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#I don’t have any specific species in mind

togglesbloggle · 3 months

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Voltaire's Prayer

“I have never made but one prayer to God, a very short one: Oh Lord, make my enemies ridiculous. And God granted it." -Volaire’s letter to Étienne Noël Damilaville, 16 May 1767

I’m inordinately fond of sex, in the political sense. It’s saved us so often from the worst parts of ourselves.

As far as anti-authoritarian elements of the human experience go, sex is right up there with curiosity and the search for truth- maybe even more so. When a new tyrant comes to town, shutting down the universities and the libraries is only the second thing they try. The first thing is to regulate human sexuality to within an inch of its life. Rules for marriage, rules for courtship, rules for which genitals may touch and where they may touch and when they may touch. Rules for who and rules for whom. Rules for which kinds of sex must doom characters in literature, rules for which things may be described as sexy, rules for which things may be described in a sexy way.

Of course they do! If you’re trying to bind a large polity together under a common ideological narrative, to render people predictable enough to quash dissent and legible enough to exert power through them, the last thing you need is a bunch of folks running around being horny about stuff without permission. Nature gifted us with a great capacity for reason and community; we have the innate opportunity to learn about ourselves and our neighbors, and to form complex societies based on that understanding. It was Aristotle who first called us the political animal, and the fruits of that extraordinary capacity will always be within our reach, if only we can come together within a shared understanding. The invention of the city is the great triumph of our species, and with it we conquer the universe.

But also this extraordinary, reasoning mind has been sculpted from the raw clay of a biology that’s anchored in sexual reproduction, and this ends up being very, very funny.

The problem isn’t so much that the sex instinct exists, per se. It’s how it’s implemented. Like most biological forms, the full complement of 86 billion(!) neurons in your brain aren’t encoded in a particular configuration; the brain is much too complex to be described so precisely in the only ~725 megabytes or so of human DNA. The particular shape of your brain is in there somewhere- the lobes and subregions responsible for vision, memory, cognition, all that- but only up to a point. The genius and fundamental limitation of genetics is that, below a certain level, the genes instead describe a process for the production and reproduction of specialized cells, and simply constructs them in such a way that they can be relied upon to order themselves as they go.

This is all well and good when we’re talking about kidneys and livers, but the fact that you can encode any kind of specific behavioral instinct in a brain this way is nothing short of a minor miracle. Think about it! Spiders don’t have a ‘spider web’ gene, the gene is for ‘proteins that come together in self-assembling electrochemically sensitive gelatin tissue which, when complete, encodes patterns that operate organ systems such as legs and spinnerets in such a way as to reliably create silk webs.’ This is absurdly impressive, and also completely insane.

What I’m getting at is, powerful behavioral instincts in a complex animal aren’t precise instruction manuals by which we pursue evolutionarily advantageous behaviors. Sex and eros are prior to logic or language, let alone strategy. Sex is a double-thick electrical wire discharging lightning bolts right through the middle of our cognitive centers, installed in the brain by a surgeon wearing mittens. It’s an untethered firehose whipping chaotically through the cathedral, unpredictably spraying golden reliquaries with substances unmentionable. It’s the first and greatest anarchist.

I really can’t overstate my gratitude for this.

Obviously this results in any number of deeply goofy outcomes by way of kinks and odd sexual practices- it gets tangled with pain centers, with random bits of anatomy and proprioception, with our taboos and aversions, with our greatest terrors or our greatest yearnings or just arbitrary stimuli from adolescence, and of course it gets enmeshed so often with our notions of power and submission. It imbues these things with a fascination and potency out of all proportion with their mundane meanings. And ultimately, you end up with human pleasures and human values that diverge so far from banal evolutionary imperatives as to be all but unrecognizable.

Even when this process somehow manages to propagate through the brain in such a way as to drive behaviors that are legibly aligned towards some adaptive constraint- e.g. heterosexual mating practices resulting in biological reproduction and careful childrearing- it’s still madness. Love and sex penetrate deeply across tribal and national and racial boundaries, across economic interests, across battle-lines and enmities. We become traitors, apostates, emigrants, and artists. Declare a law, and in short order some hot-headed young people come along to break it in the name of sexual passions you could not possibly have seen coming. Divide your neighborhood into us and them, and by the time the ink is dry on your proclamation there will be a forbidden relationship across the fence. There is no social order, no ethical system, no theory of human nature that can entirely withstand contact with the full spectrum of human sexuality, because sex and eros are always going to be exactly as bonkers as the complexity of the human mind and culture will allow, plus a little extra just to be sure.

This isn’t always a delight, of course. Many prohibitions exist for a very good reason, and the chaos of human sexuality makes no exemptions for true evil. Some of us end up really, truly victims of this process. But for all the dangers, the chaos at the root of all this isn’t oriented towards evil. Chaos just means chaos, essentially arbitrary and hence absurd in character.

And in the grand analysis, we are so lucky to have this thing moving through our communities, this ridiculous madness that guarantees that there will be cracks in every wall and slips exploding cigars in the pockets of the powerful few. Not in everybody as individuals, of course, and not everybody the same amount; asexuality is certainly one of the outcomes that all this mad gallivanting through our brains can produce. Sexuality would never be so predictable as to guarantee its own existence, after all. That’s part of what makes the joke so funny.

But all of us, regardless of sexuality, get to live in a world where the grand anarchy of sex is constantly driving home this lesson that no category is inviolate and no law is perfect. That we should not and cannot take ourselves too seriously, or forget that we’re animals. That we don’t exist only for the sake of others, or within their understanding. That cities are made of cooperation, grace, and forbearance- not conformity or mere compliance.

People sometimes worry about immortality. In the political sense, I mean. They worry about eternal dictatorships and unconquerable gerontocracies. This fear isn’t entirely unjustified; death has often played a role in progress and liberation. But as long as enough of us are still getting horny without permission, still falling in love in stupid ways, I think we’ll be okay. Romeo and Juliet don’t have to die at the end to make a difference in the world, as long as they’re brave enough to get weird with it.

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wheresarizona · 5 months

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Learning to Live Part 26

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

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

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

word count: 24.5k+ (It’s a good time)

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

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

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Baby fever was real.

And it was dangerous.

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

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

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

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

So perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, Steve was pretty great with his children.

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

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

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

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

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

“And how did you answer?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hell.”

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

Murdering a defenseless baby? They were monsters.

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

“That’s good to know.”

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

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

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

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

“You asked!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, man,” Javi said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Javi added. “We will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Get help with his mental health.

Get married.

Move into a bigger place.

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

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

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

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

Moving into a bigger place was where things got tricky.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Javier chuckled, smacking a loud kiss against her cheek.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you know?”

“Promise me something,” he said.

Her eyebrows creased. “Okay?”

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

“You know I can’t promise that.”

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

“That’s something I can do.”

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

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

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

“That’s so true,” she giggled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Javier was a terrible son.

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

What did he accomplish?

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

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

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

Wash, rinse, repeat.

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

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

Years wasted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ring.

Click.

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

Beep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you better call me when you propose.”

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

“Good. Javi?”

“Yeah, Pop?”

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

“I love you, too.”

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

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

“Bye, Mijo.”

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

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

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

His future.

Cielito was his future.

Their children were his future.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tío’s back!” he shouted.

Javier smiled back. “I am, buddy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What does PACU mean?” he asked.

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

“Oh, okay…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will,” Cielito said.

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

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

“Yes, baby?” She looked over at him.

“I want juice.”

“How do we ask for things?”

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

“Okay, let’s go get some juice.”

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

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

“Juice!” the toddler exclaimed.

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

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

“Of course, honey,” Connie answered.

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

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

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

“I’m good,” he responded.

“I’m good, too,” Cielito added.

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

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

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

“What is it?”

