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javier-pena · 3 months

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Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word Count: 5k (so much for short drabble)

Rating: Mature

Summary: You work for the DEA in Colombia. Until one of your missions goes terribly wrong.

Notes: This is the first fic for my 10k follower celebration!!! Thank you, @lokischocolatefountain who requested “I’ll be here when you wake up” with Javier Peña. I hope you like it 🤭 This fic was very much inspired by Gabriel García Márquez' "Noticia de un secuestro" ("News of a Kidnapping") which I highly recommend if you're interested in what Narcos (Season 1) only covers in two episodes, namely the kidnappings of prominent figures in Colombia by the Medellín Cartel in the early 90s. As ever, huge thanks to Dani @alexturner who took the time to ask, "What does this mean?" and made me realize that I, in fact, don't know the answer to that question.

***

It’s night again. Or maybe it’s dawn. You don’t know. The blacked-out windows don’t let in any light. Your days are no longer structured according to the laws of nature (morning – midday – afternoon – evening – night), but according to the laws of your captors (wake up – bathroom – food – nothing – food – sleep). Maybe you’re awake all night and sleep all day. Maybe you only sleep for four hours and are awake for twenty. Neither your mind nor your body can tell the difference any longer.

Right now, for example, you’re in the “nothing” part of your day. It’s just you, rolled up on your mattress in your corner, and your thoughts, looping and looping, making you relive how you ended up here, in this room, somewhere in Colombia. And every single day, right at the end of “nothing” and the start of “food”, you come to the same conclusion: It’s all your fault.

It started with your childhood, you think. No, you can’t blame everything that went wrong in your life on your father, but he certainly did his bid – no matter what you did, it was never enough. Not even when you applied for a transfer to the embassy and you got selected, the youngest woman in DEA history who got an assignment like that. All he had to say to you was, “Huh”. So of course, you had to do better than that.

Here, in Colombia, you found yourself surrounded by men just like your father, old men in suits who sneered at you, confusing you with a secretary, asking you to make coffee and take notes. Old men with guns and enough war stories to fill a book, calling you “little lady” and pinching your cheeks. Old men that were just there, leering at you from corners and doorways. And they all had the face of your father.

Still, no one forced you to raise your hand that Thursday afternoon your floor ran out of coffee, the same afternoon Noonan called you all to a meeting and asked for a volunteer. “Dangerous assignment,” she said, “likely to get you killed.” You should have listened to her. But the looks on all those faces when you raised your hand and said, “I’d be happy to do it,” were worth it. Almost. Because, ultimately, it was the beginning of the end.

One of the men on guard duty today swears loudly and another one growls at him to be quiet. Sometimes they forget there’s a life outside those blacked-out windows and they’re not the only people in this city. You forget that too, but then you hear the voices of people living their lives, the sound of a car backfiring, a dog barking somewhere. If one of you makes the wrong noise, surely, you’ll be discovered.

The three men with you today (tonight?) know that, and so do you. They’re playing cards by the light of a dirty kerosene lamp, sitting so closely together their knees are touching. If they stretched out their legs, their feet would be touching your mattress. The room you’re in is barely big enough for one person, let alone for four. It’s the only room you’ve seen in months, apart from the bathroom they take you to once or twice a day. It’s across a small hallway you haven’t seen because they blindfold you. Every time, for every trip.

You can barely remember a time when not everything you needed to survive was dependent on another person. The autonomy you prided yourself on, your ability to achieve everything on your own, to survive everything on your own, those have been taken away from you. Could you even use the bathroom if no one gave you permission first? You doubt it.

You didn’t need anyone’s permission to go on that undercover mission that ultimately landed you in this tiny square room that is now your entire world. You were the fastest to volunteer, you fit the profile they were looking for: fluent in Spanish, low level enough to not be able to spill any secrets should you get arrested, pretty. It was supposed to be so easy. Infiltrate the Medellín cartel, gather intel, report back. There was even a plan in place to extract you should anything go wrong. And go wrong it did, and nothing was there to break your fall.

Before that, before you watched boys play cards all day, before your only window to the outside world was a small TV, there was one person who tried to get you to back down. You thought he didn’t think you capable of anything because you’re young, inexperienced and a woman, but in hindsight you should have listened to him. It doesn’t matter that the others called him an asshole and you thought he was trying to dissuade you because he was jealous. He knew what he was talking about and you should have listened to him.

The man closest to you lights a cigarette, his face briefly doused in a gloomy red light. You think of them as men because it somehow makes it easier, but he looks barely 16. Your room quickly fills with smoke and you try to suppress a cough so they don’t hit you again.

That’s how this all started, with you getting punched in the stomach.

Your undercover mission asked a lot of you, maybe too much. You were aware that it might be necessary for you to sleep with some of the men you were trying to get close to, and when they asked you about this back at the embassy, you wouldn’t have any problem with it... Until it was about to happen. The man touched you, breathed into your face smelling of cheap alcohol and expensive cigars, and in a moment of sheer panic, you fought back and blew your cover.

That’s it. That’s all. You ruined the mission because you couldn’t lie still for five minutes, and now you’re paying for it.

