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flightlessangelwings · 6 months

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Ktober 2023 Day 31- Free choice

Fee use orgy with the Narcos boys

Horacio Carrillo x Javier Peña x Steve Murphy x fem!reader

Word count- 2.9k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), restraints, blindfold, free use, group sex, piv, anal, oral, pussy slapping, overstim, multiple orgasms, fingering, praise, no use of y/n (there's a lot in this one so please let me know if I forgot anything!)

About this reader- stated to be involved with both Carrillos but I left it vague so it's open to interpretation, also mentioned she used to be involved with Javi but again it's open to interpretation, hinted to be bisexual but can be left up to you how you read it, no physical descriptions other than body parts

Notes- Going out with a bang here literally lol! Oh I had so much fun with this one so I hope y'all have just as much fun reading it! And by far this is the longest fic of the month. Prompt list made by me! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is myupdate blog so please follow that too and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on my new fics!

“Peña. Murphy. My office,” Colonel Carrillo ordered the two men. It was late in the day, and only a skeleton crew still lingered behind.

The two agents looked at each other with a serious expression before they silently stood and followed the Colonel. He seemed stiff, and his expression was unreadable. Neither Steve nor Javi knew what to make of him at that moment.

Carrillo glanced around the empty office as half the lights shut off on their own, leaving the three men in shadows. He inhaled deeply, puffing out his chest as he did so.

Once Javier and Steve reached the doorway of Carrillo’s office, he paused and turned to them, “It has come to my attention that the two of you have been working too hard lately.”

“And?” Steve huffed as he crossed his arms. Javier mirrored the action.

Carrillo flashed a smirk before he opened his office door, “This way.”

Javier and Steve exchanged one last glance before they followed into the dark office. Carrillo was right behind them, and they noticed that he closed and locked the door before he flicked the lights on. And when the two men laid eyes on what surprise the colonel had in store for them, their mouths dropped open in shock.

“Hello boys,” you purred from where you were laid out on the desk.

“Wait a second,” Steve sounded flustered as he tripped over his words.

Javier just grinned, “I didn’t think you had it in you,” he turned to address you by name, “How did you get roped into this?”

“This is some shit Javi would think up. Not you,” Steve interjected.

Carrillo raised his hands in surrender as his eyes dropped to the floor, “This was her idea actually,” he sounded uncharacteristically sheepish at the confession.

The grin never left your face, entertained by the expression of shock and confusion on Steve and Javier’s faces. Finding you naked and tied to Carrillo’s desk was the last thing they expected. But, you had a feeling this was just the perfect remedy they needed.

“Horacio has been under a lot of pressure lately,” you explained, “Juliana and I can tell when he’s off. And… We came up with this arrangement,” you shimmied your shoulders as much as you could while bound by Carrillo’s tight binds, letting the rest explain itself.

Steve and Javier looked at Carrillo. Then, Steve turned to Javier, “How do you know her then?”

“We have a history,” Javier left it at that. His eyes never left the Colonel, though, surprised to find you of all people involved with him.

“Wait, wait,” Steve protested, “I have a wife, you know.”

“You could have brought her too,” you smirked, giving Steve a wink when his eyes locked with yours.

That made Steve blush. Javier covered his face to hide the proud smirk at the fact that you accomplished that. But, his own gaze wandered back to your tied, naked figure spread out of Carrillo’s desk. He clenched his fist as he thought about everything he would easily do to you while you were like that. He couldn’t help the thoughts that popped into his head.

Feeling his gaze on you, you looked up to meet his eyes and your breath caught in your chest for a moment. It wasn’t until you saw Carrillo move from around him and saunter over to you that you remembered to breathe again.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Carrillo’s commanding voice broke the tension in the room, “She is here for us to use. Get whatever shit you’re holding onto out. And tomorrow, we start fresh.”

Carrillo looked you over, admiring his handiwork. He reached out and gently caressed your body with the back of his hand, causing you to gasp. Your eyes fluttered shut as you savored the light, teasing touch of him, and goosebumps erupted on your skin wherever his hand grazed. Knowing exactly what spots drove you wild, Carrillo gave you light pinches and squeezes, murmuring your name with praise.

“You know your signal if you need to stop,” he spoke softly in your ear as he pulled something out of his pocket.

“I do,” you whispered back as you opened your eyes and were met with his handsome face just inches from yours.

“Good,” Carrillo leaned in and kissed you deeply as he yanked the bandana in his hand taut. Vaguely, you both heard groaning from the other end of the room, and you knew the others were enjoying the little display. He broke away from the kiss, placing one last light one between your eyes before he tied the bandana securely around them, blocking your vision and leaving you even more helpless.

You couldn’t stop the moan as a rush of excitement ran through your veins. It had been a secret fantasy for this to happen, and when the opportunity presented itself, you jumped on it. You arched your back as you felt a hand, Carrillo’s, ran across your chest and stomach, tracing a random pattern until it grabbed your breast firmly. You cried out as he pinched your nipple and rolled it between his calloused fingers.

Javier and Steve watched with sharp eyes as Carrillo caressed your body. They felt the heat all the way on the other side of the office, and they felt just as captivated as you were. Javier had no qualms about what Carrillo proposed from the start, and he unbuttoned his shirt and belt without another word. Even Steve, who was hesitant at first, felt drawn to you, and he too loosened his shirt.

“She’s beautiful isn’t she?” Carrillo smirked with pride as he squeezed your breasts again, making you moan.

The way Carrillo had you tied left you on full display for the men in the room. Your legs were tied to each corner of the desk, spreading them wide and leaving your dripping pussy fully exposed. Your arms were tied together above your head at the other end of the desk, pushing your breasts up. The binds were so tight that you could barely even wriggle from side to side, but you assured Carrillo before he went to get the other two that you were comfortable like this.

You were going to be here for a while after all.

“She is,” Javier murmured as his eyes landed on your cunt. His cock involuntarily twitched in his pants, but all he could think about was devouring your pussy.

Faintly, Steve hummed in agreement as he unzipped his pants.

Javier dropped down to his knees, careful not to touch you so that it would come as a surprise when he finally did. It took a great deal of restraint, but once he was settled between your bound parted legs, he reeled forward and covered your pussy with his mouth, immediately sucking at you hard. You let out a loud scream and arched your back at the sensation.

“That’s it,” Carrillo cooed as he watched Javier lick at your folds.

Without your sight, every move was a surprise, and it only turned you on more. Feeling the tongue against your clit drove you wild, and your moans quickly grew louder and louder. Suddenly, you felt another pair of hands on your breasts, and you cried out when your mind caught up to you and you realized all three men were touching you now.

Not knowing who was where added to the thrill for you. Yet, you had a feeling that it was Javier who was currently between your legs, licking and sucking at you with abandon. The two pairs of hands that caressed your breasts kneaded you harder, and one hand trailed up your body to push two fingers into your mouth. You wrapped your lips around the digits, running your tongue up and down and sucking at the tip without hesitation. The groan the hand’s owner let out went right to your core.

Javier groaned into you, feeling the pulse of need. He grabbed your thighs and picked up his pace with his tongue, rolling it up and down your folds before pushing it into your entrance a few times. His cock ached with need as he tasted you, but he wanted to make you fall apart first. And soon, once his tongue hit your clit again, Javier got what he wanted.

You came without warning, your legs shaking on either side of Javier’s face as you screamed loudly around the finger in your mouth. In the darkness of your blindfold, you saw stars as Javier didn’t relent, working you through your orgasm until a second one hit before you even came down from the first.

Javier broke away with a loud breath, taking in fresh air for the first time. He sat back and admired his handiwork as your pussy glistened before him. He murmured your name as his hand caressed your cunt, running his fingers up and down a few times before he pushed two inside of you.

“That’s it,” he purred as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, making you moan again.

But, just as he was about to pick up his pace, Carrillo grabbed his wrist and forced him out of you, causing both you and Javier to let out sounds of protest. Carrillo looked at Javier with a sharp expression as he shook his head. The message was loud and clear without the words needed: don’t hog her.

Carrillo chose not to speak on purpose, he wanted to keep you guessing who was where, and he wanted every action to surprise you. Without your sight or ability to move, he accomplished just that.

You whimpered when you felt one pair of hands break off of your breast, but immediately screamed when you felt a hand slap your pussy. You jolted in your restraints as the hand slapped your pussy again and you cried out in pleasure.

Steve watched as Carrillo slapped your pussy again, and he couldn’t ignore his down needs. So, he pulled his fingers out of your mouth and pushed his pants down to his ankles, freeing his cock. He stroked it a few times before he gently slapped your cheek with it in a silent order for you to open your mouth. You complied, parting your lips for whoever was next to you, and Steve couldn’t help but praise you.

“Good girl,” he groaned as he slipped his cock past your lips and into your mouth. He let out a low growl as your warmth engulfed him, and you played with his cock with your tongue. Fuck, you were good at this, he thought.

While your mouth was busy with Steve, Carrillo and Javier turned their attention to between your legs. Both men ran their fingers along your already spent cunt, causing you to gasp around Steve’s cock. But, their next action took you even more off guard.

You felt two fingers enter your pussy, easily since you were already so turned on and wet from cumming twice. You moaned around Steve’s cock as you felt the thick fingers fill you up, and your mouth dropped open when they crooked and hit that sweet spot inside you. As those fingers continued to massage the inside of you, you felt another finger poke at your other hole, making you gasp.

Slowly, carefully, the finger entered you, and you cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure. You felt a hand on your breast, squeezing and caressing your sensitive skin while the other fingers pumping in and out of your pussy. Tears filled your eyes as you felt a second finger enter your backside, stretching you out even more.

All three men watched with awe as you took two fingers in each hole while Steve’s cock stayed in your mouth. You looked so beautiful like this, completely helpless for whatever the men wanted, and it only made them want you more. Steve couldn’t stop himself, and he grabbed your head and thrust his cock deeper down your throat as his emotions overwhelmed him.

Javier and Carrillo watched with burning gazes as Steve fucked your face, and in that moment neither of them could wait any longer. They glanced at each other and nodded, knowing exactly what the other was thinking. Slowly, they each pulled their fingers out of you, and they knew you let out a whine around Steve’s cock.

The two men quickly stripped themselves, holding their cocks in their hands and reading themselves for you. It took a little maneuvering, but Jaiver and Carrillo found a way to enter you at the same time. Both of them lifted your hips slightly to expose your body more to them and in doing so gave them the perfect angle to fuck you.

One entered you right after the other, filling you to the brim. You gasped around Steve’s cock as you felt both your holes being filled simultaneously. Tears soaked the bandana as the other two cocks filled you, and you had no idea who took you where. Steve froze for a moment, lost in awe as he watched the other two fill you, and he pulled out of you for a moment to let the screams flow freely.

You gasped for a moment, and it took a second for you to realize that your mouth was free. But when the two cocks pushed deeper inside of you, you let out a loud scream that echoed in Carrillo’s office. Pain mixed with pleasure as you had never felt more filed, and you knew you were safe when you felt hands caressed and roamed all over your body, and you heard soft words of encouragement from all three of them, though you weren't sure which direction each voice came from.

“You’re doing so well, querida.”

“That’s it, just a little bit more.”

“Such a good girl. So fuckin’ pretty.”

Just when you thought you couldn’t feel any more full, Steve thrust his cock back into your mouth, pushing it deeper down your throat and almost making you gag. You felt like a ragdoll as the three of them all started to rock their cocks in and out of you, all at different rhythms and speeds. Never in your life had you felt so helpless, and never if your life had you been more turned on.

Moans and groans filled the room as Steve, Javier and Carrillo all fucked you at the same time. It almost turned into a competition on who could cum first, and who could fill you up the most. They all let out growls as they eyed each other before turning their attention back to you. Losing themselves in the moment, all three men fucked you harder and faster, all chasing their own climaxes.

And the way all three growled went a pulse of need through your entire body, making you clench around all of them.

Steve came first, letting out a loud groan that gave him away to you as he filled your mouth. “Fuck!” he grunted as he watched as you swallowed as much as you could. His hips stuttered as he grabbed your head and yanked you against his hips. You made an obscene noise around his cock as you gasped, but you couldn’t do anything to stop him. Not that you wanted to.

When he was spent, Steve pulled out of you, leaving a trail of spit and seed as the only thing to still connect you both. He watched as your mouth dropped open, taking in a deep breath of air, and his cum splattered all across your lips. You looked a mess, but fuck you looked gorgeous. Steve gently cradled your head, “Good job, sweetheart,” he whispered.

Carrillo watched with a grin, but when you clenched around him, he knew he wasn’t going to last long. He picked up his pace and he growled a mix of curses and praises. His hips slapped against your body as he lost control and after just a few more thrusts, he came hard deep inside you. You gasped as you felt him fill you up, and you moaned as a shiver ran up your spine.

Javier rocked into you even harder, determined to make you cum along with him. He felt your inner muscles clench around him, gripping his cock hard. He reached for your clit, rubbing it with just the right amount of pressure when he felt like he wasn’t going to last any longer.

It didn’t take long for Javier to get what he wanted, and you screamed as your third orgasm crashed into you. Javier kept up his pace as his own followed right behind, his groans drowned out by your cries of pleasure. He kept his pace up and long as he could until he buried his cock fully inside you with one final grunt.

All three men stayed still for a moment, catching their breaths. Carrillo and Javier stayed buried inside you, neither wanting to leave you just yet. But, Carrillo could tell you were getting sore at this angle, and he tapped Javier, indicating what you needed. Slowly, reluctantly, they both pulled out of you, causing you to gasp and whimper.

“It’s alright, querida,” Carrillo’s soothing voice comforted you.

“Are you alright?” Javier asked.

“Never fucking better,” you replied with a soft smirk once you caught your breath. You let out another sharp exhale when you felt hands all over your body once more.

“Ok, I’ll admit,” Steve interjected, “That was fucking hot… And just what I needed.”

Javier nodded in agreement as he eyes trailed up and down your figure, “You were amazing, cariño,” he purred.

“Good,” Carrillo’s tone dropped, “Because we aren’t finished here yet…”

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somedaylazysomeday · 2 months

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Matter of Perspective - Part Four

Carrillo doesn't let your late night at the office interrupt your dinner plans.

Horacio Carrillo x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors, do not interact.

Word Count: 3,800

Warnings: Mentions of danger, minor awkwardness, oral sex (fem receiving), reader is a NERD, and sexual content.

Previous | Masterlist

---

It was nearly nine when you finished with the open files on your desk.

Okay, ‘finished’ was a bit optimistic. You had managed to tame the pile down to something that was possible to achieve during the following work day. It was a start, and you felt much more relaxed as you shut off the small desk lamp, gathered your belongings, and started toward the door.

The bus system in Bogotá wasn’t bad, all things considered. It was even fairly safe. Ironically, Pablo Escobar himself was part of the reason. He had made some changes to the system as part of his effort to win over the working class, and it had worked. Buses ran regularly, charged a standard minimum fare, and were well-lit with a policy of no harassment.

Of course, coming from the DEA and going to DEA housing wasn’t safe since there was a bounty on every DEA agent’s head, but if you walked a few blocks from headquarters and then a few more to your apartment, it was manageable.

Normally, you caught a ride with some coworkers who lived in a nearby neighborhood, but they had left on time and you had waved off their offers to come back later for you. You could always call a cab… though honestly, that would probably be more expensive and just as dangerous.

Your brain itched as you stepped into the lobby of the building, and you were already turning when the figure to your left spoke. “Finally finished?”

The shriek you let out echoed in the lobby, prolonging your embarrassment as you stared at Carrillo’s chest. He was chuckling, you could hear it, but you still wished you could melt into the floor.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, trying (and failing) to act like you hadn’t just been scared out of your wits.

“I wanted to make sure you left the building before midnight,” Carrillo told you, still smirking. “And to see if I could take you home.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you told him, though you couldn’t help but be happy about the chance to spend more time together.

“How else would you get home?” he asked, and there was a note in his tone that reminded you why Carrillo had been brought back to Colombia when things were at their bleakest. Your attention snapped to his face and found him giving you a stern look. “If I find out you’ve been riding the bus, cariña…”

“I haven’t,” you assured him, feeling defensive when he cast you a doubtful look. “I haven’t! I mean, I was going to, but I didn’t.”

“Is that supposed to be better?” Carrillo asked.

“I was going to be careful.”

“We both know that you're not the one I was worried about.” He sighed, motioning you to the door. “Let’s get you home.”

Being in Carrillo’s car was an utterly new experience. It wasn’t anything special, but it was in good shape and ruthlessly clean. He had graciously not pointed out that you knew which was his without being told - how could you help that you had been in the parking lot when he drove in to work one day? - and you hadn’t mentioned it, either.

The radio was turned to a local station, playing quietly in the background. It was almost drowned out entirely by the rush of air whipping past the open windows, and occasional street lights tossed rectangles of buttery light over the interior of the car. You did your best not to stare at Carrillo, but the way that light illuminated the strength of his jaw and the curve of his neck? It was nothing short of hypnotic.

It was a quiet evening, weather mild. The streets looked almost peaceful as they eased past you in the night. It was difficult to believe the bloodshed and violence they had seen. Perhaps it was good that the short drive took place with silence between you and Carrillo. You needed the chance to decompress and he didn’t seem bothered by the lack of conversation.

You used all of your willpower to hold back a smart comment when you noted that Carrillo hadn’t needed directions from you to arrive at your apartment building.

“Thank you for driving me. I really appreciate it.” You were out of the car before you had managed to gather enough courage to ask, “Do you want to come inside?”

The confused look he gave you made your skin crawl with dismay… until he turned off the car and got out. “I thought that was the plan? For us to have dinner together?”

“Oh, I- yeah…” You shifted uncomfortably. “I really don’t keep much around the apartment. Unless you want a sandwich? Or maybe a granola bar or some ice cream? Or I have these chips that taste like-”

As you had been rambling through the contents of your pantry, Carrillo had gone to his trunk and retrieved a large bag. “I would not ask you to cook for me. I offered, remember?”

“But… I had to work late…” It seemed like an incredibly weak excuse, even more so since Carrillo was standing in front of you with a bag that smelled like it held something delicious.

“And now you are done,” he said, nodding toward your front door. “If you don’t mind?”

You scrambled to open the door, holding it so Carrillo could step through before you closed it and turned on a light. Then you mildly panicked because your apartment was messier than you liked and the man you had just decided to have a relationship with was seeing it.

“Sorry, sorry,” you apologized, hurrying into your small kitchen. “Let me just move some of this stuff out of the way…”

“I’ll do it,” he offered. “Then I’ll heat this up. You go change… unless you are already comfortable?”

You smiled despite yourself at the discomfort in Carrillo’s expression as he rethought what he had just said. He couldn’t cast too many aspersions on your clothes - he wasn’t in uniform, but a white tee shirt and dark green cargo pants hardly seemed like lounge wear.

“I’ll be right back,” you told him eventually, enjoying your taste of revenge after he had startled you so badly earlier.

Carrillo nodded and offered you a small smile. He had already found a deep cooking pot and was emptying one of the containers into it. The sheer domesticity of it made your chest tight as you ducked into your bedroom.

Normally, you liked to shower after a day at the office - especially a long day - but you were willing to put aside your routine in favor of spending more time with Carrillo.

Instead, you changed into a pair of soft shorts and a tee shirt, washed your face, and brushed your teeth. You gave yourself a skeptical look in the mirror as you spat out a mouthful of toothpaste. It made no sense to brush your teeth before you ate a meal, but it made you feel less self-conscious, so you considered it worthwhile.

By the time you came back out of your room, you felt far more human than you had after such a long day. Your timing seemed perfect, too: Carrillo was just setting two bowls on your tiny kitchen table.

“It smells wonderful,” you told him. “Thank you for this.”

The coronel was about to grab a plate of rounded pastries when you reached to give him a kiss on the cheek. Before you could pull away, he had lifted his hand, locking you in place with nothing more than a brush of fingertips over the softness of your jaw. The kiss he returned was decidedly not on your cheek, but you didn’t mind in the slightest.

Instead, you eased into Carrillo’s embrace, winding your arms around him until he had to make a clear effort to extricate himself. “You taste minty.”

You smiled. “Thanks. I hope that won’t interfere with what we’re eating. I’m starving!”

“We’re having ajiaco,” Carrillo told you, pulling you to the table and holding your chair steady as you sat. “It’s popular around here.”

