. Raising a family is great but maybe it’s just not for me and I’m okay with that. I wish you were too.” 

Her silence immediately makes you feel guilty for your outburst but she recovers before you do. “Well, I just want you to be happy.” 

“I know,” you acquiesce. “And I am happy, mom. I like Colombia. I like the people I work with.” I like Horacio, you almost say. It doesn’t feel right to tell your family before you tell him just how much you care for him. 

“Your future isn’t in Colombia though. It’s here. With us, your family.” She sighs heavily. “You need to come home, honey. And soon.” 

“Why?” You laugh humorlessly. “The husband options are withering? All the good once at church getting snatched up?” 

“Yes.” The answer is short, like the snapping close of a book. End of discussion. 

The next day you get a call from Horacio, who is on his way home and will be back at base within a matter of hours. They caught a couple low level sicarios from the Cali cartel who may be convinced to turn on some Escobar’s men but that remains to be seen. You’re sitting at your desk, trying to not stare at the clock, when everyone returns to base. Steve is tired, does the bare minimum, and heads home to Connie and Olivia. Javier is a bit more keyed up, wanting to go out for drinks before heading back to his apartment but you demure, your eyes cutting briefly to Horacio’s office. Javier immediately picks up on the situation, gives you a tap on the shoulder, steals a cookie from your desk, and heads out with a wink. 

When the numbers of officers dwindle, you pick up a mostly empty folder, and head up to Horacio’s office. He sees you coming and immediately closes the blinds. You step through the door and straight into his arms, his mouth landing on yours with no preamble or greeting. You smile into the kiss as your hands run over his arms, shoulders, and back looking for any wounds or sore spots. 

“I know what you’re doing, querida,” he murmurs against your lips. 

“Oh yeah? So are you going to tell me or am I going to have to do a full body inspection?” 

“I like the sound of the inspection.” 

You hold his face in your palms as your eyes rove over his face. There is no blood or bruising like when he returned from Cartagena. “Well, so far so good.” 

He studies your face with the same amount of intense scrutiny. “I missed you.” 

Those three words shouldn’t make your knees go weak but they do. Maybe the rumors are true and he has sold his soul to the devil in order to do magic. He certainly has bewitched you. 

“I missed you too.”

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #los regalos series

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 29: Malediction

10/29: Malediction 

Universe // Characters: Mariposa // Horacio Carrillo

Horacio Carrillo hates Pablo Escobar. 

There have been many people that have come into his life that he has disliked, despised, and been disappointed in even. But Escobar? Escobar he hates. 

He calls Escobar from various pay phones around Medellín, spitting threats and maledictions. Escobar gives as good as he gets though, the insults being hurled right back at him. They threaten each other individually, then their families. But one night, Escobar lobs another threat at him. 

“I will take everything, everything, including your little American informant.” 

At first he thinks Escobar is threatening to go after Peña or Murphy, but then he says something that clears up that misconception. 

“Your little butterfly.” 

Horacio swallows down the lump in his throat. “You’re getting senile, Pablo.” 

“Am I? Is this why you’ve been looking so hard for my cousin, Gustavo? For me? Can’t stand the thought that you’re the same as us? Just another unfaithful husband.” 

It’s the first time Horacio hangs up the phone without having the last word. He’s afraid no matter what he ended up saying, something would have tipped Escobar off to you or your whereabouts. There were already so many things that were being risked, he couldn’t risk anything else. He just wants this over. He wants to adjust to the post-Escobar era, now matter what that may look like. It just needs to be over. 

He ends up punching the pay phone to release his frustration, his fear. 

It’s with bloody knuckles that he picks up the phone again and calls Juliana. He makes sure there’s guards stationed outside. She confirms with a weary sigh that yes, they are there. He tells her that he needs to work late, run down some leads. She tells him to be careful and hangs up. He leaves the payphone and walks the eight blocks to your apartment. You don’t have bodyguards or police officers watching over you. You don’t have any safety measures being taken to ensure you survive this experience. 

And it makes him want to punch something again. But his hand is throbbing, blood dripping from his fingertips. He uses his left hand to knock on your door and you immediately open it to him, like you were expecting him. You immediately assess his tense jaw, worried eyes, and bloodied hand and turn away from him with a sad sigh. He follows you into the kitchen as you pull out an ice pack and wrap it in a cotton dishcloth. He rinses the blood off his hand and uses a paper towel to pat it dry. You lay the ice pack over his hand and then smooth your cool fingers over his cheekbones. 

“You need to stop calling him,” you admonish gently. 

“He threatened you tonight. Used the word butterfly. Knew about…us.” 

You shake your head. “All my intel says he has no idea who I really am. He’s spewing rumors and hoping you confirm something. It’s just a bluff.” 

“I’m going to stay the night. Just in case.” 

“If it makes you feel better,” you give him a small smile, “I’m certainly not going to say no.”

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x you #Mariposa Series

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 8: Skullduggery

This one is so sappy! I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m this way. 

10/8: Skullduggery

Universe // Characters: Den of Thieves // Benny “Borracho” Magalon x IT Reader

Benny sits on the fire escape outside your apartment and smokes a cigarette. He can see into the bedroom when the breeze moves the sheer curtain aside and he watches your sleeping form around the curling smoke in front of his face. Every once in a while he gets like this, where his mind is too loud, too many thoughts and not enough space to box them up and shove them on the shelves. It also doesn’t help that his phone is blowing up from the guys who are still partying at the hotel and trying to get him to come over to finish out the celebration. 

Missing a good time, B! 

Nick lost BIG in the poker game. Fuckin hysterical! 

Girls are high class tonite, man. Got an extra too.

Lots of booze left since u not here bro. 

Nina was asking for you. 

This text was followed by a picture of a pouting redhead that he didn’t even recognize or remember from previous parties. He deletes the picture with a sigh and puts the phone face down next to him. There had been other times when he had to miss the post-drug test party due to family commitments and he remembers reading those texts and feeling like he was missing out on the fun. Now, he takes a deep pull on the cigarette and releases the smoke in a long, steady stream, he wants nothing to do the riotous party scene. He wants this, this silent contemplation in an actual home with someone who smiles when they see him. Is he getting soft? Losing his edge? Maybe. A few months ago that may have bothered him. 

“Hey.” 

He glances through the bedroom window and sees the rumbled sheets, the empty bed. You must have just gotten up. The night is chilly so you had thrown on a pair of sweatpants and draped one of the throw blankets around your shoulders. He moves over to make room for you in the small space. “Hey.” 

You climb through the window and sit next to him, your hip against his. You open the blanket and he takes the invitation to slide even closer, pulling the fabric over his shoulders. “Wasn’t sure if you wanted company.” 

He doesn’t want company. If he did, he would be at the hotel. He just wants you. But he doesn’t say anything to confirm or deny his wants at the moment. His phone lights up with yet another notification and since it’s trapped under the blanket, the entire enclosed space lights up and he huffs. 

“Your friends up to the regular Friday night skullduggery?” 

He almost chokes on his last pull on the cigarette. “Skull what?” 

“Skullduggery. Mischief. Bad behavior.” You laugh, causing your shoulder to vibrate against his. “You mean to tell me a good ole Irishman like Big Nick O’Brien doesn’t use words like that?” 

Benny shakes his head. “Nah. His favorite word is fuck.” 

“Huh. I thought that was his favorite thing to do.” 

“Say, do, same thing.” He drops the cigarette butt into an empty glass of water he had brought out with him. “So what do you know about the Friday night…skulldig-” 

“Skullduggery.” Your good humor diminishes and you fiddle with the fringe on the blanket. “Just rumor really. What the people in the building say about you guys.” 

“And what do they say?” 

“Well, in IT, we often refer to Major Crimes as Neverland. You know, Peter Pan and his lost boys.” 

That is actually a good analogy, accurate in a Disney-esque coloring. “You want to know what happens?” 

You think about it for a moment. “Actually, no.” 

Surprisingly, he is willing to tell you, to break that brotherhood trust bullshit that Nick talks about all the time. No one is going to snitch if the punishment can come down on them as well. That’s how Nick keeps them all in line. The alcohol, drugs, and girls are nothing more than dirt to bury the entire team when the time comes. And they all just keep shoveling away, week after fucking week, digging their own graves. 

“Can I ask you something, though?” 

His heart rate spikes. “Sure.” 

“Why me? I mean, when we first…started this, I thought it was just some bet you guys had going on, who could bag the dorky IT girl. But then you seemed genuine about it and I just…I don’t know why you would choose me to be with?” 

He has a mental book filled with reasons why it’s you, only you, that he wants to be with every waking moment. Reason upon reason, so many that they logjam in his throat and he can’t seem to spit just one out. So he switches tactics. “I could ask you the same question. Why are you slumming it with me?” 

“Slumming, huh? Clearly you haven’t met some of your predecessors.” 

You’ve never gone into details about your ex’s. He knows you have them, there are phrases and quirks that you have that tell him of a past even if you haven’t told him the details. You apologize for the most random shit, half of which he never noticed in the first place. There was one time that he opened a cabinet to get a mug and you flinched. That still bugs him. He slips his hand into yours and you squeeze it, pressing your palms together. It must give you some courage. 

“It’s just, there’s ten years between us. I don’t know if I’ll ever get into the FBI but if I do, I don’t know where it’ll take me. I’m all intellect, I can’t walk and chew gum, I hate exercising, and I’d rather stay home and read than go out…partying. You have an established career, you’re in LA to stay. You’re action driven, fit, and like-” 

“The skullduggery,” he finishes with a smirk and you huff a nervous laugh. “You are onto something with the whole lost boys thing. You can’t stay young, no matter how much you try to hold on to youth. You have to grow up sometime. So maybe I got tired of following Peter Pan towards the star on the right.” He turns and looks directly at you, your eyes wide and focused on everything he’s saying, like he’s handing out the secret to life. There is such raw, honest hope in your face that his chest twists slightly. “Maybe it’s time I tried following a different star.” 

You lean your forehead against his and smile. “Sounds like a lost boy just got found.” 

