#hugo martinez x reader

[drabbles-mc]

Crumbling

Hugo Martinez x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, angst, language, established relationship, emotional hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: watched season three, episode 4 of narcos today and I'm not okay about it. since i can't go and stay by the sea to recover, i must simply write angsty fanfic instead 😔

Narcos Taglist: @garbinge @sizzlingcloudmentality @panagiasikelia @616wilsons @hauntedforsst @mirabee @buckybarneshairpullingkink @boomclapxox @nessamc @southotheborder @supersanelyromantic @padbrookcottage @mysun-n-stars @raincoffeeandfandoms @justreblogginfics @ashlingnarcos @proceduralpassion @artemiseamoon @cositapreciosa @hausofmamadas @narcolini @the-hinky-panda (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

You almost didn’t hear the ringing of the phone in the next room over the sounds of the radio and you cooking. Luckily you were turning the heat down on the stove, the sizzling in the pan quieting just enough to let the sound reach your ears. You turned the stove down just a little more before walking away to answer the call.

“Hola?” you answered, holding the phone up to your ear with one hand while you wiped the other on your apron.

“Hola,” he responded from the other end of the line. His voice was quiet, the way it always was, but you heard the strain in it that wasn’t usually there.

“Hugo?” you said his name like a question even though you knew it was him. “Todo bien?”

“Sí,” he said, a lie, but still nodding to emphasize it despite the fact that the two of you were miles apart.

“Estás seguro?” you asked, worry seeping into your voice. “You sound…” you trailed off, not wanting to say sad but not sure how else to describe his voice.

You could hear the slow, deliberate breath he took, trying to adjust his tone but not quite getting there. “I’m okay. I’m,” he cleared his throat, “I’m leaving soon—coming home.”

Your brows knit, turning your wrist so that you could look at your watch. “Leaving?” You chuckled softly, trying to keep things light to ignore the knot forming in your gut. “Early for you these days.”

He hummed, almost-amusement. Not quite a laugh but it was something at least. The best he could give you. “Want me to find somewhere else to be?”

Despite the attempt at humor, you could still feel the heaviness through the phoneline. “No, no. Come home. Ven a casa.” You paused, smiling slightly to yourself before tacking on, “Pronto.”

Despite the weight in his chest and the burning sensation in his eyes, the ends of his mouth curved just slightly into the smallest smile. “Por supuesto.” He pressed his lips together for a moment, fighting to keep his tone in check still. “Te amo.”

You chose not to comment or ask further about the gravel in his voice. “Te amo mucho.”

Once the two of you said your goodbyes, you hung up the phone and went back to making dinner. Your mind turning over all the possibilities of what could’ve happened that made him sound like that. Hugo wasn’t a man who was a stranger to the hardships that came with his job, with the world that he had to navigate. Some days it hung heavier on his shoulders than others. But it had been a long time since he sounded like that.

The house was much quieter by the time he got home. Dinner was done and you’d turned the radio down. It was quiet enough, in fact, that you heard him walk inside. Heard the door shut, the first couple heavy footsteps while he was still in his boots, the softer footsteps that followed once he left them by the door.

You didn’t want to make a fuss when you didn’t know what was going on. But even so, it was impossible for you to hide your concern. Subtle had never been your style, anyway. So when you heard the floorboards creak beneath him as he stepped into the kitchen, you couldn’t help but to turn around and face him with worry all over your face. Brows creased, lips turned down into a small frown, you were the human embodiment of the question, “What’s wrong?”

His shoulders dropped slightly at the sight of you, sagging as though from your expression alone he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to try and have this conversation later. “Amor…” he trailed off, shaking his head the entire time.

Your frown deepened as you walked over to him. Bringing one hand up, you cupped the side of his face, thumb tracing along his cheek as he eased into your touch. “Qué pasó?” you asked quietly.

He shut his eyes for a long moment before finally opening them again and looking at you. They were glassy, tinged with red and you knew that it wasn’t from exhaustion alone. All he could do for a moment was look at you. He knew, deep down, that while what happened was going to change a lot of things, it wasn’t going to change anything between the two of you. You were steady—always had been. That wasn’t why he was hesitating. There was a different layer of finality once he said it out loud to you. A different weight than his brief exchange with Peña only a short while before.

“Hugo?” you said when you saw him getting a little too far away inside his own head. When he looked at you again, really looked at you, you repeated your question. “What happened?”

There was no delicate way to break the news. “I had to turn in my badge.”

The soothing movements of your thumb across his cheek stopped, hand stilling as all the breath got let out of your lungs. “Wh-what?”

He gave a small nod, breaking eye contact as he rested his hands on your hips, fingers fussing with the fabric of your skirt. “Sí. They apparently found documents,” he took a deep breath, “that said I took money from Cali.”

The word apparently was doing all the work in the world that it possibly could. Your worry and sadness quickly cloaked itself in anger as your hand slid down to rest on his shoulder. “That’s ridiculous.”

He nodded in agreement, but still shrugged knowing there was nothing to be done about it now. “And yet…”

“That’s, that’s,” there were no words that could properly articulate all the thoughts and feelings coursing through you. “How could they?” You shook your head. “Those motherf—”

“Amor,” he cut you off, voice still heavy but the amusement in his eyes over how quickly you got fired up on his behalf was almost enough to balance it out.

“I’m not taking it back,” you said with a shake of your head.

He let out a tired chuckle at that. “I know.”

Your face softened again the longer you looked at him. Placing your fingertips underneath his chin, you tilted his head up so that he was looking at you rather than back down at the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

You saw the way his entire body shifted at the sound of those three simple words. The weight of it all, the emotions, all the things he typically addressed in private when no one was around to see, it all forced its way to the forefront. There was no hiding any of this from you, there was no handling this on his own. Leaning in, he let his forehead press against yours.

Finally, he nodded. “Me too.”

Tilting your head slightly, pressed your lips to his. The kiss was gentle, brief. Extra reassurance that you were there. Your hand slipped down until your palm was resting against his chest. Despite it all you could feel the ever-steady beat of his heart beneath it. Consistent, even in the midst of the mess.

Bringing your hands back up, you let them interlock behind his neck. You kept your voice quiet. “Whatever’s next, we’ll figure it out.”

He gave a small nod, only knowing that it happened because you could feel it as his forehead was still resting against yours. He wanted to have something else to say. I love you. Thank you. I can’t believe it all came to this. But he couldn’t force the words out from the back of his throat. Instead, he wound his arms around your waist and pulled you in closer. Leaning in, he let his forehead drop so that it was pressed against your shoulder. You took a deep breath, another wave crashing over the two of you. Hooking your chin over his shoulder, you let one hand come to rest on the back of his head, the other resting between his shoulders.

There was going to be more—more to say, more to figure out, more long nights and layered emotions. But more would be a problem that the two of you could start facing tomorrow. For now, the two of you helped keep each other upright underneath the weight of the world that was currently crumbling down around you.

#narcos #narcos netflix #narcos fanfiction #narcos netflix fanfiction #hugo martinez #colonel martinez #hugo martinez x reader #hugo martinez x you #colonel martinez x reader #colonel martinez x you #x reader #x reader fic #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[the-hinky-panda]

After We Fall: Part IV

Pairing: Colonel Hugo Martinez x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’re a radio transmission specialist with the US Army and assigned to provide support to Edward Jacoby in the hunt for Escobar. You spend most of your time trying to bring the mobile unit’s equipment up to date. After spending many of your days in close quarters with Lieutenant Martinez, he decides you and his father should spend more time together and sets out to make sure that it happens. After a couple awkward interactions, you think the younger Martinez might be on to something.

Taglist: @narcosstan @xoxabs88xox  Hugo Martinez had always been a practical man, one who trusted in what could be seen and what could be done. He credited his growing up in the small farming town of Moniquirá for that mindset. Routine and hard work, that was how he had been raised. He had been out of the Academy for four years, lived in a mostly safe part of Bogotá, and had received two promotions already in his department. He was practical, dogmatic, which made for a great police officer but not so much for a romantic partner. 

He had stood by and watched most of the men and women he had graduated with pair off with a significant other and marry. He was starting to receive birth announcements now and he wondered if any of it was in his future. He tried to picture himself married with children, and even though the desire was there it still felt ill-fitting, like an overlarge uniform. Husband. Father. There were no laws or regulations to follow to be successful in those titles. 

It took him by surprise when he was on patrol one evening when his beat took him past one of the many higher end establishments with patio seating. It was her laugh that pulled his eyes to her direction. Her petite form, shining dark hair, sparkling eyes, and brightly painted red lips. Her dress was a vibrant mix of greens and blues. She was nothing but color in a sea of gray. She was a work of art stepped off a canvas and into the real world. He was certain he would never be able to breathe normally again in his life. 

Especially after he almost walked into a pole to a streetlight. 

He thought about the lovely woman for the rest of his shift, unable to get her laughter out of his ears, that when he took his last pass through the quiet, wealthy neighborhood, he was slightly surprised to see her standing on the front stoop of a townhouse, saying her goodbyes to the gentleman she had dinner with earlier. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she gave her date a brief hug, patted him on the shoulder and then sent him on his way. Then her eyes found him, staring at her from across the street. She lifted a dainty hand and waved at him. His heart stuttered to a stop but he still managed to lift his own hand and wave back. She smiled brightly at him before turning in a swirl of skirts and disappearing into her home. 

He was never the same after that night. 

Even when his beat didn’t take him past the line of expensive restaurants and art galleries, he still managed to make a couple passes down that stretch of town, especially on Friday and Saturday nights. He saw her a few more times, out with different men, but always polite and distant to them. Her smile never quite reached her eyes and her laugh, as lovely as it was, never rang true with genuine amusement. 

He overheard one of her dates use the name Melina one night and his heart sank. He knew who she was then. Melina Gonzalez, the daughter of a corporate banker, one of the most wealthy men in Bogota. No wonder she had so many suitors, so many well-dressed men vying for her hand in marriage. One of them would win, would provide her with the continuance of her posh lifestyle. A lifestyle he, a poor cop, would never be able to provide for her. He had been standing in front of an art gallery, staring at a portrait of a young lady in a yellow dress and bright red hair, trying to put the idea of Melina even noticing him out of his mind. He was trying to decide if he liked it or not when someone stopped next to him to look at the painting. 

“¿En qué crees que está pensando?” (What do you think she’s thinking about?) 

He glanced down and his breath caught in his throat. There she was, standing close enough for him to smell her perfume, see the smattering of freckles on her round, young face. Her eyes were the color of melted chocolate and just as warm. If he doubted falling in love at first sight, those doubts were banished at that moment. He had pledged his life and honor to serve his country but the woman before him represented all the beauty and magic that Colombia had to offer: sweet like sugar cane, rich like chocolate, warm and strong like coffee. Surely Colombia wouldn’t blame him for switching allegiance to its human representative? 

“¿Bien? ¿Qué piensas?” (Well? What do you think?) 

He focused back on the painting, an incredibly difficult task. “No estoy seguro. Quizás esté pensando en un amor perdido.” (I don’t know. Maybe she’s thinking of a lost love.) 

She hummed thoughtfully. “No creo que puedas ser tan colorido pensando en un amor perdido.” (I don’t think you can be so colorful when thinking of a lost love.) She gave him a beautiful and blinding smile. “Así que debe estar pensando en un amor actual.” (So she must be thinking of her current love.) 

“Ah, ahí estás, Melina, (Ah, there you are, Melina)” a tall, well dressed man greeted them, a silk shawl slung over his arm. He unfolded it and draped it over her shoulders. His eyes landed heavily on Hugo, his hand remaining curled protectively on Melina’s shoulders. “¿Y quien es este? (And who is this?)” 

Melina shrugs a couple times to dislodge his grip. “Este es el oficial Martínez. Estábamos discutiendo esta hermosa pintura. (This is Officer Martinez. We were just discussing this lovely painting.)” 

He tried to stare down Hugo before glancing at the picture and shrugging. “Es un poco chillón, ¿no crees? El amarillo es demasiado brillante. (It’s kind of garish, don’t you think? The yellow is too bright.)” 

Melina frowned and Hugo fought the urge to reach out to her. Instead, he cleared his throat. “Sin embargo, el mundo es lo suficientemente oscuro. Necesitamos colores brillantes. (The world is dark enough though. We need bright colors.)” 

“¿Eres policía o crítico de arte? (Are you a police officer or an art critic?)” 

Melina gave him another brilliant smile. “Parece que él es ambos. (It sounds like he’s both.)” 

“Supongo que necesitas complementar ese salario de policía de alguna manera. (I suppose you need to supplement that cop salary somehow.)” 

Melina’s head snapped toward her date. “Que estaba fuera de lugar. (That was uncalled for.)” She turned back to Hugo. “Oficial Martínez, ¿podría acompañarme a casa? (Officer Martinez, would you please escort me home?)” 

“Por supuesto, señorita. (Of course, miss.)” 

“Melina, era una broma. No seas demasiado dramático. (Melina, it was a joke. Don’t be so overdramatic.)” 

Hugo braced himself for a true dramatic scene but Melina just calmly slipped her arm through his and started walking in the direction of her home. She walked for an entire block with her back as straight as soldiers and her the heels of her shoes tapping out an irritated staccato. He had to hide a smile at how her fierceness only made her more desirable. He knew at that moment that she could ask him for anything and he would gladly give it to her. Soon, her fire burned out, her steps lost the angry strike against the pavement, and her posture relaxed. 

“Lamento haberte metido en ese lío. (I’m sorry for bringing you into that mess.)” 

He had been nothing but grateful that she had. For just a few moments he had imagined what it was like to be hers. “Estaba feliz de ser de ayuda. (I was happy to be of assistance.)” 

Too soon, they arrive at the familiar townhouse where she and her family lived. This is the closest he’s ever been to her, the closest that he’s ever going to be. He wishes he could make this night last forever but then she does it for him by kissing him. It’s sweet and chaste, a firm press of her lips against his own. And he is addicted instantly. She whispers a goodbye to him before retreating behind the door of her home. 

Two days later, her father called the precinct to personally thank Hugo for seeing his daughter home and invited him over for the fútbol match that Sunday. Hugo accepted the invitation but then wondered why he did that as he stood awkwardly in the foyer of the lovely, upscale home. But each Sunday he is invited, he becomes more and more at ease around Melina’s well-dressed father and refined mother. And of course, around Melina herself. They fed and fussed over him, checked on him whenever there was an outbreak of violence in his assigned section of the city. They welcomed him into the family. 

He never knew that falling in love with someone was a continuous action. He thought you fell and that was it. Instead, it’s a constant feeling of losing the ground beneath your feet when the other person smiles, or touches you. He spent six months in free fall before speaking to Melina’s father about marriage. For all the convention and protocol that he held so tightly to, the conversation with her father was anything but conventional. 

“Déjame ver si entiendo esto correctamente (Let me see if I understand this correctly) ,” Melina’s father said from behind his wide mahogany desk. “Deseas casarte con mi hija porque la amas (You wish to marry my daughter because you love her.).” 

“Sí, señor. (Yes, sir.)” 

“Pero tienes miedo de que porque no puedes proporcionar... esto (But you’re afraid that because you can’t provide…this),” he motioned to the room, “Voy a decir que no a esta propuesta (I’m going to say no to this proposal.).” 

Hugo nodded solemnly. “Sí, señor. (Yes, sir.)”

“Melina me contó todas las veces que la seguiste hasta su casa desde sus citas para asegurarte de que llegara sana y salva. Viste cuántos hombres podían ofrecerle esta vida entre la que tenía que elegir (Melina told me of all the times you followed her home from her dates to ensure she arrived safely. You saw how many men could offer her this life she had to choose from.).” He smiled slightly. “El dinero puede comprar muchas cosas pero no las más valiosas. Honor, integridad, amor. Estas son cosas que necesita Melina. Todo lo demás es solo un bono (Money can buy many things but not the most valuable things. Honor, integrity, love. These are things Melina needs. Everything else is just a bonus.).” 

It was no surprise then, when Melina was called into the study and was officially asked if she would accept his proposal, she accepted with her normal level of enthusiasm and tears. Saying goodbye to her that night had been the hardest thing he had ever done. She had smiled the entire night, practically vibrating with joy. He was afraid every time he blinked, she would realize the life she had ahead of her with him as her husband. When he had kissed her good night, he had held her face in his palms, wanting to memorize every detail of that brilliant smile, just in case she changed her mind. 

“¿A que estas mirando? (What are you staring at?)” she asked him. 

“Tu sonrisa. (Your smile.)” 

She laid her hands over his and laughed. “¡Me duele la cara porque lo he estado haciendo toda la noche! Pero es una buena práctica ya que estaré sonriendo así por el resto de mi vida (My face hurts from doing it all night! But it's good practice since I'll be smiling like this for the rest of my life.).” 

And she pretty much kept that promise for the length of their marriage. Even up to the moment when she breathed her last breath, laying in the hospital bed on sheets that were almost as white as her skin, the corners of her mouth kept their slight upturn in the corners. 

***

Growing up with four brothers, you were in a fair share of fistfights, never afraid of getting right in the middle of the fray with the boys. There was a time in elementary school when you cut your hair short and your father would always comment that he mistook you for your brother whenever he would split up the fights, not realizing it was you he had picked up by the back of the shirt until you were face to angry face with him. Fist fighting with the Castaño brothers at forty-two is a little different than taking on the fifth grade playground bully.You can feel blood still seeping from your nose and your eye is beginning to swell shut. You look a fright, you’re certain of that but it could have been so much worse. 

You have never seen Hugo this angry, though. Actually, you can’t remember ever seeing him angry. Frustrated, worried, annoyed, but never full blown angry. You also don’t know if it’s the situation or you that he’s livid about at the moment. You try to catch Junior’s eye, try to get a read on the situation from someone who knows Hugo better than you do, but the younger Martinez is busy trying to look anywhere but at you and his father. This is not boding well at all for either one of you. 

Hugo is in full leadership mode at the moment, barking orders at Steve Murphy and his son and using the emergency radio that he brought with him to call for backup to help process the scene. So you hang back, leaning on the pillar that you should have used as your cover, waiting to see what your role is going to be in the bloody aftermath of this encounter. When all orders and expectations have been dealt out, he stalks over to where you’re standing, his face still stormy. 

“Let’s go,” he motions for you to follow him. 

“Where?” 

He passes a quick glance over you. “You’ll want to get cleaned up?” 

You nod, seeing the drips of blood on your shirt. 

“Your place then.” 

You pat your pockets. “The keys are still in the car.” 

He shouts to his son, who goes over to the car and retrieves your purse for you. The poor kid takes a wide berth around his father and you take the opportunity to hug him when he hands you the bag. 

“Thanks.” 

He squeezes you back briefly and gives you a curt nod before moving back to stand guard with Steve over at the Jeep. You give Hugo a pointed look. “He did save my life.” 

Hugo’s mouth twitches to the side and his jaw tenses. “I know. Vamos.” (Let’s go.) 

You sigh and start making your way to the staircase that leads up to your apartment. You unlock the door and go inside, hearing him turn the locks behind you. He still has his gun out, lowered by his side and when you start to ask him why, he motions to be quiet and then makes a circle with his index finger. He’s going to clear the apartment. It takes him a total of twenty seconds to check the space before he finally holsters the weapon. 

“Okay,” he nods towards your nose. “Let’s get that set before you change clothes.” 

You follow him down the short hallway to the bathroom where you pull out the first aid kit you keep stashed under the sink. “I’ve got anything and everything you can imagine in there so-“ 

“Sit on the sink.” 

You do what he asks. You don’t want to test his nerves any more than you already have. “This is going to hurt isn’t it?” 

“Oh yes.” 

You grip the side of the sink counter to brace yourself as he settles his thumbs on either side of your nose. At first his touch is gentle, soothing to the hot swelling of your skin. But then the pressure increases until tears flood your eyes and you emit a startled gasp as the cartilage snaps back into place. 

“Lo siento, mi amor.” (I’m sorry, my love.) 

You blink rapidly to get the tears out of your eyes so you can clearly see his face. Did he really just say that? Call you by that name? 

My love. 

And it had dropped so effortlessly from his lips. When you can finally see clearly, there is no shock, surprise, or even waiting to see if you heard him correctly. He’s already rummaging through the bandages and gauze, setting out the cotton stuffing and tape for the next step in the procedure. 

He doesn’t realize he said it. Which means that it meant nothing and was merely reflex. Or it meant everything and revealed how he truly felt about you. So you sit absolutely still as he wipes the blood from your face and painstakingly packs and bandages your nose. 

My love. 

You can’t stop replaying the sound of it in your mind. You can’t stop imagining it being said to you on purpose. But you need to stop. The more time that passes, the more obvious it has been said out of habit than with any meaning behind it. He closes the first aid kit with a loud bang and it helps startle you back to reality. 

“I’ll go back to my apartment,” he tells you, “and if you still want to come for dinner-“ 

“I do.” 

He is surprised at your immediate response but nods. “Then come over when you’re ready. Obviously, I’ll be speaking frequently with my men as they investigate this, but at least we can eat.” He pauses briefly. “And I can keep an eye on you.” 

You don’t deserve that but you understand his concern. “Okay.” 

He sighs deeply and braces his hands on either side of the sink, keeping you there. “They didn’t say anything else to you?” 

“No.” You can see his mind working, processing and planning. The anger is ebbing, strategizing is taking its place. “What is it?” 

His mouth twists in frustration. “These men have been…a difficulty for a while now.”

“So why not just engage them?” 

“I’ve been told not to, to only focus on Escobar.” 

“But if they engage with us…”

“Then I will take appropriate action.” His hand comes up and gently holds the side of your face. “But let’s not go looking for a fight with them, querida.” 

You feel such an immense sense of relief at his gentle touch. “No looking for fights. Got it.” 

“Bueno.” (Okay.) 

His fingers flex slightly against your cheek and you think he’s going to kiss you but instead he steps back, his hand falling back down to his side. A slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he must notice your realization and disappointment. 

It’s going to take weeks for your nose to heal and the swelling to go down. Until then, simple actions like eating and, most unfortunate of all, kissing are going to be painful. And just when you two had…your brain shorts out completely at the feel of his lips on your neck. You hadn’t even seen him move. Your hands grab at his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. He sighs, the exhalation hitting the skin under your ear and causing you to shiver slightly. The adrenaline is almost completely out of your system and the reality of the danger that you had found yourself in is becoming more real. Your bravado is reduced to rubble. 

All you want now is to be close to him. 

You want to go back to this morning, still in bed and in his arms. You had felt so safe and content then, protected. You want to feel that way again. His hands slide around your side to your back in an effort to pull you closer to him but you wince in pain. He immediately steps away and you lift the bottom of your shirt so you can see your back in the mirror. Sure enough, you have a bruise forming in the shape of the car grill across the center section of your back. Tears start to gather in your eyes and you tip your head forward to press your face against his chest only to have him stop you for the sake of your broken nose. Then the tears do fall, the frustration at not being able to go back to what you had this morning. 

He laughs softly. “Here,” he gently moves your head so your cheek is against his shoulder and he wraps his arms around your upper back. “How’s that?” 

You’re able to lean into him in this position, to slip your arms around his chest. You can smell his soap and cologne and it starts to soothe your frayed nerves. He’s warm and solid and you’re able to breathe easier now. It’s not the same as this morning but it’s pretty damn close. “Better.” 

“Good.” He inhales to say something else but a knock on the door stops him. He releases you and immediately reaches for his gun. “Stay here.” 

You mostly listen, leaning around the doorframe of the bathroom as you watch him approach the door with his gun in hand. He peers through the peephole and immediately slides the gun back into its holster before opening the door. Junior steps across the threshold, still looking contrite and serious. You establish eye contact with Junior and give him a brief nod before leaving the bathroom and heading into your bedroom to change your shirt. 

You shut the door but can still hear the murmur of their voices and it continues to provide comfort to your frayed nerves. Everyone is safe, you keep repeating that to yourself until your heart stops hammering against your rib cage. You pull the bloodied shirt over your head and toss it in the corner of the closet. There’s no hope for getting all the blood stains out so it’s destined for the trash anyways. You grab a short sleeved linen shirt and start buttoning it up when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. 

One eye is almost swollen shut, both have dark bruises already forming. The white tape holding your nose straight crisscrosses over the bridge of your nose and garishly stands out on your skin. X marks the spot where Fidel’s fist connected with your face. Your eyes shift from the gruesome sight of your face to the bed behind you. 

One night. You had one night with Hugo before everything went to hell in a handbasket. And it had been one of the best nights you’ve had in years, feeling that giddiness of counting down the hours that day before you could feel his hands on you again. The same methodical approach he used in the field, he applied to you. He mapped your skin with his hands; learned what spots made you shiver and what areas didn’t elicit a response. His touch was much like his commands: authoritative, firm, and purposeful. Just as you counted down the hours today, you are now faced with counting down the days until you were healed before finding yourself under his capable hands again. 

If he still wants you after this debacle. You wouldn’t blame him one bit if he decides that you’re too much of a liability, too inexperienced for this type of manhunt and warzone. He needs someone who is independent, capable of handling themselves in a combat situation. If you had been trained and skilled in that area, you would most likely be in the DEA. But you’re not. You’re a glorified desk jockey who tinkers with radios. 

There’s a knock at the bedroom door that disrupts your thoughts. Exhaustion slams into you and you just want the day to be over. 

“Querida?” 

You smile, hearing the endearment that still comes easily from Hugo and it brings some comfort to your damaged ego. You finish buttoning up the shirt before opening the door for him, not sure if Junior is still in the apartment. Hugo’s eyes do a quick scan from the crown of your head down to your toes. 

“¿Bien?” (Good?) 

“Yeah, fine.” You try to put on a brave face but once again self-doubt, exhaustion, and frustration threaten to take over once more. You just wanted to go back to the morning and redo the entire day. 

***

Hugo can read the frustration in your body language. He knows how organized and detail oriented you are, how fastidious you are in your job and personal life. Being injured so noticeably and practically is clearly taking a toll on you. The thought crosses his mind that perhaps this is the first time you’ve ever been injured this severely in your line of work. He can’t imagine you’ve seen much violence in your job, much less facing off with a group of vigilantes who were not opposed to using excessive force. 

He then realizes just how many new experiences you’ve been through in a short amount of months: a new job in a foreign country, working with both American and Colombian personnel, fighting with archaic equipment, all while trying to stay out of the way of Escobar’s sicarios and Los Pepes. And you’ve done it with an immense amount of grace and strength. Seeing the cracks in your resolve affects him much more than it should. Your work is temporary. Your presence in his country is temporary. But your attitude towards everything has been with such strong conviction, as if you would consider staying for good. 

