#tata escobar

[ducavalentinos]

“El martes primero de mayo de 1973, día festivo, [Pablo] me pidió que fuera su novia oficial y selló el compromiso con un regalo: la canción Nuestra historia de amor, recién lanzada por la cantante Claudia de Colombia. Luego me dijo en tono seguro:

Mi amor, serás para mí durante toda mi vida. Nunca te cambiaré por nada, ni por nadie.”

#claudia de colombia #music #pablo y tata #book: mrs. escobar: my life with pablo #forgot this one on my drafts; re-read it and im crying againn #that's a perfect song #in itself and for them #<3

[spooky-pomegranate]

Pablo's Ghost (Part 1)

Colonel Carrillo x F Reader Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: Two nights after Horacio Carrillo is gunned down by Pablo Escobar the drug lord receives a phone call that makes him question everything he's ever known. Meanwhile, you and Steve Murphy attend the Colonel's funeral. (Part 2)

—————————————————————

It was mid-afternoon when the phone rang.

“Who is this?”

“Don’t you recognize my voice?”

Of course, Pablo did. But it couldn’t really be him. This had to be some sort of sick joke and he wasn’t interested in hearing the punchline.

“What the fuck is this? Who are you? What the hell do you want?” Pablo snapped angrily into the phone.

“Listen to me carefully Pablo. You may have thought you won but you were so wrong. You’ve made me into something worse than you could have ever imagined. I am a ghost now Pablo and I will haunt you and follow you wherever you go. You cannot escape me, not in this life and not in the next. And when we meet again in hell I promise you I will make sure you pay for every single sin you’ve ever committed, you vile disgusting monster.”

Pablo forced a laugh from deep within his chest. The sound was dark and cold, absent of the soft lilt his wife Tata could so easily draw from him. But the callousness was purposeful. Pablo wanted to scare whoever had called him tonight because whoever dared to provoke the drug king of Columbia needed to understand that he wouldn’t be frightened so easily. Pablo Escobar didn’t have nightmares anymore but he could dole them out.

“This is pathetic. Colonel Carillo is dead, and he will rot in the ground like the useless little worm he-”

“No Pablo. No, I won’t.” The voice interrupted, “But I will see you here soon where the fire is burning and your cousin is still screaming and choking on his own blood. Do you want to hear him, Pablo? Do you want to hear him cry and whimper? Should I put him on the phone?”

Pablo gripped the satellite phone tighter, turning his knuckles white with rage. Bringing up his beloved cousin Gustavo was a step too far. The prank caller had just unknowingly signed their own death warrant.

“Shut up! Shut up you motherfucker! Whoever you are I will find you and kill you. Do you hear me? You’re next. You and every single person you have ever loved. Dead! You’re all dead! I will kill you just like I killed him! You hear me!”

The voice on the phone scoffed. “You already returned my bullet, Pablo. How can you kill me twice?”

A stillness consumed Pablo, cementing his bare feet to the cool tile floor of the hacienda and quickening his pulse. How did the voice know what he had said two nights ago on that dark street? How did they know he had shown Carrillo the bullet before loading it in the chamber and firing it into his thigh?

Pablo turned his head away and looked at his shoes that were strewn by the door. They were still covered in dark maroon blotches of dried blood… Carillo’s blood.

He closed his eyes and returned to that night. He could smell the fire, the gasoline, and the burnt rubber. He could taste the gunpowder in the air and he could feel the sweat dripping from his brow. He could see so clearly the rivers of blood dripping out of Carrillo’s mouth and pooling onto the asphalt, soaking into his sneakers and turning their white fabric a deep red.

It was all so vivid. Too vivid to be a dream. It had been real. He had killed him. Colonel Horacio Carrillo was dead. He had to be. Because otherwise…

Pablo opened his eyes again and stared at his bloody shoes. He didn’t believe in ghosts and if they were real the logical part of him thought he certainly would have faced the wrath of one long ago. But deep down there was another part of him, a smaller part, that wondered if maybe he was wrong about the afterlife. Maybe he had doomed himself. Maybe he would be haunted for the rest of his living days by a vengeful spirit.

That small part of him thought it made sense…because how else could a dead man whisper “cobarde” before hanging up?

—————————————————————

Dark clouds pushed over the mountains and consumed Medellin, blocking out the sun and shrouding the valley below in a despairing and muggy gloom. It was a rather fitting setting for a funeral. One surely to be played up by the reporters who had gathered by the dozens at the miserable affair. The incorruptible and unrelenting Colonel Horacio Carrillo’s death had made for dramatic headlines and the papers printed about his murder flew off the shelves.

But that wasn’t surprising. Carrillo’s name wasn’t unknown to the people of Columbia. For years it seemed like everyone in the country had held their own opinions on the man.

Many Columbians had supported Carrillo’s efforts, believing that no matter the cost, Escobar needed to be stopped. While others had disagreed, feeling the Colonel had crossed too many lines. But today, as a soft rain started to fall on Carrillo’s casket, both sides were united in mourning. Without Colonel Horacio Carrillo on the front lines who would stop Pablo Escobar? What man would willingly step into a job where death was surely the only outcome and more importantly, who would save Colombia now?

That last question had kept you up more nights than you cared to admit when you first arrived in Columbia. As a young DEA agent the blood and destruction you had come to experience in Latin America was unparalleled to that which you had witnessed at home. But as the months passed you started to believe Carrillo was going to be the country’s savior. His drive and effort were unmatched by any man you had ever met and truthfully it inspired you.

Yet, despite your admiration, you never told him how you felt. In your mind, there was something unprofessional about sharing your feelings with the Colonel and Horacio Carrillo certainly wasn’t a man who needed praise to do his job well. So you held your tongue and kept your faith in him private. But today, watching his casket being lowered into the ground, you couldn’t help but wonder how he would have responded if you had just been honest.

“Hey,” an American-accented voice called out in your direction, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts.

You stared down at the wet earth as your DEA partner Steve Murphy placed a warm hand on your shoulder. You kept your eyes glued to the muddy graveyard dirt as he came around to face you. You hoped he would confuse the tears on your cheeks for raindrops. Probably a fat chance, considering your eyes were bloodshot beyond belief.

“I’m meeting Peña for a drink. Come with me,” Murphy said. His voice was softer than you were used to. It drew your face upwards and he offered you a small fleeting smile. For as tough as Steve could be interrogating and chasing down narcos, you knew he also had a softer side. You had seen it when he adopted his daughter Olivia or when he talked about his beautiful wife Connie. You were thankful for his invitation but truthfully there was only one place you wanted to be and it wasn’t at a bar with him and Peña.

“No thanks. I just want to go home.” You said, voice a little shakier than you would have liked.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Murphy gave you a nod and started to walk back to his wife.

“Hey, Murphy.” He paused looking over his shoulder, “Thanks for asking though. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see you then.” Murphy walked off and you headed to your car. Neither of you noticed the small boy hiding behind a tree confirming on radio that Colonel Carrillo’s body had been placed 6 feet under the ground.

—————————————————————

It was just a door. A mundane bedroom door painted an ordinary white and accented by a dull black handle. There was nothing abnormal or alarming about it but that didn’t seem to matter because right now you were terrified by it. The abject fear was so consuming that small droplets of water splashed out of the glass in your hands and landed on the hallway floor by your bare feet. Shootouts with sicarios you could handle, but this… this was something entirely different. Your body continued to shake as your chest tightened.

“Come on, it’ll be alright,” you whispered to yourself in a weak attempt to conjure up some courage.

You had only been gone for an hour or so. The funeral had been a shorter ceremony than you had expected, but in that time you knew anything could have happened. Turns for the worst were never prolonged events. They happened quickly and at the worst times. You prayed that this wasn’t the worst time.

Pushing open the door, you found your room looked exactly the same as you had left it. Machines on either side of your bed hummed and beeped softly, while dozens of small wires and tubes connected them to a huddled mass lying in the center of your bed. You stepped closer and saw the sheets gently rise and fall. A small breath of air came back into your lungs.

“Carrillo?”

“Mmmm.” The huddled mass quietly hummed in response and relief washed over you. He was still alive. Breathing, conscious, and alive.

“I brought you some water,” you said softly stepping around the side of your bed before taking a better look at the man lying in your sheets.

Carrillo might have been alive but he looked entirely dissimilar from the man you had come to know. The Colonel you saw every day ruthlessly fighting for his country had beautifully tanned skin that was kissed by the Columbian sun. He had strong muscles that constrained tightly against his clothing and he wore his hair short and kept his face clean-shaven in fashion with his strict military discipline.

But this man, the one lying below you now, looked nothing like that Colonel Carrillo. This man was so pale that you could clearly see every blue and purple vein through the skin of his neck and hands. He had a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his brow that stuck his messy and thick dark hair to his forehead and his strong jaw was covered with a dark and coarse stubble that made him look messy and unkempt. If you hadn’t brought him to your bed yourself you would have never guessed this was the fearsome leader of Search Bloc.