“And I’ll follow you for as long as you’ll let me.” 

“Straight on till morning.” 

Benny tilts his head and presses his lips to yours, praying for thousands more mornings with you. 

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #benny borracho magalon #benny magalon

[the-hinky-panda]

Hinky’s October Fic Fest Masterlist

Welcome to the completely self-indulgent fic fest that hopefully you will enjoy too! Here is the masterlist of all the little fics that are posted during October. Thank you to everyone who indulges me in my silly little hobby! I appreciate you all so much! 

** denotes explicit material

1. Heebie Jeebies (Mariposa) 

2. Ghoul (By Land, Sea, and Air)

3. Trickery (Horacio Carrillo) 

4. Otherworldly (Eduardo Sandoval) 

5. Begrimed (Horacio Carrillo) 

6. Hobgoblin (Esteban)

7. Cobweb (Benny “Borracho” Magalon) 

8. Skullduggery (Benny “Borracho” Magalon) 

9. Cackle (Carrillo - Los Regalos) 

10. Spine-chilling (Benny “Borracho” Magalon)

11. Specter (Mariposa - Dustland Fairytale universe) 

12. Blood-curdling (La Chaparrita - Carrillo) 

13. Ghastly (Eduardo Sandoval) 

14. Wraith (Benny “Borracho” Magalon) 

15. Warlock (Los Regalos // Horacio Carrillo) 

16. Elixir (Horacio Carrillo)

17. Brambles (Benny “Borracho” Magalon) **

18. Gooseflesh (Eduardo Sandoval) 

19. Cauldron (Los Regalos // Horacio Carrillo) 

20. Labyrinth (Hugo Martinez)

21. Lycanthrope (Captain Mike Duarte) 

22. Phantasm (Dustland Fairytale // Javier Peña)

23. Sibyl (Esteban) 

24. Netherworld (Horacio Carrillo)

25. Conjure (Benny “Borracho” Magalon)

26. Eldritch (César Gaviria)**  

27. Concoction (Benny “Borracho” Magalon ) 

28. Baleful (Chaparrita - Horacio Carrillo) 

29. Malediction ( Mariposa // Horacio Carrillo) 

30. Nightmarish (Florist Series // César Gaviria)

31. Nyctophobia (Modern Day Horacio Carrillo x Mariposa) 

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #horacio carrillo #hugo martinez #Eduardo Sandoval #frankie morales #javier pena #benny magalon #mike duarte #cesar gaviria

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 25: Conjure

10/25: Conjure

Universe // Characters: Den of Thieves - Penny Series // Benny “Borracho” Magalon 

Borracho is certain he has just conjured you into existence. At least, existence as it pertains to location, which currently is a touristy bar in LAX. 

It’s been a few months since he first encountered you in the bar by the Sheriff's office. He had lifted your number from Nick’s phone, not an easy feat, and the two of you had been texting back and forth sporadically. The conversations were short and friendly, flirty if you squint. It was more about the fact that you were talking behind Nick’s back then it was anything else. But he liked you. You were funny, witty, and…not like Nick at all. 

It made him more and more curious about you. 

But then his flight to Mexico is canceled and he’s trying to figure out if it’s worth it to go back home and try again tomorrow, when he catches sight of you sitting at the bar across from his gate. He sends a quick text to his brother about the flight cancellation before heading over to the bar. 

“We have to stop meeting like this, Mamí.” 

If you’re surprised by his arrival, you hide it well. “I’m starting to see the nickname now.” You soften the barb with a wink and a smile. 

“So where are you headed?” he asks, ordering a beer. 

You pull one of the three olives off the toothpick from your martini glass and pop it into your mouth. “I was headed to Ireland. I was going to meet a friend of mine at Newark and we were going to go over there to look for horses for her. She’s an event rider. But,” you point to the TV over the bar with the weather report running, “that midwest blizzard put a fast end to that.” 

“No Christmas in the motherland then?” 

“Not this year. What about you? Where are you headed?” 

“I was headed to Rocky Point, in Mexico. My family always meets there for the holidays. But my plane is stuck in that storm apparently. Should be able to fly out tomorrow morning though.” 

You nod. “Cool. Never been there.” 

“Mexico or Rocky Point?” 

“Both, actually.” 

“You’ve been across the ocean but not the country directly below us?” 

You shrug. “Maybe now that I know someone who can tell me what spots to go to, I’ll make it down there.” 

“So are you going back up to Sacramento for Christmas or staying with your brother?” 

“I haven’t decided yet. Christmas with Nick,” you pull a face. “It’ll end up just waiting for him to be an ass and then listening to Deb complain about him. Then I’ll take the girls out to do something and Nick will find us and Deb will think I did it on purpose and I think I should just make the five hour drive back to Sacramento.” You drain the martini glass and order another one. “But I’ll make the decision tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?” 

You show him the stack of vouchers. “They were feeling generous given tomorrow is Christmas and they ruined a lot of family’s plans. I have vouchers for a new international flight, a hotel room, and $20 for dinner.” 

“Wow. All I got was ‘Come back tomorrow and we’ll try again.’” 

He orders a second beer and starts asking questions about the horses you were going to look at, what exactly is “eventing” and what you liked about visiting Ireland. He has to admit that the competition that you’re involved in aligns more with Nick’s personality than he thought it would with yours. Jumping six foot jumps in mud and sand, seems to be more for adrenaline seekers than what he had envisioned. You start to ask him about his family and what he looks forward most at the family gathering in Mexico. He tells you about the massive amounts of food, the beach bonfires, and being able to listen to the ocean from his uncle’s home. By the time there’s a lull in the conversation, he realizes it’s almost midnight and he has four missed texts from his family. He glances over them and sighs. 

Let us know if you can get a flight tomorrow. 

Your mom wants to know if you have a girlfriend, who is she, and is she coming with you? 

If you don’t, she’s got like three girls lined up from next door. All in the 40’s and good Catholic girls, just warning you. 

Any word on flights? 

“Everything alright?” you ask. 

“Yeah, fine. You have your family drama and I have mine.” 

You laugh. “Sounds like your family is pretty normal from how you described them.” 

He has four beers in him and is tired so he’s more honest than normal. “I have three sisters and one brother. My brother isn’t married and has no desire to be so when I got married it was up to me to carry on the Magalon name. Now that I’m divorced, my mother is panicking about the family line dying out.” 

You laugh, but unlike Nick’s laugh, yours holds no harshness. “So your Christmas gift is a new woman.” 

He glances down at his phone. “Looks that way. Maybe I won’t catch a flight tomorrow morning.” 

“Nah,” you shake your head. “Whenever I talk to a client about handling a horse, I also say ‘you have to be smarter than the animal.’ So, be smarter than your mom. Cut her off at the pass. Tell her you do have a girlfriend. Hell, show her a picture of me and call it done.” 

“So lie?” 

You give him the side eye. “Like you haven’t done worse than that before.” 

He laughs. “Better yet, I could just take you with me.” 

You start to laugh but stop. “You’re not serious.” 

He certainly wasn’t when he said it but, well, why not? “You got somewhere to be?” 

You tap the side of your martini glass as you think about his offer. “I do have a voucher for an international flight.” 

“And you already have your passport.” 

“And I’ve never been to Mexico before.” 

“Be my fake girlfriend for a family Christmas at the beach or stay here with your brother.” He holds his hand out towards you with a small smile. 

“Well, when you put it that way,” you slip your hand into his and give it a shake. “You have a deal there, Benny.” 

“Nick can never find out.” 

“Oh God, no, never.” 

Benny laughs and orders another round of drinks, sincerely hoping this doesn’t blow up in his face.

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #benny magalon #benny borracho magalon #benny magalon x reader #benny magalon x you #den of thieves #maurice compte

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 7: Cobweb

This is my first time writing for Benny “Borracho” Magalon so go easy on me. 

10/7: Cobweb

Universe // Characters: Benny “Borracho” Magalon

Rating: This one is a soft R for language and mild spiciness. 

“Weren’t we supposed to get the lab report on the shell casings?” Conners puts his feet up on the corner of his desk. 

Borracho shuffles through the papers and files on his desk. “Supposed to. Don’t see ‘em yet. Lemme check email.” 

“Don’t fuckin’ bother,” Nick yells from his office. “Fuckin’ internet is down again.” 

Henderson gives a lopsided grin. “Sounds like someone had his porn interrupted. Again.” 

“Fuck you!” Nick shouts back. “Borracho, call down to IT. See if you can light a fire under their asses.” 

Borracho grumbles but picks up the phone away. “Why is it always me?” 

“Because that cute little IT girl likes you,” Zapata snorts. 

Henderson leans back in his chair. “And Z here struck out with her so she won’t do shit for him. But our man B here still has a chance.” 

Borracho flips them off just as you answer the phone. 

“IT. Yes, we know the internet is down. Yes, we’re trying to get it up and running again as soon as possible. Yes, we know you have very important jobs to do.” 

He clenches his jaw to keep from smiling at the level of exasperation in your voice. “It’s Magalon from Major Crimes.” 

There’s half a beat of silence on the other end of the phone and then. “Yes, I will meet you in the server room in five minutes.” 

He hangs up the phone and makes note of the time. In three minutes he’ll get up and leave but until then, he fiddles with the computer mouse and acts like he’s trying to solve the problem. 

“Well?” Nick comes out of his office, chomping loudly on something. “What’d IT say?” 

“Something about a car accident knocking out a tower. They told me to try to reconnect on the computer and if that didn’t work, go reset the server.” 

“So, we’re fixing it now ourselves?” Nick scoffs. “What’re we fucking paying them for? Probably just some fucking technical college moron paid to push buttons and record our calls.” 

“Or monitor our browsing history,” Henderson hides a smile behind his protein shake. 

“That’s why you watch it on your phone, asshole.” Nick responds. “What are you, a fucking ameture?”  

Three minutes is up and Borracho stands up from his desk, heading out of the bullpen and towards the server room. Not knowing who he might run into on the forty-three second walk to the glorified closet that houses the servers and modems for the LA Sheriff's department, he keeps his head down and continues to tamper down the smile that threatens to show on his face. 