But he also hasn’t felt this drawn to someone in a very long time, certainly not this strongly. So he decides to not waste this opportunity and steps behind you, sliding his arms around your waist, gently tugging you against him. You lean back with zero resistance and a contented sigh. He buries his nose against your neck, inhaling the faint scent of your perfume despite it being mixed with the acrid smell of gunpowder. He could have lost you today and that thought is almost too much to bear. He really does love you but does he tell you that given that everything is changeable at the moment? 

He should tell you. If today has shown him anything, it’s that opportunities can be lost in a matter of minutes. And he wants to so badly, he wants to whisper those words in your ear, trace them with his fingers across your skin. Instead, he presses his lips against your neck and relishes in the soft, quiet moan you release as you thread your fingers through his. 

“This is so unfair,” you huff. 

“What is?” Your question would have caused him worry if it wasn’t for the tight hold you have around his fingers, the lazy lean of your body against his. 

Your eyes snap open and color rises up your cheeks. You don’t say anything but he does catch your eyes glancing at the bed and understands your meaning. “Ah, well, I can assure you there are ways to engage in those activities that won’t cause further damage to your nose.” 

You actually emit a short laugh. “That sounds like you’re speaking from experience.” 

He rests his chin on the line of your shoulder. “I am. I played fútbol for many, many years in my youth. You don’t get a nose like mine without taking the ball to the face multiple times.” 

“And the boxing,” Junior says from the other room. “Don’t forget about boxing.” 

You go completely rigid at the sound of Junior’s voice and Hugo chuckles before placing one last kiss on the side of your neck and releasing you. He still keeps hold of your hand though, leading you out of the bedroom. Junior is standing in the living room, looking more at ease than when he first arrived. Normalcy is beginning to return to the situation and Hugo breathes a sigh of relief. Another disaster has been avoided. All three of them are alive for another day. 

He wants to keep it that way, so he has a hand on his gun and the other wrapped around your hand. Junior falls a pace behind, a hand on his gun as well. The walk across the street is short and night has officially fallen so the darkness helps with their cover. He doesn’t take a full breath until the doors are locked, the space is checked, and three guns are resting on a table near the front door. Junior offers to heat the food up as Hugo pours some wine. When he returns to the living room, he sees you standing in front of the only painting that followed him from Bogotá. It’s the only painting that follows him wherever he goes. 

“I like this,” you say, gratefully taking the wine. “I like the brightness surrounded by the dark.” 

He nods before looking at it again, the lady yellow. He still remembers standing in front of it with Melina on that street. 

I don’t think you can be so colorful when thinking of a lost love. So she must be thinking of her current love. 

“I wonder what she’s thinking about,” you muse quietly. “Must be something happy.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

You shrug slightly. “I don’t think you can shine that brightly without feeling joy. You know what I mean?” 

He picks up your hand and kisses the back of your knuckles. “I do, yes.”

#colonel hugo martinez #hugo martinez #hugo martinez x reader #hugo martinez x you #hugo martinez fic #narcos fic #After We Fall series

[leylinefiction]

After We Fall: Part I (Hugo Martinez x Reader)

Pairing: Colonel Hugo Martinez x Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature (Explicit in future parts)

Summary: You’re a radio transmission specialist with the US Army and assigned to provide support to Edward Jacoby in the hunt for Escobar. You spend most of your time trying to bring the mobile unit’s equipment up to date. After spending many of your days in close quarters with Lieutenant Martinez, he decides you and his father should spend more time together and sets out to make sure that it happens. After a couple awkward interactions, you think the younger Martinez might be on to something. 

Second chances are not given to make things right. But are given to prove that we could be better even after we fall. -Unknown

Technology is changing rapidly and it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to keep up with the methods that the narcos are using. You had been in the communications field in the Army for ten years and were just coming out of the latest training on satellite communications and now with the internet becoming available to the public, it was going to open thousands of new doors that will allow narcos to distribute their products. It is a double-edged sword. 

When Edward Jacoby requested extra support with the equipment that Centra Spike was using  in Colombia, it was kismet that you were placed into that position given the completion of your latest training. Your job is to continue offering support to Jacoby while updating the dated equipment the Colombian Army was still using. So within twenty-four hours of arriving in Colombia, you’re already sitting in the conference room of the Search Bloc headquarters giving your insight. You don’t know anyone in the room and they don’t know you. You find out later that there are quite a few new faces around the Search Bloc, their leader Colonel Hugo Martinez, being one of them. 

“So how seriously do you think we need to consider the internet in our searches?” Martinez asks. 

“I don’t think we need to be concerned with it at all right now. There’s a lot of groundwork that will need to be run, cabling and even more satellites in order for the internet to start being a form of communication that is easily accessible here in Colombia. Besides, with Pablo Escobar’s history, I actually think he could be using something much more primitive.” 

“When he was in his ‘prison,’” one of the DEA guys says, Murphy, you think his name is, “he was using pigeons to carry messages.” 

“And while I don’t think he’s gone that primitive,” you continue, “I do think we should start monitoring the radio frequencies more. I heard that Search Bloc has their own mobile unit now?” 

You get a couple side-eye glances between everyone. Well, that’s not reassuring. 

“Lieutenant Martinez can show you the equipment at your disposal,” the Colonel says. 

You don’t know what else to say other than “thank you, Colonel” and that apparently ends the meeting. You’ll be the first to admit that you’re not much of a soldier, used to your radios and radar screens. All you had to do was slip those headphones over your ears and you were in the zone, able to differentiate the various tones of static and undertones. You love to tinker with wires and antennas, finding them much easier to interact with than actual people. Working with military and government agents certainly is not your forte. So when you follow the very young Lieutenant Martinez out to the mobile unit, your tact completely disappears. 

“This is a joke, right?” 

The young man gives you a minute shake of his head. “No, ma’am.” 

The van is about fifteen years old with an even older metal antenna strapped to the top of it. You’re afraid to look inside of it and brace yourself for the worst. It’s not as bad as it could be though. The equipment is dated, some of it patched together with paperclips and tape, but it’s workable. Another officer comes up to the van and extends his hand to you. 

“Sergeant Morales.” 

You introduce yourself and shake Morales’ hand. “I assume you’re the head of the intel division here?” 

“Yes, ma’am. It’s just me and Martinez.” 

Jacoby left out that little detail as well as the condition of the mobile unit. You knew he was burned out; that’s why you’re here now, to help relieve some of the pressure. Now you know why. You feel a migraine forming in the back of your eyes.  “Okay. Guess I have some paperwork to fill out then.” 

“Paperwork?” Morales asks. 

“Don’t get your hopes up,” you warn him. “But I’m going to try to at least get us an updated triple band fixed site DF antenna.” You see smiles on both their faces and shake your head. “Uh-huh. No smiling yet, fellas. No smiling until we’re attaching it to the van.” 

You go back into the building and find your desk, situated in a dark corner a few steps from the equipment room. There are three other desks but since most of the work takes place with the physical equipment, the desks are mostly bare. It’s depressing if you’re being frank about it. But this is why you’re here, to try to make it better. You find the supply request paperwork and set to work typing up the equipment requests. The more you work, the longer the list becomes, especially when you stick your head in the equipment room. Morales and Martinez come and go while you work on the wishlist and requests. You’re almost finished when someone clears their throat to alert you of their presence. Your fingers pause over the keys of the typewriter to see Colonel Martinez standing next to your desk and you immediately stand up. 

“Sir.” 

He motions for you to sit down. “Please. I saw the light still on over here and thought I might catch my son.” 

“Your son?” 

“Lieutenant Martinez.” 

You feel like an idiot for not making that connection. “Sergeant Morales and Lieutenant Martinez left,” you check the clock, “about three hours ago. I didn’t realize it’s been that long.”  

“What are you working on?” 

You turn the handwritten list so he can read it easier. “Equipement requests. The sooner I send them over to the Embassy, the sooner we can get…some of it, hopefully. I’m going to have Jacoby sign off on it tomorrow morning.” 

“Why can’t you do that?” There is no accusation in his questions, just mere curiosity. 

“The people who approve these requests, well, they don’t think women know what they’re talking about when it comes to DF antennas and radio transmitters. We’ll have a better shot at getting it if they think it’s coming from a man.” 

He hums and turns the paper back around to you. “If I can do anything to help, please let me know.” 

“Thank you. I will. Maybe I’ll have you sign off on it as well.”

He gives a half shrug. “I’m not sure that will help. Better stick to Jacoby’s signature.” 

“You’re not that popular with the Embassy either?” 

“I doubt it. I don’t think any person in this position is popular with anyone.” 

 “So why did you take the position?” 

His eyes cut briefly to his son’s desk. “Personal reasons.” 

You nod a couple times. “I can understand that. Your son is very smart and has a talent for machines. It’s not easy finding someone who can work physically on the machines and use them efficiently. He does both extremely well. Morales is no slouch either. For a two man team, you have the elite. I’m looking forward to going out with them tomorrow.” 

“Good.” He glances around the office space once more. “If you’re almost done, I can walk you out.” 

You think about telling him to not worry about it but you also want to make sure you start off on the right foot so you finish typing up the last three items and put the request on your desk to have Jacoby sign in the morning. You grab your bag and keys to the car the Embassy loaned you. With a brief nod, you follow him out of the dark corner of the building and back out to the brighter lit bullpen area. 

He’s not a tall man but he’s solidly built and moves like a bulldog through the building. His eyes rove over the space as you both move through it, taking in who is still there and what areas are darkened for the evening. It’s almost ten o’clock and most of the people left are Colombian officers handling the nighttime skirmishes. He nods to a couple of the officers, turns lights out of the places that have been abandoned for the night, before heading towards the parking garage. His actions remind you of your father going through the house before going to bed and making sure everything is secure. It tells you just how seriously he takes his position here at Search Bloc, even if he did take the position for personal reasons. 

“How familiar are you with Medellín?” he asks you when you reach the outside of the building. 

You stumble on your words, wanting to assure him you can manage by yourself but the truth is, you have no idea where you are at the moment. He picks up on it immediately. 

“Where are you staying?” he asks instead. 

You pull out the paperwork that the embassy handed you on the plane ride to Medellín and pass it to him. “This is the address they gave me.” 

He nods and returns it. “I’m going to the same place so you can follow me if you want. The area is mostly made up of police officers and Americans. There’s a restaurant on the corner that stays open late if you need something to eat.” 

“Thank you.”  It’s the most helpful anyone has been so far since you’ve arrived in Colombia. Part of you is slightly suspicious as you get into your car, an old VW Bug, but you suppose if there is anything nefarious about Colonel Martinez’s intentions, you wouldn’t be driving your own car. The apartment building is only a ten minute drive from the Search Bloc headquarters and it looks to be on a relatively nice street. You can see the cafe on the corner with the lights still on and a few people milling around the tables that are set up on the sidewalk. You find your assigned parking spot in the garage, grab your suitcase, and head back to the street with the intention of picking up some food before finding your apartment. You’re surprised to see Colonel Martinez walking up to the restaurant. He points to a building across the street and two doors down. 

“That’s where I live, but my son lives in your building, on the third floor. Morales,” he points to the building on the other side of the restaurant, “he lives on the second floor, I think. The DEA agents, Peña and Murphy, they’re over in my building.” 

“We all are close together then. Does that make it safer or more dangerous?” 

“Safety in numbers, as they say. Were you issued a weapon?” 

“Yes.” Not that you were very comfortable with it but you had a handgun. 

“Make sure you have it on your person, even when you’re out here. Sicarios run these streets, even this one. Always be alert and ready.” 

It sounds exhausting but is what you expected when you took the position. His words and eyes are very serious when he gives you this advice so you nod to assure him that you’ve heard the warning loud and clear. You find something that looks familiar to you on the menu and order it to go. Apparently the Colonel has a standing order and they bring him his food immediately, but he ends up standing with you while you wait. 

“How long have you been in the Army?” you ask him. 

 “Twenty-seven years. I’ve spent the last three years in the jungle fighting FARC guerrillas. How about you?” 

“I’ve only been in the Army for ten years. I haven’t seen any actual action. My job has always kept me on the sidelines.” You don’t tell him that you’ve been working in the engineering field for ten years before you joined the Army and became a specialist in transmissions and communications. 

“Do you like being in the American military?” 

“I suppose it’s like any other job. I enjoy what I actually do but could do without the red tape and politics.” 

There’s the briefest, most fleeting of smiles that crosses his face. It’s the first time you’ve seen anything that could resemble a smile from him. “I can appreciate that sentiment.” 

Your food is handed to you and so you pick up your suitcase and start to leave the restaurant. “Thank you for keeping me company and making sure I found the place.” 

“Of course. Can’t have us lose our Army Specialist her first night in Medellín.” He opens the building door for you. “Do you need any help?” 

“No, thank you. You’ve been more than helpful today.” 

“Bueno, buenas noches entonces. Dormir bien.” (Well, good evening then. Sleep well.) 

“Muchísimas gracias. Usted también.” (Thank you very much. You as well.) 

You walk up the two flights of stairs until you find your apartment number and unlock the door. The place is already furnished with standard fare and is much more spacious than you thought the one bedroom apartment was going to be. You looked forward to seeing it in the daylight given the amount of windows that were in the place. You even had a small patio with a couple chairs sitting out on it. 

As you sit down on the couch and turn on the television to a local news station, you start in on the bandeija paisa, which is the most amazing first bite of food you’ve had in almost twenty-four hours. The apartment is nice, the food is excellent, and the people in Search Bloc were all quite personable, even the very serious Colonel Martinez. 

Maybe this assignment isn’t going to be half bad. 

***

Colonel Hugo Martinez is used to that gnawing feeling of worry. He’s felt it ever since he agreed to take on the position to lead the Search Bloc. He feels it everyday for his son. And now, after a month of having you on the intel team, he feels the same way about you. And he can’t figure out how he feels about this development. 

You’re not a soldier, you have not been combat trained, and yet you go out on the streets in a very unique mobile unit and a target on your American back, and he worries that one day, some second rate sicario is going to hit that target. He shouldn’t worry this much about you, but he does. And that compounds the worry, takes it to another level. Why? He isn’t this concerned about the other Americans that have been assigned to his unit. What makes you so special, what makes you stand out from everyone else?  

Then he sees his son look at you with genuine warmth and respect. You’ve created a space for the younger Martinez to grow, become comfortable, and ultimately flourish. The intel division is expanding in repute and it’s starting to give the Search Bloc an edge that they didn’t have before. Grid searches only go so far. Tracking radio transmissions and conversations is helping narrow down the searches and providing more evidence and arrests. Even Morales has warmed up to you, an officer who didn’t like anyone working in his space and with his equipment, but the three of you have formed a solid unit of your own. 

He tries to convince himself that you’ve become an asset to Search Bloc and he doesn’t like losing assets. He knows how much his son respects you and doesn’t want to console him about the loss of another maternal-type figure. And maybe that’s when the realization hits him. You remind him of his wife, of the event that made him a widower. He’s been through that level of loss once and doesn’t care to go through it again. So he tries to keep distance between you and him. When he needs to speak to the mobile intel unit, he typically speaks to his son to relay messages. 

But then you show up without warning and a file with transcriptions of helpful information and he catches your scent, a blend of violet and orange, and he finds himself distracted with memories of a lost love and daydreams of a possible new one for twenty minutes. His son shows up with American dishes you’ve shared with him, like gumbo or chicken parmigiana, and he remembers what it’s like to eat a home cooked meal. The worst of the situation, however, are the dreams. 

He has frequently dreamt of his wife since her passing, waking in the middle of the night and remembering that phantom feeling of having her in his arms. Now it’s your skin that he dreams of under his fingertips, your mouth against his, your body arching beneath his own. It’s your scent, floral and citrus, that he imagines he can smell on his sheets when he wakes in the middle of the night and reaches for a ghost. It’s frustrating, distracting, and quite frankly needs to come to an abrupt end. 

The first real conversation that you two had still stands out in his mind. You told him you had only been in the Army for ten years. If you had joined after attending college, that would make you thirty-one, thirty-two at most. You were much too young for his fifty-two year old self. He would be better sending you in the direction of his twenty-three year old son. At least he would know you would protect and take care of the boy, who already whole heartedly adored you. So when he runs into his son at the restaurant by their apartments, he decides to broach the topic as they wait for their food. 

“¿Cómo van las cosas en la unidad de inteligencia?” (How are things going in the intel unit?) 

His son gives him a shrewd look, reading between the lines, and a slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Está bien, aunque hoy parecía un poco triste.” (She is doing fine. Although, she did seem a little sad today.)

“¿Triste?” (Sad?)  He tries to keep the concern out of his voice and while he may have achieved that goal, he isn’t able to keep it from his facial expression. At least not under his son’s scrutiny.  

“Creo que está un poco nostálgica. Ella estaba hablando de su familia hoy.” (I think she's a bit homesick. She was talking about her family today.)

He doesn’t like the idea of you being sad and realizes these feelings are starting to become a very serious issue. He stays on his plan to direct his son’s interests towards you. “Entonces tal vez deberías hacer algo para animarla.” (Then maybe you should do something to cheer her up.)

The younger Martinez gives his father a sharp grin and deflects the suggestion right back to him. “O deberías.” (Or you should.) 

“Mijo, ella es un poco demasiado joven para mí.” (Son, she’s a little too young for me.) 

“¿Cuantos años crees que ella tenga?” (How old do you think she is?) 

He shrugs slightly. “Dijo que ha estado en el ejército durante diez años, quizás treinta y dos, quizás treinta y tres.” (She said she's been in the army for ten years, so maybe thirty-two, maybe thirty-three.)

His son shakes his head. “Ha estado en el ejército durante diez años, pero trabajó en el campo de la ingeniería durante diez años antes de eso. Tiene cuarenta y dos.” (She's been in the army for ten years but she worked in the engineering field for ten years before that. She's forty-two.) 

Forty-two? You certainly didn’t look that old. Now he wonders what made you make that change in the middle of a career? 

“Papa.” 

He snaps out of his musings. “¿Qué” (What?) 

“Ella preguntó por tu anillo de bodas la semana pasada.” (She asked about your wedding ring last week.) 

His thumb immediately goes to the band and turns it around his finger. “¿Y? ¿Qué le dijiste a ella?” (And? What did you tell her?) 

“La verdad. Que mi madre falleció hace cuatro años de cáncer. Que aún la extrañabas.” (The truth. That my mother passed away from cancer four years ago. That you still missed her.) He’s quiet for a moment. “No dijo mucho después de eso, pero parecía triste. Como ella estaba hoy.” (She didn’t say much after that, but she seemed sad. Like she was today.)

This changes things. Or at least it has the potential to change things. They don’t talk much about Milena, a subject that brings up that razorblade feeling of joy and grief. So when his son decides to talk about his mother, it’s worth the sting of remembrance. Apparently you were deemed worthy enough to wander into that emotional minefield and with the look his son is giving him, he thinks that his father should take a few steps in that direction as well. 

And knowing this certainly doesn’t help his situation when it comes to what to do about you. It especially doesn’t help when his son abruptly looks up and calls your name from across the busy restaurant and you suddenly appear. The younger Martinez stands up and offers you his chair. Hugo realizes that his son might be more strategic and cunning than he gives him credit for. 

“Buenas noches, señora. Me estaba yendo y sintiéndome culpable por dejar a mi padre solo para cenar.” (Good evening, miss. I was just leaving and feeling guilty for leaving my father  alone to eat dinner.) 

He tries to glare at his son, tries to communicate that they’re going to have words about this little set up but then you sit down in the offered seat, a strained smile on your face now as well. His son gives him a satisfied nod before leaving. Hugo redirects his attention back to you. You’re dressed casually since it has been a day spent in the field. You must realize what just happened as well as you keep your purse on your lap, a canvas bag filled with fruit sitting at your feet. 

“I know what this is,” you say with a slight grimace. “Your son is smart but not subtle.” 

“No, subtly has never been his strong suit. I apologize for him.” 

You shrug and give a faint smile. “His heart is in the right place.” 

He does have to give his son that. “It usually is.” 

You take a look around, your gaze falling on the exit, most likely making sure that Hugo Junior had in fact left the establishment. “Well, I suppose I should be going.” 

You start to stand up, leaning over to pick up a bag of groceries you put down next to the chair, and he catches the scent of your perfume. His response is out of his mouth before he can stop it. “Why?” 

“Oh come on,” you give him a nervous smile. “It’s not like you asked me to dinner. I’m sure you have better things-” 

“I don’t.” He has no idea what he’s doing right now. He just knows he doesn’t want you to leave, almost as if his mind is begging for more sensory details to fill in the gaps in the dreams. “Besides,” he gives you half a smile, “we can put dinner on his tab.” 

You seem to consider it for a moment, weigh the options of staying or going. “In that case,” you sit back down, “I’ll order lunch for tomorrow too.” 

He actually feels relieved when you pick up the menu and place your order. However you only order dinner, not following through with the lunch threat. He needs to figure out what to do about you and this is as good a time as ever. Other than that first night of you being in Medellín, he hasn’t really had a full on conversation with you. He’s seen you in passing, exchanged pleasantries, but most of what he’s learned about you has come from his son. 

What he knows for certain is that you’re highly intelligent, logical, and caring. You were stubborn in your own way, particularly when it came to fighting the US embassy for needed equipment. He had been present for the phone call you made to your commanding officer asking for more up to date equipment claiming they were asking you to paint the Sistine Chapel with a box of crayons. Two new RDF machines arrived three days later at the Search Bloc headquarters. He missed how you managed to get the new antenna for the van and he’s been trying to figure that out for the last two weeks. 

He’s not sure if it’s your personality that makes you so attractive or if it is your physical attributes. You look so different from Melina, almost the exact opposite. You look American, with your jeans, linen blouses, and messy hair. But despite the casual air, you are altogether lovely in your appearance. He is, without any further doubt, smitten with you. But is that enough to venture beyond pleasant conversations and professional interest? 

There is also the reality that your thoughts may have no place for him at all, that he doesn’t inhabit your dreams like you do his. However, if that were the case, his son wouldn’t have shoved you both into this awkward situation. So there must have been something said between you and him that led the younger Martinez to this plan. Hugo decides to take an angled course of questioning to see if he can pull any information from you to see if there is any chance that this could be more than a professional relationship.  

“My son raised a mild concern,” he begins, which immediately grabs your attention. “He tells me you were not yourself today.” 

You nod slightly with a sad smile. “Yes, today was the anniversary of a death. It’s the first time I’ve been out of the country and not able to visit the gravesite so there were some quiet moments in the van today. I told him not to worry about it and thought he would understand.” You look like you’re going to continue speaking but then decide better of it and snap your mouth shut.  

“He gets that from his mother.” 

You give him an incredulous look. “Yes, I’m sure it comes from only his mother. Speaking of which, he did tell me about her. I’m very sorry for your loss. The way he described her to me, she sounded like an incredibly kind and compassionate woman.” 

“She was. We couldn’t have asked for a better wife and mother.” He clears his throat. “If I may ask about the death you suffered?” 

“It was my fiancé. Eleven years ago now, he was killed in a motorcycle accident.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“He’s the reason I joined the Army though. He was a specialist in communications and firmly believed in the necessity of staying on the cutting edge of technology. When he died, I wanted to do something to keep his memory going so I enlisted.” You smile. “And now I’m helping track down Pablo fucking Escobar.” 

He can’t help but return your smile. “I’m sure he would be very proud of you and your work.” 

“You remind me of him,” you say quickly. “He was a very good and kind man.” 

“And you do remind me of my wife. She was also very good and kind. My son does take after her and that is why he most likely has come to admire you as much as he does.” 

You duck your head, like you’re trying to hide your facial expression. “Thank you. That, that means a lot.” 

When the food comes, he takes the opportunity to change the subject to lighter topics, such as how you’re enjoying Colombia. You brighten up considerably at the divergence. You love the people and the food, particularly the coffee (saddened by the imminent return to the States and having to drink something called “Folgers”), but you’re not exactly pleased with the heat and humidity. It occurs to him that even though he knows you’re from the US, he doesn’t know where. Your accent is different from both Peña’s and Murphy’s so he asks about your origins. 

“I’m actually from Monterey, California. It’s south of San Francisco and along the coast. Beautiful, beautiful place in the States.” 

“And your family is still there?” 

“Mostly. My older brother is a cop in San Jose which is not far from Monterey at all. My parents still live in the suburbs of San Francisco. Both my fiancé and I went to Presidio of Monterey which was the Army base there.” You then proceed to tell him of this little town called Carmel-by-the-Sea with its fairytale-esque cottages along the rugged shoreline of the ocean. There is magic in your description and cadence that he almost forgets where he is. You then turn the tables on him. “You’re not from Medellín, are you?” 

“No, I’m not. I was born in Moniquirá, a small town in the middle of nowhere. There were farms for sugar cane, coffee, and corn mostly. When I graduated from the Army I moved to Bogotá and have been there since.” 

“When Escobar is caught, you think you’ll go back to Bogotá?” 

“I would like to, yes.” He in turn tells you about the wonders of Bogotá, the art museums, street food, and parks found in the city. You seem just as enraptured as he had been with Carmel. “How much of Bogotá did you see?” 

You grimace. “The airport. They literally shuffled me from the baggage claim back out to the tarmac for the flight down here.” 

He scoffs, bold with the relaxing effects of wine. “I will show you around the wonders of Bogotá.” 

“I’d like that.” 

He’s surprised at your comfortable acceptance of the invitation. Maybe, just maybe, you do entertain soft thoughts about him. He tries to drag the night out as long as he can but you tell him that the intel unit is planning to go out tomorrow morning to pick up any early morning chatter. He’s not ready to release you, he wants to continue asking you questions about your life, likes, dislikes, dreams, what he could do to keep you in Colombia and by his side for the rest of his life. There is such a comfortableness that he feels in your presence that he hasn’t felt since Melina. His son adores you and he does as well. He wants to ask you to stay but swallows down the words and instead asks to walk you to your apartment.

You agree with a smile. 

He pays for both your meals, taking pity on his son, and escorts you out of the restaurant. You enter the door code to open the main door to the apartment building, one that he knows himself given his son is one floor above you, and he trails after you as you climb the flight of stairs to your second floor apartment. You unlock your door but then fiddle with the keys.

“Would you like to come in?” 

He shakes his head. “No, thank you. I know you have to get up early tomorrow.” 