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

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

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

“One of what?”

“The vest thingy.” She pointed at it.

“The tac vest?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” she breathed.

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

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

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

“Oh, gross!” Olivia shouted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighed.

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

“Yes, dear,” his friend replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course you do.”

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” he nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will!” The girl nodded, grinning.

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

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

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

But these loose photos were on a different level.

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

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

He was going to be such a good dad.

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

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

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

There was just one teeny, tiny problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, he’s sweeter with the kids.”

“And you.”

“And me,” you giggled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was adorable.

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

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

“No puedo esperar (I can’t wait).”

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

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

“Ummm, I don’t know.” She shrugged.

“And that’s okay.”

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

“Do you need help?” you asked.

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you sighed.

“About which part?”

“All of it…”

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

She sounded so annoyed, and it made you laugh.

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

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

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

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

“God, that would be so cute.”

Just the thought had you feeling soft.

“Still scared, sweetie?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m making a salad,” you answered.

“Can I see, pleeeasssee?”

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

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

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

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

“Red!” the little one answered.

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

“Blue! My blankie’s blue.”

“It is.”

“You like red.”

“I do.”

You finished the tomato and grabbed the cucumber.

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

“A cucumber,” Javi answered.

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

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

It was killing you how cute their conversation was.

“Yes.”

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

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

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

“I love youuu,” Stevie replied.

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

“Thank youuu, tía. I love youuu.”

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

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

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

“Is it yummy?” you asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Could he really get you pregnant in a month?

Were you ready to go for it?

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Getting into bed.”

“Yeah, but what are you wearing?”

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

“Clothes.”

“Why are you wearing them?”

You both usually slept naked.

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

“‘Cause I feel like it.”

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

“I’m annoyed with you.”

“What did I do?”

“It’s what you didn’t do.”

He sighed again. “What didn’t I do?”

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

He snorted, and it made you grind your teeth.

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

“Apology accepted.”

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

Your stomach dropped, eyes widening.

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

He was frowning. “You forgot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. It was a rhetorical question.”

“Thank god.”

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

“Is this a yes to a baby?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because: how annoyed are you right now?”

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

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

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

“Fuck this,” he growled.

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Groaning, he sat up on his knees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was your everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s fucked up,” he wheezed.

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

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

“I love you, too.”

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

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

“I’m not pregnant yet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Half past five.”

“In Laredo or Miami?”

You could feel him smile. “Miami.”

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

“If you get up, you’ll find out.”

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

“No.”

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

“No.”

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

He huffed out an amused breath. “Yes.”

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

“Will there be food?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmkay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay… I didn’t bring a jacket.”

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

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

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

“Javi?”

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

“Yes, Cielito?”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sex,” you answered immediately.

His eyebrow went up. “Did we fuck?”

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

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

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

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

“I did?”

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

“Oh.”

“You’re stupidly romantic, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s in the bag?” you asked.

He squeezed you a little tighter for a second.

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

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

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

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

“Connie’s the best.”

His chin was resting on your shoulder.

“She is. Are you enjoying the trip?”

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

“Good.”

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

“It’s so beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I do. I definitely do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was beautiful.

And he was actually doing it.

This was the real thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was my mom’s.”

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

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

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

“She wore this?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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sailoryooons · 22 days

Note

Incubus yoongi x reader

Go wild with smut maybe theres fluff and angst too! Love your writing so much

☾ Pairing: Incubus!Yoongi x archdevil!Reader

☾ Summary:

Sunder (sun·der) transitive verb : to break apart or in two : to separate by or as if by violence or by intervening time or space Sunder (sun·der) intransitive verb : to become parted, disunited, or severed

☾ Word Count: 5,297

☾ Genre: Smut, Forbidden Romance, Angst, Fated Lovers

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Vague worldbuilding - this takes place in a Hell setting so.. Lots of talk of literal hell, implied violence and war, themes of classism/species racism, hint of political scheming, depiction of servants who are chained/collared, implications of sex work/incubi being bread specifically for sex work, honestly Yoongi and reader kinda give co-dependant vibes, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, a little bit of overstim, cum eating if you squitn, multiple orgasms, bleeding/scratching/biting, possessive themes… um I don’t know the smut scene is more PrOsEy than straight-up smut.

☾ Published: Sunday, April 7 2024

☾ A/N: We are using Forgotten Realms (dnd) lore because I was randomly inspired to do so. You need zero knowledge of Forgotten Realms or dnd lore to read this - there is vague world building and references to a plot on the side that I imagine Yoongi and reader are a part of but that does not happen in this little one shot. I just did it for the tension and because I’m out of control. 100% change I got some dnd lore wrong - don’t care, I kinda made it my own in parts as needed!!! Thank you!!!

☾ A/N 2: Dear anon, I don’t have a clue what this is, but it was inspired by a very specific scene in the movie Troy when Paris (Orlando Bloom) sneaks up to Helen’s (Diane Kruger) room while the Greeks and Trojans are downstairs partying and he’s like hehe let’s bang it out. That’s it. I really hope you like this because sometimes I fill requests and I'm like ..... that probably was not what they had in mind and yet here I am, delivering whatever ??? this is ??

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾Filled Requests ☾ Masterlist Milestone Request Event ☾ Ask

Note: I don't use my tag list for requests!

A pair of dark eyes in the shadows around the party catches your attention as you listen to Archdevil Belial's drone about his victory in Phlegethos. The fiend’s words fall on deaf ears as your gaze narrows to a deadly point on the man lingering in the shadows across the room, keeping away from the revelry with a single chalice in his hand.

And he’s staring at you.

You feel your muscles constrict as you flick your gaze away, your heart rate picking up speed as you try and focus on Belial again. It isn’t a story you care to hear about - he’s been droning about his defeat of the Kelemvor worshipers on the fiery planes of Phlegethos. Hardly a battle as much as a skirmish outside of the city gates that demanded his attention.

Archdevil Belial is none the wiser that the creature he really desires to kill is lurking at the edge of the party, burning eyes on you as he cocks his head and glances toward the empty staircase that leads toward the living quarters.

There’s a twitch of irritation in your stomach as Yoongi turns and vanishes into the shadows. He is good at being seen only when he wants to, which works in his favor when he enters the hall of his greatest enemies, all in one room because of war meetings against the very fiend who now slips upstairs to your bedroom.

It was only a matter of time before Yoongi showed up - despite the level of stupidity it takes to show up in the hall of your sworn enemy. Yoongi likes to show off though. He likes to remind his enemies - and himself - that he is not so easily kept out of places that he wants to be.

Especially if those places he’s being kept from have you inside of them.

“Thank you for the conversation, Lord Belial,” you interrupt. The devil looks at you with his mouth open, eyes blazing as you interrupt him to dismiss yourself. You feel a small twist of satisfaction. “I must retire for the evening. I am returning home tomorrow before starting my campaign through the realms to ensure my father’s army are being… led properly.”

Belial’s face twitches in irritation. You’re above his station - though not too far - and decorum is everything in matters of spoken insult. “Yes,” he agrees. “It is important for our… figureheads to inspire. The Whip of Asmodeus paints a threatening picture, to be sure. It is hard to be of influence on the battlefield - we do appreciate your efforts off the field.”

A laugh like cutting glass bubbles from your lips. “You honor me.” You feel the ice in your mouth when you dip your head politely, pretending to be unbothered by the implication that you’re nothing but an empty threat. “I will see you in a tenday, Lord Belial, when I come to inspire in Phlegethos.”

With a curt turn, you cut through the party toward the stone dias. Those in attendance part for you like water parting around a sharp boulder, hurrying to get out of your way. Figurehead or real threat doesn’t matter - you’re the daughter of their lord and by rights their lady.

