#there was an attempt™ to sneak out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kpopnstarwars · 27 days

Text

Within the Storms of Giedi Prime: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: the long awaited part two of upon the sands of the arena is hereeee

tw: 18+, smut (more than last time hehehe), p in v, swearing, Feels™, death, assassination, use of the Voice (not on feyd), less violence but still violence, i lack faith in my sequel writing abilities, blowjobs, SUB FEYDDDD, also DOM FEYDDD, sex Outside, lightning and thunder (it says storms in the title what do you expect)

wc: 4.2k

part 1

Giedi Prime is a miserable planet.

It’s evident in the choking, black smog from the factories in the dense air fused with the anguished cries of overworked slaves and the distant rumble of the still active volcanos. You’re near the Harkonnen’s palace grounds - you’re heading towards them, actually, and the promise of a… pleasant night; to your left, you can just about glimpse the looming silhouette of the great arena, squatting like a hulking beast on the horizon, waiting to swallow any poor soul that gets too close to its gaping maw.

Tonight, roiling storm clouds reign the sky, sending sheets of furious rain pounding down upon anyone who dares to be out at this hour - including you. Harsh bolts of lightning spear down, hurtling towards the ground like incensed, condensed moonlight and casting freakish shadows.

Moonlight: the colour of Feyd’s skin. If it weren’t for him, you’d already be off this sorry planet - alas, you must stay a little longer, your body already a little warm at the memory of his skilled fingers and scorching gaze. You haven’t been back since the encounter with the na-Baron in the arena months ago, and you can’t help but feel the sting of doubt in your chest, wondering if he’ll still want a second time, or if you’ll sneak into his room only to find yourself replaced by a concubine.

Not that you occupy significance to him anyway, you remind yourself. Feyd-Rautha could not replace you, because there would be nothing to replace, just ashes of a once bright fire.

Irked by the weakness of your own mind, you pull the hood of your cloak lower over your face, tightening it across your shoulders. The hem is sullied by browning blood: you disposed of your quarry just this morning, and delivered the decapitated head during the early afternoon.

Conveniently, the Bene Gesserit have left you alone for now, most likely tangled in the politics regarding the Kwisatz Haderach while trying to predict the next movement of Jessica Atreides - word is that she has burrowed her way deeper into the desert, surrounding herself and her son with the more fanatic of the Fremen as she bides her time, ready for her next strike.

It means that you’ve been granted enough time to establish yourself as a bounty hunter. For a highly trained Bene Gesserit, the work is easy, and earns you coin a plenty while keeping you on the move and as in shape as assassinating sloppy idiots attempting to run from debt and petty disagreements can.

Slipping through the palace’s perimeter proves easy enough. You use the Voice on a few guards, preferring it to cutting their throats: instructing them to keep quiet and forget you passed by causes much less of a commotion. The scaling of the ramparts that make up the circumference of the inner palace is the most challenging, due to the stone being slick with moss and rain - your fingers dig into the cracks between the weathered blocks of stone, the wind snapping and tugging at your cloak, fiercer now that you’re higher up.

There’s a narrow battlement ringing one side of Feyd’s room. You land on it silently, padding over to the window sill; curtains made of heavy black fabric layered on a dark, wispy privacy layer shroud most of your view of him. His pale skin is almost luminescent under the jagged flashes of lightning bathing his quarters, the blanket having slipped half off him during the night. He lies with his bare back facing you, although it’s hardly a vulnerability - you doubt anyone would be able to creep up on him easily enough to bury a knife into his exposed back without him tearing their throat out first.

Apart from you - hopefully.

Carefully, you ease the window open. A frigid gust of air rushes in as you climb through, and you witness the exact moment that Feyd awakens and becomes aware of your presence; imperceptibly, the muscles in his back ripple before he settles again - you posticipate the feel of them under your palms, hard, lean, perfect for sinking your nails into.

A thrill rushes through you at the sight of him, a sort of wondrous feeling, keen as a knife and just as cutting. You want him all over you, you want him to consume you until all you can remember is him and his smouldering eyes and sensuous touch.