You nod once, a tight lipped smile on your face. “Right. Thank you, for tonight though. It was very nice.” 

He blames the wine, his son, and the entire universe for what he does next. He leans forward and presses his lips to yours. Your scent of violets and oranges fills his senses and he knows he will never be able to smell one of those particular scents without thinking of you. You’re so warm, fitting perfectly in his arms and against his chest. The palm of his hand fits perfectly in the small of your back. And then the most amazing thing happens and you kiss him back. Your fingers press into his biceps as your tongue drags along the seam of his lips and he eagerly grants  you access to his mouth. The moan that you release is pure sin and he loses his mind in that moment, pressing you against the door of your apartment. When you lean your head back and break the physical connection between your mouths, some of his common sense returns. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” you ask him, your voice low and breathless. 

Oh, he wants to come in; come in and stay, never leaving your side. Fuck the hunt for Escobar, fuck the stress and pressure from the politicians to bring in this one man that has been a thorn in the side of Colombia for years. He just wants you, your soft skin, intoxicating scent, and compassionate heart. He wants to feel you underneath him as he claims you as his own, marks you with his mouth and hands. He wants to wake up tomorrow morning with you, solid and warm, in his arms. 

But he can’t, not now. Not yet. So he steps back, puts distance between you but presses his lips to your forehead. “Not tonight, querida.”  

You hum in understanding. “I always have Morales and your son over for dinner on Sunday night but Morales can’t make it this Sunday. Would you like to join us?” 

His hands are still holding you close to him, not ready to let you go. “I would.” 

“Good.” You smile up at him, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. You’re so beautiful it hurts. 

He kisses you once more, briefly, before forcing his hands to release you from their grasp. He knows the dreams are coming in full force this evening and for once, he’s going to welcome them.

#Colonel Hugo Martinez #Hugo Martinez #Hugo Martinez fic #Hugo Martinez x Reader #Hugo Martinez x You #Narcos fic

[proceduralpassion]

It's Gonna Be A Scream

Day 29 of Narcoctober- Create a fanwork inspired by your favorite horror movie.

Character(s): Javier Peña x Reader; Steve Murphy, Connie Murphy, Horacio Carrillo, Trujillo, Hugo Martinez

CW: violence, blood, character death (both implied and real)

WC: 689

A/N: The way this needs to be an entire fic and/or series??

Your lungs were on fire. The muggy Texas air didn’t help matters. All you felt was hot, thick cotton stuffing its way down your trachea with each breath you took. Every ounce of energy was going into getting away from certain death. You were too tantalized with fear to turn around and see if you were still being chased. Instead, you looked in front of you. Working overtime to catch up to Javi.

One of your best friends ever since you got to college kept swiping glances back at you, not sprinting too far away from you. The two of you got separated from the rest of the group somewhere in all of the frenzy and now you were both alone as you ran for your lives.

Adrenaline was a hell of a drug. No one was given much chance to come to terms with finding Hugo’s bloodied remains in a heap outside the lone Victorian-style farmhouse they had stopped at for help with their overheated travel van. Connie’s screams had permeated through the air as she realized that she had discovered the newly deceased body of their college friend and travel buddy. Steve immediately pulled her away, yelling, “Holy shit, that’s Hugo!”

Everyone’s yelps of confusion and horror gets drowned out by the sound of a chainsaw and the large man wielding it who’s charging straight at them. 

Horacio and Trujillo take off towards the house while Steve is pulling Connie back towards another vehicle on the land, hoping and praying that it’ll work. 

You immediately flee for the opposite direction in which the violent slaughterer is coming from. Javi falls in step with you and he points out the woodsy area that would hopefully provide shelter. It’s farther away from the roads in which you all drove in to get to the house, but you’re left with no choice. 

Your feet pound into the ground, carrying you further and further away except you don’t hear the sound of the chainsaw growing less quiet with time. You know he’s following you. You can’t bear to turn around and confirm, but you know it. 

Javi looks back once more now that he’s several steps in front of you, “Come on!” 

You clear the tall grass of the southern fields. It’s reedy and thick for the first several feet. The sound of the deadly weapon dissipates some, like he’s stopped. You’re catching up to Javi finally, but the two of you don’t stop. The fescue grass starts getting thinner in some areas, patchier, but there’s trees up ahead and you’ve got a good chance of completely losing your friend’s murderer if you can get across where there’s possible civilization. 

The sound of the chainsaw grows quieter and quieter and there comes a point when the two of you don’t hear it at all. Javi puts a finger to his mouth, willing quietness. He grabs onto your hand and pulls you both closer to the ground. The grass is getting shorter and there’s about thirty feet between it and the expansive space of trees. There’s no cover in that small feat. If the killer’s attention was no longer on them, it wouldn’t matter anyway, but it was still a risk.

You glance into each other’s eyes and realize the same thing at the same time. It’s do or die. Now or never. 

The both of you stop at the border that stops at the reeds and begins the wide open field before hitting the woods. A few seconds feels like a few hours. Thousands of words are exchanged between the desperate gaze the two of you share. The confessions you want to make. The feelings that you’ve both held for years. The promises you make to yourselves and to each other of what happens when this is all over. 

There’s no silent countdown. The two of you just nod and dart out into the open, making the rough, muddy terrain your track field.

Your lungs burn. 

Your feet hurt. 

The chainsaw drums up again. DALLAS MORNING NEWS- 7 University of Texas Students Reported Missing, Last Seen Traveling Together on Spring Break

Click here if you wanna be added to the taglist! Taglist: @asirensrage @drabbles-mc @ashlingnarcos @narcosfandomdiscord

#narcos #javier pena #javier peña #javier pena x reader #horacio carrillo #steve murphy #connie murphy #trujillo #hugo martinez

[narcosfandomdiscord]

narcos october masterlist ii

This masterlist is for days 11-25 of the @narcosfandomdiscord's october prompt event, which you can read about here and join in!

For days 1-10 of the event, check out masterlist i, and for days 26-31 of the event, check out masterlist iii.

(Note: character x character indicates a romantic/sexual relationship; character & character indicates a platonic one.)

October 11 — Day of Fun

Create a non-visual, non-fic fanwork: quiz, game, playlist, incorrect quotes.

↳ Narcos Incorrect Quotes by @proceduralpassion — many characters from OG & MX

October 12 — Day of Death

Kill a character who lives in canon.

↳ Behind The Curve by @drabbles-mc — Hugo Martinez Sr. & Hugo Martinez Jr, 1.4k

↳ It's You by @proceduralpassion — Rafa x Reader

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October 13 — Day of Life

Create a fanwork in which a character avoids their canonical death.

↳ Adamant by @drabbles-mc — Enedina x Claudio, 2k

↳ Undefined by @artemiseamoon — Danilo x OFC, 1.1k

↳ I'm The Sky To You by @proceduralpassion — Carrillo x OFC, 1.1k

↳ Chasing ghosts and choices by @hausofmamadas — Enedina x Claudio, 1.7k

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October 14 — Day of Support

Create a review, response, or analysis of a Narcos or Narcos Mexico fic, in the style of an Amazon review or a NYT book review or something like that. Please keep it constructive and positive, no roasts.

↳ In defense of Wonderbread White: Eureka!Character moments by @hausofmamadas — Steve-centric fanfic analysis

↳ she's got the range by @ashlingnarcos — analysis of the #narcoctober fics written by @drabbles-mc

Quote prompt: “I got you.”

↳ Debts Paid by @drabbles-mc — Navegante & Salcedo ficlet

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October 15 — Day of Absolute Filth

Create a smut fanwork that includes three different kinks and/or sex acts (basically you could tag it with at least three tags that are Pure Filth).

↳ Control pt 2 by @artemiseamoon — Verdin x OFC 1.5k

↳ First on Speed Dial by @drabbles-mc — Steve x F!Reader 1.5k

↳ XTASY by @proceduralpassion — Rafa x Reader 1.4k

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October 16 — Day of Surprises

These prompts were revealed at the start of the day.

Create a fanwork that focuses on dreams, either literal or metaphorical.

↳ not in this life by @narcolini — Güero x Reader ficlet

↳ Crumbled to Dust by @drabbles-mc — Carrillo x F!Reader (+OC Diego Ramirez), 1.2k

↳ TO THE SMASH N GRAB CREW by @hausofmamadas — Smash & Grab Crew, also Kenny x Cici, gifset and meta

↳ One Uniform by @proceduralpassion — Trujillo focused ficlet

↳ To live and leave fast by @hausofmamadas — Andrea x Carrillo angst and smut, 2.3k

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October 17 — Day of Rare Treasures

Create a fanwork about a character that only shows up in one (1) season of the show. the rarer the better honestly

↳ Marta fanart by @tofuwildcard

↳ One day at a time by @artemiseamoon — NYC hairdresser from Narcos S3, trauma recovery, 1.2k

↳ Cómo Puedo Ayudar? by @drabbles-mc — Sal & Cece Garza, 1.7k

↳ Denouemont by @proceduralpassion — Dani x Walt ficlet

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October 18 — Day of History

Create a fanwork about characters experiencing, participating in, or witnessing a real life historical event (could have been depicted in canon or not) e.g. moon landing.

↳ The Moon Landing by @garbinge — Javi & F!Reader, 1.3k

↳ Get To You by @proceduralpassion — Javi x OFC, 1.2k

Create a fanwork about two exes meeting unexpectedly.

↳ Ninety Days by @drabbles-mc — Walt x GN!Reader, 2.9k

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October 19 — Day of Hurt

Create a fanwork about a character so emotionally or physically hurt that they can’t help but start crying even though they don’t want to.

↳ Could've Been It by @proceduralpassion — Javi x OFC ficlet

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October 20 — Day of Comfort

Create a fanwork about a character getting exactly what they need from someone unexpected.

↳ Best Bet by @drabbles-mc — Carrillo & Connie, 1.3k

↳ Walls Closing In by @proceduralpassion — Amado x Reader ficlet

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October 21 — Day of Women Who Will Step On You For Free

Create a f/f-centric fanwork.

↳ At Your Service by @drabbles-mc — Andrea x F!Reader, 1.3k

↳ Don't Question by @proceduralpassion — Maria Elvira x F!Reader ficlet

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October 22 — Day of Cross-Fandom Pollination

Create a fanwork that includes at least one Narcos character and at least one character from another fandom.

↳ Flying In (1) by @drabbles-mc — Narcos OFC & multiple Narcos and Mayans MC characters, 2.8k

↳ Family Reunion by @drabbles-mc — Steve & Rick Flag (from Suicide Squad), 2.3k

↳ A Bad Habit by @artemiseamoon — Chepe x OFC, Lalo Salamanca x OFC, Better Call Saul crossover ficlet

↳ Borgias & Narcos Mexico crossover fanart by @tofuwildcard

↳ And You? by @garbinge — Jax Teller (Sons of Anarchy) & Steve ficlet

↳ The Job by @proceduralpassion — Billy Russo (The Punisher Netflix) & Miguel ficlet

The occupational hazards of living by @hausofmamadas — Rust Cohle (from True Detective) & Barrón, 4.5k

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October 23 — Day of Threes

Create a fanwork that includes three items you can currently see.

↳ Sweet Dreams, Angel by @proceduralpassion — Steve x Connie ficlet

Create a fanwork including three canon characters. extra difficult version: three canon characters that have never met.

↳ Acquaintances at Best by @drabbles-mc — 3 characters are: Steve, Jorge Salcedo, Don Berna, also Steve & Javi, 2.7k

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October 24 — Day of Monsters

Create a fanwork about a character turning into a supernatural creature.

↳ Wolf Pack by @artemiseamoon — Ramón & OC ficlet

↳ Amado as an angel fanart by @tofuwildcard

↳ Night of the Comet by @proceduralpassion — Walt x Reader ficlet

Quote prompt: “The world isn’t made up of heroes and monsters. Just broken people balancing between the two.”

↳ Hard to hate up close by @hausofmamadas — Andrea & OC, 3.2k

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October 25 — Day of Wow, That Escalated Quickly

Create a fanwork that begins in a canon-compatible place, but ends up going somewhere more dramatic.

↳ Distant Echoes by @proceduralpassion — Carrillo x Juliana ficlet

#narcos fanfiction #narcos imagine #narcos mexico fanfiction #narcos #narcos mexico #narcos mexico imagine #narcoctober

[bookclub4m]

Episode 192 - Non-Fiction Graphic Novels & Comics

This episode we’re discussing the format of Non-Fiction Graphic Novels & Comics! We talk about what we even mean when we say “non-fiction,” comics vs. graphic novels, art vs. writing, memoirs vs. other stuff, and more. Plus: It’s been over 365 days since our last gorilla attack!

You can download the podcast directly, find it on Libsyn, or get it through Apple Podcasts or your favourite podcast delivery system.

In this episode

Anna Ferri | Meghan Whyte | Matthew Murray | Jam Edwards

Join our Discord Server!

Things We Read (or tried to…)

Moi aussi je voulais l'emporter by Julie Delporte

This Woman's Work by Julie Delporte, translated by Helge Dascher and Aleshia Jensen

Sông by Hài-Anh and Pauline Guitton

Kimiko Does Cancer by Kimiko Tobimatsu and Keet Geniza

Why I Adopted by Husband by Yuta Yagi

The Art and Life of Hilma af Klint by Ylva Hillström, translated by Karin Eklund

Go to Sleep (I Miss You): Cartoons from the Fog of New Parenthood by Lucy Knisley

Nuking Alaska: Notes of an Atomic Fugitive by Peter Dunlap-Shohl

My Brain is Different: Stories of ADHD and Other Developmental Disorders by Monzusu, translated by Ben Trethewey

The Comic Book Guide to Growing Food: Step-by-Step Vegetable Gardening for Everyone by Joseph Tychonievich and Liz Kozik

Other Media We Mentioned

Fun Home by Alison Bechdel

Fun Home (musical) (Wikipedia)

Maus by Art Spiegelman

Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi, translated by Mattias Ripa

Ducks: Two Years in the Oil Sands by Kate Beaton

Understanding Comics by Scott McCloud

The Essential Dykes To Watch Out For by Alison Bechdel

Displacement by Lucy Knisley

Pedro and Me: Friendship, Loss, and What I Learned and Judd Winick

Melody: Story of a Nude Dancer by Sylvie Rancourt, translated by Helge Dascher

Kid Gloves by Lucy Knisley

The Mental Load by Emma

The Secret to Superhuman Strength by Alison Bechdel

What Is Obscenity?: The Story of a Good for Nothing Artist and Her Pussy by Rokudenashiko

Homestar Runner

Button Pusher by Tyler Page

Last of the Sandwalkers by Jay Hosler

Clan Apis by Jay Hosler

Ping-pong by Zviane

Dumb: Living Without a Voice by Georgia Webber

When David Lost His Voice by Judith Vanistendael

Blankets by Craig Thompson

Smile by Raina Telegmeier

Dog Man by Dav Pilkey

Sensible Footwear: A Girl's Guide by Kate Charlesworth

Links, Articles, and Things

Harvey Pekar (Wikipedia)

Joe Sacco (Wikipedia)

Japanese adult adoption (Wikipedia)

In the name of the queer: Sailor Moon's LGBTQ legacy

The Spectre of Orientalism in Craig Thompson’s Habibi

Cultural Appropriation in Craig Thompson’s Graphic Novel Habibi

35 Non-fiction Graphic Novels by BIPOC Authors

Every month Book Club for Masochists: A Readers’ Advisory Podcasts chooses a genre at random and we read and discuss books from that genre. We also put together book lists for each episode/genre that feature works by BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, & People of Colour) authors. All of the lists can be found here.

This Place: 150 Years Retold

Zodiac: A Graphic Memoir by Ai Weiwei with Elettra Stamboulis & Gianluca Costantini

Nat Turner by Kyle Baker

The Talk by Darrin Bell

The Best We Could Do by Thi Bui

I’m a Wild Seed by Sharon Lee De la Cruz

Messy Roots: A Graphic Memoir of a Wuhanese American by Laura Gao

Stamped from the Beginning: A Graphic History of Racist Ideas in America by Joel Christian Gill and Ibram X. Kendi

Wake: The Hidden History of Women-Led Slave Revolts by Rebecca Hall and Hugo Martinez

The 500 Years of Resistance Comic Book by Gord Hill

Good Talk: A Memoir in Conversations by Mira Jacob

The American Dream? A Journey on Route 66 Discovering Dinosaur Statues, Muffler Man, and the Perfect Breakfast Burrito: a Graphic Memoir by Shing Yin Khor

Banned Book Club by Kim Hyun Sook, Ryan Estrada, and Ko Hyung-Ju

In Limbo by Deb J.J. Lee

This Country: Searching for Home in (Very) Rural America by Navied Mahdavian

Mexikid: A Graphic Memoir by Pedro Martín

Monstrous: A Transracial Adoption Story by Sarah Myer

Steady Rollin': Preacher Kid, Black Punk and Pedaling Papa by Fred Noland

Citizen 13660 by Mine Okubo

Your Black Friend and Other Strangers by Ben Passmore

Kwändǖr by Cole Pauls

Worm: A Cuban American Odyssey by Edel Rodriguez

Power Born of Dreams: My Story is Palestine by Mohammad Sabaaneh

A First Time for Everything by Dan Santat

Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood by Marjane Satrapi

Grandmothers, Our Grandmothers: Remembering the "Comfort Women" of World War II by Han Seong-Won

Death Threat by Vivek Shraya and Ness Lee

Palimpsest: Documents From A Korean Adoption by Lisa Wool-Rim Sjöblom

Big Black: Stand at Attica by Frank "Big Black" Smith, Jared Reinmuth, and Améziane

Victory. Stand!: Raising My Fist for Justice by Tommie Smith, Dawud Anyabwile, and Derrick Barnes

The High Desert by James Spooner

They Called Us Enemy by George Takei, Justin Eisinger, Steven Scott, and Harmony Becker

Feelings by Manjit Thapp

The Black Panther Party: A Graphic Novel History by David F. Walker and Marcus Kwame Anderson

Now Let Me Fly: A Portrait of Eugene Bullard by Ronald Wimberly and Braham Revel

Bonus list: 21 Non-Fiction Manga

Give us feedback!

Fill out the form to ask for a recommendation or suggest a genre or title for us to read!

Join our Discord Server!

Check out our Tumblr, follow us on Instagram, join our Facebook Group, or send us an email!

#podcasts #libraries #non-fiction #graphic novels #comics

[clonesupport]

Whiskey Dick

hugo martinez x reader

word count: +2.8k

warnings: 18+, NSFW, handjob, oral m receiving, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm, cum eating?, post orgasm torture, facial, vulgar language, porn without plot, smut under the cut

a/n: finally writing for this mans, a follow up to this lovely ask by @narcosstan, thank you for the food ma'am, now i shall provide in return the end of this story😈😈 maybe i'll even write a part two to this, maybe some shower sex👀 now, time to torture this man^^

You're straddling Hugo's thighs as he sits in his chair, his face cupped in your hands as your lips devour his in a passionate exchange. His groans are pulled from his throat, you swallow each sound, sucking and biting his lips as you ground your hips against his hardening length. His hands are on your hips, guiding your clothed cunt against him as he lets you do whatever you please with him. He'd had a tiring day and wanted to relish in you the moment he got home, allowing you full control of every move shared between you and loving every second of it.

With one last nip of his lips, you pull back breaking the kiss as you run your hands down his bare chest, untucking his shirt from the waist band of his pants to undo the final buttons. You glance over to the table next to you seeing the empty glass and bottle of liquor, the tinge of the whiskey still on your tongue. You reach for the glass and then the bottle to follow suite. Hugo watches you pour a glass, heart still pumping in his chest from your feverish kiss just moments before. You hand it to him, his expression somewhat quizzical as his eyes look back to yours, hand unlatching from your waist to hold the glass. "Don't drink it yet." You purr, a devilish smirk dancing on your lips.

His confusion only deepens in his face though he obeys, waiting for your next move as he holds the filled glass of whiskey. You lean back into him, resealing your lips to his as you press your chest against him. Your lips travel down his neck, leaving sucking kisses along his jugular, then to his collar bones as you slowly began to climb off his lap. Hugo lets out low mumbling murmurs of sweet nothings to you, words rolling off his tongue like velvet as they spur you on.

You kiss down his chest, sucking and nipping at his skin, feeling his hands caress your sides as you lowered yourself between his thighs. You look back up at him, content to see him still holding the glass in the air, his eyes glossy as they watch you with lust, anticipating your every move. He notices your eyes on the glass, quite honestly he'd forgotten he was holding it. As he went to place his arm down you tsk, "Ah, keep it there." You say as you lean in to kiss his abdomen. Hugo listens, his arm raises back up just over your head with his elbow on the armrest, balancing the weight of the glass in his hold as he liquid sloshes gently. You smile up at him before placing another kiss to his stomach as your hands begin to undo his belt.

Opening his pants, you palm his erection with one hand as your eyes never left his. You watched the subtle pants leaving his lips as his eyes watched you pull out his cock, giving it a few slow pumps before you look away. You look down to his length in your hand, your smile returns noticing every throb and twitch of his desperation. You thumb under his sensitive head, swiping your thumb over his slit to spread his slowly oozing precum.

You kiss his v-line, giving his cock a couple languid strokes before you begin to set a pace. With one hand pumping his cock, your other ran over his body, soothing his nerves with your caressing touch across his abdomen, pelvis, and thighs. Sighs fell from his lips as you pleasure him, his hips subtly bucking every so often in time with your strokes. He bucks again, harsher this time, desperate for your touch and the pleasure you were giving him. The whiskey sloshed in the glass, liquid almost spilling over the rim. "Careful, my love." You smile smugly up at him as you eyed the drink in his hand.

You could see how much he wanted his release along with the glint in his eyes as they darted to his hand, showing the annoyance the glass is giving him. His eyes glazed over as they meet yours again, a slight whimper vibrating in his chest, "Must I hold this the entire time?" His voice is raspy as your strokes never cease. You smile up at him again, your roaming hand coming down to massage his balls, your pumping hand quickening its pace making him wince as the pleasure only increases.

"Yes," you say innocently, the smile gracing your lips taunting him but he listens, "so you need to be more cautious about moving so much, or else you might spill." Your grin flashes almost wicked before you bring your head to level with his cock, lolling your tongue out as you lick one long languid stripe up his length teasingly, eyes locked with his as you did so. His brows furrowed as he watching, his mouth falling agape as he anticipates your next move. Your eyes are peering up at him through your lashes, his gaze watching you like a lustful hawk as you kitten lick his frenulum, teasing his sensitivity, testing how he'll hold up without spilling his drink.

Hugo groans, cocks throbbing in your hold as you lick his sensitive cock, hips threatening to buck once more as your tongue trails up to his tip. He brings his hand to gently caress your cheek, knuckles and thumb brushing over your cheekbone as he watched you. Your wet tongue twirls around his head before you're latching your lips around his cock, pushing yourself down onto him once, then twice. You bob your head, setting a shallow yet quick pace, hallowing your cheeks and using your tongue to suck his cock to the best of your abilities. He'd had a long day and you wanted to make sure you'd give him a couple orgasms to soothe his nerves, and you were going to make them good.

His throaty groans turned to low moans, his hand trails from your cheek to the back of your head, gripping a fistful of your hair to guide your mouth. His fist in your hair is gentle enough to not hurt you but firm enough to show his neediness. You use your hand to jerk the rest of him that you can't fit, pumping his cock into your mouth. Your other hand smoothed up and down his thigh, using him for balance while you bobbed your head mercilessly.

With a few more strokes you decide to surprise him a bit, taking him all the way into the back of your throat, his cock throbbing into your mouth as you slowly swallowed his cock. You moan as you feel his cock breach your throat, suppressing your gag as you looked back up to him, tears brimming your eyes. Hugo's eyes were already on you, panting softly as his own moan follows yours upon seeing you peer up at him. You resume bobbing your head, his groans in time with your blows as his fist tightens in your hair.

You could feel him twitch in your throat, he was close. His head was thrown back, arm almost faltering its hold of his glass before you bring your hand up to his cock. You hold the base of his length, creating a cock ring with your index and thumb, squeezing his swollen cock as you throated him. The action caught Hugo off guard, his head snapping back up to look down at you, his hand almost losing its grip on his glass in the process. The drink spills a drop over the rim, the drop of whiskey falling to your cheek making you flinch on his cock with a moan. The vibrations in your throat stimulating his cock just enough to push him over the edge.

Hugo's orgasm crashes over him with a choked moan, his hand on the back of your head only forcing you farther onto his cock on instinct as his cum shoots down your throat. You gag, attempting to take him all the way as you taste the bittersweet taste of his cum in the back of your mouth. Your nose presses against his pubic bone as you swallow around his cock, only making him groan louder as your throat tightens around him.

His thighs tremble as his cock twitches in your mouth with every rope of cum that empties from his balls. You continue to bob on his cock shallowly, milking his orgasm of every drop of cum. His hips bucking from uncontrolled pleasure though he does his best to restrain them as he watches the glass in his hand. With every slosh of whiskey a jolt of panic ignites in his chest, pairing deliciously with the pleasure coursing through him so intensely with every wave of his orgasm.

With one final bob of your head and a whimper escaping Hugo's lungs, you pull yourself off his cock with a pop of your lips. You swallow one final time, making sure to down every drop of his cum you've been given, licking your lips before swiping you fingers over your mouth to clean them. You keep a hold on his cock as you watched him pant in his seat, his head lazily holding itself up as he looked down to you with his post euphoric gaze.

You give him slow strokes as you stood up on your knees, raising yourself high enough to reach for him. Your other hand smoothed up from his chest to shoulder, pulling him forward towards you gently. He obeys, leaning into you as your hand slid up to cup his neck, connecting your lips in a passionately sloppy kiss. Your lips are wet from your saliva and his cum as his lips sucked yours hungrily. You pull back just enough to look him in the eyes, you hand never ceasing its slow strokes. You felt his thighs twitch from the sensitivity as you did so, his eyes racing over your face to gather every detail. His eyes land on your cheek, leaning in to suck a kiss where the whiskey had spilled onto you. You smile before pulling his lips back to yours, sighing against his lips as he responded with a groan.

You stretched out the kiss, molding your swollen lips to his as he tasted every inch of your mouth he'd just ruined. You quicken your strokes, lips twitching into a smirk as he yelps out a moan into your mouth. You weren't done with him yet, you wanted to make sure he was relaxed and his hungry kiss had proven he still had too much energy. Your hand keeps a quick pace, merciless as you stroke his oversensitive cock towards another release.

