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wheresarizona · 5 months

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Learning to Live Part 26

summary: Watching Javier with Steve and Connie Murphy’s three kids has you experiencing a bad case of baby fever. Some important discussions lead to making a big decision, and there’s one question you hadn’t anticipated being asked...

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, alternating POV, age gap (about ten years), explicit smut, sneaking around (you have to be quiet so the Murphys don’t hear you), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, vaginal fingering, kinda rough sex (Javier works out his frustration on you), oral sex (f receiving), (MASSIVE) breeding kink, dirty talk, spit as lube, Javier saying very romantic things while he’s balls deep inside you, Steve trying to cockblock Javier with an obnoxiously squeaky bed (all it does is piss off Javi), Javier being a menace, misunderstanding, grumpy Javier, Javier being very cute with children, baby fever, emotional hurt/comfort, discussion of pregnancy/childbirth and fears, a dream sequence, death of a parent/grief, marriage proposal (it’s so romantic), love confession, mention of PTSD, an appearance of The Tac Vest™ (in a photo), Olivia and Javier talking shit about her dad in Spanish because Steve doesn’t understand, Connie being the best)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

word count: 24.5k+ (It’s a good time)

a/n: Hello there! This is a BIG chapter both in number of words and in terms of plot. Since this is a super long one, odds are the Tumblr app isn’t going to let you reblog with a comment—it’s a known issue. I haven’t heard of any problems if you go onto Tumblr.com directly through a browser, though. Since reblogs are super important, it’s totally okay if you reblog without a comment, and if you wish to comment, you can either do it on the post through comments or by sending me an ask! I’m chill with whatever you feel like doing. 🥰🥰🥰 Thank you all for coming on this journey with me. This is something we’ve been looking forward to, and I hope you enjoy! Thank you to the love of my life, @juletheghoul, for betaing and being a trooper for this monstrosity of a chapter.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

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Baby fever was real.

And it was dangerous.

At least that was the only explanation you had for this overwhelming desire to have your own child that needed, specifically, to be fathered by the love of your life, Javier Peña.

It was cool in the house, and you were in shorts and a loose t-shirt, yet your skin was heated, watching from your seat on the leather sofa as the man you were going to marry played with the two older Murphy children—you weren’t entirely sure what the game was, but it involved Javi holding the three-year-old son in one arm while he dueled their nine-year-old daughter, Olivia, with hard, yellow foam swords. They were over in the empty space of the family room designated for the kids with the toy box against the wall beside a kitchen playset and a tiny red plastic table with two matching tiny chairs, other larger toys lining up in a row next to them.

The three-year-old, Stevie, was laughing while your boyfriend moved about, dodging the young girl's attempts at jabbing him. A big smile was plastered on Javi’s face with sweat beading on his brow, and you were doing your damndest to ignore the primal instinct that had ensured the survival of the human species, purring in the back of your mind as it zeroed in on him as the perfect man to procreate with.

He was so strong, so caring, so kind, so handsome.

So perfect.

Beautiful chocolate-colored eyes you dearly loved met yours, and he winked, making you suck in a breath as you melted into the cushion behind you, not even embarrassed you were literally swooning.

The leather creaked and complained when someone sat down next to you, your attention still on the future father of your children.

“I told you he smiles and laughs with my kids,” Steve said beside you.

Your head whipped toward him, finding that he was holding a giggling Nate up in the air, bringing him down to kiss all over his face and lift him again.

When you first arrived, you wondered how involved a parent Steve was.

Many men left the childrearing to the mother, and with him not helping with nap time or volunteering to get the boys when they’d woken up, you thought he might be one of those men. What you came to find out was his kids adored him, and he was very present.

Earlier, you made chocolate chip cookies with Olivia and Stevie. Their dad happened to come into the kitchen just as you were putting them in the oven, and the kids flocked to him to excitedly tell him all about how they’d helped. He had picked up his three-year-old and smiled as he listened, taking them to the living room so Javi and you could clean up the mess you made. When it was time to eat the freshly baked cookies, Stevie ate his Connie-approved two cookies while sitting on his father’s knee at the kitchen table, Olivia eating her own in the seat beside them.

So, Steve was pretty great with his children.

When you commented about it while alone in the kitchen with your husband-to-be, he whispered to you about how it wasn’t always like this. Back in Colombia and when Steve first returned to Miami, he had that shitty patriarchal mindset that Connie should be the one to care for their daughter—that was, until Javi showed up and stepped in to help Connie with Olivia. Apparently, that triggered something in Steve and lit a fire under his ass to be a better father and husband.

Connie was currently on a run to the store, and Javi had taken it upon himself to entertain the energy-filled kids. Steve was handling Nate duty himself since the little one was super attached to his parents, especially his mother.

“Yes, you did,” you replied to the older man.

The toddler was now cuddled in his arms, repeating Dadada over and over again.

Steve looked at you. “He asked us earlier if we thought he’d be a good dad.”

“And how did you answer?”

White teeth appeared when he smiled. “We told him he’d be a great dad, and it was about damn time he became one.”

Your lips tipped up, glancing over at the man you were talking about, who was now down on his knees and being attacked by both of the children wielding the swords, shielding his head with his arms.

“Yeah, it really is.” Facing Steve again, you asked, “How did you know you were ready to be a parent?”

He snorted. “Did Javi ever tell you about how we got Olivia?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “He told me you adopted her in Colombia…?”

Leaning in, he spoke a little quieter, “The story doesn’t start off too happy, but I know Jav’s told you about what things were like down there.”

“Hell.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, nodding his head. “Javi and I found her when she was a baby in the home where Pablo Escobar’s sicarios murdered her mother and grandmother—would’ve murdered her, too, if we hadn’t shown up.” He took a deep breath like he was remembering, your eyes widening at the horror.

Murdering a defenseless baby? They were monsters.

“Escobar was also responsible for the death of her father,” he continued. “She was so tiny and had no one. I was worried more people would come for her, so I brought her home with me. Connie wasn’t too happy about it at first.” A smile pulled up on his lips as he chuckled. “And we sure as hell weren’t prepared for a baby, but we’d always wanted kids and had just about given up until we got her.” He was smiling fondly now, looking past you at his daughter. “We fell in love with her, and it was an easy decision to adopt. So, to answer your question—” He met your eyes. “—I didn’t know I was ready to be a dad until after we got the kid. Sometimes, you don’t get a chance to feel ready before it happens, but I’ll tell you, the moment you hold your baby, the instincts kick in fast.”

“That’s good to know.”

“All these questions about parenthood between the two of you.” He nodded his head toward Javi, then you. “Are y’all trying?”

The question had you making a face, wondering why it was socially acceptable to discuss your sex life when it came to reproducing.

“If you must know,” you started, “we’re currently just practicing… A lot. Like practically once a day if we’re in the mood, and I think we’ve got it pretty figured out, especially the unprotected sex part.”

His nose had wrinkled like he smelled something bad, deeply frowning in disgust. “I don’t wanna know that.”

“You asked!”

Javi was suddenly standing in front of you, breathing hard and holding his beer he picked up from the coffee table.

He took a long drink, asking Steve when he finished, “What did you ask her?” He shooed the other man away with his free hand. “Move over.” Steve and Nate scooted to the other side of the couch so your boyfriend could plop down beside you.

Stevie was playing with some toy cars, and Olivia had disappeared.

Javi’s arm went over your shoulders with his side pressed against yours, bringing the brown bottle back up to his lips.

Looking at him, you saw his throat work as he swallowed the beer, rubbing your hand over his jean-clad thigh. “He asked if we’re trying for a baby.”

The liquid must’ve gone down the wrong pipe, your boyfriend making a choked sound and sputtering, it evolving into a coughing fit. You got his arm over your head to lean him forward to pat his back, Steve’s eyes finding yours.

“I swear I don’t do this on purpose,” you said. “I didn’t think it was something he’d react to.”

“Does this happen often?” the blonde man asked, looking both concerned and mildly amused.

“Kinda?” You grimaced. “But not on purpose!” Your attention moved to your boyfriend. “Are you okay, babe?” His coughing had stopped, and he’d set his drink back on the coffee table.

“Yeah,” he hoarsely answered. His head turned in your direction, his eyes red-rimmed and watery. “You’re just as bad as Pop with making me choke.”

“I’m sorry, Javi.” Your hand was gliding up and down his spine. “You know what, from now on, I’m going to stop you from drinking before I say anything.”

“Why don’t you just wait for me to finish drinking?”

“The delivery, babe. Timing is everything for a joke to land or a snappy reply. Don’t wanna throw off my groove.”

He huffed out an amused breath, sitting back up on the couch. “Okay, your plan works.” Leaning forward, he pecked you on the lips before turning his attention to Steve. “We’re trying as much as we can with her on birth control—we go at it like fu-reaking rabbits, and with it only being 99% effective, maybe we’ll be that one in a hundred, and she gets pregnant.”

“I hate you,” Steve said evenly. “I hate you both. All you needed to say was no.”

“Why are you mad?” Javi asked. “You asked about our sex life, and we answered.” He looked over at you. “What did you tell him, mi amor (my love)?”

“That we’re practicing and really good at the unprotected sex part.”

A smirk appeared under his mustache, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and you knew he was just fucking with Steve now. “Yeah, we are really good at it.” His attention went back to the other man. “We told you the truth. Don’t ask questions if the answers are gonna make you uncomfortable.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed as he said, “Everyone else in the world would have answered that question with a simple yes or no. The two of you are perfect for each other with how much you fuc-fudging enjoy messing with me.”

“She’s mi media naranja, my soulmate,” Javi replied. “We are perfect for each other.”

“Uh huh, calm down, Romeo.” Nate was wiggling out of Steve’s arms, and the man helped him climb down from the couch, the child toddling over to play with his brother. “Now I’ve been watching you both since you got here,” he continued, “and anyone with eyes can see how much y’all wanna be parents. You may be a couple-a—” He whispered the next word. “—assholes—” He spoke normally again, “But I think you guys would do a pretty good job at it—that’s just my opinion, though.”

Javi had grabbed your hand and laced your fingers together, giving it a gentle squeeze as happiness seared through your veins.

“Thanks, man,” Javi said.

“You’re welcome, Jav.” Steve grinned, patting him on the shoulder. “You both do know the quickest way to get pregnant is for her to be off birth control, right? Do I need to give you the sex talk? Tell you about the birds and the bees? Explain how babies are made?”

Your boyfriend flipped him off out of view of the children, the other man laughing.

“We know, you—” He lowered his voice so that the kids wouldn’t hear. “—dick—” His volume went back to normal. “We’ve gotta figure out some things before we pull the trigger.”

“And what if you end up being the one in a hundred, and she gets pregnant before you figure those things out?”

Javier’s attention turned to you with a hopeful look, bringing up your joined palms so he could kiss the back of yours.

“We’d be okay,” you answered truthfully, your boyfriend smiling as he set your hands down. “If it happens sooner than we planned, then it happens sooner than we planned, and we’ll be excited no matter what.”

“Yeah,” Javi added. “We will.”

The trip was going better than Javier anticipated, and it was only the first day.

He had a feeling his friends and their children would like his fiancée-to-be, and he’d been correct. The Murphys all loved her to the point that Steve and Connie were on him about marrying her. Now his best friend was saying they’d be good parents, which, when added to Cielito telling him earlier, they might be able to start their family soon. Javier was so happy, he felt like he was on top of the world.

There were two things he wanted more than anything: to marry the woman sitting beside him and to become a father.

As long as she said yes to his proposal, he figured they’d be married within the next six months, depending on what she wanted to do for the wedding. The marriage was pretty much in the bag with all of her reassurances that she'd say yes, but there were still small tendrils of doubt creeping their way into his brain and making him worry if she’d really be wearing an engagement ring the next day.

He stamped down the negative feelings by remembering the times she practiced saying yes to his proposals and, of course, the fact she had already pre-accepted.

With all that in mind, he was sure he could cross off marriage from his list, which made him feel a bit giddy.

The thing that was going to require work was becoming a father.

Even though they both wanted a child, she had, and there wasn’t a better word than stipulations that needed to be met before she wanted to go for it. He both loved and hated how responsible she was being. The list included:

Get help with his mental health.

Get married.

Move into a bigger place.

The first thing he did was start going to therapy, and it had helped a lot over the past months, especially with the Stechner shit. A lot of old wounds had been opened, and it was finally time for Javier to tell the woman he planned to marry about Colombia, finding it cathartic, even with the nightmares he was plagued with for the week after. She was there every time he woke up in a panic and helped calm him down, soothing him with her words and touch.

His therapist had clocked him early on as having PTSD, and at first, he didn’t believe him because guys who fought in wars and did active combat came home with PTSD, not DEA agents doing drug busts and taking down cartels.

Javier’s therapist was a short, stocky, bald man in his sixties with a calming voice who didn’t like to beat around the bush and told it like it was. His response to Javier’s denial was to lay it all out that the war on drugs was still a war, and Javier had been a soldier who witnessed and experienced a lot of horrific PTSD-inducing shit that he needed to work through. He had worked through it, but the incident with Stechner had triggered him and brought it all back. Luckily, he was fine after about a week with help from his therapist and wif-girlfriend.

So, he’d taken care of his mental health, and marriage was on the horizon—that was two out of three.

Moving into a bigger place was where things got tricky.

Initially, they had planned to buy a house, and then his dad gave them the idea to build one on his land, which sounded great, except for how long it would take. They ended up loving the thought of being able to design their dream home and decided that was what they were going to do, and were now working with an architect—everything else was figured out. His tía María’s husband had his own construction business and would be building it, and they found the perfect spot a little down the road from his dad’s house that was close to him but also far enough they’d have privacy where they’d build. Chucho was thrilled they were going to be next-door neighbors.

It was going to take, at minimum, a year for the home to be built.

Javier didn’t want to wait that long to start trying for a baby, so he figured out a way for them to move out of their one-bedroom apartment into someplace bigger while they waited for their house to be finished, and it was living with his father, who was beyond excited by the prospect.

She seemed to be okay with that, and he hoped it was enough for her to give them the green light to start their family, but she wanted to discuss it with Chucho, which he understood. It was just driving him crazy that he was so fucking close, it was within reach, yet he had to wait for her to talk to his dad on Sunday when they were seeing him next.

The sounds of the front door being unlocked and opened made it to where they were, the two small Murphy boys jumping to their feet as they both yelled, “Mom!” They ran from the room.

“I better go help her with the groceries,” Steve said, grunting as he got up from the couch on his long legs and headed for his wife.

It was just Javier and his future wife in the room—they were alone, and immediately he was turning in his seat toward her, dipping his head to kiss and suck at the side of her neck, his hand sliding up her thigh.

“Javi,” she gasped, her fingers tangling into his hair.

She smelled so good, the sweet aroma welcome as his lips trailed up to tug her earlobe between his teeth, his palm resting on her inner thigh, feeling the heat between her legs.

His mouth pressed against her ear, whispering, “I saw how you were watching me playing with the kids—how much you liked it.” She sucked in a breath, and he smiled. “You say the word, and we can have one of our own—I’m more than willing to give you a baby, Cielito.”

“This is rude,” she breathed, pulling his hair.

Javier chuckled, smacking a loud kiss against her cheek.

His hand left her leg to cup her jaw and turned her head to look him in the eyes.

“I’m serious, mi amor (my love),” he said. “You know how fucking badly I want one, and when you’re ready, I’ll make it happen—I wanna prove you right that I can get you pregnant within a month.”

The way her pupils expanded told him his words were getting to her.

“I cannot believe you’re tempting me with your virility, and it’s fucking working,” she whispered, and he grinned. “God, you’re gonna be such a good dad.” There was a slight whine as she quietly spoke. “Our kids are gonna be obsessed with you, and you’re gonna be obsessed with them and me being pregnant and an amazing partner through everything. Like, I am this close—” She held her thumb and index finger so close together they almost touched. “—to saying fuck it, let’s make a baby.” Arousal sparked in his belly. “But then that annoying, overly cautious, responsible part of me cuts in to remind me I need to double-check with your dad that he’s really okay with us living with him—yes, I remember him making the offer months ago—you know I hate being a bother, though, and I’m worried he likes the idea and would hate the reality of living with his son and a pregnant woman that will eventually also include a newborn.” She chewed on her lip.

“His pregnant nuera (daughter-in-law),” Javier corrected. “And he told me he’d love for us to move in just last week. He was already planning on turning the guest room into a nursery when you got pregnant.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Fuck,” she whispered.

Javier frowned, wondering if she thought the nursery was too much.

“He’s just excited to finally become an abuelo (grandpa), and even if we weren’t moving in, he wanted to make sure he’s got shit for the baby when we visit—he said it’d come in handy ‘cause he’d be happy to babysit anytime we needed him to. And if we do move in with him, he’ll already have a space dedicated to our kid.”

“Right,” she said the word slowly, like she was thinking it over. “Yeah, that’s great he cares so much, and it’s so sweet. We, um, just need to make sure he’s prepared for a newborn, like the crying and all that…”

“He is, and he’ll love having us there with a baby.”

“How do you know?”

“Promise me something,” he said.

Her eyebrows creased. “Okay?”

“Promise me you won’t get sad with what I’m about to tell you.”

“You know I can’t promise that.”

He sighed. “Fine. Promise me you won’t mention it to him.”

“That’s something I can do.”

“Since mi mamá passed away, Pop has been really fucking lonely living in that house alone, but there’s no way in hell he’d ever think about moving. He hates being by himself out there, and he’ll probably work until the day he dies to spend as little time in it as possible.”

Tears were brimming in her eyes. “That’s so fucking sad, Javier.”

“Yeah, and I was a fucking asshole who came home from Colombia twice and fucked off almost as quickly as I arrived.” She was about to say something, and he stopped her by continuing. “He loved when I finally moved back in for good, and he’d love more than anything to have us there with him, including our child—especially our child. You know, just as I do, that he’s gonna love our kid more than us.”

“That’s so true,” she giggled.

He smiled, “Yeah, it is.” Hope felt like a ball in the middle of his chest. “So, uh, does this change your maybe?”

“Tío!” Olivia shouted as she came running into the room, and he sat up in his seat.

“¿Sí, tesorito (Yes, little treasure)?”

She rounded the couch and jumped onto it next to him, sitting on her knees with a big smile, missing some baby teeth. Her brown hair was almost the same color as his, falling in loose curls past her shoulders, her bangs on either side held back by blue flower clips.

“Se me olvidó preguntarte algo (I forgot to ask you something).”

He smiled. “¿Qué querías preguntar (What did you want to ask)?”

“Cuando tú y tu Cielito se casen (When you and your Cielito get married), ¿puedo ser la niña de las flores (can I be the flower girl)?”

It made him pause because it’d be up to his fiancée-to-be how they were going to get married, and he wasn’t sure if they would have a traditional wedding. If they did, pretty much all of the guests would be his friends and family, while she’d have maybe a handful of friends—there wouldn’t be anyone from her family she’d want to invite with how they disliked Javier and thought he wasn’t good enough for her.

He knew Cielito would be okay with his answer before he said it. “Bueno, si tenemos una boda, claro que puedes ser la niña de las flores, y tus hermanos pueden ser los portadores de los anillos (Well, If we have a wedding, of course you can be the flower girl and your brothers can be the ring bearers).”

“Sí (Yes),” the future bride said. “Si tenemos una boda, tú y tus hermanos tienen que estar en ella (If we have a wedding, you and your brothers have to be it).”

“Yes!” the girl shouted, clapping her hands.

Javier leaned forward with a groan to grab his beer and sat back, bringing it to his lips as he took a long pull of the lukewarm drink.

“¿Te vas a casar porque tu novia tiene un bebé en la barriga (Are you getting married because your girlfriend has a baby in her belly)?” Olivia asked.

Beer came spraying out of his mouth as he attempted to cover it with his hand and started coughing.

“Oh, no,” Cielito said, patting him on the back. “I’m gonna go grab some paper towels.” She got up and left, and he saw the liquid from his mouth on the coffee table.

“¿Estás bien (Are you okay)?” the child asked.

He’d stopped coughing, wiping his wet hand on his jeans.

“Sí, estoy bien (Yes, I’m okay),” he answered, looking over at her. “¿Por qué crees que nos vamos a casar porque ella tiene un bebé en la barriga (Why do you think we’re getting married because she has a baby in her belly)...?”

“Oh, tengo un amigo en la escuela y su papá se casó con su niñera porque ella tenía un bebé en su barriga (Oh, I have a friend at school and his dad married his babysitter because she had a baby in her belly).”

Javier’s eyes widened. “Eh, mi Cielito no tiene un bebé en su barriga (Uh, my Cielito doesn’t have a baby in her belly). Nos vamos a casar porque nos amamos como tus padres (We’re getting married because we love each other like your parents).”

At the mention of them, Steve and Connie came into the room with his wif-girlfriend rushing to wipe off the table for the other woman to set down two photo albums, and he’d been given a paper towel to wipe his face with. Nate was in his dad’s arms, and Stevie had walked in by himself, going over to where he’d been playing to pick up a Ninja Turtle action figure.

“We heard Olivia is asking questions,” Steve said, smiling and taking a seat in his recliner with his youngest son. Connie sat down on Olivia’s other side.

The girl turned her attention to her father. “Daddy, they said if they have a wedding, I can be the flower girl, and Stevie and Nate can carry the rings!”

Steve looked at his daughter. “They’re called ring bearers, sweetie.”

She looked confused. “They’d be ring bears?”

The adults all laughed. “No, ring bearers,” he said slower.

“Ring bearers,” she repeated. Her head turned to Javier. “¿Los portadores de los anillos significan (means) ring bearers?”

He smiled, nodding. “Sí, asi es (Yes, that’s right).”

Cielito had gone to throw away the dirty paper towels, including the one he used, and returned a minute later, taking her seat next to him.

“I thought the future Mrs. Javier Peña might like to see some pictures of you through the years,” Connie said. She pointed at the albums. “The top one—” It had a forest green cover. “—has photos from when we lived in Colombia before we adopted Olivia. The majority are Steve and I, but there’s a bunch of Javi, too.”

Cielito leaned forward to look past him at the other woman with a smile. “I’ve seen the pictures you sent to his parents!”

“Oh, yes!” Connie smiled brightly. “I was aware he talked to them weekly, so they knew he was okay, but I wanted them to be able to see it, too.”

“Thank you, Connie,” he whispered, his throat feeling tight at his friend caring about his parents so much.

“You’re welcome, Javi.” She patted his knee. Stevie was trying to climb into her lap, and she helped him up. “I loved talking to them—your mother was wonderful, and I was sad when she passed away.” Sadness laced her tone. “I wished we could’ve gone to the funeral, but we didn’t have documents for Olivia yet to take her out of Colombia. I still talk to your dad every once in a while—not as often now that you’re back in Texas, and he doesn’t need me keeping an eye on you.”

His head snapped toward her. “You talked to my parents? How in all these years didn’t I know you talked to them and still talk to my dad?”

Neither of his parents had ever mentioned being in contact with Connie, aside from his father saying she sent them pictures of Javier while he was in South America.

A sad smile was on her face. “Your mother swore me to keep it a secret.”

“My mom?” he said the words so quietly.

“Yes. Your mother was a very smart woman and used the number you gave her to your office in case of emergencies to get a hold of Steve so she could get our home phone number and call me. She just wanted to make sure you were okay, and I understood where she was coming from as a mother—I didn’t have kids at the time, but even then, I knew if my baby was on another continent, I would’ve done the same thing, and it really was no problem. As I’ve said, I loved talking to your parents.”

His eyes were burning with unshed tears at the lengths his parents went to in order to check up on him. Cielito took the beer from his hand and put it on the table so she could tangle her fingers with his, cuddling into his side, and he was thankful for the comfort.

Javier was a terrible son.

He put his parents through so much over the years, and what for?

What did he accomplish?

Yeah, he helped bring down Pablo Escobar and got the Cali Cartel fuckers, but like some mythical monster, you cut off one head, and two take its place—they took down Escobar and the Medellín cartel, and before they knew it, Cali and others had taken over.

It was a never-ending cycle: wash, rinse, repeat.

He’s known it since he made the decision to resign from the DEA: The War on Drugs would never end. From his current job as a drug enforcement consultant, he knew that sentiment was confirmed with the rise of the Mexican cartels becoming major players.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

And all of this showing him he wasted years of his life fighting an unwinnable fight and causing his parents nothing but pain and misery. He was their only son, su bendición (their blessing), and he’d risked his life so many fucking times for what? It felt like it was all for nothing.

Not when he thought about the precious time he lost with his mother, or his father living in that old house all alone, or how he wasn’t getting to start his family until now and really love his life.

Years wasted.

Shame, regret, and remorse were heavy in his head and heart, and he wished he could apologize to his mother—he needed her forgiveness and his father’s, too.

“I appreciate that, Connie.” Getting the words out around the lump in his throat was hard. “I, um, I’ll be back.”

“Are you okay?” Cielito asked, concern evident on her face when he met her eyes.

“Yeah,” he answered, untangling their hands. “I’m okay.” He attempted a reassuring smile that she didn’t believe one bit. “Look at the pictures, baby, and I’ll be right back.”

Her mouth was turned down in a deep frown. “Okay.”

Without another word, he got up and quickly went through the dining room to the hallway, heading for the guest bedroom.

He didn’t lock the door once he was inside.

He didn’t want to worry Cielito more than she already was.

His cell phone was on top of the dresser, and he picked it up, the numbers glowing green as he pressed the number to speed dial his dad.

Ring.

Click.

The recorded message started playing, hearing his mother’s accented voice say in English, “You have reached the Peña residence—” Tears began falling down his cheeks. “We’re sorry we could not make it to the phone right now. Please leave your name and number, and we will get back to you. Thank you!”

Beep.

Javier cleared his throat, the emotion making his words come out thick, “Hey Pop, it’s me, Javi. You’re probably working—” He checked his watch, seeing it was a little after three in Laredo. “—Yeah, you’re working. Uh, we made it to Miami safe, and everyone loves mi Cielito. We knew they would. Um—” He took a deep breath, pacing slowly back and forth. “—I know I’ve apologized before, but I’m so fucking sorry for being gone for so long and making you and mi mamá worry so much. Connie told me about talking to you guys and I,” his voice cracked on the one syllable. He cleared his throat again. “I feel like shit for what I put you through, and I just hope you and mamá can forgive me for all of the pain I caused. I hate that I wasted so many years away from you both that I can’t get back. I’ll—” More tears were falling down his cheeks. “—never see or talk to my mom again, and I miss her so fucking much. I wish I could tell her I’m so close to starting my family. Cielito just wants to talk to you first about us moving in—”

“Javi?” His dad answered the phone, and Javier stopped moving, standing still. “¿Qué pasa (What’s wrong)?” He sounded concerned. “Acabo de entrar y te escuché hablar de tu mamá (I just came inside and heard you talking about your mom).”

“Hola, Pop (Hi, Pop). Perdóname por molestarte (I’m sorry for bothering you).”

“No me estás molestando, Mijo (You’re not bothering me, Mijo). Dime qué pasa (Tell me what’s wrong).”

Javier inhaled deeply and slowly let it out. “He sido un hijo terrible (I’ve been a terrible son).”

“¿De qué hablas (What are you talking about)? Eres un hijo maravilloso y estoy muy orgulloso de ti (You’re a wonderful son and I’m very proud of you). Tu madre también estaba mui orgullosa de ti (Your mother was very proud of you, too).”

“No, no lo soy (No, I’m not). Te preocupé tanto que tenías a Connie vigilándome (I worried you so much that you had Connie watching me).”

“Ella no te estaba vigilándo (She wasn’t watching you). Ella solo nos ponía al día sobre cómo estabas (She was just updating us on how you were doing).”

“Todavía te preocupé lo suficiente como para que mi mamá le pidiera que hiciera eso (I still worried you enough that my mom asked her to do that).”

His dad huffed out a breath. “Javi, te acuerdas bien como era tu madre (Javi, you remember your mother). Ella era sobreprotectora contigo (She was overprotective of you). Llamaba a Connie de vez en cuando cuando estabas en Miami y me aseguraba de que estabas bien porque ya tenía su número de teléfono (I called Connie from time to time when you were in Miami and made sure you were okay because I already had her phone number). No eres un hijo terrible (You are not a terrible son). Eres trabajador, comprometido, testarudo, pero no terrible (You’re hardworking, committed, stubborn, but not terrible).”

He spoke quietly. “¿Me perdonas por todo (Will you forgive me for everything)?”