“Garcías,” Carrillo murmured weakly after taking a sip of the water you held to his lips. You offered him a small smile in turn and grabbed a bottle of pills off the bedside table.

“For the pain,” you said showing him the bottle. For a brief moment, your thumb brushed over his chapped lips as you gently placed one of the pills in his mouth. He closed his eyes and swallowed. You felt your chest constrict again when he looked up at you with his tired chestnut eyes.

It was difficult seeing Carrillo like this. He had been a pillar of strength during your time in Columbia and even though you both knew how dangerous this game was that you played with the cartel, you never expected to see him like this. You thought he would be strong and alive or dead and gone. This middle ground was more painful than you could have ever imagined.

You tore your eyes away from Carrillo’s face and looked around the room. You were searching for something, anything, to distract yourself with while the air slowly worked its way back into your lungs. It was then you noticed that something was out of place.

You had left a satellite phone by Carrillo’s hand before heading to the funeral. You had gently explained to him that if anything happened he should call you. It might have been a stupid idea, if he needed you that badly he probably wouldn’t have even been able to dial a phone, but you had left it there just the same. Strangely now though you realized the phone had moved. It currently sat precariously on the edge of the bed.

“Did you try to call me?” You said concernedly looking back again at Carrillo.

“No,” he answered staring at you, his face inscrutable.

“Did you call someone else?”

“No importa.”

A swell of rage consumed you as you picked up the phone.

“It’s not important? Are you serious right now?!” You didn’t understand how could Carrillo think that it wasn’t important. For every person who knew he was alive his chances of survival dropped. You both knew that Pablo’s tentacles were long and deadly.

“Look at yourself! You are barely alive and you’re holed up here in my apartment just fucking patched together. If someone else knows you are alive you need to tell me right now! I need to know so I can take care of it. You can’t… I can’t… Fuck Carrillo!”

The words to express your outrage were difficult to find, especially considering it had been several days since you last slept. You had spent every single moment since the ambush trying to do two things: keep Carrillo alive and keep it a secret. Neither task had been simple.

After the attack, Trujillo had ridden in the ambulance with Carrillo. He had wanted to protect his Colonel’s body from any potential desecration. It was a sickening thought, but one that was entirely possible when anyone could be on Pablo’s payroll.

Trujillo didn’t notice the small breaths Carrillo took as his body was loaded into the ambulance. From the bloody scene on the street, no one could have thought the Colonel survived. But if Horacio was anything he was a fighter. And when the paramedics did finally realize, that despite the rivers of blood Carrillo had lost he still had a faint pulse, Trujillo directed them away from the local hospital. He knew sicarios would come to finish the job if anyone matching the Colonel’s description were to arrive. So instead, he ordered the paramedics to the home of a surgeon and close friend he trusted.

But before the doctor could dig the bullets out of Carrillo’s body, the Colonel miraculously opened his eyes. He desperately grabbed Trujillo by the collar of his shirt and whispered your name over and over and over again, repeating it like it was a prayer. Trujillo promised his friend that he would call you and while the doctor tended to Carrillo, he did so.

Over the next hour, you and Trujillo developed a plan. You both would find and execute a low-level sicario that matched Carrillo’s physique, dress him in the Colonel’s bloody uniform, and deliver the body to the morgue in his place. The paramedics would each be paid handsomely and driven to the airport the following morning with American visas in hand and when Carrillo was stable, or stable enough, you would move him to your apartment along with some equipment the surgeon would “borrow” from a hospital. It was a bold gamble, reckless with low odds of success, but the two of you were willing to roll the dice for a chance to save the Colonel. So far, maybe by the grace of a higher power, your plan had worked.

It exasperated you to hear that now Carrillo could have upended everything you and Trujillo had done for him over a single stupid phone call.

“I’ve done everything I can to make sure no one knows you are here and I’m trying my best to keep you alive. So what is it… do you have a goddamn death wish Carrillo?!” Your voice was loud, echoing off the barren walls and tall ceilings of your room as you waved the phone around erratically.

“No.”

“No.” You scoffed, “No, says the man who was shot 6 times.”

“Mírame cariño.” You were so caught up in your own indignation that you couldn’t register the term of endearment that had rolled so sweetly off his tongue. But you met his dark eyes just the same and nothing could have prepared you for the way he looked up at you.

His eyes were solemn and their beautiful hazel color had shifted to a duller shade of burnt umber. He looked emotionally drained, like maybe Columbia, the war, and Escobar had already taken too much from him. It dawned on you that maybe you were just prolonging the inevitable. Maybe this sad ending was his only way out.

“Horacio…” He blinked heavily and his eyes softened as you quietly called his name. Tears began to swell in the corners of your eyes. “Please tell me this ends another way,” you whispered faintly.

“What?” Carrillo’s eyes widened slightly in surprise as he switched to English.

“Tell me, how does this end? Because standing in front of your casket today was the worst pain and I don’t want to do it again. I won’t do it again. I can’t. I don’t know why you told Trujillo to get me the other night, but I… I…” The tears were streaming down your cheeks now and you struggled to speak. You wanted him to sit up, grab you by the shoulders, and tell you what to do. If he could just find the strength to lead one more time maybe everything could be okay. Maybe you both could get through this in one piece.

“I don’t know how this ends,” he said wearily. His brutal honesty cut into you like a hot knife, sucking the oxygen from the room and forcing you to your knees beside the bed.

“But I need you… I need you alive because… because who else can I trust? You have to understand please, Columbia needs you alive. You’re the one who’s going to stop him. I know it. So you need to get better. You have to get stronger. You need to fight okay. Promise me that you will.” Your voice wavered as you begged him desperately and reached for his hand, squeezing his calloused palm in yours. You needed him to understand just what he meant to Columbia but a prolonged silence filled the room and you started to wonder if he had already given up. Maybe he was finally done fighting.

But then after an eternity, he whispered two simple words.

“I promise.”

And it was enough to crumble you. You let go of Carrillo’s hand and sobbed, slumping forward and burying your face into the edge of your bed. You wept there, eyes drenching your sheets, for so long that your body finally succame to exhaustion and for the first time in several days you fell asleep.

Horacio had never seen you cry before. As tough and steadfast as he was, he knew you were equally so. But when he looked over at your sleeping face, red and puffy from tears, he wondered how he could have broken you like this. Perhaps, he let himself dream, there was a part of you that felt the same way he did.

He hesitantly reached his hand over to your tear-stained cheek and brushed his thumb against your soft and warm skin. He didn’t want to wake you but he couldn’t help himself. He had thought about what it would be like to touch you for so long. In truth, there were countless late nights where his mind had wandered and you had crept in.

Sometimes he dreamt about you when he was at home and he could act on his most lustful urges and groan your name in his empty and lonely bedroom. Other times, more inconveniently, he thought about you when he was in his office and he would struggle to keep his composure for the rest of the evening. But no matter where he fantasized about you he always imagined the same moment, his skin intimately touching yours for the very first time. He spent hours thinking about it. He dreamt about how soft you might feel under his fingertips and how sweet you might taste on his tongue.

And he imagined all the places he wanted to put his hands on you first. Sometimes he envisioned it would be against your neck, other times your chest. His favorite indulgence was dreaming about his hands on your plush and beautiful thighs.

He also dreamt of the different ways in which he could touch you. He sometimes thought about being rough, digging his hands into your body, and leaving his mark behind so that everyone could see what he’d done. Other times he imagined being soft and gentle, caressing the intimate places you had only ever allowed a few others to touch. Most often though, he thought about worshipping you and giving you anything and everything you wanted.

But in all his wildest fantasies, Carrillo had never imagined getting to touch you for the first time like this. Because this, wiping your tears away as he laid too broken to sit up and hold you like you so desperately deserved…this was too sad and too bleak for those sweet dreams. As warm and as soft as you were, he never wanted this. You were worthy of so much more.

—————————————————————

(Part 2)

#narcos #colonel horacio carrillo #colonel carrillo x reader #colonel carrillo x you #maurice compte #narcos fic #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carillo x you #horacio carrillo #steve murphy #colonel carrillo #boyd holbrook

[metalnecklace]

There Was Heaven In Your Eyes

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (plus size)

Words: 4054

Notes: Still not as much Javi in this one, but it’s getting there for sure. Pablo Escobar is in this one a bit. Also I tried to stay as close to the timeline as possible but I probably overlooked a few things, sorry about that!

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Threats of Violence, Not the Best Spanish Translations, Pablo Escobar

Masterlist

Chapter 2

Months went by in the blink of an eye. Turns out Luis used to talk about me to the other men working for Pablo, and would brag about his kid having a great teacher that he got to look at. Because of this glowing review, and the need to stay out of the public eye, Pablo decided to hire me as a nanny for his two children, providing me with a new identity and passport to match. He wanted to make me disappear as quickly as possible, which happened to align with my interests as well.

It was hard to wrap my head around the fact that I was not just employed by a drug cartel, but I was working directly under the boss. I knew he was not a good person, but his children were sweet. I kept my head down and focused on making sure they were cared for and his wife, Tata, was supported while I was given a roof over my head and food and clothes.