You know there have been attempts to find you and you know you’re not the only hostage. Right at the beginning, you shared a room with a Colombian journalist who, before that, had shared a room with a famous Colombian TV presenter. You know there are negotiations, you sometimes see on TV that a hostage is returned to their family. One time, there were shouts and sirens and gunshots, but they blindfolded you and put you in a truck. That’s how you ended up here, in this room.

At first, you focused on the stories of the people who made it out alive, not on the stories of the people who didn’t. You’re DEA, and even though you fucked up, you know those three letters are like a protective spell woven around you. Yes, they will hold you captive for as long as possible, yes, they will use you to fight everything you stand for, but they won’t kill you. The more time passes though, the more you doubt anyone is still fighting for your safe return. They might not kill you, but you also won’t be getting out of here.

With every day that passes, with every day you grow weaker and more tired, those men stare at you more and more. At first, they didn’t dare to look at you, ignored you when you tried to talk to them, acted like you weren’t there. Now you catch their eyes on you frequently, hungrily taking you in. They still don’t touch you – not like that, anyway – but they hit you when you’re too loud, they press their fingers over your mouth, the smell of cigarettes and gunpowder making you gag, and sometimes their hands wander, to the small of your back, to your side. Even if you make it out of here alive, you won’t make it out of here unharmed.

It's a different day. At least you think it is. You sleep more and more during your period of nothing, but it isn’t a restful sleep. If anything, it makes you more tired, wearier. You dread waking up and you dread falling asleep and you dread being awake. But something is different today, something has changed while you were asleep. There are only two men with you tonight, and they look at you more and more, their faces unreadable. It unnerves you more than their openly lustful gazes. You pretend to ignore them as best as possible, but it’s hard when you don’t want to turn your back on them.

A third man comes into the room, one you haven’t seen before. He’s big, broad, a tight shirt stretching over his belly, lines around his eyes, thinning hair on his head. He doesn’t look at you, just steps over the two boys and switches on the TV that comes to life with a static crackle. On your mattress, you come alive too, your heart starting with a painful lurch. Whatever it is, this can’t be good for you.

You barely recognize the face on TV. It takes you about a minute to make sense of what you’re seeing, so unfamiliar you’ve become with the ambassador you used to take orders from. She looks the same – it’s you who has changed. Her suit is still perfectly pressed, her hair is still perfectly styled, she still speaks into the cameras in that calm, no-nonsense voice. It’s you who you don’t recognize, you who doesn’t make sense anymore.

It also takes you a while to understand her, to make sense of what she’s saying. You hear the words “hostages” and “negotiation”, and you know she’s talking about you and whoever else there may be, but definitely you. It would explain your captors’ faces. Something has happened, some new development that’s inconveniencing them. Maybe this is it. Maybe you’re being set free. Maybe even tonight. The thought makes you feel light-headed; you have no idea who you are outside of these four walls and that mattress.

“… end of negotiations. We will no longer regard terrorists as equal opposites in this. Any American hostages they might still have, or pretend to have, will, from today onward, be considered missing in action.”

What does that mean? Surely, they wouldn’t just … they wouldn’t just let you die, would they? You’re DEA, you can’t be missing in action, you’re not a soldier. The cartels can’t kill you, they wouldn’t do that. Just how the US wouldn’t abandon you, wouldn’t go on TV to sign your death warrant in front of a live audience. It doesn’t make sense.

You turn to your captors, as if looking for guidance, but they look just as lost as you. Even the big man. He keeps running his fingers through his thin hair, sweat beading on his forehead. One of the boys looks at him too, as if waiting for orders, the other is running the tip of his index finger through the dust on the floor. Why won’t they look at you?

“So we just kill her?” asks the boy who keeps staring at the big man. His name is Andrés Felipe. You know that because another boy let it slip once. You’re not supposed to know their names, and Andrés Felipe made sure that mistake would never happen again, but by then it was too late.

“Not yet,” the man answers. “We have to wait.”

Andrés Felipe groans. “What for? You heard that woman on TV. They’re done negotiating.”

“You don’t know that,” dust boy chimes in. “It could be a ruse.”

Andrés Felipe laughs at him. “As if you know anything about politics. You can’t even read.”

You look at Andrés Felipe then, truly look at him. You need the distraction. You need to pretend it isn’t you they’re talking about, as if your fate doesn’t depend on these three men. And there isn’t much else to do in this room but look. Andrés Felipe is young, younger than you, but older than dust boy. His face is free of wrinkles, free of the tell-tale signs of hunger and a tough upbringing in the favelas. He isn’t here because he needs to be, he’s here because he wants to be. Which also explains why he dares to speak up in front of the big man, whose maturity puts him in charge.

You don’t like Andrés Felipe, never have. Maybe it’s because knowing his name humanizes him and it’s easier to hate a human than some faceless, nameless villain. Maybe it’s because of the cruel glint in his eyes, or the way he beat up that boy who revealed his name. And now there’s his eagerness to kill you. There is no reason for you to feel any sympathy toward him.

“He’s right,” the big man says then. “Maybe they want us to kill all the hostages so they’ll have an excuse to send in the military.”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Andrés Felipe responds. “Everyone would know they’re liars.”