Shrugging off your cloak, you let it pool to the floor around your feet before toeing off your shoes too; breath caught in your throat, you steal over to his bedside, your hand ghosting over the solid curve of his shoulder blade before you grip his shoulder, turning him so his back is flat against the mattress and straddling him in one fluid motion.

The cold kiss of metal meets your neck.

You almost moan at the look on his face. His lips are pulled back in a snarl, his eyes wild, frenzied almost, glittering with the same danger as before. Running your hands up his hard, sculpted chest, you smirk down at him, watching as ever so slowly, his gelid gaze defrosts with recognition, the ice giving way to those all encompassing flames, flames that you surrender to unequivocally.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ you murmur, fingers circling his wrist.

Feyd blinks, watching you as if he’s going to eat you as always. Slowly, the hand not wielding the knife roams waywardly down your spine, grabs a harsh fistful of your ass and lingers before gliding upwards and settling on your waist. He huffs, an abrupt, amused sound, but you don’t miss the way he greedily drinks up your figure with his eyes.

‘I thought I scared you away, little witch. Presumably, it was not too much for you?’

‘For me?’ You muse. ‘We’ll see.’

Knocking the blade from his hand, you ignore the screeching noise it makes as it skitters across the stone floor, instead enjoying the subtle inhale, loaded with expectancy, that Feyd takes as you lean in close to him. You hover above him for a prolonged moment, arms boxing him in, before he lurches upwards, connecting your lips with his.

A growl sounds at the back of his throat when he tastes you, licking into your mouth as his fingers press at the small of your back, bringing your lower body to meet his. Rolling his hips against yours, he tangles his fingers in your hair; you feel giddy with the feel of him against you, solid and warm and wanting, so real beneath you, so fucking insatiable.

You can’t get enough of him.

Slowly, you pull away, ablaze with the ravening craving in his eyes. The muscles in his well shaped chest flex as he tips his face up, following your lips, and you smile disarmingly at him, hooking your fingers in the waistband of his trousers and pulling them down.

Taking his chin in your palm, you tilt his head so you can look him in the eyes before swiping your thumb over his lower lip, savouring the way he’s putty in your hands: a man destined to be the Baron of one of the most influential, powerful Houses in the Imperium, a lethal, strikingly skilled warrior, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, humbled by your touch.

‘Let me taste you,’ you breathe - it’s almost a command.

‘Please,’ he chokes out, imploring you with his eyes.

Laughing, you press a hand to his sternum and push. He sinks back into the mattress, compliant, and you trail your lips down his neck and sternum, leaving hickeys in your wake. You're seized by the need to make him shake and beg and cry; you want to devour him.

Dragging your nails cruelly down his thighs, branding him with livid red scratches, you tilt your head to the side, a smile playing upon your lips as you listen to the groan that leaves him, the pricks of pain setting him alight with longing. There’s a devout look in his eyes - a fervent, zealous sort of lust that stirs within you with the impulse to make him forget his own name.

Curling your fingers around his hard length and giving him a few pumps, you watch him under your lashes, something akin to a power rush spinning your head around and around. Feyd is wonderfully sensitive, and a sneer pulls at your lips when his fingers scramble for purchase, fisting in his silky sheets as you press a chaste, loitering kiss to his cock head - a pearl of jet precum sits at the apex of it, dark against its rosy, delicate flush.

Dipping your hand into your pants, you collect your slick on your fingers and use it to jerk him - when you glance up, his pupils are blown wide; lips parted, he stares at you, transfixed.

Eyes locked on his, you take him in your mouth: his thighs tighten, every muscle taut as you run your tongue along the veins wrapped around the underside of his cock. His head tips back, displaying the strong lines of his neck as you hollow your cheeks, rubbing your thighs together to ease the increasing ache between them. Jaw slack, you gag when he hits the back of your throat, and he growls at the sight of your hungry eyes growing watery.

You toy with him, teasing him with your tongue and grazing your teeth lightly over his length until he’s gasping your name; the way the syllables leave his tongue is almost pleading, his chest heaving and covered in a sheen of sweat, his thighs shuddering, wracked with tremors.