The name was familiar - you had seen it on a few menus at local restaurants you had visited. That was the extent of your knowledge, but it looked fairly simple when you swiped your spoon through it. Chicken broth, potato, shredded chicken, and some herbs, along with half of an ear of corn.

You subtly watched Carrillo, copying him as he added capers and what looked like heavy cream to his bowl. Garlic danced across your tongue when you took your first bite, followed with something that tasted almost like oregano. The capers were an interesting touch, and the cream brought out the potatoes’ subtle flavor.

“You made this?” you asked.

Carrillo smiled, and you were glad he wasn’t offended by the surprise in your tone. “Sí. My mother taught me. She would be glad to know her lessons were worth it.”

“Incredibly,” you agreed, taking another bite. “What’s on that plate?”

He pulled it between your bowls, putting it in easy reach for both of you. “Normally, ajiaco is served with rice, but I didn’t know how long you would be in the office. There is a special place in hell for those who serve mushy rice.”

Carrillo looked so serious as he delivered that wisdom that you couldn’t help but laugh.

“I got some arepas instead,” he finished. “These are arepas de queso.”

You eagerly took one when he pushed the plate toward you. Even after so much time spent in Colombia, you had never met an arepa you didn’t like. These were no exception, deep-fried and filled with a mild but flavorful cheese.

“You’re spoiling me, Horacio,” you told him, struggling not to speak with food in your mouth.

“Consider it one of the many ways I will make up for treating you so badly before.”

You set down your spoon, letting it clatter against the side of the bowl to draw his attention. “I already told you that you have nothing to apologize for, nothing to make up for. You’ve been put in a position where you need to be defensive and suspicious of people to survive. So, please, don’t feel like you owe me anything.”

“Perhaps it is a convenient excuse to show that I care,” he suggested, capturing your hand so he could press a kiss against the back of your knuckles.

“That’s entirely justified, then.” Your sense of satisfaction only increased as you fished the corncob out of your soup and took a deliciously messy bite.

Companionable silence reigned as you both ate. When you eventually leaned back with a satisfied sigh, you asked, “What do you think the odds are that Peña will be able to keep his mouth shut about us?”

“Reasonably good, I would guess,” Carrillo replied with a shrug.

“Really?” you asked, brows furrowing at him. “You must have a higher opinion of his abilities than I do.”

“When it is a matter of safety or security, Peña is a very serious man.”

The idea of it made you sober, losing some of the quiet joy brought on by spending time with Carrillo. The food sat more heavily in your stomach. Pablo Escobar not only knew who Horacio Carrillo was, but feared him. And what Escobar feared, he did his best to kill.

“I don’t like the idea of Escobar hunting you,” you told Carrillo honestly.

It wasn’t a particularly profound statement, but Carrillo nodded gravely. “I understand, cariña. I feel the same way when I think of you.”

“He doesn’t know who I am,” you argued. “That’s hardly the same thing.”

“Escobar may not know who you are now,” Carrillo countered, voice gentle. “But if he finds out that I care for you, you will be in just as much danger as me. Maybe more.”

“I knew that was a risk when I came to Colombia.” You smiled at him, covering his hand with your own. “But let’s just agree to keep things quiet between us. Then we’ll never have to worry about it.”

That wasn’t realistic, not remotely feasible, but Carrillo just returned your smile. Sometimes, a platitude and an unrealistic estimation of danger was what you needed to continue living your life. Besides, if you had to choose between the two, you would still want to be with Carrillo. You were in danger either way, and he made you happy.

You caught a sudden glimpse of the future, your mind kicking out a theory of the way things would work out: these issues weren’t going away, and you wouldn’t be able to pretend for long that they weren’t important. Eventually, you would need to face them head-on and figure out a way to deal with the risks, or you would part ways.

But neither of those needed to happen today.

Pushing away your own tendency to fixate on what could go wrong, you leaned toward Carrillo, hoping he would mirror you. He did, and the resulting kiss was everything you wanted: warmth, tenderness, and an edge of heat that took your breath away.

“Did you know,” you murmured between brushes of your lips against his, “that I have a bedroom?”

“A bedroom?” Carrillo asked, eyes giving a playful sparkle. “I had no idea. I may not believe you. I think you’ll need to show me.”

“I can do that,” you agreed, giving a final, savoring kiss before you stood. Carrillo’s fingers laced through yours as you pulled him eagerly toward your bedroom.

You didn’t bother with the lights, but you couldn’t prevent yourself from stealing another kiss… And pulling off his shirt since you were already stopped. While you were at it, you remembered something you hadn’t gotten to do last time, so you gave Carrillo’s ass a healthy squeeze. He startled a bit at the contact, but deepened the kiss with a helpless groan.

His revenge came swift and silent as one large hand rose to cup your breast, thumb stroking over the exact place where your nipple was tightening for him. Your back arched automatically, pushing further into his touch.

Carrillo urged your arms upward and took your tee shirt off with a smooth motion. Since you hadn’t bothered with a bra, you were exposed from the waist up. His hands seemed to be everywhere, matched by his mouth as he took advantage of the skin he had bared. You staggered back a step at a time, Carrillo shadowing your every move until you realized he was herding you toward the bed.

Somewhere along the way, you lost the rest of your clothes and he lost his. He was just as beautiful as you remembered - tan skin dusted with dark hair and marked with occasional scars. Muscles shifted under his skin as he moved, but nothing showy or intimidating. Carrillo was muscular as a side effect of being a healthy and active person, not because he spent precious hours in the gym. He was already hard, glistening at the tip and bobbing slightly with every step.

When you finally collapsed onto the soft surface, Carrillo didn’t follow you. Instead, he stood at the edge of the bed, looming over you. You leaned up, resting back on your elbows as you tilted your head at him. “Horacio? What are- Ah!”

In a single, smooth motion, the coronel had lowered himself to his knees and pulled you to the edge of the bed. Your legs had parted automatically around him and you found him watching you over the peaks and valleys of your body. His eyes were dark and hungry, his face hovering only inches above where you throbbed for him.

“Do you want this, querida?” Carrillo asked. His voice was as anticipatory as his expression, but he didn’t move. “Is this something you object to?”

You had already started frantically nodding in answer to his first question by the time the second made it through the fog of arousal clouding your mind. Carrillo drew his hands away and sat back, pausing only when you made a dismayed sound. “Horacio, please. Yes, I want this. No, I don’t object to it. And I think I’m going to explode if you don’t touch me soon.”

The slow, self-satisfied curl of his lips made you fill with warmth in several places, but most notably inside your ribcage and in your core. And the fact that the smirk stayed even as he parted your thighs and pressed himself slowly between them?

Delicious.

That was the only word in your mind as Carrillo started lowering his head to you, then even that disappeared in the blast of sensation. His tongue trailed upward, exploring you from the bottom of your slit to the top of it, dipping shallowly into your core as if he was hinting at things to come.

“Fuck, cariña,” he growled. He hadn’t pulled very far away from you, and the rumbled of his voice buzzed pleasantly through you. “Keep making those noises for me.”

Ridiculously, it was only then that you realized the pleasure was pushing a variety of noises from your lips. Since he clearly wasn’t bothered by them, you let them pour from you. His lips made you moan, his tongue made you plead, and the feeling of his stubble against your most sensitive places made you writhe. And when he applied gentle suction against your clit, your mouth fell open in a silent gasp that strained the hinges of your jaw.

You sat up with a groan that sounded alarmingly close to a whine, pushing him away.

“What is wrong?” he asked, gaze searching your face for clues in the shadowed twilight of the room.

“I’m gonna come if you keep doing that,” you told him. The bluntness of it made you feel like you should be embarrassed, but who had the time? You were sitting in front of him, folds swollen and shining with a combination of your wetness and his.

Carrillo lifted his face further, and your core clenched when you saw that the shine across his lips trailed down to his chin. “I am willing to risk it.”

“No,” you refused, and he instantly stilled. “I want you inside of me. Please… I want you so badly…”

He didn’t move, not until you leaned back and spread your thighs a little further apart. Whether it was your request or the sight of what he had done to you, Carrillo seemed spurred into action. He had wiped his mouth and crawled onto the mattress before you could properly recognize that he was moving, but you eagerly kissed him the moment he was in range. The taste of you was strong in his mouth, but it was only another part of kissing him.

Carrillo held himself on his hands above you, eyes roaming hungrily over your body. Yours were doing the same thing to him, so it was thrilling to know that he was just as entranced by you as you were by him.

“Hey,” you said, using your best sultry bedroom voice. “Wanna see a magic trick?”

He gave you an inscrutable look for longer than was really comfortable, but eventually said, “Have I forgotten to speak English? Or did you just offer to show me a magic trick while we’re in your bed together?”

“Tah dah,” you finished weakly, holding up the condom.

“I just watched you pull that out from under your pillow,” Carrillo told you, though you could see how hard he was fighting a smile.

“Why would I keep condoms under my pillow?” you countered. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Wisely, Carrillo didn’t respond to that except by taking the condom in exchange for another kiss. In moments, his practiced motions had concluded and he was braced over you again. The tip of him was lined up with your entrance and you were nearly trembling with anticipation as he pressed slowly into you.

He couldn’t have had much more than his head inside of you when he lowered himself carefully, capturing your lips as you moaned your frustration. That moan turned abruptly into a shout as he speared into you, and Carrillo swallowed the sound directly from your mouth.

When he pulled back, he looked almost as dazed as you felt. “You’re so perfect for me, querida. So tight for me, and sweeter than anything.”

Without the incentive of his lips against yours, your head tipped back against the sheets. “Horacio, I- need you to move. You feel so good… Need more. I-”

Carrillo took your request to heart, picking up a pounding rhythm that had you bouncing with the force of his thrusts. The thickness of him inside of you was both a shock and a joy to your nerves. You felt like he was splitting you open, but in a way that made your lungs burn and your toes curl.

Your hands clutched at his back, massaging the bunched muscles of his shoulders as he held himself steady over you. Then your touch drifted downward, appreciating the way those muscles shifted and moved more rapidly as you got closer to his hips. With that pace, you were surprised he wasn’t exhausted already.

Granted, all of those thoughts and sensations seemed distant, hidden behind the surge of sensation that exploded through you every time he plunged into your body once more. Your breathing was stuttering, your fingers spasming against the taut skin of Carrillo’s back.

“Are you close?” he asked. The fact that his hoarse voice in your ear was nearly enough to push you over the edge made you nod, the motion frantic. “Touch yourself for me, cariña. Need to feel you around me.”

“Horacio,” you stammered, half protesting even as your fingers snaked between his body and yours. The very millisecond your fingertips pressed against your clit, you were gone. Your muscles contracted, clenching around Carrillo’s length inside of you, your fingers pressing ever harder as your brain hijacked your autonomy to chase deeper pleasure than you thought you could stand.

Unsurprisingly, your orgasm pushed Carrillo over the edge. His hips snapped against yours, hard enough that it would have been painful if it weren’t for the endorphins currently flooding your system. You could feel him spasming inside of you as he spilled into the condom and your hips tilted automatically, pulling a helpless sound of pleasure from him.

You would never tell him so, but you were pretty sure that sound extended your orgasm a little longer than it would have lasted otherwise.

When both of you were finally slack in the aftermath of your pleasure, Carrillo withdrew himself from you and collapsed nearby. You couldn’t help but remember the way he had sought out contact after your last time together, and you searched along the sheets until you found his hand. His fingers intertwined eagerly with yours.

Carrillo held your hand until he decided to wriggle his way closer, stopping only when you could curl around each other without any space between you.

---

Author's Note - Yet another fic I may continue someday. If I do, you'll find a link at the top of this post. Or, if you prefer AO3, you can find me there under username InkSplots.

Thanks for reading!

#fanfic february #fanfic february 2024 #narcos #narcos fanfiction #colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x you #fem!reader #reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fanfic #reader insert fic #lemon #spicy #not suitable for minors #minors dni

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goodnitedrdead · 1 year

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god only knows

Horacio Carrillo x reader

Summary: who would've thought his ex-wife would ask God to send Horacio an angel? To fill the space she couldn't fill, and to do what Horacio wouldn't even do for himself.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Divorce. Horacio being head over heels for reader. Fluff. Love. All that fun stuff.

Author's Note: quick little something I wrote before bed because I rly miss my favorite soldier and because I needed a break from school. Might make sense, might not. I did state that one of my new years resolutions was to write at least one piece of writing for each month so I am doing this before the month ends. Mistakes and errors are all my own, I didn't have time to check it. Let me know what you think :3

Composed. Collected. Calm. That’s what made Horacio an excellent soldier and an even better Colonel. Ever since his training days at the academy, he was an exemplary student. A promising star who was meant to be a leader.

And a leader he became.

He’d set the tempo, and everyone else would follow the rhythm of his steps. His family talked wonders of the honorable man he became, to anyone who would listen. It was no surprise that the women were fawning over him, and much to his family’s constant pestering of finding the perfect wife, he found Juliana.

Together, they found a mutual and tranquil love. Maybe the kind that develops over time, but certainly not one to last forever.

If Horacio were to match Juliana to an animal, he’d say she was a doe. Skittish, gentle, docile. She was a good wife to him and always fulfilled her duties. She’d have three meals a day ready for the family. She’d stay home and focus on the children. She’d be devoted to her husband forever.

Just as tradition states.

Horacio was to fulfill his duties as a husband too. He’d go to work, dedicate most of his time to it not only because he wanted the best for his country, but he wanted a safe place for his children to grow. He’d come back home and sometimes have dinner with his family. He’d be devoted to his wife forever.

Just as tradition states.

Tradition didn’t talk about divorce. Tradition didn’t talk about intruders and third parties shaking the very core of an honorable man’s beliefs.

Tradition never changes.

Tradition was broken when Julianna eventually got tired of Horacio’s lifestyle. It was broken when fear crept into their home, and found a host to latch on to. Fear was deeply rooted in Julianna’s heart from one minute to the next; fearing that every day that passed would be their last with Escobar on the run.

She went against her duties and beliefs and did what she saw fit. Bags packed, a new home far from Medellin, and divorce papers were her top three priorities for a few weeks. Eventually, she did the first two, but she couldn’t bring herself to give the papers to Horacio herself. She prayed, day and night, for guidance on what she should do but at the end of the day, her and her children’s safety were her number one priority. Horacio would be able to fend for himself.

That never stopped her from reciting a quick prayer for him every night before bed. As she found herself far away from Medellin and Horacio, she’d pray for the safety of her ex-husband. After all, she still had a fondness for him and he was the father of her children. She shared many years and a home with him, it was someone she couldn’t just forget about overnight.

She prayed to God to send Archangel Michael and his soldiers to watch over and protect Horacio from harm. Whether it may be from self-harm or others, she prayed for his safety. Send him your fiercest angel, the most courageous and brave one to keep him from harm’s way.

Horacio never knew this, for if he had he would’ve thanked Juliana for her wishes and prayers. Because if it wouldn’t have been for her, he wouldn’t have found you.

You came into his life like a goddamn lightning bolt. He’d feel you in the air, the startling feeling jolting him as soon as you’d walk into the room. Unapologetically yourself and nothing else. You’d make a friend of anyone that crossed your path, but he’d also seen the rage within you. If there was someone he’d fear, it would be you.

You were quick on your feet, and somehow quicker with your gun. He wasn’t sure why the DEA didn’t make you a sniper, but you were awfully good at your job. And yet, you were unapologetically gentle. You wouldn’t think twice about taking a bullet for him, and it made him laugh at times. A woman of your stature stepping in front of him, to protect him from harm’s way. A woman who was breaking tradition day by day and night by night. You weren’t quite like anything he’s ever seen before, and he loved that about you.

He loved how, despite igniting fear into even his soldiers’ minds and hearts, you wouldn’t budge. He could yell and scream and bark orders at you and you’d remain with the most serene energy he’s ever seen. Your eyes fixed on him, the storm brewing within you. Horacio wasn’t scared of many things, but he was scared of you.

How is it that you, someone so tender yet menacing, could have that balance within? He was scared of the way you would keep your innocence despite the amount of deaths and blood you’ve seen this city shed at the hands of Pablo Escobar. The way a smile would come so easy to you. The way a laugh was so easy to coax out of you. He was absolutely enamored by your very being.

Something he had never truly quite felt.

The time came when he lost everything he ever thought he was. Horacio started to lose his composure. He’d start to notice the way his heart would threaten to jump out at the sight of you. The way his pulse would quicken by just being by your side. The way his mind would seem to forget about every word to ever exist when you were speaking to him.

He started to notice how clumsy he would unwillingly become. How he’d stumble over his words when you were in the room. How his hands would betray him and drop the items they were carrying, because it would somehow elicit a giggle out of you. How he’d blush whenever you focused on him, as if he was the only person in the world that mattered.

Tradition was never supposed to change, right?

Yet you continued to prove that you didn’t care what tradition said. You approached Horacio first. You asked him out first. You kissed him first. You weren’t worried about what anyone else would think. You didn’t even care about what Horacio would think.

It’s not like he never wanted to start anything, he was just too busy being consumed by your presence. You had a light within you that was blinding, but all Horacio wanted to do was look at you even if that meant he’d lose his senses for the rest of his life.

It was only when you became a couple that he realized you were the protector. No matter how much he tried, you were always one step ahead of him. Ready to attack at the slightest moment anyone got too close to him. Ready to give your life up for him.

Ready to fill his life with the most pure and sincere love he’d ever felt.

It was as if God himself picked you to be placed on his path.

#colonel carrillo x reader #colonel carrillo x you #colonel carrillo imagine #colonel carrillo #colonel carrillo fic #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x you #horacio carrillo fic #horacio carrillo imagine #horacio carrillo #narcos fic #maurice compte #goodnitedrdead writes

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mariamariquinha · 5 months

Text

Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Thirteen (Part 2)

Summary: The void.

Word count: 7.6k

Warnings: Bad words, violence, ~ daddy issues ~, smut, unprotected p in v sex, slight mentions of political conditions from the period, trauma, nightmares, people drinking alcohol, feelings and angst 🤷‍♀️

Author’s Note: I will admit that I am VERY lazy about editing long chapters, so I will always point out that there may be some spelling mistakes. Trust me, sometimes it’s tiring to think in Portuguese and write in English.

This had a very firm direction even before writing, so after a long time, I announce that this is our penultimate chapter. I'm very tired, as you already know, and multi-chapter stories take longer and require more energy, which I've been lacking in recent months.

Either way, it's been an amazing journey! I will be very sad to close, but happy to know that I did something that means something to me. See you in the last chapter!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

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Hell, his cigarettes were always stronger. A combination of tough tobacco and intense nicotine, more natural but probably more dangerous. The box was nearly full, you noticed as you fished one out. Either he had recently bought it or he was being more resilient with his addiction - either of those things seemed unlikely. Feeling it now, as you inhaled the nicotine and hid a cough of surprise at the intense taste, you almost had the impression that being addicted to it seemed a lot harder than it looked.

You had sat on the back steps, but you made a point of leaving the door closed as it was before. The night was muggy, a little cruel if you were wearing more than a cotton t-shirt; it gave you an overwhelming feeling, as if you were sensing everything around you. You noticed that the garden had a particularly feminine feel to it — something that felt like Juliana, perhaps a very vivid reflection of what her presence in the house was like. Flowers, water fonts, the stone that certainly had a cool name that was used on the steps you were sitting on. You could feel comfort in the soles of your feet if you moved a little.

The weeds and chips in the beds looked more like Carrillo. You wouldn’t think he cared so much about making the place feel like a house, let alone whether to make the garden look like a garden.

“Why are you here?”

You didn’t have a proper answer. Given his manners, you could smoke in the room, could think about whatever kept you up that night by his window or in the comfort of his bed. Instead, you got there, far away, fingers brushing your jaw unconsciously and smoking a cigarette that wasn’t yours. Without something to say, you shrugged, not eyeing him but knowing he could find ways to get the answer somehow.

It was a pleasant surprise to see him walk down those steps, casually pull up a wooden chair that was there and sit down to face you. That made you smile discreetly.

“It’s awful, just so you know,” You gestured with the cigarette in your hand, contradicting yourself the next second while you took another hit.

“It’s not the best option for those who want to quit.”

“I just picked the wrong time for this. Or the wrong career.”

Carrillo didn't respond, but you could see him make that information something to mull over. You held his analytical gaze for a while; when it got intense enough, you took another drag and turned your face to the side.