Your father sits on his throne of twisted bone and fire ahead of the party, crimson eyes drinking in all that happens from his seat of power. Yet he has missed something incredibly important that now lingers upstairs waiting for you. The thought makes your lips twitch in a smirk as you ascend the stairs to where Asmodeus sits, a giddy tingle in your belly.

A beautiful incubus boy sits next to the throne on the floor, a gold collar around his neck with a glittering chain that leads to Asdmodeous’ hand. The incubus looks at your father with adoration, gold eyes burning. Mouth agape. Breath catching.

You don’t know how much of it is performance. It’s always hard to tell with the lower level fiends what is real and what is an act. It’s part of the dangerous game they play, and thought you’re more accustomed to their kind - especially the one lurking in your room - you’re still unsure how to tell the difference with this one.

You catch the scent of honey and vanilla as you step nearer, though the incubus doesn’t look at you. You immediately feel the ebbing power of allure from the creature, battering your senses just being so close. Asmodeus seems unaffected by the battering power of lust radiating from the incubus, but you see the two guards behind him glance toward the creature on the floor.

You grit your teeth and ignore the twist in your gut, trying not to be irritated. Only one man has power over you this way. It isn’t the incubus’ fault that he’s doing what he was trained to do, but the sudden pitch in your stomach and dizziness you feel around him unsettles you.

“I am returning to my chambers, Father,” you murmur, bowing deeply. “I have grown wear of Belial’s peacocking.”

Behind him are two massive Orthons, no less than eight feet in height and wide like a troll. Their horns are curling and battle-scarred, ugly tusks showing from thick, fat lips. The beasts are hellish weapons from wars passed, now assigned to the personal guard of your father. You note that they also did not notice the shadowy incubus slipping into their party and up the stairwell.

It almost makes you tsk. Even for a creature as skilled and powerful as Yoongi, slipping past an entire party full of the most powerful infernals in the realms is impressive. He is, of course, more than just an incubus now, but still. The sheer magnitude of doing it successfully is not lost on you - and makes you worried for his sanity.

“Sleep well,” Admodeous voice rumbles, his voice like stones grinding together. “Tomorrow, you return to Malbolge and ready to set out on your campaign.” His fiery eyes turn to you and you feel the weight of the burning Nine Hells press against you. “They will feel the crack of the Whip of Asmodeous and know that we are mighty.

“It will be done.”

“She is as pretty as My Lord is,” the incubus boy purrs from where he sits at the foot of the throne. You glance at him, realizing that his golden gaze has broken away from your father and turned to you. Your stomach twists in equal parts anger, guilt, and disgust as you feel the lick of his power. “The House of Asmodeus is as beautiful as they are powerful.”

Again, it’s hard to discern if the incubus is performing or if he means it. Asmodeus pulls the chain hard, yanking incubus toward him. You hear his neck pop, though it doesn’t break as the creature wimpers at the sudden show of violence. “Do not speak to her, worm. You are nothing. She is the Heir Apparent and Princess of the Nine Hells. You are fodder.”

The incubus cowers, and ducks his head away from you, curling in on himself. The sensual allure to him lessens distinctly, the energy souring. You feel your fingers twitch as you think of Yoongi. It is not difficult to guess that Asmodeous’ newfound desire to humiliate and dissipate incubi and succubi are inspired by his hatred and inability to rid himself of Yoongi’s stain.

Swallowing thickly, you bow once more, slipping backward off the dias and toward the stairs that lead upward. No one guards them - there are supposed to be no enemies at this party - and shadow falls over them, the torches flickering as though watching you ascend.

Music and voices follow you up the stairs, the soft click of your shoes against the carved stone louder in the growing silence as you navigate to your bedrooms. The staircase winds and the sounds drift further away from you until it’s only the crackling of occasional sconces and your steps.

Two heavy doors in the west wing of the Citadel belong to your bedroom. The crackling energy of the arcana buzzing along them acting as a lock makes your skin tingle. You mutter the password and feel the pop of magic as it vanishes, allowing you to push heavily against one of the doors to grind it open.

The room is both yours and not. It was your room for most of your life growing up under the ruler of the Nine Hells, opulent and dark, full of old possessions and heavy, draping curtains to keep out the smoke and ruin, rich art painted by careful hands with red and purple splashed across canvas.

Now, it feels like a room that belonged to someone else entirely. You’re no longer the vicious little thing that thought would sit on the throne in Nessus one day. You’re no longer the unthinking weapon that Asmodeous uses to maintain order and public punishment.

A large bed stands on a lifted dais, covered in silks and piled high with pillows. They lay undisturbed as you close the door behind you and mutter the password again, feeling the static of magic seal them shut behind you. It would take a small army to batter through them, thankfully.

Your eyes scour the room. Embers burn in a smoldering fireplace, offering little light in the dimness of the bedroom. A large sitting area stretches to the right with leather chairs and velvet chaises, tables covered in untouched books and scrolls.

To the left is an open study, a heavy wooden desk in the middle of the room backed with bookshelf-covered walls and heavy chests locked with tombs inside. You see the cover of a journal flipped open, the only sign that Yoongi had been lingering in your study snooping.

Your mouth twitches at the corner as you look away from it. Yoongi leaving something out of place is only ever on purpose, a confirmation to you that yes - his visit has double meaning. You might be the primary reason the incubus and favored chosen warrior of a death god has snuck into his enemy’s home, but you’re not the only reason. Of course he is looking for any extra information he can use against his enemies.

It stings a little more than you’d like.

Stepping further into the room, you swivel your gaze back and forth, looking for a sign of the slippery man himself. A master of shadows, Yoongi is only seen when he wants to be. Strange, for a fiend whose very nature is to be seen and devoured, to give and to receive, to lure and enjoy. Most of his life has been spent in spectacle, and now he spends it in the shadows.

Warm breath brushes against the back of your neck, making your skin prickle. “I like this dress.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Yoongi’s callused fingers brush up your arm. It’s a ghost of touch but it makes your eyelids flutter shut, warmth thrumming in your stomach immediately. Unlike the incubus downstairs, you don’t feel a magnetic pull that is arcane here. You just feel the pull to Yoongi - a desire that is your own and fueled by nothing else.

He has no reason to use his charm here. It makes you shiver as you lean backward into him, eager to feel the solidness of his chest and smell the sweet wine on his breath.

“You always say that,” he purrs, the words low and scratchy. His other hand comes up to brush his fingers up and down your other arm, pulling you toward him full. You melt, fading into him faster than you should. “When will you learn that I will go wherever you are?”

“Even if it means your own demise? You’re in the Citadel of Asmodeus.”

“He’s killed me before.” Yoongi’s touch is more solid now, hands exploring your waist and curves, squeezing your flesh, pressing you against his waist. You rest the back of your head against his neck, inhaling cedarwood and sage. “I’m not so easily destroyed.”

“Don’t.”

You don’t want to recall the many times Yoongi has been wrenched away from you. Each time a little closer to permanence than the last. Time and time again, he has been ripped from your hands as your father attempts to destroy the fate linking you, to burn it until there is no tether there.

“You’ve been good,” Yoongi notes. His hand goes to the silk strings on the side of your dress, pulling them undone. “He truly thinks you no longer think of me? That he has succeeded where he has failed a dozen times before?”

“Yes.”

“His arrogance knows no bounds. He’ll think he’s a god, soon enough.”

You turn your head to the side, brushing your mouth against Yoongi’s. His lips are warm and taste of wine, urging your tongue to swipe across his bottom lip for a taste. “Is he not?” you ask against his mouth, fighting the need to shiver as one side of your dress falls open. “He rules the Nine Hells absolutely.”

“Oh come off it,” He laughs. “You and I both know that isn’t true, otherwise he wouldn’t be in a civil war. Plus… I have recently acquired Avernus and Dis.”