Hugo grips the back of your neck, tensing to the sudden overstimulation from your relentless strokes. You smile, pushing him gently and slowly back against the chair, rubbing your hand up and down his torso as you did so. He leans back, glass wavering in his hand as the drink only threatens to spill once again. You notice, reaching for the glass with your free hand. You bring the glass to your lips as you keep your eyes locked with his, making sure he was watching you as you took a sip. Your smirk never fades as you bring the glass just above his sternum in the middle of his chest, tipping the rim just enough to let a steady small stream of whiskey to spill onto his chest.

Hugo's hands grip the armrests, overwhelmed by the sensation of the cold liquid running down his abdomen and spilling to his balls along with the fierce pumping of your fist on his cock. You revert the glass, leaning down to litter kisses on his abdomen, darting your tongue out to lick down to his cock, the alcohol burning your taste buds deliciously. You pull back slowing your pumps, bringing the glass just over the tip of his cock, your eyes glancing back up to his. He can see a spark of mischief light up your eyes before you pull your gaze away from his, tipping the glass slowly, watching the whiskey spill over the rim.

Hugo attempts to stifle a moan as the whiskey pours over his tip, it's cold with a subtle sting over his sensitivity. You place the glass down on the floor beside you, sitting back down on your knees as you bring your lips back to his cock. Hugo chokes out a moan, "Mi amor, please." He pleads, unsure of himself whether he's begging for you to give him more of to stop, though his throbbing cock and jutting hips seem to give him his answer.

You smile up to him, "Of course, my dear." Your purr only spurring him on, making him more needy for you even if you haven't already given him so much. You lips return to his cock, kissing his tip gently, tasting the whiskey on his head and your lips before your sucking his cock with every fibre of your being. Now without the glass in his hand, Hugo's finally free to move as much as he wishes, bucking his hips to meet your bobbing head. You suppress as many gags as you can, attempting to use your arm over his hips to hold him down as he begins to lose control of his own self in your mouth.

His hands grip the armrests, his chest heaving before you as you work him towards his second orgasm. His legs shake beneath you, his moans breathy as his pulse quickens rapidly. The oversensitivity is driving his mind wild, the sensation mixing with the pleasure pushing his senses into overdrive. Your mouth was heaven, even better the second time, warm and wet, sucking him so graciously like it was the last thing you'd do. It was almost too much, his body was hot, aching for release yet it screamed at him that it was too much.

You felt him twitch in your mouth, his head was thrown back, his eyes were squeezed shut as he bared his teeth, groans forced through clenched teeth. You pull your mouth off his cock roughly, Hugo choking on a moan in the process as his head snapped back up to look at you. You replace your mouth with your hand, squeezing him tight as you jerked his cock at a fast pace, faster than any previous time. Another gruff moan rips through his throat as you edge him harshly to his second release, forcing his orgasm out of him with your rough strokes. "Come on," you spur him on, "one last time."

You lean forward to kiss his pelvis, focusing your quick strokes on his sensitive head, inching him closer and closer to climax. With a few more fast, tight strokes of your hand, Hugo's hips stutter in their place, his grips tightening on the chair as his orgasm forces his cum out with such sheer violence. You pull back just in time though that doesn't stop his cum from landing on your face, painting you with his orgasm as you milk his cock dry for a second time. You pump him through his orgasm, his length twitching if your hand as you did so, slowing your movements as he came down from his high.

As Hugo's mind cleared and he caught his breath, he looks back down at you, his eyes refocusing on your cum covered face. You were looking up at him innocent like with a knowing smile, lips sucking your thumb clean after wiping a bit of cum off your face. He sits forward, his hand coming to your face, attempting to help wipe away his cum from your cheek, almost embarrassed if not apologetic. "I'm sorry." He says meekly, quiet enough that you almost miss it.

"It's alright," you chuckle as he continues to attempt to clean your face the best he can, "I kind of asked for it." A guilty grin plays on your lips. You lean up to meet your lips to his, pecking him a sweet kiss before his hand comes up to cup your cheek, pulling you in to return your kiss lovingly.

"Thank you, hermosa." His voice is deep and breathy against your lips, his thumb gently stroking your face as he uses his free hand to pull you up into his lap. You yelp with a giggle as you help him, climbing back onto his lap leaning into his chest as you resume your kiss. You press your hands to his chest, upon doing so you remember how dirty the both of you were. Hugo catches on to your thought as you pulled back to look at your combined mess. "How about a bath?" He suggests to you, his hands coming to caress your body, finally being able to hold you again.

You smile, leaning into him before agreeing. "Ok." You whisper simply, smiling before he closes the gap between your lips.

#hugo martinez x reader #colonel martinez #colonel hugo martinez #hugo martinez #narcos #narcos x reader #narcos fanfiction #narcos smut

[fanficwritinggremlin]

Hugo Martinez x f!reader

Warnings: I'm not giving warnings. Surprise!!!

My turn to write smth about that man, after @clonesupport fed me really well with her own story!!! I love her and our dynamic!!!

Ok sweetheart…This is for you!!!😊❤️

😈Time to get tortured by our man @clonesupport !!!😖

It was a rainy night, not really usual for a Colombian city. You were like a wet cat since you had left Peña's house on foot and hadn't informed yourself about the weather. You decided to trust Murphy instead of listening to a meteorologist on the radio. "Fuck you Murphy! You and your fucking weather forecast! Bitch!" You cursed and ran towards a doorstep you saw by chance in front of you, in order to stay there with the hope that the rain would cease a little. You were exhausted since Javier's house was really far from yours. And you didn't think of driving or taking an umbrella with you, at least. Dumb decisions.

You were holding the wall and trying to breathe, your heart still pumping from the run. However, it was about to stop when the door behind you suddenly opened. You looked behind you quickly to be prepared for any circumstance. But you shouldn't have worried. It was Hugo who opened it. You got relieved and apologized for bothering him. "Get inside." He told you while tilting his head at the side of the interior of the house. You listened and started walking slowly towards the living room.

"You look completely tired. Have a seat." He said and grabbed your shoulders to push you on the couch. "No, I...I have…to leave. The…time is not…appropriate." You started stuttering but he shushed you by caressing your soaked head so softly, that you couldn't say no to him telling you to stay. After all, let's not forget that you were in love with him! Then, you put a glance at the bottle of liquor next to you and asked politely if you could have a shot. "I don't think so. It's too heavy and I don't want you to get sick." He responded with the mutual politeness and took you upstairs to his bedroom to give you a towel.

But your own mind was saying otherwise! The whole soft behavior, the touches, his concern about your physical condition…all of this gave you some courage, much enough to convince you to get out of the closet. You slowly started moving towards him, closed the door of the cupboard and sealed your lips with his in a soft exchange, making him push you gently a few steps back some seconds later. "Alright then. How about having you instead?" You said, having a smile of lust dancing on your face and your hand placed on his shoulder.

Hugo started staring at you from top to bottom. You had already decided to get him be submissive to your intentions, but for the very first time, he managed to outsmart you. To me more specific, he quickly pinned you on the wall with force and started kissing you roughly while exploring your body from the hips to the hands, getting you off guard and barely letting you breathe and catch up. But you weren't trying to resist his actions. It's not like you could though. Your hands were held above your head so tight, that you weren't able to push him away or do anything to avoid his rough kisses. Let's be honest. You didn't really want to get away from this. You wanted to take everything you could from Hugo and him to do anything he pleased with you. And obviously, he wanted that too.

He slowly pulled back and broke the kiss, only to grab your waist and toss you on the bed, making you look at him with desire to do anything he would tell you to. Then, he got on top of you and started unbuttoning your shirt from the final to the upper buttons, whilst he was sucking your abdomen with his kisses and moving higher to reach your lips, having you groan out of satisfaction, to the point where you were crying and couldn't make a coherent sentence to beg him to go on or stop sucking you. But he got you shushed with a passionate exchange with the lips and a caress on your cheek. You closed your eyes and waited for him to go for the next move, meekly begging him to make you his, so silently that he almost didn't listen.

You suddenly felt a hand moving under your long skirt from your thigh to your hip, forcing your panties at one side. He decided to warn you by giving you a last kiss on the lips, but you didn't understand the message. As an expected result, you let out a really loud moan when he shoved himself entirely inside you at once. Then, he started biting and sucking your neck without moving out of you. Then, he slowly started moving out of you, only to get deep inside again, having you groan louder at every brutal thrust and feel the force each of them had, the last was the strongest he could ever make, good enough to both please you and not get you "hurt".

When he got completely out of you and straightened both you and himself out, you drew up and pulled him down for another hot exchange, both of you looking at each other with lust. "Come on, dear. You have the chance to "eat" me. One last time." You begged with your hands on his lapels. And that's how it happened. He started sucking you again, beginning from the stomach and crawling higher to reach your neck, where he gave the half of the kisses that were given to your whole body. Then, he got you up from the bed, just to completely take your shirt off and begin to kiss both of your shoulders, making you bite your own lips, content from the way he was pleasing you.

"You want this so bad, right? And now you have it." You heard Hugo whispering in your ear and pulling away to look at your devilish smirk."Not exactly. I want YOU so bad!" You replied and cupped his neck to kiss him and get him weak on the knees. But he didn't get feeble. On the contrary, he got stronger and pushed you on the bed again to give you the most torturing "from the abdomen to the mouth" ride with his lips. Every time he was sucking and biting your body, your heart was pumping faster and you started sweating as you were being hot from the pleasure that Hugo was giving you. But your sweats didn't disgust him at all. He was continuing to devour every single part of you, so you didn't mind a lot about it. The whole torture of your body ended with simple gentle pecks on the chin, the neck, between your eyes and the very last kiss on the lips.

"Did it hurt?" He asked you while rubbing your tummy carefully. "It's ok. I asked for this." You responded with an innocent voice, your eyes meeting his soft gaze and your hand cupping his cheek, with your thumb rubbing the spot below his eye. "I guess I will stay here for tonight. If you want to, though." You added. Then, he lay right next to you, with one arm wrapped around your almost bare body, the other used to play the "finger entwining" game with your own and your head squished on the side of his half-bare chest. He also had a soft blanket covering you from the feet until the half of your head, so that you wouldn't feel cold.

#narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos imagine #imagine #colonel martinez #hugo martinez #hugo martinez x reader #colonel martínez x reader #narcos smut #narcos x reader

[lavendertales]

Wicked game (Javier Peña x f!reader)

Part 16 of Lay It On Me series

summary: during an undercover stakeout, you and Steve talk personal stuff, and when the topic inevitably lands on Javier, the night culminates with a surprising call.

word count: 4.5k

gif: @nickblaine​

series masterlist | AO3 | playlist

Cali was an entirely different story.

Barely three weeks into your mission to put an end to its cartel and you already felt helpless. The Cali cartel was much more resourceful and organized than the Medellin one, much more dangerous, and by that point, it was estimated that they were running about 80% of the cocaine market worldwide.

Which meant the stakes were higher than before, as was the pressure weighing down on you, Steve and Javier.

The rules were poles apart from what you used to know. Since the three of you were in charge of the operation alongside Colonel Hugo Martinez, Chris Feistl and Daniel Van Ness, you had to be utterly professional and shift your entire attention to the operation. Nothing could be left out, nothing could be done randomly. And, being the determined and stubborn person that you were, your number one priority was bringing down the cartel.

“There’s a party tonight,” Hugo announced loudly.

“So, are we all invited or not?” Chris joked.

Unimpressed, Hugo’s face remained impassible whilst looking at the rest of the team.

“We got word that the Rodriguez brothers will be there,” he continued. “And it is also rumored that Pacho Herrera will be there, meaning the big three. What we need is more intel. We cannot arrest them just yet.”

“Why the hell not?” Javier interfered. “We got everything we could need to get our hands on those bastards.”

“Because that’s how we do things here, Peña. With careful consideration. We don’t just throw ourselves head first into danger.”

Visibly displeased, Javier only grunted and kept his mouth shut, staring at the ground. Chris and Daniel, on the other hand, asked more questions, as opposed to how silent the three of you were.

“And because we want to keep things on the low and follow them tonight, figure out where they go into hiding, I’m gonna ask you two to go.”

You and Steve exchanged a somewhat worried look, but replied nothing.

“I’d like you two to go undercover at that party tonight. Simply observe them and follow them when they leave.”

“Why them?” Daniel asked, somewhat disappointed.

“Because they’re smarter than you give them credit for. And they know when to keep their mouths shut. Which is imperative for this particular mission.”

“Alright. I guess we’re partying tonight,” you said.

“Remember, blend in and keep your distance as much as you can.”

“Got it.”

“No interactions at all. We want them to feel like they are in control, as usual.”

“We can pretend we’re just out for some drinks,” Steve suggested.

“Good. You’ll act as if you’re on a date, in the background. No actual drinks. We don’t want anyone’s inhibitions or mental faculties to vanish.”

Both you and Steve chuckled while the team slowly spread out. Javier was the first to exit the conference room, rushing outside for a smoke. Ever since he left Medellin, he promised himself he’d cut the cigarettes, but it seemed that with all the stress and pressure, he needed something to cut the tension. And nicotine and alcohol were the only sources of coping he had left.

“I’ll pick you up at nine?” Steve asked you.

“Sure thing. I’ll give you my address.”

“Still can’t really get used to the surroundings. Feels kinda weird not living on the same floor with Javi.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

You haven’t sounded so harsh and cold in a long time, and you embraced it. You had big things to focus on and not even Javier Peña was going to stand in your way.

“Are you guys okay? You and—”

“We’ve got work to do. We’re in the middle of a war, Murphy. Let’s just do our jobs.”

Steve didn’t bother adding or asking anything else. He knew a refusal when he heard one, and he pushed  you no further, despite his instincts telling him that life at the office would be living hell now that you and Javier truly hated each other.

Steve drove you to the venue where the party was being held. When you arrived, a few minutes before ten, the party barely started. Everyone was dancing, talking, drinking and, by the looks of it, smoking heavily. You had to remind yourself that you were supposedly on a date, meant to sit in the back and observe.

“Here, let’s have a seat,” Steve guided you to a small table.

“We can’t talk in English. We have to blend in, and if they hear a couple of gringos here, we’ll stand out immediately.”

“Luego hablamos en español.”

Then we talk in Spanish.

You looked surprised at Steve, who only flashed a bright and proud smile in return.

“No está mal para un Americano, ¿eh?” he continued.

Not bad for an American, huh?

“No está nada mal. ¿Cuándo aprendiste a hablar tan bien?”

Not bad at all. When did you learn to speak such fluent Spanish?

“Todavía estoy aprendiendo.”

I am still learning.

“Tal vez quieras perder el típico acento americano.”

You might want to lose the typical American accent.

“¿Cómo?”

How?

“En inglés, se rueda la R. Pero en español, se pone énfasis en ella.”

In English, you roll your R. But in Spanish, you put emphasis on it.

Steve leaned in over the table and whispered, “Can you teach me how?”

You smiled. “Just hear me talk.”

“Then… talk to me.”

“Eres un gran hombre, Steve Murphy. Un gran amigo, un gran agente... también genial en la cama. Y espero que salgamos vivos de esto porque me gustaría mucho tenerte como amigo en mi vida. Necesito cosas buenas. Necesito buenos amigos como tú.”

You’re a really great man, Steve Murphy. A great friend, a great agent… great in bed, too. And I hope we make it out of this alive because I’d very much like to have you as a friend in my life. I need good things. I need good friends like you.

“What I got from that is that… I’m great—”

“Mhm.”

“And… you sound really good when you talk in Spanish—”

“Also true.”

“And that we’re friends.”

“Yes.”

“I’m confused, I thought this was a date.”

You giggled, and Steve followed suit. Each of you took a few sips from your beers and resumed staring at the crowd. As told, Gilberto and Miguel were there, dancing and making conversations with the other guests. You settled for listening to the music and simply examining every single person there. You looked at their clothes, the hairstyles, the jewelry, everything you could visualize in the dim, colorful lights.

“Hey, listen,” Steve said after a while, moving closer to you. “About what happened with you and me, and—and Javi…”

“Don’t make it weird, Murphy.”

“I wasn’t trying to, I just—“

“Then don’t talk about it. It happened. It was fun, it was great—“

“It was really great.”

You smiled, eager to finish the conversation and move way past it.

“It was… a one-time thing,” you finished. “We are all colleagues, and our main objective right now is to sit here, quietly, and keep tabs on the Rodriguez brothers.”

“Okay, fine. But from where I’m standing, things are far worse between you and him. It’s the worst it’s ever been. You’re not even talking to each other.”

“Why should we? We’re just colleagues.”

“I can see why he used to think he hated you. You really are stubborn like him.”

You frowned, taking another sip of the beer. Slowly, the desire to drown yourself in alcohol overawed you, but you fought it. You were on the job. You couldn’t afford any distractions.

“’Used to think’?” you repeated, incredulous.

“Yes, used to. I told you, you two are two peas in a pot. Same coin. Of course he would hate you, and vice versa. But now… you are just so fucking infuriating with all this ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude. It’s worse than the ‘I hate you’ one. At least that one was sincere.”

“Murphy, don’t push it.”

“All of this could be solved with one conversation. You know that just as much as I do, and he knows that, too.”

“We’ve had the fucking conversation.”

“What?”

You managed to block out the sound, the laughter, all of it. All you could hear were the hysterics from your last conversation with Javier, over a month ago. His husky voice yelling at you how you controlled his every move, his every decision, his hands roaming around your waist, his lips at your neck, whispering how gorgeous you were, your legs around his waist, all of it tore you apart in millions of tiny pieces.

So you blocked it all out.

“We’ve had the conversation,” you repeated. “We agreed it is both of our interest to be colleagues, civil around each other—”

“Civil? You’re not even talking to each other.”

“It’s what’s best.”

“For whom?”

“For me! For both of us! He’s not the guy who commits, and I am not the girl who commits. All I’ve ever been great for are one night stands. And it’s been working flawlessly. I don’t want or need any attachment. Much less to the womanizer of Medellin. And I want to do what is best for me.”

“Denying yourself of the one thing that brings you joy isn’t what’s best.”

You stared furiously at him, finishing your beer and ordering another one right away. Of course you would feel displeased when somebody pointed out exactly what you were doing wrong because you did not need anyone else bringing you down. You did that plenty in your spare time.

But at the very least you did not lose sight of neither Gilberto nor Miguel, their figures still distinguishable in the crowd.

“Se supone que estamos hablando en español,” you reminded him.

“Baila conmigo.”

We’re supposed to be talking in English.

Dance with me.

You sighed, but succumbed nonetheless. Steve was taller than you, so the ratio of height whilst dancing with him was rather enjoyable. But it was also overwhelming to think of the hold he had over your waist as the phantom of Javier’s. It was cruel to him, though he may not have known it, and it was cruel to you, under an entirely different form.

It was simply excruciating. Every touch, regardless who its owner was, made you think of Javier. Every breath, every sound, you could trace it all back to him. So you forced yourself to shut down with alcohol.

“No eres malo,” you remarked amusedly.

You are not bad.

Not bad at all.

“I used to dance with Connie every now and then,” Steve smirked.

“Me doy cuenta. Tienes un buen ritmo.”

I can tell. You have a pretty good rhythm.

Very good, if I remember correctly.

“I miss her,” he sighed, staring off in the distance.

“I wish I could say it gets better in time, but time is a cruel mistress.”

“It sure fucking feels like that.”

“¿Por qué no la llamas?”

Why don’t you call her?

It’s easy for you to do. You’re the guy who says something and then does it.

“Porque… tengo—uh—miedo.”

Because I’m afraid.

“¿Por qué tienes miedo?”

Why are you afraid?

“I’m afraid of hearing her, of wanting to see her when she probably won’t want me.”

You remained silent for a little. The sentiment was cruelly close to your heart as well.

Because if I don’t look at you… then I don’t see the pain in your eyes. The disappointment, the anger or the beauty. Because that way… I don’t feel… things. And that way… my mind isn’t trying to memorize every detail of your face like it’s the last thing I’ll ever see.

Javier’s words were ingrained in your mind like a sharp knife, impossible to remove without causing significant damage. The speech ringed awfully like a goodbye, and once again, you understood  it. You reciprocated the sentiment regardless of how much you despised it.

“Estoy dispuesto a apostar que si cogieras el teléfono y la llamaras, te contestaría. Y te escuchará a pesar de todo.”

I am willing to bet that if you picked up the phone and called her, she’d answer. And she’ll hear you regardless.

Steve smiled fondly at you, spinning you around once before bringing you back to his chest. “Thanks.”

“You didn’t get that, did you?”

“I think I did. But I don’t—I don’t wanna think about that tonight.”

“Distraction it is then.”

You danced with Steve for longer than you had anticipated. You must’ve drank about five beers when you finally began to feel drunk, and when you finally sat back down at the table, your vision was somehow on high alert for Gilberto or Miguel.

And when you spotted both of them leaving around two a.m., you and Steve knew it was go time.

Steve drove slowly and steadily, with you dead silent in the passenger’s seat. You managed to calm yourself down and focus on the job again, which was liberating, but not enough.

It was pretty clear that both you and Steve had issues to fight through and you needed to find something to help you cope in all of that debilitating stress. Alcohol wouldn’t cut it, not when you were literally following the Cali cartel’s big bosses to their private headquarters and you needed to stay focused more than anything.

Steve pulled up at the end of a darkened street, at the end of which stood a very lavish villa. You failed to contain your surprise, although the scenery was exactly what you would’ve expected from someone who loved living in style.

“Jesus fucking Christ, they’re not even hiding this,” Steve breathed, examining the surroundings.

“Do you know where we are?”

“I memorized the road to this place. We gotta call Javi.”

You took the phone out of your bag and dial Javier’s number, numb to the flood of emotions that threatened to pass through you.

“Peña.”

“It’s me. We’re—”

“Can you give me Murphy?”

You rolled your eyes and made sure that he heard you sigh annoyingly before passing the phone to Steve.

“Have your precious Murphy,” you whispered under your breath, eyes on the road.

“What the hell was that?” he queried.

“Where are you?”

“Apparently, we’re at the Rodriguez hideout. At least that’s what they call it, but it’s a huge fucking villa, lots of security—”

Steve stopped, and you noticed why. Right before you, the garage door opened and you saw Gilberto, Miguel and Pacho, clear as the sun.

“What’s going on?” Javier cooed.

“We’ve got sight of the Rodriguez brothers. And Pacho.”

“You’re looking at them right now?”

“Right now.”

“Are you safe? Both of you?”

“Yeah, we’re—we’re fine, they can’t see us.”

“Okay, good.”

“Listen, Javi, we can get in there right now and bust them—”

“No, we can’t,” you said.

“You can’t,” Javier agreed.

“I’m buzzed, and we don’t have enough backup.”

“You don’t have any backup. It’s just the two of you, you can’t do it.”

You exchanged a concerned look with Steve, mentally debating for longer than you cared to admit or even want, but you both agreed Javier was right. It was a suicide mission, and you weren’t really on your best behavior.

“Fine,” you cooed.

“Give me Y/N on the phone.”

Steve passed you the phone and you resentfully took it, placing it to your ear. “He knows words,” you said mockingly, wanting to pinch and sting him however you could.

“You have to get out of there. You’ll tell us the address and we’re gonna check it out tomorrow, but you can’t go in there, drunk, no less—”

“I am not drunk, you moron. I’ve had a couple of beers.”

“So that’s about, what, five?”

And then you got mad.

“Do not talk to me like if you know me better than I know myself, Peña. If you’re resorting to hating me and not talking to me, then do that.”

“Just get out of there. Martinez gave clear instructions and we would prefer to have you both alive.”

“Doesn’t sound like it coming from you.”

You only heard Javier’s ragged breath on the other line and you hung up, fuming. It felt like you had been transported back a year, when all you and Javier could do was snap at each other on the smallest grounds you could find and tear each other apart verbally.

Only this time around, the anger vanished within minutes and it was replaced by sorrow.

Unwilling to dive into the topic but very eager to have another drink, stronger, you gestured to Steve to drive you home, and he obeyed. That was the great and refreshing thing about your dynamic with Steve: he was kind and straightforward, and you could share a laugh—or a sweaty night together with another, apparently—without the fear of what tomorrow would bring to you. Javier, on the other hand, could be easily categorized as being too straightforward at times; and at other times, so quiet that it was nearly out of character. You thought you had become acquainted with him and you truly felt like whatever he felt, you did, but lately, he sent too many mixed messages, too many parallels to however it was that he might’ve been feeling like.

And you were tired of trying to guess and wonder.

When you invited Steve upstairs, he instantly accepted. He seemed deep in thought as well, but perhaps for reasons that were entirely different than yours. Neither one of you said much when you poured whiskey in two glasses, chugging it down with each passing minute and finally entertaining yourselves after yet another long day.

“I tell you what,” Steve giggled, cheeks reddened and words slightly slurred. “I call Connie, like you said—”

“Mhm—”

“And you call Javier.”

You burst out laughing even though that hadn’t been your intention. You wanted to stare disapprovingly, to mock him and to openly bash Javier, but instead, you sat on the floor, legs crossed and alcohol running in your bloodstream like an angry river.

“Right now?” you asked.

“Right now.”

“Oh, Steven… don’t you know drunk calls are terrible?”

“Not when it comes to Javier motherfuckin’ Peña.”

You nodded, toasting with Steve for whatever reason. There needn’t be one, though; it was just about lowering your inhibitions and your walls for a little while with a friend.

“Why are you both so fucking stubborn?”

“I get it from my mom. She, uh—once she was set on something, she went through with it. She didn’t use to care.”

“Is—is she—?”

“Dead? No. I just haven’t spoken much to her since I was sixteen.”

Steve frowned, understanding in his drunkenness that you had reached a sensitive topic that you never willingly shared before. He straightened his position as if to listen to you better and patiently waited for an explanation of any sort.

“She kicked me out of the house when I was sixteen,” you said, gaze fixed somewhere in front of you, staring at nothing and yet seeing everything from that one painful moment you just mentioned. “I told her and my father that… I like boys… and girls as well. I told them I like both. I told them I like… people. Actually I hate people, but—but you know what I mean.”

“Yeah.”

“She said she’s not gonna raise a mentally ill child, a broken one. Next time I heard from her was when she called to tell me my father died in a motorcycle crash. And then… a few months later to tell me that my uncle was dead, too. And nothing since then. Over ten years.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ… I’m—I am so sorry.”

You shrugged and poured yourself more whiskey. “It’s in the past.”