You’re not some moron from a technical college paid to push buttons. You’re a graduate of MIT and also hold a Masters from Cal Tech. You’re a freaking genius, trying to get into the FBI as an intelligence analyst with a focus on internet and social media postings. He remembers listening to you in the dark bedroom, your eyes bright even in the dim lighting, as you talked about algorithms and online flags that you were in the process of developing in an effort to track social media posts that could be used as warning signs for potential mass shooters. 

He pushes open the door to the server room and you’re already there, swinging wildly at something in the corner and sputtering. He automatically reaches for his pistol thinking there was someone else in there that you are trying to defend yourself against but as his eyes adjust, he sees it’s just you. 

“Boxing with a ghost there, mamí?” 

You’re still spitting and pawing at the air. “Damn cobwebs! Doesn’t anyone clean in here?!” 

“Why would they clean a closet?” 

“Because there’s over half a million dollars worth of equipment here that is being used to keep LA safe.” 

Borracho laughs shortly and steps over to you, tugging his flannel shirt over his hand and swiping over your face. “I don’t think it’s working. How’s that?” 

You wiggle your nose and pass a hand over your cheeks. “Good.” 

The smile he’s been holding back finally emerges. “Good.” 

He leans down and presses his lips to yours and you lean into him. There is no hesitation on your part, there never has been from the first time he kissed you in this enclosed space. Your arms slide around his chest, your fingers press into his shoulder blades, and it feels like you’re trying to superimpose yourself on him. He’s going to feel the press of your body against him for the rest of the day, clinging to him with the stubbornness of cobwebs. 

You slip your tongue into his mouth and he pushes you back against the cement wall with a low growl. He moves his knee between your legs and feels your grind against his thigh. He’s trying to remember if he has a condom in his wallet when you tip your head back and break the kiss. 

“Benny…” 

God, he loves hearing you say his name. He starts pressing open mouth, sloppy kisses along your perfumed neck. 

“Benny.” 

You’re more insistent but he’s still focused on the slender column of your throat.

“Benjamin!” 

He groans in frustration and takes half a step back. “IT should stand for ‘infuriating tease.’” 

You laugh lightly. “I’m sorry, baby. Tonight though?” 

It’s a Friday night and Nick is having one of his parties. But fuck it. You’re the only addictive substance and girl he wants. “Yeah, tonight. Six?”

“Your place or mine?” 

He smiles and presses a quick kiss to your lips. “I’ll pick you up. Let’s do a proper date tonight.” 

“Oh my. What’s the occasion?” 

I love you. You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you have no business giving me a second look but you did and now I can’t get enough of you. That’s what he wants to say but all he manages is a small shrug and “No reason.” 

You hum in acceptance. “Okay. Six it is. And Benny?” 

“What?” 

You reach off to the side and press a switch, the modem that sends the connection to Major Crimes thrumming to life. “You really need to stop turning off the modem to get me up here.”

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #benny magalon #benny borracho magalon

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 24: Netherworld

10/24: Netherworld

Universe // Characters: Mariposa // Horacio Carrillo 

“Do you miss your home, in the United States?” 

It’s been raining nonstop for three days which is not that unusual in Medellín, but it still fascinates you. It’s a rare weekend that finds Horacio taking up temporary residence in your apartment and neither one of you has been fully dressed for twenty-four hours so far. You’re currently curled up on the trunk that sits under the bedroom window, in biking shorts and one of his t-shirts, watching the rain drip off the corrugated roof. You look over your shoulder at Horacio, who’s sprawled out on your bed, shirtless and smoking a cigarette. 

“What home?” you ask him with a smirk. “The homeless shelter in Phoenix or The Farm in Virginia?” 

He frowns slightly. “You’ve never told me what kind of farm it was.” 

“That’s because it’s not a farm. It was called The Farm. It was where you go to be trained by the CIA. The land and area where it was located was lovely. It rained, sometimes like this, but not often. It was green, until fall came. Then all the trees turned colors: reds, oranges, bright yellow. It was beautiful.” 

“And then?” 

“Then the leaves fell and it was cold, wet, and miserable until spring came. And then everything came back to life again.” 

“No snow?” 

“No, we were too far south for there to be snow. If it snows, it never lasts for long down there.” 

“And you liked that? The changing landscape?” 

“The desert was so desolate and unchanging. There was very little variation. Plus, I was so busy trying to survive, I didn’t get to spend a lot of time enjoying the great outdoors in Phoenix. I mean, Camelback Mountain was cool the first couple times you see it and climb it, but I like watching the seasons change. I like the cycle. Death and rebirth.” 

“Hades and Persephone.” He grinds out the butt of the cigarette in the chipped ashtray on your bedside table. “Isn’t that how the Greeks explained the seasons? Hades, ruler of the Underworld, falls in love with the beautiful, bright and lovely Persephone and drags her down into hell with him?” 

“Fall and winter, I assume, is her stay in the Netherworld?” 

He nods and sits up. “But then he realizes she’s not made for the darkness of his world and lets her return to the world above for part of the year, as long as she promises to return to him.” 

“Spring and summer.” 

He extends his hand towards you and you immediately leave your spot by the window and join him on the bed. You easily fold yourself against his side, knowing now how to angle your curves against his sharper points. His nose traces over your cheekbone as his lips find the shell of your ear. 

“My Persephone, from the land of sun.” 

“And cactus.” You feel him smile against your jawline as he traces the bone with his lips. You want to point out that he doesn’t make a very good Hades in this scenario. Hades had to trick Persephone, capturing her and forcing her into the Underworld. Horacio hasn’t tricked you to do anything. In fact, all he would have to do is ask and you would willingly follow him straight into the depths of hell. 

The more that you think about it, the more he fits Persephone’s situation. She emerged from the darkness to be reunited with her family, to spend time in the light and celebrate with her own people. You were the darkness, your relationship needing to be kept to the darkness. Horacio would leave tomorrow evening to go back to be with his family, return to the people he belonged with then. But his mouth finds yours and he easily pulls you under him, his hands sliding under your shirt. You let your thoughts go, leaving space in your mind to memorize the feel of him pressing you into your mattress. It becomes easy to forget the awful truth that you’ve just realized. 

You were Hades.

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo #Mariposa Series #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x you

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 18: Gooseflesh

10/18: Gooseflesh (or goosebumps, which is what I used) 

Universe // Characters: The Finca (new multichapter story) // Eduardo Sandoval x Fem! Reader

This one is dedicated to @seltsamkind as this was their idea and I just kind of ran with it. 

Your family’s finca was chosen as a halfway point of travel between Bogotá and Medellín for Presidential Candidate César Gaviria and his security team. You had your father’s hatred for the narcos in the surrounding jungle to thank for this mini-home invasion. There is no cartel activity in a three mile radius around your property thanks to your father’s military training before he became a farmer. 

You didn’t know what to expect so you just drifted behind your mother who was preparing for the house guests: opening rooms to air them out, changing the bedding and fluffing pillows, and then stationing herself in the kitchen. You help with chopping vegetables, kneading dough, and making sure the dishes and silverware are gleaming. 

It’s an impressive display when it’s completed. The long wooden table is filled with all kinds of food, the best linens, porcelain, and silver displayed for use. Your younger sister had even gone out and picked flowers, arranging them in an empty clay pot that usually holds oil. You’re not sure how this rustic fare is going to be received by those who are used to living in the grand metropolis of Bogotá. You had only been there a handful of times in your life, and found the pace to be too fast, the people too busy, and the buildings too tall. All of the “too much” drowned out the birdsong and that was something you couldn’t bear to live without. 

The group that your father leads into the dining room is much smaller than you anticipated. There are only eight people. You and your mother had prepared a feast for twenty. Your father offers the seat at the head of the table to Gaviria, who declines it graciously, but firmly. You watch him closely as you all sit down for the meal and notice how he relaxes almost immediately. The slightly forced smile eases into something more genuine. The tension in his posture disappears as well. 

The same can not be said for his head of security, who chooses the seat next to you. He is tall, head and shoulders over you, and sits unnaturally poised in his chair as if he’s ready to spring to his feet at any given moment. The alert energy he gives off makes you uneasy. That is until his constantly roaming eyes pass over your face and you’re stunned at the color of them. They’re blue, but the deep, rich color of the hydrangeas that grow below your bedroom window. You’ve never seen eyes that color before and now it’s your turn to sit uncomfortably still at the table. 

He introduces himself to you quietly as Eduardo Sandoval. You whisper your name back to him but he must not hear it because he leans closer to you until you repeat it. His cologne stings your nose but you notice the delicate curve of his dark lashes as they lay on his cheek when he blinks. You’re caught between the odd pull of either reaching under the table to discreetly touch his hand or excuse yourself to throw up. 

You’re not naive. You know what these conflicting feelings are, you just wish it didn’t have to happen now and with someone like him. This finca, or one similar to it, is going to be your life. You will marry when a suitable man asks your father for your hand. You’ll wed in the spring, settle in your new home over the summer, and be ready to harvest the bananas, broccoli, cabbage, and strawberries come fall. By the following harvest, you would pick strawberries with a baby in a sling around your chest. So when you indulge yourself with a glance at the man seated next to you, in his tailored suit and educated accent, you feel a pang of disappointment. He, or anyone else like him, is not your future. 

Other than your internal struggle, dinner is a pleasant affair. All your guests seem to enjoy the food, and once the initial nerves dissipate, the smiles come easier to all around the table. You help your mother clear the table while your father and brother show the security team around the main house. You are placed in charge of brewing the coffee and plating the dessert before taking it out to the patio. There are a couple chairs, benches, and a long couch that are set up around a brick fire pit. When you deliver the tray of coffee and sweets, it is only César Gaviria that is out there. 

“La cena fue encantadora. Gracias por todo lo que hiciste para prepararlo. (Dinner was lovely. Thank you for everything you did to prepare it.)” 

“Muchas gracias por decirlo. Nos alegramos de que lo hayas disfrutado. (Thank you very much for saying so. We’re glad that you enjoyed it.)” 