I never left the properties that we stayed at unless we had to move. It was too dangerous. There were times I hardly left the houses, which weren’t too bad but I tended to feel claustrophobic at times.

I hardly ever saw Pablo, unless he was coming to check in on his children. Usually it was just Tata, Pablo’s mother, and I using our small understanding of each other's languages to get by. I was grateful, but I still wondered if my day to day life was an improvement on how I had been living.

Finally a year passed with me working for the Escobar family. Things had started getting tense with Pablo moving us around more, which caused Tata to grow irritable. Pablo’s mother insisted that we trust him, but it was hard when I heard the men talking about different things that had been going on. I only caught some words here and there, my Spanish getting better but still not a hundred percent.

Weeks went by where I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing my life in Canada. Old friends, family members, and even better memories of my husband played out behind my eyelids like my own home movie. I yearned for some of my life to return, but knew better than to hope.

Some nights when I couldn’t sleep I found myself pulling out the folded up card I was given just over a year earlier. It was thin and frayed, the lines well worn in from being unfolded and folded back up time and time again. I didn’t need to look at the numbers anymore, having committed them to memory, but I found comfort just reading over his name at times.

Javier Peña.

I was embarrassed to admit to myself how much I fantasized about what might happen if I called him. How would his voice sound? Would I have the nerve to actually talk to him? I had only been trying to do my job, but I wondered what would have happened if I had given him the information he needed back in that classroom.

Fantasies were what kept me going as I blocked out the evidence that things were falling apart day by day. Tata’s hands shook while she did dishes, their children often asked questions that I couldn’t answer about their father, and Pablo was seen less and less.

I was outside by the pool with the kids one day when I heard some of the men talking. I couldn’t understand everything they were saying, but the words La Catedral were being said over and over again.

Tata had explained briefly to me what was going to be happening, considering things would change slightly at home. Pablo was going to prison, but one that he built. A paradise it sounded like.

Except his family would stay behind, as would I. I was grateful for that, even though I knew it would be hard for them to be apart for so long. I just didn’t want to be that close to his operations, even though I was already almost as close as you could get.

I was settling into bed one night after a long day. The children were restless, wondering why their father was leaving them, so I spent most of the day trying to raise their spirits and reassure them of their fathers love. It was hard to promise something that I didn’t quite believe, myself, but I did care for them and hated to see them be upset.

The house was quiet, as my room was just far enough that I could hear if the kids were awake but that was it. Pablo and Tata’s room was too far away for me to hear anything, luckily, but I knew they wouldn’t be asleep yet anyway. It was almost eerie how quiet everything was. There was nothing that could drown out the thoughts and worries that spun around in my head. I felt my fingers itching to reach for that card held snug in my wallet when the silence was broken.

My ears rung and my lungs filled with dust. Part of my wall was collapsed onto the floor at the foot of my bed. There had been an explosion, and I had to act fast.

I raced to the kids rooms without a second thought for my own safety. Pablo held his daughter in his arms, shielding her head with his hand and neck, his son was already with Tata who was frantic. Pablo rushed us out of harm's way and into a separate room. I helped Tata settle the children as Pablo paced back and forth.

His doctor came rushing in with Gustavo right behind him. They spoke fast between each other while the doctor checked us over, making sure we were alright.

“Fue un autobomba, desde la calle,” Gustavo told Tata. (It was a car bomb, from the street).

Without acknowledging it, we all knew that meant somebody had given him up.

I needed to get out of there.

I tried to focus on a plan, but Pablo’s men seemed to double around the house we were moved into. I couldn’t seem to catch a break, always finding somebody around the corner just watching. Even when I was alone in my room at night I had the feeling of a presence just outside my door.

It all came to a head when the family had just sat down for dinner one day. I had helped Tata prepare the meal and the table for her family before going to take a break in my room. As I was leaving I bumped into one of Pablo’s men, one I had seen many times. He paid me no mind as he rushed into the kitchen. I paused, wondering about the ghostly look that his face displayed before I heard wailing behind me. I turned and rushed back into the kitchen to find Pablo holding his mother who was in absolute shambles.

Pablo turned to me, his face more serious than I had ever seen. “Gustavo está muerto.”

Tata looked at me and I could tell I was not wanted in this intimate moment. I scurried out of the room and into mine, closing and locking the door behind me. My knees were wobbly as I made my way to my bed before I laid on my back, trying my best to keep my breathing even.

Gustavo was dead. A man who I started to believe was untouchable. Just like that, he was gone.

I couldn’t tell what I was feeling. Relief, mostly, but also worry. What was going to happen next?

The answer to my question was apparently nothing.

Pablo still went to his prison, life at home was still the same. The kids missed their father, but they still did their best to live their lives.

Tata started to allow me to leave the property just to go to the market if I ever felt I needed to. As long as I had some of Pablo’s men with me. It felt nice to finally get out a bit, but I knew I wasn’t truly free. I still had eyes on me at all times.

The family visited Pablo in Le Catedral a few times, but I stayed behind. I was never completely alone in the house, but I still felt much lighter on those days. I also found my eyes straying toward the phones, Javier’s number rolling through my mind each time I was alone. It would have been so easy to dial, listening for the sound of his voice.

I had only spoken to the man once, but something kept me hanging on. He was my last connection to the world outside of the war I was living through. I didn’t even know if he would still be on the other end of the line, or if he was still working for the DEA, or if he was even still alive.

I tried not to dwell on those thoughts and kept myself away from temptation, only worrying about preparing meals and keeping the house tidied for when they would return. I had thought about running, trying to leave, but my guilt wouldn’t let me leave the children when I could tell they were unsure of what was going on. They asked more and more questions that I couldn’t answer, but I tried to fill our days with moments of peace.

I continued each day the same, and soon the days blended together. I surrendered myself to the idea that I would never live free again. I sealed my fate the day I left home, and would live the rest of my life for others.

Things didn’t even change when I was woken up by people talking outside. I had been exhausted by the day to day steadiness and had gone to bed fairly early that night. I listened closely and could hear Pablo’s mother exclaiming. I knew in my gut what was going on.

He was home.

I left my room and walked into the kitchen where Pablo entered with his arm around Tata. He looked up and released Tata so he could stand directly in front of me, bringing his hands up to cradle each side of my face. I tried my hardest not to flinch at the warmth of his palms, remembering the last time I had felt them.

“Thank you for caring for mi familia.”

My eyes caught on the graying hair by his temples, then to the dark circles under his eyes. Clearly it had not been a paradise.

I nodded, his hands shifting against my skin. “Siempre, Pablo.” (Always, Pablo).

He smiled and lowered his hands, returning to his wife.

All was right once again for the family.

We settled back into our routines again, and I was still allowed to go out to the market once a week. I wasn’t sure who was more excited about that, me or the driver who escorted me. He usually spent most of his time flirting with one of the cashiers while he let me go about my business.

This worked out very well until one evening when I needed to grab a few things for the weekend. The kids had been wanting to help me prepare a meal for their parents and gave me a list of items to purchase. It seemed like a normal outing, but the regular cashier looked tense as soon as we walked in.

“Cariño, ¿por qué pareces tan preocupado?” Hugo, my escort, asked her. (Baby, why do you look so worried?)

“No hay razón, sólo me siento mal.” She shook her head at him while he held her hands. (No reason, just feeling off.)

I left them to talk as I worked my way down the aisles. I knew that market like the back of my hand, and especially loved the freedom that came with nobody knowing who I was.

Until I heard my name. My full name. My real name.

I immediately looked up in the direction it came from, mentally punishing myself for giving away my identity, before my eyes landed on him.

I could feel my lips part around a gasp as I laid my eyes on Javier Peña. He looked just the same as he did the day I saw him, only this time he wore a leather jacket that I had no doubt concealed another gun tucked into his pants.

“(Y/F/N),” he said again, and I hated how much I loved the way my name sounded coming from his lips, “that’s you, right?”

I drew in a shaky breath. “Lo siento, no sé de qué estás hablando,” I told him. (I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about).

He huffed a laugh, the corner of his mouth going up. “Your accent is much better than before, but you’re not fooling me, sweetheart.”

My heart was beating so loud I was sure he could hear it as he stepped closer.

He lowered his voice. “You disappeared that day. I went back to find you, but you were gone. What’ve you been up to?” His eyes shifted around us to confirm we were alone.

Before I could even think of an answer I heard yelling toward the front of the store, a gunshot, then screaming.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. “Come with me, (Y/N).”

He reached out to grab my arm but I pulled back. I didn’t want to be taken again, even though I could see the understanding and care in the pools of his eyes. I shook my head at him and turned toward the footsteps rushing in our direction.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered before turning to go toward the commotion. A hand grabbed onto my arm, pulling me back toward the agent.

I could feel myself getting lost in his eyes yet again as he pulled me closer to him.

“Please,” he begged.