You straighten and turn around sharply to look at him, brows furrowing. For a moment, you forget what it is he’s said to shock you. You’re hypnotized by eyes dark enough that they reflect the stars when in the mortal world, a mouth that is soft and sensuous, a gentle, round nose that is opposed to the way he can turn it up at someone in a sneer. A faded scar over one eye - one of many that he's received over the years.

Yoongi is beautiful the way the moon is, distant and cold, but with a glow of softness that is often underestimated.

You had made that mistake before. A long time ago, incubi and the lower creatures of the Nine Hells hadn’t been a blip on your radar. They were nothing to a princess of the Nine Hells, someone whose entire purpose for existing would be to one day step into ruling over all nine of the realms crushed in your father’s fist.

Now, you know better. You’d been a silly, arrogant girl then, head filled with dreams of ruling over the dread cities and bringing the dukes and duchesses to heel. You’d never considered that perhaps your existence was more for appearances and leverage than anything else.

A puppet.

Belial, was, unfortunately, quite right about that.

“What do you mean you have Avernus and Dis?”

“The skirmish in Phlegethos was a distraction. The dukes and duchess’ have been so frenzied about making sure they don’t have any disruptions in their rule that Belial scrambled to deal with his, turning his eye away from the others. Mammon… well you know Mammon. He is not a concern, for now. He cares little who holds Avernus and Dis.” You narrow your eyes at him. “I had help with Dis.”

That sours your stomach. “Bel.”

“He has no love for Zariel. And he’s from Dis.”

“He’s a traitor. You’d do well not to trust him. Who knows when he’ll turn on you if promised something.”

“The Nine Hells are full of traitors.” Yoongi’s deft fingers undo the other side of your dress. “Including me. You think I would not sell out every single one of my fighters for you, hmm?” Yoongi presses a wet kiss to your jaw. You lean your head back to give him access to your throat. “You think I wouldn’t throw away being Kelemvor’s chosen and carrying his mantle for a chance to have you forever?”

“You do have me.”

“Not in the way we are designed.” His voice is a growl as he bites at your throat, teeth scraping. You feel dizzy in his arms, but he holds you steadfast. “You were designed for me by the wheels of fate, and I for you. All of this - war, death, political scheming - it stands in our way and I would betray the god who gives me my many lives to cut to the chase in an instant.”

The rage-laced words are an anger you’re familiar with. Two creatures born to exist for one another - more than fated mates. Your very existence tied to Yoongi’s is a matter of universal balance, two threads of fabric that must remain woven together, lest the realms collapse.

Divine Scales. Two lives bound together that must remain in balance for the rest of the world to exist. You and Yoongi are not the only Divine Scales in the realms, but you’re perhaps one of the most difficult to balance in a world set on keeping you apart.

You, the daughter of the Archduke of the Nine Hells. Yoongi, an incubus servant whose purpose was to lure, steal, and spy on behalf of Asmodeus. It was an unfit match that your father was set on destroying - his daughter an heir would not be tied to a lowly creature of lust and servitude.

“Careful,” you murmur as Yoongi peels the fabric from your skin. The air is warm but you feel a shiver anyway, nipples pebbling at the temperature change. “Your god might not like to hear you say such things.”

“He is not my god,” Yoongi mutters. His eyes are hungry, burning with desire as he drinks you in, his fingers gripping the flesh at your hips. “He is a convenience. I need power to take control of the Nine Hells, he gives me power. You are the only being I worship. The only goddess I recognize.” Yoongi sinks to his knees and your stomach flips. He looks up at you, lips parted and pupils blown, eyes so dark you could spill into them and never find your way. “Let me prove my devotion. Let me worship the only divinity I’ve ever known.”

Yoongi’s words are a spell on you, and not because he’s in an incubus, created and bred to be alluring and lead mortals to the Hells to give up their souls. Yoongi’s words have power because he is Yoongi, a being who he designed to be your other half. Another being you love so entirely that you intend to sacrifice the realm you call home, that you actively betray the people you’ve known since you were a child in order to be with him.

These snatches with him are so few and far between. He fights a war against your father and his archdevils while you unravel them from the inside. Two knives carving away at the system which fights to keep you apart.

You forget about all of the atrocities committed and to come. You push away the anxiety that Yoongi is thwarting his power by coming to the seat of his enemy’s power, just because he can and because he wants you.

Instead, you focus on the way his mouth leaves wet kisses across your thighs. Yoongi’s fingers press into the back of your legs, holding you to him as his tongue lavs at a small scar on your hip, his teeth nipping the flesh.

Your world falls away as his tongue and mouth suck at your skin. Heat gathers between your legs, feeling the wet ache in your folds as Yoongi purposefully avoids going toward the apex of your thighs, instead showering your inner thighs, calves, and hips with soft kisses.

Strong hands pry your legs apart. You let him slide your foot over, widening your stance easily. You cannot recall a single person you have ever been pliable for. You are the Whip of Asmodeous, a sharp weapon made to force subservience and delve out punishment.

You are no whip in Yoongi’s hands. You are silk, sliding through his fingers as his mouth presses closer and closer to your heart. To everyone else, you are a weapon. To Yoongi, you’re just you. A mind to adore, a body to worship.

Your knees threaten to buckle when the first, slow swipe of his tongue runs up your drenched folds. Yoongi chuckles, the sound throaty. Gently, he lifts a leg and pulls it over his shoulder, providing a counterweight as you stand but also giving him access to your aching cunt, pressing his face close as he licks you from hole to throbbing clit again.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, a hand shooting to his hair. Your fingers slide through soft, silk strands and twist, rooting him there. He groans in appreciation, focusing his tongue on slow, up-and-down licks, avoiding your clit as he works. “Fuck.”

He hums, the feeling buzzing through your pussy as he closes his mouth over it, sucking gently. His mouth is wet and warm, tongue soft as it circles your aching bundle of nerves. Your legs feel gummy as you waver, holding onto him to keep yourself standing as much as you are to keep him in place.

Yoongi’s hunger can rarely be sated. He devours you, mouth eager as he sucks and licks at you, lips smacking loudly as he does. You barely register the obscene noise, canting your hips up into his mouth as the pleasure begins to build slowly.

A hand presses into your ass, pressing you harder against the flat of his tongue. Yoongi opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, looking up at you with fucked out eyes as he urges you to fuck his face at your pace, to use him like a god would use a conduit.

Yoongi is your conduit, and you are his. You vowed centuries ago to be his whip, a weapon at his command. He vowed to be your shield, your knife in the dark.

The powers of the Hells would keep you apart. Beyond the impropriety that someone so lowborn could be fated for one of the highest powers among the infernals, the two of you together are too much of a threat. Too much power tied to one another, a divine match that cannot be broken.

Still, they try.

The two of you have died before. Keeping you dead isn’t easy, though. Neither can truly die while the other lives and no one has quite managed to kill you both simultaneously - a familial crutch that Asmodeus cannot seem to overcome.

You’d die every day to have this moment with Yoongi, your breath caught in your lungs, sweat beading on the small of your back, head tilted back as your heart beats so loud it's all you can hear. You feel every part of your body coil before there is a moment of white noise as your orgasm crests over, your cunt squeezing, your hand pulling his hair.

Yoongi drinks you in like he cannot get enough. Gluttonous, ravenous man, pressing into your heat as he sucks. Your hands tug at his hair, the stimulation going from warm and fluid to sharp and biting. He grows a little when you pull his face back by the strands of his hair, a picture of madness with the lower half of his face covered in your slick, lips red and swollen, eyes unfocused.