“They’re not,” dust boy dares to speak up again. “Missing in action also means they can be found. If you’re missing, you’re not dead. If the missing people die –”

He can’t finish his sentence because Andrés Felipe slaps him. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The big man doesn’t come to dust boy’s aid. He just smirks. “Quit it, you two, we’re sitting tight until we get our orders.”

“I’m fucking done waiting!” Andrés Felipe shouts and you flinch. He’s too loud. Someone will hear him. And they don’t have any reason to keep you alive now. It’s easier to shoot you and then run. “All I’ve been doing is waiting. Do you think I don’t have anything better to do with my time?”

The big man shushes him. You wish he would hit Andrés Felipe, put him in his place, but he just crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I say we wait.”

You close your eyes and breathe in deeply. Andrés Felipe says something else in that sharp, nasally voice of his, but you refuse to listen. Nothing good can come of it. Either they will kill you or they won’t. You’re too weak to think about either of these options. And you’re not going anywhere until those orders arrive, so you might as well …

When you wake up, the room is quiet, and you immediately know something is wrong. Even before you feel the cool, sharp blade against your neck, and before you smell the stale breath of the man holding it, cowering above you.

“Not one sound,” he hisses, and you recognize Andrés Felipe’s voice, uncomfortably loud in the quiet room. It’s so quiet, too quiet with just the two of you. The sounds of him unbuckling his belt are like explosions against your eardrums. You fight the urge to tell him to be quiet, but then your brain catches up with what your body already knows, and you kick your legs and shake your head.

You almost don’t feel the cut of the knife, but you do feel the hot drops of blood on your neck. “I told you to be quiet,” Andrés Felipe hisses. “Just don’t move.”

But you do, you do move, at least your hands that you ball into fists. You don’t want your life to end like this, in some shack somewhere in Colombia with a knife against your throat and a criminal inside of you. This can’t be it. They have to put you in front of a firing squad at least, don’t they? Not like this. Please, not like this.

Andrés Felipe touches your lower belly trying to unbutton your dirty pants, and you flinch, a terrified groan escaping your lips. The knife cuts deeper into the soft skin of your throat. “Shut up, you stupid bitch,” he growls.

Then there’s blood. Everywhere. It’s in your eyes, your mouth, you breathe it in, you taste it on your tongue. Andrés Felipe collapses on top of you, the knife landing on the mattress with a dull sound. You try to get out from under the heavy body, but you can barely lift his shoulders before your arm starts to tremble.

“Hey.” You wipe the blood out of your eyes to find a man kneeling next to you, shoving Andrés Felipe’s heavy body aside so you can sit up. You don’t know who he is, you’ve never seen him before, but he has to be someone higher up if he dared to kill Andrés Felipe. Because that is what just happened, you slowly realize. Andrés Felipe is dead and you’re covered in his blood.

The strange man reaches for you and you flinch away. “Ma’am, my name is Javier Peña,” he says, his voice steady and calm as if he’s been in this exact situation a million times before. “I’m with the DEA. I’m here to get you out.”

“The DEA?” you repeat, the English sounds feeling foreign in your mouth.

He reaches for you again, touches your shoulder, and this time you don’t flinch away. “You’re safe now.” He squeezes your shoulder, then stands up and holds out his hand to you. You take it and push yourself off the mattress.

“What happened?” you ask, trying to ignore the dead body, half its face gone.

“Maybe we should discuss this –,” Javier starts, but you don’t hear the rest of the sentence. Suddenly it feels like there are cotton balls lodged in your ears and the whole world turns dark, darker than it already is.

Someone is carrying you. You think you must be outside because you feel a light breeze on your face. You don’t remember the last time you smelled fresh air, but when you breathe in deeply, you’re enveloped in cigarette smoke and gunpowder. It’s not unpleasant, you realize with a start. It comes from a heavy leather jacket you’re wrapped in, and from the man carrying you. They never would have carried you like this, carefully, as if you might break, so you know you must be safe.

When you next open your eyes, you’re inside again. The room is so big it startles you at first. But the longer you let your eyes wander, the more your brain adjusts to help you realize you’re in a normal sized living room, sitting on a leather couch, a knitted blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You must have just sat up because your head is spinning and your limbs are trembling, but otherwise you feel like you can finally breathe again.

“Feeling better?”

You’re proud of yourself for not jumping at hearing his voice. “Yeah,” you answer, swallowing to wet your dry throat. You feel an unpleasant tug on your skin where Andrés Felipe cut you twice. “Where am I?”

You turn to look at him. He’s sitting on the couch next to you but with enough distance between the two of you so you don’t touch. He’s holding a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, trying to hide the look of concern on his face. It’s something you will see a lot from now on, people looking at you as if you’re about to break.

“You’re in my living room,” he answers.

“Why not,” you have to swallow again, “why not at the embassy?”

He taps his foot nervously so his leg is jumping up and down, takes a drag. “Us coming to rescue you … that wasn’t exactly sanctioned by Noonan.”

“So you really are DEA?” you ask, even though there are a million other things you should ask first. Like if the press conference you saw on TV was really true. If Noonan and the United States were really prepared to let the remaining hostages die. But the longer you look at the man next to you, the more familiar he looks.