He politely declines the dessert but takes an offered cup of coffee. “¿Tienes un momento para sentarte? (Do you have a moment to sit?)” 

When the possible future president of the country asks you to sit, you do. The uncomfortableness returns, the tightness to the smile and the rigid set of his shoulder. You’re a terrible hostess if you can’t put your guests at ease. But you suppose this is a reciprocal situation: you’re both uncomfortable and that energy is being bounced back and forth between you. 

“Háblame de tu familia. ¿Cuánto tiempo has vivido en esta tierra? (Tell me about your family. How long have you lived on this land?)” 

“Hemos vivido aquí durante cuatro generaciones. Ahora, son mis padres y mi hermana menor y mi hermano. (We’ve lived here for four generations. Now, it’s my parents and my younger sister and brother.)” 

He nods thoughtfully. “Extraño a mi familia. Tuve que despedirlos por su seguridad. (I miss my family. I had to send them away for their safety.)” 

“Estoy seguro de que debe haber sido una decisión muy difícil. (I’m sure that must have been a very difficult decision.)” 

“Fue. (It was.)” He stares into the flames of the fire for a moment before refocusing on you, a slightly easier smile on his face. “Ha sido maravilloso poder pasar tiempo con tu familia cuando extraño a la mía. Gracias por eso. (It has been wonderful being able to spend time with your family when I'm missing mine. Thank you for that.)” 

The sincerity is unmistakable in his words and it touches your heart. The intimidating feeling of having such an important man, a figurehead, visit your humble home, has dissipated. He’s just a man who is missing his family. You smile, genuinely, and relax the tension from your shoulders. 

“Me alegro de que podamos ofrecerle consuelo. (I’m glad we could offer you solace.)” 

The two of you sit in companionable silence for a few minutes before you’re joined by Eduardo. He nods to César, most likely a confirmation that everything is safe for the evening, before picking up a cup of coffee and a plate of strawberries and cream. You try to stay focused on Gaviria, since he is the one that invited you to sit with him, but your eyes are consistently drawn to Sandoval. You suddenly turn into a researcher, taking note of how he folds himself into the chair, arranging his long legs and arms so he’s comfortable. Given the darkness of the night, his eyes appear much darker than they are, but when a log pops and emits a high flame, you can still see the blue of them. 

You listen to the two men speak of security measures and the campaign. You try to pay attention but quickly lose your understanding of that particular landscape. Then the talk turns to fútbol and you completely tune them out. Your focus remains on studying Eduardo, how his voice rises and falls with his discussion of the sport and teams. You watch his hand movements, try to gauge just how long his fingers are, how broad his palms are, and how they would feel against your skin. It’s with this particular train of thought that the exhaustion of the day’s preparation, paired with the warmth of the fire, and the cadence of the men’s voices, catch up with you and you slip into a light sleep.

***

The jungle makes him nervous. It’s too dark, too wild, too easy to conceal threats. It’s not like security is all that much easier in the city, but at least the night is almost as bright as the day with the help of streetlights. You can always see your surroundings in the city. Out here, just inky blackness surrounds him and causes a chill to run down his spine. He can’t see anything past a few feet of the buildings. He hears sounds he’s not familiar with and therefore it’s his imagination that is left to fill in the blanks. But your father, a man who knows the land as if he created it himself, assures him that this is the safest place in Colombia. And since he can’t see through the dark and into the jungle, Eduardo has to take his word for it. 

He does admire the finca, and the family who inhabits it, on the walk back to the patio where he told César to wait for him. The home is old, judging by the hanging vines that cling to outer walls and the size of the bushes adorning the courtyards. But there is no sign of cracks in the plaster or walls crumbling due to its age. The house is loved, as are the people who call it home. Your parents moved and spoke in a syncopation that couples rarely are able to attain. Your younger brother, a lanky teenage boy, showed far more manners that most dignitaries, and your little sister beamed with excitement at having guests, not caring a whit if they were important people or not. 

And then there was you, the oldest sibling. He had chosen the seat by you by sheer  happenstance. He had wanted to place himself directly across from César so he could have a clear view behind him but he gained much more than that. You were beautiful, far more than any of the upper society women in Bogotá. Your hair was loose and straight, your dress simple but well-made. You wore one piece of jewelry, a necklace with a small, teardrop emerald on a gold chain. You were lovely in your simplicity. 

He hadn’t intended to introduce himself. He had one job: get César to Cali and back safely. He didn’t need to know your name, but he felt the need to collect it. Then, you had spoken so softly, he had to ask for it twice and lean closer to you in order to hear it. That’s when he picked up your scent. At first, he thinks it’s perfume but then realizes it’s just you: earthy, herbal, and fresh. It was more intoxicating than the wine. 

Love and relationships have no space in his life though, not now at least. He has a job: protect. And not just protect a politician whose predecessor had already been assassinated, but protect a friend. He and César go back to University together, studying political science and economics. They made a good team, César with his intelligence and strategizing, Eduardo with his bluster and passion. Their combined strengths had carried them this far and it looks like it could carry them all the way to the Presidency. Entertaining the idea of a romance with a farm girl is counter intuitive. 

But he comes upon the patio, with the fire popping and crackling, dancing over the forms of his friend and you. You both look far more relaxed than you had at the table, smiling and talking with equal enthusiasm. A strange pang of jealousy hits him as he wishes he had the subtle charm that César possesses, the soft turn of phrase and warm words that he uses to sway people to see his side of things. What was the phrase Agent Murphy had used once to describe him, “a bull in a china shop?” Perhaps he could work on being less “bullish.” 

“Buenos,” he greets and you both respond in kind. He’s so enchanted by the way the firelight is flickering across your skin and dark eyes, he almost runs into a chair, managing to side step it at the last moment. You don’t seem to notice, staring down at the pattern in the fabric of your skirt, but César does. Eduardo sees that tiny smirk in the corner of his friend’s mouth and knows he’s going to hear about it the rest of the way to Cali. He grabs a plate of strawberries and a cup of coffee before taking the chair that almost tripped him up. 

He runs through the basics of the security measures that they’ve taken at the finca before the conversation slides in fútbol. He keeps glancing over at you to see if you’re even remotely interested in the topic of conversation. Sometimes you are listening, sometimes your head is tilted to the side listening to the sounds from the jungle. When César reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his notebook to go over speech notes for their arrival in Cali, Eduardo notices that you have fallen asleep. Sound asleep. 

It’s not surprising. He noticed all the work that went into the preparation for their arrival. He saw the guest rooms, brightly decorated and meticulously cleaned. He knows the plates of food took time to gather and prepare before they sat on the table. The finca had field workers but it was your mother and siblings that worked in the house. Of course you were tired, how could you not be? 

“Ella se va a volcar. (She’s going to tip over.)” César jots down a couple notes without looking up. “Deberías despertarla o apoyarla. (You should either wake her up, or prop her up.)” 

Eduardo thinks about just waking you up and sending you on your way. It would most likely be for the best. Get you away from him and out of his mind, the sooner the better. He did not have time nor the energy to get involved in some little dalliance with a country girl. He sighs, loud enough for César to hear, before moving over to the couch. He’s in the process of grabbing a pillow when you list to the side and the only way to stop your descent is to wedge his own body between the arm of the bench and you. He is a protector by nature and this is no different. However, he now finds himself stuck in this position and judging from the not so hidden smile on César’s face, you may have had help in your free fall. 

“Debería haberla despertado. (I should have just woken her up.)” 

César frowns slightly. “Disparates. Te hará bien quedarte quieto por una vez. (Nonsense. It’ll do you good to sit still for once.)” 

Eduardo gives him a surprised look. “¿Desde cuándo te volviste tan mandón? (Since when did you get so bossy?)” 

“Me postulo para presidente. Piensa en esto como una práctica. (I am running for president. Think of this as practice.)” 

Eduardo huffs in indignation but does settle back against the corner of the bench. You shift, following him and his movements until your head is resting on his shoulder, hand curled under your chin and laying on his arm. The fire is still jumping and dancing, creating a soft glow to your skin that makes his fingers itch in a desire to slide over the smooth plains of your collarbone and neck. The scent of strawberries and mint fills his nose again and he fights the urge to bury his nose in your hair and stay there all night. 

He’s going to leave tomorrow morning, most likely never to see you again for what reason would bring him back here? César is concentrating deeply on his speech, completely oblivious to Eduardo and the conflict that is occuring at the other end of the couch. As carefully as he can, he drags his fingertips over the back of your bicep and watches as goosebumps erupt across your bare arm. Your brow furrows and you shift closer to him, a consequence of his action though not one that he’s sorry to pay. 

He is going to have to leave you tomorrow morning, he reminds himself again. It’s going to prove a most difficult task as there is so much more he would like to learn about you. But when he pursued this life, this job, he signed on to do nothing but difficult tasks. And those choices always had a price. He just wishes it didn’t have to be companionship.

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #Eduardo Sandoval #Eduardo Sandoval x Reader #Eduardo Sandoval x you

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 5: Begrimed

10/5: Begrimed

Universe/Characters: Pura Vida (Horacio Carrillo, Mariposa, Maya)

“Mommy! Mommy!” 

It always takes you a minute to realize that’s your name. You’ve had so many of them over the years: your birth name, aliases to hide from truancy officers, police, and drug dealers. Even more names as you traveled through the ranks of the CIA, real names paired with codenames. Like Mariposa. But after all these years, and all these names, Mommy just might be your favorite. 

Maya comes running into the kitchen, leaving muddy footprints in her wake. Her clothes are smeared with dirt and leaves, small twigs stuck in the thick curls of her hair. She looks just as wild as the jungle that surrounds them here. 

“What have you gotten into?” 

She laughs, a sound full of pure joy. “Daddy fell in a puddle!” 

Oh boy. “He did? And did you fall in with him?” 

She covers her mouth but a laugh bubbles out between her fingers. “You need to come help him.” 

It’s a…set up. You almost think of the word “ambush” but quickly replace it with something less damaging. It’s like using the phrase “passed on” instead of “dead.” You’ve become good at using words that are pen knives instead of machetes. 