“I can’t, Javi.” I pulled away from him, watching his eyes darken slightly at my use of his nickname.

Another gunshot rang out, causing him to curse again and retrieve his gun. Hugo rounded the corner, gun aiming straight toward Javi, who shot toward Hugo first just barely missing him. Hugo shot again, forcing Javi to take cover before I was pulled in the line of fire. I was being used as cover for Hugo as he pulled me toward the front of the store.

“Get to the car, now,” he snarled in my ear and pushed me to the doors.

I ran as fast as I could trying to ignore the body of the cashier that laid between the cash and the exit. Her face was frozen in a look of terror, which I was sure mirrored mine.

More gunshots rang out behind me as I ducked into the back of the car. I knew the drill: keep myself tucked down between the back and front seats with my head as far down as possible.

Hugo slid into the front and sped out of the parking lot, jostling me against the seats.

“She ratted us out,” he panted as though he was still running. “La putita era una rata.” (The little whore was a rat).

We sped along twisting this way and that until we finally came to a stop. Hugo turned around as I wiggled my body up onto the seat properly.

“What did he say to you?” He asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t really know, it was all Spanish and I didn’t quite understand.”

He nodded, turning back to the front. “Okay.”

We got inside and Hugo left to talk to Pablo about what had happened. I went straight to my room and laid on my bed. After a few seconds I rolled onto my stomach, buried my face in my pillow, and cried.

I was so frustrated with myself. Once again I was given a lifeline and I didn’t take it. It would have been so easy. Instead I just froze. That’s all I had been doing ever since I moved to Colombia. However, the last time I had done the opposite was the day I had left. I was still dealing with those consequences.

Because of the incident at the market I was no longer allowed out. Pablo had been right all along, it was too risky. I was beyond frustrated with myself, the family, and the entire world, as I was once again a prisoner.

I no longer felt like I had any sense of how many days, weeks, months, had passed. Had been passing. I had grown numb to the timeline. My mornings were filled with teaching and caring for the children, my afternoons and evenings were for cooking and cleaning. I rose and set with the sun.

One evening the entire family was outside enjoying the weather after their dinner. Pablo looked over at me as I sat with his children in the shade of a tree.

“Rest, you look tired,” he said, nodding his head toward the house. He reached over and held Tata’s hand. “Lo tenemos.” (We got it).

“Gracias,” I thanked him before bidding the children goodnight. I stood and walked into the house, my feet automatically pulling me in the direction of the phone in their bedroom.

I wasn’t even thinking as I dialed the numbers. The movement felt well practiced, though I had only ever dialed that number in my head.

He picked up on the third ring.

“Agent Peña.” His voice was gruff and laced with exhaustion. I choked back a sob at the sound of it.

“Javier?” It was all I was able to say, my eyes filling with tears, my hand trembling terribly.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed the nickname out like it was a part of him.

I felt my throat constricting, unable to do more than choke on my words.

“It’s okay, respira,” he spoke calmly, helping my heart rate begin to slow down. (Breathe). “Where are you?”

“I-I don’t know,” I finally got out. “I’m with the family, but I don’t know where we are.”

Yet again I was frustrated with the way I kept my head down. I had kept it too far down, which was exactly what Pablo had wanted. The less I knew the better.

“That’s alright, we’ve got guys flying overhead,” he still kept his voice steady. “We’ll find you, lo prometo.” (I promise).

The dial tone buzzed in my ears. I looked down at the receiver to find someone had hung up. Pablo stood just behind me with a fire in his eyes that I had never seen directed toward me.

“¿Quién?” He asked. I averted my gaze. “¿Con quién hablabas?” (Who? Who were you talking to?).

“Nobody,” I lied, horribly. “Nobody, Pablo.”

He shook his head, stepping closer.

“Una vez más.” His voice laced its way into my heart, turning my blood cold. “Quién.” (One more time. Who.).

My whole body was trembling, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. If I wasn’t so scared I would’ve been embarrassed at my state.

He rushed forward, bringing his hand up to my neck and pushing me toward the wall. My head hit the surface with a thunk, making me gasp and struggle to see straight for a moment. When my eyes finally settled on the man in front of me I realized just how close he was to me. His face hovered less than an inch in front of my nose, a snarl spread on his lips. He looked like he was about to eat me alive.

“¿Crees que eres inteligente? Pequeña rata.” (You think you’re smart? You little rat).

I gasped as his grip tightened, my airway closing more and more. My breaths felt sharp as I struggled to keep my eyes open.

“No. Eres peor que una rata.” (No. You’re worse than a rat.). He let up on my throat, allowing me to take in more air. Just enough that he could keep my attention. “Eres un traidor.” (You’re a traitor.).

“P-Pablo,” I sputtered, barely getting any sound out, “por favor.”

He turned his head to the side and spit at my feet. I cringed at the sound, and closed my eyes.

“Mìrame,” he demanded. (Look at me.).

I obeyed, opening my eyes as he cocked the gun that now rested against my temple.

“¿Crees que alguien más te protegerá? ¿Después de todo lo que hemos hecho? Debería matarte…” he trailed off, lowering the gun and letting go of my throat. (Do you think anyone will protect you? After everything we’ve done for you? I should kill you…).

I dropped to my knees, my hands rushing to my throat while I coughed and gasped. The ground felt as though it was moving under me. Pablo knelt down to look at me face to face once more.

“¿Cómo pudiste hacerlo? ¿A la familia? ¿A los niños?” (How could you do this to us? To the family? To the children?). I choked back a sob. “¿Crees que no entrarán aquí con sus malditas armas? Los matarán. They’ll kill my children.” (Do you think they won’t come in here with their fucking guns? They’ll kill them.).

I was fully sobbing, shaking my head back and forth. “Lo siento, Pablo. I don’t want the children getting hurt.” (I’m sorry, Pablo.). My throat felt raw, the words coming out raspy.

My translations weren’t coming as easy as they had been, but I got the gist of what he was saying. It was my fault that his children would be getting hurt. I dug their graves with my bare hands and stupid decisions.

“¿Quieres ser una rata? Muy bien. You’ll live like one.” (You want to be a rat? Fine.). He stood back to his full height and tucked his gun into the back of his pants. “Ya verás lo que pasa cuando se den cuenta de que eres un inútil. Fucking useless.” (You’ll see what they do when they realize you’re useless.).

He spit on the floor once more, just missing me, and turned to leave. Before walking out of the door he looked at me.

“You’ll live out the rest of your life in fear. You’re a disgrace.” He growled, reaching into his pocket and throwing something on the floor. Then he walked away.

I sat on the floor trying to catch my breath and calm my nerves. A sharp pain drove through my skull when I laid my head on the wall behind me, causing me to hiss. After a few minutes I finally stood and made my way to the object on the floor. I gasped when I realized it was the card with Javier’s info on it. I felt so stupid thinking I could keep that from Pablo.

I ran to the front of the house, just in time to see Pablo in the backseat of a car with his family, all of their eyes on me. My heart cracked as I looked into the eyes of his children. I truly did care for them. They were innocent, stuck with the roles they were born into.

Pablo shook his head, disappointment clear on his features, as they drove away into the setting sun. One of his men was still lingering in his vehicle as the rest drove away. He leaned out his window and whistled for my attention.

“¡Eh, puta! If any of us see your face, you’re fucked!” He raised his gun out of his window and shot once into the sky. I flinched with the sound, and watched him drive off, cackling.

It was obvious that Pablo had been ready. He knew that I was cracking, probably knew my plans for weeks, if not months, depending on when he found that card. I had it just the night before but he could’ve gone through my things at any point. His family had been packed away into the car with their necessary belongings while he had been catching me.

I ran back to the phone and lifted it to my ear. Nothing. They had cut the lines.

“Fuck!” I shouted, throwing the phone against the wall I had been held against. I watched it shatter into pieces and rain onto the floor.

I was truly alone.

#javi peña #javier peña #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x plus size reader #javier pena fic #javier pena x reader

[lavendertales]

Twisted games—Javier Peña x f!reader

Chapter 6 of the Unholy series

summary: after a long day, you and Javier share a heated moment in the break room, and Steve asks about your presence in Colombia.

word count: 3k

warnings: bickering, tension, one sloppy & furious kiss lmao. 

gif: @katronautt 

series masterlist | AO3

Restlessness made its harsh return to you in the following days.

It went beyond guilt. You felt unprofessional, soiled by what was supposed to be one of the most exciting and thrilling activities known to mankind. It’s not how things were supposed to go, and it certainly was not the way your competition with Javier was supposed to go, either.

This was no longer a competition. Because the two of you weren’t fighting to see who’s the best. No one sane would compete to see who can—what? Make the other weak in the knees first? That’s just bullshit.

Except—you know, how damn spectacular it feels.

Once you slept with him, touched yourself while thinking about him and once he’s eaten you out. Three filthy deeds with one even filthier man. Three times you told yourself you’ll stop and that’ll be the end of it, and three times you failed, gloriously even.