It’s evident that he’s close, the voracity in his eyes so hot that it melts your bones, sending heat pooling in your core - you’re going to let him wreck your cunt after this; ruin you for any other man. Trembling, his pale fingers hover near your head, splaying over the expanse of your shoulder, his eyes fucking begging for permission, so you pull off him, laughing as his hips jolt forward at the loss, his cock twitching when your fingertips graze his balls.

‘Go on, Feyd,’ you coax. ‘Do as you wish.’

A tender, honeyed noise rips from low in his chest, almost a whimper, a sound you know no one has extracted from him before. It’s the only warning before he fists his hand in your hair, hips bucking as he fucks into your mouth, his eyes rolling back as you gag around him, the debased moan that escapes you sending vibrations down his cock.

You almost black out when he comes down your throat. You’re not sure if it’s the lack of air reaching your lungs or the sweet pain of Feyd’s hand yanking at your hair, but you’re sure that you’ve never taken so much pleasure in someone else’s release. Slowly, you sit up, moving to lie beside Feyd, and he smiles dumbly at you, maybe a little fucked out as he leans in to kiss you, sighing as he tastes his own come on your tongue.

‘I could spend hours exploring you, my little witch,’ he says, pressing his lips to your jaw.

Feyd flips you over with only an echo of ferocity from your previous fight, disrobing you and gripping your thighs, spreading them. Your hands find his shoulders, his back, your fingers resting in the dips of muscle there, trailing down the length of his spine as his own find your slick, yearning cunt.

Outside, the storm blows harder, rain pounding down upon the planet’s surface in sheets, lightning lancing through the thick billows of clouds; it is during one of these strikes that you glimpse that Feyd’s eyes are not as dark as they seem, but the colour of glaciers and blue fire. Within them, just beneath the keenness of his electric gaze, lurks something else - something that makes you hesitate. He senses it immediately, fingers pausing their movement, so you fit your lips to his.

You kiss him to avoid the emotions roiling in his stormy eyes.

He responds immediately, and you easily dismiss the thoughts clouding your mind; he barely knows you, there’s no room for the feelings you just saw in his gaze. You seek his body, not his soul, and it is the same both ways.

‘Fuck me,’ you mumble against his lips.

All coherent sentences leave your mind when he flips you over again, this time with your stomach pressed to his bedsheets as he kneels on the mattress behind you.

‘Ass up, my little witch,’ he commands.

Something within you goes molten at the sound of his voice. You can feel his gaze straying all over your skin, greedy, so you tuck your knees beneath you and arch your back, biting down on your lower lip as his palm presses against your lower vertebrae. He chuckles; it warms your bones.

‘You’re so filthy, little witch, displaying yourself for me.’

Bolts of ecstasy shoot through you as Feyd slides his cock head through your folds, his broad hands gripping your hips so tightly that you’ll be left with bruises. Your breath is punched from your lungs when he sinks himself inside you, balls deep, white hot pleasure rocketing down your spine - it tears a wretched cry from you, more so when he starts a brutal, near sadistic pace, the angle destroying you with vicious bliss.

The drag of his searing, velvet cock on your walls makes your toes curl. You think your body might shatter into a million pieces, the way he plucks the euphoria from it so agonisingly, so beautifully. One of his hands finds its way between your thighs, his thumb rolling endlessly over your clit; you find yourself teetering on the edge, suspended there a moment before you fall.

The way your cunt convulses around his cock as you come doesn’t stop Feyd. Unforgiving, he ploughs into you, his fingers still working on your clit, not breaking his rhythm even as you writhe beneath him, trying to jerk your hips away from his to no avail. It’s too much, the pleasure melting delectably into pain and still he can’t stop, won’t stop, his low snarl a warning in your ear as he pins you to the mattress with a hand between your shoulder blades, leaving you helpless to do nothing but take him.

Tears well up in your eyes, soaking into the sheets beneath you as he rails into you, his fingers speeding up on your clit until you’re begging him, tremors shooting through you from the aftershocks of your orgasm. His grip on your hips is unrelenting, and you sob as his pace increases, the savage friction sending you over again.

For the second time, you come hard around him, pussy clenching and fluttering, ragged cries wracking your body. This time, you bring Feyd with you, the sound he makes sharp and almost pained. He pulls out, and you mewl at the sharp tug of friction, panting as he comes on your back and ass, claiming you with his dark seed.