“I didn't get them all,” The comment came after a long moment of silence, when you noticed that he didn’t make any effort to have one for him.

“Mm-hm,” He answered easily. “I figured you'd stop at the first one.”

“Yeah, well, this shit it’s fucked. You should review your preferences.”

“On cigarettes?”

“That too.”

This time he reacted, but in such an unusual way that it didn't seem like him. Horacio was drowsy, slow, as if the outside world had taken a break for that moment. Rested, by the saying. And when he decided to lean forward, reaching out a hand to pull the cigarette clamped between your fingers, you let him, watching the way he just took the time to put it in his own mouth before subtly grabbing your previously occupied hand. The same one that was still sore from the impact of the fall, but not so bad that it made you flinch from the touch. With the orange cigarette light illuminating his face, Carrillo carefully detailed the wounds, his thumb trailing lightly over your knuckles.

“Who told you?” The question slipped out of your mouth smoothly, but you felt anxious asking it. When he just frowned at you, you clarified. “About my… fall.”

He took his time taking the cig away, then took more time blowing the smoke away before saying something.

“Peña.”

Of course.

You tilted your head while you entertained yourself with the hold he had on your hand. Raising your eyes after a good moment, you saw him watching you.

You looked at each other for a moment. His fingers twitched in the grasp he had on your skin and whatever breeze that would come to brush you two wouldn’t make a single scratch at that moment. He looked so soft, so… open, like a vision of whatever type of man he was, a person you’d been meeting piece by piece. The warm eyes, the peaceful sincerity and the calm touches. God, he was so beautiful.

“Te extraño en mi cama.” I miss you in my bed. There wasn’t a teasing tone with the way he talked, but you could feel his intentions dripping from his voice.

Instead of giving him a proper answer, you chose — again — to keep any thought to yourself. With a slow hand, you grabbed the cigarette again, inhaling a little and releasing the smoke into the air without taking your eyes off him.

“¿Entonces viniste a buscarme?” So you came to get me?

Eyeing him from above, you could see the small smirk playing on his lips at the comment. You reflected the reaction, taking another drag before returning the cigarette. On this one, he pulled the touch away from your hand and directed it to the bare skin of your leg. Again, you didn’t make the effort to move or say something. Carrillo leaned in carefully, placing a single kiss on the inside of your left knee, then another on the right one. His body was angled enough that you could admire the curve of his broad back, the way the muscles stretched the fabric of his shirt.

“¿Qué estás haciendo?” What are you doing? You asked, a little breathless from the gentle kisses and touches, shivering like an untouched woman.

“Te quiero cerca de mi,” I want you close to me, He said against your skin, hand massaging your thighs. “¿Harías esto por mí?” Would you do this for me?

“Por supuesto, Horacio. No estaba huyendo.” Of course, Horacio. I wasn't running away.

“Yo sé que no. No irías muy lejos vestida así.” I know you weren’t. You wouldn't go far dressed like that. Carrillo straightened his stance, smiling playfully at you and letting a small ‘oof’ when you kicked him lightly on the leg.

You two got back to a comfortable silence, the tip of his fingers brushing your knees while you kept staring at the distance. The cigarette was still burning, making that strong smell of tobacco flow through the air calmly. It was peaceful, the way you sat there, silently, in each other's orbit. For a moment, you wanted to ask if he just lost sleep or if you had woken him up; maybe he wanted to ask something like that too. In the end, no one said anything, even though something should be done soon and you should move on from there.

“Quite dramatic, don’t you think?” You were the first one breaking the silence, still not eyeing him with a wave of embarrassment hitting you. “We’re almost there to get that motherfucker and I’m here whining because of my father.”

“You’re not whining.”

“You know what I mean.”

He knew and, from the inside, you also knew he agreed with your opinions. There was a lot going on, a war to win, people dying, but still your personal problems darkened your vision from the real problem. It made you understand why Carrillo was so averse to DEA or CIA - so many people looking at their own ass and not seeing the whole figure, the important part. Even then, you appreciated the effort, the way he just shook his head a little, took a drag, averted the topic.

You two contemplated the night in silence, puffing smoke and eventually brushing each other’s shins or legs or fingers. It was so easy to get used to the calm of that moment, to remember it as something eternal. You didn't want to think about the end of that because thinking about the end of that would, perhaps, be thinking about the end of what you had with Horacio there, at that moment. A mission that had to be accomplished, with the usual consequences. This was such a cruel melancholy, one that you only glimpsed as simple touches on your fingertips but that made your heart sink.

“Que pasa, mi amor?” What is it, my love? Carrillo asked, probably noticing the way you showed your sadness in your eyes, staring back at him.

“Nn-nn,” You shook your head. “I’m fine. Maybe I just wanna go to bed now.”

“We can do that.”

He didn't press, nor did he hesitate to put out his cigarette so the two of you could go back inside. When they did, Horacio locked the door but didn't let you go very far - he subtly held your hand, bringing you closer and kissing your bruised knuckles. Then, without taking his eyes off yours, he placed a sighing kiss on your forehead, in the middle of your eyebrows, on the bridge of your nose and, finally, on your lips.

“I don't think I ever told you how beautiful you are.”

“Horacio…”

“What? Don’t you believe me?”

“I’m already here, that’s all. You already have me, you don’t need to-” You knew exactly why you waved off his compliment, why you felt so unsure of how to react to it, and maybe he did too, because Carrillo wasn’t dumb. “Thank you. Sorry.”

You also didn’t know why your eyes welled with tears - either way, you suppressed the urge to cry, looking at him from under your lashes with shyness. With a discreet hand, you held his chest, then the side of his neck, tilting your head to the side and almost failing in keeping a neutral expression while observing his face. If you could, you would tell him that you were used to losing, that it wasn’t the first time your mind started to prepare you for another fall, another break. That Horacio, that this, wouldn’t be forever, that maybe you were just a storm in a life that could be calm.

Horacio deserved suitable days. Days where he could have kids, a wife to call his, sunday lunches with family and calm nights with a partner. You always doubted yourself so much, always put yourself in the harsh ways of life to just feel something, that suddenly you felt self conscious of the fact that you weren’t what he probably was looking for, that he wouldn’t change you or what happened or how messy the world was. You didn’t want it to end because it was good. Imprudent, maybe, and quite dangerous, but good. So good.

“What will become of us after this, Horacio? What do you expect of me?”

He blinked, frowning in a stern way.

“Is that what made you lose sleep?”

You nodded. The confirmation just made him sigh, shaking his head lightly and showing clear signs of frustration.

“He was never right about you. He doesn't… He doesn't deserve you, what he said doesn't belong to you,” Carrillo contained a harsh tone, jaw clenching. “I don’t expect anything, not from you, not from us, nothing but the assurance that you’re here now. That’s what I need.”

---------------------------------

It was different that time, you knew it was. Not like the first time, in the pure and mutual attraction, nor the second, in the decompression of the adversities that surrounded the two of you. It was different because, if Carrillo was crazy enough to ask you to marry him or propose an escape or make you stay there forever, you would say yes. Yes, Yes, Yes. Yes, take me away, yes, make me yours, yes, be the father of the children I never wanted to have but would have if you asked me. Yes, I would do anything for you.

But he didn't ask any of that. He hardly asked, in fact, because between ordering or teasing, as he always did with you, Horacio decided to give you things, fill you with dark truths in the way he kissed you and made love to you that night.

There was caution, care. He calmly undressed you, kissed you from heel to lip, caressed you through your physical wounds and those of your mind, holding you tight while he heard you moan and sigh. Sex for you was always a coincidence, an exaggerated consummation that was nothing more than pure biology. With him, that night, it was the end of a long and unnecessary waiting time that would always lead to the same result: the two of you together, skin to skin, without delay.

It was ridiculously cliché, looking into his eyes as you rode him slowly, as you enjoyed every moment with sweaty, panting faces, and knowing that the devotion of pleasure was the first and most genuine positive emotion you felt for each other. That there was no love at first sight, nor at second, nor at third, but a feeling that was based on the truth that, sometimes, the patches of difficult lives so full of ashes were enough for the right person. Ashes that became embers and fire again, with comfortable flames that warmed and did not burn. Not anymore, at least.

When it was all over, with both of you exhausted, tired and overwhelmed by the end, Horacio opened his first truly light smile, without intentions, just a happy one. He passed his hand over your forehead, looked at you without fear.

“Te amo.”

I love you.

---------------------------------

In the morning, despite having little sleep, you indulged more than you did at night in the shower. It was much less romantic, but equally intense, with skin-to-skin noises, loud moans, nail marks and very naughty looks. He took you from behind, one possessive hand on your neck and the other arm wrapped around your torso to balance his firm thrusts, while you grabbed his hips to keep him going.

One of your best mornings, indeed.

“I have a meeting before lunch. Then we have some alignments about the capture,” He said, all professional again, handing you a cup of coffee. You took it, smiling at the gesture while eyeing the correspondence from the day before that was stuck on your purse.

“The capture. Big word,” The teasing didn’t go unnoticed by him, but the term caused a small cloud of tension to hang in the air.

A letter from your mother. She said she loved you, asked for what the fuck was that magazines in your apartment and a date she had with the guy from the Blockbuster she mentioned two letters before. No details, thank God.

“What do you think?”

“About what?”

A call-up from Messina. Nothing important. That report she asked was probably on her desk by now.

“About this word.”

You stopped between an FBI report and another envelope. When you looked up, you saw him standing in front of you, leaning on the counter where you were sitting and sipping your own coffee. This made you consider a response, even if you already knew what you were going to say. With a sigh, you placed the envelopes back on the top of your bag and also took a sip of coffee, shrugging your shoulders.

“Last time he ran away.”

“Is that what you meant?”

“... No,” You shook your head lightly. “We know what will happen. Do you want me to say it?”

“You could try.”

But you didn’t. He knew, you knew, that was what mattered. Like ripping away a band-aid, or taking the life out of a queen bee - resolution, antidote, job done. You turned your face away from him, eyeing the letters splayed out there, and shook your head again.

“I don't want to put you into the operation. When the day comes, I mean.”

“I know,” A sip - a bitter one. “It’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“My name will already be in the history books, Carrillo. The DEA agent who fell from the rooftops the most in Medellín,” Even if it meant to be a teasing, Horacio didn’t smile, which made you roll your eyes. “I did the job, we all did. Whoever pulls the trigger, I’m happy. Satisfied.”

He didn’t respond to that, nor did he bring up the subject again, and you knew he understood what your passive words meant. You could be hiding something, maybe, but you weren't sure what it was. Your father may have been incapable of keeping words that promised good things, but he had uncanny abilities to carry out his threats well. He wouldn't touch Carrillo, he needed him, the aggression and the wounded pride that still coursed through the guy's veins. It would be one, two of the group. It would be someone.

You left the house giving him a long kiss, one that was returned with a certain innocence - which was an odd word to associate with him, anyway. Either way, you were determined to make the future farewell, the inevitable one, a little less full of secrets. You would say what really happened. You would do that, yes, different from what an unloving father would do after destroying his own family.

---------------------------------

“¿Qué pasó, hijo? Pareces distraído.” What happened, son? You seem distracted.

Jorge blinked a few times, looking back at the dishes in his hands and the foam, which was more sliding around his fists than actually cleaning anything in the sink. When he realized that he was, in fact, wandering in thought, he cleared his throat and tried to scrub the plate harder. He had done it before, but repeated the process unconsciously.

“Sólo estoy cansado, mamá. Fue un día largo en el hospital.” I'm just tired, mom. It was a long day at the hospital.

He hadn't said it in the letter - he didn't feel the strength or courage to do so. He didn't know how his mother would react. Georgina was a truly strong, competent woman, but Jorge's need to take a peek into the past was always something she ignored or just pretended didn't exist. If she imagined anything from her son's erratic behavior, the way he had become more agitated since the DEA had gotten its hands on the hunt for Escobar, she didn't comment. Another quality of hers, perhaps coming from experience, was knowing when to be quiet.

“No sé si voy a venir a cenar esta noche,” I don't know if I'm going to come to dinner tonight, Jorge said in a low, almost embarrassed tone, because he knew how much she didn’t like the idea. When he felt her coming closer, touching his shoulder calmly, he thought it was over and then, right there, all the secrecy would be over.

“¿De guardia en el hospital?” On duty at the hospital?

“Mm-hm.” He nodded, still watching the dishes, afraid of what he would find if his eyes landed on Georgina. She hummed, patting his back, then turning away.

“Ten cuidado en el camino. Por lo que parece, se están yendo.” Be careful on the way. From the looks of it, they’re leaving.

His hands clenched tightly at the mention of 'them', as did his eyes. Jorge always hated his sentimental side because it constantly failed him when necessary - since he was little, he would cry because he was away from his mother for a long time (who didn't give up brothel work even after having him) or he would get angry when another patient died due to lack of medicine in the hospital or he would even feel incredibly guilty when he saw the money that always came with men who were not from the government. That last part, he actually learned to overcome. If he was really determined like his grandmother always prophesied, he would never send that letter. You didn't owe him anything, you might not even have known he existed or, worse, followed not only in your father's footsteps in your career but in life.

Jorge left his mother's house afraid of being rejected again because it had been three days. Three days and nothing.

He wouldn't have another chance.

---------------------------------

That was the thing about being an almost lone woman on the front line: there was a subconscious idea that male colleagues had your back. Well, in general it was the other way around, and you wouldn't have been able to visualize any kind of support from anyone when you arrived, but perhaps your work might have earned you some respect - enough for people to look at you when you spoke and give value to what came out of your mouth. Maybe, if you had a little more stomach, you'd even ask Judy Moncada if she also earned respect through suffocation. Probably yes. Javier frowned a lot when her name came up (which was rare to see), so you could say that this would be an interesting point of identification.

It was the same Peña who mentioned that day he bumped into your father. He didn't specify a time, a specific moment, so it wasn't possible to know if it was before or after the episode in the office, just that it happened. You noticed that he kept looking at you with some suspicion, searching for an opening that would remove his doubt, but when you just said 'mm' and continued looking at the papers, the subject was dropped. There, you realized that it would be much easier to be punctual with your answers if he asked about Carrillo, but you knew he would hate to know too many details about it.

And oh yes, the 'protection'. You were never alone in a room with your father. When he prostrated himself more aggressively, sometimes Carrillo intervened with a firmer voice or Javier or Steve placed themselves, albeit discreetly, in front of you to shield yourself from that reaction. You always noticed, but never commented on it.

“He said that?”

The decision to tell Javier about what happened came in handy for a few basic reasons: he could be on the line (your father would always prefer a good, obedient boy next door like Steve), he knew how to keep secrets, and more than anything, there was a quiet trust that Carrillo wouldn't know about it from him. The two knew each other a little better, they had more identification, so Peña would understand why that conversation was taking place on the discreet terrace of your building between puffs of cigarettes.

“I just want to let you know. You know, in case something happens in the next few days.”

Javi frowned, nodding along but contemplating the information. You observed his side profile for a moment before turning your eyes to the night sky.

“Do you think it would be you?” When he asked that, you noticed that the question didn’t come with eye contact. His eyes were on the concrete, right where he tapped the ashes of his cig.

“I can’t be sure…” You sighed. “We're already in the final stretch, I'm sure of it. It wouldn't make any difference to let us go now. Still…”

Nothing came from your mouth. Javi pressed with raised eyebrows.

“CIA has its methods,” That was all you said and it could mean a lot of dramatic stuff, but at best he would just take some relevant parts from reports or even put on some obstacles in the near future. He would, indeed - he could.

“And don't you think your relationship with Carrillo is hurting your career?”

You two shared a glance, a long one. Javier didn’t seem to regret what he said, nor reticent; it was a question he wanted to do, so he did. And you considered it calmly, rolling the cigarette between your fingers without taking your eyes off him.

“What do you think?”

“... No,” He said, shaking his head. “It's harmless. At least from here. You?”

“It would be a bigger problem if it were you,” The teasing made him scoff.

“You wouldn't risk falling in love with me, at least. I wasn't going to let you do it.”

“Oh no?”

“Nn-nn.”

“Thank God, then.”

“Yeah, you should really be grateful. I still don't understand how you managed to get into his pants.”

“It's not that hard.”

“Mm.”

“You jealous or somethin’?” You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re his type at all, but-”

“Shut up,” He groaned, almost not being able to hide his playful grin while kicking your leg lightly. It turned into shared laughs soon, so you knew it would be another thing to remember.

A small silence lingered there, serene and soft. When he spoke again, it came in a low tone, tranquilized.

“If it's me-”

“Mm?”

“They're going to assign me to Cali. Well, I hope so.”

“You want that?”

“I don’t know what I would do, ‘s all. This… You know what I did here. It's a consequence that I would like to at least remedy, at least to sleep better at night.”

You observed him without a word to say, noticing that the privilege of having a slight reliable source of comfort for certain feelings was mutual. Well, you wished you could’ve noticed that earlier - it would’ve made a difference.

“Maybe I’ll need some support up there.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Do you have plans after this?”

For a moment, for a slight small moment, you wanted to give him a definitive answer; that you would be on the field, that LA still has some hard work to do, that you wanted to stay. If you knew this, you would tell him for sure, because it was Javi and Javi was…

“Fuck, are you two that serious?”

You puffed more smoke in the air, one brow raised.

“I like him.”

Javier didn't respond, but there was a slightly bitter aura on his face, as if he had fallen into an unwanted situation. Well, it was. Just as it was undesirable to leave the US to hunt down a narco, or see innocent dead bodies every day, or start something like that with Carrillo at that point in things. Would there ever be an ideal time?

From the way Peña shared a glance with you, turning his eyes back to the street below you two, there was just one rational and coherent answer. Damn it all, you thought, because being irrational and incoherent seemed to work so fine with everything.

---------------------------------

You couldn't be very moved when Javier was sent away. You were furious, yes, because you could see in your father's eyes that day that it had been your defeat. No, it was a fact, you couldn't react in front of so many people, not even when you hugged him hidden in the parking lot.

“I’m sorry, Javi. I’m sorry.” You said, gripping the fabric of his jacket and keeping your eyes squeezed shut.

“It’s not your fault,” He said as calmly and coldly as he could, hands splayed on your back. “I caused this to myself.”

That sentence haunted you for a while, at least long enough. When Carrillo came to see you later, when you lay in bed together, no one mentioned what happened, even though it was a fact that no one there slept well (again).

“Pronto,” He said. “Pronto atraparemos a ese hijo de puta.” Soon. We'll soon catch this son of a bitch.

And you didn't know if Carrillo was talking about Escobar, your father or whatever the ghost was that surrounded it all.

---------------------------------

A breath you didn't know you were holding left your throat when you heard Trujillo come back on the radio saying that Escobar was dead. Your two hands were gripping the supports of the leather chair, your nails digging into the upholstery, your shoulders raised to your ears; you were alone in the room, locked and static. In the background, you could hear Steve, hear Carrillo and the men. There was a dead body, a definitive body, and it 'almost' made you cry.

You noticed a presence soon after and, when you looked up from the equipment, you saw your father. He had his arms crossed, his body leaning against the doorframe. You exchanged a withering look, full of many meaningless things.

“We-”

“No.”

For the first time, he didn’t answer, didn’t press. You blinked a few times, got even more closer to the desk and turned your eyes back to the radio.

“There will be no confirmation of CIA involvement.”

“Is that the most you can get?”

“I have nothing to apologize for.”

You nodded, expression unreadable, face never leaving the equipment.

“Apologizing is apologizing. I never painted you as a guy with a lot of metaphors and I don't think you would have the mental capacity to do that now.”

He didn’t say anything again. Not a word. When you looked at the door after a few minutes, he was gone - nothing but the empty corridor in your eyesight.

When it was all over, all done (when it finally looked like the end of the line), you didn’t feel all the emotions and joy and relief you always thought you would. There was a restraint, from the way people celebrated from the way you held yourself against the decision to run to Carrillo as soon as they all came back. You looked at the smiles and laughs from afar, observed the proud way Horacio was acting from finally (finally) making it to the final. To kill, to take that bug hurting his ego, his country and his integrity for so long. It all mattered to him and for that you could celebrate.