Javier nods at the same time as you burst out, “You tried to warn me, didn’t you? Back at the embassy? You told me I was in over my head with this. You’re the asshole!”

The surprise on his face is almost enough to make you laugh for the first time in months. “I’m the what?”

You open your mouth, but instead of an answer coming out of it, you start coughing uncontrollably. Your sides are burning by the time you’re done, but Javier is right there next to you with a glass of water that you accept gratefully.

“Let me take a look at your throat,” he says, watching you swallow down the cool liquid.

If you think about it, you haven’t been touched in months. You know you’ll flinch away before he even touches you, so you stiffen your muscles, determined to remain in place.

He must see it all on your face. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know,” you say through gritted teeth.

His fingers are rough against your skin as he carefully tilts your head to the side. You barely flinch but you whimper because the movement hurts more than you would have thought. He hums quietly before standing up. “I’ll be right back.”

You raise your finger to your neck to find the skin there sticky with blood. Whether it is yours or Andrés Felipe’s you can’t tell. But the unfamiliar feeling makes you tremble again. You wish you could stop that, or at least suppress it. You wish the world would start making sense again. You miss your small room and your mattress and knowing what comes next. You don’t even know if Javier is telling the truth, if he really is who he says he is. Yes, he looks vaguely familiar, but until a few hours ago, you had no idea what time of day it was.

“Hey, hey,” Javier says softly. He is sitting next to you again, closer this time, but he’s still not touching you. “Breathe. You’re safe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“None of it makes sense,” you mumble. You’re not sure if he’s heard you, but you do feel the pressure on your chest lighten.

“You have two cuts on your throat,” Javier goes on, shaking a small bottle of disinfectant. “They don’t look too bad, but I’d still like to clean them. Is that okay?”

How do you explain to him that you just spent months asking for permission instead of giving it? How do you explain to him that you don’t know how to decide anything for yourself anymore?

Not sure what to make of your silence, Javier goes on. “You can do it yourself if you want to. I can show you –”

You tilt your head to the side. “No, please. I want you to do it.”

Javier stops shaking the bottle of disinfectant, grabs a cotton ball, and pours some liquid over it. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

He does hurt you. The second he touches the cotton ball to the cut, you want to scream. It burns so much you can hardly take it. But you grit your teeth and you don’t complain. Because you don’t want him to stop. You know it’s just the isolation and the confusion of the last hours and the fact that your world doesn’t make sense anymore, but the way he dabs the cotton ball across the cut, brow furrowed in concentration, makes you feel safe. And you can’t remember the last time you felt like this.

“You’re being so brave,” he mumbles, and surely you must have misheard or you must have imagined it, because he continues in a normal voice, “Tomorrow, you should go see a doctor. I don’t have any medical training and it doesn’t look too bad, but it can’t hurt to be safe.”

You raise your fingers to touch your throat and briefly brush his as he draws them back. “Thank you,” you say when you find your skin free of dried blood. The cotton ball in Javier’s hand is now a blotchy red. “What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Javier says, standing up to dispose of the cotton ball. “I think he cut you with a knife.”

“No, not that.” You sink back against the couch cushions and tightly wrap the blanket around yourself. “With Noonan and the hostages.”

Javier, who is standing in the open kitchen with his back toward you, stiffens. “It was just you,” he answers, pretending to clean some dust off the counter. “You were the only American hostage left. Because it took so fucking long to find you.” He turns to you, cringing. “Sorry. I meant it took us forever to find you.”

“You can swear,” you tell him, your cheeks tingling from the unfamiliar sensation of a smile.

He walks back toward you, and it’s as if you’re seeing him for the first time. He’s no longer the jealous man who was trying to get you to back off from a mission he told you you weren’t qualified for. He’s the man who risked his job – and his life – to save you. And you don’t quite know what to do with that.

To your disappointment, he sits down in a chair, not on the couch, and lights another cigarette. “We had your location eventually. But then, two days ago, the cartel released the businessman, the only other American being held. We had to give them three men in exchange, and the exchange almost went wrong. Someone high up in Washington must have decided that’s enough.”

“So it was true, what Noonan said on TV?” You feel hot and cold all over. “It wasn’t a ruse? They were prepared to let me die?”

Javier nods. “Yeah, but I wasn’t.”

Your heart stops for a short while. “Why?”

He shrugs. “You’re one of us.”

“You warned me. You told me not to go on this mission. I thought you were jealous.”

He barks out a short laugh. “No, I thought it was a stupid mission. Too dangerous. Not worth risking the life of one of our agents for. And it was putting all our other informants at risk too.”

You look down at your hands, barely recognizing them underneath the dirt clinging to your skin. “What happens next? Will you get reassigned?”

“I won’t get a medal, that’s for sure.” He takes a drag of his cigarette and his face lights up with a red glow. “Noonan will thank me privately but reprimand me publicly. And then she’ll send you home.”

“Me? Why am I being punished?” Your voice, still hoarse from disuse, rings in your ears.

He laughs again, loudly this time. “Darlin’, Colombia almost killed you. I wouldn’t call it punishment.”

Your heart kickstarts at the use of the diminutive. “I want to stay here. There’s still so much to do.”