Breathless, he sits back on his heels as you straighten your legs until you lie full stretch, revelling in the post orgasmic rapture. Dimly, you hear his footsteps on the stone floor, but you pay them no mind, instead letting your eyelids droop as you rest your chin in the crook of your elbow.

Gentle hands encircle your ankles, carefully opening your legs. A second later, you feel a warm cloth at the apex of your thighs, and you whine, flinching away from the overstimulation. You hear Feyd’s chuckle, and the comforting sweep of his thumb against your skin as he cleans you up, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses on your back as he does; barely a moment after, the mattress dips, and strong arms pull you into a warm chest.

‘How are you, my little witch?’

You hum in response, not wanting to use words. Something niggles at your brain, even through the haze of pleasure. It’s got to do with the na-Baron’s gentleness after he fucks you; it unsettles you, the sweetness of him, and now these words, as if you’re a lover, and not… whatever this is.

One of his wide palms runs up and down your ribs, and you shove those thoughts to the side, instead enjoying his touch, the way your body fits into his, his chest pressed against your front as he traces patterns on your skin with his deft fingers; his lips brushing the nape of your neck, leaving soft kisses there. You find yourself curling away from him a little - his hands on you make something deep in your chest stir to life, something that shouldn’t be there. It’s -

A blinding flash of lightning, followed by the deep, throaty growl of thunder illuminates the room. You’re facing the door: in the crack between its solid masonry and the floor, you glimpse a shadow.

Hastily, you turn, one hand meeting Feyd’s chest, fingers falling into the dip his collarbone makes as you search his eyes, urgent. He stares back at you, not quite guarded, but not quite open any more, and you’re filled with the urge to protect.

‘Give me your knife,’ you hiss.

He sits up halfway. ‘What’s - ’

You push him back down, glaring at his resistance. You can sense the change in the air, hear the subtle scrape of someone’s boot across the stone floor and the swish of clothing behind the door - or maybe it’s just the building storm outside, the escalating charge in the sky as another bolt of lightning is generated.

‘Feyd. Give me your knife.’

Eyes quizzical, he produces it from somewhere behind him, handing it to you hilt first. It’s just in time, because the door swings open, a masked figure silhouetted there. You whirl around, covering Feyd’s body with your own.

They’re holding a knife.

It doesn’t take you a moment longer to send your knife hurtling towards them. The blade seethes through the air before embedding itself with a thunk into the assassin’s shoulder, and as they drop to the floor, you’re up in another second, poised in case there’s another. A flash of movement catches your eye - the dropped knife, retrieved and held in blood soaked fingers.

‘Stand down,’ you snap.

The Voice echoes through the room, and you pluck the knife out of the now frozen assassin’s grasp and slit his throat. Turning, you see the glimmer of amusement and awe in Feyd’s eyes; assassination attempts probably occur often, an estranged Bene Gesserit using the Voice in his room less so.

‘So many people seem eager to sneak into my bed chamber tonight,’ he remarks. ‘Although I must admit I preferred the first one.’

You laugh, collecting your clothes off the floor. ‘I’m glad.’

As you pull on your trousers, followed closely by your shirt, Feyd gets up, and you’re struck by the slow manner in which he approaches you, so much like the way he prowled towards you in the arena, but this time his eyes concerningly soft, his deadly, killing machine of a body marked with hickeys and love bites.

‘Why do you always rush to leave so fast, my little witch?’

‘I - I have places to be,’ you stammer.

He tilts his head. ‘At this hour of the night?’

‘...Yes.’

Feyd takes one step closer, close enough to kiss. ‘What are you afraid of?’

You back towards the window. ‘I fear nothing.’

‘Don’t lie to me,’ he warns. ‘I can see it in your eyes.’

Shaking your head, panic rising in your throat, you turn, the glass chilly on your fingers as you open the window. Feyd catches your other hand, but you whirl around and lash out, a blow to the face followed by a blow to the legs, and he staggers backwards, giving you enough time to slip out of the window and onto the battlements.