You pull and he stands, knocking you back as he does. You stumble the remaining footsteps to your bed, mouths connecting in a tangle of teeth, tongue, spit and cum. You taste yourself on him, sucking his tongue greedily into his mouth as your hands claw at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

He complies, letting you push the shirt off his shoulders as he climbs over you, pressing a knee between your legs as he traps your lips in a searing kiss again. Your lips feel bruised where you kiss, his mouth demanding. His hands claw at your hips, pulling you down into his knee, grinding your slick cunt against his leg.

You let out a breathy sound, both from the feeling of pleasure blooming between your legs once again and the warmth of his skin, your hands rubbing across his chest, seeking to chase the inferno within. Yoongi has always been warm, but something hotter burns in him now. Something divine, vicious, and powerful lurking beneath his skin, the unlikely power of a god of death lurking just beneath the surface.

You know that Kelemvor, the God of Death and Lord of Judgement has chosen Yoongi as a conduit of power because Yoongi seeks the balance of the world - he is a part of the balance of the world. His very existence is paramount to a deity whose very nature is to maintain the scales.

It doesn’t stop you from wanting to eat away at the divinity under Yoongi’s skin, to drive out the influence that isn’t yours, to assert your dominance over a god and remind him that Yoongi does not belong to Kelemvor, he is not an extension of death. He belongs to you and you alone.

It is an irrational, violent bout of jealousy that overtakes you for a moment. Your nails rake down his chest a little too hard, leaving trails of blood beneath. You bit his bottom lip a little too hard, the taste of iron and salt spilling into your mouth with his tongue.

Yoongi smirks against your scarlet mouth, pulling back to look down at you. He knows what it is you seek. Yoongi always knows. Your minds are not connected, but your souls are and there is little you can hide from him. “You cannot rip him out of me, no matter how much you want to.”

“I will try.”

“Good.” He leans down and bites hard on your collarbone, making you gasp. “I will tear Asmodeous’ influence from you in kind.”

Your hands are less harsh as you undo the laces of his pants, pulling them down powerful thighs. Your viciousness cools in the shower of the whisper of his love against your ear and the scrap of his tongue against your skin. Every single part of you burns hotter than the deepest part of the Hells, driven there by him alone.

You love him - such a simple word could convey it accurately, anyway.

It seems too small of a word, unable to fit the fountain of want, desire, trust, and yearning that spills out of you into such a small cup. You don’t know if love can truly hold everything you feel for him, if it conveys that there is nothing god, archdevil, or fate that would stop you from being here with Yoongi, getting to touch him, to taste him, to whisper into his mouth as he presses the head of his cock into your weeping entrance.

“You’re mine,” you gasp, rolling your hips forward to meet the slow, powerful strokes of his cock. Yoongi cradles you to him, his hands gripping you tighter as he presses your bodies together, as though you could meld. “Mine mine mine.”

“I’m yours,” he agrees, voice throaty and strained. “Who else could I belong to?”

You have no answer. Stars dance behind your eyelids as you move to his rhythm. Yoongi’s skin is heated and sticky as he moves against you. You feel his heartbeat in exact time with yours, twin rhythms. Your arms wind around his shoulders, fingers twisting in the hair at the nape of his neck. You feel the muscle of his back and shoulder flex as he fucks you slowly, each stroke pointed and driving you to the edge again.

Yoongi’s mouth brushes yours. You breathe in his air, unable to put anything else into words, thoughts consumed with him. With how he tastes, with how he smells, with how he feels. Nestled in the deepest part of you, you feel home. It is such a rare feeling, only discovered here like this, connected.

It makes your breath catch, barely audible above Yoongi’s low groaning and the loud smack of skin against skin. Your heels dig into the bed, head pressing into the mattress as you throw your head back, unable to do anything but take what Yoongi is giving you.

His pace quickens, slamming into your cunt with enough force to break you. But you do not break - you could never break with him. You squirm in his hold, babbling and panting and trying to breathe as he drives you to the edge of madness - and then you peak.

A wild sound escapes you as you seize into him, muscles clenching, cunt spasming. Yoongi’s thrusts turn vicious, fucking you through your orgasm as you clench down on him with a vice grip. His fingers grip the back of your neck, pulling you toward his chest as he leans backward, your legs sliding as he seats you in his lap, fucking up into you.

“Imagine thinking they could take you away from me,” Yoongi hisses. His thrusts are sloppy and hard, spearing you and sending you hurtling right toward the edge again. You submit to him, head lolling to the side as he takes you. “Imagine thinking that you could defy a prewritten fate that you are mine, that you are anything less than what was made for me.”

A sob slips through your lips. You cannot think of a response, only able to cling to him as though to say yes.

“They cannot take you away from me,” he growls. “I will destroy this world again and again if they try. They cannot sunder what is here, they cannot rip you away from me any more than you can rip the stars from the sky.”

Just as you begin to teeter on the edge, Yoongi slams his hips home, clenching as he comes. “You cannot be anything else but mine.”

It sends you hurling over the edge again, so powerful that you forget where you are for a moment. It is intoxicating, this bliss that unfurls like the flowers of a petal. Nothing exists here but calm water and the scent and taste of Yoongi. There is no war here. No fight to keep you apart. No demands, no expectations. It’s just you and him. Like it was always meant to be.

Slowly, awareness creeps back toward you. It is a lumbering, lazy thing. You only feel somewhat aware that you’re in a bed and that you feel the heat of Yoongi next to you, the press of his mouth against your shoulder. The aftereffects of sleeping with an incubus are not lost on you, even as a powerful infernal.

Everything feels melted, like it could fall through your fingers like grains of sand. Perhaps you could float away if you tried, but Yoongi grounds you. The feeling of his hand on your hip and his mouth on your skin is the most solid thing that exists in this world in between, keeping you tethered to something real. Something substantial.

When you blink away the sticky high of the post-orgasm daze, Yoongi is watching you with soft, round eyes. The burning desire is still there, but at the forefront is adoration. Worship. Love. Anything stronger than words can describe.

“Are you okay?” he kisses your jaw before drawing back to examine your face. You nod, head heavy. “Too much?”

“No. Not with you. Never with you.”

His mouth twitches like he’s unsure. You nestle closer to him, closing your eyes as you’re cupped in the safety of his presence. “With Avernus and Dis at your command, you can take Phlegethos,” you murmur. “Mammon will give you Minauros if you can do that.”

“Hmm.”

Your eyes flutter open, watching as Yoongi closes his. You can tell by the twitch in his mouth that he is thinking. “I will deliver you Phlegethos.” He cracks an eye open and looks at you, seeing the hunger that burns there. “Belial needs a good whip to put him in place.”

“The Whip of Asmodeous?”

“No.” You grin. “The Whip of Kelemvor’s Chosen.”

#yoongi smut #suga smut #min yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts suga #bts fanfic #minors do not interact #minors dni #bts suga smut #i forgot how to tag at this point its been so long #also raise ur hand if you cannot pronounce phlegethos

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prince-kallisto · 3 months

Text

STYX Experiment: Levan

I was in the middle of writing up a different-yet-related theory, before this came to mind! Many thanks to @hanafubukki, your messages fueled the ideas here 👀🫶💖🐦‍⬛

Regarding Levan’s disappearance, I think it’s easy to forget that soldiers repeatedly went missing at the East Fort, aka the fort that Levan was both in charge of and also disappeared as well. While we don’t know the details of where he actually disappeared, I think it’s suspicious that he was headed to the same spot where other Fae soldiers kept disappearing. Lilia was headed over there not only for Levan, but for the other soldiers too.

But why did these soldiers disappear? Why at the Eastern Fort? I admit that I can’t come up with concrete answers, but another line that’s been bothering me ever since Book 6 released, is that Fae don’t respond to the River Lethe the same way humans do.

Idia specifies this when planning to erase the memories of everyone on Sage’s Island, which included Fae like Malleus and Lilia. But apparently, they need different “dosages” adjusted for them regarding their memory. It’s quite fascinating how STYX was able to fine-tune this process, and learned how to keep the very specific and long memories of Fae, while also erasing others.