“I need to come help him, huh?” 

She giggles again. “Yup! I can show you where he is.” 

“Oh, I bet you can.” Despite knowing it’s a trap, you still take Maya’s hand and let her lead you outside of the house. All your senses are on alert, waiting for something, anything. You’re almost certain you’re going to get slimed with a bucket of mud and rainwater and Lord knows what else. But then you see Horacio limping out of the treeline, no bucket in his hand. Despite the layer of dirt and grime on his face, you see the wince of pain when he puts weight on his left leg. You almost shout his name, concern overriding your need for secrecy, but you swallow it down as you pick up Maya and almost jog over to him. 

“What happened?” 

He huffs a laugh. “I uh, tripped.” 

“Over a tree root,” Maya adds. 

Horacio gives her a stern look. “You promised when we told Mom it was going to be a snake.” 

“Oh,” Maya looks ashamed. “I forgot.” 

You look at him, begrimed from head to toe, and then also at Maya, who has fared better than her father. “Well now how am I supposed to get the two of you cleaned up in time for dinner?” 

Horacio reaches out towards Maya and she practically jumps into his arms, caked in dirt or not. “I know what we can do.” 

“What?” she whispers back. 

“We can go swimming in the pool.” 

All her joy immediately drains from her face and her eyes swell with tears. “No, Daddy. I don’t want to go in the pool.” 

Now you understand what is going on and you have to hand it to Horacio, his tactical planning skills have not dulled at all over the years of living in Costa Rica. Maya has been terrified of the pool, refusing to put a toe in it. But if all three of you need to go in to get clean…wait…

Before you can turn and run, he’s looped an arm around your torso and pulled you tight against him. Mud and stagnant water rub off and into your shirt and shorts. He is a wicked, wicked man. 

Thankfully it’s just the three of you at the moment on the little finca so when you reach the pool, striping down to your underwear isn’t going to embarrass anyone. Horacio’s clothes are past saving but yours and Maya’s can still be cleaned. Maya stands nervously, chewing on the side of her thumb as you and Horacio jump into the pool. You notice once the dirt and grime start to wash off, there’s a tinge of red in the water too. 

“You just went all out, didn’t you?” 

He grimaces as he rubs a hand over the scratches and cuts on his legs. “It’s all superficial.” 

After surviving that ambush in Colombia, everything is superficial for him. You put your hand on the top of his head and gently push him down under the waterline, rubbing the dirt out of his hair. He pops back up with a leering grin. 

“It's your turn.” 

“But I didn’t get-” 

He sweeps your legs out from under you and you go under the water too. But once again, he never lets you fall without catching you and immediately hauls you up and holds you tight against his chest. You sputter and wipe water out of your eyes as he chuckles. 

“Posa, you need CPR?” 

You try to be mad but you laugh instead. Even after all these years, you’re still so in love with this man. 

“Look, Maya,” he calls out to her, “We’re having fun. Don’t you want to join us?” 

She starts to come to the edge of the pool but stops. She wants to, you can see that, but the fear is still too big a monster to overcome. You and Horacio both move closer to her. 

“It’s okay, sweetie,” you encourage her. “We’ve got you. Just jump right in.” 

You can see the war in her eyes. Fun with her parents. Get clean in the pool and not the cold porcelain tub in the house. But she’s scared of the water, it’s too deep. She won’t be able to stand, even in the shallow end. It’ll overwhelm her. So you give her the small piece of wisdom that has taken years to understand. 

“Go ahead and jump, Maya. Daddy will catch you.” 

Trust. And not just blind trust, but faith in this specific man. A man who was a good, honorable man who let obsession change him into someone almost unrecognizable. Almost. Costa Rica has been the water that washed away all the grime that Colombia had gathered on his soul. You recognize him now as the good, honorable man you fell in love with all those years ago. 

The corners of his eyes soften at your words. He catches your meaning with the statement and smiles as he extends his arms towards Maya. “Mommy’s right, I’ll catch you, mija.” 

She debates for just a few seconds more before taking two running steps and leaping. She’s like a howler monkey, jumping from one tree to another, her arms instinctually wrapping around Horacio’s neck and pulling herself directly to the space under his chin. Her knees to her feet break the water but other than that, that’s all that gets wet on her. Both of you lavish praise on her, telling her how brave she was and how proud you are of her. 

You spend about a half hour in the pool. Maya wants to jump and be caught again and again, which Horacio endures until his right arm becomes too fatigued. Each time he lets her sink further and further into the water, until she is just as clean as you two. You finally get out of the pool, carrying a sleepy Maya and let Horacio drape a towel around you both before planting a kiss on each of your heads. 

“My beautiful, brave girls.” 

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #horacio carrillo #Pura Vida Series

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 19: Cauldron

10/19: Cauldron

Universe // Characters: Los Regalos // Horacio Carrillo 

Horacio Carrillo is many things: dedicated, obsessive even, hard working, efficient, and laser focused. But that laser focus tends to shift into blinders so that all he sees is the carnage that the cartels have unleashed on his beloved country. He sees the blood, drugs, bullets, and bombs and very little else. 

But then you crashed into his bullpen and into his life. You, with your phone calls home filled with awe and wonder. Listening to you describe the colors, sounds, and sights reminded him to take off the blinders and stop viewing his country through a violent lens. He started taking time in the mornings or afternoons to take a pass through the open air markets, look at the handcrafted vendors and street food stalls. That was when he started buying you the little gifts and leaving them on your desk. 

You helped him fall back in love with his country. And then he fell in love with you. 

Now, whenever he feels like he’s losing focus on the positive and the beautiful, he just pays attention to you as you discover something new. You marvel at the thing or experience while he marvels at you. It doesn’t take long into your relationship that your experiences want to expand past Medellín and even Bogotá. You’re a sponge, trying to soak up as much as you can, and that’s when he decides to take you away for a weekend to Cartagena. 

He is not prepared for the level of excitement that you possess when you finally reach the beach and your eyes land on the rolling sea. It’s as if you’d never been to a beach before. Actually…

“Querida, have you never visited the ocean before?” 

Your eyes are wide, trying to take in as many details as possible, while you shake your head. “No. I grew up landlocked on a dairy farm in Michigan. We were always too busy doing the farmwork, we never went on vacation or anything like that. Is that the Caribbean or Atlantic?” 

“It’s the Caribbean.” He slips an arm around your waist, “Let’s not waste any time.” 

And you don’t. You walk the beach like a scientist dedicated to understanding every grain of sand, palm frond, and shell. You splash through tide pools, pocketing shells and sand dollars with a sheepish look, like mother nature is going to slap your hand and reclaim your treasures. He ends up sitting in the shade of a palm tree while you continue to wade in the warm water, learning how to keep your balance with the push and pull of the waves and undertow. Your skin is turning pink from the long exposure in the sun but he doesn’t have the heart to stop your fun. 

Eventually, as is often the case, his mind wanders back to work. His eyes are drawn down the coast, towards Santiago de Tolú. Obviously he can't see the beach or area where Gatcha’s compound had been located but he knows it’s in that direction. That the same water that is lapping around your calves is the same water that he splashed through with thirty-pounds of gear strapped on him in the first successful takedown for Search Bloc. 

“Hey,” you abandon your exploration and throw yourself down on the sand next to him. “You okay?” 

“Yes.” He trails a hand over your cheek and down to the bikini string of your top, moving it slightly to the side. Sure enough, there is a stark contrast of color. “That is going to be most uncomfortable tonight.” 

You lay down next to him on the sand, curling into his side. “I’ll worry about that tonight.” 

He swears he closes his eyes for a minute, just to enjoy the sound of the waves and the feeling of you next to him, when a loud burst of laughter and music wake him up. You must have fallen just as sound asleep based on the look of utter confusion on your face when you sit up. It takes you a moment to orient yourself and while you do that, Horacio gets to his feet. 

The noise that woke you both is actually the reason he brought you here for this particular weekend. He sees the crowd forming on the beach, clusters of locals around large cast iron pots sitting in the middle of a wood fire on the beach. Music is blaring from portable speakers, lights are being hung up on poles to chase away the coming darkness. Steam is rising out of the black cauldrons, the scent of cazuela de mariscos drifting over to you. 

“What is that?” you ask. 

“It’s a seafood festival.” He slips his hand into yours. “Are you ready to have some of the best seafood dishes you’ve ever had in your life?” 

Once again, the wild excitement fills your eyes and you squeeze his hand tightly. “Let’s go.” 

He wonders if you’ll ever lose your enthusiasm. Will the horrors of the world ever knock pieces off of you, sharpening you into something you’re not? He worries it’ll happen to him. That one day he’ll look in the mirror and not recognize his own face because the violence he’s seen and experienced has changed him completely. He sincerely hopes you retain your joy because he’s certain, that’s the only thing that is keeping him from completely taken over by the darkness. 

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x you #los regalos series

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 27: Concoction

10/27: Concoction

Universe // Characters: Den of Thieves - Penny Universe // Benny “Borracho” Magalon 

You had no idea what you had just signed up for when you agreed to go to Mexico. You did know more about Benny than you let on, asking Nick about his coworkers more and more often. You were able to pick up minor details from your brother before suspicion halted your questions. The most important thing you learned is that Nick trusted him more than anyone else on the team. Of course you didn’t have the details as to why that trust had been given, but the mere fact that it was there spoke volumes. 

That was the foundation for your decision to go to Mexico with him. Everything else, the waiting for news of when the rescheduled flight would leave, the flight there, and the ride to his Uncle’s home a couple blocks from the beach, just confirmed that this has the potential to be a good experience. Being around Benny is the opposite of being around Nick. Benny is quiet, not having to constantly fill the time with words or tasteless jokes. Conversation runs smoothly, effortlessly. You’re not waiting for a blow up or walking on eggshells around certain topics. 

It’s relaxing being in his company. 

You’re trying to figure out how to keep up this friendship when you get back to California without Nick finding out and making Benny’s life miserable when he touches your arm to get your attention. 