If you wouldn’t have been so busy being buried under a mountain of guilt and shame, you might actually be enjoying the adrenaline that came with all that.

Drowning yourself in work was not much of a help; you and Sofia had become something of a team, working the case together more often than not. You decided to investigate Valeria and Tata, respectively, but nothing came of that lead. Turns out, Tata was just as untouchable as Pablo himself. You figured it made all the sense in the world: a king, in spite of all his questionable endeavors, always protected his queen.

And trying to get Valeria to talk didn’t work out either: just like anyone who fell victim to Pablo Escobar’s charm, she refused to disclose anything. Of course, it only made you and Sofia suspect that she was romantically involved with the drug lord even more, but you needed evidence. Since you couldn’t go on hunches, it was a dead lead.

Needless to say, there was frustration to be felt in both your professional and personal life. If you weren’t lying awake at night, you were sipping on some red wine or smoking in the solitude of your apartment. Occasionally, Sofia stopped by and it made you feel less lonely, even grateful that you at least made a friend there, but most of the time, it still didn’t feel like enough.

You began to feel like you were losing yourself. You were even lagging at work, which meant Javier was in the lead concerning your little side competition. That thought ate you alive from inside out.

More so because he didn’t seem all that affected by the filthy times you shared. He was his usual grumpy, cocky and stubborn self, making you wonder if he was playing some sort of twisted game with you, wanting to make you look like a sore loser.

So you adopt the same attitude as him; you become just as distant and sullen, willing yourself every day to get out of bed to find something that could lead you to at least one significant arrest. You need a win of some sort, something that could make it seem like you haven’t been fighting in vain.

You’re at the end of an interminable day when Javier puts some pictures and files on your desk, his hand on his hip as he stares down on you.

“We got La Quica,” he says. “A few hours ago. I’d call it a win based on your long face.”

You roll your eyes, pushing all the files off your desk.

“Good for you,” you say, though there’s no congratulatory undertone in your voice. “Anything else or did you stop by just to rub this in my face?”

Oh, the things Javier could reply to you right now…

He refrains himself from doing so. You’re still in the workplace after all.

“Kinda, yeah,” he admits.

“I don’t care, okay? Good for you, do whatever you want.”

You avoid his curious glare as you leave the open space, headed to the break room for another cup of coffee. Normally, Javier would be glad to see you fall behind in their race for greatness, but seeing you so worn out triggers something in him.

He rushes to follow you, closing the door behind him.

“What’s up with you?” he decides to check.

You grit your teeth, trying to pretend you don’t hear him as you pour the coffee in the nearest mug. You shouldn’t be drinking caffeine at four p.m., but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Not even gonna put that smart mouth to use? Something must be really off with you, huh?”

You smack your hand on the table, furiously turning to him. “What the hell do you want?! I get it, you got Quica, congratulations! I’m really in no mood to hear you fucking around with me. And by the way, you wish you’d get my smart mouth used on you.”

Astounded, Javier stares at you, a knot in his throat yet again. But he must wear that same brave face as before, playing the same unaffected man.

Though by now, you both know it’s a façade and a despicable play.

“You didn’t have complaints when I had mine on you,” he mutters.

He’s immediately disarmed by your flagrance; he freezes on the spot, eyes fluttering shut as the scent infiltrates his entire being and your warm breath on his face. You notice it, and it clouds your mind further.

“You know how to use it, I’ll give you that,” you manage to get out, now able to count every eyelash he has. “You know how to use what you got, but that’s probably the one good thing about you.”

“Good enough.”

“Oh, bite me.”

“Where?”

You can barely breathe because of his impertinence. His filthy innuendos and remarks are in true Javier Peña fashion, and they carry nothing short of desire to get you worked up.

Surprisingly or not, it works.

“You’re despicable,” you coo.

But he smiles—smiles!—and it gets your blood pressure even higher.

“Wipe that smile off your face,” you tell him. “You think making one arrest means you’re a big hot shot star now? That you won the race?”

“La Quica is one of Escobar’s most valuable men. If I’m not wrong, the agreement was that the first to find a way to Escobar wins.”

“You win only if he blabs.”

“He will.”

“What the hell do you want, then?”

Javier sneaks a glance through the window, noticing there’s no one in the open office at that time.

“You’re fucking infuriating, you know that?” he tells you all of a sudden. “You suck the joy out of everything.”

“It’s my job. Could say the same about you.”

“God, you’re so—“

He doesn’t get to finish his thought. Too many words swim in his head, too many adjectives, but in the end, he doesn’t settle for verbal clarification.

“Fuck it,” he murmurs.

There’s a greater force in between you two, one that pulls you together, two different sides of the same magnet. You move closer to each other almost simultaneously, lips finding each other again, forming a sloppy, wet kiss. It’s just as furious as before, carrying no tenderness in it, no care for repercussions, nothing but a craving for the present and its crushing desire.

Your tongue battles for dominance with his, doing a devilish dance as the mouths devour each other. His hand is on the nape of your neck again, having the same powerful hold over you. God damn it, it’s intoxicating; it’s incapacitating, really. You never had a kiss like that, so filled with anger and envy and immense greediness. It consumes you completely, engulfing your entire being in a gigantic wave of heat.

When the kiss is over, you gasp. You’re surprised at your own reaction, and so is Javier. Only now, neither brings it up. Javier is pretty affected, too.

“This—doesn’t mean anything,” he says out of the blue.

“Right,” you struggle to swallow your own saliva properly.

“It’s a means to an end.”

“A means to an end, sure.”

Javier clears his throat, separating from you and your scent. Scent which could easily bring him down to his knees should the mood struck him.

“Then get your head out of your ass, agent,” you tell him harshly.

“You first.”

You smirk mischievously. “Oh yeah? Who’s the one gasping for air and getting hard in conference rooms?”

He sucks his cheeks in, only mildly offended at your remark. He can’t fight you on it though. It’s undeniably true.

“Who was the wet one in the evidence room?”

“Don’t toy with me, Peña. I can match you on any given day. At least my lady boner isn’t visible, or an impediment to doing my job.”

Fuck. You’ve got him again.

But… did you just say lady boner? Is his mind spiraling out of control if he thinks that the term means… you had wanted him?

Of course you wanted him, he corrects himself. Otherwise it would’ve been a terrifying experience. You wanted him, and he wanted you. But to hear you say it out loud, confirming that you’ve wanted him long before he’s even realized or felt it himself… it is mind-blowing what it does to him. It even scares him to a certain degree.

“Stop with this crap,” you warn him. “This is an embassy, not a whorehouse. Just because you don’t know how to keep your business clean, it doesn’t mean others don’t.”

Each additional word from you sends shivers down his spine, thrilling him in ways he could only describe as forbidden and unholy. It is far more than just rivalry—because this, whatever it may be, is not a race.

It’s a craving, buried deep within, and now it begs to be released.

“I think we both could use a shrink,” he replies, causing you to frown. “Cause whatever this is, it’s—fucking with my head. Badly.”

You find yourself gulping, unable to contradict him. Truth be told, you’re not sure why you’re even fighting him back on the matter; it’s evident now just as it was previously that you both have some deep, primal and bizarre craving that needs to be sated. And the only way to do that is by succumbing to one another.

Javier’s hand grazes your back so gently that you feel an impossible urge to arch and mewl in sheer ecstasy from that single touch. You close your eyes, only for a brief second, and when you open them again, Javier’s face is so up close it nearly gets you dizzy. Mouth ajar to let some more harsh words loose, you struggle to breathe properly. There’s no one better in this scenario—you are both at each other’s mercy, needy as you could be.

Javier’s hand is now close to your face, but doesn’t caress; instead, it drops to your neck, wrapping around it like a necklace. You stifle a whimper, unwilling to cave in to the source of potential pleasure. There’s nothing threatening or intimidating about this gesture. It’s not even a warning. It’s a trigger.

And you desperately need Javier to pull that trigger.

“You’re so… annoying,” he tells you, barely applying any pressure.

But it matters not: you could honestly come from that alone. And, well, he was right. Whatever this is, it’s fucking with your head too, badly.

“So are you,” you retort.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d wipe that smile off your face so easily.”

“How?”

“Oh hey, look who’s finally talking to each other!”

Steve’s unexpected presence makes you and Javier pull away from each other as abruptly as possible. You clear your throat, arranging your blazer for whatever reason, and avoid Javier’s eyes.

Shame.

Guilt.

“We’re colleagues after all,” Javier clarifies. “We’re bound to have to talk to each other.”

“Otherwise there wouldn’t be much conversation.”

That’s when Javier turns to look at you, exchanging a glare that tells you he knows exactly what you’re referencing.

“Still, it’s good to see you guys talking without being at each other’s throats,” Steve jokes, focused on getting a snack from the vending machine.

Another glare is exchanged, filled with more of that shame and unfathomable yearning. You wonder if Steve is somehow saying those things on purpose, making the situation tougher for you and Javier.

“Yeah,” you agree absentmindedly. “It’s good to talk.”