The time period of the Fae-Human war makes this tricky, but teleportation magic is established here. Book 6 also establishes how in the modern day, STYX can show up to any country, whether they asked for it or not. It’s not entirely impossible that STYX potentially could’ve done research near Briar Valley at some point, especially because there were so many human kingdoms around at the time allied against Briar Valley.

It’s also interesting that we never get a confirmation of Levan dying or not- something that Lilia was able to sense with Meleanor’s magic disappearing. He just simply disappeared, without any traces of his magic for Lilia to track down.

Now that I’ve brought up all these seemingly unrelated points, let’s try and put them together! With all this information, was Levan and his fellow soldiers kidnapped by STYX, or by a human kingdom that was allied with STYX at the time? 🤔

With Levan, I think of Diaval from the Maleficent live action movie. Diaval was a raven captured by a HUMAN hunter, and was forcibly transformed into a human to be saved. Maleficent could also change him into different forms like a wolf or a dragon- all species that he wasn’t meant to be. Essentially like an “experiment.” In the TWST story, with Styx making its sudden appearance that deviated greatly from Hercules, could Diaval’s transformations be referenced in TWST through Levan being an experiment?

If Levan was kidnapped by Styx to be an experiment, it makes sense why Lilia couldn’t find him despite traveling the world. The Isle of Woe is practically untraceable unless you have a rare Unique Magic like Rook does! It’s underwater, so of course people who lack inside knowledge wouldn’t know about it, no matter how much they travel the world.

And if Levan was an experiment, he would be the perfect “candidate” for the River Lethe dosages. Levan was a presumably powerful Fae, as it’s rumored he fought against the Knight of Dawn and survived. It is why Styx and Idia were so confident in using the River Lethe even against a powerful Fae like Malleus- they’ve done it before and so many times that they were able to fine-tune to a near perfect degree.

Styx also shows how they developed technology similar to Riddle’s “Off with Your Head,” and can seal a person’s magic. Perhaps Lilia could no longer trace Levan’s magic because it was sealed off at some point in time when this technology was developed as well 🤔

Fae in general seem like perfect subjects, with their capacity for magic (and thus blot) and their long life spans. Even if the lead researchers of the Shroud family passed away, Fae could technically be subjects for generations. In Idia’s life time, they seem to be rather lax and generally gracious with their subjects compared to how they could’ve been- although the invasions and electrocutions are admittedly quite bad haha. But again, at some point in time in the early stages of Styx development, there must have been unfortunate subjects for Styx to figure out the River Lethe, their magic sealing collars, their blot tools, everything. Throughout human history, scientific progress has repeatedly been made often through the suffering of others.

And at the time of the Fae-Human war, Fae were considered *monsters.* Monsters like Grim or Phantoms- the exactly sort of creatures that Styx had. Even the subject that killed the human Ortho was described as a “monster,” not a Phantom (there’s theories floating around that this monster was Grim 👀). Henrick also brought up his plans to essentially enslave Malleus before he even hatched- to use his dragon form as “his steed.”

So I wouldn’t be surprised that there was a time where Styx shared similar views, and thus kidnapped and conducted experiments on Fae as if they were as “expendable” as monsters 🤔 Even if Styx in the modern day has changed greatly, the damage that previous generations created cannot be undone.

I’d also like to say that Levan was similarly considered to be Meleanor’s “eyes and limbs,” much like how Diaval was Maleficent’s wings. Maleficent’s wings were trapped in a cage, still alive, but trapped. Perhaps the ideas of Diaval being captured by a human hunter and Maleficent’s wings being trapped in a cage were combined for TWST as clues to what happened to Levan? 👀

Tampered memories, blot…ANSJJSZ I have tried my hardest to not bring up Crowley, but I find his relationship with Styx to be fascinating 🫣 But I’ll save that and the details regarding blot for a future post, because I mostly just wanted to talk about the potential backstory for Levan in this one \(//∇//)\ What are your thoughts on what happened to Levan and even the other soldiers who disappeared? 🤔

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst theory #twst Styx #twst shroud family #twst levan #Twst revan #kallistopost #twst book 7 spoilers #twst analysis

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dinofromspac3 · 10 months

Note

Hi! Could I have 10,11 and 12’s reaction to alien reader? Perhaps realising their supposedly’human’ companion is very obviously in a human form. And that they aren’t themself, human?

I’m thinking maybe they convince reader to show their alien form more, or etc in general!

Maybe have readers alien form have yk, multiple arms? Or multiple eyes!

Sorry if this is to specific!

I absolutely love this idea! I sort of made into head canon form, I hope you don’t mind<3

Also, thank you for being my first request!

Enjoy <3

(also I think I may have only done what you actually asked for 12… oops)

Doctor Who Masterlist

10th Doctor

You’ve been traveling with the Doctor for a while, and you feel like he’s opened up to about some pretty serious stuff.

You’re happy that he’s come around to trusting you, but you can’t help but feel terribly guilty for hiding your true identity.

You were a Stask. A shape-changing lifeform that allowed you to pass as human for many years.

Your true form, however, was a grey-skinned, six-eyed, humanoid, with long white hair.

The longer you traveled with him, the more it ate away at you. Until one day, you couldn’t hide it any longer.

You left your room on the TARDIS and went to find the Doctor. He was easy enough to find, he was almost always in the console room. And if he wasn’t he was usually in the library.

“Um, Doctor?” You spoke up, calling his attention to you. You were nervous. What if he hated you for this? No, you mustn’t dwell on such things.

“Y/n!” He replied enthusiastically. He took a few steps towards you, but stopped in his tracks when he saw your face and your stature. “Y/n? What’s wrong?”

“I… I have something to tell you,” you expressed, as you fidgeted with the hem of your shirt.

“What is it? What happened?” He pressed, growing more concerned.

No matter how many times you stammered, and started over. You just couldn’t seem to get the words out.

He stared at you, his face full of worry. He could tell something wasn’t right, but he wasn’t sure why. And didn’t like not knowing.

You took a deep breath and did the only other thing you could think to do. You changed back to your true form, right in front of his eyes.

Your hair went white, and your skin back to its dull grey that you never liked. It was one of the reasons you never stayed in your true form.

His eyes went wide for a moment before his face scrunched up in total confusion. “What?!”(WOT!?) He exclaimed.

“Please don’t be mad!” You winced at his reaction, holding your hands out in front of you.

“You’re a Stask,” he pointed out the obvious, clearly dumbfounded by it all.

“Yes…”

“But-but-but what!?” He said again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you began dejectedly. “I understand if you want me to go.”

“Go? Go where?” The Doctor asked. Seriously, after one big shock, it takes a minute for his brain to reboot.

You just shrugged.

He shook his head, sympathetically. “No, I don’t want you to go.”

“Really!?” You felt your heart swell at that. He didn’t want you to leave, he was just a bit surprised.

11th Doctor

You’d been traveling with the Doctor for over 2 years now. Ever since he saved your life when you were trapped on that 54th century space shuttle.

The crew was human, so you’d disguised yourself as a human to avoid awkward stares. As your true form had deep violet skin, 5 inky black eyes, and pointed ears.

Your species was called Anziks. Of the many shape changer races in the universe you were not one of them, however, your people had the most advanced Shimmer technology in 3,000 neighboring galaxies. It was almost undetectable and much more comfortable than most others.

Of course, you had been wearing one when the Doctor found you. And you had been wearing it since, only taking it off when you were alone in your room on the TARDIS.

Often on your adventures you’d make passing remarks or jokes about how “humans are silly” and remembering things from your home planet. The Doctor never seemed to notice, at least he didn’t let on that he did.