His father sighed. “Mijo, no hay nada de que perdonarte, pero si te hace sentir mejor, sí, te perdono, y tu madre te perdona también (Mijo, there is nothing to forgive you for, but if it makes you feel better, yes, I forgive you, and your mother forgives you, too). Ahora, ¿qué decías acerca de comenzar tu familia en el contestador automático (Now, what were you saying about starting your family on the answering machine)?”

The sudden change of topic made Javier chuckle, his free hand wiping at his wet cheeks. “Of course, that caught your attention.”

“Yes, it did.” The smile was clear in his voice. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay first. Am I finally getting my nietos (grandchildren) soon?”

Javier smiled. “I’ll say it was a great idea to bring her here where there are a bunch of kids—she needs reassurance from you that you’re really okay with us moving in while the house is being built and won’t mind a baby. I think the plan is to talk to you in person at my birthday dinner,” he sighed.

“Of course, I won’t mind a baby!” It was obvious he was excited. “Mi primer nieto (My first grandchild)! I’ve already told you I’d love to have you all here! I’ll have your primos (cousins) start helping me clear out the guest room this weekend so I can begin working on the nursery. This is the best news! Are you sure she doesn’t want to talk to me right now?”

He turned to look at the closed door and was tempted to take the phone to her.

“She’s out in the living room with the family looking at pictures of me.” His fingers slid through his hair. “If I can convince her to talk with you over the phone, I’ll give you a call.”

“I’ll stay home from work for the next two days, just in case.”

“You don’t have to do that. We can leave a message, and you can call us back.”

“No, I need to be here to answer the call. It’s important.”

His eyes were watering at his father’s love for them. “Thank you, Pop.”

“No, thank you, Mijo. I can’t wait to have you all here. Go convince her to call me—I’m not getting any younger.”

Javier laughed. “Okay, okay, I’ll do my best.”

“And you better call me when you propose.”

His mouth was turned up in a smile. “You’ll be the first person to know.”

“Good. Javi?”

“Yeah, Pop?”

“I love you, Mijo, and I’m truly proud of the man you are today. I can’t wait to watch you become the incredible husband and father I know you will be.” Javier couldn’t stop the tears, his throat feeling like it was closing up. “Your mamá might be gone, but I know wherever she is, she’s happy her son has found so much love and happiness. It’s all we ever wanted for you. We love you, Javiercito.”

“I love you, too.”

“Now, go work on making me an abuelo and tell mi nuera (daughter-in-law) I love her, too.”

He chuckled. “I’ll tell her. Bye, Pop.”

“Bye, Mijo.”

The call ended, and he put the phone back on the dresser and walked into the en suite to stand at the sink. The skin on his cheeks was glistening in the lights of the bathroom, his eyes red-rimmed, and his nose a little runny.

No matter how many times he apologized to his father for his past sins, it never felt like it was enough—it would never feel like it was enough. He knew his father forgave him long ago, and with how much he’s groveled, he’s become a broken record.

If he really thought about it and looked deep down into why he felt the need to apologize so much, it was because he hadn’t forgiven himself. He wasn’t even sure what it would take to forgive himself. It was obvious his dad was tired of him apologizing and wanted him to focus on his future.

His future.

Cielito was his future.

Their children were his future.

A memory came to him of their second date, hearing the woman he was going to marry clearly in his brain:

“...you feel like you need to atone for everything you’ve done, but you really don’t. You’ve done enough, more than enough. The past hurts, but you can either run from it or learn from it…”

When he first got back from Colombia, he ran; he hid away here in Miami with his friends and their family until he got scared he was going to lose his dad and went home. That was when it hit him: he didn’t want to waste any more time away from his father, and he finally stayed. The most important thing to him now was his family: his dad, Cielito, and their future children; they were what mattered.

One day, he’d forgive himself, and he had a feeling it’d happen when he finally had a parent’s perspective…

Turning on the faucet, he splashed some water on his face, drying it off with a small towel he got from underneath the sink. Any sign he’d been crying had been washed away, and he made his way back to the living room feeling a little lighter and determined to keep his focus on moving forward—engagement, marriage, children.

He found his future wife had moved over on the couch to sit closer to Olivia and Connie with a photo album open on her lap and angled for the other two to see, the older women having a conversation. Stevie stood on the couch next to his mom, pretending his Ninja Turtle action figure was walking on the back of the sofa and on Connie’s head, quietly talking to himself. His little blue eyes landed on Javier, and he smiled.

“Tío’s back!” he shouted.

Javier smiled back. “I am, buddy.”

The women paused, Cielito’s head turning to watch as he walked around the couch to sit beside her.

Immediately, she leaned into him and whispered, “Are you okay?”

He rubbed circles over her spine. “Yeah,” he answered. “Pop says he loves you.”

Realization dawned on her, and he could tell she worked out he’d gotten upset over what Connie had revealed and needed to talk to his father.

She softly smiled. “Hopefully, he knows I love him, too.”

A small smile turned up on his lips. “He knows.”

“Good.”

Her attention went back to Connie. “Sorry,” she said. “So, Texas has a lot of nursing opportunities, and I was over being in a big city—I did my schooling at a university in a somewhat big city, too—I looked into other places around the state hiring and interviewed at a bunch, and out of the offers I got, I liked Laredo the best.”

“I bet the smaller hospital is a breath of fresh air,” Connie replied.

“It is! And working in the ED (Emergency Department) in Dallas was exhilarating until it got exhausting and depressing.”

A solemn look was on the other woman’s face. “I know exactly what you mean. If you think it’s bad here, in Colombia, it’s much worse, and drove me to switch to L & D (Labor and Delivery) when I came back to Miami.”

“I can imagine, based on what I’ve heard. I actually thought about going into L & D, too, but I was offered the PACU position in Laredo.”

“What does PACU mean?” he asked.

Both women looked over at him, saying in unison, “Post Anesthesia Care Unit.”

“Oh, okay…”

“I haven’t understood half the stuff they’ve been talking about,” Steve said. “Connie’s having the time of her life being able to talk shop with someone.”

She looked at her husband. “Let me enjoy this. It’s nice being able to talk to someone outside of work who understands.”

“Hey, I’m happy for you, baby,” Steve replied, holding up a hand in a placating gesture. “Now I know what you feel like listening to Jav and me talking about work.”

“Exactly.” She faced his fianceé-to-be again, smiling. “I love helping bring new little lives into the world and teaching new parents how to care for their babies—most of the time, my job is wonderful. I’m sure Javi hasn’t told you, but remind me to tell you the story about Nate later.”

The tale of how Steve and Connie got Nathaniel wasn’t fucked up like his sister’s; it was just sad.

The youngest Murphy’s birth mother, was a girl not even out of high school, who came to the hospital alone and left alone. She brought no identification with her and refused to give her real name, telling people to call her Sam—the girl had been scared out of her mind, so Connie stayed with her the entire time and discovered she had hidden the pregnancy from her family because if they found out, she would’ve been disowned and thrown out on the street. Sam had begged Connie over and over again for her to find her baby a loving home, that she did love him and wished she could keep him, but they wouldn’t have anywhere to live if she did, and that she wanted him to have a good life.

His mother only held him once, right after she’d given birth, and refused to give him a name.

Connie was the one to take the baby to the nursery to have him measured, weighed and to take his vitals. When she returned, the new mother was gone—she vanished. Security couldn’t find her, and with how quickly she disappeared, Connie suspected a friend or her boyfriend picked her up.

Over the years, Steve and Connie had wanted a third kid, however, they struggled with getting pregnant and had to get help from doctors in order to have Stevie. So, when Connie found herself spending more and more time in the nursery with the tiny, abandoned newborn, she realized he was the third child they’d been hoping for, and her husband was fine with bringing him home—they both agreed on naming him Nathaniel Samuel Murphy.

“I will,” Cielito said.

Out of the three children, Nate was the most easy-going of the bunch. He was content to sit cuddled in his father’s lap, sipping on his sippy cup of water and watching everyone else in the room with his big, dark eyes.

“Mommy?” Stevie was patting his mother’s shoulder as he got her attention.

“Yes, baby?” She looked over at him.

“I want juice.”

“How do we ask for things?”

“Can I have juice, pleeeeassse?” he drew out the last word.

“Okay, let’s go get some juice.”

Nate’s cup left his mouth as he said, “Juice?”

“You want some juice, too, kiddo?” Steve asked him, bending to kiss his hair.

“Juice!” the toddler exclaimed.

His dad chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Can I have a Capri Sun?” Olivia asked.

“Of course, honey,” Connie answered.

Steve groaned as he got up from the chair with Nathaniel still in his arms. “Murphys report to the kitchen for juice!” he said.

“Yay!” Stevie yelled, getting down from the couch and running out of the room.

“Y’all want anything?” Steve asked Javier and his future wife.

“I’m good,” he responded.

“I’m good, too,” Cielito added.

His friend nodded and followed his wife and daughter to the kitchen.

“Thank god, we’re alone,” Cielito whispered, flipping through the pages, looking for a specific picture. “I need to ask you about something.”

He didn’t even know what pictures were in this album since he’d never seen it before and was curious about what caught her attention.

“What is it?”

She found what she was looking for, moving in her seat to show him a page with a picture of him holding a bulky satellite phone to his ear, his other hand flipping off Steve, who was taking the picture.

He couldn’t even remember when it was taken. The sleeves were rolled up on his maroon button-up shirt to bare his forearms, and he was wearing an army green tac vest over it, the bulge from the tightness of his dark wash jeans showing he was dressing to the left while his aviators were on—he could admit he looked pretty good.

“Do you have one of these at your office?” she asked.

“One of what?”

“The vest thingy.” She pointed at it.

“The tac vest?”

He met her eyes, seeing her smiling. “Yeah. Do you still have one?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t see any action and don’t need one.”

Her shoulders slumped, frowning, and he perked up at the reaction.

“Can you… get one?” She chewed on her bottom lip, and he smirked.

His voice went lower. “You like the vest that much?”

“This whole look.” She circled the photo with her finger. “The clothes, your grumpy face, the vest—it’s awakened something in me, and I need to, um, see it in person for reasons…” Her eyes darted away.

He leaned in closer, gently taking her chin between two fingers to make her look at him as he quietly rasped, “Are the reasons for me to fuck you looking like this?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“In that case, I’ll borrow one from work and bring it home.” He winked.

“God, I love you.” The album was left in her lap, her upper body twisting in his direction, pressing her fingers into his hair as her lips crashed against his. His arm wrapped around her back, the other hand holding her cheek, kissing her hard.

He was more than happy to wear whatever she wanted—he was always happy to wear what she wanted, and this look wouldn’t be too hard to replicate. His mind was playing out them doing a scene where he stripped her of her clothes and ‘searched’ her, which would end with him bending her over and fucking her…

“Oh, gross!” Olivia shouted.

They separated so quickly you’d think they were burned.

“Gross!” Stevie echoed, not knowing what was going on.

“What were they doing?” their father asked as he walked into the room holding a new beer, Connie behind him with Nate in her arms, the toddler holding a green sippy cup.

The oldest of the children had walked around to sit on the opposite side of the couch to them, drinking from a yellow straw in a silver pouch. Stevie had a red cup that matched his brother’s and came to Javier, who picked him up to sit on his thigh.

The straw left the girl’s mouth, her face contorted in disgust. “They were kissing.”

“That is gross,” Steve said, taking a seat in his recliner, and Connie sitting on the other side of Javier’s soon-to-be-fianceé.

He sighed.

“Oh, stop that, Steve,” his wife scolded.

“Yes, dear,” his friend replied.

Nathaniel wiggled away from his mother to sit in his big sister’s lap, Olivia putting an arm around his middle while her other hand held her juice and it warmed Javier’s heart that they clearly had a bond—it made him happy they all had bonded and loved each other.

Connie’s head turned in the direction of Javier and Cielito. “Do you want to look at the other album since we finished the Colombia one?”

“Sure!” Cielito answered, closing the album in her lap, leaning forward to put it on the coffee table, and grabbing the other.

“You know, Jav,” Steve started, meeting his eyes, a brown beer bottle held in his hand on the recliner’s arm. “I once said you were gonna be a lifer with the DEA, and I’m glad I was wrong.”

He could recall when Steve had said that, and at the time, he agreed, his work was his life, and he didn’t think he could ever leave his job—he never fathomed it. Interestingly, the longer he worked there, the more disillusioned he became until he realized all of it was pointless, and he finally resigned. He just wished he would’ve figured things out earlier.

“I think being domesticated suits you better,” his friend continued. “You sure as heck are happier, and isn’t that all that matters?” He raised his beer before taking a drink.

“Yeah,” Javier said. “This life is definitely better.”

“Most of the pictures in this album are of Olivia because it’s one we have of her and before we had the boys,” Connie told them, bringing his attention to the open photo album on Cielito’s thighs. “But it was during a time when Javi stayed with us for a while, so he’s in there.”

Steve had turned the television onto a cartoon channel with the volume not too loud for the kids while they flipped through pages of pictures of Olivia, who was about five years old in them, and Connie telling them stories behind some of them. Stevie leaned back against his chest, holding his sippy cup to his mouth while watching the TV. The first photo Javier appeared in, they were at the zoo, and it was taken from the side, the grinning little girl on his white, button-up-covered shoulders with him pointing at something, his head turned and tilted up as he talked to her, his eyes shielded behind his sunglasses.

There were more pictures of them at the zoo, some from different beach trips, and a lot at the Murphys' home, Javier smiling and laughing in many of them.

They were looking at one Connie clearly took of him and Steve standing in the ocean up to their stomachs, across from each other, laughing, while Olivia was mid-air between them, having been thrown by one man to the other when Cielito looked at him.

“I’m really mad that your dad doesn’t have any of these and that you made me cry the first time I met him because the only pictures he had of you as an adult were of you miserable in Colombia. Where were these, Javier? All the smiles and laughs!”

He grimaced. “I didn’t know they existed…” That was the truth. Sure, he knew his friends had taken photos, but he always assumed they were of their kids. He didn’t realize they included him in so many.

Her eyes narrowed. “Uh huh, right, then explain this!”

She went back a few pages to a picture she had proclaimed was her favorite a little while ago—he was wearing a light blue button-up and jeans, a bright pink feather boa wrapped around his neck, and silver tiara on his head, looking like a hulking figure sitting on the tiny child-size chair at the tiny child-size table. Olivia was sitting across from him in a pink frilly dress and gold tiara, holding an itty bitty teacup, another three in front of her guests on the table, the other two seats occupied by a teddy bear and a The Little Mermaid Ariel Barbie.

What the woman he was going to marry found hilarious was he was dressed like that with his knees practically against his chest and was trying to look menacing as he glared at the camera with a hand up to hide from the little girl that he was giving the bird to the person taking the picture.

“You obviously knew they were taking this picture of you!” She poked it hard.

“Sure.” He shrugged. “But I figured Steve was just taking it to give me shi-crap later. I seriously didn’t know about the others.”

“Fine.” She looked at the other woman. “I really am going to need a copy of this if it won’t be too much trouble.”

Connie smiled. “I’ve got a duplicate somewhere. I’d just have to look, and I’ll send it your way.”

“You are amazing. Thank you so much! Are there, um, any pictures of Javi with the boys as babies…?”

Javier’s ears perked, his heart speeding up, hoping they did.

“That’s a great idea,” Steve said. “We gotta show her the photos of Javi with Stevie, Con.”

His best friend winked at him, and he decided at that moment he was going to make a run to the liquor store later to buy Steve an expensive bottle of top-shelf whiskey for being his wingman.

Connie frowned, her head turning to her husband. “But I haven’t put them in an album… They’re all loose.”

“That’s fine,” Cielito said a little too quickly, making him grin that she wanted to see him with a baby so badly.

“Yeah, Connie,” Javier added. “We don’t mind.”

“Oh, alright,” she said. “I’ll put these albums away.” She took the one his future wife held and closed it, getting up and grabbing the other on the table. “And I’ll get the other pictures. Be back in a jiffy.” She left the room.

Cielito looked at him, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Is this a bad idea?”

“For your self-control?” he replied just as quietly, parroting back what she’d said earlier in the day. “Yes. For me getting that thing I want really bad? No. I think it’s a great idea.”

“Of course you do.”

He frowned, something in the back of his mind needing him to ask the next question.

“Am I pushing too much? Do you need more time?”

She pulled back to meet his eyes, her voice quiet enough for only him to hear.

“The first question, no. You’re just excited. The second, yes and no. I’ll talk to you about it later.”

“Okay,” he nodded.

“Oh.” A surprised look came over her face before she was looking to her other side. Javier leaned forward to see what got her attention and found Nate had crawled over and was sitting on his knees with his sippy cup in one hand and the other on her arm, clearly asking to be picked up. “Hi, buddy,” she said, immediately lifting him and getting him situated so he was half cradled in her arm and sitting in her lap, his curious eyes staring up at her face and tiny chubby hand reaching to touch it while he drank from his cup. “Hi, there,” she cooed, gently rubbing the arm he had held up. “I’m your tío’s girlfriend—”

“You’re his tía,” Javier corrected, feeling so soft at watching her interact with the little one he feared he might dissolve into a puddle.

“Sorry, I’m your tía, and you’re a cutie pie.” She softly poked him in the belly.

“Daddy,” Olivia said. “Look, Nate likes tía!” She was pointing at them beside her.

“He sure does, baby girl,” her father replied. “Isn’t that something?”

Stevie wanted to be a part of what was going on and moved to look into Cielito’s arms, letting his cup fall into Javier’s lap. “Nate likes tía!” The three-year-old hugged her arm. “I like tía, too.” Javier sucked in a breath. “She makes yummy cookies.”

“I like you, too, Stevie,” she told him, and Javier ruffled the boy’s dirty blonde hair, making him laugh. “And I, of course, like you, also, Olivia.” She glanced over at the girl. “I’m excited that you’re gonna be a paleontologist one day so you can show me real dinosaur bones.”

“I will!” The girl nodded, grinning.

He loved seeing her holding the toddler and talking to the other children, unable to keep the smile off his face as he watched and imagined what she’d look like with their own baby. Her answer to if she needed more time worried him a little, and he hoped they could talk about it soon so he knew what she meant. He was ready—more than ready, but he didn’t want to rush her if she wasn’t, and they’d figure this all out later.

Looking at pictures of Javi with a baby Stevie was absolutely a bad idea.

And it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him holding a baby before; he had a lot of cousins, many of whom had children under the age of two, that you’ve seen him interact with, and always caused you to have the same reaction of feeling like your ovaries were going to explode.

But these loose photos were on a different level.

He went through the stack of pictures that had combinations of Stevie with his sister, parents, and Javi, the latter being the ones you were most interested in—seeing Javi feeding the baby in his high chair, your future husband sitting in a rocking chair with Stevie cradled in his arm as he held a bottle, one of him on the couch with the baby in the crook of his arm and Olivia on his other side while he read them a children’s book, a photo of Javi passed out on the sofa with a protective hand on Stevie asleep on top of him, a candid shot of the man you were going to marry playing peek-a-boo with the baby, and the one that made your breath catch in your throat was Javi standing with Stevie strapped to his chest as he carried Olivia in his arm like it was no big deal.

There were others, and along with the pictures you saw earlier in the album, each and every one was like a glimpse into your future, showing you the type of doting, loving father he was going to be. What had heat crawling up your neck and heart racing was if this was what he was like with kids he considered his niece and nephew, then most likely he’d be like that but times a thousand with his own children.

He was going to be such a good dad.

Why had he ever thought he didn’t deserve to be one? Or that he’d be a bad father?

The thought that your future kids would be so loved made your eyes burn. They were going to have two parents who loved them all so much, and there wouldn’t be any favorites.

Seeing all of these photos and watching Javi interact with the Murphy kids—Stevie was sitting with him and pointing at the pictures, excitedly saying who was in them while the man you loved softly encouraged him and told him what a good job he was doing—had that ancient, primal part of your brain acting up again, this time screaming in the back of your mind that you’ve found the perfect mate to father your children, and it wasn’t wrong; it was exciting and really revving your engines.

There was just one teeny, tiny problem.

Obviously, Javi was jonesing to get going on the babymaking and had even gone so far as to figure out a place to live while your house was being built. You’d think with that problem solved and the assurance you’d be married before a baby was born, you’d be ready to go for it. Well, as much as you wanted a child, you were a little scared about the prospect of being pregnant and pushing a tiny human out of your vagina. You were a nurse, you knew the odds were in your favor that you’d be okay, but you were a nurse, and you also knew the things that could go wrong—Javier’s difficult birth that almost took his mother, coming to mind.

When it was something that was going to happen in the near future, everything was fine, and you were excited about starting your family; however, now that it was on your doorstep with your boyfriend banging on the door, you were kind of freaking out. You should’ve talked to Javi about this earlier when you were having your doubts and needed his reassurance, but at that point, you didn’t know his dad had already given the okay for you guys to move in.

The current climate in your head was that you loved the idea of having a baby with Javi and finally making him a father; looking at all of the pictures and watching him with the children was really doing it for you, and you couldn’t wait to be alone together later that night. The reality of actually going through with it and getting pregnant, carrying a child, and giving birth made you feel uneasy.

It was very confusing to want something yet be scared of it at the same time.

Javi stuffed the photos back into the big envelope the drug store put them in after they developed the film, setting it on the coffee table when he was done.

“Thank you for letting us look at all those pictures,” you said to Connie beside you with a smile. “It was nice seeing Javi so happy with the kids.”

Nate held your thumb in his little hand while his attention was on the television where cartoons played. Stevie was talking to Javi about something you weren’t paying attention to.

“You’re welcome.” She patted your knee. “When we still lived in Colombia, I swear the only time I ever saw Javi smile was when he held Olivia or played with her. He’d buy her toys, and when he’d come over for dinner, he’d take her for a bit to give me a breather. I’m not saying he was as playful and happy as he is now, but there was a difference between the Javi we knew and the Javi Olivia knew, which is still kinda true today.”

“Yeah, he’s sweeter with the kids.”

“And you.”

“And me,” you giggled.

“Just so you know,” Steve started. “Our kids could use some cousins—especially some bilingual ones. We want the boys to be fluent in Spanish like their sister, and it’d be nice for them to have more people to talk to.”

“Because you didn’t bother learning Spanish while living in a Spanish-speaking country for how many years?” Javi asked.

“Hey! I speak enough of it to get by.”

Javi leaned forward to look at the other end of the couch. “Olivia, ¿qué tan malo es tu papá para hablar español (How bad is your dad at speaking Spanish)?”

She grinned. “Él es muy malo (He’s very bad). Él apesta (He stinks).” She plugged her nose with her fingers.

“Hey!” Steve exclaimed again. “You guys know it’s against the rules to talk shit about me in Spanish.”

“Daddy said a bad word!” Stevie gasped. “That’s a bad word.”

The blonde man’s eyes widened. “Oh, sorry, kiddo. Daddy didn’t mean to say that.”

“It’s a dollar in the swear jar, Dad,” Olivia said.

The swear jar was a big pickle jar they repurposed that sat on top of their fridge and was filled halfway with a mix of green bills and loose change.

“I’ll put it in there when I get up,” he sighed.

“You lost a dollar, and you don’t even know what we said,” Javi said, looking a little too delighted.

Steve was frowning, his eyes narrowed. “I know malo means bad, and the two of you were making fun of my Spanish.”

“¿Él realmente sabe o lo está adivinando (Does he really know that, or is he guessing)?” you asked the other two Spanish speakers.

“Él probablemente podría entender algo de lo que dijimos, pero creo que en la mayor parte, está adivinando (He could probably understand some of what we said, but I think for the most part, he’s guessing),” Javi answered.

“Solo entiende el español muy básico (He only understands very basic Spanish),” Olivia said. “Es muy gracioso (It’s really funny). Tío y yo podemos hablar de cualquier cosa y papá y mamá no entienden lo que estamos diciendo (Uncle and I can talk about anything and dad and mom don’t understand what we’re saying).”

“Oh god, Connie,” Steve said. “Now there’s three of them talking about us while we’re right here.”

“From what I’ve gathered, it’s just about how we don’t understand much, and I don’t think anything bad…” Connie replied.

“You’re right, Connie,” you told her. Looking between Javi and Olivia, you asked, “A ustedes dos les encanta hacer esto para volverlos locos, ¿no (You two love doing this to drive them crazy, don’t you)?”

“Sí (Yes),” they answered in unison with big smiles.

It was adorable.

“Y su papá tuvo tiempo más que suficiente para aprender el idioma, así que es su culpa que aún no lo entiende (And her dad had more than enough time to learn the language, so it’s his fault he still doesn’t understand it). Traté de enseñarle (I tried to teach him),” Javi said.

“Van a odiar cuando sus tres hijos hablen en un idioma que no entienden (They are going to hate when their three children speak in a language they don’t understand),” you replied.

“No puedo esperar (I can’t wait).”

“Estoy emocionado de que mis hermanos aprendan (I’m excited for my brothers to learn),” Olivia said. “Será como si tuviéramos un lenguaje secreto (It will be like we have a secret language).”

You looked at her, switching to English, “That will be really cool. Do you want to learn any other languages?”

“Ummm, I don’t know.” She shrugged.

“And that’s okay.”

Connie looked at the watch on her wrist. “Gosh, I better get started on making dinner.”

“Do you need help?” you asked.

Her eyes met yours. “Oh, no, I couldn’t ask you to help. You’re on vacation and were sweet to make cookies with our kids.”

“I insist,” you said. Turning your head to Javi, you continued, “Hey, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you take Nate? I’m gonna help Connie make dinner.”

“Yeah.” His attention went to the toddler sitting with him. “I gotta move you, bud.” As he said, he moved Stevie to his other knee, then easily took Nate from you, who was so engrossed in the TV that he didn’t make a sound of protest.

For dinner that evening, Connie was making spaghetti. You followed her into the kitchen, making small talk before she showed you what the sides would be. You offered to make the salad, getting set up at the counter with a cutting board, knife, box grater, and all of the veggies—romaine lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber, and a long carrot (no onions because the kids hated them).

There was a lull in your conversation while you diced a tomato, the salad bowl already containing the chopped lettuce, and Connie was in the process of browning the the meat for the sauce.

The last thing she said was that she bet Javi would keep the two boys occupied for maybe another ten minutes before they wandered into the kitchen to find her. You thought it was adorable, making you wonder if your future children would love you that much, leading you to think about how ready Javi was to start a family and your slight hang-up.

“Hey, Connie?” You kept cutting the tomato.

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you a kinda personal question? I, um, don’t have many friends who’ve given birth, and my relationship with my mother is a joke, so I’m hoping you could give me some insight…”

The meat had finished cooking, and she added canned tomato sauce, tomato paste, and seasonings with a bit of water.

She put a lid over the pan as it simmered and turned to face you. “Ask me anything, honey.”

You smiled, beginning to dice the next tomato. “Okay, were you scared at all about any aspect of pregnancy or childbirth?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s pretty common. I see it all the time in L & D. With mine, I had a lot of fear while I was pregnant because I was so worried something was gonna happen to the baby—we had trouble conceiving. Are you scared?”

“Yes,” you sighed.

“About which part?”

“All of it…”

“Well, here’s what I’m gonna tell you: it’s weird as hell to have a human growing inside of you, but the moment you register it’s your baby—your child, everything kinda changes, and you fall in love with this tiny person. You’ll worry about their health, you’re probably gonna feel like shit, and childbirth is scary, but I’m telling you, when you get to the point you’re ready to pop, you’re gonna want them to get that baby out of you as quickly as possible. And all of it is worth it when you finally get to hold that little human you shared your body with for nine months. Except, it’s really freaking annoying when you do 99.9% of the work, and the baby comes out looking exactly like their father. What’s up with that?”

She sounded so annoyed, and it made you laugh.

“I would actually love it if our kid was a little Javi clone,” you said, glancing over at her. “I’ve seen pictures of him growing up; he was a cutie.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I think my husband is extremely attractive, and I know I’m lucky, but it feels like a betrayal that I grew this baby from nothing, and he got none of my genes—not even my eyes!” She threw up her arms. “The only baby I will ever have, and he’s mini-Steve, which, just so you know, we picked out his name before he was born.”

“You jinxed yourself,” you giggled. “He took Steven Murphy Jr. literally. Ooh, I wonder if we’re ever having a boy if Javi would agree to name him Javier Jr.”

“Since you’re fine if he comes out as a mini-Javi, you should go for it. How cute would it be if our minis were best friends?”

“God, that would be so cute.”

Just the thought had you feeling soft.

“Still scared, sweetie?” she asked.

You smiled. “I guess no more than I should be and a bit nervous, but you made me feel way better about everything. Thank you, Connie.”