Javier stares longingly at you before he leaves, and your chest stammers with hitched breaths. This doesn’t mean anything, he’s told you. So why should you feel special? Just because he ignored all embassy and common sense rules and kissed you right there? Just because he touched you like that?

Or because you did want him to go further, choke you as you reach the throes of the highest passion?

No.

It definitely means something, but you keep it in mind that you’re no different than other women he’s had. If his reputation is anything to go by, you can pretty much guess what his favorite after-hours hobby is.

And now you were another entry on his conquests list. Just another number.

No big deal.

“Can I ask you something?” Steve turns to you.

“Sure.”

He takes some time, seemingly composing himself, and it kind of makes you nervous. Why would he need to take time before asking you a question?

“Why do you hate Javi so much?”

Oh, you chuckle to yourself.

“I know he’s not a saint, and he’s got moments when even I want to choke the shit out of him, but still.”

I bet you don’t want it the same way I do, Steve.

“I don’t hate him,” you reply. “I realize it may look this way to the outside world, but hate is a strong word. It’s just – “

“Rivalry?”

“Yes.”

“It looks like it stretches beyond that.”

You gulp, trying not to think of the reason why that might be.

“He’s not my favorite person in the world, which is why I don’t like him,” you admit. “But I don’t actually hate him. Don’t tell him that.”

Steve chuckles, taking a seat, and you follow his lead.

“I’m only asking cause… I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this. I mean, what were the odds of having your college nemesis turn up at the same job as you?”

You laugh till you realize that Steve is actually questioning you. Then your smile fades.

“Oh my God, you don’t really think I followed him or some shit, do you?

Steve shrugs. “I don’t want to, if that helps.”

You roll your eyes, deciding that it’s time to come clean and be honest.

“I did hear that he’s in the DEA, but I thought ‘well, good for him’. I didn’t care about his whereabouts then, and I don’t care now. My reason for joining the DEA and fighting so hard has nothing to do with him, believe it or not.”

“You don’t strike me as the type of woman to stalk and make her whole life about a guy.”

“Why, thank you.”

“So why did you join the DEA?”

You smile at him, feeling a knot in your stomach. This is it.

“I wanted to get a chance to join the team here in Colombia specifically,” you begin. “But definitely not for Peña.”

“We’ve established that. I believe you. I wouldn’t, either.”

You giggle, organizing your thoughts before speaking again.

“The reason why I wanted to work in this team, this close to Escobar… is because I’m pretty sure one of his men killed my father.”

Steve stares at you in disbelief, visibly stunned at the revelation.

“Wait… what?”

“My dad, Michael, was a travelling salesman, and he died a year and a half ago when he made the trip here, in Bogota. I thought oh, it must’ve been an accident, but I reviewed the autopsy report and it said he was shot. Several times. He didn’t know anyone here, he had no enemies, and so my next guess was Escobar, or one of his men.”

“Would make sense, sadly. I’m sorry about your dad.”

You sigh. “Thanks. We weren’t the best of friends, but he always provided for me and the family, always did his best. I need to find out what happened to him.”

Steve listens to you carefully, weighing his next words even more so.

“What will you do if you find out who’s responsible for this?” he asks.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go on some killer revenge spree. If the person who did it is out there, walking down the street freely, I’ll bring them in and make sure they pay according to the law.”

“You know… I think it’s easy to be calm and plan things when you’re just talking about it, but… won’t being face to face with this person make things worse?”

“Are you afraid I’ll lose my temper?”

“It could happen. After all, this mission of yours is personal.”

You stand up, slightly irritated now. “I know what I’m doing, Steve.”

“Never said you don’t. I was just a little worried.”

“I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine. I’ll find the one who did this and bring them to justice.”

“And after that?”

“After that… I’ll go back home, make some tea and finally sleep like a baby.”

“What about Javi?”

You stop in the doorway, dodging his inquisitor look.

“What about him?” you ask.

“Are you just gonna leave and call it a day?”

“What else am I supposed to do? We fight and bicker and all that, but there’s nothing else in between. He doesn’t care, and I don’t either. It doesn’t – mean anything.”

Steve notices the hesitation in your voice, the slight tremble that threatens to reveal more, but he doesn’t mention it. He only nods and watches you leave the break room, wondering if there could be something more to the story that you just cannot share.

previous | next 

#Javier Peña #Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña x you #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña fic #Javier Peña fanfic #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfic #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fic #unholy series

[callmepussylover09]

[the-hinky-panda]

#2 and 3 headcannons for Carrillo pls <3

2) Who they want to please the most. 

God, what a question for Carrillo. The Colonel who answers to no one. He doesn't care about pleasing his superiors; he wouldn't have the reputation of bucking orders and "playing too rough" if he did. He obviously loves his wife but I think that answers the second question, who depends on them better. I don't think he necessarily wants to please her as it is protect her. Pablo mentions his parents when he's threatening him over the phone but Carrillo doesn't mention them at all. So I think he would be more of a God and Country pleaser. He will do everything he can to attain safety and respect for his country so his desire to please is more directed to an ideal and not a person.

Now, if I have to choose a person, then Juliana his wife would the only person that I could see fitting that. @seltsamkind and I were chatting a while ago about all those figurines in his home (shoutout to @mysoulisasunflower for the amazing gifs that allowed me to obsess over the decor of their home). The majority of the decor in that house was very, very much feminine. So we theorized that perhaps he had bought those figurines for her because they reminded him of her: delicate, elegant...and very breakable. Which leads us right to the next question...

3) Who depends on them. 

I definitely think Juliana is the one who depends on him. He has protected and shielded her from the horrors of what he does and the people he's fighting against. Looking at the house again, we see a home that is neat, orderly, and very much decorated by a woman. That house is her world. She reminds me of a delicate little bird in a beautiful cage. I do think that this was most likely not intentional on his part. I think it was most likely a slow slide into the protective custody that we see Juliana residing in. I would have loved to see her developed more because I have a feeling she was a strong, independent woman before she became so protected. It would have been fascinating to see Juliana compared to Tata throughout Season 1, running a parallel between Escobar and Carrillo and the women behind them.

#ask hinky #ask game #colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo #juliana carrillo

[shadow-assassin-blix]

A Picture is a Poem Without Words

Chapter 15

Its herreeee. Sorry this took so long, between new job and not a lot of free time it took me a hot minute to find time to write. But we have officially ended season 2, and we will be entering season 3... Oooh. so much drama planned... Im actually extremely excited to write everything I got plotted out in my head.

Warnings: some fighting, sex, fingering, a dash of cunninglingus 

As always: “Talk”  ‘Thoughts’ and “Spanish”

Everything tag: @mikeisthricedeceased

Pacho tag: @yungkvte  @mcrmarvelloki  @realm-of-azrael and @shootingthroughthesky0905​  (I saw your message and I wanted to surprise ya!)

It was later that evening, after that disaster of a meeting with Tata, when Pacho finally entered her office. He leaned casually against the door frame, watching her work for a moment.

“What’s up my love?” Blix asked not looking up from the file she was reading currently.

“Checking on you. Haven’t left this office since you came home, and according to Thierry, you haven’t eaten yet. Are you okay? What did she want?” Pacho questioned as he stepped inside.

“Wanted to bargain. To protect her children. And her own skin. I told them that the price would be steep, and it wouldn’t be offered until her husband was dead. She didn’t seem too pleased by my answer. Guess she thought I would be kind and plead her case to Gilberto. Unfortunately for her, kindness went out the door the moment I was shot several times in my own damn home,” Blix seethed, tossing the file down.

Pacho looked at her curiously, “Surely… that’s not the only reason?”

“What other reason would I need? I mean besides the world’s most awkward family reunion with my father?” Blix wouldn’t make eye contact with him.

“Hmmm. Mayhaps… a certain colonel who was killed by her husband? One of whom you loved like family?” Pacho reminded with a raised eyebrow.

He knew her well enough at this point that there was a deeper reason to her anger. It wasn’t just that she was angry but was still in pain over his death.

She didn’t answer him, besides sighing.

“While it is true that Gilberto would make a steep price for his protection, your anger over this is… excessive,” Pacho gently explained, as he noticed the tension in her body and her footing tapping rapidly.

“It’s the audacity for me,” Blix stated plainly, standing up and moving to pace in front of her desk.

Her anger grew the more she spoke, “She dares to ask ME a favor when her husband has taken so much from me? Like. I have been shot at, my family backstory exposed on international television, been in an explosion for the SECOND TIME in a year, and lost my best friend, because of that bastard. And she has the ADUACITY to plead with me to save her life and tried to guilt trip me with her children? Fuck that.”

Pacho listened to her rant, his eyes glancing over at the door to see Gilberto, Miguel, and Chepe standing there listening as well with some mild confusion. He made eye contact with them, and quietly shook his head. He would explain things to them later.

Pacho gently walked over to her and pulled her into his arms causing her rant to stutter. He held her close or at least he attempted to. She pushed away from him and continued pacing.