“Watch out for Luisa, she’s the middle sister,” he warns quietly as you walk up to the front door of the house. “She’s known for mixing drinks and hiding large quantities of coconut rum in them. We call those concoctions ‘truth tellers.’  They'll knock you on your ass and then all three sisters will start asking you questions.” 

Considering some of the things Nick had pulled with you over the years, this sounds fairly innocuous. “Don’t hammer the fruity drinks. Got it.” 

“And if you want to tap out at any time, just let me know.” 

You don’t know why, but his concern touches you more than it should. You manage to give him a smile before the front door opens and chaos ensues. There must be close to thirty people in the house. Kids are playing with their newly acquired toys from the Christmas morning present opening. The smell of food hits and reminds you of just how long it’s been since you’ve eaten some real, home cooked food. The house has large, vaulted ceilings, a huge family room decorated riotously for Christmas, and every available surface in the kitchen has offers of food. 

You meet a few important players, like his mother and uncle, before food and drinks are shoved into your hands. His mother is a stately woman, nicely dressed, hair and make-up well done, and a refined elegance to her. His uncle is more boisterous, barrel chested and full of warmth and welcome. You’re surprised that they greet you with genuine interest but then realize you are being presented as his first girlfriend after a divorce. But they’re polite enough to not bombard you with questions right at the start. 

You end up finding a quiet corner in the living room at a small breakfast bar and try to just stay out of the way while eating some of the best food you’ve ever tasted. But it doesn’t take long for a brightly colored cocktail to be set down in front of you by a pretty young woman. You notice her eyes are the same shade as Benny’s, as is the twist in her smile. 

“I’m Luisa.” 

You give her your real name in return. It’ll be nice to go through a holiday without hearing “Penny” shouted every five minutes. God, you hated that nickname. “I appreciate you all welcoming me to your family gathering.” 

“Well, when Benny said that his new girlfriend had her plans canceled for Christmas,” she shrugs, “what else could we do?” 

You pick up on the undercurrent of suspicion in her tone. “You could have said no.” 

She gives you a slightly surprised look at your forwardness before a true smile creeps across her face. She pushes the drink towards you. “I like you.” 

“Thank you.” You take a sip and sure enough, there’s the coconut rum underneath fresh, sweet fruit juices. It tastes like mango and pineapple. Luisa engages in small talk until about half the drink is gone. Unfortunately for her, you’re Irish, which means you cut your teeth on whiskey in your baby bottle. Literally. But she doesn’t need to know that. 

“How long have you and Benny been going out?” 

“Not that long.” 

“How did you meet?” 

“My brother works with him at the Sheriff's office.” 

“Are you divorced?” 

“No, I’ve never been married.” 

“Kids?” 

“No.” 

“You know he’s divorced, right?” 

You nod. “Six months now, right?” 

“Seven, actually.” She pauses. “Did you know her?” 

“Never met her, no.” You think about asking Luisa about Benny’s ex but don’t want to come across as jealous or insecure. You are the new girlfriend after all. “So tell me about yourself. What do you do?” 

“Marketing. I manage the accounts of the clients on the business side. Did you not meet his ex because you were cheating with him?” 

Right for the jugular and you weren’t even finished with the drink yet. “You accusing your brother of stepping out? Because that seems like something I should know before we go further. Is he a cheater?” 

Luisa gives you a completely shocked look before breaking into a wide smile, and raising her wine glass to the other two sisters across the room. “I like her, she’s good!”  She turns back to you. “And just so you know, she stepped out on him.” 

Benny comes over to where you're sitting and leans on the back of the bar stool. “What are you doing to her? She hasn’t even been here an hour, Lu.” 

“Just telling her about the puta-” 

“Hey, hey,” he interrupts her, “what’d I say about calling her that?” 

Luisa shrugs. “Well, she was.” 

“No more talking about my ex.” 

“Alright,” Lusia says, “what did Benny get you for Christmas?” 

You can feel him tense behind you, hear the hold he has on the back of the barstool tighten. But you just reach for the chain around your neck and show her the simple circle sapphire pendant. 

Lusia nods. “Impressive, Ben.”

You flash him a smile over your shoulder. “I thought so.” 

He leans down and kisses your cheek but uses it as a cover to whisper a quick “thanks” before he’s pulled away by a group of his nephews who want to show him their new drone. The conversation between you and Luisa warms to more friendly topics so when Benny’s two other sisters join, it’s a pleasant interaction. His uncle asks you about your food preferences, pulls out a couple dishes from the oven and piles your plate up with seconds. It takes you most of the afternoon to work through that round, which was just as good as the first. When the sun starts to drop towards the horizon, everyone grabs a chair or blanket and walks the two blocks to the beach. You wonder where Benny and the kids managed to go but you see they’ve actually staked off a large section of the beach and started a bonfire. 

A large cooler with beers and cans of wine is dropped in the sand and you grab two beers before unfolding the blanket you had grabbed. As soon as you land in the soft sand, Benny joins you, picking up the second beer thankfully. 

“I’m getting too old to keep up with them.” 

“You’ve also been up for almost 48 hours,” you remind him. 

“So have you.” He leans back on his elbows. “You ready to tap out yet?” 

You look around the bonfire, everyone spread out in their groups, together but still semi-private. The warmth of the fire pairs well with the chilly sea breeze and beer. You can hear the crash of the waves in the distance, the pop and crackle of the fire, and the low murmur of happy voices. It’s quite honestly the nicest Christmas evening you’ve had in years. “No, I’m good.” 

“Okay.” 

You finish the beer and then lay down on the soft sand. The sky is clear, stars scattered across the night sky. Just when you didn’t think the evening could get even more enjoyable, Benny follows your lead and lays down next to you, your shoulders touching and entwining his fingers with yours. You know it’s for show but a part of you enjoys the feeling of having someone close, touching you. It’s been a couple years since your last relationship and you’ve missed this physicality. 

But Benny complicates the matter for you. He’s a nice guy. A really nice guy based on what you’ve gathered from the last two days spent with him. His family seems to back up your observations. His sisters didn’t say one negative thing about him. If anything, they made it sound like he was the ultimate protector of the family. His uncle smiled whenever he said Benny’s name, smiled large enough that the corner of his eyes crinkled and a dimple appeared in his cheek. His nephews adored him given they were still climbing on him after three hours of playing on the beach. 

There’s a part of you that wishes this isn’t a scam and you’re not quite sure what to do with that realization.

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #benny magalon #benny borracho magalon #benny magalon x reader #benny magalon x you

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 16: Elixir

10/16: Elixir

Universe // Characters: Mariposa // Horacio Carrillo 

You rarely get sick. 

Even the first time he met you, your head in a dumpster, retching and heaving with your whole being, was not an illness per say. It had been food poisoning. Horacio, on the other hand, had caught about five colds in the last two years. You and Julianna both had blamed it on the cigarettes and alcohol. He lived a highly stressful life and flooding his system with booze and tobacco did his immune system no favors. 

Damned if he was ever going to admit to either one of you that you may be right. 

But you, you were much more healthy with your habits than he was. Rarely did you smoke, only when your nerves got the best of you which was not nearly as often as he expected. You drank wine, pulling faces when he offered you aguardiente or whiskey. Sometimes you would drink tequila or vodka but only by adding fruit juices and seltzer to it. He once poured some rum into your Coke and marveled at how revolting you found that mixture. 

Now, however, you’re completely incapacitated with the flu. Fever, chills, vomiting, sore throat…every symptom you have. It’s day three of your illness when Trujillo steps into his office with a small container of liquid. 

“Is Posa still ill?” 

They still fall into the habit of speaking English whenever you’re the subject. Horacio nods. “I’m going over there this afternoon to check on her. What’s this?” 

“Something my mother always makes when one of us gets sick.” He shrugs. “I mentioned to her that Posa wasn’t feeling well so she wanted me to give it to her.” 

Horacio picks up the glass jar and gives the liquid of a swirl. Is the color of whiskey but with bits of herbs floating around in it. “What is it?” 

“She just calls it ‘the elixir.’” 

He immediately puts the jar in his bag. “Tell your mother how much it is appreciated.” 

“I will.” 

They finish out the day, which is unfortunately less than exciting, and Horacio gathers his things as quickly as possible. Julianna is visiting her sister, their daughter with her while his son is away at a weekend fútbol camp. So he has this evening to spend with you in an attempt to nurse you back to health. Honestly, he’s been a little lost with you so incapacitated. 

When he arrives at your apartment and opens the door, he can smell that stale, sickly scent of illness. The apartment is quiet as well, another thing that is out of the ordinary when it comes to your home. Usually you have either the radio or the television on, providing some kind of noise to keep you company. But everything is silent at the moment. He peers into the dark bedroom and sees you buried under a pile of blankets, hearing your quiet snores from all the congestion you’ve been afflicted with for the last week. 

He leaves you to your sleep and opens the stale apartment, letting in fresh air and sunshine in the kitchen and living room. He waters your plants, washes the mugs and glasses that are in the sink, and heats up the leftover chicken soup from the market down the street. The soup has just started to simmer when you appear, pale and bundled in a blanket, leaning on the kitchen doorway. 

“When did you get here?” Your voice is rough and raspy. 

“About twenty minutes ago.” 

He maneuvers you to the couch and props you up with the pillows. “I’ll bring you some soup. Trujillo’s mother made something for you too.” 

Your eyes immediately glass over with tears. Or fever. It’s hard for him to tell. But he has noticed whenever someone shows you a kindness, particularly one that would be shown to a family member, it makes you emotional. He gives you two mugs, one of soup and one of the “elixir.” He continues to straighten up the small space while you take in as much of the soup and other liquid as you can and then remove those dirty dishes and clean them. When he’s finished with that task, he comes back to the couch and finds you sound asleep. He ends up watching the news until he’s falling asleep on the couch and then carefully carries you back to bed, eventually crawling in beside you. Around two in the morning, you wake and sit up in bed. The movement disrupts his slumber and he rolls over so he can see you. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You’re kicking off the blankets and peeling your t-shirt over your head. You’ve been together for over two years and modesty is a thing of the past. “I think my fever broke. My clothes and sheets are soaked.” 