For some reason, even so, whatever weight you still carried on your shoulders, you flexed your hands so as not to touch Carrillo and carried his body slowly even though your heart screamed for you to run, to jump into his arms and give a relieved sigh, being able to say it was over. You walked closer, patted his bicep, gave one of the most genuine smiles you had, mouthed ‘we did it’ - his eyes were full of a deserved relief, like a good tiredness. Yeah, you wished you could keep that moment in a box, open it when necessary, keep it to memory. He was, really, a beautiful man.

And if you got away from the commotion and saw your father from afar, watching the scene like a hawk, making you lose your smile, it had nothing to do with the sudden sour mood that surrounded your head even during such a big event.

---------------------------------

“Peña called.”

“Mm?”

Carrillo hummed, the sound reverberating on his chest where you were laying on. The midnight breeze was cooler, mixed with your naked bodies fresh from the shower and the thin layer of the sheets, but you two weren’t shivering.

You brushed your palm on his pecks, nuzzling closer to his neck.

“Said he hoped we celebrated a lot.”

“We did, right?” The teasing on your tone made him chuckle, head turning to the side to peck your forehead.

“I think he should be a part of it somehow,” It didn’t sound like a confession, but more like a statement. Yes, he should, but he wasn’t. An empty space was there, one that nobody would be able to fix.

“... Yeah,” You said slowly, eyeing the window.

“Is that why you looked so lost earlier today?” He asked.

It was true that you didn't want to ruin the moment with what was going on in your head, much less bring another type of bureaucracy to the ones he would face with Escobar's death, but you always thought you could be one step ahead of Carrillo when it came to hiding your true emotions. He had an almost religious ability to read people.

“No,” You shook your head. “But I would rather not talk about it.”

And he didn’t. Horacio went all quiet and kept tracing patterns on your shoulder and arm, all the while giving long and steady breaths, as if entering in a state of relaxation that you’d never seen before. Another thing to keep close to your heart, the way you could feel the slump of his shoulders, his soft heartbeat, the delicate touch of the tip of his fingers - things that he didn’t allow himself to be, a version of himself that flowed in the air, an almost domestic man.

Domestic, yes, so you adjusted your body to be even more closer, touching his skin and kissing what you could reach, what could still be surrounding you. It scared you a little, the fact that if he decided to be done like before, to create some distance between you two, you would be almost sick, sad, unsure of what to do with your hands and mind. Well, the offer would be up. You could still be closer for a little more, work with Peña if he ever got the chance to work on the Cali, to be some hours away from this thing you started to truly appreciate with Carrillo.

But again, hell, again, you wondered if that would always be like this. Could you two only be together in a context of war, of conflict? Wasn't there a version of that closeness that could be solidified in the silence and peace of a stable relationship? How unfair would that be, stopping the world for a moment and being able to sleep with someone you love without a gun under your pillow or the uncertainty of even being alive at the end of the day?

You felt selfish. Horacio could’ve died at the hands of the narcos, he always had an almost obsessive ambition to have that man in his hands, defeated and destroyed. It was enough that he was there, with you, and not in some tomb with honorable mentions made for Juliana, and not for you, because you were nothing more than two colleagues to people. You even felt self conscious. There would be less uncertainty if Juliana was there instead of you because she stopped her life so that Horacio could climb his own, achieve things, be the provider.

You remembered the night right after he was shot.

“I came to see you the day you got shot,” It slipped out of your mouth, breaking the silence in a sharp way even if your voice was small.

“You did?” He asked, confused by the sudden change of subject but willing to engage. “Why didn't I know this before?”

“... I saw Juliana in your house.”

Another silence followed your comment, this time more rigid. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, focusing your eyes on the skin of his belly, but that comfort lasted so little when he squirmed, almost forcing you to move away enough to look at his face. With a gulp, you did, body supported by one of your elbows to see his concerned face.

“It bothered you,” Horacio said.

“No, it’s just… You two were married, Horacio, for fucks sake… And it was obvious that she would come by to see how you’re doing. I didn’t want to interrupt. Not to mention that we weren’t as we are now.”

He stared at you, still frowning. After a while, when he noticed that you weren't going to say anything else, he relaxed his face a little, looking at the window and collecting his own thoughts.

“I tried to rekindle our relationship. Deep down, I thought I needed stability in life, something that made sense and that I didn't need to worry about, so the divorce was a frustration,” A sigh. “But that was before Escobar, before all that. I realized it would be better this way when we went to Madrid. She returned to be with her family, but we signed the divorce with the certainty that it was the right thing to do.”

You listened to his words with attention.

“When I got shot, I didn't think about anything. There was no film of my life or missed chances and opportunities. If I died right then, my only regret would be that I didn't finish my work,” He turned to you then, measuring your face with care. “When Juliana showed up, the only thing she told me was that I shouldn't be miserable enough to only have this mission in my head. That I should progress, live. No one would wait for me forever at the finish line and it would be a horrible feeling to swim for so long only to die alone on the beach.”

That was like a punch in the stomach, a force of words of things that only squeezed your heart. The fear and insecurity of being alone, of all that ending, you returning to LA and having all these feelings, added to the guilt of not valuing what your mother, for example, offered. This loneliness at the end of the day, of modified dreams and a brutal reality, this was something you thought about with yourself and didn't imagine that someone else would feel it too.

“That's when I thought of you.”

You gulped, mouth twisting to prevent a smile.

“You and your perfume. It was always a femininity that I repudiated, particularly because it broke with my focus, took me off the axis, off my plan. After that I realized that getting rid of Escobar was an incredible feeling and going back to that same perfume was just as good.”

No one spoke of goodbyes, of a goodbye that would be seen occasionally and almost instantly. You did it, you accomplished your mission. And if what was left, even if only for a short time, was that sensitive moment of implied declarations and a true sense of love, then so be it.

This ending wasn't that bad.

---------------------------------

“You’re really trying to make this a competition, huh?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his teasing tone, turning your head for a peck on the lips before going back to the search on your bag. It was still early in the morning, so after a good fight around your kitchen to do a cup of coffee before he woke up, you decided to smoke some - just to notice that you couldn’t find your pack of cigarettes.

Carrillo circled his arms around your waist from behind, making you tilt your head to give room for him to place small and deliberate kisses on your neck. When he started to lower his hand, brushing the inside of your left thigh, you couldn’t help but chuckle. Noticing that you still weren't giving him your undivided attention, Horacio grunted and suddenly grabbed your purse, throwing it haphazardly on the sofa and suppressing your surprised gasp by turning you towards him and kissing your mouth.

“What’s going on?” You asked, unsure if you should laugh, push him away lightly or just give in on his affections.

“Nn-nn,” He mumbled, burying his face on your neck again.

“Nn-nn?”

“Just five more minutes.”

And he wasn't agitated, nor witty enough to make that moment a heap of giggles or tickles or… Anyway. He remained quiet, breathing deeply, placing both palms on your back and pressing you against his body. You frowned at the silence, at the request, until you felt his heart racing in his chest, his skin sweaty. Perhaps you had heard a commotion in the room, something that indicated the reason for that almost unexpected attitude. Horacio was rigid, almost restless in a… different way, burying his fingers on your back.

“Was it a nightmare?” You asked in a low tone.

“Bad dream.”

Well, you could say it was the same thing, but Carrillo probably had odd ways to cope with this shit, like not saying it was a nightmare would make it less scary. It was early - way too early for either of you to be up. It was as if the calm was fighting against the hustle and bustle of the outside world and what was happening. A reminder. You could tell he felt what you had felt the day before, at least because you knew there would be a small sacrifice at the end of it all.

You hugged him back, closed your eyes at the proximity. No one said anything, you particularly couldn’t. If you did, you would have to admit that, yeah, you knew how it was to have bad dreams - that yours involved saying a difficult goodbye, saying that you two would be over.

Yeah, this ending wasn't that bad, but it hurted a little; if felt like a fucking sacrifice.

---------------------------------

You both had busy days with bureaucracy. There was a lot of paperwork, press conferences, arrests and transfers. The Montoya family wrote to you, Peña wrote (although he was more succinct). When your mother wrote, asking (among other things) when you would return, you answered all her other questions except that one. Steve and Connie invited you to dinner as a farewell and they, yes, had a date to leave, to bury complicated days.

Your apartment was a mess because of it; clothes on the floor, work things scattered around. Some people in the office already had tickets booked to the US, so whenever you came back late at night or in the early hours of the day, there would be someone walking by with boxes, smiling in relief. You just stayed quiet. At dinner, at bureaucracies, at the times you managed to meet Carrillo.

Something was missing. You didn't feel truly fulfilled, you didn't find the strength to respond to your father's criticism or anything that came out of his mouth. It was an inertia of confusion, uncertainty and emptiness.

Horacio was in your apartment when it happened.

The two of you had sat on the couch, smoked, drank, had sex. The usual.

You remembered him getting up to get the bottle of bourbon that was left in the kitchen and you said you would accept another drink. Then you squirmed on the couch, rested your head to face the ceiling and rubbed your eyes, already partially drunk. When you turned your head to the side, hearing Carrillo mumble something about the bottle already running out, you saw a piece of paper pointing out from under the couch.

Any other time, really, you would leave it there. God, why did you take that shit in the first place? Why didn't Horacio arrive seconds earlier to distract you from opening that letter?

Jorge Pérez. With a high level of importance.

It was dated a few days earlier and had been written on pages in a small notebook, with spaced words and letters, all written in typical Colombian Spanish that was mixed in quick, light, hurried writing.

The last time you felt that feeling of having disassociated like that was when Juan Marcos almost killed you. Your head felt light, removed from reality, and it was as if your hands were tingling. You didn't laugh this time, you didn't have a hysterical laughing reaction from the shock, because maybe your body was so exhausted that you could only react with the first thing you felt like doing.

Each word was taken in with a lump in your throat and you blinked a few times as you felt your hands shaking, holding the papers and couldn't finish reading the rest. There were three parts, three pieces. You were suddenly impulsive about finishing the rest, reading, turning over the papers, gripping them tightly between your fingers.

“What?”

He asked with a confused expression, but you couldn’t quite catch his question right away. With a hand in front of your mouth, you swallowed a sob and held that letter with a firm grip, afraid of it all being a lie or an illusion or… A trick. A fucking universe trick for your mind and soul.

You raised your eyes to Carrillo, gulping again to prevent any big emotion from spreading all over the place.

“... It’s… It’s Jorge.”

“And who is it?”

The words almost didn’t leave your mouth, as if you were scared of the consequences of just… saying it.

“My brother.”

---------------------------------

I saw him on TV, but I saw you on a very trivial day. I don't remember the clothes you were wearing, nor could I tell you what time it was, or what day specifically. Maybe it was right after I saw him, but I still wouldn't know for sure. Things always pass me by with dates and names. I'm dyslexic. The truth is, well, you have a dyslexic brother who is a doctor. This is a great treat for those who enjoy stories of overcoming.

He never talked about me, did he? I'm sure he didn't do that. I think you're smart, maybe witty, because he never talked about you to me either. Perhaps we both did something that would be worthy of making him pull away. This is strangely comforting.

I know that the moment is not convenient and that it may seem like a lie, like a trap or something, so I understand if it takes a while, despite admitting that I am an anxious guy, I would even say impulsive. The truth is that not having an answer from you makes me resigned, but if you responded, if you looked for me, I would be hopeful.

Be sure to stop by a bar in Belén called Bodega del Toro. They have great fish filets and craft beers that are always cold.

Show up. Go to the bar if you can.

He won't show up, you can be sure. This stopped being a reality a long time ago. I hope it also brought out, in addition to your appearance, the generosity that I'm sure your mother has.

---------------------------------

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@616wilsons

@nessamc

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@padbrookcottage

#horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo #colonel carrillo x reader #colonel carrillo #female reader #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #narcos #maurice compte

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spooky-pomegranate · 1 year

Text

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

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bullet-prooflove · 1 year

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Looked At Death In A Tarot Card - Horacio Carrillo x Reader

For @the-hinky-panda who supplied me with this fantastic little prompt!

Tagging: @616wilsons @mysun-n-stars @xmoonknightlyx @nessamc @crazy4chickennuggets @annetje @mysoulisasunflower @littleone65 @thesandbeneathmytoes @glorieux92 @supersanelyromantic @mirabee

Horacio was lying on his back, the concrete hard underneath his back as his head span. His vision blurred as he stared up at the stars pinpricking the night sky above. His ears were ringing, from the explosion, the gunshots. It was like church bells, drowning out the sound of everything else around him. His chest was on fire, the oxygen rushing out of his lungs as Escobar’s face appeared above him. He saw the gun in his hand, before meeting the other man’s gaze.

He saw the fear in those eyes, the fury and the terror and he laughed.

There was a horror in Escobar’s expression, because this wasn’t the reaction he expected. He had thought Carrillo would beg instead he cackled like a witch from one of the remote towns on the fringes of Columbia. The sound was haunting, it grated on his nerves, and he knew it would fill his nightmares long after the Colonel was dead.

Those dark eyes of his were like burning coals, singeing into Escobar as his hand began to tremble.

I got in your head, he seemed to say without speaking. I became the monster in your dreams.

“I kill my monsters.” He wanted to say.

But Carrillo was still laughing.

He hissed as the bullet grazed his forearm, seared through his skin. He dropped the weapon as blood erupted from the wound, scoring his skin. Already he was being moved on by his men, too dangerous they said. He could still hear that dreadful noise in his ears, and he knew that Carrillo would wreck vengeance for tonight.

“Run.” Horacio spat, his arm outstretched, his fingers grazing the rough surface of Escobar’s gun. “Run and I will hunt you down like a dog.”

Escobar turned and Horacio caught that look in his eyes. He could taste the other man’s panic on his tongue. It was raw, visceral and Horacio knew even if he died tonight, he had won.

He felt the darkness closing in, tinging at the edges of his vision and he thought of you. He remembered this morning, wrapped up in your sheets, your lips on his as he made love to you with abandonment. He remembered the sensation of bliss as he drove you to the pinnacle of pleasure, the noise you made you climaxed, the euphoria he felt when you dragged him over the edge with you. He kept these thoughts close to his heart as he felt himself begin to slip away.

There was a sudden abrupt pressure on his chest, and he snarled, eyes snapping open at the agonising intrusion. There was a flurry of voices, he heard yours clear as day as you pushed down on his ribs even harder, blood staining your fingers.

“Mi Amor.” He snapped. “What are you doing?”

Your eyes met his and he saw the universe in them, the moon, the stars, and everything else in between. He also saw the ferocity, the determination and of course that stubbornness. You were going to drag him back from the afterlife, kicking and screaming if you had to.

“Saving your life.”

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#horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo imagine #horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x you #narcos x reader #colonel carrillo x reader #colonel carrillo fic #colonel carrillo #colonel horacio carrillo x reader #colonel horacio carrillo #maurice compte

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mariabolivar12 · 11 months

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Cartas de amor prohibido

Emparejamiento: Horacio Carrillo x lectora Escobar

N/E: esta fue la idea de una seguidora así que espero que te guste y cumpla con las expectativas @camipad

Resumen: estabas cansada de esconderte y pagar por los crímenes de tu hermano, el dinero sucio no era algo que te guste por eso un día decidiste tomar una decisión que cambio tu vida y la de tu hermano

Sabías que era arriesgado, más aún porque no tenías mucho tiempo y sabías que tu hermano se iba a enterar, no iba a estar contento y lo sabías, pero eso no te importo, entrantes al lugar decidida y con un objetivo claro, sobresalía entre la multitud su cabellera rubia era reconocible, sentado en la barra con un vaso de whiskey por la mitad y una mirada lejana el agente Murphy tu salida de ese infierno

-es malo tomar solo y no invitarle un trago a una dama señor Murphy- su cabeza se giró tan rápido en tu dirección que juraste escuchar algún hueso de su cuello crujir, su mirada de asombro fue lo que te hizo saber que claramente sabía quien eras

-¿que es lo que quieres? ¿Porque me buscas?-divisaste su mano justo encima del sitio donde su revólver descansaba, de todas las situaciones que pasaron por tu mente nunca se te cruzó la idea de que tuviera una reacción tan a la defensiva y no lo culpas es entendible el porqué

-tranquilo agente Murphy, vine por mi propia voluntad…sólo quiero que lo atrapen, puedo darte lo que se…quiero ayudar, que acabe con las masacres y los muertos…es lo único que quiero?-

-a cambio de que? Y porque debería creerte?-

-a cambio de que me saquen de esto…a cambio de la Paz en mi vida, eso es lo que quiero a cambio…si tuviera alguna otra intención ya la habría llevado a cabo-

Resultó que es un gran conversador, y aunque te costó mucho convencerlo de tus verdaderas intenciones, lo lograste y en realidad era más amable de lo que parece y de hecho te escucho todo lo que tenías que decir, pero también te pregunto por muchas cosas las cuales respondiste la mayoría, algunas las cuales no sabías solo no las contestabas

Te llevo a la escuela Carlos Holguín, donde te presento a su compañero Javier peña quien al momento de verte su cara perdió color, eso era algo que tu hermano había hecho y tú estabas cansada de causar esa impresión en las personas, y de que la sombra de lo que había hecho también afectará tu vida y la percepción de la gente sobre ti, a pesar de eso te escuchó y preguntó casi las mismas cosas que su compañero, al paso de diez minutos de interrogatorio apareció un joven oficial, quien parecía amigable pero a la vez serio y agotado, como todos los oficiales a tu alrededor

-Murphy, peña el Coronel quiere verlos…ahora- se dio vuelta y caminó en la misma dirección en la que vino, el agente Murphy te dijo que esperaras en su escritorio, su compañero solo se limitó a observarte con detenimiento, los dos se fueron sin más y sólo cinco minutos después regresaron con un hombre del cual habías escuchado hablar y no precisamente eran cosas buenas, pero nunca lo habías visto en persona y de hecho no parecía tan malo como tu hermano lo había hecho ver

Su uniforme estaba pulcramente limpio y acomodando al igual que sus botas, su cabello negro fielmente peinado y recortado con el atisbo de algunas canas, caminaba con una rigidez única de un militar pero también con una autoridad y autosuficiencia como si fuera el dueño del lugar, su cara no reflejaba ninguna emoción pero su rostro era atractivo sin duda, su uniforme se acoplaba a su musculoso torso, lograste evidenciar sólo un reloj de plástico negro en su muñeca izquierda sin rastro de un anillo lo que te hizo pensar que era un desperdicio que no tuviera dueña, por muy guapo que te haya parecido no era el motivo por el que estabas aquí…aunque sin duda alguna acudir al agente Murphy había sido una gran decisión

-¿porque la hermana de Pablo Escobar quiere traicionarlo?-si creías que su cuerpo era atractivo su voz lo era el doble, Dios este hombre era obra del demonio…aunque su tono de seriedad te hizo saber que no estaba jugando y que quería echarte lo más pronto posible, se tomó el tiempo de escucharte y de hacerte innumerables preguntas las cuales respondiste gustosa

-¿porque debería creerte?¿que hay diferente entre tu y tu hermano?-

-de verdad Coronel usted cree que estaría aquí de no ser cierto…mi hermano debe estar buscándome por todas partes y apenas se entere si es que no lo ha hecho ya, vendrá a buscarme, sabe que no estoy de acuerdo con nada de lo que hace pero eso no le importa…quiero que si algún día tengo hijos no tengan que vivir con el peso de ser familia de un narco y no cualquier narco-lo miraste a los ojos y su mirada no demostró ninguna emoción, solo oscuridad y frialdad en sus orbes marrones

-te llevaremos a un lugar seguro, solo tendrás contacto conmigo y con nadie más-

A partir de ahí todo pasó como un borrón, ese mismo día te llevó a una casa segura, el único que sabía de tu ubicación era él y los hombres que estaban afuera de la puerta, el lugar no era muy grande pero al menos estabas fuera del alcance de tu hermano, la tarde cayó y con ella llegó la noche, no lograste encontrar el sueño y justo cuando creíste que estabas a punto de cerrar los ojos el ruido de la puerta te despertó

Con mucho cuidado llegaste a la sala donde divisaste al intruso vestido de verde oliva entrar a la casa, se veía exactamente igual que esa mañana solo que ahora un poco más cansado, traía una bolsa de plástico en la mano y debajo de su brazo un sobre de papel, dejó todo sobre la mesa del comedor y luego abrió el sobre de papel donde sacó varias fotos

-cuando volví al comando dejaron estas fotos para mí, tenías razón cuando dijiste que sabía donde estabas…además de las fotos dejó una nota-