“Pacho, I love you, but I really do not want to be touched right now. I wanna hit something repeatedly. Preferably Escobar… in the face…with a cinderblock,” Blix growled as she stopped, staring at nothing in particularly.

“Come with me,” Chepe offers stepping into her room, holding his hand out to her.

Blix looked at him for a moment, before taking his hand, and allowing him to lead her downstairs. He dragged her downstairs, and outside where several guards were lulling about. He tells her to wait a moment and walked over to a muscular man off to the side. They spoke in whispers for a minute before the both of them strolled over to her.

“This is Alejandro, he is one of our best fighters. Perhaps you two can have a nice spar and you can work out that anger little lady,” Chepe offered with a small smirk.

“Do you prefer gloves or bare-knuckled?” Blix asked him after thinking it over for a moment.

“Either works for me, you sure you can handle fighting me lil lady? Wouldn’t want you to break a nail or anything?” Alejandro goaded her.

Blix said nothing as she rolled up the sleeves to her dress shirt, having left her suit jacket in her office. Once she was satisfied with her sleeves, she walked over to a more open area of the patio and waited for Alejandro to join her. She took a moment to stretch, standing on her tip toes, her arms reaching for the sky. She was barefoot, having taken her shoes off some hours ago.

Chepe and Alejandro looked at each other, before Chepe simply shrugged saying, “Have fun?”

Alejandro joined her, taking off his rings and setting them down on a table, and kicking off his shoes as well.

“Go until one concedes or until one bleeds, Alejandro?” Blix asked him as once he was ready.

“Whichever you prefer m’lady,” Alejandro said with a cocky smirk.

Blix simply raised an eyebrow, rolling her eyes briefly, before swiftly throwing out a jab, hitting him squarely in the face.

He jerks back, shaking his head, and gave her an incredulous look as he processed the hit. A loud boisterous laugh left him as he exclaimed something she couldn’t quite catch.

His left leg swings at her as he tried to surprise her with a kick. Blix blocked it from making contact against her side, by grabbing his ankle, sliding forward to sweep his other leg out from under him. As he fell, she moved back, waiting for him to get back up.

He got up with an angry shout, moving to charge at her. She twirled out of the way of his path, dodging him multiple times as he tried to grab her. After the 3rd time, she waited until he had gotten close to her before aiming a punch at his gut, causing him to be slightly winded. She punched him several more times, before finally doing a roundhouse kick aimed at his face.

As the kick landed, and he fell back onto the ground, he waved his hand.

“I concede. Damn girl… where’d you learn to punch? That shit hurts,” Alejandro complains, clutching his chest.

“From a former MMA champion, at his gym filled with other MMA fighters. All of them made sure that if I was going to hit a man, that I was going to make sure it hurt. That groin shots only do so much and are too predictable,” Blix explained taking a breath.

“Think I would’ve preferred that to be honest,” He mumbled, taking the hand Blix offered him to help him up.

“Sorry. Not that kind of girl,” Blix lightly joked.

There was the sound of applause coming from the direction of the house, and as they turned to it, they saw several guards standing there watching alongside the Gentlemen.

She looked over at Pacho, who was smirking at her, pride shining brightly in his eyes.

“We should have another match again. Ya know… when you learn to take a punch,” Blix ribbed Alejandro as she walked away.

“Oh ho ho. I see that overconfidence starting to show itself! We are definitely having a rematch. You can count on that Lady of Cali,” Alejandro called out, grabbing his stuff before returning to work.

Blix grinned cheekily, standing before Pacho.

“I’ll take that hug now,” Blix spoke softly to him.

Pacho’s smirk transformed into a small smile as he pulled her into his arms, holding her close. She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his chest. She felt a lot better than she did 15 minutes ago.

“I’ve already informed them about your meeting. We are planning our next moves. Apparently the Castellano brothers have a surprise of sorts in the works for you. What that means, I don’t know, but with those two the less you know the better,” Pacho murmured to her.

Blix simply nodded her head once, but before she could respond, her stomach growled loudly.

Blix’s cheeks warmed up in embarrassment as she heard Pacho snicker at her.

“Let’s get some food in you, my heart,” He said as he pulled away to lead her back inside to the kitchen.  

As the two of them took a seat at the island in his kitchen, one of his chef’s came forward with several plates of food, setting them down before the two of them.

“Feel better?” Pacho asked her after a moment, chuckling a bit as she took a fork and started pigging out.

Blix paused for a moment, giving him a thumbs up, instead of speaking since her mouth was full.

Once she was able to, she verbally replied, “Yeah. Still a bit upset, but no longer filled with rage.”

“Good. Y’know you never have to hide that from me right? I would rather you rant and rage for a few minutes, than sit and isolate yourself for hours from everyone without talking about it. Even Thierry, who had been with you, admitted he was pissed that Tata asked that of you, and Thierry doesn’t get mad,” Pacho spoke gently, brushing her hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear.

Blix smiles smally and nods her in understanding.

“I’m used to dealing with things on my own. It’s hard for me to rely on others or talk about how I feel. It’s not exactly something I was taught. Be patient with me, yeah?” Blix answered, grabbing his hand and holding it loosely.

Pacho smirked before giving her a swift kiss, muttering an ‘always’ against her lips.

The two of them spent another hour eating, and simply enjoying one another’s company. As the two of them got up to go to bed, there was a slight commotion going on in the living room. They looked at each other confused, before moving quickly toward the noise. The brothers were watching the news, and as the two of them watched trying to figure out what had happened the reporter revealed some disturbing news.

Blix watched as two different reports came on. One was a disturbing video of Valeria’s murder right outside the hotel she met Tata. As she noted the… elaborate setup and message, she looked over at Chepe who was leaning against the couch. Chepe met her eyes and gave her a small nod confirming her questioning eyes. This is what the Castellanos had planned.

The next report was just as bad. Judy Moncada, who had been arrested, in an interview where she threw Javier under the bus.

“Damnit Javi. You idiot. What the hell did you do to piss her off?” Blix mumbled under her breath as she rushed upstairs to her sat phone.

She tried calling him to no avail before trying Steve. No answer from him either.

She called Theo, who answered after the second ring, “Yo boss.”

“What the hell is going on with the DEA?” Blix asked concern lacing her voice.

“Epic shit show. Peña was working with Los Pepes and he tried to back out on them. Moncada wasn’t having it. He’s currently on a plane back to Texas. Steve’s out in the field trying to find Escobar. He’s been on the run for a week and Steve thinks that he and Search Bloc are close to finding him. The man’s desperate, he’s bound to mess up,” Theo reported quickly.

“Shit. That damn fool. And he tells me to be more careful and yet he was feeding Los Pepes information to get ahead of the Medellin?  I outta strangle him,” Blix grumbled as she took a seat on her bed.

“Yeah. It’s… it’s been a mess. But. Bright side, we may be getting rid of one cartel soon? In other news, we found a lead to a potential buyer in some of the items König was going to sell to Argentina. I’ve already sent Cynthia and Robbie down to investigate, so it’s just Marisol, Leon, and myself here. They should be checking in sometime in the morning,” Theo informed her, as the sound of papers rustle in the background.

“I’m sure those two are going to have a little too much fun together but I don’t care. I’ll be in late tomorrow morning to catch up on paperwork and give you an extra set of eyes to go over leads and such,” Blix noted with a chuckle.

“Alright, I’ll see ya tomorrow boss,” Theo replied cheerfully.

Blix said her goodbyes, before hanging up. She sighed softly, before laying back to stare at her ceiling. She slowly fell asleep moments later.

A few days had passed, and work had kept her busy. She was in her office, signing off some reports when Steve knocked on her doorframe.

“Hey…. You wanna come with us to catch Escobar? We think we know where he’s at, we just need to pinpoint his location,” Steve asked her his eyes bright and filled with hope.

Blix jumped up, snatching her bulletproof vest, and her gun. She tossed her hair up into a messy bun, hat and sunglasses following. She made sure she had extra ammo clips and her knife, before joining Steve at the door.

“Hell yeah. Let’s go,” Blix answered him with determination.

Steve smiled brightly and led her outside to where Search Bloc was waiting. CIA was on standby to help try and triangulate his location.

Blix and Steve hopped into a car, Blix slipped on a jacket, buttoning it up to hide her vest. They arrived in the neighborhood that they believed Escobar was hiding out in. After an hour of waiting, searching and listening, it almost seemed hopeless. Until Colonel Martinez’s son got something. The sound of Escobar…talking to his wife.

Steve and Blix hopped out, casually walking down the street, looking around with sharp eyes. Martinez drove by slowly trying to find the location using both the telephone signal and his eyes looking at every window and door.

Martinez had gotten two blocks away when he radioed them saying he spotted Escobar. Between the two of them and Colonel Martinez, they all moved quickly to the rundown apartment that Martinez had seen him.

They tried to be swift and quiet, but someone inside had spotted them, and began to shoot. It was a frenzy of bullets and shouting, but eventually they had gotten into the apartment, chasing after Escobar and the sicario that was with him. Blix wasn’t quite sure how, but they had wound up the roofs, everyone trying to get to Escobar as quickly as possible.