There was much more Steve would’ve liked to add, to say, yet he couldn’t find the proper words. Everything he planned thoroughly in his mind would’ve came stupid at that time, so he dropped it and indulged you in drinking more. He nearly gasped when he saw you take out the phone and dial.

“What are you doing?” he asked, half dying of curiosity and half concerned.

“Calling Peña like you told me to. If this gets you to talk to Connie, then so be it.”

“Wait, I didn’t think you’d really—”

“Peña.”

“Oh, you sound grumpy. What’s the matter?”

Javier, on the other line, was entirely stunned. He recognized your drunken voice, but he made nothing of it. He was still awake at that ungodly hour and truth be told, he was uncertain whether you were just entertaining yourself or if there was something wrong.

“Having fun from what I hear,” he remarked.

It was hurting him, distressing him in ways it really shouldn’t have. Just the sound of your voice was awakening something in him that he couldn’t recall ever feeling.

“The stakeout is over. Now it’s just a lot of drinking.”

Javier huffed, getting out of bed. He rubbed his forehead and temples, very tempted to get into the car and drive all the way to you. But he didn’t. He faltered, he questioned himself—and you, subsequently—and chose to sit there dumbfounded, phone in hand.

“Did you need anything or—why the hell did you call?”

His words stung and they come out much harsher than he wanted, but he couldn’t take it back. Not with you. You’d see right through his crap and call him out on it without hesitation and relentlessly.

“Steve kind of needs me to do this.”

“He needs you to call me at… two in the morning?”

“Kind of. He said that if I call you now to talk, then he’ll call Connie. Long story.”

“Okay, then… why did you call me?”

“To talk.”

“I can come over.”

This time, you hesitated. Next to you, Steve was listening to every word of what you and he exchanged, but you paid him no attention. You focused on your breaths instead and thought about every single word that you wanted to get out.

“No,” you replied, slightly taken aback by your own boldness in that state. “Because that would require… eye contact, and… we don’t do that, right?”

Javier gulped.

And you heard it.

“I want to,” he admitted, managing to shock even Steve. “I really want to. But—“

But.

“It’s too complicated.”

“Like hell it is!” Steve whispered angrily and you immediately slapped him over his arm.

“It’s really not. We make it complicated because we don’t wanna risk it all in this war. We don’t wanna have something dear to hold onto that can be easily taken away by those fucking narco traficantes. I feel you. I—”

“I know you do.”

You were left without a smart reply and breaths. All air was confined into one painful spot in your throat, not ventilating properly to your lungs, and you forced yourself to clear your throat in hopes of clearance.

“But I do give a shit about you, Javier,” you admitted as well. “You think this is easy for me, saying these things? It’s not. It’s really fucking not. And… part of me is glad you didn’t look at me for months because… I stared enough for the both of us.”

Javier groans your name, the sound a painful reminder of the good times you’ve shared thinking they meant nothing more but stress relief. 

“There’s no point in this call, really. We agreed it’s best to drop the whole thing and—”

“Fuck, I—listen, I—I want to try and make things right and be the kind of person you want to… I don’t fucking know, spend time with, if we have it…”

“Then do something about it!” Steve yelled.

Silence.

On the other line, Javier froze. He realized that you were still with Steve, and he thought back to the entire stakeout, how it must’ve went, how the two of you had to play pretend for hours on end and share drinks and laughter—

And he ached again.

But he knew Steve was not terrible like he is. He knew that if there was any man that would treat you right, it would be him.

So he let it happen. He let those intrusive thoughts slide out of his mind and focused on the job instead.

The job comes first, he said once under your hesitant approval. And this made no exception.

“Don’t call me next time at this fucking hour unless there’s a good reason,” he said and hung up.

He knew he was no good and that he was acting like an asshole. But how else was he supposed to function in that war and with you by his side every single day?

Steve tried to catch your attention, but you cut him off immediately.

“I knew this would happen. Every single fucking time we try to talk… either he loses his shit or I lose mine and we end up fighting. This wasn’t any different. And neither of us will change.”

“You two are the most infuriating people I have ever fucking met. I hate you both.”

You kept on drinking, amusement fading from your system. What the hell were you thinking? Calling Javier Peña in the middle of the night without the prospect of it being a booty call was a lost cause.

“You two boneheads are crazy about each other and in your stupid process of ignoring each other you hurt everyone around you, including yourselves,” he said, taking the almost empty bottle of whiskey from you.

“What do you want me to do?! I have tried and tried and, yes, I am—I might just be crazy for this shitty ass man who won’t even say it in return when it’s clear that this is—this is more for him to. We both… fuck, we both know it’s something more, but this fucking… fear, Steve, it’s—it’s crippling.”

“Well, cut it out already. You’re bumming us all out.”

“Yeah, cause being in love with Javier Peña is an easy task. Like you can just—”

And it clicked.

You stared at Steve with a panicked look on your face like you’d just seen the devil himself. You felt shocked, terrified and eased, all at once. The last time you had even thought about the L word was over a decade ago and truthfully, you didn’t believe you would ever say it again. At least not in that context or not to that degree.

But it was true. It was maddeningly true. It had to be.

You were madly in love with him, in spite of everything, and there was no way around it. The second that word slipped out of your mouth, rolling down your tongue and through your vocal chords, you felt it, too. You felt its meaning, its implications and its overwhelming effect on you.

All because of a goddamn office hookup.

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#Javier Peña #Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña x you #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfic #Javier Peña fic #Javier Peña angst #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fanfic #javier pena fic #javier pena angst #narcos fanfiction #steve murphy #steve murphy x reader #steve murphy x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #lay it on me series

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Day 10: Used Tea Bags - Javier Pena

Day 10: Used Tea Bags - Javier Pena 

This takes place during season 3 of Narcos. Honestly I love season 3 Javier when he’s the boss and even more stressed and I just want to rub his shoulders and tell him it’s all going to be okay. 

Pairing: Javier Pena x reader 

Rating: 18+ language and implied sexual situations. 

November Writing Challenge Masterlist (Holy crap I am 1/3 of the way done!) 

Day 9: No, you don’t - Maxwell Lord 

It was late, the sounds of cumbia played through the open window from the bar down the street. The well worn kitchen table is covered in maps, half drunken cups of coffee, a chipped plate is covered in cigarette butts, some still smoldering, and on another is several used tea bags bleeding onto the plate. The world should be sleeping but not here, here there were plans to be made. 

Javier Pena kneeled next to the coffee table flanked by Trujillo, and Colonel Hugo Martinez on his left and Chris Feistl and Daniel Van Ness on his right. A map of Cali with different routes to the airport are highlighted. The Cali police force are crooked as hell so they needed a way around them, if they got in there and actually found Gilberto Rodriquez they needed to figure a way to get him out of Cali and back to Bogota without any corruption. The only way to do that was to plan everything in secret. 

You had been assigned to work with Javier upon his return to Columbia as his assistant. Everyone had warned you before he got there about Agent Pena, saying he was an asshole, womanizer, and should have gone to jail for his involvement with Los Pepes. But, you tried to go into it with an open mind. 

When you first introduced yourself the only thing that stuck out to you was how exhausted he looked and not just physically. His eyes held a weariness that couldn’t fade from only a good night's rest. He was reluctant at first to accept any help whether it be in the form of a cup of coffee, an ashtray, or a file he had left on your desk the night before. 

But you never gave up, always thinking one step ahead of him. You handed him a file before he even asked for it, you brought him lunch before he starved to death in his office, and you always knew when he was low on cigarettes because a new pack would appear on his desk. He tried to tell you he was quitting but you both knew that was bull shit. 

When Feistl and Van Ness made their connection to ‘Natalia’ the informant inside the Cali cartel things began to move quickly. It became apparent that they needed to work under the radar on this one. They needed to find somewhere they could meet but would also be discreet and before Javier could even asked you offered your apartment as ground zero for taking down Gilberto Rodriquez. The small government provided apartment wasn’t meant to hold more than maybe two people but over the past few nights it held at least ten at all times. Not only the Colonel, and Trujillo but Pena, the DEA guys, and several loyal members of Search Bloc. 

At this point you're sure your neighbors believe you’ve become a prostitute from the revolving door of men who come through your door during the night. Especially Senora Rivera who yesterday morning gave you a rosary before telling you she is praying that you don’t get any diseases from the men you keep company. What a charming neighbor she is. You're tempted to bake her some chocolate chip cookies and ask a few Search Bloc guys to deliver them but you know that will only make it worse. 

Javi is going over the plan for the twelfth time that night and you're in the kitchen making another pot of coffee. You yawn silently to yourself before pouring the steaming magic into the cups and putting them on the tray to bring them to the men in the living room. They nod there thanks and you return the gesture taking the remaining two cups over to the window and tapping lightly. On the fire escape are two armed Search Bloc members keeping their eyes open onto the street below. They take the cups gratefully before thanking you. 

“Estrella, can you come over here?” Javier calls you. 

You turn raising one eyebrow at the nickname but you don’t correct him, “Si, what’s up?” 

“I want you to sit down and listen to the plan, if there is anything you think we missed or does not add up I need you to tell me. People’s lives could be at stake if we make any mistakes.” 

Feistl sighs loudly running his hands over his face, “Pena why the hell are you going to explain this to her? She’s not going to understand any of this!” 

You have to bite your tongue before you say something you regret. Luckily the looks the other men give him are enough to shut him up. “Because idiot it’s good to get a fresh set of eyes on these things, and she can always see things before I even think them so sit down, shut up, and let her listen. I’m sorry Estrella, can you sit please?” he gestures to the seat across from him. 

You sit down and nod your head. Javier proceeds to go through the entire plan again. Describing the whole thing from beginning to end, it was truly brilliant to use a poultry truck to transport Rodriquez to the airport, no one would be looking for a poultry truck….Except for any of the crooked Cali cops that see him being arrested. 

You interrupt Javier, “What about two trucks?” 

“What do you mean Estrella?” 

You try to prevent the blush that is slowly creeping up your neck from the new nickname, “I mean using the poultry truck is brilliant but why not have two trucks a decoy to mislead them. Someone else can drive the other truck and lead the cops on a wild goose chase while the truck containing Rodriquez goes to the airport.” 

The Colonel grabs a new cigarette before lighting it, “that's’ damn genius, they will see the truck when we arrest Gilberto but they won’t know there are two. We get them to follow the wrong truck and we are in the clear,” he smiles at you, the first smile you had seen on his face. 

Javier is just about beaming at you from across the table and you listen for several more hours as they rework the plan to include your idea. When they finish each man feels like the best plan has been laid forward and they break up the group to go home. Tomorrow would be a big day for them all and they would need to be on the road to Cali by ten AM if they wanted their plan to work. 

You walk everyone to the door, and as they leave one by one they thank you for the use of your apartment until they are all gone except for Javier and Fiestl. “Hey boss, are you leaving soon? I want to have a private talk with our hostess,” Fiestl asks gesturing with his thumb toward you.  

You frantically shake your head no begging Javier not to leave you alone with the DEA agent, “Actually I have some more things to finalize before we leave tomorrow, just ignore me it will be like I’m not even here,” he smirks at you and you are half tempted to walk across the room and slap the smirk off his face. 

Chris turns to you, “So uhm listen, I know that this is all really scary for you, but I want to let you know that we are all going to be ok. And I was kind of wondering when we get back if you’d like to go out and get a drink?” 

You try not to let the cringe show on your face, “Oh uhm Chris, thank you but I don’t really drink and uhm…” you're trying to think of some other excuse when you lock eyes with Javier across the room. Gone is the smirk and instead you see something dark in his eyes, unwavering, and you know what to say, “I’m actually already with someone else, it’s not really a public thing but I’m really serious about him.” 

Chris’s right arm comes up to scratch the back of his head, and he lets out an awkward chuckle. “It’s ok, you don’t have to lie to me. I understand.” 

“I’m not lying. This guy he...he drives me crazy, he’s better than any drug on the market I...I’m already taken, I’m his.” You can feel the burning gaze of the man on the couch and it takes all your strength not to look at him, 

Chris lowers his head nodding before turning towards the door turning at the last moment to say, “he’s a lucky man then, goodnight,” before he leaves shutting the door behind him. 

You don’t turn away from the door scared to death of what you will see behind you. You are so focused on keeping your breathing level you don’t notice Javier has gotten up and is now behind you. You let out a small yelp when he spins you around to face him. “Did you mean it?” His voice is raspy and deep from years of smoking and his cologne is deep and strong in your lungs. 

You're worried your voice will betray you but you need to get this out, “Yes...you do drive me absolutely insane, but we both know what’s been going on here, I’m yours...I’ve always been yours,” you whisper. 

The hands on your waist slide against your lower back pulling you even closer to him. You can smell the smoke, and coffee on his breath and you try to calm down your heartbeat but it’s useless when he looks you in the eyes and says, “mine.” 

You crash together, his mouth is fused to your own and every single one of your senses is screaming Javier. His taste, his touch, his smell it’s all overwhelming and you cry out when you feel him grope your breast through your shirt. His lips move towards your neck and begin nipping as his tongue tracing along the same path to the curve of your ear, “bedroom?” The raspy question breaks you from the haze and you pull him towards the small bedroom. 

The whole way your lips never break from his skin even though you both aren’t the most graceful and when you both land in the bed with a small grunt that’s the last discomfort you felt for the night, from then on it was all pleasure. 

When the sunlight streams through the sheer curtains the next morning, illuminating the bed in the warm glow of the morning. Rough calloused fingers trace patterns over the top of your exposed back and you smile before nuzzling yourself further in the warmth of Javier’s chest. He smells like smoke, leather, and cologne; an intoxicating combination. 

“I have to leave soon,” his voice is raspy and heavy from sleep. 

“I know...but I really wish you didn’t have too,” you tell him, pulling back to look into his eyes, “but when you come back you will be the man who took down Gilberto Rodriguez.”

“This better work,” he sighs, “or else I will probably be sent back stateside, I messed up once already, they aren’t going to let me do it again.” 

“You're going to succeed! Don’t be so defeatist, your amazing at what you do your-” 

“Would you come with me?” he asks so quietly you almost don’t hear him. 

“What?” you whisper. 

He takes a few minutes to collect himself before he asks again, “if I get sent home, would you come with me back to Texas? I...I am not the same person I was when I first came here. Yes, I drink too much, I smoke too much, and I can be a real asshole but I’ve never been shy about what I want. I want you Estrella.” 

You have to remind yourself to breathe before you close your eyes letting out a small sigh, “Yes, yes I would go with you Javi. Remember what I said last night? I’m yours.” 

He pulls you back towards his chest, putting a finger underneath your chin and fusing your lips together he only pulls back once to repeat the same thing he told you the night before, “mine.” 

Day 11: Walking the dog- William Miller 

#November writing challenge #day 10 #Narcos #javier peña #Javier pena x reader #Pedro Pascal

[drabbles-mc]

Drabbles-MC: Hugo Martinez Fics

Fic list under the cut!

👀 = smut, 💔 = angst

- Crumbling 💔

- Behind the Curve 💔

#narcos #narcos netflix #hugo martinez #hugo martinez sr. #colonel martinez #narcos fanfiction #narcos netflix fanfiction #my writing #hugo martinez x reader #x reader #x reader fic #fanfiction #hugo martinez & hugo martinez jr. #drabblesmc #masterlist

[the-hinky-panda]

After We Fall Series

Pairing: Colonel Hugo Martinez x Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature (Explicit in future parts)

Summary: You’re a radio transmission specialist with the US Army and assigned to provide support to Edward Jacoby in the hunt for Escobar. You spend most of your time trying to bring the mobile unit’s equipment up to date. After spending many of your days in close quarters with Lieutenant Martinez, he decides you and his father should spend more time together and sets out to make sure that it happens. After a couple awkward interactions, you think the younger Martinez might be on to something.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part IV

#colonel hugo martinez #hugo martinez #hugo martinez x reader #hugo martinez x you #hugo martinez fic #colonel hugo martinez fic #After We Fall series #narcos fic #hinky writes

[leylinefiction]

After We Fall: Part III

Pairing: Colonel Hugo Martinez x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’re a radio transmission specialist with the US Army and assigned to provide support to Edward Jacoby in the hunt for Escobar. You spend most of your time trying to bring the mobile unit’s equipment up to date. After spending many of your days in close quarters with Lieutenant Martinez, he decides you and his father should spend more time together and sets out to make sure that it happens. After a couple awkward interactions, you think the younger Martinez might be on to something. 

“To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.” 

― Pablo Neruda

There had been a medic that was in the jungle with Hugo’s unit. 

He had taken the assignment just a couple months after Melina had died. He needed to get out of the house, get out of Bogotá, because he was going out of his mind. The grief was so much and there had been no escape. Memories had been steeped into the wood floors, the decorated walls, and the furniture. Everywhere he turned, he expected to see her step around a corner, be seated in a chair, or standing by the kitchen sink. His son had just entered the Academy so it was just him to face the lingering scent of perfume and phantom footsteps in what used to be a home. When the assignment to fight FARC in the jungles was presented, he accepted without thinking much about it. 

Two years. 

It took him two years in the jungle to finally be able to return to his home in Bogotá and not feel like he was entering a mausoleum. That was the start of normalcy returning. The third year of chasing FARC had been the smoothest. They had a reliable system in place, a specific grid outline of the dense underbrush that they would move through square by square. Since the rebels were able to stay hidden in pockets of dense vegetation, taking the jungle apart piece by piece made sure they would find those pockets. Sometimes they were able to see the camps half a click away. Other times, they stumbled on rebels and the raid was more of a panicked shootout between the two sides. Nevertheless, it had been overall effective. 

It was one of those sudden shootouts that landed him in the med tent that night. He knew he had been clipped by a stray bullet but he expected it to stop bleeding by the time evening rolled around. Besides, there were plenty of his men who were in worse shape than he was and he wanted their injuries to take priority. But when the raid had been over for six hours and a clean shirt was beginning to stick to him from the steady oozing of blood, he finally went over to where the medical supplies were kept. His intention was to just grab a few bandages and some antiseptic when he was caught red handed, literally. 

“Coronel?” (Colonel?) 

He had been so focused in making sure his bloody handprints didn’t show up on the makeshift storage lockers that he didn’t hear her enter into the tent and jumped slightly at her sudden presence. 

“Lo siento, Coronel. No quise asustarte.” (I’m sorry, Colonel. I didn’t mean to startle you.) Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. She gave orders in the same manner he did, quietly and with no room for questioning. She soon had him stripped out of his bloodied shirt, cleaned the wound and his hands, and was wrapping the deep gash along his ribs in a neat, and efficient fashion. She was biting her bottom lip in concentration and he had to close his eyes but the damage had been done. 

Melina would do the same thing when she was fussing over his injuries. She would scold him while rewrapping healing bullet wounds or splints on broken bones. ¿Qué haría yo sin ti, Hugo? Tienes que tener más cuidado. (What would I do without you, Hugo? You have to be more careful.) And then she would smooth her hands over the skin and muscles that were unharmed. Little did she know that he would have to figure out what to do without her. 

“Coronel, ¿está bien? ¿Estás desmayado?” (Colonel, are you okay? Are you faint?) 

“No estoy bien. Gracias.” (No, I’m fine. Thank you.) 

Her hands traced over the exposed skin around the bandages in almost the exact same manner that Melina’s would and the time that had passed since he had last been with a woman became painfully clear. He missed being touched, cared for. When she looked up at him, almost bashfully from under her eyelashes, he couldn’t help but kiss her. She kissed him back, with more enthusiasm than he anticipated and soon they found themselves falling into the cot in the corner of the med tent, shoving their clothes out of the way. It was a messy, brief ordeal. She came quickly, shoving her fist in her mouth to quiet her cries while he grabbed his bloodied shirt and pulled out in time to come into the ruined material. They had parted ways with shy smiles and she rotated back to wherever she came from as a new medical team came in to replace the previous one two days later. He never saw or spoke to her again. 

He wonders, as he lays awake at three in the morning, who was your first lover after Nico’s death? Were they good to you? Did they care about you, or at least treat you with kindness and gentleness? Or did they leave you with even more heartbreak, more pieces of yourself scattered out there in the world? He was fortunate to have been with someone who had been kind towards him, someone who brought him solace. He hopes the same has been true for you. 

When he has first woken up, he isn’t exactly certain where he is, or if the warm body in his arms is real or a dream. Your back is pressed tight against his chest, your legs tangle with each other, your hands still holding onto him even in sleep. Violets and oranges and something that is uniquely you overwhelm his senses. That’s how he knows it’s real. 

He buries his nose in your hair, presses his lips against the soft skin of your shoulder. He doesn’t want to disturb you but he isn’t necessarily upset when he feels you shift and murmur in your sleep.  It must take you a moment to orient yourself as well judging by your sharp intake of breath and the thought that maybe you didn’t want him in your bed anymore crosses his mind. But the fear is quickly vanquished when you stretch languidly and turn to face him, a lazy smile on your face. 

“You stayed.” 

He brushes some stray strands of hair off your face. “I did. Is that okay?” 

Your smile grows. “More than okay.” 

“Bueno.” (Good.) 

He lets his hand explore the expanse of bare skin across your back. You’re so soft and he wonders absently how you’ve managed that. You curl in tighter against him with a contented sigh. He had been under the impression that this was most likely going to go the same way the nurse, and a couple others, had: one or two time encounters and then you would both part ways. 

But your hands start an exploration of their own, moving over his ribs, around his waist, and then across his back with such gentleness, it threatens to bring tears to his eyes. You use the leverage to press your face closer against his chest, his heartbeat most likely thudding in your ear. You release a sigh that drains all tension from your body as it molds even closer to his own. It feels as if you don’t want to let go. 

He doesn’t want to let you go either. 

For the moment, he doesn’t have to but what happens in a week, a month, six months, when your time is up in Colombia and you return to the States? What happens if the separation is more permanent? He thought he only had his son’s life to fear during this war, but now there’s yours as well and his arms tighten instinctively around you. 

You hum in concern. “What’s wrong?” 

He loosens his grip and goes back to tracing patterns on your back. “Nada. Lo siento.” (Nothing. Sorry.) 

“Hugo.” 

He has to smile at the authoritative tone that you manage to emit despite not wearing a scrap of clothing and having your face pressed against his breastbone. But he doesn’t know how to properly express his thoughts and worries without overstepping any kind of relationship line. This has happened with hardly any discussion or classification of what this is between the two of you. As he’s gathering his thoughts, the tension comes back to your body in full force. No longer are your curves fitted neatly against him, rather you’re coiled tight and taught. You push yourself further away so you can establish eye contact with him, even in the dim, early morning light. 

“What are you worried about? Is it your son?” 

To be honest, yes, his son is one of the causes of his worries but he’s not certain of the context just yet so he deflects. “What makes you think I’m worried?” 

Your eyes rove over his face. “Woman’s intuition.” 

“Ah,” he shifts slightly so he can run his fingers through your hair, brushing it away from your face. “I am worried about my son the majority of the time. This is not exactly the safest place or position to be in right now in Colombia. And now,” he makes sure to hold your gaze when he says this, “I have to worry about you as well.” 

The unease in your expression softens slightly as your fingertips trail down over the side of his face. “I worry about both of you as well. I can do what I can to keep Junior safe but you…” 

He turns his head and presses a kiss to your palm. “I have plenty of protection.” He fights the urge to tell you not to worry because he knows it’s not that simple. He made the mistake of saying that to Melina shortly after they were married and when she told him that was the equivalent of telling her to not breathe, she didn’t speak to him for a week. He is, above all else, a man who learns from his mistakes.  

But you start to fidget, that same type of nervousness from last night. This time, he does slip his fingers through yours, pressing your palms together until the trembling stills and your eyes meet his. “¿Qué pasa, querida?” (What is wrong, darling?) 

Your forehead furrows as you try to find the words. He waits patiently and eventually you whisper the concern. “What if your son doesn’t…you know, approve of…us?” 

It actually takes him a few moments to understand what you’re saying mostly because having his son’s approval on any relationship never even crossed his mind. He knows his son well enough to know even if he didn’t like the woman Hugo would choose, his son would always be polite to her. It was and would always be a nonissue. And the fact that you, someone Hugo knew is absolutely adored and respected by his son, would be troubled with this thought forces him to school his features to keep from laughing at the absurdity of the concern. But you are very much worried about this so he presses a kiss to the lines on your forehead in an effort to make them disappear. 

“I would not be concerned about his approval. Remember he is the one who tricked us into that lovely dinner.” 

Your smile is shaky. “True, but…” 

There’s a story, a piece of history that he isn’t aware of just yet, that is at the bottom of this. He sits up slightly, keeping you tightly pressed against his side. “What happened, querida?” 

You huff in defeat. “The first man I dated after Nico had a teenage daughter. She did the same thing Junior did, would set up her dad and me on these little dates and act all excited. First time I stayed over at their house, all of sudden she wasn’t so excited. He broke it off with me that week.” 

His first thought is to call the man an idiot for letting you go that easily but he bites his tongue. His second thought is that you shared a piece of information that answers a previous question he was wondering about just an hour earlier. You did encounter even more heartbreak after losing Nico and the unfairness of that raises a sense of indignation in his chest. But his third thought is to pass you an equally significant piece of personal information on him. 

“When Melina died, and my son and I could speak her name again without…” 

You lay a hand on his chest and hum in sympathy. 

“He told me that we needed a secret code of sorts. He knew I had trouble removing my ring so he suggested that when a woman of high enough caliber asked about my ring, he would tell her the truth as a sign of his approval. That night we had dinner together, he told me he had told you the real story about it. This is why I don’t believe you have anything to worry about when it comes to him.” He pauses before giving a slight shrug. “And besides, if he does pull his support, I’ll demote him.” 

A short laugh escapes you as you lift your head to check his facial expression and find the half smile on his lips. The sun is starting to rise, the light begins to invade through the bedroom window, and with it the reminder that there is work to be done. Hugo looks over at the clock and sees it’s now almost 4:30.

“It’s time to get up, isn’t it?” 

He sighs. “For me. What time do you get up?” 

“Around 5.” You turn and lay on your back, arms tossed over your head. 

The desire to kiss every inch of exposed skin right now is extremely strong. He wants to feel you under him again but he knows there isn’t enough time for this distraction. He needs to go across the street, shower, change, and go determine which leads to follow today. You are heading out with the intel team to drive around Medellín, looking for Escobar’s transmissions. As a compromise, he leans down and presses his lips to yours firmly, before sitting up and searching for his clothes before you can tempt him even more than you have. 