He stubs out his cigarette. “What you need to do is take things easy. You just went through a horrible ordeal you haven’t even begun to process. Even if you do stay here, you need a break first.”

You want to protest, but you can’t find the strength. You feel weary, exhausted, like you spent the last month trekking through the jungle without a break. Your body is a heavy lump you hardly have control over.

The next thing you feel is Javier’s arms around you as he holds you tightly. “Hey,” he says again, and you could get used to the softness in his voice. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“No,” you mumble, trying to push him away, suddenly trapped in the memory of closing your eyes and waking up to a man holding a knife cowering above you.

Javier doesn’t take no for an answer. “You’ll sleep in my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You’re still not sure this is such a good idea, but there is no alternative you can think of, and your body is begging you to lie down on cool, clean sheets and forget the world for a while. You let Javier pull you up, and you manage to stumble not more than once as he leads you into a dark bedroom. He doesn’t switch on the light.

“I’m going to let you sleep in,” he tells you, sitting you down on the edge of the bed. “Do you want me to leave the door open in case you need me?”

“No, that’s fine,” you answer, weakly kicking off your dirty shoes. You just want him to leave so you can close your eyes.

He runs his hand from the top of your head down to your neck in a well-practiced, automatic motion. “I’m a light sleeper – just shout if there’s anything you need.”

You nod, and he finally steps back with a smile on his face. “Good night, Javi,” you say, your head hitting the pillow before you can stop it. He’s already at the door when you add, “And thank you.”

You can’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes when the sound of gunfire wakes you. It’s not close by, but the echo of it still reaches you, and before your brain has time to process, your body is already responding with a sob that shakes you from head to toe.

“I’ve got you,” Javier says, wrapping you up in his arms. You bury your face against his naked shoulder, trying to steady your breath, but you’re crying uncontrollably now.

“I’m sorry,” you sob.

All he does is run his hand up and down your back. “Shhhh, I’m here. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

His warm breath against the top of your head makes your heartbeat slow down, and you finally manage to swallow your tears. “I’m so sorry,” you repeat, feeling like you’re about to die.

“Come on, lie down,” he urges you gently, trying to lower you toward the mattress.

“No!” You cling to him desperately, but he pries your arms off him without much effort.

“I’ll be here, okay?” he soothes you. “Right in that chair over there.”

You don’t know what chair he’s talking about; you didn’t notice one when he led you into the bedroom, but you stopped noticing things a while ago. “Don’t leave me,” you beg.

He brushes your hair out of your face and places a soft kiss against your temple. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

When you next open your eyes, there he is, asleep in an armchair in the corner of the bedroom, the early morning sun dancing across his skin.

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #10k follower celebration

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javier-pena · 3 months

Text

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader x Katie

Word Count: 3.9k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You fuck up. Javi helps you to make it up to Katie.

Notes: And we're continuing with my 10k follower celebration fics!!! A very sweet anon requested "I would love to spoil you, can I do this for you?", "You're still holding back, let go" and "You're not my dirty little secret. And I never want you to think that", set in the Triumvirate Universe. And honestly at this point there isn't much left to say about Triumvirate that I haven't already said expect that writing about them brings me so much joy!!!!! I love you for requesting this, my beloved anon!!!!!! Shoutout to Dani @alexturner who reacted with 🥺 to one of the lines in this, so I guess it might be slightly emotional 🤭

***

It’s quiet in the early hours of the morning, as quiet as it gets in a city where millions of people share the same space. Usually, this is your favorite time of the day – you love to sit with your thoughts for a while, to read a book or to listen to a record, the volume turned low so you won’t disturb Javi and Katie. Eventually, one of them always joins you, or you hear them in the kitchen making breakfast.

Today, you dread the moment you’ll hear movement in another part of the apartment. Your heart is heavy with the kind of grief that only comes with knowing you made a mistake that can’t be fixed. Nothing can distract you – no book holds your attention for long, you’re scared of spoiling your favorite songs by listening to them when you feel like this. All you can do is sit on the leather couch, the material sticky against your skin, and turn yesterday’s events over and over in your mind, cursing yourself because you’re never brave enough. Why can’t you be brave just once, for the people that matter the most to you?

Eventually, you hear the bedroom door creak open and then shut quietly. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what’s to come. Do you want Javi or Katie to be the one coming down the hallway? If you could choose, you’d prefer neither of them but Katie would be indefinitely worse; you’re not ready to face her hurt and disappointment. You had enough of that last night.

Javi is the one who walks into the living room, yawning and scratching his chin. He’s naked apart from short boxer briefs that cling to him in a way that usually makes your mouth water. Today, you avert your gaze, hoping against hope he won’t see you sitting there. It’s no use.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice quiet so he doesn’t wake Katie.

You shake your head and angrily wipe at your cheeks, only now realizing that you’re crying. “Nothing.” Your voice is heavy with tears.

“Hey.” Javi rushes over to pull you into a hug. You let him, even though it makes your heart squeeze painfully.

Javi doesn’t push you to tell him the truth, he just holds you close and waits, soothing you by running his hand up and down your back. He smells of sleep, and faintly of sweat, and he smells like Javi, a scent that is so familiar to you that it has become a part of who you are. You don’t know what would happen to you if you ever were to lose it.