“You’re welcome, and know I’m here if you have any more questions or just need to talk—Javi’s family, and that makes you family, too.”

Looking over at her, emotion was making your throat feel tight. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that.”

All that Connie said really had helped you feel better, knowing it was normal to have some fear, and like she said, in the end, it would all be worth it when you finally got to hold your baby.

As the mother predicted, the two toddlers arrived in the kitchen, Stevie’s steps more sure-footed than Nate’s toddling, the youngest going straight to grabbing Connie’s leg.

Javi followed them in, and you weren’t sure if he was just ensuring they’d gone to find their mom or if he wanted to see you, but with how his arms wrapped around your middle from behind, and he kissed just below your ear, you thought it was probably both.

Nathaniel was on Connie’s hip as she cooked, the woman not hindered by holding a child.

“What are you doing?” Stevie asked as he stood beside you, looking up.

“I’m making a salad,” you answered.

“Can I see, pleeeasssee?”

“Uh.” There was no way you could use a knife or the grater while holding a wiggly kid, and it seemed a bit dangerous, but he was staring up at you with those big round blue eyes, and you didn’t want to tell him no.

“I’ll show you, buddy,” Javi said, moving to bend over with a wheeze to pick up the toddler and straighten. He stepped away from where you were working so the child couldn’t reach but could still see what you were doing. The man pointed at your chopping board. “She’s cutting up a tomato.”

At him saying that you went back to finishing dicing the second tomato, quickly working the knife in practiced motions.

“What color is the tomato?” he asked Stevie in a gentle tone.

“Red!” the little one answered.

“Good job. Red is my favorite color. What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue! My blankie’s blue.”

“It is.”

“You like red.”

“I do.”

You finished the tomato and grabbed the cucumber.

“What’s that?” Stevie asked, pointing at it.

“A cucumber,” Javi answered.

“What’s that?” he asked again, looking at the man holding him this time.

“A vegetable. They’re yummy. Do you want to try it?”

It was killing you how cute their conversation was.

“Yes.”

“May I please have a slice, mi amor (my love)?” Javi asked you.

You stopped cutting, picking up a thin slice between two fingers you held up to him. “Here you go.”

“What do we say?” Javi asked the child as he carefully took it from you.

“I love youuu,” Stevie replied.

You giggled, Javi chuckling. “We do love her,” Javi said. “But since she’s nice and gave us something, we thank her. Do you wanna tell her thank you?”

“Thank youuu, tía. I love youuu.”

A smile was on your face. “You’re welcome, Stevie—I love you, too.”

“Here you go, bud,” Javi said, holding the piece of cucumber up to the toddler’s mouth. “It’s yummy.”

The child chomped down on it, humming happily as he chewed.

“Is it yummy?” you asked.

He nodded, taking what was left of the slice from Javi in his little hand and munching on it until he’d eaten the whole thing.

In less than half an hour, dinner was ready, their six-seat dining room table big enough for everyone to have a seat—Nate in a high chair next to Steve sitting at one end of the table, Olivia at the other, Stevie in a booster seat beside Connie, and Javi and you on taking up the two seats opposite them.

When your boyfriend was planning the trip, he made sure you both were on the same page about the limited time you’d be visiting and asked if on the first or second night, you wanted him to take you out to dinner or dancing since it was Miami, after all. Your answer was you were there to visit his best friends and their family, so you wanted to spend as much time as possible getting to know them—going out on the town wasn’t important for this trip, and you only hoped there’d be a chance to go to the beach.

You didn’t need him to wine and dine you—you were more than happy eating a homemade meal with the Murphys, laughing and chatting between bites.

Javi and you cleaned the kitchen without being asked after dinner, everyone having milk and cookies before it was time for the kids to go to bed.

Their bedtime was at eight o’clock, and Connie and Steve were double-teaming the boys’ bathtime. Olivia was old enough to care for herself, even though she tried her best to get her parents to let her stay up later. She did ask for Javi to tell her a story before bed, which he agreed to, leaving you alone in their family room watching a rerun of The Brady Bunch.

It gave you time to think, sitting there on the couch, chewing on your thumb.

Even with your fears, the baby fever was strong; all day, as you watched Javi with the kids and looked at pictures, you kept having thoughts about what he’d be like with your own children and feeling this overwhelming need to have a baby with him. There was something really hot about a man who was good with kids, and add in the knowledge you knew for a fact he would be a great parent and partner, had you feeling some type of way...

It was horny; you were so insanely horny over imagining him as the father of your kids.

It didn’t help that he kept giving you material for your imagination to run wild, like him playing with the children and the scenes in the pictures, or when he held Stevie in the kitchen while you were helping make dinner—his free hand had been on your back and he’d pause his conversation with the three-year-old for a second to kiss your hair a few times, easily envisioning him in the same situations with your own kids. Or during dinner with everyone sitting down to eat, and without them knowing, his hand going under the table to ghost his fingers along your jean short-covered thigh until it found its home on your inner thigh, wedged a little in the crease where your leg met your hip, Javi talking to everyone like he couldn’t feel the warmth at your center and thinking he’d absolutely do that at dinner with your own little family. Or there was how he gave you a hug and kiss before he went to tell Olivia a bedtime story, knowing that would be a daily occurrence when you had kids.

God, you wanted him so bad, having to rub your thighs together to ease the ache between them.

From the looks he’d been giving you throughout the day, you were pretty sure he wanted you just as much.

Could he really get you pregnant in a month?

Were you ready to go for it?

It felt like butterflies were fluttering around in your tummy at the thought.

There wasn’t any doubt for you about Javi saying his dad wanted you to live with him, but it felt kind of rude not talking to Chucho yourself before making this huge, life-altering decision that would affect him. You checked your watch, seeing it was almost eight in Laredo. He’d still be up. You could call him and talk it out.

“Hey,” Javi’s voice made you jump in your seat, your heart thudding rapidly. “Sorry.” He came around the couch, standing before you, your head tilting up to look at him.

“It’s okay,” you said.

He had a hand on a hip, smiling down at you with his eyes crinkled in happiness. “You ready for bed? We’re getting up early.”

You started moving to get up, and he put out a palm you took and helped pull you up while you said, “Um, yes. I am very ready for bed. Steve and Connie aren’t gonna miss us?” You were toe to toe with him when you stood.

“No.” He shook his head. “They know we’re getting up early and are exhausted from our long day.”

“Yes, we’re very exhausted from the long day,” you said in a monotone.

His tongue peeked out to swipe over his bottom lip. “Let’s go.”

He turned to grab the TV remote on the coffee table and clicked off the television before it was set down again, and he took your hand, leading you out of the room and toward the guest room, running into Steve and Connie in the hallway who whispered ‘Good night.’

In the bedroom, Javi locked the door, and with all the pent-up tension inside of you, it was surprising he didn’t kiss you immediately; instead, he started working open the buttons on his shirt as he walked over to his duffle bag, shrugging it off when he got to it, and getting out his toiletries bag that he took with him into the bathroom.

To be honest, you stood by the door completely confused while you watched him do all of this and only snapped out of it when the bathroom door closed halfway behind him.

From the sounds of the toilet flushing, then the sink continuously running, he was really going through his bedtime routine, probably washing his face at this moment after he cleaned his hands, and it annoyed you he was doing that instead of fucking you right this second. Your socked feet didn’t make any noise on the hard stone tile as you stomped angrily to your suitcase and got into it, quickly stripping out of your outfit and keeping your underwear on out of spite, covering them with sleep shorts and putting on an oversized t-shirt, you knew he’d hate since he didn’t like you sleeping in clothes.

You softly knocked on the bathroom door as you asked, “Can I wash my face and brush my teeth?” Your stuff was already in there for that.

The door was pulled open as you spoke, Javi standing there in just his unbuttoned jeans, it taking everything in you not to glance down at the trail of hair below his belly button. His face was freshly washed, and a red toothbrush was in his mouth, saying around it, “Yeah.”

He finished brushing his teeth as you walked in, wiping his mouth with a towel and giving you a kiss on the forehead before he went out to the bedroom.

You went through your own routine, the bed squeaking loudly, telling you he had gotten into it.

When you came out, only his bedside lamp was on, and he’d taken the side furthest from where you were standing, lying under the covers with his head propped up on his arm, where he could see you enter the room.

He was smiling up until you pulled back the blankets on your side.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Getting into bed.”

“Yeah, but what are you wearing?”

The sounds the bed made as you crawled in made your jaw clench, all high-pitched and awful.

“Clothes.”

“Why are you wearing them?”

You both usually slept naked.

You turned your back to him, the bedframe squealing softly as you got comfortable.

“‘Cause I feel like it.”

He sighed, metal screeching with every move he made to end up with his naked body flush behind yours, his arm going over your middle, his mouth at your ear as he spoke softly, “Are you mad at me?”

“I’m annoyed with you.”

“What did I do?”

“It’s what you didn’t do.”

He sighed again. “What didn’t I do?”

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s not like you’ve been driving me crazy all fucking day with your sexy DILF energy, and I couldn’t wait to be alone with you so you could give me some good dick or anything.”

He snorted, and it made you grind your teeth.

“I’m sorry I upset you with the lack of good dick and for driving you crazy all day.”

“Apology accepted.”

“But you said earlier you’d talk to me later about how you needed more time, and I thought that discussion was more important than sex and what we were going to discuss when we got back to the room tonight...”

Your stomach dropped, eyes widening.

“Oh. Oh god.” You didn’t even care about the horrendous noises as you flipped over to face him, your hand going to his cheek. “I’m a horny asshole.”

He was frowning. “You forgot.”

“Actually, it wasn’t that I forgot; it was that between then and now, Connie was a gem and gave me some insight to help me work through my shit. Also, she is really mad about Stevie being a carbon copy of Steve.”

“I know—what shit did you need to work through?”

“It’s so dumb, but when you told me you actually talked to your dad about us moving in, it made things real, and I started panicking about the reality of pregnancy and childbirth—which I know most likely everything will be fine, but I was freaking out. Connie talked me through it, though, and let me know it’s pretty common to have some fear, and now I think I’m okay; nervous and a little scared, but okay.”

His fingers ghosted along the skin of your cheek to cup your face, speaking so quietly, “I don’t want you to be scared.”

“I mean, wouldn’t you be a little scared about growing a tiny human inside of you and then pushing them out of your vagina? And don’t say you don’t know because you don’t have a vagina” You poked him in his bare chest. “You practically live in my pussy—imagine a baby coming out of it.”

“...Okay, yeah, I can see how that would be scary. Jesus, I can barely get my dick inside it…”

“Yes, Javier, you have a big dick.” You rolled your eyes. “Is your ego stroked enough?”

He pinched your hip, and you giggled. “I just mean my dick barely fits inside your pussy. How the fuck is a whole baby gonna come out of it?”

Your eyebrow lifted. “Are you being serious? Do you need me to explain the magic of childbirth?”

“No. It was a rhetorical question.”

“Thank god.”

The look on his face changed, seeing the hope glimmering in his chocolate-colored eyes, his hand rubbing your side over your shirt.

“Is this a yes to a baby?” he asked.

“Before I answer.” You pressed your finger to his lips. “I need to talk to your dad just to make sure we’re all on the same page.” He nodded his head. “But, once I talk to him and everything’s peachy keen, it’s a yes.”

A surprised gasp left you when you suddenly found yourself on your back with a very happy man on top of you, slotting his naked hips between your thighs and pressing his lips to yours in a searing kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck, moaning when his tongue licked into your mouth to tangle with your own, feeling his cock beginning to harden.

There was a throbbing ache in your core, wanting, no, needing, him to fill it in the only way he could, stuffing you full with his dick, then his come. Your fingers slid into his hair, nails lightly scraping against his scalp, the bed complaining with every minuscule movement you made.

SCREECH-Screech-screech. Javi sat up on his knees, the blankets falling down behind him. His eyebrows were pulled together, and his mouth was turned down in a frown as he grabbed the hem of your t-shirt. “If you were naked—” The bed squeaked as your upper body rose for him to tug your shirt off, it getting tossed to the floor. You laid back down, the frame screeching loudly again. “—you’d already be coming on my fingers.” Your cunt clenched hard around nothing at his words.

“I’m sorry!” you harshly whispered. “I was mad.”

He moved back on his knees, causing more ear-splitting noises, his fingers dipping into the waistband of your shorts and underwear. “Yeah, you kept your fucking panties on.” His face scrunched in confusion. “Why would you make it harder for me to fuck you?”

“Because: how annoyed are you right now?”

Squeak. His jaw ticked, and you knew he was irritated. “Between this fucking bed and having to waste time I could be fucking you, undressing you? I’m pretty fucking annoyed.” He pulled off your remaining clothes in one go, your ass rising, then falling back onto the bed and bouncing twice to the tune of the worst high-pitched sounds that could rival nails on a chalkboard. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he seethed.

You grimaced. “I am so sorry, babe. Can I make it up to you? A sloppy blowjob? I can sit on your face? You can play with my ass?” He always loved that.

He moved to lay on his side beside you, the journey plagued by ungodly noise, looking at you with a grumpy expression—someone pounded on the wall connecting your room to Steve and Connie’s master bathroom, Javi’s face turning red and eyes flashing with anger.

“Fuck this,” he growled.

He tossed his pillow and yours to the floor next to you and crawled over you to get off the mattress, the bedframe singing the godawful song of its people as he went, Javi pulling the comforter off the bed to fall on the floor. He groaned as he bent down to situate everything, ending up on his knees atop the spread-out blanket when he was satisfied. His arm went over your belly, using his strength to get you to the edge of the bed in a chorus of squeaks and grunts, and let you get on your feet on the ground before he dragged you down to lay on the comforter with your head cushioned on a pillow.

Javi was back to lying on his side beside you, holding his head up on his arm to look at you with irritation written on his features, his other hand smoothing down your belly to the apex of your thighs, the slide of two thick fingers through your slit making your breath catch in your throat.

“You wore clothes to annoy me.” He pouted.

He gathered some of the wetness pooling at your opening and used it to easily swirl his digits over your sensitive clit, sparking pleasure in your belly.

“Yes,” you gasped.

“You know all the little shit that annoys the fuck out of me—like the fucking underwear and shorts.”

He was fine if you wore underwear to bed, but underwear and sleep shorts? That was too many layers for him and, frankly, you, too. His preference was for you to be naked—he loved skin-to-skin contact and having easy access when you wanted him or when he wanted you.

“I’m sorry.” You loudly gulped, the beginning of your orgasm starting to make itself known. “Please let me come.” He seemed annoyed enough. You could imagine he’d draw things out and make you beg.

His expression changed to confusion. “I’m gonna let you come, baby.” He removed his hand, a pitiful sound leaving you as you watched him suck his fingers into his mouth, hearing the swish of saliva—they came out from between his plush lips, glistening in the low light of the room, and you moaned when without any preamble he pressed those two digits into your wet entrance.

He quietly shushed you. “Gotta be quiet, Cielito,” he said. You bit your bottom lip, reveling in the slight stretch of his fingers as he pumped them slowly in and out, your eyelids fluttering shut. “You also know all the little things that make me happy—like how I prefer Mexican Coca-cola, and you do shit like make me stop at that corner store on our way to Pop’s every week to pick up three bottles.” He started moving faster, and it made you whine at how good it felt. “You love me, you care about me, and make me so fucking happy—I was really fucking happy about your yes.” He crooked his digits, sliding the pads of his fingertips along your upper wall until he hit something divine that made you gasp. “There it is.” His focus went to that spot, making sure to press against it every time he pushed inside, your vision dotting with stars at the intense pleasure. “I was really fucking happy about your yes,” he said again, the added friction of his thumb rubbing your clit, rocketing you to your end, the knot in your belly winding up so tight it was close to snapping. “Then the clothes and the fucking bed—”

“Threw off your groove,” you panted, grabbing at the blanket for something to hold onto.

“Threw off my fucking groove and pissed me off.”

“I’m sorry.” You felt so bad but were also so close to coming.

His head came forward to kiss you tenderly. “Quería hacerte el amor (I wanted to make love to you),” he murmured into your lips, and you clenched around his fingers. “Quería hacerlo bien suave, dártelo despacito (I wanted to do it softly, give it to you slowly).” His hand sped up, hearing the wet slide of his digits fucking into you, the pleasure making the muscles in your stomach tighten and tighten. He nipped at your lip. “But I’m too worked up,” he rasped. “So, now, after you’re my good girl and you come on my fingers, you’re getting put face down, ass up, and I’m gonna give you that good dick you’re entitled to as my future wife and mother of my children—and next time you’re gonna ask for it instead of pulling the passive aggressive bullshit you did tonight; I love you more than anything, but I can’t read your mind.”

“Oh, god,” you moaned, wound up so tight you were dangling on the edge.

He kissed your cheek, trailing his lips down to your ear, his words coming out deep and husky with a slight edge that brooked no room for argument, “Javi,” he corrected, “the man you’re gonna marry, who's gonna make you a mother, and right now, come.”

The tension inside you snapped, the order doing you in as you came with a loud moan Javi smothered with his mouth pressing to yours. Euphoria pulsed out from your center while your pussy squeezed his fingers hard enough that they stopped moving, his thumb gently stroking over your sensitive bundle of nerves to help you ride out your high.

He was languidly kissing you, your body pleasantly relaxed and feeling amazing.

It was wetter between your legs, your slick drenching his fingers. You slid your hands into soft strands of his hair, kissing him harder, and he groaned, grinding his hard cock into your hip for some friction, his precum streaking on your skin.

Javi pulled back, and you chased his lips. “You good?” he asked.

Your eyes opened, seeing his plush lips were red and shiny from spit. “Yeah.”

His head nodded, his loving gaze admiring every inch of your face. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You smirked. “...and I love that I’m entitled to your good dick.”

His mouth curved in a crooked smile, removing his hand from between your legs to grab your smaller one and press it to his hot, throbbing length. “It’s yours,” he said, “and only yours, so yeah, you’re entitled to it, mi amor (my love).”

You took the girth of him in hand, and his mouth fell open as you stroked the velvety soft skin. “God, you’re so fucking hot, and you were exceptionally hot today. Like, thank you for making me come on your fingers, but I’m afraid I am going to die if you don’t put this thing inside me where it belongs.”

His dark eyes got darker. “Flip over,” he ordered.

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” you said, immediately turning over onto your stomach and getting on your knees. You leaned forward to rest your arms and head on the pillow, keeping your ass up in the air.

Pained groans sounded from Javi as he moved, knowing being on the stone-tiled floor was probably fucking up his knees and back. You grabbed the extra pillow beside the one you were on and held it back behind you. “Use this as a knee pad.”

You didn’t have to look at him to know he was frowning. “What about your knees?”

“You’re a sweetheart for worrying about my knees, but they’re fine. I want you comfy while you fuck my brains out.”

A loud sigh left him. “I should be fucking you in a bed—” There was anger in his tone, snatching the pillow from you. “—not the fucking floor.” You could feel the air moving behind you as he situated himself on the pillow. “You deserve better than the fucking floor.”

You frowned. “If you’re this mad about it, we can fuck on the chair again? Or you can bend me over the bathroom counter?”

“No.” He had shuffled close enough that his body heat was radiating against your skin, hearing him spit on his fingers, followed by wet strokes as he slicked up his cock. “This is how I want you.”

Your head was resting on your crossed arms, and you wiggled your backside. “You did say you were gonna give me that good dick while I was face down, ass up.”

His big hands grabbed your asscheeks and spread them. “Yeah, I fucking am.” A soft moan fell from your lips when you felt warm saliva land on the skin between your asshole and pussy, one of his hands sliding the tip of his cock through the spit to notch at your entrance. “I need you to be quiet.”

“I can be—” The sentence ended with you shoving your face into the pillow to muffle your moan as the tight walls of your cunt were stretched and filled with his hard, thick cock, pushing in so deep he kissed your womb.

He bottomed out, his hips connecting with the plump flesh of your ass, and it stole your breath, your head going dizzy with pleasure.

“Fuck,” he whispered, digging his fingers into your hips. “Fucking perfect.” He pulled out halfway and pushed back in. “The perfect pussy.” Now, he was rocking into you, keeping as much of himself inside you as possible while still getting some friction. “God, I love you.”

Your head turned to speak quietly, “Are you already pussy drunk?”

He swatted your asscheek. “Don’t give me shit,” he grumped. “You weren’t the only one driven crazy all fucking day.”

“I’m not giving you shit—it’s making me feel really good about myself.”

“Yeah?” His hands were gripping the globes of your ass. “You love knowing what you do to me?” he asked, sliding his dick out until just the tip was inside. He thrusted forward hard, your eyes rolling back in your head and a gasp leaving your lips. “You love the power you have over me?” he questioned, pulling out to the same point. Thrust. “That not even a second inside you, and I never wanna fucking leave.” He kept that slow, hard pace as he spoke, moving in and out. You reached one of your hands between your legs, spreading two digits around where he was spearing into you to feel how he was stretching you open. “My favorite place to put my dick.”

It was taking everything in you to hold back your moans, whimpers slipping from your throat instead from how fucking good it felt. With the way you were positioned, his cock was sliding against those spots that made your toes curl and your vision blur, having a hard time thinking, let alone speaking—his last comment somehow caused you to blurt out, “Liar.”

He was softly grunting behind you, his fingers tightening on your ass.

His pace didn’t waver. “What am I lying about?”

He really wanted an answer? It took a lot of effort for you to reply, a thin layer of sweat forming on your skin, swallowing hard before you spoke. “Your favorite—” He pushed into you, and it hit so good you moaned. “—fuck,” you tried again. “Your favorite place is my ass.” His rhythm stuttered, and he kept his groan low.

His voice was rough, “No, it’s not. That’s my second favorite—fuck, you feel so good—so fucking wet. This pussy is my favorite.” You could tell he was exciting himself. “Fucking love it—can never get enough of it.”

The swing of his hips sped up, fucking into you faster, your ass jiggling as his body collided with yours. This new tempo had you putting your face back into the cushiony pillow to dampen your moans, your fingers moving to rub at your clit, causing fire to ignite in your belly; soft grunts coming from behind you, hearing the slap of skin on skin, and the sounds wet where he was working himself into your cunt, a steady stream of your arousal dripping down his shaft to his balls slapping against your digits.

The heat at the base of your spine was growing, his dick pounding into you at a punishing pace, mewling incessantly from the onslaught. Each thrust had you seeing stars, the pleasure building you higher and higher, your belly clenching in anticipation for your impending orgasm.

It didn’t even surprise you how quickly he was working you up with the way you were pent up from watching him all day—how tempting it’d been to haul him away and fuck him, and he wasn’t disappointing you now, truly giving you the good dick you’d wanted.

The muscles in your stomach were beginning to tighten, so fucking lost in what he was doing to you and your fingers, you’d forgotten to control your volume, a big hand squeezing its way between your face and the pillow to cover your mouth.

Javi came down over your back, holding himself up on an arm while he kept fucking into you, dipping his upper body low enough his lips grazed the shell of your ear, feeling his hot, panting breaths.

“Such a good fucking girl taking it,” he breathily rasped into your ear. “Am I fucking you good? Is this the good dick you wanted?” You moaned into his palm. “Your needy little pussy just needed my cock?” He was pounding into you hard enough to make your thighs jiggle and ass shake like jello. “Turned you on watching me today? You love knowing that I’ll be a good father? That I’ll actually give a shit? That you just, fuck,” he groaned. “That you just have to say the word, and I’ll fuck a baby into you?” He was moving faster. “I’ll give you a baby—I’ll keep your perfect little pussy stuffed with my come to make sure it takes.” The sentence made you clench around him, so close to your climax you could taste it. “Is that what you want?”

You couldn’t speak, not with the way he was fucking you, unable to articulate words as he impaled you on his dick.

“Are you cock dumb, Cielito?” he asked through heavy breaths. “Am I fucking you too good? I know you’re close. Give me another, and I’ll fuck you full of me.”

Your body was trembling, right on the cusp of coming.

“Come all over my cock, baby, and I’ll fill you up. Just think, after my birthday, when I fuck my come deep inside you, I could end up knocking you up.”

Finally, you were cresting, your cunt clamping down on him hard enough, he slowed as you came with a whine, and tears leaked from your eyes. Pleasure exploded out from your core, feeling it in your fingers and toes, your mind going pleasantly blank while your chest heaved and your heart raced.

“My good girl.” He sounded pained, rolling his hips to extend your high. “You’re so fucking good to me—I fucking love you.”

He pulled out of you and removed his hand from your mouth, and you hated how empty you felt.

Groaning, he sat up on his knees.

He tapped your hip. “I need you on your back.”

His hands were gentle as he helped you in your fucked out state to get onto your back with him in the space between your spread legs. He ended up over you, with an arm beside your head, the other guiding himself back inside you in one smooth thrust that made you whimper.

Your eyes were closed, but you could feel how he surrounded you—the mass of him on top of you with those broad shoulders you loved so much.

When he started moving, he didn’t go slow, nor was he going the typical speed to chase his own high—it was something in between that had him slickly sliding in and out of your drenched pussy, hearing the wet suck of each stroke.

First, his lips found yours, kissing you while his hands sought out your own, interlacing your fingers together as he held them above your heads. Your bodies were glistening and hair damp with sweat, not caring how the skin that came in contact stuck together.

You were still feeling good from your orgasm and loved how he felt inside you, knowing this was how he originally wanted to fuck you.

“Te amo (I love you),” he said into your lips, sounding wrecked. “Te amo tanto (I love you so much). No puedo esperar a verte usando un anillo (I can’t wait to see you wearing a ring on your finger). No puedo esperar a verte embarazada (I can’t wait to see you pregnant).” His pace was quickening, his words getting breathier. “No puedo esperar a que seas mi esposa (I can’t wait for you to be my wife). No puedo esperar a que seas la madre de mi hijos (I can’t wait for you to be the mother of my children). No puedo esperar a vivir en la casa de tus sueños contigo (I can’t wait to live in the house of your dreams with you). No puedo esperar a pasar el resto de mi vida contigo (I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you). Te amo, mi Cielito, mi amor, mi vida, mi alma, mi todo (I love you, my Cielito, my love, my life, my soul, my everything).”

“God,” you softly moaned. “This is what you meant when you said querías hacerme el amor (you wanted to make love to me).” This was the only way you were okay with the phrase—it sounded very romantic in Spanish. “How do you make me fall more in love with you?” You kissed him. “It’s not fair.” Your words were muffled. “I want to be married to you and have your babies.” Your legs went around his hips, digging your heels into his flexed asscheeks to pull him closer to you each time he pushed in. “Fuck a baby into me, Javi.” He groaned at your words, his hips moving faster, finally working toward his end. “I want one so bad—I’m hoping I can get rid of my birth control tomorrow.” Which was true.

The sound he made, you’d think he’d been wounded, his strokes getting jerky, his face going into your neck as he breathed through his bared teeth until he was pushing in all the way, biting into your shoulder to muffle his ragged moan as he came. You felt as his cock thickened and pulsed, spurting hot come as deep inside you as he could get, your cunt clenching around him.

This was what you had needed all damn day, finally feeling sated at being full of him, all of him—his dick, his come—sighing happily.

He let go of your hands, and you found yourself under the comforting weight of the man you’d one day marry and have children with, sliding your fingers into the soft, thick, sweat-damp strands of his hair, making him hum and nuzzle into your throat as you lightly scratched at his scalp.

Nothing mattered when you were like this; no one else existed. There was only Javi and you, you and Javi. He was what you could feel and what you could smell. When you opened your eyes, he was what you could see; his heavy breaths were what you could hear—he was everything.

He was your everything.

Javier Peña was your today, tomorrow, next week, and next year. He was your present and future, the one you were meant to spend the rest of your days on this planet with and haunt all of eternity in the afterlife with. He was your person, the love of your life, your soulmate, and most of all, your best friend.

You were going to marry and start a family with your best friend, the man who knew you better than anyone else and loved you more, too.

Why were you ever scared about having a child when you knew he’d be by your side every step of the way and take care of you?

Because you’ve never had this kind of support or been loved like this before. You were in new territory and treading carefully, learning as you went—both of you were learning to live this new life together and figuring things out. As Javi said earlier in the day, it wasn’t going to be all sunshine and rainbows. You were going to have your ups and downs, but all that mattered was you stuck together through the good and the bad because you truly loved each other.

Time passed, the minutes going into the double digits before either of you spoke, content in your cocoon.

“Did you mean it?” he said the words into your skin.

“Did I mean what?” It took some head-turning and neck stretching to kiss his forehead.