It is quite evident that both your minds were elsewhere last night when clothes were being removed as there is no order to where clothes landed. He hears you moving around the room, hears the slide of satin and catches the sight of you tying the belt of a robe around your waist in the dresser mirror. You run a hand through your messy hair and try to tame the wildness from sleep and his hands. 

“Coffee?” 

The temptation to stay rises again so he regretfully shakes his head. “I’ll get some at the office.” 

You make a scoffing noise. “I’ll bring you some, how’s that? I’ll have to pick up the hotspots from the tips that came in overnight anyway.” 

If he had any doubt about this relationship working, it’s completely gone now. You’re a compartmentalizer, like him. Last night was for your personal lives. Now, in the light of day, it is back to business. Even though you’re standing there in a black satin robe that hits your bare calves and gaps alluringly across your chest, stifling a yawn behind your hand, your mind is already focused on a game plan for the day. 

He’s staring, he knows that but he can’t help himself at the moment. Not when he realizes that he’s in love with you. The feeling is new in that it’s directed at you, but it’s dusty and dull from being packed in a box for four years. The familiarity of it though is unmistakable, like a song you forgot existed until you hear it again and immediately remember all the words. And what makes it even more spectacular is this realization doesn’t elicit any type of fear or unease. 

“What?” 

He finishes buttoning his shirt before coming over to stand in front of you, holding your face in his palms before pulling your mouth up to his. You immediately press yourself to him, your hands holding the back of his head as you slip your clever tongue into his mouth. God, could you be any more perfect for him? It’s going to take an incredible amount of restraint to see you at Search Bloc and keep his hands and mouth to himself. Reluctantly he pulls away just enough to break the kiss. 

“Would you join me for dinner this evening? Seven, my place.” 

You smile up at him. “I would love to.” 

“Bueno.” (Good.) 

He kisses you briefly one more time before forcing his hands to release you to the world for a few hours. He has a time frame though. Seven tonight and you both can pick up where this leaves off. You walk him to the door, unlock the triple locks and open it for him. 

“Esté segura hoy, querida.” (Be safe today, darling.) 

“Tú también, cariño.” (You as well, sweetheart.) 

He steps out into the hallway and waits until he hears the locks slide back into place before heading down the stairs. He reaches the bottom step and comes face to face with his son, back from a morning run from the looks of it. 

“Hijo.” (Son.) 

“Papa.” (Dad.) 

Hugo nods to his son and steps around him. He pauses on the sidewalk and turns back to the stairs. 

“Hijo, no-” (Son, don’t-) 

“¿Decirle a alguien que vi a mi padre antes del trabajo?” (Tell anyone I saw my father before work?) 

Hugo gives him a stern look but he just shrugs. 

“Bueno.” (Okay.) 

Hugo nods. “Bueno.” 

***

Nine hours. 

You pull the headphones off your ears and drop them on the desk in front of you. You’ve been sitting in the back of the van for nine hours, listening to static and sweating through your clothes. None of the leads brought anything remotely close to finding Escobar on the radio waves. 

“We’d have an easier time finding Santa Claus out here,” you complain. 

Junior huffs. “Gordo con traje rojo, destacaría.” (Fat man in a red suit, he would stand out.) 

Morales radios back to them from the driver’s seat. “¿Algo de Los Pepes hoy?” (Anything from Los Pepes today?) 

“Nada,” you respond. (Nothing.) That’s another thing that’s bugging you. Usually during your sweeps through Medellín, you would pick up blips of the radio communications between the group members as they too were searching for Escobar and his sicarios. The team typically catches the information just as the execution takes place and with a vigilante group that takes credit for their hit, the information is out of date by the time they radio it into Search Bloc. It’s just another frustration. Less sicarios, means less radio chatter. Less radio chatter means less tracking opportunities to find Escobar. 

“¿Lo llamamos un día?” (We calling it a day?) Morales asks. 

You look at Junior, who tiredly nods his head. “Yeah. Llamémoslo.” (Let’s call it.) 

It’s a little after six when you grab your things and leave the Search Bloc headquarters. When you pass through the bullpen, you notice Hugo’s office is already dark and you finally allow yourself to look forward to this evening. You and Junior did ride into work together this morning so you can only think about the dinner part of the evening if you’re going to retain any type of decorum on the fifteen minute drive to the apartments. Apparently, Junior had no such compunction. 

“Any dinner plans tonight?” he asks with a sly grin. 

“Maybe.” You grip the steering wheel tighter, suddenly nervous about venturing into this topic. Even though Hugo had told you there is nothing to worry about, you still do. Under other circumstances, where the three of you don’t work and live in close proximity to each other, it wouldn’t matter at all. But you do all work together and keeping peace is of the utmost importance. 

The thought of distancing yourself from Hugo puts a pit in your stomach and the strength of the feeling surprises you. Last night had confirmed for you any and all feelings you held for the man: you were unequivocally in love with him. To say goodbye and close the door on that particular realization would hurt more than you care to acknowledge at the moment. 

“I ran into my father this morning when I was coming back from my run.” 

Your knuckles go white. “Okay.” 

“He looked happy. Happier than I’ve seen him in a while.” 

Half of the tension leaves your body. “Really?” 

“Yes.” 

You have to ask. It’s for the best and it’ll take the burden off your mind. You open your mouth and start to ask him his feelings about the situation when he cuts you off. 

“I’m glad you found each other. You need each other.” 

“Because we both lost significant others?” 

“No.” He pauses. “I think it’s more about who those people were that you lost. You’ve told me about Nico and the kind of man he was. He sounded similar to my father.” 

“And I remind you of your mother.” 

He nods. “Yes.” 

You sigh. “But you can’t find people who are similar and replace them-” 

“No, no, no,” he shakes his head. “There is no intention of replacing anyone. My mother is…irreplaceable. Neither my father nor I would want to see her replaced. You would never replace Nico?” 

“No.” 

“But, there are things about my father that remind you of him.” 

You nod slowly. “Yes, there are.” 

“It’s not replacing. It’s loving the best parts of the person who isn’t here anymore.” 

You park the VW Bug in your space and turn off the car, a small smile turning the corners of your mouth. “You know, you’re pretty wise for a twenty-year old.” 

He smiles back. “I graduated in the top one percent of my class.” 

You’re getting ready to open the car door when a flash of headlights appears in the rearview mirror. A dark four-door Jeep pulls into the parking garage and backs into the space two rows over from your space. Something tells you to be on high alert as the headlights are turned off but no one emerges from the vehicle. You grab your purse and pull out your sat phone. The signal is barely there but hopefully it’ll be enough to get a call to Hugo. You hand the phone to Junior. “Punch in your Dad’s number and be ready to call it.” 

“The Jeep that just pulled in?” 

So he saw it too. “Yeah. I don’t like it.” 

He peers into the rear window mirror and then lets out a shaky breath. “Son los Castaño.” (It’s the Castaños.) 

“Both of them?” 

“Sí.” (Yes.) 

You reach down between the car door and your seat and grab the lead-filled baton Gio had given you before you left California. You open the driver’s side door. “Call your father and stay put.” 

As soon as your feet hit the concrete, both Constaños are closing the doors to the Jeep. They’re intimidating looking even without you knowing their reputation and the closer you get, the taller they become. The one with thick black hair, Fidel, has to be pushing six foot five. Fuck, what did you get yourself into? 

“Buenas tardes señorita,” Carlos, shorter and broader than his brother, greets with hands raised to show he’s unarmed. “Nosotros estamos aquí para hablar.” (Good evening, Miss. We’re just here to talk.) 

You keep your grip tight on the handle of the baton. They don’t have guns in their hands at the moment but they are on their persons. You’ve also seen some of the handiwork their fists can do so you can’t let your guard down for a moment. You stop about eight feet away from. “Bueno. Hablar.” (Great. Talk.) 

“Manténgase fuera de nuestras transmisiones de radio.” (Stay off our radio transmissions.) 

“¿Por qué? Para cuando tengamos información decente, ya tienes el objetivo.” (Why? By the time we get any decent information , you’ve already got the target.) 

Fidel speaks up. “Estamos pidiendo amablemente. Esta vez.” (We’re asking nicely. This time.) 

Carlos adds on the statement. “Digamos que puede escuchar alguna charla que preferiría no escuchar.” (Let’s just say that you may hear some chatter that you would rather not hear.) 

So that’s why Los Pepes have gone radio silent for the last few days. There’s something happening, some secret that is getting close to the surface. It would have to be something big to bring the Castaños out like this. The first person you think of is Escobar but you’re fairly certain if you were that close to finding Escobar, Los Pepes would just put a bullet in your head and then step over your body to do the same to Escobar. Maybe this has something to do with whoever is working for Los Pepes in Search Bloc. Maybe you’re getting close to discovering who they are. 

“Gringa, ¿me escuchaste?” (Did you hear me?) 

“Sí, te escuché. Pero vamos a seguir haciendo nuestro trabajo.” (Yeah, I heard you. But we’re going to keep doing our job.) 

“Bien, pero si te interpones en nuestro camino-” (Fine, but if you get in our way-)

You take a step towards them and motion with the baton in their direction. “No, si se sale con la nuestra, tendrá un problema.” (No, if you get in our way, you will have a problem.) 

Fidel laughs. “Cree que nos está amenazando. Esta cosita.” (She thinks she’s threatening us. This little thing.) 

“Niña, mantente fuera de nuestro camino. Esta es la única advertencia que está recibiendo.” (Little girl, stay out of our way. This is the only warning you’re getting.) 

There’s no use in arguing with them. If you did, it would only start a fight, one that you would most likely sorely lose. So, you shrug your shoulders. “Entonces supongo que ambos hemos sido advertidos.” (Then I guess we’ve both been warned.) 

You turn your back to them, walking towards the car. That is when things happen in such short succession your brain barely has time to process the events. The passenger side door of your car opens and there’s a flash of a gun going off. The sound bounces off the concrete walls of the small parking garage, the sharp rapport reverberating around the space. You instinctively duck but there’s no cover. You see both brother’s are now focused on Junior who is taking cover behind a pillar. 

You should find cover. You should grab a radio, pager, sat phone, scream for help. Instead, you feel the weight of the baton in your hand and with no cover close by, you charge the two Castaños. Fidel is closest and certainly doesn’t think you're a threat since his focus is waiting for Junior to show any part of himself from behind the pillar so you blind side him. You bring the baton down with full force of his wrist. He drops his gun with a startled yell but recovers immediately. 

He grabs the baton with his left hand and uses it to toss you into the car behind him. You hit your back against the grill and you hit the ground. You can hear Junior telling them to drop their weapons but Carlos is shouting obscenities back at him. You still have a deathgrip on the baton as does Fidel and he yanks it and you up off the ground, your face colliding with his fist. Thankfully it’s the one with the injury so the force behind the blow isn’t half of what it normally would be but it’s enough to blind your sight temporarily. 

Thankfully the pain of hitting you with his injured hand loosens Fidel’s grip on the baton enough for you to pull it away from him. You use the momentum to swing it in a backhand motion and feel it connect with his ribs. Another gunshot rings out but from a different direction this time. New voices are added to the commands of laying down the weapons. You immediately recognize Hugo’s followed quickly by Steve Murphy’s slight Southern twang. By the time you’re standing solidly on your two feet, the Castaños are fleeing the scene, there are multiple bullet holes in your passenger side car door and one of the pillars, and drops of blood littering the floor of the garage. 

You just survived your first shootout. And as Junior steps from cover, not a scratch or drop of blood on him, you breathe a sigh of relief. But when you turn to see Hugo and Murphy, Hugo’s face is thunderous. Tense, white, and jaw constricted so hard you could practically hear his teeth grinding. It’s a look you’ve never seen before and it’s so different from what you studied this morning from the weak new day light while in your bed. Murphy is radioing in for the police to be on the lookout for the Castaños while Hugo comes to stand in front of you and Junior. 

“¿Qué diablos estaban pensando ustedes dos?” (What the fuck were you two thinking?) 

***

He sees red and practically loses his mind. Thankfully, he’s able to present a calm persona, one that is still a leader through and through, despite the absolute fury that is tearing apart his ribcage at the moment. His heart rate is through the roof, his blood pressure skyrocketing and continuing to climb with each drop of blood from your nose.  He’s going to have either a stroke, heart attack, or both as he assesses the damage before him. 

His son is eyeing him warily. He knows. He knows the seriousness of the situation and just how livid Hugo is at the moment. He is wise to keep his silence at the moment, standing at a parade rest,  freshly fired weapon re-holstered. You, on the other hand, have no idea just how thin the ice is that you’re standing on right now. 

Your nose is broken, blood running down over your lips and chin. You swipe at it with the sleeve of your shirt. Your eye is swelling, a black eye in the making. You're standing oddly but he can’t tell if it’s your back, knee, ankle, or foot that is the culprit. A short baton is gripped tightly in your hand. 

“¿Qué sucedió?” (What happened?) 

You clear your throat. “I parked my car and noticed that the Jeep then parked two rows over from us. They didn’t get out of the car until I did-“ 

“So why did you get out of the car?” 

You now recognize his anger. And instead of it humbling you, it causes you to become indignant. “I got out of the car to get them to leave. They were going to wait us out.” 

His son speaks up at that moment. “Cuando nos dimos cuenta de quién era, te llamé. Pero... el concreto bloquea las señales telefónicas.” (When we realized who it was, I called you. But…the concrete blocks the phone signals.) 

That explains the phone ringing but no one being on the other end. “Wait,” you interrupt, motioning to Junior. “You never spoke to your dad?” 

Junior shakes his head. “No, I didn’t.” 

Your eyes widen as much as they can with the swelling. “Then why did you get out of the car?” 

“Because,” he swallows visibly, “because they pointed a gun at you. I wasn’t going to just sit there and watch-” 

“Alright,” Hugo interrupts him. “Alright. So you get out of the car, open fire and that starts the fight.” 

Both you and his son nod your heads. “Yes.”  

Murphy is taking notes. “Did you talk to them? What did they want?” 

You laugh dryly. “They wanted us to stay off their radio channels. They said we might hear something we don’t want to hear. I’m assuming it’s whoever is helping them from inside the Search Bloc.” 

“What did you tell them?” Hugo asks. 

You shrug. “I told them not a chance. We’ll do our job which includes listening to them come what may.” 

Of course you told them that. Of course you faced off with two of the most dangerous men running the streets of Medellín right now and told them to fuck off. He turns to Murphy, who is closing his notebook and motions to the abandoned Jeep.. 

“We’ll impound the Jeep,” Murphy says, “see if there’s anything in it we can use. I’ll stay with it.” 

“I’ll stay too,” Junior offers. 

“Okay,” Hugo agrees and reaches out to take your hand that is still wrapped around the baton. “This needs to stay here.” 

Your response is immediate. “No, no, it’s my great-grandfather’s.” 

Murphy gives you a sympathetic smile. “Family heirloom, I get it. I’ll make sure you get back tomorrow, okay?” 

“Promise?” 

He raises his hand, his index and middle finger raised. “Scouts honor.” 

You frown up at him. “That’s the wrong hand, Stephen.” 

While you and Murphy are working out getting your grandfather’s baton back, Hugo steps up to his son. His anger is still relatively high but the adrenaline rush is wearing off, everyone is safe, so it’s a bit easier to breathe. He’s able to tone down the bite in his question to his son. 

“Why did you get out of the car and open fire?” 

His son sighs deeply. “Like I said, they were going to shoot her in the back. I couldn’t…I couldn’t watch it happen.” There’s a significant pause and he looks at Hugo with intense eyes, his mother’s eyes. “Not again.” 

Hugo feels off balance, like he’s standing on the deck of a boat. The ground is shifting under him, realizations and understandings are moving like gears and locking pieces beneath his feet. He loves you. That realization hit him this morning and only solidified throughout the day as he counted down the hours until he could feel you under his hands once more. 

His son loves you. He must. Those feelings were put to the test today. He couldn’t bring himself to fire a weapon when faced with the Castaño brothers before but this time? This time he put himself in open engagement, opened fire, and protected, not himself, but you. If that didn’t tell Hugo just how much his son cared about you, enough to defend you with his life, then he didn’t know what other signs to look for. And while this all bodes extremely well for a smooth sailing relationship, there is one imperative question that needs to be answered.  

Do you love them just as much?

#Colonel Hugo Martinez #Colonel Hugo Martinez x Reader #Hugo Martinez #Hugo Martinez x Reader #Colonel Hugo Martinez x You #Hugo Martinez x You #Colonel Hugo Martinez fic #Hugo Martinez fic #Narcos fic #After the Fall

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 20: Labyrinth

10/20: Labyrinth

Universe // Characters: New Universe // Colonel Hugo Martinez

I almost didn’t get this one done on time! Life’s been a little emotionally heavy these last two days but I made the deadline! Whew! This idea was suggested by @seltsamkind who wanted some wonderful Hugo Martinez so I hope they enjoy! 

You hate these formal functions at the Presidential Palace. You hate the small talk, the drifting from room to room…the sharp pain in your toes from wearing heels while walking around from room to room. You wonder if anyone will notice if you go barefoot for the rest of the evening. 

There really is only one reason why you even showed up this evening, Christmas Eve, to a fancy party: he said he was going to be here. 

Colombia does a reason to celebrate this Christmas season. Less than a month ago, Pablo Escobar had been shot and killed on a rooftop in Medellín. And Colonel Hugo Martinez had been asked to attend the celebration for a job well done. You had been friends with his wife before she had taken ill. After she passed away, you felt so badly for the young widower and his son. You made meals and dropped them off on their doorstep. You picked up Junior from school and helped him with his homework, watching over him until his father ended his shift with the CNP. 

You shared the responsibility with other neighbors, friends, and family members, but you were frequently in the rotation, often in their home. Frequently enough that you had come to know Hugo and his son quite well. So much so, you know all the attention he is about to receive tonight is going to make him incredibly uncomfortable. And you can’t wait to tease him about it. 

“You look like you’re up to something.” 

You jump slightly at the familiar voice next to your ear. “Hugo!” 

He clicks his tongue. “Guilty people don’t jump like that, tipaza (great girl).” 

“So you’re saying that innocent people don’t get startled?” You look over your shoulder. “Where did you even come from?” 

“Moniquirá.” 

You cross your arms. “You’re certainly in a mood this evening.” 

He gives you a small smile. “I’m sorry. I actually came in through the kitchen. I knew if I used the main entrance there would have been…” 

“Fanfare? Trumpets?” You grin. “Confetti falling from the ceiling for El Héroe (the hero)?” 

He tips his head to the side in a short nod. “Something along those lines.” 

“That’s actually the main reason I showed up tonight. I wanted to see you and your accomplishments celebrated.” 

“You wanted to see me sweat.” 

“I did.” 

He gives a short chuckle and looks down at the ground. “I see I’m not the only one who is uncomfortable this evening.” 

You shift on your feet. “These were the only shoes I had that went with this dress.” 

“You do look very lovely this evening.” 

Your eyes lower as you mutter “thank you” and hope he doesn’t notice the slight rise of color in your cheeks. He isn’t entirely wrong when he accuses you of being up to something. You’ve “been up to something” for the last six yearsof your unconventional friendship, something that you’ve never told him or hinted at even. 

You’ve been hopelessly in love with him. 

In all honesty, how could you not be? You watched him grieve the love of his life and saw just how deeply those feelings went. You watched him raise his son with a well-balanced doling out of discipline and affection. You watched him rise through the ranks of the CNP. You watched him send his son off to the CNP Academy before leaving for the jungles to fight FARC. And you cried yourself to sleep for a week. 

But then the letters started. He would write you a letter once a week. How he was sending them, you had no idea since you were certain post offices were not that common in the jungles. But he managed it, just like he managed everything else in his life. 

You had also learned a lot about him from your friendship with Sofia. He was unendingly kind and loving towards her. There had only been two times that you could remember her coming to you and being angry at him for something but by the next day, the hurt had been soothed and the argument put in the past. You had seen what love truly looked like and never found its match for yourself, despite Sofia’s attempts at setting you up with police officers, PR specialists, even teachers that were bringing their classes for a tour through the Presidential Palace offices. 

“When you find me someone as perfect as Hugo, then I’ll go out with them,” you would tease her. “We’ll double date!” 

Sofia would laugh. “I’m afraid there is only one Hugo.” 

And she had been so right. 

At first you felt guilty for feeling more than friendly affection towards your friend. Sofia had been gone for five years when you first felt that jittery feeling around him. You had avoided being around him for a week. But then Junior broke his arm at a fútbol tournament, one that you had been attending, and you went to the hospital and stayed with him until Hugo managed to get there. Six years have passed and you can still remember how he hugged you, held you, as he thanked you for being there. 

You shake yourself out of those thoughts, not wanting to ruin this evening. You are happy to see him, have him back in Bogotá after so long while he was in Medellín. It’s Christmas and it is time for celebration. You look up at him and see his eyes scanning the room. “Now you look like you’re up to something.” 

“I’m assuming you want to be here as much as I do. So, I have a proposition.” 

This is just not your night when it comes to blushing but you clear your throat. “Go ahead.” 

“Why don’t you grab some food and I’ll go back through the kitchen and grab a bottle of wine, and you take me on one of your educational tours of the palace?” 

Honestly, you couldn’t say no if you wanted to and you blame it completely on those seaglass green eyes of his. “Any special requests?” 

He smiles before backing out of the doorway. “Lady’s choice.” 

You still have your purse, a decorative piece and not for carrying much of anything, but you subtly line it with one of the cloth napkins. You grab things that are easily eaten with your hands: pan de yuca, pandebono, mini empanadas. You top off your stolen fare with a few galletas cucas before closing your purse and moving towards the hallway that runs along the kitchens. You emerge at the juncture at the same time as Hugo, who is obviously holding the contraband wine under his uniform dress jacket. You both start walking down the hallway but the sound of your heels on the marble floor seems to get louder with each step and you’re worried about it drawing attention to your hasty retreat. 

“Wait a minute,” you stop, and without thinking place your hand on his arm to steady yourself as you remove your shoes. When you straighten back up you realize your fingers are still curled around his forearm, or rather the fabric of his uniform that is covering his forearm. “Sorry.” 

He gives you that sad, wistful smile of his, before slipping his arm out from under your grip but immediately taking your hand in his. His thumb drags over your knuckles slowly. “Don’t be.” 

He tugs you along the hallway but you’re not paying attention to where you’re going. You’re trying to piece together what exactly is happening while keeping up with his pace through the empty hallways that make up the labyrinth of the PR offices. He takes a couple more turns, leading you towards the meeting rooms that are set aside for dignitaries and ambassadors from other countries. He must find one that he likes, because he goes into the room and closes the door behind you. 

The room looks like a small library: dark wood bookshelves built into the walls, a large fireplace complete with roaring fire. There are a couple wingback chairs and a small settee in front of the fire. It’s warm, especially with the door closed trapping in the heat. Nevermind the fact that you can’t shake loose the feeling of his hand wrapped around yours. 

“Querida?” 

You start slightly at hearing the term of endearment from him. He typically uses tipaza, a less weighty term, so all these changes are starting to make you wonder what exactly is happening. “What?” 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” you drop your shoes next to the couch and set your purse down on the coffee table. “Fine.” 

He nods and sets the wine bottle down next to your purse before going over to the small bar that is built into the bookcase. “I’m afraid there are only scotch glasses to use for the wine.” 

You pick up the bottle. “Malbec in a whiskey glass. Classy, Hugo. Did you happen to swipe a corkscrew to open the bottle?” 

He smiles and pulls one out of his jacket pocket. “Will this do?” 

You hand over the wine so he can open it while you carefully lay out the food from your purse. “Still always prepared, I see.” 

“Of course,” he pulls the cork out of the bottle and pours the wine into the glasses. 

“How’s Junior?” 

“Good,” he sighs. “Glad he didn’t have to come to this event tonight.” 

“Like father, like son?” 

“Perhaps. He decided to go out with some friends from the fútbol league and celebrate with them.” He shrugs slightly. “And I’m here celebrating with you.” 

It’s an innocent enough statement but it still pushes your thoughts into the “what if” territory. “I heard he was the one who located Escobar, using the radio transmissions.” 

“He did.” 

You shiver slightly, despite the fire. “I can’t imagine how you must have felt when that call came in. Junior, that close to someone like Escobar.” 

He nods seriously. “It was…unsettling to say the least.” 

“But you got him.” You slip your hand into his and give it a brief squeeze. “And Colombia is that much safer for it.” 

He’s quiet for a moment. “There’s still Cali.” 

You give him the contemplative moment before you speak again. “Hugo, there’s always going to be ‘there’s still….’ That’s the nature of the cartel beast. Don’t let that reality take anything away from the accomplishment you and Junior achieved.” 

“Thank you.” He pauses before changing the topic. “Tell me, how have you been since your father passed?” 

You’re thankful he has kept your hand in his as it brings some comfort. “Lonely. I took care of him for the last six months of his life so it’s been an adjustment without him. He’s not in pain anymore and he’s with my mother, so it’s good.” 

“Where are you spending the holiday tomorrow?” 

“At home.” You take a sip of wine with your free hand. “Me and the cat.” 

His thumb runs over your knuckles again, like he’s using them as a worry stone. “Why don’t you come spend the day with Junior and me?” 

The offer touches you. It would be lovely to spend the day with them, to pretend for a day that you’re a family, a unit. But it would only make it harder to leave at the end of the night. “You just need someone to make the lechona, don’t you?” 

Hugo shakes his head. “No, we have that covered.” 

You’re starting to get slightly frustrated. The handholding, ducking out of the party together, the invitation to his home for Christmas, there seems to be an uncurrent of something more than just friendship in his actions and words. But you doubt your interpretation of the situation given just how long you’ve been wanting him to think of you as more than friend. 

“Querida?” 

“I don’t know what you want from me.” 

His eyes drop to still entwined hands. “I know. And I blame myself for that.” 

“For what exactly?” 

He considers your question for a moment and then answers with an action, not words. He leans over and kisses you. You’re certain your heart stops for the entire time his lips are pressed against yours. You’ve imagined this moment for years, years, and now that it’s happening, all your senses short out and before you can process everything, he pulls away. 

“I blame myself for not being direct with you,” he says with a quiet laugh. “I have missed you this last year and half, so very much.” 

You’re still trying to process this development when the firelight catches the gold band on his left hand. You had always thought he continued to wear his wedding ring because he wasn’t ready to give up Sofia and you always respected that. But what if you were wrong? And if that wasn’t the reason, then what was? “ Why do you still wear your ring then?” 