The man with Escobar turned to shoot at Steve and Blix fired several rounds, stopping him before he could fire one shot. Steve ran forward, trying to get a clear shot of Escobar. Blix stopped by the man she shot, kicking the gun in his hand out of it and down aways from him. Blix then ran to catch up to the guys.

Several gunshots sounded off as she jumped down to a lower roof. She took in the sight before her. Escobar was lying down on roof, with several gunshot wounds, dead. Steve, Colonel Martinez and another Search Bloc soldier were surrounding him. Blix moved over, staring at the sight in disbelief.

“Stevie boy… I don’t mean to alarm you…but I think you guys defeated the Medellin cartel,” Blix teased him, nudging him softly.

Steve chuckled, running a hand over his face. The other soldiers, whooped and cheered as the realization hit them. Blix stepped back and allowed them to have their victory cheer and photo. Blix slipped away once she was sure she was no longer needed.

She made her way back home to Cali. As she stepped in, she looked at Pacho who was sitting on his couch with the brothers and Chepe. Pacho looked over at her and gave her a questioning look.

She practically skipped over to him, kissing him soundly.

“THIERRY! DIEGO! ONE OF YALL BREAK OUT THE GOOD ALCOHOL!” Blix called out as she pulled away, twirling slightly.

“What are we celebrating my dear?” Pacho asked her, shaking his head at her goofy behavior.

Blix simply turned the TV on, changing it to the news where they were reporting that Pablo Escobar had been killed. That his reign of terror had finally ended.

All four men either stared at the screen with wide eyes or slack jaws. Pacho stood up, moving over to her. He suddenly lifted her up, swing her around with a shout.

Blix laughed at him, holding onto him tightly as everyone around them broke out into cheers and laughs.

They spent the next hour celebrating with everyone. Blix was quietly drinking her glass of bourbon when she looked over at Pacho, who was staring at her fondly. She smiled at him, before looking around for a moment. Everyone was about 10 shots of tequila deep with no end in sight. Blix sets her drink down, before going over to Pacho. She takes his hand, pulling him up out his seat, and leading away from the celebration.

The two of them slowly made their way upstairs to his bedroom. Upon entering it, she turned and looked at Pacho, biting her bottom lip slightly. She quietly stripped in front of him, until she was bare, walking backwards to the bed.

Pacho enjoyed the small show she gave him, his eyes darkening as more of her was revealed. He was less deliberate in taking off his clothes, his movements somewhat rushed. He stood in front of her once his clothes were off as well.

“On the bed princess,” He gently commanded her.

She crawled onto the bed looking at him softly

He waited till she was settled before moving to hover over her. He pressed several kisses to her lips, each one longer than the last. Her hands buried themselves into his hair, as his hands explored her body. She sighed softly as his hands brushed against her nipples, gently tugging at both. Pacho slowly moved down, kissing her chest, nipping at her breasts occasionally.

Pacho continued his journey settling down between her thighs, his finger running up and down her slit. She shivered slightly as he continued to tease her with feather soft touches. After a moment his tongue joined the teasing,

“Pacho. You’re killing me here handsome. Stop teasing me please,” Blix softly begged.

He chuckled at her whine, before he ran his tongue more firmly against her, slipping a finger inside her as well. His tongue played with her clit for a moment before he pulled his face away, letting his fingers do more of the work. Another finger joined the first one as his thumb ran over her clit several times.

Blix could feel the tension building in her body as she got closer and closer to her climax. However, before she could reach it, Pacho pulled his hand away. Blix groaned in frustration as her high fell away.

Blix looked down at Pacho, watching the smirk grow on his face as he slid one of her legs over his shoulder before slipping his length into her. She moaned loudly at the feel of him filling her up. She felt him press a kiss or two to her leg as it fell away from his shoulder to wrap around his waist alongside her other leg. He readjusted himself so he was resting on top of her, his hands lacing with both of hers as he slid them above her head.

His thrusts were slow and deep, once again teasing her like he had done before. However, his movements picked up speed and soon enough the both of them were moaning each other’s names. Blix leaned up to kiss him deeply, wanting to feel his lips on hers.

The two of them got lost in each other, neither of them wanting the night to end. Come morning, the real work was to begin…. Along with more trouble brewing than they ever imagined…

#pacho herrera #pacho x oc #narcos

[fanficwritinggremlin]

Top three characters that you love from Narcos!

And the top three that you hate from Narcos.

Hello Love! Nice question!❤️

My 3 Faves:

1. Colonel Martinez. This is kinda obvious if you check my account. Reasons? Hot papa, protective father, great soldier... I hope these are enough.

2. Hugo Martinez Jr. I mean... How could anyone hate that cute cinnamon roll that means no harm? People are allowed to dislike... No! You are not allowed to dislike little Hugo! That's a sin!

3. Trujillo. The definition of both hot and adorable at the same time. He could be one of the best people for someone to befriend. He is also dangerous, so watch it.

Generally, I love underrated characters

Let's go for the despicable ones:

1. Captain Calderon. That bitch! That! Bitch! How to get started? He literally messed with my man Hugo, and the other DEA guys who just wanted to do their job and Calderon wasn't letting them.

2. General Vargas. I would gladly punch him in the face! I don't remember much of him but I know that he is a bitch too, like Calderon.

3. Escobar's mom. You may wonder why but... She was completely delusional! Of course, what she went through was Pablo's fault, but still. She didn't really see her son's crimes as a great deal and always undermined Tata.

[norteenlinea]

"Tata", la viuda de Pablo Escobar, cuenta su verdad en un documental que llega a DIRECTV

http://dlvr.it/T2PKZz

[furious-rogue-stuff]

It’s weird because she’s not really my faceclaim for Querida. Usually I can’t really picture her but whenever she’s being stubborn or yelling at Javi or being like, “strong” I can see Paulina. Maybe because Tata was a bit stubborn and ferocious in her support for Escobar (in the show) and standing by him too I guess. In the beginning Adria Arjona used to swim up here and there for me, which is strange again because she was Helena. (I’m on chapter 21 for context). Maybe because Javier was so soft towards her. Trippy shit indeed!

- Tata anon

Ahhh, that makes sense! I guess in a way, Querida is a representation of everything that is fierce, sexy, nurturing, feisty, caring and graceful in a woman. In the series he runs into so many ladies that have some aspect that attracts him to them, but I'd like to think Querida is the end all be all - that she ticks every single box for him.

I wonder if it'll keep fluctuating the further you read. So cool how stuff can morph as you get deeper into a story 😊

#thanks anon! #Heat deets #Heat - Narcos fanfic #Heat-inspired loveliness!

[ducavalentinos]

Al cabo de un largo rato el hombre salió y me entregó un sobre blanco que contenía una hoja de papel con un párrafo escrito a mano. Era la letra de Pablo. Quizá supo que yo estaba destrozada y por eso envió la carta, que decía:

Victoria Eugenia: Desde lo más profundo de la soledad y la nostalgia, lleno de tristeza y aún sin esperanza de que me recuerdes, acudo a tu corazón, que lo conocí lleno de ternura y de nobleza, para hallar en él una ilusión que pueda devolverme el sentido de la vida. Si me olvidas ahora pensaria que tu cariño no fue sincero, que me olvidas porque quieres olvidarme, pero yo no te olvido porque no puedo hacerlo. Si no me olvidas ahora, prometo recoger toda la nobleza de la tierra para traértela, y si algún día mi cariño va a ser motivo de desdicha para ti, me alejaría sin decirte nada, llevándome tan solo esos bellos y gratos recuerdos que tengo de tí.

                                                                                                 Te quiero                                                                                                                                    Pablo

#pablo y tata #love letters #read: mrs. escobar: my life with pablo #pero yo no te olvido porque no puedo hacerlo #😭😭😭 #this letter is even more beautiful in spa 💜 #él siempre tan tierno y obsesionado por su Tatica :)) #es lo más interesante de su vida para mí y muy bonito a pesar de todo

[rjcelebs]

Should I post more of this? Paulina Gaitan (Brightened/Color corrected)

#paulina gaitan #narcos #tata escobar #celebrity gifs

[josepedropascal]

we love to see it.

#isabella bautista #tata escobar #narcos #narcos mexico #teresa ruiz #paulina gaitan

[foreveradreamlover]

Protect the Marias commitee!

#narcos mexico #narcos: mexico #narcos #maria elvira #maria elvira de felix #maria salazar #maria victoria henao #yes tata’s real name is Maria #im sure im forgetting a maria somewhere #protect the marias commiteee #tata escobar

[g0rdonbombay]

#paulina gaitan #paugaitan #tata escobar

[cainekato]

Paulina Gaitán as Tata Escobar in Narcos

#Narcos #Paulina Gaitán #Tata Escobar #gifs #Pablo Escobar #Carlos Lehder #Medellin Cartel #Columbia