“You wanna get rid of your birth control tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Your fingers stroked through his hair. “I was gonna call your dad right before you came and got me for bed, but now it’s too late. I’ll leave a message on his answering machine in the morning since he’ll be working to give us a call on his lunch break so I can talk to him.”

Javi’s head popped up to look you in the eyes with a grin. “He’ll answer the first time you call.”

You frowned. “He’ll already be working by six… He won’t be home.”

He was practically vibrating with excitement. “Trust me, he’ll be home.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What do you know that I don’t know?”

“Nothing that you don’t already know—Pop really wants to be an abuelo (grandpa), and he’s on our ass about grandkids all the fucking time.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t explain him being home tomorrow…”

“Oh, yeah, I talked to him earlier and mentioned you wanted to talk to him before we finally went for it, and he got so excited, he said he’d stay home the next couple of days in case you called.”

That sounded like something Chucho would do if he knew there was a chance it’d speed up him getting his grandkids, and it warmed your heart, making you smile. “He’s the best—I love your dad.”

“He’s your dad, too—he already calls you his nuera (daughter-in-law).”

“Sure, but it feels a little sweet home Alabama saying, ‘I love our dad’ with your dick still inside me.”

A high-pitched sound came from air escaping between his lips, which he was struggling to keep closed, it sputtering into a full-on laugh, his eyes crinkling at the edges in mirth.

“That’s fucked up,” he wheezed.

You were smiling, pushing his bangs away from his face. “It’s the truth. The sentiment is sweet, but the phrasing is a real boner killer.”

“I love you.” He was calming down, adjusting his weight onto one arm in order to cradle your face in his other palm.

“I love you, too.”

The smile on his face was big and bright, a joyful chuckle leaving him as he leaned in to kiss you—something sweet, and tender, feeling his happiness with each press of his plush lips to yours.

“We’re gonna have a baby,” he said between kisses.

“I’m not pregnant yet.”

“You will be soon.” And he said it so matter of factly, with such surety, it had pleasure shivering down your spine, your cunt clenching around his softened cock, making him hiss from the overstimulation.

A shift happened, the kisses turning more fervent before he was pulling out of you and making a journey with his lips down your body, to between your legs, where he worshipped you with his mouth and tongue, your fingers tugging on his hair, biting your lip to keep yourself quiet.

After he pulled another orgasm from you, he finally seemed satisfied, and a quick shower was taken to wash the sex away from your bodies. Javi was so pissed off about the bed he refused to sleep in it how Steve had intended and instead quietly moved the furniture around, pushing an end table and the bedframe closer to the closet to give him enough space to put the mattress on the floor. It was going to be an absolute bitch to get up from in the morning, but your future husband was pleased with himself for getting around his friend trying to cockblock him, and you both were happy you weren’t plagued with any more godawful noise.

This time, you were naked when you crawled into bed with Javi, and he immediately pulled you into his arms, tangling your legs together. Exhaustion caught up to you from the long day, sleep making your eyes heavy, smiling when he kissed your forehead, then your lips, his nose nudging yours as he whispered, “I love you.”

Your thoughts had become slow, so comfortable and warm, feeling so loved and happy, you were drifting off, mumbling as you went, “I love you, too.”

The bright teal walls and floral artwork hanging on them let him know he was standing in the hallway at the back of his father’s house—his mother had chosen each piece, and his dad had hammered each nail they hung from in the spots she’d decided. In all his years in this house, he’d never seen these walls bare and loved even after all this time since his mom had passed away, his father hadn’t changed a single thing she decorated; not in this hallway, not in his parent’s bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, the entryway, the guest room; they all had a touch of her, little traces of her memory with the pictures she chose to display or the knick-knacks she left on shelves or decorations adorning the spaces.

Sounds were coming from the kitchen that told him someone was cooking—a tune he couldn’t quite make out but somehow knew playing on his mother’s favorite Spanish radio station, something frying on the stove, the dings and scrapes of cooking utensils against pots and pans—the familiarity of it making him wonder what his Cielito was making, and feeling like he was floating across the floor with how smoothly he walked toward the noises.

One moment, he was walking, the next, he was in the kitchen beside the table. His vision was soft around the edges and unfocused, but he knew the woman whose back was to him wasn’t Cielito—it was almost like she was a shadow; the shape of an adult human female with no details.

The dark figure’s head turned to look over their shoulder at him, and even without a face, he could tell they were smiling.

“Ah, mi Javiercito, estoy muy feliz de que estés aquí (Ah, my Javier, I’m so happy you’re here)!” His vision focused as she spoke and filled in those details that were missing, his mother appearing before him with her brown hair that matched his beginning to grey and the same lines on her face that were in the photo taken on his parents’ 35th anniversary. “Te he echado de menos, nene (I’ve missed you, baby boy).” She turned to face him, wearing her light pink, rose-printed apron with the ruffle trim and two big, solid dark pink pockets on the front. “Ven a ayudar a tu mamá a abrir este frasco obstinado (Come help your mom open this stubborn jar).” She held it up, and he was so transfixed with her he didn’t care to see what was in it.

“Amá (Mom),” he whispered, trying not to cry. “¿Eres tú, amá (Is that you, mom)?”

“¿Estuviste ausente por tanto tiempo que te olvidaste de tu pobre madre (Were you away for so long that you forgot about your poor mother)? Sí, soy yo (Yes, it’s me). Ahora, ayúdame a abrir este frasco (Now, help me open this jar).” She lifted the glass again. “Tu papá está trabajando y tengo que terminar de hacer la cena (Your dad is working and I need to finish making dinner). Es una gran noche para todos nosotros (It’s a big night for all of us).”

Javier took the jar and easily got the lid off with a pop as he removed it.

His mother was much shorter than him, and she reached up to grab his face, pulling him down to kiss all over his cheeks like he was a child before she held them and looked him in the eyes.

“Gracias, Javiercito (Thank you, Javier),” she said. “Estoy muy orgullosa de ti y del hombre increíble en el que te has convertido (I am so proud of you and the amazing man you have become). No sabes lo feliz que estoy de ver hacia dónde se dirige tu vida (You don’t know how happy I am to see where your life is going). No mereces nada más que felicidad (You deserve nothing but happiness). Hablando de eso, ¿cuándo llegará mi nuera favorita aquí (Speaking of which, when will my favorite daughter-in-law get here)?” She patted his cheeks. “¿Dónde está tu Cielito (Where is your Cielito)? Ella necesita estar aquí para la celebración de que tu padre y yo finalmente vamos a ser abuelos (She needs to be here for the celebration that your dad and I are finally going to be grandparents). Estoy haciendo su receta favorita de mi caja de recetas (I’m making her favorite recipe from my recipe box).”

It was so hard to speak when it felt like there was a lump in his throat.

“¿Por qué estás haciendo su receta favorita (Why are you making her favorite recipe)?” he asked thickly. “Soy tu hijo (I’m your son).”

His mom smiled. “Porque ella es la mujer increíble que hizo sonreír a mi hijo de nuevo, y lo ama tanto, sé que finalmente tendrá la vida feliz que tanto se merece (Because she is the incredible woman who made my son smile again, and loves him so much, I know he’s going to finally have the happy life he deserves).” Her smile turned mischievous. “Además, ella es mi hija favorita que nunca tuve y la madre de mis futuros nietos, así que le haré todo lo que quiera (Also, she is my favorite daughter I never had and the mother of my future grandchildren, so I will make her anything she wants.”

Suddenly, consciousness was crashing into him as he woke up, gasping on a sob, his eyes wet with tears. The room was pitch black when his eyelids lifted, lying face up atop the mattress, Cielito’s back pressed to his side with his arm draped over her bare middle, the ache in his heart making his shoulders shake as he cried away the sadness.

What he’d give for that dream to have been reality.

He couldn’t recall the last time his mother had visited him while he slept. For years after she passed away, the only time she appeared in his dreams was when he relived the last time he saw her alive as she lay on her deathbed. Over and over again, he’d sit on the edge of the hospital bed with her frail hands gripping her rosary between his, begging him to take it for her, and Javier always telling her he would and how much he loved her. Sometimes, he’d say more—he’d beg for her forgiveness for being away for so long, tell her he couldn’t live without her, and plead with her to stay a little longer because he wasn’t ready to let her go.

What he dreamt this evening was different than anything he could remember. It was jarring how real it felt, which made it hurt so much worse. He wondered why his brain chose tonight of all nights to have her visit him and say things he’d needed to hear. Maybe it was all of the big changes taking place in his life—he was moving forward, and it was a reminder she’d always be with him. What he knew for sure was it made him miss her so fucking much and hate that she wouldn’t be with his dad when he and Cielito called him this morning to tell him the news they were engaged and wanted to start their family.

Thinking about his plans for that morning, he moved his arm from over his future wife to wipe away the wetness on his cheeks and carefully sat up so he didn’t wake her, the blankets falling to pool at his waist. He twisted his upper body to look over his shoulder at the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock sitting on the bedside table pressed against the mattress-less bed frame. The alarm he set would be going off in ten minutes, so it looked like he was getting up. He leaned back and stretched his arm to turn off the alarm.

It was a smart move to put the mattress on the floor with how he was able to quietly get out of bed, his knees complaining when he stood up and made his way in the dark to the chair by the bathroom door where he set out his clothes the night before.

He’d get dressed in the bathroom, brush his teeth, do his hair, and shave. Then, he needed to do some other things before it was time to wake up the woman he loved.

His head was running through the list of shit that he had to get done, and something he kept thinking about, and he knew wasn’t rational, was how the dream felt like his mother saying hi and giving him her approval of who he was going to marry from beyond the grave.

As he said, it wasn’t rational, but it made him really fucking happy.

The tickle of his mustache as he kissed along your shoulder had you waking. His warm hand was rubbing along your arm while he whispered into your skin, “Wake up, Cielito. It’s time to get up, mi amor (my love). We gotta get going, baby.”

“Mmm,” you hummed with a smile. He was on top of the blankets behind you. “What time is it?” you murmured.

“Half past five.”

“In Laredo or Miami?”

You could feel him smile. “Miami.”

The answer made you groan. “That’s four-thirty at home—why are we waking up at five-thirty on vacation?”

“If you get up, you’ll find out.”

You were frowning. “Is everyone else getting up, too?”

“No.”

“What, are you making me breakfast before they wake up or something?”

“No.”

“Are we going someplace at the asscrack of dawn?”

He huffed out an amused breath. “Yes.”

That had you wondering where in the world he’d take you so early.

“Will there be food?”

“Yes.”

He probably wanted to take you alone to some local diner he used to go to when he’d visit, so it was best to leave while everyone else was sleeping.

The thought of coffee and breakfast had you saying, “Fine, I’m getting up.”

“Thank you, Cielito.” He placed one last kiss on your shoulder and moved to get up with a groan. You stretched under the warm covers, blinking open your eyes to see the bathroom light was on with the door cracked, and Javi was fully dressed, yawning as you threw back the blankets.

He helped pull you up from the mattress, and as you walked toward the bathroom, you asked, “Will leggings and a t-shirt be okay, or is there a dress code?”

“Whatever you’ll be comfortable in is fine.”

“Mmkay.”

After taking care of your needs in the en suite, it took some minutes to get ready, ending up in some black leggings and an oversized coral-colored t-shirt with minty breath and your hair done.

The two of you were quiet as you made your way out of the house, stopping to put on your shoes and Javi locking the front door with a key on his keyring as you left.

The sky outside was dark, the street lights offering an orangish glow. Javi was wearing a white button-up under his black leather jacket and jeans, and you were still feeling a bit groggy when you got in the SUV, unable to keep from yawning. He laced his fingers with yours on your thigh, and even though there was a center console separating you both, you leaned your head against his arm as you hugged it, street lights and the headlights of morning commuters passing you as you made your way down the roads with the radio softly playing.

Between the signs on the highway and glimpses of the ocean, it wasn’t much of a surprise when Javi pulled over to the side of the road near a beach access point in Miami Beach forty-five minutes later. It still wasn’t clicking what you were doing there so early in the morning, though. A big bank of dirt covered in bushes kept the water out of view, with some palm trees and a street lamp standing high above near the entrance.

“I thought you said there’d be food?” you said, not even attempting to keep the confusion out of your tone.

“Trust me.” He kissed your hair, untangling your hands as he put the vehicle in park and switched it off.

“Okay… I didn’t bring a jacket.”

Javi met your eyes, the overhead lights coming on when he removed the keys. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you, mi amor. Now, come with me, please.” He didn’t even look tired, his gaze bright and hopeful.

“Okay.” You unbuckled your seatbelt, and he smiled, doing the same.

What was a surprise was when you went to see what he was getting out of the trunk, and he pulled out a big bundled-up blanket and full tote bag that clinked as he moved. You closed the back of the SUV without him having to ask.

“Javi?”

He had started walking, and you followed, the air surprisingly warm for how early it was.

“Yes, Cielito?”

“Did you bring me to the beach for a breakfast picnic?”

“Yes.”

You followed him down the path lined with tall grass, bushes, and trees, your feet sinking into the sand as you walked, hearing the waves in the distance—on the beach, you looked around, not seeing any other people, just miles upon miles of sand, and wondered to yourself with how sweet this whole thing was if Javi would let you suck his dick. Thankfully, he didn’t make you walk far, taking you to a circular alcove at the base of the hill where it indented in, the grass and raised land along the sides shielding you from view at those angles.

He set down the bag and spread out the blanket, stepping onto it, and you watched as he lowered himself down to sit on his ass with his legs spread a little out in front of him. He made you giggle when he tugged you by the arm and pulled you down into his lap, ending up across it, his head turning to look at you with a smile, the same expression on your face.

“You stupidly romantic man,” you said, stroking your fingers over his smooth cheek.

“You love that I’m stupidly romantic.” He kissed your palm.

“Yes, I do—like, if you wanted me to, I’d suck your dick right this second. A beach breakfast picnic deserves an out-in-public blow job.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re gonna get us arrested.”

“Hey, I can’t help that it makes me horny when you’re stupidly romantic. My only complaint is how early it is. Aside from that, everything else is lovely.”

His lips dipped into a frown. “I’m, uh, sorry I can’t make the sun rise later…”

Your eyes rounded. “Oh my fucking god,” you breathed. “We’re here to watch the sunrise. I’m so fucking stupid.”

“Why else would I get you up at the asscrack of dawn?”

“Sex,” you answered immediately.

His eyebrow went up. “Did we fuck?”

“No.” You shook your head. Warmth was moving through your veins, feeling the fuzzy happiness. “Because you brought me to the beach for a breakfast picnic and to watch the sunrise!” Moving, you straddled his thighs, taking his face in your hands as you crashed your mouth to his, kissing him like your life depended on it. His arms went around your back to pull you into him, his mouth opening when you eagerly pressed your tongue inside to slide against his, rocking your hips.

The need to breathe became too much, and his lips went to your chin to travel along your jaw in wet streaks.

“I love you so much, Javi,” you panted. “I wish I could do something as special as this for you.”

“You did.” He sucked on your neck, and you moaned.

“I did?”

His head came up to meet your gaze. “Yeah, when you learned how to make mi mamá’s tamales.”

“Oh.”

“You’re stupidly romantic, too.”

It never crossed your mind that making him his mother’s tamale recipe would come across as stupidly romantic—you’d just wanted him to have some comfort on his tough first day at his new job.

“Well, fuck, we’re both a couple of stupidly romantic fools.”

He smiled big as he laughed, giving you a quick kiss.

“Yes, we are. Turn around, baby, and watch the sunrise.” He nodded toward it.

“Bossy.” You gave him a peck on the lips and turned around to sit between his legs, with your back to his front.

A cool gust from the ocean hit you, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin and making you shiver; staring off at the horizon and the dim sky colored in a fiery red where it met the water, lightening to yellow, then a soft blue as it rose.

Javi’s upper body was moving behind you. “Lean forward a little,” he said.

You tilted forward slightly, and he placed his leather jacket on your shoulders, feeling the weight of it and warmth on the inside from his body heat as it covered your arms and back.

Leaning back with your head on his shoulder, you turned to kiss his jaw. “Thank you.”

He hugged around your belly, shoving his face in your neck. “You’re welcome.” His words were muffled.

“What’s in the bag?” you asked.

He squeezed you a little tighter for a second.

“Thermos of coffee, some coffee cups, croissants, donut holes, berries, and cut-up pineapple.”

It was getting brighter, and you were enjoying watching the waves rolling.

“How in the world did you prepare all of that?”

“Connie—she bought everything, had the coffee pot set to be ready when I got up before you, and all I had to do was cut up the pineapple and pack everything.”

“Connie’s the best.”

His chin was resting on your shoulder.

“She is. Are you enjoying the trip?”

“Yes,” you answered truthfully. “Your friends are great, and I’d love to visit again.”

“Good.”

The sky had erupted in bright yellows, oranges, and reds the closer the sun got to appearing.

“It’s so beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” he said, taking your left hand in his, his other arm staying around your middle.

In the past, if he said such a thing, you’d snort or deny the compliment, but you’ve been with him long enough to know it wasn’t just him saying words—he meant it. If you asked him if he’d rather watch the sunrise or look at you, he’d choose option two because he was so unbelievably in love with you there was nothing or nobody more beautiful to him; he didn’t even look at other women, or if you pointed out one was attractive, he sounded so uninterested, with his, ‘Sure,’ or, ‘I guess,’ before he got flirty and told you how you were hotter.

This man was obsessed with you, and it was the greatest feeling in the world to feel so wanted. Your insecurities would never disappear, but he did his best to ensure you knew he loved all of you, including your flaws and the things you hated. He was perfect, and sometimes you couldn’t believe he was yours.

You grabbed his hand on your stomach. “My sweet man, I’m literally the happiest girl in the world. I don’t know how I got so lucky meeting you,” you said, sighing wistfully. “You came into my life with those beautiful brown eyes, that perfect mustache, and those tight-ass jeans, and I was a goner. You take up my every thought, and second, and hour, and everywhere I look, it’s you who comes to mind—it’s always you. God, I get lost in your eyes, your smile, and your voice. I get lost just thinking about them. I am so in love with you, Javi, that I miss you constantly. You can be in another room, and I miss you. You can be sitting on the other end of the couch, and I miss you. What I’m trying to say, Javier, is that I love you and am as obsessed with you as you are with me and that I know, to you, I am more beautiful than what we’re looking at.”

Emotion made his words rough. “I’m happy you finally believe me.” He kissed your hair.

“I do. I definitely do.”

He cleared his throat. “Can I say my stupidly romantic shit now?”

You laughed, the sun just beginning to peek in the distance, the colors of the sky reminding you of the opening scene in The Lion King. “Yes,” you answered.

He cleared his throat. “Mi Cielito, eres mi primer amor y mi último, mi media naranja y la mujer con la que voy a pasar el resto de mi vida (My Cielito, you are my first love and my last, my soulmate, and the woman I am going to spend the rest of my life with). Yo te pertenezco (I belong to you). Todo de mí es tuyo (All of me is yours). Mi presente, mi futuro, te pertenece (My present, my future, belongs to you). Eres con quien quiero compartir mi vida, y con quien quiero pasar por los buenos momentos y malos (You are the one I want to share my life with and the one I want to go through the good times and bad with). Me haces un mejor hombre y me haces querer ser un mejor hombre que merece a alguien tan increíble como tú (You make me a better man, and you make me want to be a better man who deserves someone as incredible as you).

“Sabía que eras la unica desde el momento en que nos conocimos (I knew you were the one from the moment we met). Sentí una conexión contigo (I felt a connection with you)—por la primera vez, sentí paz y sé que era mi alma encontraba su pieza faltante (for the first time I felt peace and I know it was my soul finding its missing piece). Sabía que iba a casarme contigo en nuestra tercera cita mientras bailábamos en tu cocina, y si soy honesta conmigo mismo, sabía que te amaba entonces, también (I knew I was going to marry you on our third date while we were dancing in your kitchen, and if I’m honest with myself, I knew I loved you then, too)—las palabras estuvieron pegadas a la punta de mi lengua durante semanas antes de que las dijera en voz pero supe durante tanto tiempo que tú eras para mí (the words were stuck to the tip of my tongue for weeks before I said them out loud, but I knew for so long that you were it for me).”

Tears fell down your cheeks, hearing and watching the waves crashing, the sun rising in the flaming sky as the backdrop.

“It’s not fair your stupidly romantic shit is making me cry,” you sniffed.

He kissed the side of your neck, his right hand on your tummy moved up to cup your left cheek, swiping at some of the wetness with his thumb.

“Lo siento por hacerte llorar, pero no he terminado (I’m sorry for making you cry, but I’m not finished).”

“Please continue. It’s not like you’ll make me cry any harder.”

You could hear him smiling when he started talking again. “Mi sueño para donde estaremos en cinco años es que estemos casados, viviendo en la casa de sus sueños que he construido para ti, rodeado de tantos niños como quieras, que estemos criando juntos (My dream for where we’ll be in five years is that we’re married, living in your dream home that I’ve built for you, surrounded by as many kids as you want that we’re raising together). Quiero eso (I want that). Quiero que eso se convierta en una realidad (I want that to become a reality). Quiero hacer mis sueños realidad y convertirme en tu esposo (I want to make my dreams come true and become your husband).”

Gasping, your head turned to look at him, his hand leaving your face, realizing this was a proposal.

“Javi,” you whispered, your breath stuttering as teardrops streamed down your cheeks, your lip trembling. “Are we practicing?”

There’d been a few practice proposals, the rules for the real thing being that Javi had to do it, and there needed to be a ring. Being on the beach, with the rolling waves and the rising sun, made this the perfect location and time for him to do it, but there didn’t seem to be a ring…

“Sigue mirando el amanecer, mi amor (Keep watching the sunrise, my love).”

With a nod, you faced forward again and immediately jolted in shock, your palm covering your mouth, stifling your loud gasp.

In front of you, Javi held up with one hand an open white leather ring box containing a gold band with a decent-sized princess cut diamond in the middle and two smaller ones on either side.

It was beautiful.

And he was actually doing it.

This was the real thing.

It was finally happening, and your body was shaking with sobs, the tears from earlier turning into full-on ugly crying because you were so happy and overcome with emotion.

“Te amo tanto, para siempre no sería suficiente tiempo para pasar contigo (I love you so much forever wouldn’t be enough time to spend with you),” Javi continued, sounding choked up. “Soy tuyo hasta que respire por la última vez, y seguiré siendo tuyo cuando mi alma deje esta tierra (I am yours until my last breath, and I will still be yours when my soul leaves this earth). La muerte no nos mantendrá separados (Death won’t keep us apart); Nos volveremos a encontrar (We’ll meet again). Buscaré en el cosmos y en los cielos hasta encontrarte porque no puedo vivir sin ti (I will search the cosmos and the heavens until I find you because I cannot live without you); eres mi otra mitad, mi media naranja, y me haces completo (you are my other half, my soulmate, and you make me whole). No hay yo sin ti (There is no me without you).”

“Me haces feliz de una manera que nadie más puede (You make me happy in a way that no one else can). Me haces sentir amado (You make me feel loved). Te preocupas por mí, y por todo eso, tienes todo mi amor y total devoción, y quiero dedicarte cada pieza de mí mismo, cuerpo y alma a ti (You care about me, and for all that, you have all of my love and total devotion, and I want to dedicate every piece of myself, body and soul, to you). Mi Cielito, mi amor, mi vida, mi alma, mi todo ¿me hariás el hombre más feliz del mundo, te casarías conmigo (My Cielito, my love, my life, my soul, my everything, you’d make me the happiest man in the world, will you marry me)?”

Nodding your head, you answered through tears, “¡Por supuesto que sí (Yes, of course)! ¡Un millón de veces sí (A million times, yes)!”

He paused for a second. “Really?” he asked softly.

His surprise sobered you up to the point you frowned and stopped crying, shaking off his hand holding yours to turn around, sitting on your knees between his legs.

His eyes were rimmed with red, tear tracks streaking beneath them down his cheeks. You held his face in your hands, your gaze on his.

“Now, you listen here, Javier Jesús Peña López: I. Am. Marrying. You. You proposed with a ring, and I said yes. I. Said. Yes.” You poked him in the middle of the chest. “We’re getting married. I want to marry you, so please put that gorgeous fucking ring on my finger so we can make out.”

“Right, shit,” he said, fumbling to take the ring out in front of you, the box falling once he had it between his fingers. He grabbed your left hand, sliding the ring onto your ring finger, and it fit perfectly.

You were staring at it, the diamonds sparkling in the early morning light.

“It’s so beautiful,” you said, your vision muddled from the water brimming in your eyes.

“It was my mom’s.”

Your gaze snapped to his. “Your mom’s?”

He was smiling softly. “Yeah. She would’ve wanted you to have it, and Pop agreed; he had it cleaned the day after he met you.” His hand held yours, sliding his thumb over the ring, and you wept, the teardrops slowly falling. “He gave me his blessing to have it altered because the original center diamond was very modest—he worked on the ranch for the previous owner in high school to help out mis abuelos (my grandparents), and once he realized he was going to marry my mom, he started saving a little bit of his paychecks for years until he had enough to buy her a ring he felt proud about her wearing; he wanted me to feel proud when you showed it off, too. The rest is the same aside from being adjusted to your size.”

You were looking down at where his thumb was moving over each diamond, back and forth, knowing the ring's history making you feel incredibly emotional.

“She wore this?”

“Yeah.”

Your shoulders shook. “It’s perfect,” you said. “She’ll always be with us.”

Javi had tears wetting his cheeks as he smiled. “Yeah, she will.”

The sentiment had the floodgates letting loose and made you start to bawl, throwing your arms around his neck and shoving your face in his throat as you hugged him, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close. He comforted you while you happily sobbed.

You were just so unbelievably happy with everything that happened—the proposal was better than you ever could have dreamed, and the fact he’d done it with his mother’s ring was making you an absolute mess. It meant so much to you that Chucho and Javi felt Antonia would want you to have it, silently promising her as you held her son that for as long as you lived, he would be loved, cherished, and you’d take good care of him.

When you finally started calming down, you said into his skin, sounding stuffed up, “There’s not this much gross crying when people get engaged on TV or in movies. Like, who’d wanna make out with someone whose face is wet from snot and tears?”

He chuckled, rubbing a hand along your spine. “I would.”

Sitting up, you met his eyes with a frown. “I feel too icky.”

“Hold on.” He leaned to dig into the tote bag beside him and brought out a small square box of tissues, presenting it to you.

“Connie?” you asked as you pulled two from the top.

“Yeah.”

You were wiping your face. “We should get her a fruit basket—one of the fancy chocolate-dipped ones.” The tissues were discarded for another to blow your nose, thinking this had to be the peak of romance.

“We’ll do that. I was gonna get Steve a nice bottle of whiskey, but with what he did to the bed, he’s not getting shit now.” The box of tissues was set down.

You snorted, your face finally clean and hands free. “You’ll get back at him somehow. Now—” You moved to straddle his lap with your arms going over his shoulder and fingers threading into his hair. “—I’d like to make out with my fiancé.” His white collar caught your attention. “I’m surprised for such a special occasion, you didn’t match your shirt to mine.”

He was smirking, his hands coming up to slide along your cheeks before cradling them. “It’s because—” Gently, he pulled you forward, kissing the tip of your nose, then nuzzling it with his own. “—I’m wearing the same outfit I wore on our first date.” His lips found yours in a passionate kiss, remembering him sitting in the bar on your first date in his white button-up under the black leather jacket and jeans, and that it was exactly what he wore here—all of the thought he put into this morning making you go so soft you were practically goo as you melted into him, pressing yourself closer, and allowing his tongue to plunder your mouth.

Happiness was wafting off the both of you, the sun shining in an orange glow behind you as the waves crashed and rolled.

Javier Peña was your person—he was the love of your life, your soulmate, your best friend, and his newest title, your fiancé.

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#pedro pascal #javier peña #Javier Peña/reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x y/n #wheresarizona writes #learning to live series

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thewriterwithnoplan · 3 months

Text

THE WINTER KEEP (2/2)

Summary: You have fled the Red Keep, the Greens and Alicent's poison. It is time to play your hand and herald your mother's ascension on a larger scale. You will fly to Winterfell, treat with the Lord Cregan Stark and await your brother. You are weak and a girl, no longer. You are a dragon ready to spill blood to ensure your promises are kept.

[Part 2 to The Highest Tower]

Soulmate AU: Your animal familiar leads you to your soulmate.

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader

Word Count: 5631

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, canon divergence, my first time writing for hotd, pretty sure I'm missing something...