Eventually, you pull yourself out of the hug and look down at your hands resting in your lap. “I think she hates me after what I did to her yesterday.”

“No,” Javi contradicts you immediately, “Katie could never hate you.”

You see that look on her face again, full of hurt and heartbreak after you pulled your hand out of hers to move closer to Javi. You remember how she barely looked at you when you got home, let alone spoke to you. “Did you notice how she immediately turned away from me last night in bed?”

Javi pulls a face that’s impossible to read, even though you know him so well. “She’s hurt. I can understand why. She wants things that you can’t give her, things that might … And I understand you too,” he adds quickly as you feel your heart sink from your chest into the pit of your stomach. “You’re afraid to hold her hand in public. It’s –”

You interrupt him. “It’s not that.” It is that, at least partly. “People know we’re together. What if they see you and Katie together? What if they see me and her?”

“It was never a problem when it was just a casual thing we did once in a while,” Javi deadpans.

You pause, carefully considering his words. “Because there was no danger of losing either of you,” you finally answer.

Javi laughs, the bright sound filling the living room that’s full of bright morning light. “Yes, there was. There always is. Oh, baby.” He puts one arm around your shoulders. “You have to stop worrying so much about what other people think.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“No, it’s not.” Javi squeezes your shoulder. “One wrong step could get me fired. Or killed. But us three, we have to trust each other. If you talked to Katie and told her how you felt, I’m sure she’d understand.”

You lean forward and bury your face in your hands. “How can I ever make it up to her?”

Javi shrugs. “Just tell her you’re sorry.”

You sigh, your chest heaving. “I don’t know how.” You still have no idea how to navigate this, although by now you feel like you should. Javi and Katie don’t seem to be having any issues with your situation. Why is this so hard for you?

“Then show her you’re sorry,” Javi suggests.

Now it’s your turn to laugh, and the sound comes out a little bit strangled. That’s Javi’s way of doing things. And you don’t mind … you don’t mind at all when he’s on his knees, his head buried between your legs, licking and kissing you until you’ve forgotten why you were mad at him in the first place.

“That’s your forte, not mine,” you point out.

You don’t know what you expect Javi to reply to that, but him smiling softly down at you isn’t it. “She loves you,” he reminds you. “Whatever you do will be enough.”

Javi takes your hand and pulls you off the couch, and you follow him even though your heart is hammering in your chest. You’ve never been good at apologies, so you’re trying to live your whole life avoiding any situation that would force you to give one. And still you fucked this up. If you said those things out loud, Javi would only smile again and give you the standard answer. “We all make mistakes.” Then why are the mistakes others make so easily forgiven and forgotten while you wear yours like a brand on your skin?

Javi stops in the doorway to your bedroom and pulls you to his side. Katie is still asleep, stretched out over half the bed, one of her hands reaching out as if she’s looking to touch either of you. You love that about her, the way she wears her heart on her sleeve, never afraid to fight for the people she loves. You wish you could be more like her; you wouldn’t be in this situation if you were.

“Look at her,” Javi whispers into your ear.

You do. You see her dark curls, her tanned skin, the cluster of freckles on her right shoulder, like a constellation of stars pointing you home. Maybe she has already forgiven you because she loves you, just like Javi thinks, but even if she hasn’t, you want to do whatever is necessary to earn her forgiveness. Because you lo love her.

Katie stirs, yawns, her eyes still closed, and it feels as if a hand wraps around your heart and squeezes it tightly. You yearn to be with her, yearn to feel her skin against yours, her lips on your lips, to open yourself up to her until there is nothing left for her to learn about you. Just as you did with Javi and Javi did with you.

“Go to her,” Javi whispers then, and releases you.

On unsteady legs, you walk toward the bed that was yours long before it was hers, but that can never be complete without her in it, and climb into it on her left side, careful not to wake her but eager for her to open her eyes. You run your hand up and down her naked back and kiss her temple, her cheeks, her closed eyelids.

She doesn’t push you away, like you were scared she might do. Instead, she asks, “What are you doing?” her voice heavy with sleep.

You glance at Javi who is still standing in the doorway. He nods. “I would love to spoil you. Can I do that for you?”

Katie stiffens beneath your hand and it takes everything in you not to pull back and run for cover. Your heart clenches again, painfully, and you brace yourself for the inevitable rejection. But you stay, trying to breathe as evenly as possible, almost daring Katie to start the fight she so desperately seems to want to have with you.

Katie opens her eyes and looks for yours, and you hold her gaze, ready for whatever she is about to say to you. But there is no hurt in her eyes anymore, no fire, no guardedness. She looks curious, almost mischievous instead, and finally, she nods.

You don’t give your body time to respond to that nod, to let relief wash all over you. Instead, you trap her chin between your thumb and forefinger and kiss her like you’ve been thinking about doing ever since you saw her lying in bed, completely unguarded. She kisses you back, eagerly parting your lips to let you in, almost as if your fight never happened. Nothing seems to have changed, and you don’t quite know why, but you push those thoughts out of your mind. This isn’t about you. This is about Katie.