-que decía esa nota?-

-no está feliz, dijo que si no te entregamos iba a matarnos y que si te tocaba un solo cabello mi castigo sería peor que la muerte, pero eso no pasara y así tenga que morir por protegerte lo haré-

-Gracias Coronel-

-es mi trabajo, en la bolsa hay comida suficiente para dos días, mañana en la mañana llegará algo de ropa y más comida-

-hasta cuando estaré aqui?-

-con esa amenaza creo que por bastante tiempo, así que ponte cómoda-se sentó en el sofá de la sala y encendió el televisor, se quitó las botas y se puso cómodo

-se va a quedar aquí?-

-esta es mi casa, por supuesto que si- te tomó por sorpresa pero se notaba que no quería hablar más del tema así que sólo tomaste la bolsa y acomodaste todo donde creíste que iban, luego te dirigiste a la habitación no sin antes echar un vistazo a la sala donde lo encontraste dormido en el sofá todavía sentado en la misma posición en la que se sentó hace un rato

A la mañana siguiente no encontraste el cuerpo que dejaste en el sofá la noche anterior pero lo que sí encontraste fue un desayuno que aunque no fuera lo más lindo del mundo tenía pinta de estar delicioso

Estuviste en su casa por más de seis meses, y en todo ese tiempo lograste captar sentimientos por el hombre a quien aprendiste a conocer y a querer, al principio te dio miedo aceptarlo pero te diste cuenta que no era nada malo, que si pudiste sobrevivir a tu hermano podrás con un rechazo, pero no fue así de hecho fue todo lo contrario Horacio como habías empezado a llamarlo te correspondió y de qué manera

A partir de ahí trataba de llegar más temprano y de poder conversar contigo, aunque no podían salir mucho estaban felices, le enseñaste a cocinar y también a bailar salsa y el té enseñó a bailar merengue, sus noches se volvieron tu momento del día favorito porque podías estar cerca de él y de la seguridad de sus brazos

-esta noche llegaré algo tarde mi amor, así que no te preocupes por mi-

-papi sabes que siempre me preocupo por ti y más cuando llegas a altas horas, llámame para saber que estás bien si?-

-esta bien mi amor, te amo nos vemos- luego de un largo beso se marchó, no te gustaba cuando eso pasaba porque solo significaba que estaría en un operativo, pero entendías que era su trabajo, y aunque te pedía que no lo esperaras despierta siempre lo hacías, y no por querer llevarle la contraria sino más bien porque querías asegurarte de que estuviera bien

El día de Horacio fue duro, estaba cansado y sudoroso, no veía la hora de llegar a casa contigo, pero los informes que tenía que entregar no se lo permitían, en el camino a su oficina se encontró a los norteamericanos sentados en sus escritorios rodeados de una nube de humo causada por sus cigarrillos, inclinó su cabeza en forma de saludo y siguió su camino, al entrar en su oficina encontró que en su escritorio reposaba un sobre con su nombre escrito en el

Al abrirlo lo primero que vio fue una carta escrita a mano, seguida de un par de fotos en las cuales sin duda alguna se podía ver a la mujer de su vida despidiéndose de él con un largo beso en la puerta de su casa, al ver las fotos por un momento se asustó y no por él sino por ti, tenía enemigos y esto significaba que sabían dónde estabas y eso si lo asusto

Señor Coronel Horacio Carrillo

He recibido la desagradable noticia de que mi hermana está hospedada en su casa, lo cual no es algo de mi entera gracia, espero que por su propio bienestar entienda que lo mejor para ella es estar alejada de usted ya que a su lado corre peligro su vida y las consecuencias que pueden traerle a usted serán nefastas, espero que pueda razonar y entender que ella debe estar con un verdadero hombre y debe estar de vuelta en su hogar ya que empieza a hacernos mucha falta, esta será la única advertencia de mi parte parte para usted Coronel, espero tome la mejor decisión para su propio bienestar

Att: Pablo Escobar

Pensó por un momento que era una broma, de verdad quería creerlo, Pablo Escobar le envió una carta para amenazarlo, de verdad estaba a punto de reír, como era siquiera posible que le estuviera exigiendo que se apartara de tu lado, en este punto de su vida y de su relación contigo sabía exactamente bien lo que tenía que hacer, por eso antes de irse a casa abrió el Cajón de su escritorio y sacó de él una pequeña caja de terciopelo y la guardó en su bolsillo no sin antes darle una respuesta a la amenaza de su cuñado

Señor Pablo Escobar

Creí por un momento que se trataba de una broma de mal gusto y lo sigo creyendo, nose con que fundamentos cree usted que cuenta para exigirme que me aleje de su hermana, porque ni aunque me ponga tres objetivos en la espalda lo haré, ella significa todo para mi y tomó la decisión correcta al alejarse del mundo de terror que te has encargado de construir, no me alejare de ella porque la amo con todo mi corazón y pienso hacerla mi esposa, ella no llevará más tu apellido será la futura señora de carrillo, y nuestros hijos no tendrán nunca que vivir con el peso de tus pecados

Att: Coronel Horacio Carrillo

Posdata: nadie me a apartar del lado de la mujer mi vida ni siquiera su propio hermano

#horacio carrillo x reader #colonel carrillo #horacio carrillo fic #horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x you #maurice compte

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leylinefiction · 2 years

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Los Regalos (Horacio Carrillo x Reader)

Pairing: Colonel Horacio Carrillo x Fem!Reader

Rating: PG (if you squint)

Summary: You're new to Colombia and the Search Bloc, loaned out by the Army to help sift through the wiretaps, sat phone calls, and other communications. Everything is off to a normal start until someone starts leaving little gifts on your desk and you're determined to figure out who it is. Carrillo is not married in this fic because I'm the author and I say so.

Author's Note: Anon who suggested this prompt, I am forever in your debt. I hope you let me know who you are because I loved writing this. And I'm leaving it open for further one-shots if you want me to continue to add to it.

Los Regalos (Gifts)

The gifts show up on your desk randomly.

At least, you think they’re gifts. The terrible thought that they could have been just left on your desk absentmindedly and were meant for someone else crashes into your thoughts. But if that were the case, it should have stopped after you claimed the small, potted orchid as your own. And the pound of Robusta coffee with a handmade ceramic mug. A box of cocadas, which you sincerely wish you knew where those came from because they were fantastic. Today, it's a beautiful ceramic bowl with different types of fruit in it. Most of which you have no idea what they are. Or how to eat them.

“Another gift from the secret admirer?”

You look up to see the two DEA agents that have been assigned to work with the newly formed Search Bloc come into the shared office space. It was Agent Peña that had spoken.

“Yeah,” you answer. “Although I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with some of these.” You pick up a bright pinkish-red fruit. “Like, what is this?”

“That’s a pitahaya,” Peña says. “In the US we call them dragon fruit.”

So that’s what a dragon fruit is.

“Now this one,” Peña picks up a green spiky fruit, “is a guanabana. Don’t eat the skin or the seeds inside it, they’re poisonous. Just eat the meat.”

“Good to know,” you take the fruit and put it back into the bowl. You’re still relatively new to Colombia, assigned to Centra Spike under the umbrella of the Army. Your job is to listen to phone calls made over the wiretaps and satellite phones, trying to figure out what was from the narcos and what was just common chatter. Your family thought you were running through the barrios of Bogotá and Medellín, in a flak vest and gun, shooting down sicarios and arresting drug dealers. You tried to explain to them that you live at a desk with headphones over your ears but they preferred their version of events. It made social events more interesting for them.

“You figure out who it is leaving you these things?” Agent Murphy asks.

You shake your head. “Not yet. The mystery continues.”

You thought it could be one of them since you’re an American, with the Army, and trying to get adjusted to life in a foreign country. But Murphy is married and trying to get adjusted himself and Peña doesn’t strike you as the type to bestow little gifts to a secretary that he barely knows and speaks to in passing. Which leaves the Colombian police officers that surround you. And that suspect pool is quite large.

Trujillo is a common face in this area of the office, working closely with Colonel Carrillo. And even though you’ve had personable conversations with him, they’ve remained professional and distant. And he’s been the friendliest officer you’ve interacted with so your options are very broad as to who is your secret admirer. You pick up another piece of fruit, an uchuva, a small yellow berry, and smile. Whoever it is, they’re scoring some major points with their thoughtfulness.

***

Carrillo has no idea what he’s doing.

It’s been years since he’s attempted to get a woman to notice him. The last time his eyes were set on a potential companion, her father decided that she was better suited for an officer with a higher rank and so he lost his Juliana to a then lieutenant colonel. He wonders how her father feels now that he’s a colonel and head of the specialized group tasked to track down Escobar. He hadn’t thought of pursuing a romantic entanglement since he lost her.

But then you walked in, on loan from the United States Army, to help organize the information that came flooding in from the various wiretaps and sat phone calls. You sat hours on end everyday, listening to those calls, transcribing the conversations, and deciding what was helpful and what was just everyday talk. You had been here for three weeks, new to the country, new to the job, but had dug in with a determination that he rarely saw, even from his own men.

He listens to the wiretaps too. He hears his men talk about their fear for their lives and their families. He hears them doubt what is the right thing to do. He hears them cave to their fear and help the narcos. He understands why they do it but he can’t abide by it. He sifts through his officers like farmers sift through their crop: keep the good pieces and discard the rotten ones. It’s making him distant from his emotions and his desire to be around people. He’s becoming weary of sizing up everyone he encounters to see if they’re a threat or an ally.

He listens to your phone conversations too. Even though you are a US citizen, part of the deal is that any American is subject to the same transparency as the Colombian army and police force. You signed off on that waiver of privacy and so he listens to your conversations with zero guilt. That is until he realizes he has heard your voice so much that he can recognize it with as much accuracy as he can Escobar’s. That is when he realizes there is something intriguing about you.

He has your voice memorized so he moves on to studying your appearance and routine. You arrive ten minutes early every morning, dressed neatly and with care, with jeans and a nice blouse. The only thing that confuses him are the worn Converse sneakers you always wear. Jewelry is limited to simple earrings and a necklace; you don't wear any rings on your hands or bracelets on your wrists. Your posture is straight as you sit at the dented, metal desk in the main office area.

Whenever you come across an officer that is giving information or making arrangements to receive bribes from the cartel, you would bring the file and tape to him at the end of the business day. It is the only time that you darken his door. He would take the items from you and note the sad look in your eye when they left your hand, like you were responsible for the breach of conduct. You are a lovely combination of beauty, efficiency, and empathy. And you have caught his attention. Now what?

Is there a difference between catching a criminal and catching a paramour?

He goes back to listening to the phone conversations, mostly with your sister and mother. You talk about the various things that you’ve discovered that are unique to Colombia: flowers, foods, and drinks in particular. You’ve recently started talking about books you want to read now that the newness of everything is starting to fade and you can concentrate on a hobby. You mention authors like Gabriel Garcia Marquez with his famous One Hundred Years of Solitude, but then mention how you want a more authentic social commentary and had recently bought a used copy of The Vortex by José Eustacio Rivera. If you wanted an authentic social commentary on just how greed-fueled the rubber industry was, you certainly picked a good book.

The conversation turns to family updates and he stops listening in to convince himself he’s giving you some semblance of privacy. He takes out a small notebook and makes a note to bring his copy of Las Estrellas son Negras by Arnoldo Palacios to leave on your desk tomorrow. The book isn’t uplifting in any sense of the word but it is considered to be classic, albeit an unpopular one. If you’re wanting to read something deep, and if you do end up enjoying The Vortex, then you should like Palacios’ book.

While he’s thinking about the novels, something comes to mind concerning the rubber manufacturing in the jungle. There had been some aerial shots of a possible drug lab in one of the many overgrown spaces between Medellín and Bogotá that he wanted to look over again. They weren’t on his desk any more, or any of the other desks in the room so he heads over to the file room where they’ve most likely been returned. He passes by your desk but you’re not there, maybe on your lunch break, but he notices some of the fruit is already missing.

The file room door is propped open which immediately annoys him. The room is supposed to be locked both with an old fashioned key lock and an electronic passcode, not propped open with a…shoe? He makes a disgusted noise as he kicks it out of the doorway and goes into the room. As soon the door clicks shut, someone drops a file and goes running for the door.

“No, no, no, no…”

It’s you.

And you’re missing a shoe.

“Damn it!” You hit the door with an open palm and turn towards him, ready to unleash a severe reprimand until you realize it’s him. Most of your fury dissolves into contrition as you take in a deep breath. “Buen día, coronel.” (Good day, Colonel.)

“Buen día, señorita.” (Good day, miss.) He waits to see if you’re going to say anything else but your eyes are trying to look at anywhere in the room but him. They finally settle on your feet: one still encased in the converse sneaker while the other is bare. Your toenails are painted a light pink. “Am I to understand that was your shoe holding the door open?”

“Yes, sir.”

Your formalness stings slightly until he realizes that you don’t know he’s been listening in to your conversations, gathering information, and then providing you with the little gifts on your desk. Perhaps he should stop. Perhaps you would have no interest in him whatsoever. Perhaps there is someone else, if not here in Colombia than back in the States.

Perhaps, it’s just not meant to be.

However, isn’t that what giving a gift is all about: you give with no expectation of receiving something in return?

***

You can’t believe your luck. Not only are you indefinitely locked in the file room but it is with the head of the Search Bloc, Colonel Horacio Carrillo. This also happens to be the person at the top of your suspect lists for leaving the gifts at your desk. And you’re not sure how to feel about it.

He’s not your boss, per say, that would be the US Army and you’re of a low enough rank no one pays you any mind back at the Embassy so dating a local wouldn’t cause any disturbances. Lord knows Peña gets away with it all the time. But Carrillo is in charge of the special unit that you’re assisting so that throws the line of conduct into some shade. Secondly, you hardly know him. He rarely speaks about himself, his personal life, and he’s here so often you wonder if he even has a personal life. Married to a job, especially one like this, does not check any boxes on the dating checklist.

However, he is respectful to all those around him. You wouldn’t use the word kind, even though the thoughtfulness of the gifts would give you some evidence for using that word. He treats his men well, checks on them, prays through the rosary with them before particularly dangerous raids, and shares in the workload. His treatment of the Americans in the Search Bloc is the same as that of his own men. You’ve also noted that he treats the women in the office, you included, with the same expectations as his men: do your job well, he’s pleased and will let you know; do it poorly, and you can go elsewhere.

Now you wonder if that’s his current thoughts of you, missing one shoe and having just displayed an unprofessional burst of anger. You try to recenter yourself and gain some semblance of competency. “The locks are broken on the door.”

One of his eyebrows ticks up at the comment. “Both of them?”

“Yes, sir.”

He moves closer to the door and you step away from it, having a good idea what is about to come next. Sure enough, he tries kicking the door open but it doesn’t even budge. You raise a finger hesitantly to prevent him from kicking it harder and hurting himself.

“Um, the electronic lock is actually a double deadbolt.”

The kick to the door did alert someone walking past that there is an issue as someone called out on the other side. “¿Quién está ahí?” (Who’s in there?)

Carrillo yells back both his name and yours as the officer says he’s getting help for them. Your brain has stuttered to a halt and he must notice because a quizzical look crosses his face.

“What?”

“You remember my name.”

The confused look changes into something that looks akin to shame before he turns away. “I know everyone’s name in the unit. Wouldn’t be much of a leader if I didn’t.”

You suppose that is true and the thought that he knew it because he liked you dissipates. You go back a couple rows to the file that you dropped in your mad dash to try to stop the door from closing. He follows you, at a respectful distance though, but then helps pick up the spilled contents of the file. As he looks at the pictures, he laughs slightly.

“I was actually looking for these pictures,” he tells you.

“Oh, really?” You take the rest of the file over to the small window where there’s some light. They’re aerial shots of an abandoned rubber plant in the jungle. Or at least it looks abandoned. “I wanted to look at them again to see if there’s anything we missed that might give away something about it being used.”

He stands next to you in the light and looks at the pictures in his hands. “I feel like we are missing something.”

There’s no table in the room so you put the pictures down on the floor and sit down there to look at them. He does the same and soon both your heads are down, studying the pictures. You watch his hands as he drags his fingers over the photos, looking at each grainy detail for something. He isn’t wearing a wedding band.

And speaking of examining details, your eyes can’t help but drift up from his hands to the strong, exposed forearms, the shifting of his biceps under the sleeves of his green fatigues. You probably couldn’t wrap your whole hand around his upper arm but now you kind of want to try. You had to admit, as intimidating as Carrillo is, he is also quite handsome with his sharp, coffee colored eyes and straight nose.

There is a part of you that wishes he is the one that is leaving those gifts. You can’t just outright ask him, he’ll most likely deny it if you do. So you need to get it out of him without him realizing it. He’s a skilled interrogator, at least according to Peña, but you do have a slight advantage: he’s not going to expect you to be gathering information from him. Besides, you do like a challenge.

Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a couple of the uchuvas, the small orange colored berries, and pop one in your mouth. When Carrillo’s eyes flick up to yours to see what you’re doing, you hold one out to him. He takes it with a wry smile.

“Careful, we may have to ration these.”

“I have a few more.” You wait until he’s focused again on the surveillance pictures before you speak again. “You know, I would love to know where you got those cocadas. The chocolate ones in particular were wonderful.”

He hums distractedly. “There’s a bakery two blocks from here that carries them.”

Okay, that answer doesn’t confirm or deny anything. Damn. Maybe it’s not him then and the slight disappointment that settles in your stomach is surprising. You had wanted it to be him. You go back to looking at the pictures and notice something: the electrical box on the outside of the building. You shuffle through past pictures, taken a week before, and find it: evidence. It’s small, barely noticeable, but it’s there.

“Look,” you put both pictures down in front of Carrillo. “The electrical box had vines and dirt on it two weeks ago, but a week later, the vines are cut back and it's been cleaned.”

“There it is,” he says with a satisfied smile. “Evidence to support a raid. Well done.”

You can’t help the wide smile that erupts across your face.

A voice from the door shouts to you two. “¿Coronel?” (Colonel?)

“Sí.” (Yes.)

“Deberíamos sacarte en veinte minutos.” (We should have you out in twenty minutes.)

“Gracias, Trujillo.” (Thank you, Trujillo.)

You start gathering up the pictures and put them back into the folder, handing the collected papers and pictures to Carrillo. He takes it with a small smile.

“I wonder what other mysteries we could solve in the next twenty minutes,” he says looking around at the boxes of files surrounding you both.

You sit back against the shelf behind you. “I actually have a mystery that I would like to solve.”

He nods, his facial features schooled behind a mask of indifference. “Okay.”

The question about the cocadas didn’t reveal anything so you try another approach. “I think someone is listening in on my calls.”

“That’s expected when you work in this unit.”

“Oh, I understand that. That’s not what bothers me.” You specifically use the word “bothers” to make it sound like it’s making you uncomfortable. Knowing how much he respects those who work in the unit, the thought of his actions making anyone uncomfortable will not sit well with him. And judging from the small frown and minute shifting he’s done, you’re right.

“What is bothering you then?”

He sounds so disappointed when he asks that question, you want to hug him and tell him that you know it’s him and to please not stop because it's the sweetest thing that anyone has ever done for you. So you choose your next words even more carefully.

“I’m bothered by the fact that I can’t thank them for their thoughtfulness. Whoever is listening to my conversations is picking up on the things that I want to see, like the orchid, or try, like the fruit and the coffee. I’m particularly excited to see what book appears tomorrow.” You pause for a moment. “Do you have a favorite book, Colonel Carrillo?”

His face is still smooth of emotion. “I do.”

“What’s the title?”

“I guess you’ll just have to wait until tomorrow when I put it on your desk.”

“So it is you.”

“It is.” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “If you would like me stop-”

“No,” you cut him off. “Please don’t. It’s very nice, very kind.”

“As are you.” He sits up straighter. “Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner tonight?”

“I would love that. I’m going to have to ask my boss if I can leave a little early and he’s kind of a stickler for the job coming first though.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Let me chat with him. I’m sure we can work something out.”

“I don’t know, he can be quite a hard ass.”

“So I’ve heard.”

You both laugh quietly when the sound of a power drill comes from the door. Most likely they’re trying to dismantle the keypad to manually disengage the deadbolts. Carrillo stands up and reaches down to help you to your feet. Your hand slides easily into his as he tugs you upright. For the briefest moment you think he’s going to kiss you, he’s standing so close and your hands are still clasped together. But then the keypad drops heavily to the floor and startles you both back to the present. Your hands untangle, he picks up the file from the floor, and you both put your professional masks back in place.