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Laesuvion had taken to the skies through a hole in the dragon pit. Swift and lethal and stealthy as a white dragon against dark clouds could be. Come morning the whole of Kings Landing would know that you had fled. Come morning the usurper King and his council of snakes would be plotting your demise. You would need every advantage, every inch of distance you could gain before they found the wherewithal to send men after you. The Queen could protect you no longer, your time as her ward had passed. As Laesuvion crested the skies above the Red Keep, and you urged him north, you left just as you had arrived all those years ago. Rhaenyra’s only daughter. Her greatest supporter. Her most loyal weapon.

It took some days to fly north, you rested only once. On the second night of flying, setting down in the swamplands just beyond Greywater Watch. You swaddled yourself in your flying cloak and huddled in a hollow tree as Laesuvion hunted. Sleep came in fitful bursts, each gust of wind and animal sound convincing you that despite your head start from having flown through night and day and night again, the king's loyal men had somehow found you. You awoke around dawn to find Laesuvion’s bulk curved around your tree, his breathing deep and rhythmic in sleep. You crept toward his front claws and the charred mass caged there.

Your first food in some hours, since the day prior when you had polished off the meagre supplies you had smuggled out of the Keep. You tore charred clumps from what might have once been a deer or livestock from a nearby farm. You set these aside in case Laesuvion woke hungry, as you shredded his offering until– There, protected by the cocoon of hardened char, well-cooked meat. You gorged yourself.

You took to the skies an hour later, dehydration your greatest enemy so close to the searing sun. You wrapped your cloak around you, tied yourself firmly to the saddle and tried desperately to catch another snatch of rest. Through that morning, that evening and night, Laesuvion tore through the skies of Westeros.

You landed in the Northlands on the third dawn of your travels. The south gate of Winterfell rose to greet you, a small host of men waiting under its shelf. Dehydrated, exhausted, terrified, you could have wept with joy.

“Holt!” You startled. It was a woman.

“I mean no harm.” You dismounted Laesuvion carefully, moving purposefully to disguise your limb's feeble shakes. At eye level, though separated by a good fifty yards you repeated, “I mean you no harm.”

“Your dragon?” The woman demanded.

The men shifted nervously as Laesuvion gave a chest-deep rumbling purr. “Merely glad to have found our destination.”

“Come forward.”

“To whom do I speak?” You inched forward, Laesuvion nosing at your back.

“Sara Snow.” Up close you found Sara Snow to be very beautiful. With ebony hair twisted in intricate braids and eyelashes so long they caught snowflakes. A true northern beauty, with a sword strapped to her back and a pelt secured to her shoulders.

“I seek an audience with Lord Cregan Stark.”

“He is in a meeting with his men.”

“He will want to speak to me.” You smiled pleasantly, “He owes loyalty to my mother, the Queen.”

“House Stark owes loyalty to King Viserys.” Sara jutted her chin, “No oaths were sworn to his lady-wife.”

“You misunderstand me, Sara Snow. I speak of my mother, the Realms Delight. Queen Rhaenyra to whom Lord Rickon swore fealty.”

The men sent furtive glances to one another. Sara paused and then curtsied. “Forgive me, Princess. The North had not heard word of you for some years now, we feared you had been lost.”

“Ah, I have been kept to the Keep for some time.”

“Winterfell is most honoured to–” Sara turned.

The sound of crunching snow, hurried footsteps, quickened breath. One of Sara’s men toppled to the ground as a dire wolf barrelled through his legs. Pitch black but frosted with snow, it careened toward you. The man giving chase shouted the wolf’s name, skidded around the line of men, and stumbled to a stop mere inches in front of you. In what seemed to be perfect, practised coordination, Laesuvion jammed his snout into your back as the dire wolf danced around his owner's legs. In a heap of limbs, winter cloaks, and riding leathers, you collapsed on the man and fell to the snow.

You wheezed; the air knocked from your lungs. Your limbs shook as you scrambled up, plating a hand on the man's face as leverage.

“Sir.” You hissed; with all the royal poise you could muster. Alicent would be appalled. Your mother would be beyond amused.

“My apologies, lady.” The man grabbed your hips to lift you from him. Mortified you slapped his hands away and fought to your feet. “If you would just let me–”

You struggled, “Unhand me!”

“Here, just–” You planted a knee in his groin. He tried to curl up beneath you.

“Get off me!” You gave him a harsh shove and fumbled to your feet. “How dare–”

Sara Snow launched into raucous laughter. Hand clutching her side as she howled in delight. Her men shuffled as if wondering whether to intervene. Your assailant hobbled to his feet, one handheld protectively over his front, the other outstretched toward you as if to keep you at a distance.

You whirled toward Sara, “What is the meaning of this?”

“Apologies, lady.” The man heaved, his dire wolf prancing about his feet. “It was an honest accident. Shadow has been tense of late.”

“You let your wolf run wild in such a way?” You sneered.

“As wild as you allow your dragon to be.”

As if on cue, Laesuvion pressed the length of his head to your back again. The dire wolf herded his owner.

“Laesuvion?” You turned, pressing your freezing fingers to the scales of his nose. “Lykirī, iōrās aril.” (be calm, stay back).

He huffed and shoved at your hands. You toppled again; this time the man caught you against his chest. Laesuvion shuffled back, his tail swishing through the snow in a great arch. A growl rumbled up his throat as one of Sara’s men tried to approach.

“Ah.” The man smiled down at you in understanding.

You tried shoving at him again, but his grip held firm. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I am a wolf pup or a precious stone, or some covetous thing.”

“You are more precious than both I fear, and certainly something to covet.” He held your forearms to contain your struggle. “I have waited many years to find my Promised. I did not imagine you would be so violent.”

Sara coughed, “Welcome brother. Might I be the first to introduce you to our Princess, daughter of Rhaenyra. She has come from King’s Landing to treat with you.” She sketched a bow, her lips still trembling, “Your Highness, my brother, the Lord Cregan Stark.”

You gaped, your mouth opening and closing. A myriad of emotions warmed your face. Bone deep mortification. The purest delight. Wonderment. Utter confusion. Behind you, the dire wolf, Shadow, ran playfully around Laesuvion. Your dragon moved to face the tiny yipping creature, stealing his warm breath from your back. You shivered the cold striking through you like a physical blow.

“Princess?” Cregan Stark asked softly. “Are you well?”

“I am cold and hungry and tired, and I wish to bathe.” You said in a rush, utterly horrified with yourself.

But your Promised only smiled, “Of course.”

Cregan Stark was a most gracious host. In the hours since your arrival, you had been given quarters in the same hall as that of the Starks. A maid had gone about filling the tub in your rooms with water warmed on the fire, to which she added fragrant oils and sweet-smelling soap. As you bathed the maid returned – Atara, you learned – to ply you with cheeses and fresh bread, soft meats, and stewed root vegetables. Once you had been thoroughly scrubbed and fed, you dressed in the soft night clothes Atara had brought with her and curled up in the thick expanse of blankets atop your bed.

You were allowed to sleep for far longer than you might have suspected. Only being roused by Atara once the sun had well and truly set.

“Your Highness, Lord Stark asks that you join his family for dinner.”

You tumbled out of bed, and over to the dresser where you let her braid back your hair in the northern style. She handed you a thick winter dress that Sara had sent for you to borrow and allowed you to don it yourself. Stepping in only to tighten the taught laces at its back. You delighted in the simple joy of dressing yourself, so used to the Queen’s maids who scrubbed you raw and laced you tightly into dresses all shaded the same insidious green.

Atara whispered to you as she led you through the halls of Winterfell, “Lord Stark is a good and generous man. He has been Warden of the North for some years now, he is a just leader and kind to those in his employ. It is his uncle, who was his regent, and his power-hungry cousins you must watch.”

“Will they be at dinner?”

“No, they are north and east in Karhold. Though his sister will be present.”

“Sara Snow. She is his sister born? I assumed the Lord was her brother-at-arms, not a true blood relative.”

“Indeed,” Atara corralled you down another cavernous hall. “She is his sister and among his most trusted advisors.”

“Why does she bear the name Snow?”

“It is the surname given to those born out of wedlock in the north.”

“And this is not an issue in the north?”

Atara considered it for a moment, “For some it is. But Lord Stark is a better man than most.”

You wondered if she had been sent to sing his praises or if the people of the north were truly so enamoured with their lord.

“Is he not married?” You asked hesitantly, the thought had not yet crossed your mind.

Atara grinned, “He is not, Your Highness.”

“Nor betrothed?”

“Nor does he have a lover.” She assured. “We servants would know.”

“Thank you, you have been most enlightening.” You smiled as you reached the Stark’s private dining hall, “I will see to myself tonight. Please, enjoy your evening.”

Atara curtsied, “Have a most wonderful night, Your Highness.”

You most certainly would.

The Starks took private dinners in a humble hall. Three places had been set at the far end of the dining table with a generous spread laid out between them. Cregan and Sara looked up from their conversation as you crossed to your seat.

“My apologies, Lord Stark, Lady Snow.” You bowed your head. “I did not mean to keep you waiting.”

Sara snorted into her cup, “Please, Princess, formalities are for the feasting hall and for those whose names you cannot remember.”

“Sister,” Cregan hissed.

You fought a smile, “Forgive me, Sara, I would not have you think I had forgotten your name already.”

“How does the dress fit?”

“Wonderfully,” You swished from side to side, “You are most generous.”

“I have never had a sister,” she said thoughtfully.

Cregan spluttered into his cup. You grinned, “Nor I.”

You thought only briefly of Heleana and her mother and their glittering cage.

Cregan leapt from his seat to pull yours out for you, “Please, ignore my sister, she is overly friendly.”

“Please, ignore my brother,” Sara mocked. “He is overly nervous.”

“Tis not everyday one meets their Promised.” He met your eyes fleetingly.

What a soft demeanour for the Warden of the North, you thought. Though you supposed you had smiled more today than you had in all your years in the Red Keep, so perhaps today was not a good judge of anyone’s character. You allowed him to serve up your plate as Sara kept up a steady stream of conversation. First marvelling at the fit of her dress on you, then the colour of your eyes, your hair in northern braids, your improved state after some well-needed rest.

“Is she not a sight, dear brother?” She teased.

“I apologise for my earlier state of unkempt.” You winced. You had hit the Lord of this castle, your Promised rather hard.

“I thought you looked marvellous.” Cregan argued, then seemed to realise what he’d said and hurried to add, “We have received reports that your dragon has taken to the Wolfswood.”

You exhaled slowly, “Laesuvion flew through day and night twice over to get me here so swiftly. He will be in need of food and rest as much as I.”

“Laesuvion. That is a beautiful name.” He said softly. “We can send meat if you wish?”

“He is a good hunter; he has fed himself since I was ten.”

“Still to have flown so fiercely, with so little rest…”

“It does not do well to deprive a dragon of its hunt. Especially in such times as these.”

Cregan placed his utensils down carefully, “Princess, what has brought you to Winterfell?”

You lowered your fork. Good, time to stop dancing around the subject. From the pocket of your skirt, you withdrew the King’s missive.

“I am not sure how far and fast word has travelled,” You looked to the siblings and frowned. “King Viserys is dead, and Aegon has been crowned in my mother's place. The night of his coronation Queen Alicent gave me this letter for you, Lord Stark, she wishes for us to marry.”

Cregan broke the seal of the King’s letter and read silently.

“There are worse things than to be told to marry ones Promised,” Sara joked lamely. You smiled weakly in the tense silence.

Finally, Cregan folded the letter and turned to you, “Why were you with the Queen, not with your mother on Dragonstone?”

“I have been the Queen’s ward for some nine years now.”

“And are you loyal to her?”

“As a dog is to its owner.”

“They are very loyal in the North,” Sara said.

“I was traded to her as reparations when my brother gorged her son's eye.” You said plainly, “I was her possession, but I remain my mother’s daughter.”

“House Stark swore fealty to Princess Rhaenyra when she was made heir,” Cregan watched you carefully. “There has never been a Stark who has forgotten an oath.”

“I too have made a promise to my mother. I intend to keep it.”

Cregan brandished the letter, “This offers your hand in return for the North’s neutrality in the coming conflict. Is that what you wish?”

“May I speak plainly, my lord?”

“Please.”

“That letter is likely a forgery by the Dowager Queen’s hand. She is mistaken on many fronts, I fear, the least of which was Aegon’s ascension to King. I do not wish to go to war with my kin, but if it becomes inevitable I would rather do so with strong allies and in support of my mother.”

His head tilted, “House Stark is already an ally of your mother.”

“Yes,” You folded your hands on the table. “I should tell you, Lord Stark. My mother has sworn to marry me to my Promised for my service as her spy in the Red Keep.”

“You wish us to marry?”

“I wish to offer you my hand, outside my mother’s promise or the Queen’s demands.” You cleared your throat, and just as you had carefully prepared on your journey here you said, “I have been trained in the ways of the court, I will be of use to you in councils and in handling the affairs of your territory. I am of royal breeding, you will be made Prince-Consort, our children Princes, and Princesses of the realm. I have dragon eggs for their cradles and Valyrian blood for their veins. I would ask only that you allow Laesuvion to stay with me in the North. If not, I shall wait here until such a time as my brother Jacaerys comes to treat with you, that I might return with him to Dragonstone.”

You watched the Lord, his eyes dancing with an unnamed light as he listened to you. “I will need time.”

“Of course, my Lord, speak with your advisors.”

“You misunderstand him, Princess.” Sara grinned.

Cregan smiled, “I will not marry you hastily. I will need to summon my family and prepare a feast. It is a special thing, for those of our station, to be given leave to marry our Promised.”

“I–” You were unsure what you expected. “I suppose it is.”

Sara clapped gleefully, “Shall we call for dessert?”

You wore the soft nightclothes once more as you sat at your vanity and penned your mother a letter.

Mother,

How I have missed you. Know that I have thought of you often and never strayed from my mission nor my loyalty to you.

I have fled King's Landing and taken the Lord Hands life with me. Though the smallfolk have no mind to protest whichever Targaryen collects their taxes, you have many allies in the Red Keep. I have interred a list of those Lords and Ladies who remain loyal to you as well as those I have heard of beyond and some whom we may turn with careful diplomacy.

I am at Winterfell with my Promised, Lord Cregan Stark, whom I will marry in the coming weeks. With your blessing, of course. I await Jacaerys, with news of our family and our strategy. In the meanwhile, I intend to discuss what supplies and men Winterfell may have to offer you.

Mostly I am writing to you because I can. I am overwhelmed with the freedom to do so, to be able to tell you once more how much I love you. I cannot imagine how this week has been for you, know that though we are separated I am your most fierce supporter.

I have had a thought, in my hours here, about how far Winterfell is from the capital. How far we will be if we are forced into battle and bloodshed. Perhaps you might consider sending Joffery here, to mine and my soon-to-be Lord Husband's care.

I hope you are well, Mother. I love you from the very depths of my heart.

You signed the letter with a careful flourish and set it aside. You would ask Atara where you might find a raven-master to have it sent. You touched your fingers to it softly, your first contact with your family in nearly a decade. To tell your mother that you were preparing for marriage and war.

As you blew out your candles and settled into bed, you hoped your mother would like Lord Cregan Stark.

On your fourth morning in Winterfell, you took morning tea with Sara. She had taken lengths to make you comfortable in the days since your arrival, and you took great joy in breaking your fast with her each morning. Today, you spent the early hours humming and haring over the tiny sample cakes you had been sent to taste for the upcoming feast. As you ate, Sara told you all that she could about the castle, the arriving lords, the Stark territory, and their histories.

Northern marriage traditions, you had learned, were not so different from those celebrated at King’s Landing, there would be the exchanging of cloaks and binding words spoken before gods but there would also be a hunt. Women such as yourselves would not be invited but you would find your own fun, Sara assured.

“It is tradition to have the pelts in your quarters and the meats on the feasting table.”

You lifted a citrusy cake between your thumb and forefinger, “Husband and wife share quarters here?”

“Most,” Sara said thoughtfully, “Though I’m sure Cregan would accommodate you if it is different in the south.”

“What happens if their hunt is unsuccessful?”

“I imagine there will be much embarrassment among the North, that we could not bring our Princess quarry for her wedding table.” Sara snatched the half-eaten cake from your hands and winked, “Fear not, Cregan is a good hunter.”

“If he is not,” You smiled fiendishly, “I suppose the two of us will have to find meats for the feast ourselves.”

Sara snorted, “I think my brother would be rather put out at being unable to provide you with a gift on your wedding day. But the look on his face as we return from our own hunt is almost worth it.”

You jolted, “Am I to bring him a gift?”

“You have brought him dragon eggs.”

“For our children.” You argued.

“For his heirs,” She assured, “I think he is already downtrodden at the idea of only being able to bring you fur and meat.”

“I bring only scales and fire.”

“You will be a very warm family.”

“And very well-fed.”

Sara snatched another cake from you, “Only if you keep eating all of these before I get a taste!”

You guffawed. “I am hungry, and they are so tiny!”

“They need be, so you can keep eating.”

“And I shall!”

“Your Highness, Lady Snow,” Atara curtsied as she entered, “Lord Stark has requested your presence in the courtyard.”

“Another lord has arrived?” Sara sank her teeth into another teacake. “Which house does he hail from?”

“No Lord, my Lady.” Atara looked to you uneasily, “A Prince. Of House Targaryen.”

After nearly nine years kept apart by the waters of Blackwater Bay, and three long days separated by your duties, the time had come. You caught your first look at your eldest brother as you left the comfort of the Great Keep and nearly crumpled to the ground. Sara laid a steadying hand at your shoulder as Atara whispered sweet comforts. But nothing could prepare you for the sight laid out in the courtyard.

Jacaerys, with Vermax perched atop the walls of the keep. Jacaerys, with tousled dark hair. Jacaerys, once the awkward boy you followed dutifully, now an emissary of the Queen. Jacaerys, your brother. Jacaerys, your mother’s son.

“Jacaerys!” You ran. Past Sara and Atara, past Cregan and his warning cry. You ran. Almost straight into the end of your brother’s sword. You pulled to a halt, the blade a whisper away from your sternum, “Jacaerys?”

“Sister,” He sneered. “How far you are from your castle.”

“I have escaped.”

“You have been sent as an emissary of the usurper and his cunt-mother.”

“She did not tell you?” Your arms slumped at your side. “Mother sent me as a spy, she and Daemon trusted me to–”

“Her trust was misplaced. You have betrayed us.”

“I have come here to rally the North for our mother’s claim, just as you have.”

“You have come here to better your station.”

“I am a Princess.” You hissed, confused, and insulted.

“You are Princess of nothing, of no house.”

“I am of House Targaryen,” You pressed forward until the tip of his sword tore through the bodice of your dress and blood welled. You turned, held out your hand and gave Cregan a pleading look, he shifted but stayed back. “I am Princess of loyalty, of oaths and duty. I have come to the North to escape the Greens, to tell our mother, the Queen, all that I have discovered these years.”

“Where was loyalty,” Jacaerys shook with rage. “When they dragged us before the Iron Throne and called our mother a whore and our brothers bastards? Where was duty, when Lucerys was nearly stripped of his birthright? Where were you when Laenor died? When Rhaenys flew to our mother's side to tell her of–”

“Our father is dead?” You whispered.

“Your father is Daemon.” He growled under his breath.

You reeled back, “My father is Laenor Velaryon.”

“It is Daemon. He told us so himself when he married Mother.”

“Daemon and mother are married?”

His sword sagged slightly, “The Greens did not tell you? What of Viserys and Aegon?”

“Our grandsire and uncle?”

Jacaerys looked pained, “Our brothers.”

You fell to your knees, shoved your face in your hands and wept. Jacaerys jerked his sword backward and staggered away from you as Cregan rushed to your side.

“Princess?” He wrapped a protective arm over you. “What is the matter?”

“The question of Driftmark’s succession,” Jacaerys stared at you in horror. “Where were you?”

“I did not know!” You sobbed. “I did not know!”

“Otto Hightower said you would not see us, that you felt abandoned and betrayed when Mother gave you to the Greens.”

Cregan pulled you closer to him as Jacaerys inched forward. He growled, “Stand back. You have no enemies among the Starks. Do not make one.”

“I went willingly, for mother, for Lucerys.” You glared up at your brother. “You watched me! I traded my life; you watched me do it!”

“Otto Hightower–”

“Is dead!” You bared your teeth. “I fled King’s Landing, and I killed the man who usurped our mother, and you as her heir. I am loyal, I am steadfast, I am your greatest supporter as heir.”

“Tis true.” Cregan attested. “She has come to the North in support of your mother's claim. She has offered her hand to me, and we have talked much of giving your mother’s children sanctuary here.”

“You are betrothed?” Jacaerys whispered.

“I am.” You said proudly.

Cregan smiled at you softly, “The North is yours, my Prince. So long as my Promised wills it.”

“Sister.” Was all Jacaerys could say. “Sister.”

“Come,” Cregan lifted you to your feet. “My betrothed will catch a cold out here, let us speak inside.”

Cregan sat you gently by the fire swaddling you in the great expanse of his cloak. Sara brought tea to your side while your brothers sat at the other end of the room to discuss politics.

“Did you hear?”

Sara blew on her cup, “I heard a lot.”

“Did you hear what he said about my father?”

“That you lost one? Or that…” She pursed her lips.

“That I am Daemon’s bastard.”

“I did.”

“Do you think Cregan heard?” You burrowed into his cloak.

She gave you a secret smile, “Does it matter? You are a Princess, twice over. And Cregan keeps me around, does he not?”

“I only meant…” You turned away. “I fear he may think me liable to follow in my mother’s footsteps.”

“Will you?”

You stared at her, “Cregan has been kind to me, listened to me, protected me – given me more than anyone has ever offered me. And he is my Promised. Why should I stray from him?”

“Then there is no reason to fret.”

“And the King’s Hand?”

“What of him?”

“I killed him.” You half hid your face in your teacup.

“Do you regret it?” Sara asked curiously. “It is no small thing, to kill a man.”

“He has haunted my family for generations. I would do it again.”

Sara shrugged, “Then we will speak no more of it, justice has been served. I’m sure Cregan will more than agree.”

“Will he?”

“He has been forced to make decisions even further North of here, at the wall.” She took a long sip of tea and stared into the flames. “Some even I do not agree with. But we are family, and he is your Promised. So, it does not matter, does it?”

“No.” You stared into your cup. “I suppose not.”

“Princess!” The man in question came over with a charming grin, “Your brother has offered to escort you at our wedding.”

Jacaerys looked at you timidly, “If you will have me, sister.”

You looked first to Cregan who nodded, and then to Jacaerys with a soft smile. “Of course, brother. Nothing would please me more.”

The letter from your mother arrived another four days later. It came to you clutched in Jacaerys’ hand with the seal broken. He had caught the raven just south of Winterfell as he, Cregan and the Northmen returned from the ceremonial hunt.

“I apologise, sister, I have never been accused of being patient.”

You scoffed, “Some things do not change.”

“Indeed,” Jacaerys said rather gravely. “I must ask a small favour of you before I give you this letter. It is on behalf of myself and our mother.”

You straightened, “Of course brother.”

“You will not open it until after you have been blissfully wedded to Lord Stark.” He paused at your dubious look, “Mother has words she wishes to share only after your wedding. Congratulations and such.”

“I suppose that is agreeable.” You took the letter carefully, “Though we require her blessings to move forward.”

“And you have them.” He tapped the letter. “In there. You shall marry your Promised tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

And so, you married him that night.

The Godswood was eerie in the darkness of night. Though lit by the torches of countless Northmen, it felt as if the darkness were reaching cool unnatural fingers toward your procession. Coaxing you, in your red-black Maiden Cloak toward the foot of the weirwood heart tree, where your Lord-Promised, his uncle, and the dire wolf Shadow wait. Jacaerys held your hand tightly as if frightened to let you go. Around you, Lords and honoured guests planted their torches in the snow, lighting the way for you and your brother. The wind whistled through the silence, broken only by the great rumbling in Laesuvion’s chest where he perched on the lip of the keep’s gate.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Called Bennard Stark.

Jacaerys whispered your name, then cleared his throat in embarrassment and announced it proudly, "Daughter of the House Targaryen, comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

"Cregan, of House Stark,” Your Promised sent you a small secret smile, “Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. Who gives her?"

"Jacaerys, of the House Velaryon, who is her brother and Prince." Jacaerys gave your hand a firm squeeze as he gave you to Cregan.

"Princess,” Lord Bennard made an admirable effort to say your name without disdain, “Will you take this man?"

You took Cregan’s large warm hands in your own and smiled, “I take this man.”

Silently, hands joined, you knelt to the cold earth. Around you, the Lords of the North fell to their knees and bowed their heads in deference. Foreheads pressed together, you and Cregan offered silent prayers to the Old Gods. When you stood as one, Sara was there in her uncle's place, a cloak of thick, luscious fur in the silver-grey of House Stark.

You tipped your head back as Cregan fiddled with the ties of your Maiden’s Cloak. You smiled at the sky as he struggled gently against your neck. Finally, it loosened, there was a brief shock of cold and then there was wonderous heat, the furred collar tickling your chin. You look to Cregan then, donned in his colours, wrapped in his protection. You smile softly at one another and lean into a soft kiss.

The black sky lights up with swashes of red as Laesuvion spits fire at the stars.

All at once sound returns to the Godswood as the witnesses of your nuptials cheer, chief among them is your brother. You laugh in delight as Cregan grips your cheeks and plants another kiss on your lips. Shadow yips at your heels as your husband sweeps you up into his arms and carries you toward the Great Hall.

He whispers sweet promises for your future, and you have never been more grateful to know how fiercely a Stark is at keeping their word.

It was the wolf’s hour when the festivities swelled through the Great Hall and you found yourself drawn to a quiet corner. You excused yourself from your husband by pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. He smiled softly at you and trailed his fingers from yours as you walked toward the hearth roaring at the far end of the hall. You pulled your mother's letter from your pocket and pressed your fingers against her seal as if you could fuse the two halves back into a whole. She and Jacaerys would not mind, you were sure, it was your wedding day after all, and you craved an inch of your mother’s presence.

You unfolded her letter and read:

My dearest girl,

I have never doubted you and I do not do so now.

You have my blessings. Marry the Lord Cregan Stark and take joy in your Promised. I will entrust Baela and Rhaena to bring your young brothers into your care.

You have served me well, which is why I write to you now, though my heart tells me to spare you.

Aemond has taken Lucerys’ life. War has come.

You looked up gripping the letter until your fingers drew indents in the paper and made desperate eye contact with Jacaerys’ pained face. A sound halfway between a scream and a sob tore from your throat, drowned by the thundering roar of Laesuvion overhead. Cregan stood, fighting to stumble his way toward you, as the walls of Winterfell rattled with your fury.

Nine years you had spent in the Red Keep, learning your enemies inside and out. Carefully ushering pieces across a board too vast for you to comprehend, hoping desperately you could stop a war conceived long before you. It all narrowed to this moment. Wrapped in the cloak of your husband’s house, framed by the hearth fire, as your dragon raged above.

Your Brother. Your Dragon. Your Husband.

By Blood. By Fire. By the Old God’s Promise.

You would avenge your brother and bring war to the Greens.

#cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon #prince jacaerys #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #queen alicent #alicent hightower #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #otto hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #soulmate au

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lani-heart · 16 days

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|| ENHYPEN SERIES – 7 TALES MASTERLIST ||

genre(s) -> hybrid au, non-idol au, university au paring(s) -> ehyphen ( individually ) x reader(s) warning(s) -> angst, violence, crimes, bullying, drinking, etc.

abstract -> what can go wrong in a world of hybrids?

-> uploading will start May 18 //Schedule tbd -> taglist open !!

RIKI NISHIMURA || SPOILED & MISBEHAVED

abstract -> Freshman in college and put to socialize with the other kids from wealthy families. y/n and Riki Nishimura being childhood friends and hybrid / master weren’t anything like other owners. Instead, Riki misbehaves and is rude when around others wanting his owner for himself. Getting her in trouble a few too many times had got him worried that he’d be replaced like her father warned him. So instead of waiting to be replaced… There's a new etiquette class available at the same school as his owner. How convenient… now was that gonna guarantee him a spot by her side forever?

CHAPTER ONE || “perfect hybrid” CHAPTER TWO || etiquette CHAPTER THREE || misunderstandings CHAPTER FOUR || jealousy CHAPTER FIVE || for you

JAEYUN SIM || EVERYTHING FORBIDDEN

abstract -> Seeing how Riki is treated, Jake, jealous and tired, runs away from the adoption center. Only to save a girl from the predatory men on the streets of Seoul. Not knowing he’s a hybrid, they both have the time of their lives… while he pretends to be human. How scandalous… the daughter of a wealthy known CEO to be caught with a stray hybrid?