He smiles sheepishly. “Honestly, I stopped wearing it when I was in the jungles. When I came back and moved to Medellín, there were quite a few women who were…not subtle with their intentions. So, I started wearing it again.” 

It had been a practical decision. Of course. 

“I wore it,” he continues, “because I was already committed to someone, even if she didn’t realize it yet.” 

“Hugo-” 

“I love you, and have for a long time.” 

You want to laugh and cry at the same time. Laugh at finally having confirmation that your feelings were not silly or one-sided. Cry that it took this long to realize that. “When? When did you start feeling that way?” 

“When I was in the jungles. After I left Bogotá, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You were always this fixture in my home, with my son. You were a part of our lives and just fit so seamlessly in there, I didn’t even notice when my affections started to change into something deeper. That’s when I started-” 

“Writing the letters.” 

He grimaces. “I was hoping you would be able to read between the lines of what I was saying but each letter I got back from you,” he laughs and shakes his head, “I couldn’t tell if you missed the point on purpose or because you just didn’t feel the same way. I was determined when I came back to have a forthright discussion with you about it but then…” 

“Search Bloc.” 

He nods. “Search Bloc. I figured one of two things would happen: we would Escobar, capture or kill him, or I would die in the pursuit. If I made it back,” he tightens his grip on your hand, “I would tell you everything.” 

God, you feel like a fool, a lovesick fool, but still a fool. “That’s why you wanted me to come tonight.” 

“Yes, and that’s why I want you to spend the holidays with me.” 

You don’t take any time at all to answer him. “I would love to spend the holidays with you. And many more after that.” 

Relief is evident on his face as he leans forward to kiss you again and you meet him halfway this time.

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #colonel hugo martinez #hugo martinez #hugo martinez x reader #hugo martinez x you

[the-hinky-panda]

After We Fall: Part III

Pairing: Colonel Hugo Martinez x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’re a radio transmission specialist with the US Army and assigned to provide support to Edward Jacoby in the hunt for Escobar. You spend most of your time trying to bring the mobile unit’s equipment up to date. After spending many of your days in close quarters with Lieutenant Martinez, he decides you and his father should spend more time together and sets out to make sure that it happens. After a couple awkward interactions, you think the younger Martinez might be on to something.

“To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.”

― Pablo Neruda

There had been a medic that was in the jungle with Hugo’s unit.

He had taken the assignment just a couple months after Melina had died. He needed to get out of the house, get out of Bogotá, because he was going out of his mind. The grief was so much and there had been no escape. Memories had been steeped into the wood floors, the decorated walls, and the furniture. Everywhere he turned, he expected to see her step around a corner, be seated in a chair, or standing by the kitchen sink. His son had just entered the Academy so it was just him to face the lingering scent of perfume and phantom footsteps in what used to be a home. When the assignment to fight FARC in the jungles was presented, he accepted without thinking much about it.

Two years.

It took him two years in the jungle to finally be able to return to his home in Bogotá and not feel like he was entering a mausoleum. That was the start of normalcy returning. The third year of chasing FARC had been the smoothest. They had a reliable system in place, a specific grid outline of the dense underbrush that they would move through square by square. Since the rebels were able to stay hidden in pockets of dense vegetation, taking the jungle apart piece by piece made sure they would find those pockets. Sometimes they were able to see the camps half a click away. Other times, they stumbled on rebels and the raid was more of a panicked shootout between the two sides. Nevertheless, it had been overall effective.

It was one of those sudden shootouts that landed him in the med tent that night. He knew he had been clipped by a stray bullet but he expected it to stop bleeding by the time evening rolled around. Besides, there were plenty of his men who were in worse shape than he was and he wanted their injuries to take priority. But when the raid had been over for six hours and a clean shirt was beginning to stick to him from the steady oozing of blood, he finally went over to where the medical supplies were kept. His intention was to just grab a few bandages and some antiseptic when he was caught red handed, literally.

“Coronel?” (Colonel?)

He had been so focused in making sure his bloody handprints didn’t show up on the makeshift storage lockers that he didn’t hear her enter into the tent and jumped slightly at her sudden presence.

“Lo siento, Coronel. No quise asustarte.” (I’m sorry, Colonel. I didn’t mean to startle you.) Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. She gave orders in the same manner he did, quietly and with no room for questioning. She soon had him stripped out of his bloodied shirt, cleaned the wound and his hands, and was wrapping the deep gash along his ribs in a neat, and efficient fashion. She was biting her bottom lip in concentration and he had to close his eyes but the damage had been done.

Melina would do the same thing when she was fussing over his injuries. She would scold him while rewrapping healing bullet wounds or splints on broken bones. ¿Qué haría yo sin ti, Hugo? Tienes que tener más cuidado. (What would I do without you, Hugo? You have to be more careful.) And then she would smooth her hands over the skin and muscles that were unharmed. Little did she know that he would have to figure out what to do without her.

“Coronel, ¿está bien? ¿Estás desmayado?” (Colonel, are you okay? Are you faint?)

“No estoy bien. Gracias.” (No, I’m fine. Thank you.)

Her hands traced over the exposed skin around the bandages in almost the exact same manner that Melina’s would and the time that had passed since he had last been with a woman became painfully clear. He missed being touched, cared for. When she looked up at him, almost bashfully from under her eyelashes, he couldn’t help but kiss her. She kissed him back, with more enthusiasm than he anticipated and soon they found themselves falling into the cot in the corner of the med tent, shoving their clothes out of the way. It was a messy, brief ordeal. She came quickly, shoving her fist in her mouth to quiet her cries while he grabbed his bloodied shirt and pulled out in time to come into the ruined material. They had parted ways with shy smiles and she rotated back to wherever she came from as a new medical team came in to replace the previous one two days later. He never saw or spoke to her again.

He wonders, as he lays awake at three in the morning, who was your first lover after Nico’s death? Were they good to you? Did they care about you, or at least treat you with kindness and gentleness? Or did they leave you with even more heartbreak, more pieces of yourself scattered out there in the world? He was fortunate to have been with someone who had been kind towards him, someone who brought him solace. He hopes the same has been true for you.

When he has first woken up, he isn’t exactly certain where he is, or if the warm body in his arms is real or a dream. Your back is pressed tight against his chest, your legs tangle with each other, your hands still holding onto him even in sleep. Violets and oranges and something that is uniquely you overwhelm his senses. That’s how he knows it’s real.

He buries his nose in your hair, presses his lips against the soft skin of your shoulder. He doesn’t want to disturb you but he isn’t necessarily upset when he feels you shift and murmur in your sleep.  It must take you a moment to orient yourself as well judging by your sharp intake of breath and the thought that maybe you didn’t want him in your bed anymore crosses his mind. But the fear is quickly vanquished when you stretch languidly and turn to face him, a lazy smile on your face.

“You stayed.”

He brushes some stray strands of hair off your face. “I did. Is that okay?”

Your smile grows. “More than okay.”

“Bueno.” (Good.)

He lets his hand explore the expanse of bare skin across your back. You’re so soft and he wonders absently how you’ve managed that. You curl in tighter against him with a contented sigh. He had been under the impression that this was most likely going to go the same way the nurse, and a couple others, had: one or two time encounters and then you would both part ways.

But your hands start an exploration of their own, moving over his ribs, around his waist, and then across his back with such gentleness, it threatens to bring tears to his eyes. You use the leverage to press your face closer against his chest, his heartbeat most likely thudding in your ear. You release a sigh that drains all tension from your body as it molds even closer to his own. It feels as if you don’t want to let go.

He doesn’t want to let you go either.

For the moment, he doesn’t have to but what happens in a week, a month, six months, when your time is up in Colombia and you return to the States? What happens if the separation is more permanent? He thought he only had his son’s life to fear during this war, but now there’s yours as well and his arms tighten instinctively around you.

You hum in concern. “What’s wrong?”

He loosens his grip and goes back to tracing patterns on your back. “Nada. Lo siento.” (Nothing. Sorry.)

“Hugo.”

He has to smile at the authoritative tone that you manage to emit despite not wearing a scrap of clothing and having your face pressed against his breastbone. But he doesn’t know how to properly express his thoughts and worries without overstepping any kind of relationship line. This has happened with hardly any discussion or classification of what this is between the two of you. As he’s gathering his thoughts, the tension comes back to your body in full force. No longer are your curves fitted neatly against him, rather you’re coiled tight and taught. You push yourself further away so you can establish eye contact with him, even in the dim, early morning light.

“What are you worried about? Is it your son?”

To be honest, yes, his son is one of the causes of his worries but he’s not certain of the context just yet so he deflects. “What makes you think I’m worried?”

Your eyes rove over his face. “Woman’s intuition.”

“Ah,” he shifts slightly so he can run his fingers through your hair, brushing it away from your face. “I am worried about my son the majority of the time. This is not exactly the safest place or position to be in right now in Colombia. And now,” he makes sure to hold your gaze when he says this, “I have to worry about you as well.”

The unease in your expression softens slightly as your fingertips trail down over the side of his face. “I worry about both of you as well. I can do what I can to keep Junior safe but you…”

He turns his head and presses a kiss to your palm. “I have plenty of protection.” He fights the urge to tell you not to worry because he knows it’s not that simple. He made the mistake of saying that to Melina shortly after they were married and when she told him that was the equivalent of telling her to not breathe, she didn’t speak to him for a week. He is, above all else, a man who learns from his mistakes.  

But you start to fidget, that same type of nervousness from last night. This time, he does slip his fingers through yours, pressing your palms together until the trembling stills and your eyes meet his. “¿Qué pasa, querida?” (What is wrong, darling?)

Your forehead furrows as you try to find the words. He waits patiently and eventually you whisper the concern. “What if your son doesn’t…you know, approve of…us?”

It actually takes him a few moments to understand what you’re saying mostly because having his son’s approval on any relationship never even crossed his mind. He knows his son well enough to know even if he didn’t like the woman Hugo would choose, his son would always be polite to her. It was and would always be a nonissue. And the fact that you, someone Hugo knew is absolutely adored and respected by his son, would be troubled with this thought forces him to school his features to keep from laughing at the absurdity of the concern. But you are very much worried about this so he presses a kiss to the lines on your forehead in an effort to make them disappear.

“I would not be concerned about his approval. Remember he is the one who tricked us into that lovely dinner.”

Your smile is shaky. “True, but…”

There’s a story, a piece of history that he isn’t aware of just yet, that is at the bottom of this. He sits up slightly, keeping you tightly pressed against his side. “What happened, querida?”

You huff in defeat. “The first man I dated after Nico had a teenage daughter. She did the same thing Junior did, would set up her dad and me on these little dates and act all excited. First time I stayed over at their house, all of sudden she wasn’t so excited. He broke it off with me that week.”

His first thought is to call the man an idiot for letting you go that easily but he bites his tongue. His second thought is that you shared a piece of information that answers a previous question he was wondering about just an hour earlier. You did encounter even more heartbreak after losing Nico and the unfairness of that raises a sense of indignation in his chest. But his third thought is to pass you an equally significant piece of personal information on him.

“When Melina died, and my son and I could speak her name again without…”

You lay a hand on his chest and hum in sympathy.

“He told me that we needed a secret code of sorts. He knew I had trouble removing my ring so he suggested that when a woman of high enough caliber asked about my ring, he would tell her the truth as a sign of his approval. That night we had dinner together, he told me he had told you the real story about it. This is why I don’t believe you have anything to worry about when it comes to him.” He pauses before giving a slight shrug. “And besides, if he does pull his support, I’ll demote him.”

A short laugh escapes you as you lift your head to check his facial expression and find the half smile on his lips. The sun is starting to rise, the light begins to invade through the bedroom window, and with it the reminder that there is work to be done. Hugo looks over at the clock and sees it’s now almost 4:30.

“It’s time to get up, isn’t it?”

He sighs. “For me. What time do you get up?”

“Around 5.” You turn and lay on your back, arms tossed over your head.

The desire to kiss every inch of exposed skin right now is extremely strong. He wants to feel you under him again but he knows there isn’t enough time for this distraction. He needs to go across the street, shower, change, and go determine which leads to follow today. You are heading out with the intel team to drive around Medellín, looking for Escobar’s transmissions. As a compromise, he leans down and presses his lips to yours firmly, before sitting up and searching for his clothes before you can tempt him even more than you have.

It is quite evident that both your minds were elsewhere last night when clothes were being removed as there is no order to where clothes landed. He hears you moving around the room, hears the slide of satin and catches the sight of you tying the belt of a robe around your waist in the dresser mirror. You run a hand through your messy hair and try to tame the wildness from sleep and his hands.

“Coffee?”

The temptation to stay rises again so he regretfully shakes his head. “I’ll get some at the office.”

You make a scoffing noise. “I’ll bring you some, how’s that? I’ll have to pick up the hotspots from the tips that came in overnight anyway.”

If he had any doubt about this relationship working, it’s completely gone now. You’re a compartmentalizer, like him. Last night was for your personal lives. Now, in the light of day, it is back to business. Even though you’re standing there in a black satin robe that hits your bare calves and gaps alluringly across your chest, stifling a yawn behind your hand, your mind is already focused on a game plan for the day.

He’s staring, he knows that but he can’t help himself at the moment. Not when he realizes that he’s in love with you. The feeling is new in that it’s directed at you, but it’s dusty and dull from being packed in a box for four years. The familiarity of it though is unmistakable, like a song you forgot existed until you hear it again and immediately remember all the words. And what makes it even more spectacular is this realization doesn’t elicit any type of fear or unease.

“What?”

He finishes buttoning his shirt before coming over to stand in front of you, holding your face in his palms before pulling your mouth up to his. You immediately press yourself to him, your hands holding the back of his head as you slip your clever tongue into his mouth. God, could you be any more perfect for him? It’s going to take an incredible amount of restraint to see you at Search Bloc and keep his hands and mouth to himself. Reluctantly he pulls away just enough to break the kiss.

“Would you join me for dinner this evening? Seven, my place.”

You smile up at him. “I would love to.”

“Bueno.” (Good.)

He kisses you briefly one more time before forcing his hands to release you to the world for a few hours. He has a time frame though. Seven tonight and you both can pick up where this leaves off. You walk him to the door, unlock the triple locks and open it for him.

“Esté segura hoy, querida.” (Be safe today, darling.)

“Tú también, cariño.” (You as well, sweetheart.)

He steps out into the hallway and waits until he hears the locks slide back into place before heading down the stairs. He reaches the bottom step and comes face to face with his son, back from a morning run from the looks of it.

“Hijo.” (Son.)

“Papa.” (Dad.)

Hugo nods to his son and steps around him. He pauses on the sidewalk and turns back to the stairs.

“Hijo, no-” (Son, don’t-)

“¿Decirle a alguien que vi a mi padre antes del trabajo?” (Tell anyone I saw my father before work?)

Hugo gives him a stern look but he just shrugs.

“Bueno.” (Okay.)

Hugo nods. “Bueno.”

***

Nine hours.

You pull the headphones off your ears and drop them on the desk in front of you. You’ve been sitting in the back of the van for nine hours, listening to static and sweating through your clothes. None of the leads brought anything remotely close to finding Escobar on the radio waves.

“We’d have an easier time finding Santa Claus out here,” you complain.

Junior huffs. “Gordo con traje rojo, destacaría.” (Fat man in a red suit, he would stand out.)

Morales radios back to them from the driver’s seat. “¿Algo de Los Pepes hoy?” (Anything from Los Pepes today?)

“Nada,” you respond. (Nothing.) That’s another thing that’s bugging you. Usually during your sweeps through Medellín, you would pick up blips of the radio communications between the group members as they too were searching for Escobar and his sicarios. The team typically catches the information just as the execution takes place and with a vigilante group that takes credit for their hit, the information is out of date by the time they radio it into Search Bloc. It’s just another frustration. Less sicarios, means less radio chatter. Less radio chatter means less tracking opportunities to find Escobar.

“¿Lo llamamos un día?” (We calling it a day?) Morales asks.

You look at Junior, who tiredly nods his head. “Yeah. Llamémoslo.” (Let’s call it.)

It’s a little after six when you grab your things and leave the Search Bloc headquarters. When you pass through the bullpen, you notice Hugo’s office is already dark and you finally allow yourself to look forward to this evening. You and Junior did ride into work together this morning so you can only think about the dinner part of the evening if you’re going to retain any type of decorum on the fifteen minute drive to the apartments. Apparently, Junior had no such compunction.

“Any dinner plans tonight?” he asks with a sly grin.

“Maybe.” You grip the steering wheel tighter, suddenly nervous about venturing into this topic. Even though Hugo had told you there is nothing to worry about, you still do. Under other circumstances, where the three of you don’t work and live in close proximity to each other, it wouldn’t matter at all. But you do all work together and keeping peace is of the utmost importance.

The thought of distancing yourself from Hugo puts a pit in your stomach and the strength of the feeling surprises you. Last night had confirmed for you any and all feelings you held for the man: you were unequivocally in love with him. To say goodbye and close the door on that particular realization would hurt more than you care to acknowledge at the moment.

“I ran into my father this morning when I was coming back from my run.”

Your knuckles go white. “Okay.”

“He looked happy. Happier than I’ve seen him in a while.”

Half of the tension leaves your body. “Really?”

“Yes.”

You have to ask. It’s for the best and it’ll take the burden off your mind. You open your mouth and start to ask him his feelings about the situation when he cuts you off.

“I’m glad you found each other. You need each other.”

“Because we both lost significant others?”

“No.” He pauses. “I think it’s more about who those people were that you lost. You’ve told me about Nico and the kind of man he was. He sounded similar to my father.”

“And I remind you of your mother.”

He nods. “Yes.”

You sigh. “But you can’t find people who are similar and replace them-”

“No, no, no,” he shakes his head. “There is no intention of replacing anyone. My mother is…irreplaceable. Neither my father nor I would want to see her replaced. You would never replace Nico?”

“No.”

“But, there are things about my father that remind you of him.”

You nod slowly. “Yes, there are.”

“It’s not replacing. It’s loving the best parts of the person who isn’t here anymore.”

You park the VW Bug in your space and turn off the car, a small smile turning the corners of your mouth. “You know, you’re pretty wise for a twenty-year old.”

He smiles back. “I graduated in the top one percent of my class.”

You’re getting ready to open the car door when a flash of headlights appears in the rearview mirror. A dark four-door Jeep pulls into the parking garage and backs into the space two rows over from your space. Something tells you to be on high alert as the headlights are turned off but no one emerges from the vehicle. You grab your purse and pull out your sat phone. The signal is barely there but hopefully it’ll be enough to get a call to Hugo. You hand the phone to Junior. “Punch in your Dad’s number and be ready to call it.”

“The Jeep that just pulled in?”

So he saw it too. “Yeah. I don’t like it.”

He peers into the rear window mirror and then lets out a shaky breath. “Son los Castaño.” (It’s the Castaños.)

“Both of them?”

“Sí.” (Yes.)

You reach down between the car door and your seat and grab the lead-filled baton Gio had given you before you left California. You open the driver’s side door. “Call your father and stay put.”

As soon as your feet hit the concrete, both Constaños are closing the doors to the Jeep. They’re intimidating looking even without you knowing their reputation and the closer you get, the taller they become. The one with thick black hair, Fidel, has to be pushing six foot five. Fuck, what did you get yourself into?

“Buenas tardes señorita,” Carlos, shorter and broader than his brother, greets with hands raised to show he’s unarmed. “Nosotros estamos aquí para hablar.” (Good evening, Miss. We’re just here to talk.)

You keep your grip tight on the handle of the baton. They don’t have guns in their hands at the moment but they are on their persons. You’ve also seen some of the handiwork their fists can do so you can’t let your guard down for a moment. You stop about eight feet away from. “Bueno. Hablar.” (Great. Talk.)

“Manténgase fuera de nuestras transmisiones de radio.” (Stay off our radio transmissions.)

“¿Por qué? Para cuando tengamos información decente, ya tienes el objetivo.” (Why? By the time we get any decent information , you’ve already got the target.)

Fidel speaks up. “Estamos pidiendo amablemente. Esta vez.” (We’re asking nicely. This time.)

Carlos adds on the statement. “Digamos que puede escuchar alguna charla que preferiría no escuchar.” (Let’s just say that you may hear some chatter that you would rather not hear.)

So that’s why Los Pepes have gone radio silent for the last few days. There’s something happening, some secret that is getting close to the surface. It would have to be something big to bring the Castaños out like this. The first person you think of is Escobar but you’re fairly certain if you were that close to finding Escobar, Los Pepes would just put a bullet in your head and then step over your body to do the same to Escobar. Maybe this has something to do with whoever is working for Los Pepes in Search Bloc. Maybe you’re getting close to discovering who they are.

“Gringa, ¿me escuchaste?” (Did you hear me?)

“Sí, te escuché. Pero vamos a seguir haciendo nuestro trabajo.” (Yeah, I heard you. But we’re going to keep doing our job.)

“Bien, pero si te interpones en nuestro camino-” (Fine, but if you get in our way-)

You take a step towards them and motion with the baton in their direction. “No, si se sale con la nuestra, tendrá un problema.” (No, if you get in our way, you will have a problem.)

Fidel laughs. “Cree que nos está amenazando. Esta cosita.” (She thinks she’s threatening us. This little thing.)

“Niña, mantente fuera de nuestro camino. Esta es la única advertencia que está recibiendo.” (Little girl, stay out of our way. This is the only warning you’re getting.)

There’s no use in arguing with them. If you did, it would only start a fight, one that you would most likely sorely lose. So, you shrug your shoulders. “Entonces supongo que ambos hemos sido advertidos.” (Then I guess we’ve both been warned.)

You turn your back to them, walking towards the car. That is when things happen in such short succession your brain barely has time to process the events. The passenger side door of your car opens and there’s a flash of a gun going off. The sound bounces off the concrete walls of the small parking garage, the sharp rapport reverberating around the space. You instinctively duck but there’s no cover. You see both brother’s are now focused on Junior who is taking cover behind a pillar.

You should find cover. You should grab a radio, pager, sat phone, scream for help. Instead, you feel the weight of the baton in your hand and with no cover close by, you charge the two Castaños. Fidel is closest and certainly doesn’t think you're a threat since his focus is waiting for Junior to show any part of himself from behind the pillar so you blind side him. You bring the baton down with full force of his wrist. He drops his gun with a startled yell but recovers immediately.

He grabs the baton with his left hand and uses it to toss you into the car behind him. You hit your back against the grill and you hit the ground. You can hear Junior telling them to drop their weapons but Carlos is shouting obscenities back at him. You still have a deathgrip on the baton as does Fidel and he yanks it and you up off the ground, your face colliding with his fist. Thankfully it’s the one with the injury so the force behind the blow isn’t half of what it normally would be but it’s enough to blind your sight temporarily.

Thankfully the pain of hitting you with his injured hand loosens Fidel’s grip on the baton enough for you to pull it away from him. You use the momentum to swing it in a backhand motion and feel it connect with his ribs. Another gunshot rings out but from a different direction this time. New voices are added to the commands of laying down the weapons. You immediately recognize Hugo’s followed quickly by Steve Murphy’s slight Southern twang. By the time you’re standing solidly on your two feet, the Castaños are fleeing the scene, there are multiple bullet holes in your passenger side car door and one of the pillars, and drops of blood littering the floor of the garage.

You just survived your first shootout. And as Junior steps from cover, not a scratch or drop of blood on him, you breathe a sigh of relief. But when you turn to see Hugo and Murphy, Hugo’s face is thunderous. Tense, white, and jaw constricted so hard you could practically hear his teeth grinding. It’s a look you’ve never seen before and it’s so different from what you studied this morning from the weak new day light while in your bed. Murphy is radioing in for the police to be on the lookout for the Castaños while Hugo comes to stand in front of you and Junior.

“¿Qué diablos estaban pensando ustedes dos?” (What the fuck were you two thinking?)

***

He sees red and practically loses his mind. Thankfully, he’s able to present a calm persona, one that is still a leader through and through, despite the absolute fury that is tearing apart his ribcage at the moment. His heart rate is through the roof, his blood pressure skyrocketing and continuing to climb with each drop of blood from your nose.  He’s going to have either a stroke, heart attack, or both as he assesses the damage before him.

His son is eyeing him warily. He knows. He knows the seriousness of the situation and just how livid Hugo is at the moment. He is wise to keep his silence at the moment, standing at a parade rest,  freshly fired weapon re-holstered. You, on the other hand, have no idea just how thin the ice is that you’re standing on right now.

Your nose is broken, blood running down over your lips and chin. You swipe at it with the sleeve of your shirt. Your eye is swelling, a black eye in the making. You're standing oddly but he can’t tell if it’s your back, knee, ankle, or foot that is the culprit. A short baton is gripped tightly in your hand.

“¿Qué sucedió?” (What happened?)

You clear your throat. “I parked my car and noticed that the Jeep then parked two rows over from us. They didn’t get out of the car until I did-“

“So why did you get out of the car?”

You now recognize his anger. And instead of it humbling you, it causes you to become indignant. “I got out of the car to get them to leave. They were going to wait us out.”

His son speaks up at that moment. “Cuando nos dimos cuenta de quién era, te llamé. Pero... el concreto bloquea las señales telefónicas.” (When we realized who it was, I called you. But…the concrete blocks the phone signals.)

That explains the phone ringing but no one being on the other end. “Wait,” you interrupt, motioning to Junior. “You never spoke to your dad?”

Junior shakes his head. “No, I didn’t.”

Your eyes widen as much as they can with the swelling. “Then why did you get out of the car?”

“Because,” he swallows visibly, “because they pointed a gun at you. I wasn’t going to just sit there and watch-”

“Alright,” Hugo interrupts him. “Alright. So you get out of the car, open fire and that starts the fight.”

Both you and his son nod your heads. “Yes.”  

Murphy is taking notes. “Did you talk to them? What did they want?”

You laugh dryly. “They wanted us to stay off their radio channels. They said we might hear something we don’t want to hear. I’m assuming it’s whoever is helping them from inside the Search Bloc.”

“What did you tell them?” Hugo asks.

You shrug. “I told them not a chance. We’ll do our job which includes listening to them come what may.”

Of course you told them that. Of course you faced off with two of the most dangerous men running the streets of Medellín right now and told them to fuck off. He turns to Murphy, who is closing his notebook and motions to the abandoned Jeep..

“We’ll impound the Jeep,” Murphy says, “see if there’s anything in it we can use. I’ll stay with it.”

“I’ll stay too,” Junior offers.