“Would seven be a good time for you tonight?” he asks quietly.

“Yes, that would be perfect.”

“I’ll meet you outside your apartment.”

You can’t help but grin at the thought but quickly tamper down the butterflies in your stomach as the deadbolt lock pops and the door swings open. Carrillo motions for you to go first and as you do, Murphy hands you your sneaker.

“Cinderella.”

“Thank you, Agent Murphy.”

Carrillo nods to Trujillo. “See if we can get that fixed before the year is out.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

Peña has a downright devious look on his face as he studies yours. “So…what happened?”

You put your shoe back on, leaning down the tie the laces. “We did what you were supposed to be doing…working.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious,” you point to Carrillo’s office. “We found evidence for a raid at an old rubber factory in the jungle. Go.”

He shrugs before moving off in the office’s direction. “I want details.”

“There are no details, asshole.” Well, no details yet at least.

Murphy shakes his head. “Come on, Javi, it’s Carrillo. Can you picture him dating anyone, let alone picking out orchids and sweets?”

“I guess you’re right.” Peña pauses before walking into the office and points at Trujillo who just passed in front of him.

You shrug your shoulders in a “maybe” response, throwing Trujillo under the speculation bus. You’ve just reached your desk when Carrillo comes to his office door to close it and calls over to you.

“Why don’t you head home a little early?”

“Are you sure?”

He gives you a slightly stern look that says “I thought we discussed this already?”

“Thank you, sir.” You pick up the bowl of fruit before heading out the door to get ready for dinner. You need to make sure there’s some cleared space for tomorrow’s offering.

#colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x you #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo #narcos fic #hinky writes #horacio carrillo fic

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pintsizemama · 1 year

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Santa’s Elves

Day 3

Summary: Colonel Carrillo comes back to headquarters to find a surprise in his office.

Pairings: Horacio Carrillo x Reader (gender neutral), Horacio Carrillo x You

Fandom: Narcos

Rating: Mature 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 517

Warnings: language…let me know if I missed anything!

Day 2 Day 4 Christmas Masterlist Main Masterlist AO3 Join my taglist

Colonel Horacio Carrillo stormed through the CNP headquarters. His men cleared out of his path as soon as they saw him. He was in a mood. Escobar had escaped them yet again, and he was fucking tired of it. No matter what they did, Escobar was always one step ahead. He made his way to his office and slammed the door shut once inside. He took two steps and stopped dead. He turned and looked around in shock. He opened the door the check to see if it was in fact his office. Yep. His name was on the door. He closed it once more and stared at the scene before him.

His office looked like the North Pole threw up in it. There were twinkling lights, a tree, a village, fake snow. His whole office was overflowing with holiday cheer.

“¿Qué carajo?” (What the fuck?) He whispered. Where the hell did all this come from. Realization dawned on his handsome face. There was only one person he knew who had enough joy—and big enough balls—to pull this off. He sat at his desk, grabbed the phone, and dialed your number.

“Hello?” Your beautiful voice answered on the second ring.

“Querida,” he said in a low voice.

“Horacio!” You exclaimed excitedly. “How is work, my love?”

“It’s been a shit day,” he replied. “Escobar got away again.”

“I’m sorry, Horacio,” you murmured gently. “You’ll get him. I know it.”

“Were you in my office today?” He asked.

“Hmm?” You hummed. You were avoiding his question.

“I came back from the failed raid to find my office had somehow been converted into the North Pole,” he said in a tone that suggested he wasn’t entirely happy with the situation.

“Oh, well, that’s lovely,” you evaded once more.

“Lovely, sure,” he grimaced. “Any idea how that could have happened, mi amor?” He pressed.

“Oh, my…” you trailed off. He could picture you sitting at home, a look of innocence on your beautiful face. “It must have been Santa’s elves!”

“Elves?” Carrillo choked on his laughter. He didn’t know where you came up with this shit.

“Yes!” You exclaimed. “Santa must know what a good boy you’ve been this year…how hard you’ve worked to punish bad men. He must have sent his elves to reward you with some Christmas cheer!”

“You are ridiculous, you know that, cariño?” He laughed. You laughed with him.

“Are you mad about the decorations?” You asked quietly. He looked around and sighed.

“No,” he assured you. “It brightens the place up…reminds me of you.” He could feel the warmth of your smile through the phone.

“I’m glad you like it,” you said softly. “I’ll make sure to let the elves know you appreciate their hard work.”

“Ok, mi amor,” he murmured. “I’ll be home early tonight. Don’t bother with dinner. I’m taking you out.”

“I can’t wait,” you replied.

“Me either,” he responded before hanging up. He looked around the room and started laughing. Santa’s elves. He shook his head. You were so different from him, but dammit he loved you.

Day 4

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the-hinky-panda · 3 months

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Reparar (Los Regalos Series)

So this is technically the last part of Los Regalos but I'm not completely opposed to revisiting these two again.

Pairing: Colonel Horacio Carrillo x Fem!Reader

Rating: PG-13

Summary: You’re new to Colombia and the Search Bloc, loaned out by the Army to help sift through the wiretaps, sat phone calls, and other communications. After figuring out that it was Colonel Carrillo who was leaving little gifts, the two of you start seeing each other. But after an assassination attempt that leaves you wounded, you two decide to act like you've broken up. However, things are never as easy as they seem.

He wakes up with a splitting headache and the taste of ash in his mouth. Horacio buries his head into his pillow and prays the throbbing in his temples and the vertigo lessens enough for him to remember exactly what happened last night. Grief still presses heavily between his shoulder blades as soberness churns his stomach. How much whiskey did he go through? What happened last night exactly?

It comes to him in flashes. He had spent time looking at the gifts and offerings that you had been sneaking into his office. He knew from the side-eyed looks between Peña, Murphy, and Trujillo, you had some help with this little covert operation. He vaguely remembers the things, but what did he do with them? A box, he put them in a box. Then what?

Oh God. Oh God. He went to your apartment. He knocked on the door. He left the box. Oh God, no. He left the box. The horror of you finding your kind gifts dumped in front of your door is enough to rouse him out of bed. He moves too quickly and instantly regrets it as his head splits apart and his stomach roils. He has to sit there with his head between his knees until the pain decreases and his stomach settles.

While he waits for that, more pieces of last night come to him. The knock at the door. Him not caring to even pick up his gun as he approached the front door. Opening the door and seeing your face, your red-rimmed eyes, and the sad downturn of your mouth. You brought the box back. You brought the gifts back to him. That makes his stomach flip again.

He has to find you. You were here last night, he has a vague memory of you sleeping here. He takes in a couple deep breaths and stands up from the bed. The room spins but after a moment it slows to manageable sway. He moves from his bedroom and leans on the doorway of the small guest room down the hall. If you had slept there, he couldn’t tell. The bed is neatly made, no signs of clothes or shoes tossed over a chair or laying on the dresser. He rests his head against the doorframe and tries to remember if you were really here last night or if he’s just made that up.

There’s a beep that comes from downstairs. Three short beeps followed by a long one. The coffee pot. Someone made coffee. You must have made coffee. He makes his way downstairs, practically leaning against the wall to help balance himself. He’s too hungover to be quiet which is good since his tongue feels like sandpaper and he’s not sure he could call your name, to warn you of his now conscious presence.

But when he reaches the first floor of the house, he doesn’t hear you at all. He doesn’t smell your light perfume. In fact, he doesn’t sense anyone at all. The curtains are all drawn, the rooms pleasantly dark. There is still the scent of coffee hanging in the air and it doesn’t twist his stomach. He ventures into the kitchen and finds two cups sitting neatly in the sink. Did he drink so much that he forgot having coffee with you at some point this morning? Wait, is it morning? He looks up at the clock on the wall and sees it’s almost three-thirty in the afternoon.

You’re not here. You’ve given up on him. And he can’t be angry with you about that. He was the one that kept pushing you away, returning your things in the middle of the night. He’s the one that drank himself into oblivion last night and has no memory of what he said or did. Maybe you’re off crying on Javier’s shoulder now. The single DEA agent had a thing for damsels in distress and what Horacio has put you through could certainly qualify as distress.

He hears the front door open, the loud noise of people walking past and a car horn make him wince before the door quietly shuts and stillness returns. There’s only a handful of people with keys to his home, only a handful of people he trusts with access to his home. He hears a soft sigh being released, a delicate sniff, before a couple clacks of shoes reverberate through the darkened home. He steps back into the dining room which gives him a direct line of sight to the front door.

He almost doesn’t recognize you. He’s never seen you in uniform before. Gone are your sneakers and jeans and linen shirts. You’re in a starched dress shirt, buttoned all the way up to your throat, a fitted olive colored jacket, and straight pencil skirt. You’re in the middle of taking off the plain black pumps so you can walk whisper-like through the house. Your hair is pulled back into a neat bun at the base of your neck while a military hat is perched on your head.

“Horacio?”

It takes him a couple tries before he can force sound out of his mouth. “Querida.”

You still completely. Your hands fidget with something, gloves, as you wait for him to say something else. When he doesn’t, you reach for your shoes again. “I can leave. I’m sorry.”

“No.” It comes out as a command, like he’s standing in front of an inept cadet. “I mean, don’t go. Please.”

You breathe a slow sigh of relief, a shaky smile crosses your face as you go back to slipping off your shoes. “Okay. If you want to take a shower, I’ll make some more coffee.”

He nods mutely, wondering just how awful he must look for you to suggest that to him. He’s still trying to piece together what exactly happened last night, what was said, what wasn’t said, but his head is still pounding and thoughts won’t complete themselves. You pass by him on the way to the kitchen and slip your hand into his, giving him a gentle squeeze.

“We’ll talk when you come back downstairs.” And you smile, truly smile. After everything he has put you through, you smile at him. “It’ll be okay, Horacio.”

The world stops spinning. The ground levels out. You tell him it’s going to be okay and he believes you.

***

You have no idea if he’s going to be okay. You’re so used to seeing Horacio being strong, immovable, and in complete control of whatever chaotic shitstorm is currently surrounding Search Bloc. He’s been made of granite for as long as you’ve known him. But now you can see the cracks in the stone, the weak points, and it scares you. It’s a good reminder though, that he is human, he is just a man under the uniform, muscles, and temper.

This morning has been an eye-opening experience for you. Shortly after you had gotten up and made the bed in the guest room, someone had rung the doorbell. You answered it only because you saw it was the thin, well-dressed woman you had seen at Search Bloc a couple months before. Julianna, you remembered, was her name. You opened the door to her, introduced yourself and invited her inside. Surprisingly, she accepted the invitation. Not sure what to do next, you offered to make some coffee and she accepted that invitation as well.

The two of you had sat at the small kitchen table and she had poured out her grief at her current situation. Even though Horacio had been horribly drunk, he had managed to tell you everything Julianna was now saying. She had come over to collect Horacio so that they could break the news together to the two children. You tell her that Horacio isn’t feeling well, not exactly a lie, that is why you’ve come over to check on him. But the task that she has been handed is a heavy one so you offer to go home, shower, get into uniform, and complete the task yourself if she’s agreeable. She grabbed ahold of your hands so tightly your knuckles are still slightly sore from the desperation in her grip.

You have no idea how people can make a living out of having to inform families that their loved one isn’t coming home anymore. Having to look into the innocent eyes of two children and tell them that their father won’t ever walk through the door again, tuck them into bed, be there for milestones, was one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do. You had kept it together during the delivering of the news, the goodbye with Julianna and the parting hug you gave her before returning to Horacio’s home. But it’s as you're emptying the coffee pot and refilling it that the tears do come. This is how Horacio finds you a few minutes later, sobbing over fresh coffee grounds in the kitchen. He takes over for you, completing the preparation and turning on the coffee pot before directing his attention to you.

“Querida.”

The term of endearment is said with such sadness but understanding. He hesitantly slips his arms around you and you immediately mold yourself against him. You bury your face in the space where his neck meets his shoulder, you inhale the fresh scent of soap and aftershave. He smells like himself now, no longer of whiskey and despair, and you try to get even closer to him by pressing your hands into his broad shoulder blades. He feels so solid, strong and protective.

Julianna has lost this particular kind of comfort. You have not and you’re determined to not waste any moment that you’re given with him now. You try to stop your tears, or at least slow them down, and take in a deep breath. “I’m sor-”

“No, mi amor,” he cuts you off. “I’m sorry.”

Mi amor. Hearing that familiar term of endearment only creates more tears. Could this entire debacle be redeemed? You remember how it felt last night when he reached for you, pulled you close, buried his face against your stomach and told you that he loved you. You remember starting to say it back to him. You had cried yourself to sleep last night, believing that the moment of confessing your feelings has been lost.

Maybe…maybe it hasn’t been.

“Te amo, Horacio.”

You feel his arms tighten around you as his lips brush against your ear. “Te amo, mi vida, mi alma.”

#horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x you #colonel horacio carrillo x you #colonel horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo fic

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adesertdaydream · 2 years

Note

Is there gonna be a sequel for sacrifices? I know reader said she doesn’t want to be office jockey so I feel she would quit the US government and try to become a resident of Colombia and become a housewife. Would that happen?

I’ve considered this and written some blurbs but embarrassingly haven’t polished anything up to post as of yet. It’s funny because I kind of always imagined reader as someone who would want to figure out a way to manage becoming a mother and still find a path to have a successful career. When I was writing the series I tried to portray the reader as ahead of her time in a lot of ways. Someone who didn’t necessarily want to be locked into one box but sought to take on multiple roles in what was essentially still a male dominated field. I tried to highlight the similarities I imagine Carrillo might have seen between himself and the reader. Sacrifices was a cute way to imagine a softer Carrillo and what getting swept up in a romance with him might look like but it was also about how I would imagine him being someone who wanted a parter, and how reader felt the same. I think after an adjustment period reader would choose to carry on with her career. Maybe after the events of season 3 and Cali going down she and Carrillo would feel free to chase other dreams but while there was still work to be done? I don’t think either would want to just walk permanently, working until the job was done would just be to ingrained into their very personalities. Maybe after Colombia, reader takes on another assignment and the family moves out of the country? I’m sure with his skill set Carrillo could do plenty of contract work to keep himself busy and somehow I also picture him wanting to be a very hands on dad. I think watching Lucy grow would be something that never got old for either of them. Thanks for your interest in this series though! I won’t lie, I wrote it purely for my own enjoyment so I will never stop being flattered when others also enjoy it was well!

#sacrifices #horacio carrillo #colonel carrillo #carrillo #narcos fic

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somedaylazysomeday · 4 months

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A Matter of Perspective

You’ve always been good at seeing things that other people just… don’t. Currently, you’re using those skills to help out the DEA in the search for Pablo Escobar as a surveillance photography analyst. No one needs to know you have a crush on the distant Horacio Carrillo.

But when you’re invited into the field to help prove one of your theories, you’re pushed into closer contact with Carrillo than ever before…

Part One - Warnings for enemies-to-lovers vibes, some language, mentions of gossip, canon-typical references to drugs and drug use, probably incorrect Spanish, disdain, antagonism, bad language, office gossip, a mini makeout session.

Part Two - Warnings for canon-typical mentions of drugs, bribery, canon-typical fears about safety, conversations about feelings, a heavy makeout session, some language, piv sex.

#ink's self reblogs #self reblog #reblogging previous fanfic february works #narcos #narcos fanfiction #colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #reader insert #reader insert fic #reader insert fanfiction #not suitable for minors #minors dni

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goodnitedrdead · 1 year

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miscalculated steps

Colonel Carrillo x Reader

Summary: Horacio was a man of deliberate decisions. It’s one of the characteristics that got him to the position he held. When you came into his life, he threw all sense of premeditation out the window and knew he would follow you till the end of the world at a moment’s notice. The risk he took was calculated, but man, was he bad at math.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Shootings, bullet wounds, death. Not towards any main characters though. fluff <3. silly things here and there.

Author's Note: sometimes I get possessed by the gremlin spirit of creativity so I just type words and hope they make sense when it's finished. feedback is greatly appreciated and will earn you a kiss from me <3

It amused you every time to have any sort of interaction with him and pretend you did not know the type of person he was behind closed doors. In fact, you both quite enjoyed the game you had to play outside of your own little shared universe.

It’s not like you didn’t want to share it with anyone else, the fact that you two were together, but you didn’t want any infiltrations to knock down the foundations you two had built.

For Horacio, it was the excitement and pure love he never really knew he wanted. Most of the time, he felt like a love-sick puppy. He was quite surprised nobody else had brought it up to his attention. He could already hear Javier snickering at him for the lingering and glazy looks he’d give you whenever you were in his presence.

Truth be told, he tried his hardest to treat you like the rest of his team. He tried so hard to talk to you in the same stern voice he’d use with everyone else. He tried so hard to make sure you were always aware of your surroundings. He tried so damn hard to make sure you didn’t get any sort of special treatment from him. He tried and tried and tried so hard but the best he could do was soften his tone whenever he’d address you. The best he could do was make sure you were always in his line of sight and within reach in case he had to cover you. The very best he could do was to make sure you were his number one priority in that team.

It wasn’t always like that. He remembers when you were first assigned to Search Bloc. He didn’t think much of you. For him, it was another person to deal with which meant more weight on his shoulders that would slow him down. That all changed when you knocked him off his feet…. quite literally.

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It had been during a stakeout gone wrong. Carrillo and Peña were informed about an exchange that was taking place in an abandoned farm-house outside of Medellín. As the two of them were heading towards their shared vehicle, you were leaning on yours having a cigarette. Javier called you out, and you looked up to see him waving at you. You quickly put your cigarette out and jogged towards them. Carrillo would eventually have to thank Javier for this, as he was the one who invited you to join them. You agreed, and got in the backseat of the car.

As the three of you drove with minimal conversation, you kept shifting in your seat. Carrillo noticed after a while, the way you couldn’t seem to sit still, the way you kept readjusting the seat belt strap that went across your torso.

“Everything alright, agent?” he asked, starting to get bothered by your actions. Looking at you through the rearview mirror.

You gave him a quick smile before you replied, “yeah.. All good.”

He raised an eyebrow at you and kept driving, falling into conversation with Javier.

Carrillo noticed the change in demeanor when you reached your destination. You weren’t fidgeting anymore. Instead, he found you to be overly-observant. As he placed the car in park, he saw the way you looked out the window, one hand on your gun and the other on the handle of the door. Alert.

As the three of you exited the vehicle, he was about to make a comment on your behavior, but it all changed when the bullets started to rain on the three of you.

His eyes immediately searched for Peña as he was quick to find cover from the gunfire. The shooting was coming from above. The street was clear of civilians, except for the three of you and the shooters. It was four men, positioned on different balconies from the houses on the street. He could only see two in front of him, and he quickly took one down with his pistol. The man fell from the balcony, colliding with the hard concrete beneath him.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins. His breath was coming in a quick and shallow rhythm. Carrillo took cover behind a car, ducking from the bullets that were dancing around him. He paid close attention to the sound of the gunfire, trying his best to count how many rounds were left in the other man’s weapon. It wasn’t long before he heard the shooting from that direction stop, the man more than likely meeting the same fate as his partner. The smell of gunpowder clung to the air, silence was quick to take over the atmosphere.

He scouted the area around him, slowly rising to his feet with his gun drawn and ready. At the lack of sight of you and Peña, Carrillo started to panic. He was quick to inspect his surroundings, looking for either of you. He had counted four men before, and two of them got taken down. Sure he could take on the other two by himself, but the problem was that he didn’t know where they had gone. They could ambush him at any minute.

As he came close to an old house down the street, he was about to call out for Peña when he felt an overpowering force plow against him. He was knocked out of his breath, his back making contact with the uneven pavement below him. He felt a few rocks dig into his back, his head grazing the ground. It all happened so quickly he didn’t have time to register the weight on top of him, shielding him from the bullets.

Just as he was about to strike his attacker, he was stopped at the sight of you. Definitely not the person he expected.

You were out of breath, panting above him. Your hair untamed, framing your face in a way that made you look much younger. Carrillo never took the time to really look at you until now. You were beautiful. A part of him that he didn’t even know was there started to awaken. Was it the rush of adrenaline? Was the loneliness catching up to him? Was it the way you saved his life? Whatever it was, those thoughts vanished as he saw you jump back to your feet, running to the sound of gunfire. He didn’t even know you had pushed him into an alleyway, hiding him away from the danger.