Even with Anziks’s advanced Shimmer technology, it still got stuffy and little difficult to breathe after wearing it for a long period of time.

Today it was particularly bad.

The Doctor was rambling on about something, you really couldn’t say what. You had dismissed yourself quickly, heading straight to your room.

Immediately when you entered your room, you dropped the shimmer, and your deep indigo skin faded back to view, along with your ears and eyes.

You could’ve sworn you shut the door, but the next thing you knew you turned around after taking a breath, only to freeze completely, like a deer in headlights.

The Doctor stood there, a strange metal box he was holding, clattered to the floor.

“Doctor!” You practically screamed, as you quickly put the Shimmer back on, hoping somehow he’d forget.

But it was no use, he’d seen it. You’d been caught.

“Y/n?” He sputtered out, pointing at you. “No! No, no, no, no!”

“I can explain!” You blurted. “I swear I can explain! P-please don’t be angry!”

The Doctor opened his mouth to speak several times, each time with a new hand gesture, but he wasn’t really making any progress on saying anything.

You sighed, still feeling a little like you were choking in your Shimmer. And so you dropped it again, allowing the Doctor to see you how you truly looked.

His mouth snapped shut as he gaped at you.

“I don’t know why I hid it,” you admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“S-so y-you’re a-a-a—“ he stammered.

“An Anziks,” you finished for him. “I’ve been wearing a Shimmer. At first it was just for the job, to keep people from staring at me.”

“Then… we got stranded, and hunted by those Kruuls…” You explained. “and then you came and rescued me and I… there just wasn’t a good time.”

“I see,” he said, his face still slightly pale from the unexpected news.

“Are you angry with me?” You asked, hopeful he would say no.

And to your delight, he shook his head, and relief washed over you like a warm blanket of water.

He smiled and said, “It’s just nice to finally see you.”

12th Doctor

You’d only been traveling with the Doctor for a couple of months.

He was strange, and wonderful and kind, but still you were nervous to tell him your secret.

Today, you decided to confess to him, before the lie went on for too long.

You walked into the TARDIS console room, where he was reading a book on the second level. He noticed you come in but he didn’t look up.

“Doctor,” you said, taking a few more steps toward him. “I have something to tell you.”

He still didn’t look up. He licked his finger, and turned the page of his book. “Okay,” he said.

You let out a sort of shaky sigh at his aloof attitude. “Doctor, I think you should put the book down for a moment. It’s a bit… serious.”

He looked looked up at you, realizing how serious you were being, and decided to close the book as set it on the table next to him. He waited for you to continue.

You took a deep breath, before looking back at him. “I am… not human.”

He stared at you blankly, and you cringed at what that could mean.

“That’s it?” The Doctor asked, taking you completely off guard.

“W-what?”

“I mean, no offense, Y/n,” he continued. “But you’re not exactly good at hiding it.”

Now it was your turn to stare blankly at him. He’d known? How long had he known?

“So tell me,” the Doctor smiled at you. “Where are you from?”

“I…” you started, wanting to question him, but instead answered his question. “Scravikos 5.”

“Ah, Scravikos 5,” he repeated warmly. “So, you must be hiding that lovely second set of arms then?”

“Um… yes,” you said, still completely dumbfounded that he knew all along. “H-how long have you known?”

“Oh, I knew right away,” he scoffed. “It was very obvious.”

“But… you never said?”

“Why would I?” The Doctor questioned.

You shook your head, and shrugged. “Because I lied to you, I suppose?”

“Oh really it was nothing,” he waved off your reasoning. “How long have you had your arms tucked away?”

“About 8 months,” you responded. You had crashed landed on Earth a few months before you met the doctor, and you’d hidden the only thing that was your dead giveaway that you weren’t human.

Well, that must be terribly uncomfortable,” he sympathized. It was a little, and you silently tilted your head in agreement. “Well, you don’t need to hide them here,” he said, urging you to be comfortable in your own skin again.

“Oh, you mean…” you started, eyes wide in surprise at his acceptance, although truly you weren’t sure why you were surprised. He just nodded.

At that you allowed your second set of arms to sprout out of your back. With them out again, it felt instantly easier to breathe.

The Doctor smiled, and you smiled.

And you never hid them again, save for a few choice time period adventures.

#doctor who #doctor who x reader #doctor who x y/n #11th doctor x reader #11th doctor #fanfic #10th doctor #10th doctor x reader #12th doctor #12th doctor x reader

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graceofagodswrath · 6 months

Note

Ok ok ok your "Humans of Transformers franchise are space orcs" rant is out of this world.

I detest with passion when humans are reduced to pets and plot devices when instead the story could be about two alien species finding one another equally amazing/terrifying for their own respective reasons.

Here is my question: do humans and Cybertronians see how eerily similar they are? They have love of music, familial relationships, similar urban infrastructure, societal structure, financial systems, competitive entertainment, organized societies and war, colonialism, recreational intercourse, marriage...

Not to mention, why was it never addressed how similar both species look: bipedal, waists, noses, cheekbones, 5 fingers, chins, facial expressions and sense of aesthetics and beauty? Sure, humans have hair but in rather strategic places.

Veins and wires, blood and energon, metal and flesh, nanobytes and blood cells, Sparks and brain impulses, sexual organs...

Imagine Autobots arrive on Earth for the first time expecting some primitive cave-dwellers, only to encounter a less advanced mini-version of Cybertronian cities (New York, Singapore, London, Rome, Tokyo, Rio, Dubai...) and societies running on scientific, artistic and philosophical development which has no right existing on the ruthless, all-organic planet such as Earth is. Societes run by creatures who 4.000.000 (the duration of their war) years ago were hanging from the trees btw.

Autobots would be terrified.

Lemme make sure this response saves this time, cause it took me a minute to answer cause my first deleted and I had so much written I got unbelievably angry and refused to even look at the tumblr app.

But here we are.

So, this is EXACTLY what I have been thinking about for who k owe how long. It’s also the intro to this wack as fuck universe idea I’ve had in my head a while, and have kinda hinted at in my other works, but I’ve never gone into detail about.

And I still won’t.

Anyways, yes. It’s crazy that we backlit humans so much when any other sentient species is about. Transformers, TMNT, etc (I’m on a one track mind, feel free to jot down any other fandoms I can’t think of). The main theme of these stories? HUMANS SUCK. And that is severely unfair. People want to cry about how much our generation doesn’t give a shit anymore. Have you SEEN the media we feed kids???

That’s why I live Humans are Space Orcs so much. It really puts into perspective how unique and batshit our species is.

So, onto the Transformers vs humans concepts. The ONLY reason (forgoing technoism and general hate towards organics) cybertronians don’t see humanity as an imminent threat, or one in general, is because of size. WE BE SMALL AF. Can’t blame them, I get it. We do the same. Insects? Fuck them mfs.

But have you seen a botfly or tick burrow into your skin? The infection that comes form that? Have you seen ants jump a small animal as a colony and absolutely shred it? Or a spider only biting you, and the horror the venom causes (recluses and huntsman’s specifically). We have a good fucking reason for disliking these mfs.

But transformers? These are organic experiences. Worst they go through are rust infections, spark death, the works. They are not at risk the same way we are. That is why they view organics as small and inconsequential. They have no idea how hard we fight to simply stay alive.

And now the similarities. It’s understandable that they wouldn’t immediately recognize the physical, cultural, and psychological similarities between our species. Transformers are an incredibly diverse race, like any other. But specifically in physical form. Your average cybertronian holds a similar appearance to your average human. We tend to have the same features, just with different names. Eyes, noses, faceplates, ears, two arms, two legs. Sure that’s average for them too. But they are unique because of the fact that they have two forms. Vehicle mode. Their mode decides what they’re second mode looks like, which can create extreme diversity is appearance. Small, large, many limbed or not.