“Okay,” Hugo agrees and reaches out to take your hand that is still wrapped around the baton. “This needs to stay here.”

Your response is immediate. “No, no, it’s my great-grandfather’s.”

Murphy gives you a sympathetic smile. “Family heirloom, I get it. I’ll make sure you get back tomorrow, okay?”

“Promise?”

He raises his hand, his index and middle finger raised. “Scouts honor.”

You frown up at him. “That’s the wrong hand, Stephen.”

While you and Murphy are working out getting your grandfather’s baton back, Hugo steps up to his son. His anger is still relatively high but the adrenaline rush is wearing off, everyone is safe, so it’s a bit easier to breathe. He’s able to tone down the bite in his question to his son.

“Why did you get out of the car and open fire?”

His son sighs deeply. “Like I said, they were going to shoot her in the back. I couldn’t…I couldn’t watch it happen.” There’s a significant pause and he looks at Hugo with intense eyes, his mother’s eyes. “Not again.”

Hugo feels off balance, like he’s standing on the deck of a boat. The ground is shifting under him, realizations and understandings are moving like gears and locking pieces beneath his feet. He loves you. That realization hit him this morning and only solidified throughout the day as he counted down the hours until he could feel you under his hands once more.

His son loves you. He must. Those feelings were put to the test today. He couldn’t bring himself to fire a weapon when faced with the Castaño brothers before but this time? This time he put himself in open engagement, opened fire, and protected, not himself, but you. If that didn’t tell Hugo just how much his son cared about you, enough to defend you with his life, then he didn’t know what other signs to look for. And while this all bodes extremely well for a smooth sailing relationship, there is one imperative question that needs to be answered.  

Do you love them just as much?

#colonel hugo martinez #hugo martinez #hugo martinez x reader #hugo martinez x you #hugo martinez fic #colonel hugo martinez fic #After We Fall series #narcos fic #hinky writes

[the-hinky-panda]

After We Fall: Part I

Pairing: Colonel Hugo Martinez x Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature (Explicit in future parts)

Summary: You’re a radio transmission specialist with the US Army and assigned to provide support to Edward Jacoby in the hunt for Escobar. You spend most of your time trying to bring the mobile unit’s equipment up to date. After spending many of your days in close quarters with Lieutenant Martinez, he decides you and his father should spend more time together and sets out to make sure that it happens. After a couple awkward interactions, you think the younger Martinez might be on to something.

Second chances are not given to make things right. But are given to prove that we could be better even after we fall. -Unknown

Technology is changing rapidly and it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to keep up with the methods that the narcos are using. You had been in the communications field in the Army for ten years and were just coming out of the latest training on satellite communications and now with the internet becoming available to the public, it was going to open thousands of new doors that will allow narcos to distribute their products. It is a double-edged sword.

When Edward Jacoby requested extra support with the equipment that Centra Spike was using  in Colombia, it was kismet that you were placed into that position given the completion of your latest training. Your job is to continue offering support to Jacoby while updating the dated equipment the Colombian Army was still using. So within twenty-four hours of arriving in Colombia, you’re already sitting in the conference room of the Search Bloc headquarters giving your insight. You don’t know anyone in the room and they don’t know you. You find out later that there are quite a few new faces around the Search Bloc, their leader Colonel Hugo Martinez, being one of them.

“So how seriously do you think we need to consider the internet in our searches?” Martinez asks.

“I don’t think we need to be concerned with it at all right now. There’s a lot of groundwork that will need to be run, cabling and even more satellites in order for the internet to start being a form of communication that is easily accessible here in Colombia. Besides, with Pablo Escobar’s history, I actually think he could be using something much more primitive.”

“When he was in his ‘prison,’” one of the DEA guys says, Murphy, you think his name is, “he was using pigeons to carry messages.”

“And while I don’t think he’s gone that primitive,” you continue, “I do think we should start monitoring the radio frequencies more. I heard that Search Bloc has their own mobile unit now?”

You get a couple side-eye glances between everyone. Well, that’s not reassuring.

“Lieutenant Martinez can show you the equipment at your disposal,” the Colonel says.

You don’t know what else to say other than “thank you, Colonel” and that apparently ends the meeting. You’ll be the first to admit that you’re not much of a soldier, used to your radios and radar screens. All you had to do was slip those headphones over your ears and you were in the zone, able to differentiate the various tones of static and undertones. You love to tinker with wires and antennas, finding them much easier to interact with than actual people. Working with military and government agents certainly is not your forte. So when you follow the very young Lieutenant Martinez out to the mobile unit, your tact completely disappears.

“This is a joke, right?”

The young man gives you a minute shake of his head. “No, ma’am.”

The van is about fifteen years old with an even older metal antenna strapped to the top of it. You’re afraid to look inside of it and brace yourself for the worst. It’s not as bad as it could be though. The equipment is dated, some of it patched together with paperclips and tape, but it’s workable. Another officer comes up to the van and extends his hand to you.

“Sergeant Morales.”

You introduce yourself and shake Morales’ hand. “I assume you’re the head of the intel division here?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s just me and Martinez.”

Jacoby left out that little detail as well as the condition of the mobile unit. You knew he was burned out; that’s why you’re here now, to help relieve some of the pressure. Now you know why. You feel a migraine forming in the back of your eyes.  “Okay. Guess I have some paperwork to fill out then.”

“Paperwork?” Morales asks.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” you warn him. “But I’m going to try to at least get us an updated triple band fixed site DF antenna.” You see smiles on both their faces and shake your head. “Uh-huh. No smiling yet, fellas. No smiling until we’re attaching it to the van.”

You go back into the building and find your desk, situated in a dark corner a few steps from the equipment room. There are three other desks but since most of the work takes place with the physical equipment, the desks are mostly bare. It’s depressing if you’re being frank about it. But this is why you’re here, to try to make it better. You find the supply request paperwork and set to work typing up the equipment requests. The more you work, the longer the list becomes, especially when you stick your head in the equipment room. Morales and Martinez come and go while you work on the wishlist and requests. You’re almost finished when someone clears their throat to alert you of their presence. Your fingers pause over the keys of the typewriter to see Colonel Martinez standing next to your desk and you immediately stand up.

“Sir.”

He motions for you to sit down. “Please. I saw the light still on over here and thought I might catch my son.”

“Your son?”

“Lieutenant Martinez.”

You feel like an idiot for not making that connection. “Sergeant Morales and Lieutenant Martinez left,” you check the clock, “about three hours ago. I didn’t realize it’s been that long.”  

“What are you working on?”

You turn the handwritten list so he can read it easier. “Equipement requests. The sooner I send them over to the Embassy, the sooner we can get…some of it, hopefully. I’m going to have Jacoby sign off on it tomorrow morning.”

“Why can’t you do that?” There is no accusation in his questions, just mere curiosity.

“The people who approve these requests, well, they don’t think women know what they’re talking about when it comes to DF antennas and radio transmitters. We’ll have a better shot at getting it if they think it’s coming from a man.”

He hums and turns the paper back around to you. “If I can do anything to help, please let me know.”

“Thank you. I will. Maybe I’ll have you sign off on it as well.”

He gives a half shrug. “I’m not sure that will help. Better stick to Jacoby’s signature.”

“You’re not that popular with the Embassy either?”

“I doubt it. I don’t think any person in this position is popular with anyone.”

“So why did you take the position?”

His eyes cut briefly to his son’s desk. “Personal reasons.”

You nod a couple times. “I can understand that. Your son is very smart and has a talent for machines. It’s not easy finding someone who can work physically on the machines and use them efficiently. He does both extremely well. Morales is no slouch either. For a two man team, you have the elite. I’m looking forward to going out with them tomorrow.”

“Good.” He glances around the office space once more. “If you’re almost done, I can walk you out.”

You think about telling him to not worry about it but you also want to make sure you start off on the right foot so you finish typing up the last three items and put the request on your desk to have Jacoby sign in the morning. You grab your bag and keys to the car the Embassy loaned you. With a brief nod, you follow him out of the dark corner of the building and back out to the brighter lit bullpen area.

He’s not a tall man but he’s solidly built and moves like a bulldog through the building. His eyes rove over the space as you both move through it, taking in who is still there and what areas are darkened for the evening. It’s almost ten o’clock and most of the people left are Colombian officers handling the nighttime skirmishes. He nods to a couple of the officers, turns lights out of the places that have been abandoned for the night, before heading towards the parking garage. His actions remind you of your father going through the house before going to bed and making sure everything is secure. It tells you just how seriously he takes his position here at Search Bloc, even if he did take the position for personal reasons.

“How familiar are you with Medellín?” he asks you when you reach the outside of the building.

You stumble on your words, wanting to assure him you can manage by yourself but the truth is, you have no idea where you are at the moment. He picks up on it immediately.

“Where are you staying?” he asks instead.

You pull out the paperwork that the embassy handed you on the plane ride to Medellín and pass it to him. “This is the address they gave me.”

He nods and returns it. “I’m going to the same place so you can follow me if you want. The area is mostly made up of police officers and Americans. There’s a restaurant on the corner that stays open late if you need something to eat.”

“Thank you.”  It’s the most helpful anyone has been so far since you’ve arrived in Colombia. Part of you is slightly suspicious as you get into your car, an old VW Bug, but you suppose if there is anything nefarious about Colonel Martinez’s intentions, you wouldn’t be driving your own car. The apartment building is only a ten minute drive from the Search Bloc headquarters and it looks to be on a relatively nice street. You can see the cafe on the corner with the lights still on and a few people milling around the tables that are set up on the sidewalk. You find your assigned parking spot in the garage, grab your suitcase, and head back to the street with the intention of picking up some food before finding your apartment. You’re surprised to see Colonel Martinez walking up to the restaurant. He points to a building across the street and two doors down.

“That’s where I live, but my son lives in your building, on the third floor. Morales,” he points to the building on the other side of the restaurant, “he lives on the second floor, I think. The DEA agents, Peña and Murphy, they’re over in my building.”

“We all are close together then. Does that make it safer or more dangerous?”

“Safety in numbers, as they say. Were you issued a weapon?”

“Yes.” Not that you were very comfortable with it but you had a handgun.

“Make sure you have it on your person, even when you’re out here. Sicarios run these streets, even this one. Always be alert and ready.”

It sounds exhausting but is what you expected when you took the position. His words and eyes are very serious when he gives you this advice so you nod to assure him that you’ve heard the warning loud and clear. You find something that looks familiar to you on the menu and order it to go. Apparently the Colonel has a standing order and they bring him his food immediately, but he ends up standing with you while you wait.

“How long have you been in the Army?” you ask him.

“Twenty-seven years. I’ve spent the last three years in the jungle fighting FARC guerrillas. How about you?”

“I’ve only been in the Army for ten years. I haven’t seen any actual action. My job has always kept me on the sidelines.” You don’t tell him that you’ve been working in the engineering field for ten years before you joined the Army and became a specialist in transmissions and communications.

“Do you like being in the American military?”

“I suppose it’s like any other job. I enjoy what I actually do but could do without the red tape and politics.”

There’s the briefest, most fleeting of smiles that crosses his face. It’s the first time you’ve seen anything that could resemble a smile from him. “I can appreciate that sentiment.”

Your food is handed to you and so you pick up your suitcase and start to leave the restaurant. “Thank you for keeping me company and making sure I found the place.”

“Of course. Can’t have us lose our Army Specialist her first night in Medellín.” He opens the building door for you. “Do you need any help?”

“No, thank you. You’ve been more than helpful today.”

“Bueno, buenas noches entonces. Dormir bien.” (Well, good evening then. Sleep well.)

“Muchísimas gracias. Usted también.” (Thank you very much. You as well.)

You walk up the two flights of stairs until you find your apartment number and unlock the door. The place is already furnished with standard fare and is much more spacious than you thought the one bedroom apartment was going to be. You looked forward to seeing it in the daylight given the amount of windows that were in the place. You even had a small patio with a couple chairs sitting out on it.

As you sit down on the couch and turn on the television to a local news station, you start in on the bandeija paisa, which is the most amazing first bite of food you’ve had in almost twenty-four hours. The apartment is nice, the food is excellent, and the people in Search Bloc were all quite personable, even the very serious Colonel Martinez.

Maybe this assignment isn’t going to be half bad.

***

Colonel Hugo Martinez is used to that gnawing feeling of worry. He’s felt it ever since he agreed to take on the position to lead the Search Bloc. He feels it everyday for his son. And now, after a month of having you on the intel team, he feels the same way about you. And he can’t figure out how he feels about this development.

You’re not a soldier, you have not been combat trained, and yet you go out on the streets in a very unique mobile unit and a target on your American back, and he worries that one day, some second rate sicario is going to hit that target. He shouldn’t worry this much about you, but he does. And that compounds the worry, takes it to another level. Why? He isn’t this concerned about the other Americans that have been assigned to his unit. What makes you so special, what makes you stand out from everyone else?  

Then he sees his son look at you with genuine warmth and respect. You’ve created a space for the younger Martinez to grow, become comfortable, and ultimately flourish. The intel division is expanding in repute and it’s starting to give the Search Bloc an edge that they didn’t have before. Grid searches only go so far. Tracking radio transmissions and conversations is helping narrow down the searches and providing more evidence and arrests. Even Morales has warmed up to you, an officer who didn’t like anyone working in his space and with his equipment, but the three of you have formed a solid unit of your own.

He tries to convince himself that you’ve become an asset to Search Bloc and he doesn’t like losing assets. He knows how much his son respects you and doesn’t want to console him about the loss of another maternal-type figure. And maybe that’s when the realization hits him. You remind him of his wife, of the event that made him a widower. He’s been through that level of loss once and doesn’t care to go through it again. So he tries to keep distance between you and him. When he needs to speak to the mobile intel unit, he typically speaks to his son to relay messages.

But then you show up without warning and a file with transcriptions of helpful information and he catches your scent, a blend of violet and orange, and he finds himself distracted with memories of a lost love and daydreams of a possible new one for twenty minutes. His son shows up with American dishes you’ve shared with him, like gumbo or chicken parmigiana, and he remembers what it’s like to eat a home cooked meal. The worst of the situation, however, are the dreams.

He has frequently dreamt of his wife since her passing, waking in the middle of the night and remembering that phantom feeling of having her in his arms. Now it’s your skin that he dreams of under his fingertips, your mouth against his, your body arching beneath his own. It’s your scent, floral and citrus, that he imagines he can smell on his sheets when he wakes in the middle of the night and reaches for a ghost. It’s frustrating, distracting, and quite frankly needs to come to an abrupt end.

The first real conversation that you two had still stands out in his mind. You told him you had only been in the Army for ten years. If you had joined after attending college, that would make you thirty-one, thirty-two at most. You were much too young for his fifty-two year old self. He would be better sending you in the direction of his twenty-three year old son. At least he would know you would protect and take care of the boy, who already whole heartedly adored you. So when he runs into his son at the restaurant by their apartments, he decides to broach the topic as they wait for their food.

“¿Cómo van las cosas en la unidad de inteligencia?” (How are things going in the intel unit?)

His son gives him a shrewd look, reading between the lines, and a slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Está bien, aunque hoy parecía un poco triste.” (She is doing fine. Although, she did seem a little sad today.)

“¿Triste?” (Sad?)  He tries to keep the concern out of his voice and while he may have achieved that goal, he isn’t able to keep it from his facial expression. At least not under his son’s scrutiny.  

“Creo que está un poco nostálgica. Ella estaba hablando de su familia hoy.” (I think she’s a bit homesick. She was talking about her family today.)

He doesn’t like the idea of you being sad and realizes these feelings are starting to become a very serious issue. He stays on his plan to direct his son’s interests towards you. “Entonces tal vez deberías hacer algo para animarla.” (Then maybe you should do something to cheer her up.)

The younger Martinez gives his father a sharp grin and deflects the suggestion right back to him. “O deberías.” (Or you should.)

“Mijo, ella es un poco demasiado joven para mí.” (Son, she’s a little too young for me.)

“¿Cuantos años crees que ella tenga?” (How old do you think she is?)

He shrugs slightly. “Dijo que ha estado en el ejército durante diez años, quizás treinta y dos, quizás treinta y tres.” (She said she’s been in the army for ten years, so maybe thirty-two, maybe thirty-three.)

His son shakes his head. “Ha estado en el ejército durante diez años, pero trabajó en el campo de la ingeniería durante diez años antes de eso. Tiene cuarenta y dos.” (She’s been in the army for ten years but she worked in the engineering field for ten years before that. She’s forty-two.)

Forty-two? You certainly didn’t look that old. Now he wonders what made you make that change in the middle of a career?

“Papa.”

He snaps out of his musings. “¿Qué” (What?)

“Ella preguntó por tu anillo de bodas la semana pasada.” (She asked about your wedding ring last week.)

His thumb immediately goes to the band and turns it around his finger. “¿Y? ¿Qué le dijiste a ella?” (And? What did you tell her?)

“La verdad. Que mi madre falleció hace cuatro años de cáncer. Que aún la extrañabas.” (The truth. That my mother passed away from cancer four years ago. That you still missed her.) He’s quiet for a moment. “No dijo mucho después de eso, pero parecía triste. Como ella estaba hoy.” (She didn’t say much after that, but she seemed sad. Like she was today.)

This changes things. Or at least it has the potential to change things. They don’t talk much about Milena, a subject that brings up that razorblade feeling of joy and grief. So when his son decides to talk about his mother, it’s worth the sting of remembrance. Apparently you were deemed worthy enough to wander into that emotional minefield and with the look his son is giving him, he thinks that his father should take a few steps in that direction as well.

And knowing this certainly doesn’t help his situation when it comes to what to do about you. It especially doesn’t help when his son abruptly looks up and calls your name from across the busy restaurant and you suddenly appear. The younger Martinez stands up and offers you his chair. Hugo realizes that his son might be more strategic and cunning than he gives him credit for.

“Buenas noches, señora. Me estaba yendo y sintiéndome culpable por dejar a mi padre solo para cenar.” (Good evening, miss. I was just leaving and feeling guilty for leaving my father  alone to eat dinner.)

He tries to glare at his son, tries to communicate that they’re going to have words about this little set up but then you sit down in the offered seat, a strained smile on your face now as well. His son gives him a satisfied nod before leaving. Hugo redirects his attention back to you. You’re dressed casually since it has been a day spent in the field. You must realize what just happened as well as you keep your purse on your lap, a canvas bag filled with fruit sitting at your feet.

“I know what this is,” you say with a slight grimace. “Your son is smart but not subtle.”

“No, subtly has never been his strong suit. I apologize for him.”

You shrug and give a faint smile. “His heart is in the right place.”

He does have to give his son that. “It usually is.”

You take a look around, your gaze falling on the exit, most likely making sure that Hugo Junior had in fact left the establishment. “Well, I suppose I should be going.”

You start to stand up, leaning over to pick up a bag of groceries you put down next to the chair, and he catches the scent of your perfume. His response is out of his mouth before he can stop it. “Why?”

“Oh come on,” you give him a nervous smile. “It’s not like you asked me to dinner. I’m sure you have better things-”

“I don’t.” He has no idea what he’s doing right now. He just knows he doesn’t want you to leave, almost as if his mind is begging for more sensory details to fill in the gaps in the dreams. “Besides,” he gives you half a smile, “we can put dinner on his tab.”

You seem to consider it for a moment, weigh the options of staying or going. “In that case,” you sit back down, “I’ll order lunch for tomorrow too.”

He actually feels relieved when you pick up the menu and place your order. However you only order dinner, not following through with the lunch threat. He needs to figure out what to do about you and this is as good a time as ever. Other than that first night of you being in Medellín, he hasn’t really had a full on conversation with you. He’s seen you in passing, exchanged pleasantries, but most of what he’s learned about you has come from his son.

What he knows for certain is that you’re highly intelligent, logical, and caring. You were stubborn in your own way, particularly when it came to fighting the US embassy for needed equipment. He had been present for the phone call you made to your commanding officer asking for more up to date equipment claiming they were asking you to paint the Sistine Chapel with a box of crayons. Two new RDF machines arrived three days later at the Search Bloc headquarters. He missed how you managed to get the new antenna for the van and he’s been trying to figure that out for the last two weeks.

He’s not sure if it’s your personality that makes you so attractive or if it is your physical attributes. You look so different from Melina, almost the exact opposite. You look American, with your jeans, linen blouses, and messy hair. But despite the casual air, you are altogether lovely in your appearance. He is, without any further doubt, smitten with you. But is that enough to venture beyond pleasant conversations and professional interest?

There is also the reality that your thoughts may have no place for him at all, that he doesn’t inhabit your dreams like you do his. However, if that were the case, his son wouldn’t have shoved you both into this awkward situation. So there must have been something said between you and him that led the younger Martinez to this plan. Hugo decides to take an angled course of questioning to see if he can pull any information from you to see if there is any chance that this could be more than a professional relationship.  

“My son raised a mild concern,” he begins, which immediately grabs your attention. “He tells me you were not yourself today.”

You nod slightly with a sad smile. “Yes, today was the anniversary of a death. It’s the first time I’ve been out of the country and not able to visit the gravesite so there were some quiet moments in the van today. I told him not to worry about it and thought he would understand.” You look like you’re going to continue speaking but then decide better of it and snap your mouth shut.  

“He gets that from his mother.”

You give him an incredulous look. “Yes, I’m sure it comes from only his mother. Speaking of which, he did tell me about her. I’m very sorry for your loss. The way he described her to me, she sounded like an incredibly kind and compassionate woman.”

“She was. We couldn’t have asked for a better wife and mother.” He clears his throat. “If I may ask about the death you suffered?”

“It was my fiancé. Eleven years ago now, he was killed in a motorcycle accident.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“He’s the reason I joined the Army though. He was a specialist in communications and firmly believed in the necessity of staying on the cutting edge of technology. When he died, I wanted to do something to keep his memory going so I enlisted.” You smile. “And now I’m helping track down Pablo fucking Escobar.”

He can’t help but return your smile. “I’m sure he would be very proud of you and your work.”

“You remind me of him,” you say quickly. “He was a very good and kind man.”

“And you do remind me of my wife. She was also very good and kind. My son does take after her and that is why he most likely has come to admire you as much as he does.”

You duck your head, like you’re trying to hide your facial expression. “Thank you. That, that means a lot.”

When the food comes, he takes the opportunity to change the subject to lighter topics, such as how you’re enjoying Colombia. You brighten up considerably at the divergence. You love the people and the food, particularly the coffee (saddened by the imminent return to the States and having to drink something called “Folgers”), but you’re not exactly pleased with the heat and humidity. It occurs to him that even though he knows you’re from the US, he doesn’t know where. Your accent is different from both Peña’s and Murphy’s so he asks about your origins.

“I’m actually from Monterey, California. It’s south of San Francisco and along the coast. Beautiful, beautiful place in the States.”

“And your family is still there?”

“Mostly. My older brother is a cop in San Jose which is not far from Monterey at all. My parents still live in the suburbs of San Francisco. Both my fiancé and I went to Presidio of Monterey which was the Army base there.” You then proceed to tell him of this little town called Carmel-by-the-Sea with its fairytale-esque cottages along the rugged shoreline of the ocean. There is magic in your description and cadence that he almost forgets where he is. You then turn the tables on him. “You’re not from Medellín, are you?”

“No, I’m not. I was born in Moniquirá, a small town in the middle of nowhere. There were farms for sugar cane, coffee, and corn mostly. When I graduated from the Army I moved to Bogotá and have been there since.”

“When Escobar is caught, you think you’ll go back to Bogotá?”

“I would like to, yes.” He in turn tells you about the wonders of Bogotá, the art museums, street food, and parks found in the city. You seem just as enraptured as he had been with Carmel. “How much of Bogotá did you see?”

You grimace. “The airport. They literally shuffled me from the baggage claim back out to the tarmac for the flight down here.”

He scoffs, bold with the relaxing effects of wine. “I will show you around the wonders of Bogotá.”

“I’d like that.”

He’s surprised at your comfortable acceptance of the invitation. Maybe, just maybe, you do entertain soft thoughts about him. He tries to drag the night out as long as he can but you tell him that the intel unit is planning to go out tomorrow morning to pick up any early morning chatter. He’s not ready to release you, he wants to continue asking you questions about your life, likes, dislikes, dreams, what he could do to keep you in Colombia and by his side for the rest of his life. There is such a comfortableness that he feels in your presence that he hasn’t felt since Melina. His son adores you and he does as well. He wants to ask you to stay but swallows down the words and instead asks to walk you to your apartment.

You agree with a smile.

He pays for both your meals, taking pity on his son, and escorts you out of the restaurant. You enter the door code to open the main door to the apartment building, one that he knows himself given his son is one floor above you, and he trails after you as you climb the flight of stairs to your second floor apartment. You unlock your door but then fiddle with the keys.

“Would you like to come in?”

He shakes his head. “No, thank you. I know you have to get up early tomorrow.”

You nod once, a tight lipped smile on your face. “Right. Thank you, for tonight though. It was very nice.”

He blames the wine, his son, and the entire universe for what he does next. He leans forward and presses his lips to yours. Your scent of violets and oranges fills his senses and he knows he will never be able to smell one of those particular scents without thinking of you. You’re so warm, fitting perfectly in his arms and against his chest. The palm of his hand fits perfectly in the small of your back. And then the most amazing thing happens and you kiss him back. Your fingers press into his biceps as your tongue drags along the seam of his lips and he eagerly grants  you access to his mouth. The moan that you release is pure sin and he loses his mind in that moment, pressing you against the door of your apartment. When you lean your head back and break the physical connection between your mouths, some of his common sense returns.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” you ask him, your voice low and breathless.

Oh, he wants to come in; come in and stay, never leaving your side. Fuck the hunt for Escobar, fuck the stress and pressure from the politicians to bring in this one man that has been a thorn in the side of Colombia for years. He just wants you, your soft skin, intoxicating scent, and compassionate heart. He wants to feel you underneath him as he claims you as his own, marks you with his mouth and hands. He wants to wake up tomorrow morning with you, solid and warm, in his arms.

But he can’t, not now. Not yet. So he steps back, puts distance between you but presses his lips to your forehead. “Not tonight, querida.”  

You hum in understanding. “I always have Morales and your son over for dinner on Sunday night but Morales can’t make it this Sunday. Would you like to join us?”

His hands are still holding you close to him, not ready to let you go. “I would.”

“Good.” You smile up at him, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. You’re so beautiful it hurts.

He kisses you once more, briefly, before forcing his hands to release you from their grasp. He knows the dreams are coming in full force this evening and for once, he’s going to welcome them.

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