You pull the thin cover off Katie and hungrily let your gaze wander over her naked body. She rolls onto her back and bites her lip, waiting for you to decide what to do with her. You start by kissing her neck (she giggles), the top of her breasts (she holds her breath), the peaks of her hard nipples (she gasps), and you run your hands all over her body, wherever you can reach, eager to leave no spot untouched. She laughs airily, surprised by your enthusiasm. You laugh too, surprised by how easy she’s making this for you.

You suck one of Katie’s nipples into your mouth and she moans, a hoarse little sound. Your gaze flickers to Javi to see his reaction to it, but he is still standing where you left him, motionless. You only find approval on his face and that, paired with the way Katie’s hands dig into the skin of your arm, tells you you’re doing this right.

Eventually, Javi moves and your heart skips a beat. You didn’t ask him what his plans were, whether he wanted to join Katie and you or whether he wanted to make this about you and her, but you had been hoping he’d be there with you. He stands at the foot of the bed at first, a quiet smile on his lips, then pulls his boxer shorts down. You have to turn your head at an awkward angle to see he’s half hard, and Katie immediately notices she doesn’t have your full attention anymore.

“Hey!” she snaps and grips your jaw. “Eyes on me.”

In the past, you would have felt embarrassed at how loudly you moan in response, but there are no secrets between the three of you anymore. All your desires have been laid open a long time ago. And this morning the only thing you desire is to give Katie anything she wants, anything at all.

You feel the mattress dip as Javi climbs into bed next to you and leans over to give Katie a good morning kiss. They both have their eyes closed, and Katie’s hand finds its way into Javi’s curls. Your heart finds its way into your throat and gets stuck there, just as it always does when you see Katie and Javi kiss. That’s another desire you’ve come to terms with, one that you wear proudly on your sleeve, like one might wear a wedding band on the fourth finger of the left hand or a scar that says, I went through terrible things, but I’m still here. I made it out alive. And you love to watch Katie and Javi together, love to see her writhe beneath him, love to see him lose his mind when she has her mouth wrapped around him. You love that they want you to be a part of it all too, love that they need you to be there.

Javi runs his thumb along Katie’s cheekbone and Katie’s eyes flutter open. “Do you want her to eat you out?” he asks.

Katie’s eyes land on you, glazed over with lust. Her cheeks are flushed now, and when your eyes flicker to her throat, you can see her eagerly fluttering heartbeat beneath her skin, like something trying to free itself, trying to lay itself bare hoping it won’t get crushed. Katie bites her bottom lip (you love it when she does that, you should really tell her that more often) and nods eagerly. You smile in response, then slap Javi’s arm playfully.

“Don’t interfere,” you tell him off, ignoring the eager pull in the pit of your stomach that comes with imagining tasting Katie on your lips. “This is my apology.”

Still, all three of you know how this is going to end, so there’s no need to pretend. You scoot down Katie’s body, leaving a trail of wet kisses on your wake, until you kneel between her spread legs. It’s one of your favorite sights – Katie all open and vulnerable, just for you. The high you get from that is unrivaled.

Katie props herself up on her elbows, her long hair tumbling down her beautiful shoulders. “What are you apologizing for?”

“Shhh, don’t talk,” you tell her, and dip your head down between her legs.

You lick a broad stripe from her opening all the way up to her clit, the taste of her a million times more intoxicating than you had imagined. You let out a groan against her at the same time as she falls back down against the pillow with a sharp exhale. She shifts beneath you, spreading her legs even wider, pushing her hips up into your mouth ever so slightly.

You move up her body again even though your own screams for you to stay where you are and devour her whole. You kiss the soft plane of her stomach, that one birthmark next to her belly button that you love so much, and then you make your way up to her breasts, cupping one and licking across the hard nipple. Katie lets out a soft whimper that makes your heart clench.

You don’t know what makes you look away from Katie and over to Javi, but something must have and what you see makes you clench around nothing, your hips eagerly rocking forward. He’s stroking himself slowly, almost casually, drawing out his own satisfaction, watching the two of you. That’s also something you love – him watching Katie and you, not being shy about the pleasure he gets from it; sometimes he even asks you to put on a little show for him, and you and Katie love doing that because you know it’s not just about the sex for him. He loves to watch the two women he loves fuck each other.

Javi smirks at you, and you pull your mouth off Katie’s nipple with a wet pop, ready to tease him, when she begs, her voice all broken and quivering. “Stop teasing me.”

Your attention snaps right back to her and you kiss her wet nipple. “That’s teasing for you?”

Katie grips the back of your neck, her nails raking your skin. “I thought you wanted to apologize.”

You laugh, but it doesn’t come out all nonchalantly as you had hoped it would. “I said I wanted to take care of you.”

Katie’s eyes are bright with fire that’s impossible to get under control as she considers calling you out on your lie. She pushes up her hips. “Take care of this then.”

When you laugh again, it’s a sound full of relief. Maybe Katie isn’t as angry with you as you had feared. Maybe this can be fixed just as easily as it was almost ruined. You certainly want to try.

You move back down and come to rest between Katie’s legs. She’s glistening with arousal, a sight so inviting you can’t help yourself. You run your fingers through her drenched folds before you push two of them inside, holding her down when she tries to lift her hips to meet your thrust.

