#hugo martinez

[azertyrobaz]

When you sell your soul to the devil, you're not allowed to ask for it back.

[the-book-ferret]

Part graphic novel, part memoir, Wake is an imaginative tour-de-force that tells the story of women-led slave revolts and chronicles scholar Rebecca Hall’s efforts to uncover the truth about these women warriors who, until now, have been left out of the historical record.

[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.

[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

[softestaura]

Freya Dalgaard photographed by Hugo Comte for Hugo Martinez “Icon Jacket” Campaign

[godzilla-reads]

Freya posing with my upcoming August Book Club read ❤️

I’m really excited to read “Wake: The Hidden History of Women-Led Slave Revolts” by Rebecca Hall and illustrated by Hugo Martínez, because I don’t know much about this subject but I want to learn more about the overlooked history of the country I live in.

This book will bring a good discussion to our group when we meet next in August.

[the-hinky-panda]

Hinky’s October Fic Fest Masterlist

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

** denotes explicit material

1. Heebie Jeebies (Mariposa) 

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

3. Trickery (Horacio Carrillo) 

4. Otherworldly (Eduardo Sandoval) 

5. Begrimed (Horacio Carrillo) 

6. Hobgoblin (Esteban)

7. Cobweb (Benny “Borracho” Magalon) 

8. Skullduggery (Benny “Borracho” Magalon) 

9. Cackle (Carrillo - Los Regalos) 

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

11. Specter (Mariposa - Dustland Fairytale universe) 

12. Blood-curdling (La Chaparrita - Carrillo) 

13. Ghastly (Eduardo Sandoval) 

14. Wraith (Benny “Borracho” Magalon) 

15. Warlock (Los Regalos // Horacio Carrillo) 

16. Elixir (Horacio Carrillo)

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

18. Gooseflesh (Eduardo Sandoval) 

19. Cauldron (Los Regalos // Horacio Carrillo) 

20. Labyrinth (Hugo Martinez)

21. Lycanthrope (Captain Mike Duarte) 

22. Phantasm (Dustland Fairytale // Javier Peña)

23. Sibyl (Esteban) 

24. Netherworld (Horacio Carrillo)

25. Conjure (Benny “Borracho” Magalon)

26. Eldritch (César Gaviria)**  

27. Concoction (Benny “Borracho” Magalon ) 

28. Baleful (Chaparrita - Horacio Carrillo) 

29. Malediction ( Mariposa // Horacio Carrillo) 

30. Nightmarish (Florist Series // César Gaviria)

31. Nyctophobia (Modern Day Horacio Carrillo x Mariposa) 

[deadassdiaspore]

[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.

[adesertdaydream]

This is not me reading all of the amazing Carrillo and Martinez fics that have come out lately and feeling inspired af….

[azertyrobaz]

You wanna go after Gilberto Rodríguez?

[ivebeendressingforrevenge]

Merry Christmas to my favorite biblical figures 🎄🎄🎄🎄

[drabbles-mc]

Four People You Meet

Horacio Carrillo x Juliana Carrillo Horacio Carrillo & Hugo Martinez

For @narcosfandomdiscord's Day of Tough Shit: write a fic with a word count evenly divisible by 500

Warnings: 18+, angst, hospitals

Word Count: 500

A/N: WE DID IT! We wrote a fic that's an even 500 words!!! It was looking dicey for a moment there, I won't lie 😂 I got hit with this idea on my drive into work this morning and I just had to get it down on paper. This is lowkey a fix-it fic?? But it's still sad. Idk if that's a genre of fix-it or not lmao.

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

The first person he saw when he came to was Juliana. Her chair was pulled right up beside his hospital bed, and she was slumped forward so she was using the mattress nearly as much as he was. He took a few slow, labored breaths before managing to lift his hand and set it on her shoulder.

The gesture woke her up immediately as she shot upright, gasping. The quick motion caused his hand to fall from her shoulder to the bed. Tears instantly welled in her eyes when she saw that he was really awake, although he could tell by the look on her face that the tears probably hadn’t subsided since she found out what happened.

She wanted to hold him, crawl onto the bed and wrap him up so nothing would ever be able to get to him again, but she didn’t, couldn’t. Instead, she grasped tightly onto his hand and pressed her lips to his knuckles.

“Thank god,” she whispered weakly.

He wasn’t able to move much, or speak very well, but he still managed to give her hand a gentle squeeze. “I love you.” Maybe it was something he should’ve made more of a habit of saying before all of this, but late was better than never.

She smiled, leaning in and pressing a ghost of a kiss to the side of his forehead. “I love you too.”

The second person he saw was his doctor, who made no qualms about letting Carrillo know that he had skirted impossibly close to death and yet still managed to come back somehow. It was almost comforting.

The third person was Trujillo. Juliana did him the service of calling him to share the news that Horacio had woken up. She owed him that, she told her husband, since she had sent him home from the vigil he’d been holding since he was brought to the hospital. Carrillo was convinced that Trujillo wasn’t going to leave his bedside until he was cut loose from the hospital.

He probably would have, too, if the fourth person to see Carrillo was anyone other than Colonel Martinez.

A hush fell over the room when they all saw the man standing in the doorway. Everyone, including Martinez, was looking to Carrillo to see what the next move should be. Finally, he squeezed his wife’s hand before nodding towards the door to dismiss both her and Trujillo.

“It’s alright.”

Martinez closed the door behind them once they left, taking slow steps toward the bed until he was sitting in Juliana’s chair. Hands in his lap, he finally spoke up. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

“Hugo—”

“But you shouldn’t be,” he continued on. “After everything you…” he shook his head. Clearing his throat, he went from conflicted back to professional. “I felt I owed it to you to make sure you heard it from me: You’re stepping down, and I’ll be taking over Search Bloc, effective immediately.” He stood up to leave. “Stay well, Horacio.”

[ehilikeshoney]

So I've been playing for a while now, and I think I've met all the main characters.

Now, since I didn't rlly know what to draw, I doodled random stuff with the characters I butchered (the most), hoping this time I drew them accurately (even tho I feel like I still got them wrong lol).

[mexicontpaymybills]

I can’t anymore. Argentina and France giving us everything.

[the-hinky-panda]

October Fic Fest!

Okay folks, here goes! I’ve decided to give this a shot and try to write something short and spooky-ish for each day of October! Below is the list of prompts I’m going to use (feel free to steal my friends!). If any of you want to claim a word for a particular character or universe that I’ve written, send me an ask so I can make a note! 

Characters: Javier Peña, Steve Murphy, Horacio Carrillo, Trujillo, Hugo Martinez, Eduardo Sandoval, César Gaviria, Chris Feistl, Daniel Van Ness. The Triple Frontier boys: Santiago, Frankie, Will, and Benny (No Tom please). Mandalorian: Din Djarin, Grogu, Cobb Vanth, Boba Fett. And Esteban from “There is a New World Somewhere.” 

Universes: Dustland Fairytale, Mariposa, Pura Vida, After We Fall, Los Regalos, La Chaparrita, Sacrifice, By Land, Sea, and Air, How To...