Outside, the storm has whipped up, the howling wind tearing at your hood and blowing it off, the rain immediately pouring down to soak your hair, sting your eyes, wet your face. You need to run, you need to get away from him, but the weak part of you - the part that you fear - slows your strides, tugging at you as if it’s tied to Feyd somehow.

He catches up to you easily enough.

Of course he does, he is Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, and he is inexplicably bound to your soul in a way you cannot describe, in a way that terrifies you, shakes you to your very core. He catches your with a hand around your upper arm and presses you to his chest, your treacherous body reacting to him the way it always has as he stares down at you with those burning, icy eyes, droplets of rain running in rivulets down the moonlight planes of his chest.

Unease tears through you. You see it in his eyes, that he feels it too, and you dread the way it does not disquiet him. Your soul feels like it’s slowly rending in two - you need to get away from him, from the unguarded way he regards you, dedication clear in his unwavering gaze, but all the same, you need to remain with his arms trapping you to him, in the bewildering magnetism of his psyche.

‘Tell me what you fear, my little witch.’

You answer through clenched teeth. ‘I am not yours.’

‘You evade my question.’

You stare at Feyd, confounded. This man before you is the same man that you duelled in the arena, yet he is different; there is a certainty in his eyes, an acceptance that you yourself flee from. You’re drawn to him, even as the instincts that have kept your hollow heart intact all these years squall for you to break loose - and yet you fear that too, the evasion, because you know that if you run now, a part of you will be lost, snapped under the tension.

‘What do you - ’

You cut Feyd off. ‘Do you know what I fear, Harkonnen? I fear the look in your eyes, because it’s not just desire any more. You do not seek me in order that I inflict pain and pleasure alike upon you, you seek something else. I fear the look in your eyes because it is the same feeling that rises traitorously in my chest when I look at you, and it terrifies me.’

He’s silent.

You grab his shoulder. ‘Tell me you feel nothing, Feyd. Tell me you crave me for the thrill of adrenaline and the feel of my body - tell me and do not lie.’

His eyes bore into yours. ‘I cannot.’

‘Exactly.’

You wrest yourself from his grasp, turning and striding down the battlements. A strange feeling overtakes you, a prickle behind your eyes and a lump in your throat, an aching tug at your heart which you stalwartly ignore. It is over - you’re done. He made it harder than it ever had to be, but you’re going now.

He grabs your hand. ‘You cannot either, my little witch.’

Struggling, you snarl at him, clawing at your chest, but he pins you to the wall, his eyes aflame, searing, calling to something in you that rises up to meet him. This time, it is too strong; you cannot push it down, a part of you not even wanting to. You can feel Feyd all over you, your senses overwhelmed by him, by the way he presses his forehead to yours, forcing you to meet his gaze.

‘You do not have to fear it,’ he whispers. ‘Just let go. You’re holding on too tight.’

He dips his head, claiming your lips. You give in, yield to it, let it wash over you and carry you away on its blissful waves, your heart swelling in your chest at the way he touches you, tenderly, as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon; this is not Feyd, but this is him, irrefutably so.

You think this might be love.

It is a wild, white hot blade in your heart that twists, beauteous, enthralling. You believed that it would weaken you, shackle you, but you blaze with the glorious flare of it, the kiss of Feyd’s hips against yours stoking it further. Truly, it is magnificent.

In the only way you know how, you show him. It’s cataclysmic, the way you’re pulled to him like a comet caught in a planet’s gravity, streaking towards him, fated to collide, your hands roving over him, his over you, the taste of rain blooming on your tongue as you bite down on his shoulder, muffling a moan as he ekes sweet, tender pleasure from you. Your head tips back against the stone, eyes raised to the weeping sky, your lips parted as he fills you with his cock.

Feyd looks at you as if you are a goddess. He worships you, cradles you in his arms, anchoring you, grounding you. You do not know where he ends and you begin, nor do you want to know; you wish for your souls to meld, you wish for the two of you to be alone in the universe, unbothered by time or fate or anything.

‘You are mine, little witch,’ he intones against your rain soaked skin. ‘I am yours.’

685 notes · View notes

wheresarizona · 5 months

Text

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!

Prev - Next - Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

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 mam�� 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.

Prev - Next - Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know!

#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

443 notes · View notes