“You’re so wet, do you know that?” you ask, your voice deep and hoarse.

Katie props herself up on her elbows again and nods.

“I love it when you’re like this,” you go on, “and I know it’s all because of me. I love how eager you are for me to touch you. I love that you can’t get enough of this.” You curl your fingers and hit that spot that makes Katie’s legs quiver.

You kiss the inside of her knee, her thigh, that little spot just above where she wants your tongue the most. Never once do you stop fucking her with her fingers in a steady rhythm, giving her just enough to build pleasure but never enough to make it all come crashing down. By now, you know her body well enough to do that.

“Please,” Katie whispers, and you can never refuse her anything when her voice sounds like that.

You flick her clit with the tip of your tongue, then massage it gently before sucking it in between your lips, making Kaite moan so loudly you’re sure your neighbors must have heard. You look up at her to find her watching you with wide eyes, her chest and neck covered in a deep, red flush, her mouth hanging open in an attempt to get more air into her lungs, but her shallow breathing tells you she’s failing. Her eyelids flutter when you suck on her clit again, but she keeps them open, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

You pick up a steady pace with your tongue and your fingers, and your eyes wander over to Javi. He’s still watching you, still stroking his now very hard cock in time to your steady licks. You slow down and he matches your pace, you speed up again and he keeps up. He tries to smirk at you, but you flick Katie’s clit with your tongue again, and her responding moan makes his jaw go slack and his eyes flutter shut. You can’t quite describe what you feel, but it sure feels like you’re on top of the world.

You kiss Katie everywhere – her thighs, her soft folds, her clit, her stomach, even her wrist when she reaches out to grab for you. You kiss her everywhere she will allow. Her breathing comes in sharp pants now, and when you lick her sloppily, hungrily, it turns deeper and deeper, sounds you feel in your chest right next to your heart. You move lower, lick across her opening, push the tip of your tongue inside of her, but when you glance up at her, she’s still watching you with her wide eyes.

Javi notices it too: the way Katie still tries to hold on, as if she’s scared of what a loss of control might mean for her. “You’re still holding back. Just let go.” His voice is strained, like he’s doing the same, like he’s postponing his own pleasure for the sake of hers.

Katie’s eyes flicker to you and she blinks slowly, as if she’s only now remembering his presence. Javi doesn’t allow her even a single second to make sense of it all. Instead, he kisses her, slowly, languidly, as if you’re only just getting started. Katie doesn’t move at first, stops breathing all together, and then finally – finally! – she sinks down against her pillow, closing her eyes.

You pull back with a shaky breath, watch as Katie reaches out for Javi, as she grips a handful of his curls, and holds on. Javi growls against her mouth and deepens their kiss, still moving his hand up and down his cock, leaving a wet spot on Katie’s side where the tip brushes her skin. You want nothing more than to watch them, but your bad conscience still gnaws at you, and you decide that Katie has been played with long enough. Without pretense, you push your two fingers back into her and soak up her desperate whimper like a desert soaks up the rain. She clenches around you when you roll her clit under the tip of your tongue and that involuntary response to you makes you moan against her drenched folds.

“I love how you taste in the morning,” you tell her, and she clenches again, signaling you that she heard you. “It’s my favorite taste in the whole wide world.”

Javi’s breathing becomes ragged and he lets out a deep moan, a drawn-out sound that suddenly hitches. You glance up at him and see that he’s coming, thick ropes spilling onto his stomach and Katie’s, his hips bucking up into his fist. Your face grows hot as you watch him, hot with shame at how hard your pussy clenches, eager for him to fill you up.

You don’t get to enjoy that sight, that feeling it gives you, for long though. Katie lets out a gasp and presses her palm to the back of your head, hard, pushing your face down between her legs while rolling up her hips into it. She clenches and clenches and clenches around your fingers and you fuck her through it, unable to draw a single breath as she rides out her orgasm, gushing around your fingers and onto your chin and tongue. Her ragged pants fill up the entire room, pushing all of the air out of it.

When it’s all over, you wipe the back of your hand over your mouth, your heart hammering in your chest. Javi lazily runs his fingers through the mess he’s made on Katie, while she just lies there, eyes closed, her chest heaving. You push yourself in between them, crawling on all fours, until you let yourself fall, facing Javi. You kiss him, and he kisses you back, taking his time to run his tongue over your lips, your chin held tightly between his thumb and forefinger. You know how much he loves that, tasting one of you on the other.

Eventually, Katie curls herself up against your back and you turn so you face her, while Javi places gentle kisses against your neck and shoulders, and whispers, “Well done,” into your ear, so low only you can hear it. Something in your chest expands at that.

You cup Katie’s face and she opens her eyes, her gaze bright. Gently, you wipe away a stray tear making its way down her face. “You’re not my dirty little secret,” you whisper against her lips, your eyes locked onto her face, making sure she understands what you’re trying to tell her. “And I never want you to think that.”

Katie smiles one of her open smiles that always announces to the whole world what she’s feeling, then kisses you, ending it with a quick nip to your bottom lip before you have time to enjoy it.

“Tease,” you mumble at the same time as she says, “I love you.”

It’s strange how easy it can be sometimes. “I love you too,” you reply.

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