CHAPTER ONE || outcasts CHAPTER TWO || luxury CHAPTER THREE || abandonment CHAPTER FOUR || forbidden CHAPTER FIVE || anything

PARK JONG-SEONG || NEVER ENOUGH

abstract -> Haechan always liked to interfere where he didn’t belong. Making a scholarship student take a hybrid and making a bet she’ll regret wasn’t on this year's calendar. Especially with how mean and rude he was… no way he was the well-behaved and sought-after hybrid the rich kids wanted. But… was sweet and caring, at the end of the day, however, he wouldn’t turn his life from riches to rags… right?

CHAPTER ONE || temporary CHAPTER TWO || scholarship CHAPTER THREE || mean CHAPTER FOUR || insecurities CHAPTER FIVE || forever

KIM SUNOO || WON'T YOU BE MY MUSE ?

abstract -> The principal's spoiled daughter returns from her trip to China only to find that her artist's block hasn't gotten any better. Who knew a cute and innocent fox would fix that? However… she swore never to own a hybrid so she could only admire him from afar as his owner turned out to be everything Sunoo hated. Even through that hatred and pain… she still saw him worthy enough to be her muse.

CHAPTER ONE || artist block CHAPTER TWO || exhibition CHAPTER THREE || envy CHAPTER FOUR || disappointed CHAPTER FIVE || muse

LEE HEESEUNG || DYSPHORIC BEAUTY

abstract -> Never adopted… I mean who would want to adopt a hybrid with big antlers on his head? It was a shame that such a pretty face had such an ugly thing growing out of his head. Would you want to adopt him? Even after he tried to cut them off risking his life in the process? Even after your parent's threats?

CHAPTER ONE || ugly CHAPTER TWO || doe eyes CHAPTER THREE || antlers CHAPTER FOUR || empty CHAPTER FIVE || pretty

PARK SUNGHOON || GRACE OF AN AMNESIAC

abstract -> The figure skater hybrid was sought after being sold for millions… but he met his match to take care of a clumsy woman. He was famous after all why should he have to take care of an idiotic woman like you who forgets to look both ways when crossing the street? Especially when you’ll end up forgetting him… all over again?

CHAPTER ONE || spring CHAPTER TWO || lies CHAPTER THREE || hate CHAPTER FOUR || truth CHAPTER FIVE || winter

YANG JUGWON || ESCAPE ARTIST

abstract -> Daughter of two renowned lawyers who just busted a case on the black mart hybrid traffickers damned their daughter with a hybrid. They thought it was a good thing to have someone to go home to after a long day… well that wasn’t true when he tried to run away every day. Until… one day she decided to not go find him.

CHAPTER ONE || service CHAPTER TWO || escape CHAPTER THREE || law CHAPTER FOUR || riot CHAPTER FIVE || liberty

if you would like to be on the taglist please send an ask or comment under this post. If you message me there might be a chance I don't see if and if you ask on another post such as in one of the chapters it'll be hard to keep up with.

taglist -> @ilovecheese09 @gudkc

please don't be a silent reader !! reblog, comment, and like <3

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randomfoggytiger · 5 months

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Gethsemane, Bill Scully Apologia, and Maggie the Emergency Contact

Dialogue and Play-By-Play Analysis:

Bill: "I picked up the phone when they called Mom. I thought you could use a change of clothes."

Scully: "Thank you... where's Mom?"

Believing her cancer is still a secret, Scully automatically places Bill's importance below her mother, wanting to talk freely with Maggie (without Bill.) Bill sees and understands this; and is hurt that she still won't open up to him despite being here, now, for her. As of yet, he doesn't act on that hurt.

Bill: "I didn't tell Mom what happened...."

Scully: "...But I'm okay. Luckily."

Bill: "You're not okay, Dana."

Scully: "I told Mom not to tell you."

Bill: "Why?"

Scully: "Because it's very personal. Because I don't want sympathy."

For all of the just criticism against Bill later in this arc, here he is holding back his anger (an expression of his hurt) and listening, really listening to his sister. He keeps quiet, giving Scully room to fully explain herself; and even sympathetically locks eyes, giving her his full attention.

Another thing of note: he is staring at Scully with the exact look of sympathy she wanted to avoid. Mulder and Maggie know her enough to acquiesce to her "I'm fine"s; but Bill is her life-long peer, and siblings can't hide truths from each other as effectively as they can their parents or partners.

"You think you can cure yourself."

Bill realizes that his sister never told her own family-- him-- about her cancer because she does, even now, believe she can cure herself. He's stunned, shocked, even appalled; and that leaks into his voice, coming across as judgmental.

Scully doesn't deny it, caught; and sighs, frustrated, that he divined and overly-simplified something she hadn't expressed to anyone and probably would not have been able to without a beautiful speech prepared ahead of time.

"Mom tells me that you've gotten worse. That your cancer's gone into your bloodstream."

This explains why Maggie told Bill in the first place: she cracked under the strain Dana's edict of secrecy put her under, watching her daughter slowly die without any apparent attempts to circumvent that death or even to bond over their shared tragedy. Bill became her only recourse... and Bill spilled the beans (as he does, again, in A Christmas Carol.)

Scully is shaken by his bluntness, unable to shy away from the truth spoken so baldly to her face.

"What are you doing at work getting knocked down? Beaten up? What are you trying to prove-- that you're going to go down fighting?"

Scully: "Now, c'mon Bill--"

Scully is deferring back to an old sibling dynamic: Bill misunderstanding, or only understanding enough to feel she's acting out of turn; and her attempting to draw him away from his preconceived notions. In this case, however, he's right; and she's avoiding the truth of that (subconsciously.)

Bill stops her by slapping down the clothes, getting her full attention.

"Y'know what Mom is going through? Why do you think I didn't tell her when they called?"

"What should be doing?"

Bill: "We have a responsibility-- not just to ourselves, but to the people in our lives."

And he's absolutely correct here: Scully has been so focused on work and its promise of a cure that she's forgotten to give space to those suffering alongside her.

"Just, just because I haven't bared my soul to you or to Father McCue or to God, it doesn't mean I'm not responsible to those important to me."

Here Scully reveals she thought emotional distance and soldiering on was her way of protecting her loved ones from her burdens, providing them strength in the face of her worsening health. In reality, it worsened their fears and burdens; and furthered their isolation... except for, ironically, Mulder, who wasn't ready to face the implications of her impending death, anyway.

"To who? This guy Mulder? But where is he, Dana? Where is he through all this?"

Bill is less right here: from his perspective, Dana has (once again) wrapped herself up with a man whose authority and work ethic supersedes Bill's love and concern for his sister-- another in the pattern of their late father and Daniel Waterston and Jack Willis. Bill isn't stupid: his above reproach also reveals he knows Mulder knows about Scully's cancer; and the fact that her partner did and still left her alone to deal with it to "pursue his career" while Bill hasn't been able to be there to support her at all eats away at him, makes him hate the man. (And still he's civil when he meets Mulder, even talks with him in terms he believes a workaholic will understand-- "Let's keep the work away from here"-- only getting rough when he misinterprets Mulder's blank face in response-- "Let her die with dignity.")

Despite being wrong here, Bill still hits the mark; because Mulder did wander off on a quest. But Scully can't argue for Mulder without betraying her own reticence, her own need to keep Mulder in the dark for Mulder's sake-- because that would betray her feelings in a way that she doesn't want to discuss with Bill, especially after Mulder has consistently dodged that serious conversation for years now. So, she picks up her clothes and ends the conversation.

In-Depth Analysis

Maggie Was Scully's Emergency Contact

The hospital called Maggie when Scully was rushed in, unconscious; and while this doesn't outright disprove the theory Mulder might also be an emergency contact, it certainly fits in with the pattern of him being called to the hospital and let into Scully's room by Maggie and not the other way around (i.e. One Breath and Wetwired.) Furthermore, Mulder isn't alerted (that I know of) to a missed call from the hospital after his return to civilization, meaning the hospital didn't notify him at all.

Bill the Bully?

Is Bill a despicable figure? Most definitely... in a deleted Memento Mori scene-- which is why I think they cut it. Though his words are brusque, even cruel in their blunt honesty, Bill, apart from that scene, doesn't seem to willfully inflict or weaponize guilt against his sister, wielding it only as a reminder of how much her family is left out of her life, how much they want to be there for her and don't understand why she won't let them in. It's a fundamental difference in how they approach life; and both are forceful about their insistence on doing things their own way.

Scully is used to being everyone's source of strength (Maggie places her on a pedestal even above her brothers in Memento Mori), which hinders her from opening up or betraying her weakness. Being "the strong one" for so long turned into a fear of failing others; but this reticence has the opposite effect, ostracizing and distancing her family (and Mulder) in her struggles to keep them unaffected. Their divide grows as the years go on (though it seems an equilibrium of sorts has been reached after Emily, since she mentions them fondly in How the Ghosts Stole Christmas and indirectly in Millennium.)

Bill Is Right (in This Instance)

On its face, Bill's speech is unrelenting and out of left field... but is it, really?

Bill is told about his sister's cancer only when it has become irredeemably terminal. He arrives on land, either before or after Maggie's revelation, and finds the rest of the family ignorant and his mother having to shoulder that burden, alone, because his sister refused to let her tell anyone else the news-- meaning, Maggie has been suffering in silence the entire cancer arc, trying to abide by her daughter's terms for space and silence on the topic. However, Scully's definitive terminal diagnosis broke her; and Maggie, having no one to turn to support because Dana still refused to talk about it, finally confessed to her priest and reached out to her son for strength. Bill sees how hard this has been on her and tries to alleviate that burden by adopting his sister's methods: keeping Maggie in the dark as much as possible. It honors what he knows to be his sister's wishes and his mother's fears.

In this scene Bill is absolutely in the right. He and his sister, while not incredibly close, have no ill will between them; and he finds out that not only has she been slowly dying for months and sworn their mother to secrecy but she also still refused to tell him, even when he dropped everything to bail her and Maggie out with this act of kindness. This is wrong-- it is-- and his speech rebuking his sister is as deserved as Scully's are to Mulder whenever he acts only in stubborn self-interest.

Bill is hurt, Bill is grieved; and Bill drives that home, peeling back his sister's denial by exposing her true intent: "You think you can cure yourself." The ludicrous nature of her expectations-- cure incurable cancer and never tell a soul so she won't have to 'suffer' the shame or embarrassment of their sympathy or pity-- galls him; and he's right. It's Scully's struggle and her burden; but it's not just her struggle or burden: her family and loved ones are losing her, too, and that pain is just as powerfully frightening. Bill wants more from her than an immovable pillar of strength-- and that's a good thing. Maggie needed her to be "the strong one", and Mulder needed her to keep fighting; but Bill just wanted his sister to tell him the truth and let him in.

A last note: Bill grew up with Dana-- he knows her propensity to get lost in father figures and demanding authorities. He probably sees Mulder as another Daniel Waterston or Jack Willis, an extension of her undisguised adoration for their late father. He's naturally protective (as we see in Redux II, though grossly misplaced) and thinks Scully is losing that stability in herself the more engrossed she becomes in her work (ex. Gethsemane-Redux II and A Christmas Carol.) These fears and concerns are expressed in overbearing finger-wagging and anger rather than communication, a (sadly) common affliction in a family growing a more distant with time and lives necessarily apart.

Scully Believed She Could Cure Herself

Since Memento Mori, Scully's modus operandi has been to avoid, avoid, avoid the topic of her cancer (and the death of her father, her abduction, etc.) The following cases rarely touched on her illness unless she had a concerning diagnosis or needed further treatment, i.e. Zero Sum and Elegy. Radiation was likely ruled out as ineffective since the skirmish with Dr. Scanlon (and was a drain of her valuable energy and health without any chance of helping, regardless); so, Scully probably opted for more obscure treatments, buying time while she and Mulder chipped away at their work.

In the back of her mind, she believed, truly, that she wouldn't die: that her cancer could be tucked away from her family and cured before Bill or the others ever found out. As we know, Maggie bore the brunt of her daughter's edict of silence alone, finally caving when the cancer reached Scully's bloodstream. When Bill waits for an explanation-- staring at his sister's defiance and stubbornness and pure conviction that she's fine and that the family shouldn't be worried about her at all-- he figures out her blind expectation and avoidance-bordering-on-denial and says, appalled: "You think you can cure yourself." Scully dips her head, exposed and embarrassed.

The beginning of Gethsemane proves Scully was still denial: "my dying wish" she professes on the one hand only to reject the priest and shake her head at Bill with the other. No, Scully did not expect to die alone without her family there. When Bill demands, "We have a responsibility-- not just to ourselves, but to the people in our lives", she parries, "Just because I don't bare my soul to you or to Father McCue or to God." Scully thought she was doing her duty by keeping her loved ones in her thoughts while carrying out her solitary battle. When Bill strips her of her further excuses-- "Who? To this guy Mulder?"-- it peels back her hyper-focused perspective, reminding Scully that it's not just her and Mulder fighting the world.

She did her family and Mulder and herself a disservice by pushing them all away to "protect them", as she realizes in Redux II: being "strong" stripped them of the ability to support each other and was damaging in the long run. In this, Bill is undeniably correct. However, where Bill is wrong is that he doesn't see that Scully believes in Mulder's ability to save her, that by following him she is doing what is best for herself.

Her partner's fervor and hope give her strength; and his inability to break under defeat keeps her fighting even in her darkest hours (and does end up saving her life.) Scully put such faith in Mulder and his abilities and his theories that she kept council only with herself (as much as possible) to keep him going, to keep the weight off his shoulders (and her mother's and her family's) so that they could move forward as a well-oiled machine, ready to snatch the cure whenever they got their hands on it. And Mulder did get his hands on it... and then it failed.

She's dying; but it's not until the cure fails that the dam breaks: everything Scully had been fearing comes rushing out of her. She gives in, crying to her mother about her crumbling lack of faith-- because the miracle cure didn't work, because her months of waiting and hoping in private were all for naught, because she's going to die and there's no possible way to escape. But it's also freeing: she can own her fear, hold onto her mother, clutch Mulder's hand, cry with the priest, finally lean into and start to heal from the weights she's been holding on her back, alone.

And she prays: death is near.

Scully Wanted to Please Bill, Too

As she told Ed Jerse in Never Again, "There are other fathers."

The ouroboros twirls on and on in her personal life, goading her to both make a stand for herself and to placate Bill's expected reactions. In this situation, she did deserve his anger; however, this dynamic continues to play out in Redux II and A Christmas Carol, separate circumstances that are outside Bill's scope of understanding or perspective. After each confrontation, her brother always backs off and begrudgingly acquiesces his sister's boundaries; but it's easy to see why he clings to his late father's behaviors-- viewing them as the only way his sister will confide in him-- and why Scully automatically responds to-- albeit with more guilt than openness-- and rejects his methods.

It's an aspect of their relationship that fell to the wayside as the series barreled onward; but there are hints of resignation on his part after the events of Emily unfolded the way they did (silent support in the courthouse and true remorse in the church.) Scully, however, is locked in grief and unwilling to open back up, yet. We're never shown on-screen what happens next; but he seems to have caused her no further problems in spite of her professional and personal scares in the future (including almost being burned alive, an unexpected trip to Antarctica, job demotion, and getting gut shot all within the span of a few months.) Perhaps he gave her up for loss, perhaps he stayed close but distant, perhaps he withdrew from the drama all together. We'll never know; and, ultimately, it's up to individual interpretation.

Conclusion

This scene sets up the hinge upon which the cancer arc (and any future Scully family drama) twists and turns.

I don't believe Bill is bad, or even malevolent: he, like any other person in a family strained with distance and death, doesn't seem to blame Scully entirely or for long; and only wishes to get through to her somehow. We saw him bully her as a child but we also saw him gift and teach her how to use a bb gun. Scully, meanwhile, balks at and softens over Bill's bluster and overstepping, always effectively putting him in his place after courteously listening to his opinion. We saw her yell and shove him as a child but we also saw her gleefully play alongside he and Charlie.

In conclusion: like all sibling relationships, there are headbutts and there are fights; but it seems, at least by their conversation here and succeeding ones in the future, that any hitch or bump in the road is smoothed over, ironed out, or fixed before it becomes permanent. Bill makes excellent points that Scully takes into consideration, changing her future dealings with Maggie and Bill and even Mulder (namely, her willingness to open up in Detour); and Bill, having said his peace, supports his sister in her decisions the rest of this arc and later in S5.

That we know about.

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

#txf #S4 #Gethsemane #cancer arc #Scully #Bill Scully Jr.#Maggie Scully #Mulder #Bill Scully Apologia #meta #xfiles #x-files #the x files #analysis

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smoothielenny · 1 year

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ꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴇʏᴇ

Neteyam x Omatikayan!fem!reader

Summary:You always like Neteyam, like every girl in your place. But you always thought that Neteyam hates you. The way he look at you with disgust made your heart aches and thought that you would never have a chance.

Warning: Depression, misunderstanding, not proofread

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It has been three days and you’ve been sulking for awhile. Your mother is quite worried about you. You were never this silent, you’re usually very bubbly when your mother comes around. You dearly love your mother and always show your affection to her, but lately it hasn’t been like that.

You’ve been staying at the certain spot in your marui. Which is the corner, not near your mother. Just there looking like a statue or irritated that you suddenly couldn’t make a jewelry. But mostly lying on the floor looking lifeless.

“My daughter, you’ve been staying in that corner. What is happening?” She gets close to you. You look at her and sigh. You curled up into a ball and stare down to your toes.

“Do you think I’m pretty mother?” She gasped and put her palms both on your cheeks. She look at you throughly while your eyes avert from her looking pathetic. She brushed your cheeks with her thumb and smiles.

“Of course my yawne, you’re beautiful. What makes you doubt that?” You bit your lip not wanting to answer. You thought that it might be embarrassing if you told her what it was. It’s just a stupid crush anyways. Yes, the reason being why you’ve been acting like this it’s because you have a crush on someone.

Neteyam. Every girl in your village has a crush on him. Though he seems to be oblivious about the attention from the girls in omatikaya. He always acts nice to everyone, but recently you noticed that he’s been glaring at you. Giving you side eyes, cold shoulders, and such. These made you think that he must’ve hate you. You didn’t do anything wrong, you rarely even talk to him. So why is he acting like this?

“No, nothing. Just asking.” You said. Your mother is not convinced that it’s nothing. It’s just a drastic change from your bubbly self to this, there’s no way it’s nothing. But nevertheless, your mother let you be, you probably needed some space.

You decided to go out of your marui to the forest. You wanted to clear your head and the forest usually helps you with that. You walked around the forest touching the leaves, trees, insects. And it does helps, you forgot all about your sorrows…well until.

You saw Neteyam staring at you. It’s the same glare that you’ve been seeing. Your smile drops again. You suddenly felt nervous and scared.

“(y/n), your mother has been worried. She told me you’ve been sad lately.” You look at him. How could mother tell him about that?

“Oh uh it’s nothing. Mother is worried for nothing.” You look down putting your hands on your arms feeling the sudden change of air. Your nervousness is uncontrollable, you started to shake from the cold. But a warm hands quickly calmed your shaking arms. You look up to Neteyam, his gold eyes is full of worry. It’s the first time you saw something from him that isn’t disgust.

“I am worried. You haven’t been smiling, laughing, playful. I can’t stop worrying about you.” Your confusion grew as he releases these words to you. He really is worried, but why? What are those glare for then?

“But… why?” You tilt your head wanting answers to your questions. His sighed heavily and hit his lips. He look away for a second then look back at you. His eyes is now full of admiration.

“I care for you. I’ve been looking at you. I love the way you smile to small things, laugh when you hear something funny, and make everyone happy by being you… I like you.” He whispered the last part. He blushed from what he said. You couldn’t believe what he just said. He likes you? But what about those eyes he’s been giving you?

“But I thought you hate me.” His eyes widen. How could he hate you. He would never hate someone with a beautiful personality. He caressed your cheeks making you look up to him.

“Why would you think I hate you?” You look down. Embarrassed if you should say the reason, but you wanted answer so you gulped and say it.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been glaring at me, looking disgusted. I don’t know what I did, We don’t really talk much so I have no idea why you were looking at me with full of anger.” Your tears falling from remembering them. Neteyam’s warm fingers wiped them away.

“I didn’t know I’ve been looking at you like that. I was just nervous around you. I didn’t mean to look at you like that, (y/n).” He hugged you tightly combining both of your warm bodies together.

“I like you, (y/n). I like you.” He slowly moves his lips towards yours, softly kissing you. You can feel his warm breath and his soft lips touching yours. You felt like your heart is about to burst.

“I like you too, Neteyam.”

#avatar 2009 #avatar way of water #avatar 2 #avatar x reader #neteyam #atwow #avatar fanfiction #avatar neteyam #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam x you #neteyam headcanons #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #avatar

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bidisastersanji · 4 months

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Had literal (not just inspired) Ranma 1/2 ZoSan galaxy thoughts with @anniilaugh and oh boy oh boy oh boy

Zoro and Hawkeye are japanese martial artists training in Jusenkyo, China, they get to the cursed springs and don't listen to the guide about how they should definitely not fight there

Zoro falls into the cursed spring of the young woman and from then on his body turns female at the contact of cold water and back to male with hot water- his dad falls in the panda one.

Mihawk brings them back to Japan because he and his old pal Zeff had made a promise to marry their kids and join their dojos- he has to fight Zoro the entire way

Scene starts with Zeff sitting down his three adoptive kids with mommy issues (Robin, Nami and Sanji) to tell them they're about to receive his old friend Mihawk and his son Zoro- long ago they agreed to marry their kids to secure the "Anything goes" dojo's legacy, and both thought it wouldn't work out since they didn't have kids at first, but both ended up adopting in later years.

All three are pissed that they don't get a say in this- they've never even met this Zoro guy! Who cares if he's been training in China, they can probably still beat his ass.

Fem!Zoro and Panda!Mihawk are fighting it out in the street in the rain (which is what turned them both into their cursed forms)- Zoro is angry that his stupid father figure just decided this for him- fuck this, he's going back to China, and that's that! but Mihawk knocks him out and carries him on his shoulder to the Akaashi residence.

Back at the dojo, Robin hopes he's older than her, Nami knows she, the town lesbian with a gf (Vivi) won't be forced to marry him if it comes to it, and Sanji is just so angry that Zeff would make this decision for them- how stupidly old fashioned and this guy won't be taking over the dojo from them, no way. Also, who cares about a stupid boy. All that matters to him are beautiful ladies, after all. (still struggling a bit with being bi Sanji what's up)

A panda and a young adult come into the dojo and they're like ??? who the hell is this panda? the panda sets down Zoro in front of Zeff like "voila" and they're like! oh- could you be?

I'm Roronoa Zoro. Sorry 'bout this.

Zeff hugs him, feels the soft chest press against his own, and is like- oh. Did he misremember what Mihawk told him, was it a daughter after all?

Sanji is relieved, thinking Zoro is a woman (Zoro doesn't correct anyone, he doesn't really care, he just wants to get back to China and if this means he can get out of marrying on a misunderstanding, maybe it'll work out in his favour)- and he acts like his usual gentlemanly self with him, treating him to tea and asking him about his training. Zoro asks to spar, and Sanji truly couldn't- but can't say no to a pretty lady so they spar but Sanji never actually hits Zoro- always stopping right before he lands a hit, annoying the shit out of Zoro (what a prissy guy)

Having worked up a sweat (that Sanji guy wasn't half bad at fighting, even if he didn't actually hit him), Zoro goes to wash in the men's baths

Sanji, thinking "she" is in the women's baths, walks into the same bath, naked, and is faced with a very built, very attractive man in his bathroom, stepping out of the hot tub. he definitely doesn't ogle him

He panics and runs to the rest of the family being like "there's a pervert in the bathroom wtf"

Zoro joins them, dressed in the same clothes he was in before and reintroduces himself (I'm Roronoa Zoro, sorry 'bout this)

They all gather to go over what's happened in China (including demonstration as Mihawk throws Zoro into the pond) and Zeff cuts him off to be like

"There's truly no problem. So, Zoro, which of my children do you want to marry- although in his letters your father did mention you preferred men, and I only have one of those."

Robin and Nami pounce on this and push Sanji forwards "oh he definitely wants Sanji"- "what?? why me?"- "well, he's half a girl, so it works out perfect for you!"/"I'm a full lesbian and he's a gay man it's not meant to be"

Sanji fights this- "I don't want to marry this pervert!" "Who you callin' a pervert, you walked in on me, curly brows!" "yeah, well you were a strange naked man in my bathroom, so that makes you a pervert" "Yeah, well you took a pretty long, good look at me, so I'd say you're the pervert, ogling me" "I wasn't ogling you you brute!" "oh, I see, you were just jealous of how better built I am than you"

Sanji kicks him into the garden pond and leaves to take the bath he didn't get to take earlier

Zoro (in girl form) also goes to bathe, wanting to clean himself of the dirty pond water- and of course runs into Sanji, who gets a really bad nosebleed

AND SO BEGINS the slow burn of always bickering, full of misunderstandings, gender shenanigans, enemies to lovers arranged marriage Zoro and Sanji, with Zoro being really annoyed at the traditional gender roles that Sanji seems to be trying to enforce, and Sanji being constantly annoyed at this big brute of a man having no sense of priopriety and going around in his fem presenting form in ways that he thinks are a disgrace to womankind

but here is some more adapting:

Sanji, like Akane, has a crush on the local doctor (Dr. Law) but can't admit it to himself because he's still a bit struggling with the internalised homophobia from his birth father. Zoro finds it amusing in the beginning (before he catches feelings and gets jealous)

Again like Akane, Sanji starts with long hair and it gets cut because of a fight Zoro gets into with Pedro (who fell into the baby leopard spring), who will take the role of P-chan, sleeping in Sanji's bed and pining after him

Crazy love rivals galore and infinite fiance(e)s that Mihawk promised Zoro to of course:

the Kunos- Cavendish falls for Zoro when he meets him in his female form (oh my beautiful green-haired girl...). He always has the dramatic entrances (Cavendish, Age 17, the White Horse of Furinkan High), throwing his red roses everywhere. His just as...passionate? sister, Pudding, is in love with Sanji and thinks fem!Zoro is her love rival and tricks him into the rhythmic gymnastics showdown thing where Zoro has to be in a leotard, chained to baby leopard Pedro, both at risk of being exposed if hit with hot water in front of this crowd, and Zoro beats her with three clubs

Hiyori as Shampoo from the Amazon tribe who's at first sent to kill Zoro because he beat her in fem! form but then keeps trying to marry man Zoro who also accidentally beats her- Sanji is so mad about this specific one

Tashigi could be Okonomiyaki Ukyo (we think she's a man at first) or she could be Mousse (blind AF without her glasses) and turns into a goose with cold water

Brook as Happosai (old man with obsession for panties) who trains Zoro at times

Zoro doesn't get rid of the curse because plot but also even if he tried to, he would get lost if he tried to go to China by himself

Zoro's chest is 110cm no matter the form and Sanji is NOT OKAY

SO MANY NOSEBLEEDS (Ranma was such an ecchi manga and Zoro definitely has just as much propriety with his female form as Ranma does)

Nami makes money off of pictures of fem!Zoro like Nabiki does, selling them to Cavendish and all the boys at school who don't know the green haired girl is actually Zoro

Zoro was traumatised by the cat fu training Mihawk did to him as a kid and can only be calmed down and go back to acting like a human if he's pet and calmed down by Sanji. just like Ranma, he kisses Sanji in his cat form in front of the whole school (and doesn't remember it)

#ranma 1/2 zosan au #zoro x sanji #zosan #zosan fic idea #sanji x zoro #ranma 1/2 one piece au #ranma 1/2 AU #this would be just SO FUCKING FUN #with all the usual suspects attending the high school as well of course #zoro becomes friends with luffy and co #is there still the thing where people want to win sanji/akane's hand in marriage by beating her in combat?#that could be a fun scene for zoro to witness on the first day of school #hope I’m giving all the veterans some nostalgia #I grew up with Ranma as one of my first animes

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sleeplessdreamer123 · 11 months

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Prompt Idea! (Lucemond or not, where Rhaenys has dark hair, and comforts little Luke((and a bit of Luke misunderstanding))

A lot has happened in a span of days. Her daughter died, leaving behind her granddaughters, scared and alone. Then at the day of her funeral, her dragon was stolen, by her cousin's second family, and now, her son burned, so much so he was unrecognizable. She has grieved, her heart shattered multiple times, but she needed to pick up the pieces. She cannot afford to falter. She needed to watch over the family left behind. Her granddaughters needed guidance, and her grandsons are still reeling from the shock, her own husband seemed to have aged years in mere days, and she knows she too, must be quite the sight, eyes still red, but she gathered herself.