You sound more like yourself. You’re moving around the space with sharper motions and more energy than he’s seen. This is a good sign. “Go take a quick shower and change.” 

You go do as he says as he strips the bed and replaces the sheets. By the time you’re emerging from the bathroom in clean pajamas, he’s already half asleep in the remade bed. He feels the mattress dip as you climb back under the sheets and immediately curl against his side. 

“Thank you.” 

He kisses your forehead, which is now blessedly cool under his lips, and then lets sleep take over once more. 

Two days later, you’re back on your feet and completely recovered. Trujillo spots you in the park reading a book and since they’re supposed to be out making a presence known in Medellín, he and Trujillo make a pass by your bench. Horacio stifles a smile. 

“Señora.” 

You glare up at him over the top of your book. “Eso es señorita para usted, Coronel. (That’s miss to you, Colonel.)” 

“¿Sigues esperando que alguien te convierta en una mujer honesta? (Still waiting for someone to make a honest woman out of you?)” 

You sigh dramatically. “Soy. (I am.)” 

Trujillo snorts. “Buena suerte con eso. (Good luck with that.)” 

You swat at him with your book and smile. “Estúpido. (Asshole.) But please, thank your mother for the drink she made for me when I was sick. It really helped.” 

Trujillo gives you a confused look. “Drink?” 

“Yeah,” you reach into your bag and pull out the empty glass jar and hand it to him. It’s filled with candies now, a thank you gift for Señora Trujillo. 

Trujillo looks at the jar and gives you a slightly alarmed look. “You said it worked?” 

“Yes.” 

He hums. “I’ve never seen anyone drink it before. We just put it on our throats and chests.” 

The look of horror on your face is priceless, so sincerely mortified that both Horacio and Trujillo burst out laughing. When you realize they’re laughing at you, you swat both of them with your book. 

“Assholes! The both of you!”

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x you #Mariposa Series

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 22: Phantasm

10/22: Phantasm

Universe // Characters: Dustland Fairytale // Javier Peña x Mariposa (mention of Carrillo) 

Notes: Graphic description of a gunshot wound and blood

It happens with a flash and a bang. 

It’s been so long since you’ve heard one, it takes you a moment to recognize the sound of a gunshot. It takes another moment for you to realize you’ve been shot. You drop the feed pail you had in your hand as you watch the skinny teenager turn and run out of the barn. 

You and Javier had been taking matters into your own hands when it came to the boats on the Rio Grande. You sit on ridges and take pot shots at them passing by, never hitting the people but hitting the water close enough to splash them. You’ve snuck down the riverbanks and hammered screwdrivers through the bottom of the metal boats, sinking more than you could remember. It was only a matter of time before someone retaliated. 

And now they have. 

You blindly reach out for something to lean on, your hands finding the feed bin. The thought that this could have been Chucho or Javi crosses your mind as your world spins and you land on the old wooden floor planks. You’re glad it was you that offered to feed the horses this morning. You’re glad Chucho and Javi are still inside the house, drinking coffee. You’ve been on the ranch now five years and it’s been a wonderful five years. If this is how you die, then so be it. You’ve known peace and that’s more than what most people experience at the end. 

You can hear Javi’s voice in the distance calling your name. You try to answer him but there’s liquid in your throat and you choke on it. Bright red splotches land on the wood and are quickly absorbed. You’re watching it disappear when you see movement in the shadows. You think it’s another attacker, fear suddenly breaking out across your body. Javi…no, you need to stop him from coming into the barn. 

But then the figure steps out of the shadows and you can see who it is: the spit-polished black boots, well-worn green fatigues, straight nose, brown eyes, and dark hair. You can feel the floorboards beneath you give way under his weight as he leans down over you, a smile softening his features. 

“Hola, Mariposa.” 

You try to talk around the blood in your throat and enough of his name must make its way out because he smiles enough for a dimple to appear in his cheek. 

“Horacio.” 

***

He knows he has to clear the barn before checking on you, so he grits his teeth and does that. Whoever had been lying in wait is long gone now. Javier shoves his gun into the waistband of his jeans and immediately goes to you. He can hear the sirens, frighteningly faint, in the distance. 

You’re on your back, blood pooling underneath you and running down your cheek and chin. It looks like the bullet hit you high in your side. You most likely have a collapsed lung and he prays to Mary, Joseph, Jesus, and anyone else who will listen, that it’s only your lung that’s damaged. The amount of blood loss is starting to tell another story. He takes off his button down shirt and uses it to put pressure on your wound. Your eyes, which had been focused on the corner of the barn, swing back to him. 

“Cariño, look at me.” 

Your eyes keep shifting between him and the corner. 

“Is that where they came from?” He’s trying to get you to concentrate on something other than bleeding out. But you shake your head and shakily point to the corner. 

“‘’Racio.” 

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up. If you’re seeing things, seeing people, then you’re running out of time faster than he thought. 

“Well, you tell him to fuck off because it’s not your time yet.” 

You try to smile. “You tell ‘im.” 

The sirens are getting closer so Javier picks you up from the floor, pressing the wadded up shirt between the two of you to keep the pressure up on the wound. When he gets outside, the ambulance is on the property and heading for the barn. 

The EMTs don’t even waste time getting the gurney out, they just let Javier up into the back and he puts you down on the white sheets. You’re so pale and it scares him. But then one of the EMTs taps him on the shoulder. 

“We’re going to need the space. Follow behind us.” 

And just like that, he’s kicked out of the ambulance. As soon as his feet are back on the ground, the doors shut and the vehicle is speeding down the dirt lane away from the ranch. 

“Mijo!” 

Chucho already had the passenger side door of the farm truck open and Javier jumps in, swinging the door shut and they’re following the dust trail left behind by the ambulance. 

“How bad is it?” 

Javier drags a hand over his face. “I don’t know, Pops. It looks bad. Side shot. She, uh,” he clears his throat. “She was seeing people.” 

Chucho hums but doesn’t say anything else. 

The ride to the hospital seems to take forever. Javier keeps his eyes glued to the back of the ambulance, trying to figure out what exactly is happening in there. But the back windows are tinted and he can’t see in there. When they reach the hospital, the ambulance pulls straight into the ER bay while Javier and his father had to find a parking spot in the parking garage. By the time they make it to the ER reception area, you’re already in surgery. 

So the wait begins. 

A few of Chucho’s friends who had been in the hospital visiting family members hear about the shooting and come down to sit with them. Lorraine and a couple other of your friends show up as well to hold a vigil. Cheap coffee cups are routinely shoved into his hands. Lorraine brings the latest one. 

“I’d offer you a cigarette but they frown on smoking in hospitals nowadays.” 

He tries to smile but can’t quite manage it. “Thanks for coming.” 

“Well, she’s my friend.” There’s a pause. “As are you, Javi.” 

He looks over at the group of three other women that came with Lorraine. The four of them together had come around you when you returned to the ranch. They included you in family BBQs, girls night out at the local bar, pot lucks, and many other events. You frequently came home from one of their outings smiling and relaxed. You had found your family. And now, it looks like you only had five years to enjoy it. 

“Mr. Peña?” 

He stands up as the surgeon comes over to him. There’s blood still on his scrubs. “Yeah?” 

“She’s out of surgery and in recovery right now. If you want to sit with her as she comes out of the anesthesia, you can. The bullet went in her side, at an upright angle but thankfully it nicked one of her rib bones and that slowed it down so it didn’t make it to her heart. There’s a lot of blood loss but that’s easily fixed with rest and time. We can do a transfusion if necessary but we’ll know better where we stand with that tomorrow.” 

“So, she’s going to be okay?” He wants to make sure he understands what the doctor is saying. “She’s going to make it?” 

The surgeon smiles and claps him on the shoulder. “Yes, she’s going to be just fine. It’s going to be a decently long recovery, but she will recover.” 

The sense of relief he feels almost buckles his knees but he manages to stay upright. His father gives him a nod, letting him know he heard the news and will tell those gathered around them. Javier follows the surgeon down the white hallways until they arrive at a corner bay with the curtains still drawn around the hospital gurney. A nurse finishes checking all the vitals and IV lines before giving him a brief smile and leaving the area. 

You still look pale, almost the same color as the hospital sheets. At least this time there’s no blood staining your clothes or skin. He carefully slips his hand around yours, his mother’s opal ring on your left hand clinking against his own gold band. Three years of marriage. He’s thankful that it’s not “only three years.” 

Your eyes start to move behind your eyelids and it’s not long before they open. They’re glassy and your pupils are dilated, and a smile tugs at your lips. 

“Javi.” 

“Hey. This is not the way to get out of chores.” 

You huff a laugh but the good humor quickly fades. “He was just a kid, Javi. Some, skinny, scared teenager.” 

“Most of them are.” He fights the urge to squeeze your hand tighter. “Are you, uh, are you seeing any visitors?” 

The drugged smile comes back. “No. I did what you told me to. I told him to fuck off. That I wasn’t ready to go yet.” You sigh tiredly. “You’ve given me a perfect life, with family and friends, and love and I don’t have to hide. How could I leave that, leave you? He agreed.” 

“Perfect, huh?” 

You do squeeze his hand, but with only a partial amount of your regular strength. “Perfect, Javi.” You yawn dramatically and close your eyes. “You should have seen those sheep.” 

“Sheep?” 

“Yeah, the ones on the jet skis.” 

For the first time in hours, he laughs. He also pulls out his phone. “You know what, babe, I think now would be a great time to call Steve and Connie.”

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #dustland fairytale series

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 21: Lycanthrope

10/21: Lycanthrope

Universe // Characters: Law and Order: SVU // Detective Mike Duarte 

X349 Bronx River High School 

Tremont Ave

Captain Mike Duarte is back to square one. 

Well, less that square one now that Muncy left the Bronx Gang Unit to pitch her hat in the ring with the Special Victims Unit, and he was down a detective. But since he finds himself back at the beginning of building a case against BX9, and eventually Oscar Papa, he decides to take a different approach this time. 