As he got out of the trance he was in, he got back up and followed you. Only to find out you and Peña had taken care of the other men that were still on the loose.

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It still amused him, knowing that in an instant moment his whole world changed because of you. Never in a million years did he think he’d end up sharing a home with you. Where you two would create your own sanctuary and your own world together, a world so perfect that he’d feel giddy to get out of work and home to you. He couldn’t need anything else as long as he was in your shared space.

The excitement to come back to you at the end of the day was always there. But sometimes he’d get so wrapped up in his own mind. The exhaustion of work following him and finding a home in his bones, aching and wearing him down as the minutes ticked by. And there was no one to blame for such a feeling. It came with the profession. The formidable belief that you were changing the world, even if it cost giving up your own sanity.

He was so thankful you understood. And you were thankful he did as well. The mutual understanding was something neither of you had in previous relationships, at least not to this level. Sure, previous partners of yours knew of your profession and what you did, but they never really knew the extent of it until they had witnessed it first-hand. And it wasn’t a problem until you’d withdraw from your own existence. You would lose interest in the smallest of things, sometimes to the point where food wasn’t even an option for you. Finding solace in the cigarettes and cheap coffee you’d consume on your way to the office or with your own colleagues. You pitted the opposing party in these situations. Your self-awareness sometimes failing you to see that you would neglect your partners from being so involved with your job. Only realizing once they’ve been long gone, leaving you confused and a tad disappointed with your behavior.

Making you wonder if you were even meant to be loved.

But that was until you met Horacio.

With him, things were unlike any other. He understood. He got it. He knew the game plan and he knew how to play it. Both of you wouldn’t even have to speak a word to understand it had been one of those days. You learned how to read each other based on the most simple microexpressions. Sometimes it was the way he’d breathe. He would hold his breath at times, almost as if he were restraining himself from unleashing the anger he suppressed. Anger at the world, anger at the people who would do their part to make the world a shitty place. Anger at Pablo Escobar.

Horacio couldn’t even begin to understand a man like Escobar. Why build your empire above the souls of Colombia? Why paint the walls with the blood of those whose lives you felt entitled to take? Who was he to choose who got to live and who got to die?

The thoughts faded as he walked inside the only place that managed to bring him tranquility. With a deep breath, he allowed himself to engulf the feeling of calmness. The warmth of your shared home embraced his very soul, settling in his bones and scaring away the ache and weariness that usually resided there. He couldn’t hold back the smile that formed on his face as he walked deeper inside, looking for you.

He heard you before he could see you. A string of quiet curses that left your mouth, along with things hitting the floor. The faint melody that flowed from the radio got louder as he approached the bathroom. Finding you haunched over the edge of the bathtub, you're back facing the door. As much as he wanted to surprise you by wrapping his arms around your waist, he couldn’t bring himself to scare you like that. Fear was an ever present feeling in your field of work and he was not about to let it follow you home. Instead he just learned against the frame of the door, delightfully observing you.

You were setting candles around the edge of the tub, trying to somehow make it look… romantic. Inviting? Relaxing? You weren’t even sure what you were going for. All you wanted was to do something nice for Horacio, you knew how hard of a time he was having lately. He wasn’t the only one, sure, but as the Colonel and head of Search Bloc, he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. You wanted to relieve some of that pressure he carried, at least for this moment.

You checked your watch, lifting a fist in a celebratory manner as you managed to finish before Horacio arrived home. Or so you thought. You had completely forgotten to retrieve the matchsticks to light the candles. Challenging yourself to go downstairs and get the matchstick box in under ten seconds, you turned and tried to make a run for it when you collided with a goddamn human brick wall. Oof.

You instantly felt arms wrap around you, trapping you in place. A smile immediately appeared on your face as you looked at the man who embraced you. Horacio planted kisses all over your face, making the most exaggerated kissing sounds as he did so. You giggled before you gently shoved him away, suddenly realizing he was home and your surprise was ruined.

“Why are you here? You weren’t supposed to be home for another twenty minutes!” you couldn’t help but whine, you really wanted to surprise him with this.

Horacio smirked, walking towards you with his hands on his hips, “I can always go back to the office and crash there. Would you prefer that, mi amor?”

You walked backwards, rolling your eyes before they settled on his gaze. The back of your knees softly touching the side of the tub, coming to a stop. You mimicked his posture, hands on your hips and a playful look in your eyes. “You’re more than welcome to do so. You probably wouldn’t even last five minutes before complaining about–”

He caged you in between his body and the tub, towering over you and wrapping his arms around you once again. His fingers making contact with the parts of your body that were the most ticklish. Wanting to make you regret your words.

You laughed as he tickled you, trying to squirm and get out of his grasp before it could continue. You jerked back to try to avoid his hands from touching you, but he had grabbed you by the waist and you forgot where you were and you lost your balance and the next thing you knew, you were falling backwards into the full tub and on your attempt to grab onto something, you ended up grasping his biceps and pulling him down with you.

Horacio was a man of deliberate decisions. It’s one of the characteristics that got him to the position he held. When you came into his life, he threw all sense of premeditation out the window and knew he would follow you till the end of the world at a moment’s notice. The risk he took was calculated, but man, was he bad at math.

He tried to act quick and move so he wouldn’t fall completely on top of you and crush you, but that didn’t work out. You started laughing once again as his weight held you down, the look of oh shit we fucked up evident on his face and you couldn’t even look at him because you weren’t sure what was funnier, that look or the fact that both of you had fallen into the tub, his drenched military uniform clinging onto every part of his body. The usually military green turned even darker as the water made contact with it.

He stopped caring about what happened when he heard your laugh, and he couldn’t help himself from joining you. The both of you now looking at each other and finding humor in the fact that both of you were completely wet. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him in even further, not caring about the situation anymore.

He looked down at you and let his laughter subside, the feeling of adoration taking over. He was completely enamored with you and couldn’t even tell you because he was sure there was not a word on the planet that could convey the feelings he had for you. Horacio placed a hand on your cheek, leaning in slowly and taking in all of your features.

You pulled away just barely enough to miss his lips, a smirk settling on your face as you told him, “you’re definitely sleeping at the office from now on.”

Whatever quick comeback he tried to come up with disappeared when he felt your lips press against his.

#colonel carrillo x reader #colonel carrillo x you #colonel carrillo imagine #colonel carrillo fic #colonel carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x you #horacio carrillo imagine #horacio carrillo fic #horacio carrillo #narcos fic #maurice compte #goodnitedrdead writes

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mariamariquinha · 9 months

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Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Thirteen (Part 1)

(I don’t know if I’ve already used this gif... sorry :/)

Summary: Decisions were made.

Word count: 7.6k

Warnings: Bad words, violence, ~ daddy issues ~, mentions of brothels and prostitution, slight mentions of political conditions from the period, trauma, nightmares and people drinking alcohol 🤷‍♀️

Author’s Note: And yeah, I needed to split in two parts. There’s no huge cliffhanger here because I know how slow I can be while writing, so let’s just say that this is a... prelude.

I mentioned that before, but now it’s more than official. This story have 2/3 chapters left, which makes me sad-happy-satisfied-unsure. Let’s see where it goes from then on, huh? Love ya!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

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There was this boy with green eyes and good grades at school. He used to like History and Sociology, but everyone knew he had a tendency for something more than teaching. Without a mother, though, no one would be surprised if he turned into one of them.

Since his childhood, ‘them’ became a fear. ‘Them’ became easy money but almost a vow to a cause - the parents used to keep the kids at home after 10pm, turn off the TV when the news were too desperate or visceral. He might’ve even met Virginia Vallejo during his college years, after all the communist mess, and recognized her when Pablo turned into a thing. She was there. Always had been. Sometimes he wondered if her name would be marked on books like those he liked to read in school for choosing a side.

If he was an adult during the communism time, he would be one of them. His abuela talked about this a lot, but never in a depreciative tone. She knew better than to be on the side of the ones who took a lot from her. Because of this, everytime someone asked about Escobar or the gringos around the country, he never had an answer - because Pablo wasn’t a communist, but the other side wasn’t good either.

His abuela passed the year before; cancer. Being a doctor, he felt bad for not being able to help, for not doing enough to give her more time. There was nothing left.

That night, he did an exception to watch the TV. It wasn’t Virginia Vallejo nor any other journalist there. It was him. And he was angry because it was him. Him, with all the pomp and style and the face of someone he could recognize in the mirror, using such big words like ‘peace’ and ‘justice’ as if he knew a thing about honorable feelings or true promises.

At the end of three days in retreat, with resentment bubbling up inside him, he was in the supermarket when he saw her for the first time. Any detail that might have crossed his imagination didn't do this woman justice; he only knew her by a small fraction of guesswork and, in the end, by genetic bliss, she looked nothing like him. But he knew it was her. He fucking knew.

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The decision came in a thoughtful, perhaps even calculated way. On the way, he had attended Comuna 1 and heard someone say that some time before, some American agents had passed by there and one of them almost died. A woman, strong enough to take the brunt, someone who became an exception - with all the lukewarm hope that existed during the days after that meeting in the supermarket, he felt afraid that she would become a target and lose everything again.

There, as he walked out with the lab coat and a suitcase of equipment, he looked up to see the armed kids on the rooftops, wielding weapons longer than their arms and staring blankly. He remembered his mother, when he found her after a long time in a corner of a border bordeaux to the point of overdose, and how he had left her so far away from himself as a way of forgetting that disturbing image.

He saw Escobar's painting on the wall. He saw the children again.

The letter would reach her in less than a day.

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“You really are different from your father.”

The comment made you roll your eyes, but for some reason you didn’t engage in her provocation. Rejecting the cup of coffee was more of a personal preference than any judgemental decision - you already had the privilege of being able to talk with Noonan without so much bureaucracy.

Still, she didn’t take offense to the declination. She smiled, sat comfortably on her seat.

“I like to keep it all professional.”

“Doesn't the environment seem professional?”

“The office? Oh no, the office is really fine,” You nod your head, making a show of crossing your legs and faking interest. “I don’t want to elaborate and take more of your time but… The decoration is… neat.”

“Thank you.”

When she openly invited you to come by, you knew why. Perhaps dinner happened. A comment. She was informed about Juan Marcos, in that sarcastic voice your father had. Perhaps Noonan needed to be sure. You weren’t like him, of course, and certain things needed to be contained even if you knew the metrics and weren't childish enough to mourn so much about the systematics. What you could tell, for sure, was that your father always sold you low, so she decided to make her own assumptions.

“... Thinking about the politics of it all-”

“I’m not into it.”

“Diplomacy?”

“Yeah, those… big words you use sometimes. I’m an agent. It’s basically my job to be at least 60% dumb for that stuff.”

Noonan smiled at your sarcastic tone, watching the way you just kept that neutral expression with a voice full of venom. It was risky, but she wouldn’t go too far.

“I just need to be sure we’re on the same page. I’ve seen your last report and it honestly worried me.”

“It wasn’t my intention.”

Perhaps the words ‘sabotage’ and ‘murder’ were the ones way too big for someone like Noonan or the fucking government of United States of America, but you still couldn’t get the need of such inconvenience because of one report from one agent. Everyone knew the operation and you had the obvious perception that the USA agenda didn’t include explaining methods of persuasion during these types of… conflicts.

“What we are doing here, this… job by all means, it’s something delicate. We have a lot in the game, suddenly because there’s this inconvenience and we can’t get rid of it.”

You kept quiet. The lack of reaction made her blink a few times in expectation, then sigh in defeat as if you needed to say something.

“I think you should understand that this isn’t just a question of who should do what. We need to win. And to win, we need a firm team, one that can deal with everything with resilience.”

That was the first time you felt threatened by any of them. Your differences with Carrillo, the target you all had behind your backs, the situation with Juan Marcos… It all could take your job, but it didn’t. That moment, when Noonan got back to her professional stance (the one she liked to use with Peña more often than not), you felt the shiver of having someone stabbing you on the back.

And to know that this person was your father just made you more aware of your tense nerves.

So you did something worse.

You played the game.

With a subtle movement, you caught the cup of coffee between your fingers and took a small sip.

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You felt suffocated. Disgusted. You got this bothering itch from the insides, like a weed that wouldn’t leave your skin. Between leaving the building and going back to Medellín, you tried to pull the nicotine patch out of your arm at least five or six times. It didn’t work, though. And you knew you would feel bad if you tried to pull the thing off again, so you decided to stay as still as possible.

Which wasn’t much.

And as the days passed, as the raids went on and things kept happening at full speed, you started to feel harsh, difficult to deal with. You tried to bury that conversation as much as you could, but with every body found, every lead to take one more person down, you couldn’t react anymore.

When your mother called, you told her - she deserved to know because she would understand you. Then she sighed, probably scratched the back of her neck, and said something that made you warm and cold all together.

“Good thing you’re not like him or me. You’re a third thing.” She commented. “God knows that if I was in your place, I would have made his life hell and I wouldn’t regret it.”

Your sleep schedule became worse. Almost every night, you saw Juan Marcos dead, then him coming at you ready to take your life, then that Montoya boy and the expression of fear on his face. Sometimes, it was Pablo. The bodies on that grave. Images of Peña, Steve and… Fuck, and Carrillo… All of them died. You would wake up crying. In the morning, you would sigh in relief to see all of them there, in one piece, alive.

But when it was your father, there wasn’t much to see.

That was something you’d never told her. That if you ever pictured your father being a fatality, you couldn’t have a proper reaction.

You woke up with a gasp, seated on the bed and sweating. The curtains hid nothing of the light coming from the outside, with a freezing breeze coming from it. You noticed, then, that what woke you physically was the sound of festive crackles from the street. There were laughs, kids giggling - it didn't take long for someone to scream at them and the noises ceased.

You still had your jeans on, unbuttoned and gripping your legs. That made you groan, passing your fingers through your hair and rubbing your eyes in frustration. On the clock, four in the fucking morning. You knew you wouldn’t sleep after this.

Defeated, you got up from the bed and made a beeline to the kitchen, where you grabbed a jar of water. Hands shaking, you didn’t dare to have your way with a cup - you drank right from the fucking jar. Then you gulped, gulped, gulped… Until it burned your throat and lungs. Until you coughed because some of the liquid spilled over your nose and chest, almost drowning you.

The floor was wet. From the water or your spit, you couldn’t tell, perhaps both. You didn’t know why you stared at it for so long, but that was it: you in the middle of your kitchen watching the water spot wetting your feet.

Your hands were still shaking.

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You felt the ground first - the stiffness of the floor, the dirt from the road, the burning sensation from abrupt contact.

In the end, when they took you to the hospital, there wasn’t much to see. You left with a bruise on your forehead, another on your cheek, then some on the body and the shame of having been hurt by falling from a roof. At least with Juan Marcos you had the thrill of a good hand-to-hand combat story.

How stupid of you, having made a mistake and found the concrete alone, out of pure distraction.

Carrillo sent you small glances during the whole process - always checking, always aware of his surroundings. He didn’t come closer, though. He didn’t even ask. You felt stupid again, because you wanted him to have a reaction, at least one with just enough warmth as the first time you got injured.

“You know-”

“No, I don’t know. And for the sake of my job, I would rather not know.”

You didn’t raise your eyes from the letters and envelopes in your hands to give your father the satisfaction of a glance. He was there, standing in front of your desk, both hands inside his pants pockets and probably a smirk on his face. Again, you didn’t try a chance to look at him more than at his pristine shoes.

A letter from your mother. You could read at home.

“I think you have a dead wish.”

“Got this job, what can I say?”

FBI Report 1 on Cartel Activities in the States. You dropped the others on the desk to open this one, noticing how he started to look around the office nonchalantly. While he was distracted, you did give him a single side eye before going back to the paper.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Back to business.

A call-up from Messina. She could’ve just asked for her secretary to call and…

“Noonan told me you two talked.”

“Mm.”

“Using your privileges?”

“Well, it could be a privilege if I was the president’s daughter. You’re just a friend who might’ve fucked her once.”

Jorge Pérez. You frowned at that one, raising it closer to your face to get a better look on the handwriting. With a high level of importance, it said. Jorge…

“Since you’re good to use that smart mouth of yours,” The sudden proximity made you jump, but before you could react, he took the envelope from your hands, threw it on the desk and grabbed your arm harshly. “We better talk like in the old times.”

And it still hurted, the arm and the whole left side of your body. It hurted because you fucking fell from that fucking roof and he knew that, but since he was on the ‘old times’ side, there wasn’t a single care on his features or an hesitance to do worst with you. He was mad. From the grip he had on your arm, a touch violent.

When your body was pressed against your desk with force (because he pushed you), you hid your hiss of pain for the sake of raising your guard. You couldn’t do that during the old times, which was something he noticed - perhaps. There wasn’t the height difference, you weren’t looking at him from below and he wasn’t staring down at you even if he tried to. Eye to eye, with more than a scary face to stare back at him.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He asked through gritted teeth, close enough to make himself heard without raising his voice.

“... You need to be more specific.”

“You fucking know exactly what I’m talking about, girl, you better be careful with your next choice of words.”

“Or what? You’re gonna ground me?” The teasing made him take a deep and warning breath. “I could use some days without going out with my friends, you know?”

“I was cleaning the mess of this stupid country before you could even clean your shit dirty ass, so you better know what you’re getting here,” He pressed, getting even closer to put a finger on your face. “Think you can be that person? To play dirty behind my back and thinking I wouldn’t know?”

“Was trying my best to be like you.”

He didn’t answer. You licked your lips, nodded. The guy was fucking desperate and taken aback.

You smiled.

“What? She took your toys away?” Again, silence. “I bet she said you’re here like a second chance. I even risk saying that the big guys needed a dog to do the dirty work and keep all the blame. You’re good at it, aren’t you? Being incompetent but leaving that good trail of blood behind your back? Doing that shit they’ll all deny or say it was a ‘collateral effect’?”

And then you said something you didn’t dare to comment on for years. Years.

“Or fucking whores around the country and having bastard kids with them?”

He reacted to that - of course he would. In the blink of an eye, he grabbed your jaw and pressed his fingers on the meat of your face, growling at the implication of such a harsh truth.

“You don’t want to do that…” A threat. “Being my daughter or not, I can fucking destroy your career piece by piece and take any remote chance of you to have a reputation, enough to make you spend the rest of your life cleaning bathrooms for a meal. Do you hear me?”

This time, you didn’t answer. He took that as indifference.

“I’ll do better. I’ll take Peña away, because I can do that. Perhaps they’ll like to know about Los Pepes and all of the other shit your partner is involved in. Maybe even Carrillo can go back to Madrid or whatever the fuck they decided to, since you’d been grown so fond of him recently.”

You couldn’t hide your surprise at the sudden revelation, which brought a devious smile on that face. His fingers flexed against your jaw and when you made the mistake of holding his wrist to stop the touch, he saw all the confirmation he needed to know, if he really needed one.

“Honestly, it took me a while to notice. But there’s the thing with him, maybe he thinks you’re worth the waste of time. You always proved yourself to be a very good warm hole for men in general, maybe that’s your best feature.”

Just then, after saying what probably had been stuck on his throat, he distanced himself. You didn’t move a finger to massage the area, watching him take a handkerchief from inside his pocket and wiping his fingers as if you had somehow soiled him.

“I killed Juan Marcos for you. I did it. You can just imagine my surprise to know that my own daughter, the one I killed for, decided to fight against me…” He said it without looking at you, still brushing his stupid fingers. “But I’ll take it, you know? You’re emotional like your mother and it disappointed me a lot.”

When he raised his eyes to you again, he measured your stance, the way your fists were clenched and your breathing intense. If you could, you would kill him right there, would… Fuck, you would make him swallow all of that humiliation. The rage was bubbling in your insides, ready to snap against him in a second.

Perhaps he expected you to. He wanted that excuse. And when you gave him nothing, he scoffed, putting his hands inside the pockets again and he sighed.

“Look at the bright side of things, sweetheart, we can have some similarities. These people, these… latinos… They can have you by the neck, anyone would fall for it and you wouldn’t be different. This we have in common. Just don’t be stupid enough to get pregnant or whatever, they don’t pay much for these guys around here.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe until he left the room, unsure if what that could do to your sanity such was the tension and hatred he has instilled in you. When he did leave, not giving you a single glance back, the same clenched fists were raised to your eyes where you brushed them in hopes to prevent any tears from spilling out. Your heart was beating so fast, so incessantly, that you didn’t move a finger until you could collect yourself.