She first visited her granddaughters, whose tears could fill rivers. Their mother's dragon was taken, their closest connection to her, gone, stolen. She needed to console them as they felt they have lost their mother twice over.

Then she went to check up on her grandsons. Jacaerys was nowhere to be found, but Lucerys was there, sniffling in a secret corner, hand tightly holding the seahorse.

When he saw her, it seemed to make it worse, as he began crying louder, despite his attempts to silent himself by covering his own mouth. She sighed, kneeling, gathering him in her arms, and holding him, allowing him to cry as long as he could.

When his cries turned to sniffles, she gently petted his hair. When he spoke, his question angered her. He asked if he was allowed to cry for Laenor. When she told him that of course he could. He was their father, a good man, it would be stranger if they wouldn't cry for him. Then he whispered, what if I'm not his son? Could I still mourn for him?

Rhaenys frowned at this. She asked where he heard of such accusations. She wasn't surprise to hear that the brat who stole her daughter's dragon was the same one who dared spout nonsense. She refuted it vehemently. He is the son of Laenor, her son's son, her sweet grandchild. There was no doubt of it.

Then he started spouting more nonsense. His hair, his eyes, his nose, not a single one seemed to be from Laenor. She knew his doubts were strong, so she changed tactic.

She lifted a piece of her hair, and a piece of his, inspected it thoroughly. Then she gave a small smile. She told him that their hair seems to be of the same hue, of the same color. She told him that it must be that her Baratheon blood was stronger than his Targaryen and Velaryon blood, to be able to produce such beautiful dark hair three times. As for the eyes and nose, she inspected him, and she looked at her worriedly. She then nodded, as if affirming something.

She told him that she would know his eyes and nose anywhere. It seems it wasn't just her blood that was stronger than those from Valyria. She told him that he had he bore the resemblance of his other grandmother, Aemma Arryn. He was a bit skeptical, so she told him, once they enter Dragonstone, to look for her portrait. Even he wouldn't believe how much they look alike.

Though hesitant, he nodded, and all seems fine for now. Then he asked if his uncle truly believed he was a bastard, as he called him. Rhaenys simply told him that they believe that his mother's position blocked their own, and they didn't appreciate that. She told him that sometimes people would do anything, even spread lies about a person, if they're jealous of them.

Then Lucerys, even more hesitantly told her something that made her blood run cold.

"Aemond told me that I would burn just like my father. But father was still alive when he told me that. Then he died, burning...."

Rhaenys was silent, but the implications were clear. Aemond knowing about what has happened before it happened meant that he has overheard it from somewhere, and he was confident enough to threaten her grandson the way he did, meaning he trusted his source. Though they continue to spread lies, she knows that the greens don't even know if their lies are true as long as it was spread. She might still need more clarification, need to make sure her guesses were true, but as of now, she has a new target for her rage.

Hightowers.

-------

Writing this before entering the University because it doesn't have great signal before the start of my classes (I have screwed up priorities😅)

#lucemond #aemond x lucerys #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #lucerys x aemond #aemond one eye #Rhaenys #Rhaenys and lucerys both came to the wrong conclusion #dark haired Rhaenys

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imagining-in-the-margins · 1 year

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CM Valentine's Day Fic Recs

Hey friends! I'm back with another Rec List of Fics revolving around Valentine's Day! As always, big thanks to my friends and @dreatine in particular for your recommendations!

If you write/already have a fic about Valentine's Day please let me know and I’ll add it here! Any and all (legal) pairings/ships allowed.

S.R./Fem!Reader NSFW

Saint Valentine by @imagining-in-the-margins: Spencer spends Valentine’s Day with Reader.

Of Lace and Love by @squiggledrop: It is Valentine’s Day, and Spencer has a romantic night planned for Reader, but she has other plans in mind.

A Hallmark Affair by @andiebeaword: For two years, Reader flirts with and buys presents for her crush. Little does she know a single card is what’ll make him snap.

Dr. Reid’s Lonely Hearts Club by @beelmons: [PolyAm, Spencer/Reader/Hotch] When everyone gets the evening off, only three people remain in the office, the lonely hearts come together to not feel so alone on the most romantic day of the year.

S.R./Fem!Reader (SFW)

Maddening One, My Goddess by @imagining-in-the-margins: Spencer hooked up with a goddess on February 13 and almost immediately comes to regret it when he attends a pre-planned Valentine's Day blind date.

Got a Crush On You by @andiebeaword: Spencer is dating again. Reader sabotages every one.

Love Notes & Lipstick Kisses by @andiebeaword: Spencer hated Valentine’s Day. Reader decided she wanted to make this one special for him.

The Not Valentine's Date by @kingdom-by-the-sea: Mutual pining, an office bet, and baby sitting make for an interesting Valentine’s Day between Spencer and Hotch’s daughter.

My Sweet Valentine by @samuel-de-champagne-problems: Spencer finds himself thinking about his firsts…and the one he has yet to accomplish.

One Love Token by @judeswhore: Spencer is more than happy about his not-so-innocent valentine’s day gift.

Closing Time by @radiant-reid: Spencer hasn't ever thought about how to tell you he likes you until he has a little too much to drink on Valentine's Day

Keep reading for other Characters/Pairings!

The Hunt of Love by @90spumkin: Spencer sends Reader on a scavenger hunt for her to find the ultimate Valentine’s Day gift.

A Galaxy of Love by @90spumkin: It’s Spencer and Reader’s first Valentin’s Day together.

Happy Valentine's Day by @speed-reiding: In which Spencer gives Reader a letter.

One Hell of a Valentine's Day by @moeyy-writes: In which Spencer and Reader discuss Valentine's plans on the jet.

Beautiful by @spencerreidsmiles: In which Spencer makes Reader feel beautiful.

First Official Valentine's by @babymetaldoll: Spencer has no idea what to do for Valentine’s Day. After all, he has never had a girlfriend before.

That Wasn't For You by @wheelsup: Spencer receives a Valentine that Reader intended to give to someone else.

No Plans by @wheelsup: Reader has no plans for Valentine’s Day, so she hangs out with Spencer instead. An accidental date ensues.

Paper Rings by @reidyoulikeabook: Drunken Valentine's Day with Spencer at a kid's party.

Emily Prentiss/Fem!Reader (SFW)

Daffodils by @urwarriorangel: In which Emily gives Reader flowers.

With a Turn of Phrase by @sweetmidnight: Emily was Reader's high school sweethearts but the two had to part after graduation. Until now.

Candy Hearts by @girlswholikehotolderwomen: In which Emily spends the second Valentine's Day with her girlfriend.

Aaron Hotchner/Fem!Reader

The Love Profile by @reidscanehand: (SFW, Series) Everyone in the BAU knows that Reader and Hotch are meant for each other, but they're at a loss at how to get the two together.

Be Mine by @ssahotchswife: (NSFW) A misunderstanding after a Christmas party hookup leads to heartbreak. A Valentine’s miracle may be necessary.

Valentine's Day by @hotchs-bitch: (SFW) Reader's second Valentine's celebration with Hotch.

Character/Character Pairings (SFW)

A Year in the Life: February by @gaelic-symphony: [Temily] A vignette from the married life of Tara and Emily.

Be Mine by @masterwords: [Hotchgan] Hotch is a sucker for Valentine's Day. He's' also got it bad for Derek.

A Valentine's Surprise by @justiceforralvez: [Ralvez] Spencer surprises Luke with (an attempt at) a romantic evening.

#criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner smut #temily #tara lewis fanfic #emily prentiss fanfic

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murasaki-cha · 6 months

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I've recently gotten into web comics but I don't like most of the male characters in romance comics, they do some really creepy things that seem to just get swept under the rug. Do you have any recommendations for some good romance comics?

*cracks neck* I've trained for this day for years

This is going to be a combination of manhwa, manhua, webtoons and probably some manga too, of all kinds of genres, most are my favorites and I'll explain why so pick whatever catches your interest.

Post is going to be super long so:

I Stan The Prince -> starting of with a strong one, the fl writes a fanfiction about the notorious ex crown prince and raises his popularity. Now she has to work with him and write another book all while dealing with political drama and dark royal secrets. This manhwa rescently just came back from an incredibly long hiatus, it has no novel it's an original manhwa and the main couple are literally the cutest most in love mutual pining idiots ever they're married they just don't know it yet

Hidden Love -> Warning this has a 7 age gap! The story starts when the fl is 13 and meets her brothers dormmate and falls in love with him but keeps it a secret and they lose contact. Years later when she's in college she reunites with the brother's friend and old feelings start to resurface and he slowly falls for her now that she is an adult. I am going to repeat this only once, no grooming, no weird underage romance, ml never liked her like that when she was a child her romance was one sided back then, both are consenting adults now. The fl helps ml with his struggling past and makes him realize he is worthy of love. The fl is strong and confident and she's the one saving the ml multiple times. The ml is literally such a green flag even if he's a big flirt when "courting" her. It's an incredibly touching story and it even has a drama

Eternal Love/First Froat -> set in the same universe as the story above, this is about the love story of the prev fl brother and the mc, his high school classmate. Both had a crush on each other back then but the fl pushed him away coldly and they seperated. Years later they met by chance and by chance yet again ended up as roommates. Slowly they realize the feelings never went away and they keep getting drawn to each other but the horribly tragic past of the fl and the reason she pushed the ml away slowly uncoveres too. This is a beautiful story of a love that never stopped. The mcs are literally meant to be and the fl is so strong after everything she's been through. And the ml is the most patient, caring mam ever everyone deserves a man like him. Literally the standard. Both these books can be read as stand alones but there are some hilarious moments that can only be completely understood if you read them both

Savinvg My Sweetheart -> You will cry so hard while reading this. Fl is the saintess' daughter and after the death of her husband who she was politically married to, she goes back in time a few months before their marriage and only has one goal, to save her kind husbad from her mother even if it causes her death. Both the fl and ml love each other so incredibly much but both think the other hates them because of the forced marriage yet that misunderstanding doesn't stop them from being the literal greatest cople ever! The are such a healthy couple and both are incredibly fleshed out and not just making romance their entire point of existance. Fl slowly gathers powers in order to stop her biological mother who is evil incarnate and save everyone. Ml works together with fl and on his own in order to strengthen his kingdom. And the link that connects them will literally have you crying for the next 20 years. The story is more of a found family/romance and it's one of the most well written stories ever, you will almost never find one loophone everything is planned to the T

Caught By The Villain -> the ml might start bad here but I'm telling you his character development is simply 👌 ✨️. Fl gets transported into the world of this novel she read as the twin sister of a minor villain. Later she has to join knighthood disgusted as her brother and somehow gets chosen as the personal guard of the crown prince, aka main villain, but also with the og!ml which is somewhat different from the story. Ok I'm going to start by saying the title is literally the greatest clickbait ever because almost everyone but the villain catch her and discovered she's a girl. The story has great representation and discusses about a lot of topics like gender and sexuality which you almost never find talked in manhwas. The ml starts bad but slowly by spending time with fl he realizes his mistakes, sincerely apologises tho does not expect forgiveness, promises to change and does keep his word, genuenly loves and cherishes her and is an all round little meow meow and I love him. He's a bi disaster too. Fl is strong and under lots of stress. She slowly gets closer with ml and realizes he's not just the big bad evil villain from the novel and the closer they get and the more genuine their friendship becomes, the more she feels guilty for hiding her true identity from ml. And the og!ml is a special case that I don't even wanna touch with a 10 foot pole so theres that. The development all these characters go through is slow and so perfectly written you don't even realize how much they changed until you go back and realise they're not the same as the beginong

Even If You Split My Mouth -> manga with japanese urban legends which means it has some gore and body horror. The story follows a Kuchisake-Onna and her contract fiancé, a 17 yo boy who has the power to strengthen her legend with his words so she won't disappear. She doesn't want this engagement while he is in love with her so they form a pact, if she can scare him within a year the engagement is off, if not than they get married. This is one of those stories that start all silly goofy but end up having some of the deepest lore ever. The fl is super cute for a yokai and she blushes a lot every time ml flirts. Ml is completly unphased by her scare attempts and loves her to bits. They're such a dumb cute couple and their love story is so fun and sad sometimes. All the side characters are entertaining and lovable. Really there's not one bad thing I can say about this manga, it deserves more love

You Are My Desire -> high school sweethearts and later uni sweethearts. Fl moves to a new city and school after her parents messy divorce and her father's remarriage. While looking around she stumbles upon a tatoo shop and amazingly embarrasses herself in front of the tattooist. On the first day of school she happens to end up as deskmates with that same tattooist who's coincidentally the school tyrant but slowly it becomes visible this tyrant doesn't act like a tyrant at all and so a weird relationship is born out of the two of them. The two mcs are one of the best couples I've ever read. They slowly heal heach others wounds and teach each other that they love them even with their scars. I don't wanna say a lot since the manhua only has aroumd 20 chapters and there's so much story from the novel that hasn't been told yet. There's slso a drama that was rescently released

Daytime Star -> modern manhwa. An actress who has been cast as nothing but an extra for almost 10 years lands a small role where she gets to play along one of the best male actors in the industry. After that they both can't stop thinking about each other and that's how their love story begins. One of the healthiest modern manhwa couples ever! They're literally so cute they will call you single in all languages pf the world and more. I also loved that the fl slowly rose to fame almost all on her own using her own strength and talent with very few minor moments where others helped. It's a great story and it talks about the struggles of working on the korean entertainment industry too

Villains Are Destined to Die -> oh where do I begin with this masterpiece! Fl gets transmigrated into a dating sim she was playing as the villaines and she's currently in the hard mode which makes it super dificult for her to clear the game. She has to increase the affection percentage of the capture targets so she can go back to her old life and avoid the bad ending which always results in her death. This is literally one of those stories that gets you hooked on the very first chapters alone. Fl goes through so much and she's such a tragic character. All she wants is a peaceful life and she works damn hard for it. Her family is just exhausting but they slowly develop besides SOME who shall not be named. The ml, which you'll probably figure out who it is lile halfway through because he's just that iconic, is literally THE BEST, THE STANDARD! I love him so much and it might not show it in the begining chapters but he's is just perfect. The romance is more secondary tho and the story focuses more on the fl's struggles to survive and the discovery of the secrets that can change the fate of the entire kingdom.

See You In My 19th Life -> this rescently got a drama and I recommend watching that too. Fl is a reincarnator who remembers all her lives besides the first one. In her 19th life she resolves to find a boy form her 18th life who made her enjoy life again after so many reincarnations and made her wish she was reincarnated once again. She manages to get a job in the hotel he manages and immediately asks him to date. Thus begins the story of her following and flirting with her love from the prevous life without him knowing it's her and slowly healing his scars and traumas while also solving the mystery of her reincarnation. The story us full of mystery and absurdly cute couples. The ml is traumatized by fl's death since she died quite literally right in front of his eyes when he was really young and he also has a crap ton of family drama to deal with. The fl loves the him so much and tries her best to help him not just physically but emotionally too. She's like a breath of fresh air for the ml and their love is just so selfless. He loves her even when he doesn't know she's his first love reincarnated. The side couple is literally amazinv too and I would need an entire paragraph to talk about them too. The mystery of the webtoon always keeps you on the edge. Overall amazing webtoon and has an amazing kdrama!

(I'm getting tired and I have to wake up early tomorrow so I'm just gonna drop some titles with no explenation now. There might be some shounen ai in there fyi)

A Stepmother's Marchen

How To Win My Husband Over

Death To Lady White Ferret

Positively Yours

Business Propsal (Also has a great kdrama)

Sasaki to Miyano

A Good Day To Be A Dog (kdrama rescently started)

Till Debt Do Us Apart

Shoujinkou Nikki

Hirano to Kagiura

Given

The Reason Why Raekiana Ended Up At The Duke's Mansion (also has an anime)

Once More

Love Like Cherry Blossoms

Tsuiraku JK to Haijin Kyoushi (it's a student x teacher but honestly it's more of a dark comedy manga and it's hilarious so I recommend it)

I Raised Cinderella Preciously

The Perks of Being A Villainess

Ajatsuki no Yona

My Secretly Hot Husband

Ok that's all I can squeeze out of my brain for now. Hope you enjoyed the recs

#manhwa #manhwa recommendation #manga #manga recommendation #manhua #manhua recommendation #romance #mura answers asks

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thethirdromana · 1 month

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DS9 Rarepair Week: Courtship

Message sent to Lwaxana Troi, Daughter of the Fifth House, Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Riix, Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed, from Colonel Kira Nerys, Commander of Deep Space Nine.

Dear Ambassador Troi,

I hope you’re well, and will excuse me writing to you like this. I wanted to let you know that Odo has left for the Gamma Quadrant to be with the Founders, and, we all hope, to set them on a better path for the future. I’m sorry to say that we don’t think he’s coming back, or not for a very long time.

I thought you should know, as under Bajoran law, at least, this makes you legally a widow. In Bajoran tradition, this news is usually accompanied by a fruit basket. Apparently on Earth they send flowers, and the Ferengi send latinum. I don’t know what they do on Betazed, but as Bajoran milaberries are good this year, I thought you might like the fruit basket even if it isn’t your tradition.

May the Prophets guide you,

Kira Nerys

Message sent to Kira Nerys, from Lwaxana Troi.

Dear Colonel Kira,

I am most grateful that you chose to let me know. What sad news for all of us who loved him! Of course, it is without a doubt a virtuous and noble deed, but sometimes a man can be a little too virtuous and noble, don’t you think?

I enjoyed the milaberries immensely, and the moba fruit too. It was too kind of you to think of such a gift. I should warn you that the gift of a fruit basket has quite a different meaning on Betazed; it is the traditional first gift of the Betazed courtship process. You gave poor Mr Homn quite a shock!

Of course, I know that wasn’t your intention. However, the traditional gift from a mature woman to a prospective young swain is an item of clothing, and I happened to come across this dress that I think would look simply darling on you. I just had to buy it. I won’t be offended if you don’t like it.

With esteem,

Lwaxana Troi

Dear Ambassador Troi,

It goes to show the importance of ambassadors, in helping to avoid this kind of cultural misunderstanding. I never was much of a diplomat. I guess I’m going to have to learn, now Captain Sisko isn’t around.

The dress is beautiful. You have an amazing eye. I didn’t realise we’d spent enough time together for you to know my taste in clothing.

The lilacs are in flower on Bajor. I hope the bouquet I’ve enclosed makes it to Betazed with most of the petals still attached.

May the Prophets guide you,

Kira Nerys

Dear Colonel Kira,

You must call me Lwaxana; this isn’t an ambassadorial reception, after all.

Regarding the choice of dress, being a telepath has its uses. I think when you’ve spent so much of your life forced to wear a uniform, or whatever is most practical to fight in, it can be a great pleasure to wear something beautiful and impractical for a change. I hope now that the war is over, you have more opportunities to enjoy yourself. The Cardassians took so much from you, my dear, I hope you live life to the fullest now you’re free to do so.

Betazed, like Bajor, is a beautiful green planet, full of gardens. I think you would like it here. The lilacs arrived in perfect bloom, so I have taken the chance to send you a muktok plant. The flowers are lovely, but their real beauty is if you shake them gently.

With affection,

Lwaxana

Dear Lwaxana,

Please call me Nerys!

I love the muktok plant. I’ve put it in my office, and asked Keiko O’Brien how I should take care of it. She said lots of water and sandy soil – is that right? The chiming of the flowers is so peaceful.

I would love to visit Betazed some day. If everyone there is as kind as you, then it must be a wonderful place. The station is very quiet these days. I’m sure I could get away for a vacation without anyone minding too much, even as the Commander.

Or perhaps you’d like to come to Bajor? I’ve enclosed a painting of one of my favourite places. It’s of a waterfall on one of the tributaries of the Holana River, and this artist captures exactly how peaceful it feels to be there.

Nerys

Dear Nerys,

It sounds as if your muktok plant will be well taken care of.

I’ve instructed Mr Homn to hang the painting in my bedroom, so I can see it every day. What a wonderful place to be able to call your home. I’ll make sure to let you know whenever I’m next in your part of the quadrant.

Uttaberries are now in season on Betazed. I wasn’t sure if you’d like them best fresh, candied, in an uttaberry tart or as uttaberry jam, so I’ve sent you them in every way that I can think of. They’re a little sharp on the outside, but softer and sweeter on the inside than you might expect. Dare I say that they remind me of you that way?

With fondness,

Lwaxana

Dear Lwaxana,

I have to come to Betazed when the uttaberries are next ripe! They were so delicious. I’ve been eating uttaberries with every meal for the past week, and I’ve been thinking of you. I wish we’d gotten to know one another sooner, but better late than never.

Quark had a shipment of antiques from the Gamma Quadrant for sale yesterday. I was worried I was going to have to shut it down but it turned out, for once, that everything was above board. So I bought these earrings for you. They’re silver, with a kind of volcanic stone that I don’t think is found anywhere this side of the wormhole. Wear them, please, and think of me when you do.

Nerys

Dear Nerys,

The earrings are EXQUISITE. I’ve barely taken them off, and as instructed, I have thought of you, my dear, and often. You’re right that we should have gotten to know one another sooner. If I have a fault, it’s that I focus too much on men, and I certainly did that on my visits to Deep Space Nine. It takes a woman like you, Nerys, to remind me of what I’ve been missing out on. You are kind, intelligent, thoughtful, and – if you don’t mind an old woman like me saying so – very beautiful.

The uttaberry season is over now, alas. It’s always so brief that they’re at their best. But the roses are in bloom on Betazed now, so I’ve enclosed some handmade soap, to bring their scent all the way to Deep Space Nine.

If this message goes too far, please forgive me.

With love,

Lwaxana

Dear Lwaxana,

Thank you so much for the soap. I’ve been using it, and imagining myself in a garden on Betazed with you.

I wasn’t sure what to say to your last message. But someone once told me that there’s a Betazed tradition for exactly this circumstance. I’ve enclosed a fruit basket for you. I hope I won’t shock Mr Homn too much.

If you’d like to give me another dress, maybe you could come to Deep Space Nine, and give it to me in person?

Yours,

Nerys

#star trek #DS9RarepairWeek #kira nerys #lwaxana troi #kira/lwaxana

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topsyturvy-turtely · 1 year

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JOHNLOCK FIC REC/ MUST READ!!!

last year (2022, not that long ago) i read this absolute genius fic by @totallysilvergirl and it is long overdue to recommend this beauty out to my fellow johnlockers!

Drawn to Stars by Silvergirl

Explicit, Words: 109.272, Chapters: 60/60

Additional Tags (selection): Angst with a Happy Ending, Sherlock's Italian adventure, Jealous John, Mutual Pining, mutual misunderstandings, finally they talk about the Fall, First Time, First Kiss, can requited love last?, TFP never happened, Fanart, Multiple Pov, Seriously a REALLY happy Johnlock ending, Idiots in Love, Roberto Zanardi (OMC)

SUMMARY:

“Romantic entanglement, while fulfilling for other people—”

“—would complete you as a human being.”

After the Culverton Smith case Sherlock is clean, working, and looking for a romantic partner—since John has told him that’s what he needs. Shame John didn’t mention he was interested in that role himself, before Sherlock went off to Rome with a gorgeous Italian copper to try to fall in love and become a complete human being.

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it is an absolute masterpiece. it got everything: angst, fluff, deep talks, intimacy, communication, jealousy, art talk (yes hello i love that okay?), (love) letters, writer john, beautiful description of the surroundings, fanart... do i need to keep on?

it captured me from the first chapter, i cried, i laughed - i felt it all for my two favorite bois. it broke my heart into a million pieces only to pick them all up and put them back together and cover it with a fluffy & healing layer of magic. basically binge-read this. yes it is long, and i've honestly been hesitant to read it because of its length but let me tell you it is 100% worth it and in the end it was over in no time (too soon!)

you already read Drawn to Stars?

-> check out all the lovely sequels!

Winter Light by Silvergirl

Explicit, Words: 7.742 , Chapters: 21/21

SUMMARY:

This is a hermetic universe, which for a few minutes a day has only two inhabitants. They don't even need names.

They wouldn't want to live always in such isolation, but in the winter light, when time cracks open, there are always—only—two of them.

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winter fluff! i repeat! winter! fluff! my heart is happy remembering this :)

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Teach Your Children Well by Silvergirl

Explicit, Words: 12.662, Chapters: 4/4

Additional Tags (selection): Angst with a Happy Ending, mutual misunderstandings, Old unhappy far-off things will bite you in the butt, Established Relationship, can requited love last?, POV John, A grown-up wedding

SUMMARY:

John decides to send Rosie to the local school a year early. Sherlock assumes he doesn’t want her becoming solitary, hyper-intellectual, hyper-focused—in other words, like Sherlock. It doesn’t help that Rosie’s prospective teacher is a dead ringer for Nicole Kidman, and is making overtures to John by text. But both fathers are wide of the mark: well, there’s always something, right?

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silly bois being equally dumb but good at parenting/relationships in their very own way. Silver's version of Rosie is a kid you will admire for both: her intelligence and capability of love. (what can i say she is her fathers' daughter!)

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The Nearer Your Destination by Silvergirl

Explicit, Words: 18.949, Chapters:6/6

Additional Tags (selection): Established Relationship, Wedding, Honeymoon, POV Sherlock, can requited love last?, Parentlock, Jealousy, No plot beyond sex holiday and personal growth, and lots of talking

SUMMARY:

After a December wedding, Sherlock takes John to Venice for a February honeymoon. It's absolutely perfect, up until the moment he hears John growl, "What the hell is Zanardi doing here?"

---

a wedding told as a memory, and a honeymoon in italy. who wants more? oh, and they TALK! their conversations always have at least one quote in them you could live by!

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The Ever Circling Years by Silvergirl

Mature, Words: 15.735, Chapters: 29/29

Additional Tags: Rotating POV, Mostly Fluff

SUMMARY:

Snippets from different Decembers in the Drawn to Stars universe. (They'll make sense on their own, though.) Each chapter ends with Miss Davis's prompt for the day.

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decembers from 2013 all the way to 2045 (not each but a bunch)! there is a lot of fluff, lots of Rosie content, and - as so often - very amazing fanart!

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dear @totallysilvergirl i love this universe with my whole heart. your writing style is beautiful, the plots amazing, the characters complex and lovable. thank you for writing this! you would have at least thrice as many kudos if ao3 let us give more, and girl do you deserve them!

*throws badly cut out paper hearts*

tagging some people so this gets spread around (ik lots of you probably already know this universe but... i can't think of a but)

@justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @7arantellgrrl @ssmeowl123 @so-youre-unattached-like-me @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @almosttinycowboy @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog

#johnlock fic recs #turtely's fic rec #drawn to stars #totallysivergirl #silvergirl #drawn to stars by @totallysilvergirl #and all the sequels #thanks for reblogging!#johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock #john watson #sherlock holmes #sherlock x john #johnlock ao3 #long post #johnlock fanart #johnlock fic

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hunsimonbrainrot · 7 months

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Simon and Marceline: Fionna and Cake's neglected sub-plot

The one story element I feel wasn't perfectly concluded was Simon's modern relationship with Marceline. At the start of the second episode, we see a flashback to post-apocalyptic Ooo where Simon tells young Marcy in the most cheerful way possible that someone else could take better care of her than he ever could, that she'll be living in a castle with food and medicine. Later in the same episode, he tries to talk to Marceline on the phone, to hear her having a wonderful time with her girlfriend. She's happier than she has ever been and Simon doesn't want to bring her down with his depression. He feels like she's just fine without him and doesn't need him anymore, not realizing how disappearing from her life would hurt her.

Marceline has faced abandonment from every parental figure in her life, by Hunson, by Elise (Even though it was a misunderstanding), and by Simon (Even though it was out of his control). One could only imagine how hurt and betrayed she'd feel at Simon wanting to become Ice King again and leaving her a second time. This decision was... selfish, plane and simple. Yes, he wanted to help Fionna and Cake, but he also wanted a purpose. He wanted to feel needed, and his surrogate daughter wasn't providing him with that. In episode 7 The Star, Simon enters a timeline where he wasn't the one to find Marcy, but instead someone much worse. Someone who manipulated her into doing his bidding and turned her into a bad person. Simon rightfully calls him out on this, although he himself has seen better days as a father (sorry) . While this universe showed him how much he was needed in Marcy's life, it isn't just about being needed, its about being wanted. Marceline WANTS him in her life even though she doesn't need him to blow her nose anymore.