Family members of BX9 were getting him nowhere. They were either loyal and kept their mouths shut or they were scared and kept their mouths shut. Jilted girlfriends and baby mamas left high and dry with no support are more than happy to spill the dirt on their on again/off again paramours, but the information tends to be one sided and blown out of proportion. He had been thinking of finding a source he could tap that would be the most unbiased when the answer landed in his lap, or rather his hand.

You had called him, the new Dean of Students at the Bronx River High School in the middle of Tremont. 

How you got his number is a question he intends to ask as he approaches the pale yellow building that houses the Bronx River High School. He passes through the metal detectors, just the first lines of defense before having to check in with a front desk security guard behind bullet proof glass, and then buzzed through three metal doors. It’s easier to get into the police station. 

You come out into the small waiting room to greet him, shaking his hand firmly and thanking him for coming on such short notice. He tries to hide his smile as he follows you down a narrow hallway to your office at the way you’re dressed: a nicely tailored gray suit with a pale pink blouse and a pair of beat up Converses. Your hair is dark and curly, only partially pulled back by a dark, glossy barrette. You’re practical and that gives him some hope that this might be a good place to start the rebuild of the case. 

“I’m sorry I don’t have much,” you motion to the mostly empty office. “This is my first year as a principal and I haven’t had a chance to set up my office yet.” 

“A desk, a couple of chairs, looks good to me.” 

You give him a tight smile and he notices the boxes stacked neatly under the window. Every single one of them is labeled in neat lettering, all in the upper right hand corner of the box. Fiction books. Nonfiction books. ELA 11. AP Lang. Decorations. 

“You were an English teacher?” He points the boxes behind you and you follow the motion. 

“Oh, yes. I was. For ten years actually.” There’s another tight smile. “I got promoted this school year. Our previous Dean of Students retired early and when the position opened up, the head principal, Dr. Caban really wanted me to take it. So,” you shrug, “I did.” 

He starts to ask why exactly you called when there’s a knock at the door. A tall, thin man in a nice suit and tie steps into the office. 

“Ah, speak of the devil,” you say. “Detective Duarte, this is Dr. Caban.” 

He shakes the principal’s hand. “I was just getting ready to ask why I was called in? Gangs don’t usually conduct business in schools. Gang members don’t typically even go to school.” 

“True, but we’ve been seeing an uptick in some tagging around the school.” Dr. Caban retreats back to the door. “This is more her thing, than mine. I personally don’t know how much help you can be, but she’s surprised me more than once. So, just let me know if you need anything, Detective.” 

Duarte watches Caban give you one last, briefly lingering look, that you fail to notice. It could simply be that you’re focused on arranging folders and papers on your desk and you just miss it or it could be a one-sided thing. The more he studies your face, pretty in a natural, earthy way, the more he hopes it’s a one-sided thing with Caban. 

“Okay, Detective, this is why I called you.” You slide a couple pictures over to him. “While most gangs don’t do business on school grounds, we are starting to see more and more graffiti pieces in the bathrooms, hallways, and classrooms. There was a big surge of BX9 tags after Sleep died and the other two members were charged with rape, but nothing happened in the school.” 

He shuffles through the pictures. There were lots of BX9 tags, along with variations of honoring Sleep’s death, the most common one being “RIP Zzzz.” But then he sees a completely unfamiliar tag. “LCTRP” with two dog ears framing the top of the letters, one of the L and the other on the P. “What is this?” 

“This is what I need your help with.” You take a seat behind your desk. You’re sporting a smile that is verging on a laugh. “This is so ridiculous that I hope you don’t think I wasted your time with this. Because of the big surge of BX9’s tags, it’s started to encourage other wannabe gangs to pop up. Most have completely fizzled out but these guys, I’m afraid they’re going to get themselves hurt or worse if they keep up with this nonsense.” 

“So it’s a new gang?” 

You do laugh at that. “You could say that. They’re a bunch of Harry Potter fans trying to pass themselves off as gang members. LCTRP, which is clue one they’re not actually gang members because really, try spray painting that on a subway wall, which stands for ‘lycanthrope.’ They’re paying homage to Remus Lupin, a character from Harry Potter who was a werewolf.” You sadly shake your head. “Moony would not be impressed with this behavior.” 

He actually has to chuckle a bit at this as well even though most of what you said in reference to Harry Potter meant nothing to him. “When book nerds go bad, huh?” 

“They can’t even really go bad. We found out about them when we caught one of them cleaning their own graffiti off the bathroom walls after school. He told me about the group but is refusing to give up the other members. That’s where you come in.” 

“You want me to find the rest of the group?” 

“Yes. Just scare them, though. I have a feeling these kids are just playing with something that they don’t actually understand. And with BX9 being so prevalent, I don’t want them to become cannon fodder.” 

“So why call me for a group of kids playing at being thugs?” 

Your good humor slips slightly. “Because I know you’ve been chasing BX9 for quite a while now. Kids talk, have disciplinary and truancy issues, the parents have a lot of interaction with the principals here, it could be a good ground zero for you. If you want to approach it that way at least.” 

It’s a good offer. Even if it doesn’t shake out, at least he has a connection in the Tremont neighborhood. “Alright. I’ll do it.” 

Your smile comes back. “Great! If you want, I can walk you down to our resource officer’s office and get you a security shirt. He can also get you set up with a radio and keys too. That’ll give you access to all areas in the school.” 

“Fantastic.” 

You both stand up and head out of the office. You stay a couple steps ahead of him, your pace brisk and confident. You nod to a couple kids along the way, tell a couple to go back to class. The kids act like they know you, have known you, for a while. They greet you, are respectful towards you, most even smile when they see you. He can see why Caban wanted you in the position of Dean, you already had established and positive relationships with the kids. You unlock the door to the security office and turn on the light. It’s the size of a cubicle, filled with monitors but no one is in there watching them. 

“Resource officer on break? With the rest of the security team?” 

You laugh shortly. “You’re funny. Our officer is shared between three other schools and our security team consists of two retired cops who are either golfing or taking a nap in the custodian’s closet.” 

That’s a disaster waiting to happen. He makes a mental note to bring in a couple of his guys to also act as security officers around the school. If he’s going to stir the pot, he needs to make sure there’s going to be enough hands on deck to handle what’s going to come to the surface. You hand him a polo shirt with the school name embroidered on it along with a jacket with the same embroidery. 

“All the radios sit on chargers over there until someone heads out of the booth. Other than that, I would suggest you conceal carry your weapon for the time being.” 

“And should I wear stylish kicks like yours?” 

“When an all team call goes out on the radio, I’m running to the location. Can’t do that in heels.”

“So wear my running shoes.” 

“Yes,” you smile widely, “Wear your running shoes. I’ll have a badge, key cards and keys ready for you tomorrow morning.” 

You turn off the lights and hold the door open for him, locking it when it closes. “School starts at 7:15 so if you want to show up around 7 that should be good. We let out at 2:30. You do what you need to do and let me know if I can help in any way. I’ve taught just about every student here except for this year’s freshmen, and I’ve probably taught their older siblings in that case.” 

“Great. It’s nice to have some insider information.” 

“If you don’t have any questions for me, I’ll let you look around the school, get the layout down. Wear the security jacket though so no one reports a stranger wandering the halls. It’s pretty straightforward though: cafeteria back there, classrooms down the hallways. There are staircases in the middle of each wing and in the main lobby that lead to the second floor. The basement houses the gym, weight room, and pool.” 

He pulls the jacket on and stuffs the polo shirt into the pocket. “I do have one question for you. How did you get my number?” 

You give him a slightly confused look. “I just called the number on the back of your business card.” 

Back of his business card? “I think I would remember you if I had handed you a business card with my personal number on the back.” 

“Personal number?” 

“Yeah, you called my private cell phone line. I’m just wondering how you got that number?” Ever since he had worked undercover and Sleep and Maetiss had found out where he lived, he always made sure to keep his information private. The Dean of Students at a high school having his personal cell number didn’t raise too much worry but if you had it, who else had it? 

You clench your jaw and cross your arms, clearly annoyed. “My friend gave it to me. She told me to call you and have you come out to the school. I’m now wondering if your number wasn’t given to me by accident.” 

“Who’s your friend?” 

“Grace Muncy. We grew up in the same neighborhood, over by Little Italy here in the Bronx.” 

Muncy, of course. He knew she wouldn’t leave the gang unit high and dry. She knew how hard he took the DA’s decision to go with the rape charges and not pursue the route that could have lead to Oscar Papa’s arrest. She didn’t want to leave him completely empty handed. 

She handed him you. He’s going to have to send her a box of cannoli’s for that. 

“Muncy doesn’t do anything by accident. Which also means, she must trust you a lot.” 

A touch of sadness comes into your eyes. “Yeah, I trust her quite a bit too. Her and her brother are good people. You know they’re moving, right?” 

“Yeah, I do.” He sighs. “But I know where she's going and the people she’s going to be working with. They’ll do right by her.” 

“They better.” 

He laughs quietly at the threatening tone in your statement. He absently wonders what an investigation would look like with you and Benson in the same room, both strong-minded women laser focused on an issue. “Well, I’m glad you called. I was running out of options of where to restart the investigation. So, thank you.” 

“Well, thank me after you deal with the wolf pack and your real investigation starts. I don’t know if it'll be worth your time, Detective.” 

“Mike.” 

“What?” 

“My name, it’s Mike.” 

You repeat his name, a habit most likely born of having to memorize so many student’s names. You tell him your name, to make it a fair exchange, before letting him have a run of the school. He watches you nod to a student, who throws up his hands in defense, but you calmly point down the hallway and the kid reluctantly goes. Duarte continues to watch you walk away and just as you turn the corner, the kid passes by him. 

“Don’t even, bro. She’s a ball buster for sure.” 

Duarte cracks half a smile. He does have a type, that’s for certain. “Yeah. What do you know about ball busters?” 

“Enough,” the kid mutters before going into the classroom two doors down. 

He’s going to have to send Muncy two boxes of cannolis.

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #maurice compte #mike duarte #mike duarte x reader #mike duarte x you