It was too overwhelming, too much, too much, too much…

You crouched down on the desk, hidden from whoever might be there so early in the day, and put your palms against your mouth. Eyes tightly closed, you stifled a sob as you felt the wetness of tears between your fingers. Any curse word that was on the tip of his tongue, any… unbridled urge to retort, it was all stuck inside your mind and in no time, during that breakdown, you thought the response would be as passive as your reaction.

But you were passive.

More than that, you let yourself be carried away by resentment and anger, thinking that you would be superior if you just kept quiet.

He did it, you thought. The asshole broke you.

--------------------------

One of the things about Carrillo was that he always made himself… present. After a considerable amount of time under him, on top of him or close enough to him, you could recognize scents, things intrinsic to what he was and wore and did and knew how to be.

You were virtually dating an almost full glass of lemon vodka when you smelled the perfume. At first, you thought it was some kind of hallucination, like your abused and lost mind trying to find traces of comfort (even if lying, even if cruel or momentary) to keep you going. After all this time, it was an automatic escape mechanism - if you were more politicized about it, you'd have a box of pills by your bed instead of your badge and your gun.

Just after a moment, when you felt someone sitting beside you and you could see his wrist watch there, your body reacted. You didn’t know if it was for resentment or just all the shit you’d been through with your father, but for a moment you wanted to avoid everyone - including him. Especially him.

Which was a fucking hypocrisy, given the place you were at.

“Did your father talk to you?”

And he didn’t ask in a inquisitive tone, like he was demanding for you to say the truth, but you felt taken aback by the neutral curiosity that filled his question and was splayed all over his face. With your silence, Horacio raised his eyebrows and got a good look at your confused expression.

“I heard he's been speculating about your physical state since the incident earlier today.”

“Just him?”

He tilted his head to the side, hiding a small smile.

“We all know you’re tough,” A shrug. “But I’m happy to know that you came back in one piece.”

“Happy is a big word, don’t you think?” You frowned, taking a sip on your drink while watching him raise a hand to the bartender.

“What would you rather me say?”

“Relieved.”

“That was quite fast.”

“I'm just saying I saved you a lot of red tape and paperwork.”

“What you're telling me is that your conversation with your father was much more intense than I thought.”

It made you lose what little humor you had left, enough for your face to visibly stiffen at the insinuation. Still, Carrillo was unaffected, but understood that maybe it wasn't the time. Rather than speculating further, he settled back on the stool when the whiskey arrived in front of him on the counter and didn't look at you for a while, as if he was just there to keep you company. This breath gave you time to observe him calmly.

He wasn't in uniform, but you doubted he'd just left the house to be right there, judging by the obvious sweat and dull expression. From what you heard, he's been in negotiation meetings with other minor sicarios who've been arrested, probably even Los Pepes if you pushed hard enough, but that was the kind of context you really liked to stay out of.

He certainly wasn't satisfied; sure enough, for one plus one, Carrillo was just frustrated by the way things had turned out and he could suddenly use alcohol. It was an ordinary bar, you were there when you decided to have good sex that would become delicately complicated. The difference was that there was less wear and tear, less fatigue. You two certainly weren't fresh for the job anymore.

And even so, Horacio continued to have this brusque, striking and not very delicate beauty. Unlike Javier or Steve, he hasn't lost any weight, and perhaps made good use of homemade meals to gain a little more physical mass. A very discreet bulge poked out on his belly, but that only meant he was healthy.

There was a soft smirk on his face, almost imperceptible, when you raised your eyes - he caught you staring. You noticed, of course, because you still were stupid enough to keep notes on him. It was inevitable, the way you and him stared at each other. Lights low, soft music, a ton of feelings all over the place - you couldn’t ride any other way.

“... Why are you here?” The question came in a low tone, breaking that spell for a moment. You blinked a few times, self aware of your body language, and gestured with the cup.

“Different motives, similar interests, I guess.”

“How do you know my motives?”

“Consider this my intuition.”

He nodded, not defeated but understanding. A silence hung in the air, more comfortable and cozy; it was easy to be more abrupt in your next comment, like a revelation suddenly caught in your throat by an instant memory of what had happened earlier that day.

“Did you know?” Like a spilled thought, you asked as if he would know what you were referring to. When nothing but a frown appeared on his face, you clarified with simplicity. “That we fucked. You knew my father knew about it?”

You could expect a lot of things, because Carrillo was very intuitive and certainly wouldn't run away from a confrontation if that were the case, just like your father wouldn't either. So when he looked even more confused and taken aback by the question, you reconsidered your position for a moment and turned your eyes to the drink in your hands, not knowing what to say next.

Horacio shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable.

“What did he tell you?” He asked then, more inquisitive this time.

“Nothing I didn’t deal with before. It's just… Sounded like something he could have guessed, like it was simple. I don’t remember a moment where we showed we were explicitly involved. Like the way we were, I mean.”

Casting a glance in his direction, you saw his jaw clench, then his face averting your gaze. Carrillo looked… angry?

“You know I don't have any hierarchical ties with him, right?”

“I do.”

“So why don't you tell me exactly what he told you?”

“Because it's complicated!” You bit back with exasperation. “Look, there was a reason why I’ve been so reticent about him being here. It’s not just his past or whatever the fuck he did here, we didn’t talk for years! Years, Horacio. And there’s a reason why it happened and it’s nothing like you can simply do something about. Honestly, I think it would be better if you didn't get involved.”

“It doesn't make any difference now.”

“Yes! I-” You stopped your own rambling and took a deep breath. “I know it. That’s the fucking problem.”

More silence. That made you aware of your tone, your mood, the way you’d been holding your shit together in such a pathetic way.

“I’m tired,” Your fingers massaged the bridge of your nose, elbow on the counter and a defeated sigh falling from your lips. “Don’t tell this to anyone, tho. I would like to finish my fucking job without people feeling pity of me.”

“But you’re telling me.”

“... Yeah. Well, last time you decided to pick my pieces we ended up making out. It’s better than whatever Peña would have in the cards for me.”

He smiled - no, you would rather say he just scoffed and took a long sip of his drink, as if it was the closest you could get in a good mood.

“Peña.” Carrillo repeated, head shaking. “What would he offer to you? Mm?”

The question made you frown but, again, you weren’t in the mood to read between the lines and he probably didn’t want to make his intentions a secret. There was a hint of jealousy there, a resentment.

“You know we don’t-”

“I know.”

You hummed, eyeing the drink in front of you to consider the situation. That could make you smile a little, even for a second, knowing that Carrillo couldn’t hide the stupidness of it all.

“... It would be less complicated,” The confession was uncomfortable, too realistic, enough to make you embarrassed. “Sounds like a convenient statement, in fact. Peña doesn’t have an accent, he doesn't have both feet and heart in this country either.”

He considered.

“Am I not American enough for him?” Carrillo asked with a discreet frown.

“Nn-nn.”

“Gracias a Dios.” Thank God, he murmured against his cup, which almost brought another considerate smile to your lips.

“I tend to be controversial, it gets me into trouble occasionally,” Your hand unconsciously massaged your chin, as if sensing other fingers pressing the skin there. It brought a lot of discomfort - enough to make you clear your throat to prevent any intrusive memory.

But that was the crux of the matter, what put you on your toes about Horacio Carrillo in the first place: he was so observant. And he noticed the way you caressed that area for a nanosecond too long, which made him shift in his seat to get closer, just a little longer, just to get a better look in the dim light.

First it was his fingers gripping your jaw, bringing your face up to his watchful gaze. Then, carefully, those same fingers descended on your skin, on the sensitive part, and you didn't hesitate to hiss in slight pain. When you averted the touch with a tilt of your head, looking around suspiciously, he became stern - serious. Mad.

“All this secrecy, this… Fear that people would find out about us. Now it all seems truly in vain.”

“It was the best for everyone. If Noonan or Messina find out, I-”

“They weren't there when he touched you.”

“We both know it doesn't matter here. Not with people like us.”

“Offenders?”

“Disposable.” You took his hand on yours, taking his touch away even if not in a harsh way. He was still mad, you could sense, but it was like Carrillo turned into a preoccupied mess.

“... If he ever touches you again, you will tell me.” An order, one you resisted the urge to roll your eyes for. “That's what a disposable person does, isn't it? A good one-on-one with a gringo would do justice to the title.”

That made you smile - truly smile. At the genuine tone, at the perseverance of his intentions. A surprisingly astute man with wills that went beyond the position he had and he was there, cutting the caress of your body for the discreet touch of your hand, watching your reactions with such attention.

You observed him in silence, elbow on the counter, hand supporting your head while taking the guy in. He was so stunning, you couldn’t quite catch which detail of his physiognomy you liked best. And there were other attributes on him, like his body and capacity, but maybe… The mouth? Chin? Cheeks? Brows? Hair? Eyes?

Looking in retrospect, it made some sense. The attraction, the bickering. Carrillo was made like that, built to be exactly the way he was, ready to accept the fate of his messy world with strong hands and the perseverance of someone who always tried hard enough until he didn’t need it anymore.

“You know what I need right now?”

He shook his head.

“I’ve been through hell since I woke up, my body is tired and… I need a shower. A good, warm shower, yeah? And then a decent night's sleep, which I haven't had in weeks.”

There was another beat of silent consideration from him, a peaceful and relaxed one.

“... I have a warm shower.” His voice came in a teasing tone.

“You do?”

“Mm-hm.”

You bit your lip, mouth hidden behind your fingers.

“Okay.”

--------------------------

His house seemed more receptive, perhaps because of the circumstances or your condition. You looked around the place that remained the same, with different furniture here or there, something that reminded you of someone passing by to clean or organize. Juliana, maybe.

The thought made you frown, even if that detail (or that piece of memory) didn’t make the place look less… homemade. You were unsure, however. Even if some part of you knew what you should be doing now while Horacio made sure all the windows and doors were still locked, you couldn’t move from your spot in the middle of the living room, arms hanging on your sides while you felt lost, even a touch numb.

“Hey.”

Carrillo was standing in front of you, searching for you even if you were there, not so focused, not deciding if he should get closer or not. You blinked a few times, suddenly aware of your recent marks and physical pains. He didn’t try to poke through it, tho - he gave you his hand, palm open to your eyes.

That touch meant more, like the first deep breath of fresh air.

There were the stairs, then the corridor. You prevented yourself from saying out loud about your legs or feet; a few grunts followed the way, but he decided not to comment as well. Horacio just kept going, assured the steps of someone who knew the place well. When you reached the room (his bedroom), there wasn’t time to observe the details of that place you knew from the past experience, because he took you to the other door, one you didn’t notice at first.

The bathroom was considerably huge, made for two and with some space for more. Wife, perhaps kids. You also tried not to imagine this life, this possibility that seemed real for him before you and probably before Escobar. Standing still, your mind tried to make you feel more pathetic when you didn’t move to undress, but again, Carrillo didn’t ask.

He opened button by button, careful with his moves and the fabric of your shirt, which wasn’t so clean and had seen better days. You observed his movements, stoic and precise as always, and when the shirt was finally off, he stopped. Of course you were aware of the bruises, the not-so-sexy bra and even less sexier shape of your boobs.

No, that wasn’t the reason why he stopped. You knew it wasn’t. And you felt so embarrassed all of the sudden.

“No, no-” His hand covered yours before you could hide something. “Puede que no seamos los mismos de antes, pero tú sigues siendo tú. Y lo quiero todo de todos modos.” We may not be the same as before, but you are still you. And I want it all anyway.

“... It's not what I look like that worries me,” You said. “It just seems unfair that every time we're together, there's some shadow of what we do. I don't want you to look at me and think about it.”

“But it's what we do.”

“And are you by any chance proud of every part of this?”

“Huh,” He scoffed, but not in mockery, tilting his head to the side and going back to his small mission, this time going to your belt. “Sería estúpido no arrepentirse de algunas cosas en el camino, ¿no crees?” It would be stupid not to regret some things along the way, don't you think?

“¿Siempre cambias al español cuando hablas de cosas difíciles?” Do you always switch to Spanish when talking about difficult things?

“Recuerdo haber dicho que me gustabas en inglés.” I remember saying I liked you in English.

And he did stop again, your belt and the button of your jeans opened. Carrillo did that to look at your face, observe any reaction from you, and all you could give back was the same taken aback expression you had earlier that night. Saying it in front of you, like that, mentioning that he simply liked you… It still sounded easier, but it also sounded safe.

“... Will it be a lonely bath? Or do you intend to accompany me?”

He tilted his head to the side again, shrugged, then decided to go back to his work with your pants.

“I’m not fragile, you know?” You said in a low tone.

“What I know is that there’s too many people aware of that information.” Carrillo didn’t look at you, but honestly it wasn’t necessary. He said what he said, so you wouldn’t try to bite back.

The silence, though, made him frown and finally raise his eyes to you. Just then, with his attention and heavy gaze, you noticed your own eyes were wet. You blinked a few times, shook your head. For some reason, or maybe for obvious ones, there was a big cloud of resentment surrounding you two all of the sudden - of bad decisions or just a touch of cowardness from your part. Horacio was hot headed, sometimes too impulsive for his own good; your father, quite the opposite, patiently waiting for the right opportunity to make what he thought was best.

“... I’ll take the guest bathroom. There’s probably something you can borrow from my wardrobe too.”

“Okay.”

“If you need anything-”

“Mm-hm. I know.”

He placed a gentle kiss on your temple - right above the bandage still hanging for dear life there. Took you a lot to move from there, to shake the warm touches from your body and mind, and a few minutes after he left, you rubbed your eyes with the palms of your hands to keep any emotions from spilling over and finished taking off your clothes.

The water was hot, but not hot enough to be uncomfortable. You felt each drop washing your pores as if it were taking away pieces of your skin, as if all the dirt of the day had not been washed away enough even though this was your second shower of the day.

The skin on your jaw was irritated by how hard you rubbed it, trying to get something out that might not be coming off any time soon.

--------------------------

“... He said something.”

Carrillo raised his eyes from the small patterns he was tracing on your skin with his finger, observing you with curiosity. He had these comfy pants, the flip-flops laying on the floor, the basic shirt - it was like entering another world, seeing someone else instead of… him. But it was him, indeed. Domestic him. And after the dinner (the one he promised a lifetime before), he took you to his bed and made more compliments about you wearing one of his shirts.

Honestly, you didn’t want to bring it at that moment. You didn’t even want to make this a conversation with him, to remember whatever happened that led to that specific space of time where you found comfort in his arms, but that thing entered your mind like a plague and you couldn’t shake it out of your mind.

“‘Said he killed Juan Marcos for me.”

He didn’t react - not for the first few seconds. In the middle of that half-dark, warm room, with you two between his comfy sheets, Horacio let the information sink in, averting your gaze to watch his movements on the skin peaking through the collar of that old shirt. For a moment you even thought he wouldn’t say anything; for what felt like ages, Horacio Carrillo didn’t move.

You stared at the ceiling, then, that thought burning your insides like a fucking infection. That made you press, just a little, just to… feel something.

“Would you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Kill for anyone.”

Carrillo sighed.

“I’ve been doing that for a living,” He argumented. “But that’s not the question, right?”

“No,” You shook your head. “I wouldn’t ask you to, though. Nor Javi or Steve or… him.”

“Well, I think we all know that too,” With a grunt, he adjusted his body to eye you from above, leaning on his elbow. “Killing in someone's name can be a lot if we weren't who we are, at least. In this kind of life, this is just a consequence or a detail that bumps into our routine.”

His words made you consider.

“Sicarios kill for loyalty and money, we kill for a solution... A father kills for his daughter for love and protection.” You pointed out, more like a reflection than a proper opinion. When you looked at him again, he waited for that conclusion with patience. “He didn't want to protect me, Horacio. He never did this, why would he do it now? To get some kind of leverage when he found out I put Noonan against him?”

“What?”

The realization on his face made you feel ashamed, as if all the days you've been beating yourself up about it materialized right there, in front of you, in the form of the disappointment that would stamp his face when he owned up to what you'd done. You waited, waited, waited… And when nothing came, you distanced yourself physically by sitting up on the bed, fingers playing with itselves while he just kept staring.

With a deep breath and a lot to say, you confirmed.

“She was always my father's friend, probably since I can remember. When she called me into a meeting, I figured he might have said something to arouse suspicion, to make her suspicious of my ability to do my job. I knew he was planting something there, waiting for the right chance to take me out of the picture. Not for protection, just… Perhaps he saw me as a problem, perhaps I am a problem.”

Carrillo listened with a neutral expression, which started to make you feel even more tense.

“I struggled a lot to do that, to have the least amount of respect without being in his shadow. Every day, in every single thing I've done since I chose this career, I've always been sure I wanted to be better than him. Realizing that he throws every shovel possible into our relationship has me panicking, especially since he's my father and he's trying to sabotage me for his own benefit.”

It's been a long time since you've done this - venting your frustrations. For some reason, you knew Carrillo wouldn't do anything with that information, at least nothing other than keeping it to himself. Being there with him, in that private universe, you were free to get it all out there, to expose an unspoken truth of hardship and cruelty. Of course, given the circumstances, that comfort would just be another unspoken truth between the two of you. A secret magnetism that made sense, as long as it wasn't said to the four winds, because you were never exceptionally good at it and it was evident.

You sighed in defeat, unsure of what that silence meant - condescendence, weighting, reticence. There was a vision of you before your confession and there was certainly another after it - it wasn't like you could justify yourself.

All that considered, it was a surprise when he reached over and kissed your cheek, subtly, just to get your attention. When you looked up, Horacio cupped your face in one hand and looked into your eyes, using the gentlest of caresses to gaze at you with a certain amount of admiration and affection. You probably had that same expression at the moment, because he couldn’t stop staring.

“I couldn’t judge him if his intentions were true,” He mumbled. “But mine are. Sometimes, my respect can blind me and I can be… obnoxious towards my feelings for you, almost… dumb. Perhaps. Perhaps you don’t even want to know that now, being here and going through this, but I would kill for you. Viviría por ti.”

I would live for you.

You looked into his eyes and felt a courage you only felt at the sight of a gun, or the sight of your father's eyes. It wasn't usual, it felt very uncomfortable, but accept the reality that he only considered it all a passing fever of passion rather than something that really had consistency.

There was no consistency in that life, nor in the fact that you met, crossed paths and exchanged a single word to each other - because no minimally consistent relationship could come from that reality.

“This can’t be,” You said, holding his hand with your palm. “You can’t do this to me, Horacio.”

“You didn't have that right either. Don't believe for a second I didn't think this was all crazy, all... una gran mierda,” His last words came as a whisper, as if he just confessed something serious enough to make him grab all of the circumstances inside his head.

Carrillo sighed.

“Juliana had never confronted me this way, she had never told me what she felt with such certainty. I spent a lot of time blaming her for this, but the truth is, being with me hurts. I'm a ticking time bomb, a static creature that lives by rules that I don't always believe in but that make me who I am. I'm a big bunch of beliefs that don't take me anywhere.”

“... But I did.”

He let the silence linger, your other hand passing through his face while he nodded.

“Yeah,” You could see, deep down, that he was on the verge of crying. Carrillo. Crying. Suddenly, he was that boy, pristine and full of feelings he couldn’t spill out for the sake of being well-behaved, of not building any more problems for his mama.

You never thought you'd witness it - or find sense in a man like that looking so torn apart for so long.

“And I honestly don't know what to make of it all.”

Ultimately, you realized as you took the initiative to give him a subtle kiss on the mouth, discreet enough to hear him sigh in relief, that it felt right because Carrillo lived in absolutes. Life or death. Right or wrong. To shoot or not to shoot. There was a weight there, a responsibility; all of a sudden, if you could, you'd take it all away from him because you… you needed it. From him? From his company? Of the feelings he caused? You couldn't tell, even while kissing him.

What you could say, for sure, was that a mess encounter led you to a difficult realization: that you loved him.

And you were afraid of it.

--------------------------

Next part’s snippet:

“What?”

You raised your eyes to Carrillo, gulping again to prevent any big emotion from spreading all over the place.

“... It’s… It’s Jorge.”

“And who is it?”

The words almost didn’t leave your mouth, as if you were scared of the consequences of just… saying it.

“My brother.”

------------------------------------

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