At the end of the series, Simon recognises his selfishness in his relationship with Betty and learns from it, as well as that he doesn't need to be needed and can live for himself. It's a beautiful, impactful message, one of my favorite in all of media, however, his arc with Marceline is never completed.

That's one of my only gripes with the series, the whole Marcy and Simon sub-plot feels like it's missing the last part of a three act structure. Act one was the flashback scene and phone call scene in ep 2. The 2nd act is The Star, where he realizes he is needed. But act three, where he realises he is wanted in his daughters life is nowhere to be seen. In fact, The Star is the last time we see Marceline in the show and it's not even our Marceline. We don't get to see how Marcy reacts to what Simon wanted to do or see him tell her that he's sorry and sees the impact he made in her life. We don't even see him hanging out with her in the ending montage.

I have read many wonderful fanfics and comics that attempt to close this arc, with Marcy either being angry with him or reassuring him, or both. But some things shouldn't be left up to the fanfic writers.

Before the last two episodes came out, I was hoping that the last episode would be a 40 minute special so the writers would have ample time to wrap things up , and wrap it up they did, but not all of it. Does Marceline know what Simon tried to do? Does she blame herself? Does Simon just keep this secret from her because he's too ashamed and doesn't want to hurt her, all questions left unanswered.

Yeah, there's hope for season 2, but it really feels like it should have been completed in season one. It either needs to be concluded in an extra episode special (something series tend to have nowadays.) or turn it into a main plot point for a second season that explores Simon’s relationship with Marcy.

#adventure time #adventure time simon #fionna and cake #simon petrikov #marceline #marceline the vampire queen #essay #essay writing #my writing #adventure time with fionna and cake

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queeninthesouth-side · 2 years

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not a request, I’m just fixating on Tywin Lannister <3 the timeline of this rather ignores canon, but as it is, Tywin is about 15 years older than !reader, Jaime and Cersei are about 8 years younger than !reader. Joanna died giving birth to the twins, so no Tyrion (sorry!), and there’s no Robert’s Rebellion, so no War of the Five Kings either. There’s allusion to a battle in the Capitol when Jaime and Cersei are toddlers, and i pretended this was to overthrow aerys in my head, though I gave zero details about it. Anyway, enjoy!

Edit: it’s nearly 6k words whoops

A Fool’s Errand

Tywin Lannister x fem!Reader

Loving Tywin Lannister was a fool’s errand, or so everyone said. But you, the sweet young daughter of the Warrior Lord Dumain, had never shied from a challenge yet. Not in our blood, your father would say. Warriors fight for what is right, and for what they want, my girl. And you wanted the Old Lion himself.

It had begun quite accidentally, and not even because of Lord Lannister, but his wife. She had hosted a tourney you’d gone to as a girl, and you thought her the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen (the portrait of your long dead mother non-withstanding). She had glided around the Rock, where the tourney was held, and her golden hair and dress had caught the eye of everyone, naturally.

The first day you’d followed her around, a girl of no more than eight having an easy time staying hidden in order to sate your curiosity. On the third day, Lady Joanna had spoken.

“Come out from there, my little shadow,” she hummed from her bench in the gardens. Shyly, you stepped out from behind an enormous pot and looked at your feet. Your father told you not to get in the way of anyone and to listen to your septa (who you’d managed to slip away from every day since your arrival). Your worry must’ve been evident, for she reached out a graceful hand and beckoned you closer. She must’ve tired easily from her round belly, which was too large to hold just one babe, you’d overheard your septa mention.

“You must be Lord Renhaal’s little girl,” her sweet voice said, pulling you from your childish musing.

“Yes, my lady,” you replied softly. She smiled, and you understood how people loved her instantly. You felt you’d do anything to keep her smiling at you.

“And what wonderful manners, forgetting all the spying, of course.” Though her words were chastisement, her face belied no displeasure.

“I wasn’t spying, my lady,” you defended, desperate to clear up the misunderstanding. “Father said, before we came here, that Lord Lannister was a serious man, and not to get in his way out of everyone here. And you’re so nice! I was only curious about what sort of lady would make a serious man happy… my lady.”

Drawing you closer so you were sat next to her on the bench, Lady Joanna began to impart knowledge you would never forget.

“My mother used to tell me that even the most stoic of men need a lady to love them. Because, little shadow, good women make good men better, and that makes a good man’s wife the best sort of woman. And I have always wanted to be the best I can.”

You nodded, understanding that love was important to men and women both, if what Lady Joanna was saying was true. Loving a man like Tywin Lannister was made to seem easy with this knowledge. And perhaps, that is where you’d gotten the lesson wrong.

“You will love a serious man one day, little lady.” The knowing glimmer in green eyes was lost on you.

“My little warrior,” your father started. Stood at the docks, twenty and one summers old, an accomplished archer and peerless sailor, you will always be your father’s little girl. “Do not be rash out there. I know you are excited and adventure is in our bones, but you surely cannot fault a father for worrying over his daughter.”

Smiling and stepping closer to him, his large body older but no less impressive, you reassure him that you were raised by the most battle-experienced man in the realm, and the most successful to boot. You would be fine, you told him, and he trusted your words enough to let you board your ship, one he’d had made just for you for your nameday two years earlier.

The Shadow Maiden was a fine ship made of Essosi ashwood, a dark, grey-stained wood with sails green as your family’s house colours, and a hooded maiden figurehead dark as the rest of the ship with golden accents in the dagger and map held in her hands. It was small, which meant fast, but solid from the heavier wood that comprised the ship. For where you were going, you’d be thankful for these qualities.

“There is no need to worry, father. I do not mean to break our streak of victories, and so I will not. I will return with what I seek, I assure you.”

“And you still won’t tell me what it is you endeavour to find?” You shake your head, eyes turning down lest he read your thoughts. “It hasn’t got anything to do with Lord Lannister, does it? I cannot force him to accept a marriage contract, even for all the treasure in the world, and neither can you, my dear.”

It was a sore topic of conversation, the two rejected marriage proposals that had been sent at your behest to Lord Lannister, one by raven and one by you in person. His wife had been gone for nearly a decade and a half, and somehow, in your limited interactions with the Old Lion, the late Lady Joanna’s words made more and more sense. You could see plain as day his desire to have his wife back, and though you ached to be able to give him this, the next best thing was you, yourself. A woman who understood and was understood by his late wife.

Shaking your thoughts away, you accept your father’s kiss upon your cheek and his tight embrace before embarking your ship, beginning the month long trip to Essos.

“My Lady,” you heard behind you. Turning to see Lord Kevan Lannister, you dipped into a perfect curtsy, and greeted him demurely. At twenty summers old, you were considered the fairest and most eligible of Westerosi nobility. Everyone could see this but Lord Lannister, whom you had come to convince a betrothal to. Lord Kevan was a gentleman, and a doting father and husband to his young son and pregnant wife.

“My Lord. What may I do for you?”

He frowned, the furrowing of brows a far cry from his usually pleasant expression.

“My Lady, I fear you will not be received well in your request. I only wish to impart some insight into my Lord brother, whom I know well, of course. He is not a kindly man, and nothing and no one could sway him once he’s made a decision. I only say this to warn you, but knowing your father, you are likely as determined as he in all things.”

Heart dropping but smile staying firm, you considered his words carefully before speaking.

“I am determined, yes, but mostly, your brother is the only man, save my father, who will do what needs to be done to carry on a legacy. Your brother has only one son, and I hear he is rather keen on the Knight’s Guild… And I confess, I do not wish him to be—“ lonely, was the word you would have used about anyone else, but to imply that would certainly offend, and that was the last thing you wanted to do. “—well, someone told me that even the most stoic of men need a lady, and I’m rather set on him. If he rejects me, I will graciously excuse myself and not bother him again. But I must try, or I’ll never forgive myself.”

Your skirts whispered as you slowly paced in the parlour you’d settled in. The gold was a bit much, you thought privately, but the large window overlooking the Sunset Sea was worth the ostentatiousness.

Lord Kevan looked at you for a long moment, as though he’d heard the words before himself, before nodding and offering his arm to escort you to Lord Lannister’s solar.

It had gone worse than you’d imagined, and you’d imagined the worst case scenario. The truth was, Tywin Lannister was not just serious. He was borderline cruel, sly as a fox and intimidating as his house’s sigil. He’d all but snarled at you when you finished your proposal.

“You wasted my time for that? I have already rejected your offer—twice now. I have better things to be doing,” he said, standing above you where you sat opposite him. “There is nothing marriageable to me about a slip of a woman who fancies herself a lady and an adventurer, a mere girl inexperienced in life and cavorting as though she is touched by the Maiden herself. Hear me now, girl,” he growled, green eyes spitting like wildfire, “even if you marched in here with Brightroar in your arms, I would not marry you.”

And of course, the sweet image of him even reluctantly agreeing and you supporting his lordship over his subjects for the rest of your days faded away like a dying sun. Face placid, hands steady and voice clear, you simply said, “that sounds like a challenge.” He didn’t have time to berate you for your insolence, for you were already out the door and making your way to your wheelhouse, insisting on leaving that instant.

The people of the Rock would no doubt think you a cowardess who tucked tail and ran in the face of the Lion’s roar. But they did not know you, did not know the sparkle in your eye was not tears, but determination.

Docking in Essos was made simpler by the permits your father had arranged for you, even if the dock master insisted you pay extra. Your men, men you’d known since they were capable of getting seasick still, had made promises to ensure your safety, but even twelve broad sailors were not enough to sway a man’s greed. It mattered little in the end, you would restock water and food as much as possible before circumnavigating the coast of Essos. Another sennight of sailing the coast, then a moon navigating open waters and finally, you’d made it to the ruins of Valyria.

The once great castle by the cliffside had mostly fallen into the sea, and the jagged protrusions of stone were less than ideal for a galleon, but your little ship was nimbler and sleeker than any hulking vessels that thought to shortcut through these waters.

“My Lady, we’re nearing the Ruins. Shall we anchor and rest through the night?” You agreed that was best, and though the anticipation thrummed through you all night, you were rested enough by dawn to begin what you’d spent over two months sailing for.

For two days you’d steered your ship through previously untraversable waters, before coming across what seemed yet another shipwreck. At first, it looked like every other one you’d passed: broken, rotted and empty. You’d nearly sailed right by it when you caught sight of a lioness figurehead.

In the history book that had found its way across Westeros to you (anonymously, though you suspected Lord Kevan would be the only one to have possession of such a tome) it said King Tommen of the Rock, First of His Name, had sailed the Vibrant Lionness named for his wife who had hair red as the setting sun. And here it was, you thought, anchoring and row-boating to the half-submerged wreckage. By the light of the midday sun, and your own willingness to get dirty (thank goodness you were among good men who wouldn’t think twice of you wearing breeches for the duration of the journey) you had begun searching for your boon.

And in what would’ve been the captain’s quarters, next to a curled up skeleton in rags, was a scabbard holding a sword. You held your breath, stepping cautiously to avoid the most rotten planks of wood on the uneven floor, before grabbing the sheath, and revealing Brightroar. The smile you wore as you rowed back to the Shadow Maiden was nothing short of radiant. Welcomed with a great cheer, you promised your men that weather and gods willing, you’d be home in six short weeks.

It was closer to being seven weeks, but finally being docked at the port by your father’s Keep, you were able to breathe. You’d done it. You’d retrieved what all of Westeros knew Tywin Lannister desired most. And though your heart panged, the desire to be his wife hardly diminishing even after being eviscerated by him, your pride won out. If anything, Lord Lannister would owe you a debt, even if you’d never collect on it.

“My girl!” your father roared as you disembarked the ship, arms wrapping around you and swinging you in a wide arc. It was nearing your nameday again, and he worried you wouldn’t be home in time to celebrate. “And dare I ask if you found what you were looking for?”

You smiled beatifically, and it was answer enough for you lord father. He insisted you stay for your nameday, which was a week after your return, and would go for a week at least. Being his only daughter, and one of only two surviving children of his, there would never be a year he didn’t revel in having you with him still.

During this fortnight, you’d learned that Jaime Lannister had in fact been selected by the Knight’s Guild as the youngest member in history, and would therefore not inherit his family’s seat. Jaime had been a sweet boy, and you’d doted on him on the many occasions you’d seen him in his childhood. Cersei, while a little cold at first, had followed her brother’s adoration of you after a time. You were happy to know Jaime was doing what he loved most, even if you felt a twinge of guilt at how it proved you right to the Old Lion after all.

Having made the arrangements with Lord Kevan (Lord Lannister would not even respond to any ravens from you, he’d mentioned in a letter once) to visit the Rock under the guise of the twins’ name day celebration, you set off once again to the far Westerlands.

Your skin had gotten some shades darker from the expedition to Valyria, and your hair had lightened at the ends slightly. You’d grown more lean, but stronger, your muscles toned as opposed to bulky, like your older brother’s. In short, you were more formidable in appearance than the last time you’d been to the Rock. Your dress, the same deep green as your family’s colour, flattered your waist and hips, the neckline revealing only the top of your collarbones and a small sliver of your shoulder with long, wide sleeves that fluttered around you as you walked up the steps and into the maw of the lion.

Most of Westeros had heard of your expedition and many at the Rock who’d travelled far and wide were certain you’d present Jaime and Cersei with a priceless gift. It was priceless, you thought, but not quite for the twins. For Jaime, you’d actually gotten a fine stallion, one bred by your father and brother personally some years ago, and for Cersei, a necklace of diamonds cut to appear as shards of sparking glass inlaid in Valyrian steel. You knew Cersei was jealous over the Valyrian steel dagger her brother had gotten some namedays ago, and thought this may be enough to settle that dissatisfaction she still carried.

Three days of celebration gave way to the dawn of the twins’ actual nameday, which would be the day you presented Jaime and Cersei their gifts, and a final gift for the House of Lannister as a whole.

A fine spread was laid out for everyone to break their fast, and per tradition (which began when the twins were much younger and far too impatient to wait until dinner to open gifts) presents were prepared to be opened during the feast. The gardens where the meal was held were expansive and bittersweet to sit in. They reminded you of the Golden Lady, who despite being noble of birth, had tended her own garden herself. Lord Lannister now paid a slew of gardeners to preserve it exactly as it had been left by its keeper.

“We saved yours for last,” Jaime whispered beside you with a mischievous grin. You had not sat far from the Lannister family, mostly due to the Lord’s children’s fondness of you, to his chagrin. He hadn’t looked at you once, pointedly ignoring your entire side of the table, even with the guests he didn’t despise surrounding you on either side.

“Yours are always the best ones,” Cersei added with a secret grin. You laughed at that, and called your men to escort the war horse for Jaime into the gardens. A hush fell over the table as the great Arabian horse, golden of coat, trotted to you at your whistle. He was enormous, as horses bred by your family were known to be, but this horse looked large next to large horses.

“Every great knight needs a steed attuned to him, one that will fight as much for him as with him. He will never listen to another, never let himself be mounted by another. Only you, my lord,” you explain to Jaime as he marvels at the hulking beast.

“I’m honoured, my lady, to receive such a prestigious gift… I shall never fear battle with a mount like this.”

“And with your lion’s heart,” you added fondly, watching as Jaime, as near to manhood a boy can be, gently stroked the horse’s nose before letting it be led to the stables. You felt a heavy gaze on you then, but refused to look at the exact pair of green eyes that had settled on you. “And for the young lionness,” you announce, revealing the fine necklace, “jewellery and dresses are a lady’s armour, and there is no finer necklace than this in all the lands. Made of Valyrian steel, with shards of diamond, it will cut through anything should you use it right. It may save your life one day, my lady, though I shall pray that you never find need of it for that.”

Cersei’s eyes widened slightly, and she hesitated for nary a second before lifting her elaborate braid from her neck and turning for you to fasten it. With her dress of pale gold (so like the image of her mother now that she’d grown) the necklace looked like it was made with the dress in mind.

“Your gifts, as usual, delight my children,” a low voice intoned from the head of the table, the gardens, still silent enough for it, seemed to echo his voice. And once again, you are reminded of what a powerful man he is. Though you are not the lady he desires help from, you delight in his attention nonetheless.

“I have one more gift, if it pleases you, my Lord? I travelled very far to acquire this treasure, and there is no one in Westeros but you who could accept it.” A murmur slithered through the guests, and many eyes were now glued to you in interest, surely anticipating the revelation for the reason of your expedition on the sea they’d all heard about.

“You are most generous,” he said tonelessly, pure disinterest coating each syllable. You nodded gracefully, and with the lessons in ladyhood that had been drilled into you, you curtsied and glided to Ser Romnack, who held a slender, rectangular box engraved with lions with rubies for eyes and golden fangs. Walking back to where Lord Lannister sat upon a dais at a grand table perpendicular to the others, you presented him with the fine box, not looking at him but at the table.

He took it, and with little fanfare, flicked the latch of the box and swung the lid open. His brow furrowed, you noticed from your periphery, but it melted away as fast as it manifested. Instead, Lord Tywin Lannister wore a look of true surprise, his lips parted and eyes fixed on the contents of the box. He stands, looking deeply at you, though you do not look at him. From the box, he revealed Brightroar, the ancestral sword lost to the Lannisters for nearly three centuries. And now it was home, thanks to you.

The crowd’s reaction was far more animated, and almost at once people were clapping and cheering for you, to your embarrassment. You demurely wave away the cheers, accept the grateful embrace from Cersei and the gentlemanly way Jaime held your hand for a few long moments, then returned to your seat to finish the rest of the feast. Shortly after, festivities began again, and it was easy to slip away from the crowd, even if everyone seemed to be seeking you out.

You’d been to the Rock many times before, so finding your way to the parlour you favoured in your visits was possibly as easy with your eyes closed. The parlour with the wide window that overlooked the sea, that was rarely frequented, or so Lord Kevan had mentioned. You settled into a plush settee and began to mentally plan out your return home.

You had promised your father that once you returned from the Rock, you’d marry a lord or heir of his choosing, since he had given you two attempts of your own and you’d used them both on the Lord of the Keep you were in. Perhaps you could admit to a preference for blonds, though your father hardly seemed the type to care about a superficial detail like that.

“I have not known you to shy away from a celebration, especially if my children are involved.”

You hummed, not moving to stand or curtsy, fatigued and uncaring of the consequences therein. “Ah, but you do not know me, my Lord.”

“No,” he agreed, stood by the other side of the settee. “I know little about you, especially if I am to believe you retrieved Brightroar yourself.”

“I had twelve men with me. Men who I trust and who trust me with their lives. It rather makes impossible expeditions that much easier. Trusting them, that is.”

He was silent for a moment, then he spoke once more.

“I told you I would not marry you, even if you had Brightroar in your arms.”

Turning to glare at him, you stood. “I did not travel for four months across seas to find a way to marry you, Lord Lannister,” you said firmly. “Jaime will be the finest knight Westeros has seen in centuries, and he deserves to fight with his family’s sword, as my brother does, as my father and all his fathers before him did.”

He glared fiercely at you, wildfire eyes attempting to burn you with their scorching anger. You returned the glare with an ice cold one of your own, one you’d steadily become known for.

“I suppose you expect this Lannister to pay you the debt you are owed,” he said as though bored. Your glare broke, expression turning neutral.

“I want nothing from you that you are unwilling to give, Lord Lannister. And I’m a woman with enough dignity to bestow my companionship with a man who might appreciate it someday. So, no. I do not expect any repayment. Good day, my Lord.”

The door had barely opened before a large hand flew passed your shoulder to slam it shut.

“Do not walk away from me, girl.”

“I am no girl. I have sailed across the Sunset Sea, traversed the Ruins of Valyria and lived to tell the tale. And beside that, I have honoured the name Lannister by bringing back your greatest desire. I am no more a girl than you are a coward.”

And with that, you’d wrenched the door open and walked speedily to your apartments where your handmaidens awaited you. You told them to arrange for an early departure, and they began packing immediately, sensing your irritation.

It was early evening, and nearing the time of your departure when Jaime and Cersei made to visit. Cersei was, in private, far more emotional than she ever let on in public, and her anger and sadness at you leaving was plain to you. You’d seen her as a little sister when you were younger, but now you wondered if she’d viewed as more of an aunt, or a godsmother. Either way, your long embrace and promises to write were just enough to pacify her. Jaime was more stoic, you’d noticed, trying to be strong for his sister but also leaning into his impression of how a good man acts. It had made you smile, and a little teary, to see them so grown. You’d known them since they were babes, of course, and had even visited frequently for long intervals when they were barely walking while your father fought and won battles in the Capitol with Lord Lannister.

“Don’t fret, my little lions,” you said, holding Cersei again and cupping Jaime’s cheek in your spare palm. “There is nowhere in the world I would not travel to see you both. Even if my future husband forbids me.”

“Husband!?” Cersei shrieked, and strange panic in her eyes as she shared a look with Jaime.

“But I thought you were going to speak to father about a betrothal?” she asked.

“I have made two proposals to your Lord Father, and both were rejected, my darling.”

“But you brought Brightroar home,” Cersei argued. “He’ll marry you now if you ask him! He owes you a debt, and Lannisters—“

“—always pay their debts, I know, Cersei,” you sigh tiredly. “I do not want any man to marry me because he feels indebted to me.”

“But you’ve been dedicated to father forever!”

None of you noticed another visitor silently enter, too closely embraced and focussed on each other to pay attention.

“I will find another man to dedicate myself to, and I will bear him sons as is my duty. I could no sooner force your father’s hand than I could bring harm to either of you. That is what love makes of us at times…” you trailed off.

“What’s that, my Lady?” Jaime asked.

“Fools, darling. And I have been a fool twice already for him. I will not disgrace myself or my family by asking a third time.”

“No,” the Old Lion said from behind you all, causing the three of you to turn and face him. “You will not. Children, leave us.”

Cersei’s grip around your waist tightened in impertinence. “Are you going to upset her? She was upset when we got here,” she says boldly to her father. He glared at his daughter, and a battle of wills that had no clear winner began and ended in a few seconds.

“Off you go, little lions. I will be fine,” you said, shooing them gently, even if Cersei looked unconvinced. With a final glare to her father and a tug from her twin, the young lions were gone, the door closed, you and Lord Lannister alone once again.

“What did they speak of,” he asked bluntly.

“Which part, my Lord,” you ask as you gathered a ring from your bedside that you’d taken off that morning and forgotten to put back on. An emerald ring, once belonging to your mother, that rarely left your hand.

“You are not scheduled to depart for another three days hence.”

“A change in circumstances, I’m afraid,” you answer.

“And what changes are those,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

“It is past time I marry, my Lord. My Lord Father has allowed me my adventures, but I grow wearier every day of the spinster I am sure people think me to become.”

“The opinions of sheep matter not to lions,” he said, as though that explained everything.

“I am not a lion, my Lord.”

“Not yet,” he agreed.

You turned then, and looked at him. He had Brightroar fastened to his hip, and in the finery he wore for the celebrations, he made a striking image. Shoulders broad and chest puffed with the confidence of a Lord reunited with his family’s blade, you’d thought he never looked more handsome, though you knew better than to let the opinion show.

“I won’t marry one of your brothers, or a son of a vassal house. I am a lady of highest birth, and will find myself a husband fitting my status, my Lord,” you explained evenly, looking away to gather your shawl, the last of your personal effects in the room. You made to the door at that, and once again, Lord Lannister prevented you from leaving.

“That is twice you have walked away from me. The debt is repaid,” he purred beside your left ear. Goosebumps raised at his vicinity, and many questions at his comment. “Twice I have rejected you, and twice you have walked away from me. I have killed men for less. That debt is repaid.”

Thinking the interaction some sort of taunt, which he was not above in the slightest, you disregarded him and attempted to open the door with force. This time, however, he did lot let you walk out. He simply slammed the door again.

“Thrice, my Lady,” he said lowly. “And now you owe me a debt.”

A warrior’s daughter you may be, but even your heart could not protect itself from the cracks beginning to show. How foolish could you have been? It was a fool’s errand to love a man like Tywin Lannister, and gods, had you been a fool. You should never have followed the Lady Joanna around her own home. You’d known better even then, and you should not have sat with her, or listened to her, or decided to be a great lady like her. Why couldn’t you have just sat quietly at that tourney with your septa as you’d been told to? And you had risked your life and the lives of men you’d known all your life to give this man the only treasure he could not buy. All you’ve done, and only to owe him, as he said.

“Remove your hand, my Lord. I am leaving.”

“No. You owe me a debt and I intend to collect.”

“Then I suggest, my Lord,” you said cuttingly, “you allow me to return to my father so he can settle this perceived debt. Send him a raven with the sum of gold you don’t truly need, and let us be done here.”

He did not budge, and you felt the horrifying sting of frustrated tears burn your eyes.

“I’m afraid there is only one thing that could settle this debt. Your hand.”

Rage filled you.

“Then have the left,” you muttered angrily, turning and holding out your wrist. “Give your blade the blood of the hand that brought it back to you. That’s poetic, even for you.”

You expected to see that dark resolve you saw in your father’s eyes when he would sentence a man to death. That grim satisfaction and humanitarian dread combined. But his eyes were not angry, no wildfire spitting and flaring in his gaze. In fact, they rather resembled the rolling hills of lush green pastures and forests that surround the Rock. And for once, you noticed, his mouth was not held in a grim line, nor was his face set in stony dissatisfaction as it so often was. He looked softer, face relaxed and… almost open.

“I do not mean it quite so literally,” he said, bringing the hand by his side to gently hold the wrist you’d bared to him. It was the first time he had touched you, you realised.

And then his words untangled in your head and made a little more sense. Only, he could not mean to ask for your hand after rejecting it twice, could he?

“My late wife,” he began solemnly, “would say that a woman’s dedication is rarer than dragon eggs and infinitely more precious as well. She rejected my proposal to her twice, and on the third she agreed, because, she said, any man willing to make a fool of himself for her hand was a man she could be dedicated to.”

“I… I do not understand, my Lord,” you uttered quietly.

“I expected you to ask a third time, my lady. Expected you would return in a matter of weeks and insist on a betrothal. And I would have accepted then. But you did not,” he explained, voice low, meant to soothe rather than intimidate. “I was furious when I heard you’d left Westeros. I thought it was to sail east to find a husband, and had a mind to send a fleet after you. My brother insisted you’d return, and I trusted him. He was right.”

Mind working, you could only dumbly stare at him as he told a tale of how his twins had begged him to propose a betrothal to you when you’d been eight and ten, and how he knew you were not ready to be a wife, the call for adventure itching under your skin needed to be sated first. How he had rejected the first proposal easily, but the second one was much more difficult.

“I expected you to doggedly pursue your goals to be wedded to me as your father might’ve pursued his in battle, but for as similar as you are to him, you are not the same at all. And then I thought you would surely perish on your expedition, especially as the moons passed without word of your return. And now, here you are at my children’s nameday celebrations, the finest mount in the realm for my son, the finest jewels in the realm for my daughter, and my own greatest desire, second to one.”

You blinked, looking at him suspiciously, as though his brothers and guests might pour out of some alcove and laugh at your folly to half believe him.

“And the debt I owe you, my Lord? How is that to be paid.”

“I answered this already, my Lady. Your hand.”

“My hand.” You repeated.

“Since it is unlikely you will propose a betrothal with me a third time, I must insist upon it myself. It is the only way I shall consider the slight of walking away from the Lion of Casterly Rock repaid.”

He looked down at you, watching quietly for a turn in your expression, anything really. You were still as marble, and your hand felt as cold as it too. Then he saw it, that faint glimmer of hope that he’d seen in your gaze on at least two occasions prior. It was there again, barely, and tentatively. But it was there, and it was all he needed.

He swooped down to press a gentle kiss upon your soft mouth, holding himself back from kissing you as he wanted to. It took a short second for your brain to shut off and for your body to move as it wanted. You leaned forward into the kiss, bring your hand to his chest, the other still held in his large hand, thumb gently stroking over the pulse that sped up under the delicate skin.

“You have not answered me, my Lady,” Lord Lannister said, pulling his mouth from yours to trail kisses across your cheek to your ear, nibbling gently on your lobe and halting any clever answer you might’ve been able to give.

“What?” you asked dazedly. Lord Lannister’s lips quirked at your ineloquent reply.

“Will you give me your hand?”

He pulled back to look you in the eyes, and now his lips were not touching you, you could think a little clearer.

“Only if you will give me yours.”

Predatory though it was, the Old Lion grinned at his victory.

#tywin lannister #tywin lannister x reader #tywin x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #cersei lannister #jaime lannister #kevan lannister #brightroar #reader insert #not a request #let me know if you want a sequel #i can make it spicy

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