So the immediate similarities probably wouldn’t jump out to them in an odd way. There’s also the idea that because they’re so spread out in the universe, they’ve seen other organic races that are also similar. Pairs of every body part could be the common denominator among species.

That goes culturally too. War, love, music, government, politics, it’s all a natural form of sentient evolution. Another common denominator. It’s how it’s done that makes it unique. And the similarities between human and cybertronian culture is uncomfortably familiar.

I think that’s why cybertronians are seen being closest with humans rather than other species in the shows and comics (obviously because the audience is human and they need relation to characters but shhhh forget that for a sec). This is where the theories start.

Let’s say cybertronians begin to recognize the weird similarities between our species. The really, really weird stuff. The itty bitty details. Like:

- how we also mainstream kissing on the lips as the top tier romantic gesture.

- use verbal tone and cues for our language.

- have intensely complicated interpersonal relationships in the exact same manner.

- suffer from extreme mental health issues like depression, anxiety, PTSD (I totally headcannon that forms of adhd, autism, and ocd exist in cybertronian society, have y’all not seen my boy rodimus prime??)

- will also destroy each other in the name of our gods, until we have a common enemy.

That’s just the basics I could come up with. The only time I actually saw a moment where a transformer genuinely take a moment to realize that humans can be a threat, was in transformers prime. Episode 6 of beast wars (I think, correct me if wrong), where Miko beats the ever loving fuck out of an insecticon (I think) and upon Megatron hearing this, just goes blank Kubrick stare for a hot second. Man had an ugly realization that did not fit in with anything he had experienced his whole life.

AND THEY NEVER FUCKING ADDRESSED IT EVER AGAIN. Sick of this shit. Could’ve had the most badass character development, where the humans actually proved useful and did something (it would have fit Milo’s character so perfectly too) and scared the utter shit out of the transformers. BUT NO. They continue to be annoying as fuck.

One thing I loved about TF Prime was that it canonically turned Unicron into Earth. And humans came from the earth. Which relates humans beings and cybertronians so hard. Cousins Fr. We are the cybertronian equivalent of organics, and transformers the inorganic equivalent of humans. The individuality, the chaos, the culture, it clicks. There is so much material to really go into it.

But they never do. Don’t get me wrong, I love Transformers lord and just discovering more without humans being involved. We’re just annoying af at this point. But there is so much u tapped potential in transformers actually taking the chance to LEARN about us. But we’re just friends (pets) to these mfs.

That’s why I love TF Earthspark so far. Transformers ingrained into human culture because they’re not from Cybertron, and cybertronians having to adapt to human culture because they have no where else to go. Granted, it’s a kids show. There’s only so much they can do. But I’m excited for where it’ll lead. It really shows how much of threat and ally humans are, and how we are just as diverse as cybertronians.

I need to write another fic about cybertronians meeting humans their size from our world tho. Need to continue my old piece. Would give me so much life. Y’all help motivate me, college draining my ass.

#shower thoughts #humans are crazy #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are deathworlders #humans are weird #Transformers #transformers prime #transformers earthspark #rant

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in1-nutshell · 2 months

Note

Hey me again with old Predacon buddy maybe have Predacon buddy join Bee's team how would the other Autobots react meeting old Predacon buddy

Bot Buddy the Old Predacon is just traveling where ever their wisdom is needed.

I combined this one and another request that was similar to this one.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy the Old Predacon meets Team Bee

SFW, Platonic, Cybertronain reader

RiD2015

When Buddy dreamt about Prime, they half thought it was finally their time.

But then the idea ruled out as the Prime told them that Bumblebee needed help with his situation with his team on Earth.

Buddy is ready to tear down any wall that stands in their way.

No wonder Bumblebee hadn’t been returning their calls.

He was all the way down on Earth.

And with a team?

What situation?!

What was going on?!

Buddy was getting too old for this.

Thankfully a spacebridge was provided for them.

Buddy had to admit they missed Earth.

Less alt mode judgement here

As soon as Buddy caught a whiff of Bee’s scent, they were off in the night sky.

Once they were near a scrapyard the scent had gotten stronger.

Buddy carefully descended nearby the tall trees and took a moment to sit.

Buddy venting a bit.

“This is definitely not going to be easy this time around.”--Buddy

Snap!

Buddy turns their helm towards a small human boy.

“…I didn’t know Dinobots got this big.”

“I’m not a Dinobot kiddo. Wait how do you know about Dinobots?”--Buddy

The human boy scratches his head a bit.

Buddy raising their optic a bit.

“You’ve met one haven’t you.”--Buddy

“What if I did?”

Buddy pauses before chuckling a bit.

“You have some spunk kiddo I’ll give you that.”--Buddy

“My name is not ‘kiddo’.”

“Then what is your name my little friend?”--Buddy

“Russel.”--Russel

“Russel… that sounds like a nice name.”--Buddy

“Really? I mean sure, I guess. What’s yours?”--Russel

“Buddy. And before you go ‘Buddy?’ ‘That’s a weird name.’ or ‘I thought it would be Maimer or Bonecruncher.’ Yes, that is my name.”--Buddy

“I mean you do seem like a nice Con—”--Russel

“Not a Con. I am a Autobot, specifically a Predacon.”--Buddy

“Predacon? Is that something like a Dinobot?”--Russel

“Not exactly. My species is an old one from Cybertron’s earliest years.”--Buddy

“…So. you said you were an Autobot, huh? Prove it.”--Russel

Buddy tilting their helm.

“How do you want me to prove that?”--Buddy

Russel humms while tapping his foot.

“…I don’t know.”--Russel

Buddy laughs a little.

“You’ve mention Dinobot’s an awful lot. Mind showing me your friends. I’m trying to find one myself.”--Buddy

“You lost your friend?”--Russel

Buddy huffs a bit.

“More like ‘Let-me-drop-off-the-face-of-Cybertron-not-tell-anyone-and-let a dream-let-them-know where-I-am’.”--Buddy

Russel laughs a bit before stopping.

“What’s you friends name?”--Russel

“A young mech name Bumblebee.”--Buddy

Russels eyes go wide.

“You know him?”--Buddy

“Know him? He’s my friend too!”--Russel

Buddy chuckles a bit.

“Bumblebee always did have a way with humans. Well now, what are we waiting for.”--Buddy

Buddy rests their helm in front of Russel.

“We’ll cover more ground like this.”--Buddy

Russel smiles.

“Awesome!”--Russel

He climbs onto Buddy’s helm, carefully minding the optics.

Buddy slowly lifts their helm up.

Buddy motions towards the scrapyard.

“Is he over there?”--Buddy

“Yep! That’s where the Team is and my dad.”--Russel

Buddy starts walking towards the Scrapyard.

“Hopefully this will go better than last time.”--Buddy

“What happened last time?”--Rissel

“…I’ll tell you that story another time.”--Buddy

To say there was a bit of panic when a giant metal dragon showed up in the scrapyard was a bit of an understatement.

The dragon was bigger than Grimlock!

And they weren’t even standing up straight!

Buddy simply looked around to see if they saw Bee anywhere.

The group of Autobots had their weapons out and… was that a minibot?

Buddy hadn’t seen one of them in a while.

“Hello!”--Buddy

Most of the Autobots draw out their weapons, minus Grimlock who just transforms into his Dinobot mode.

“Oh! This was the Dinobot you were telling me about Russel?”--Buddy

Russel’s head pops up from on top of Buddy’s helm.

“Yep! Hey guys! Their friendly!”--Russel

“Russel get down from there!”--Drift

“But like how? It not like I can jump down with out break my knees if I wanted to.”--Russel

Buddy slowly lowers their helm so Russel could climb down.

“If you wanted down, all you need to do was ask.”--Buddy

Russel jumps off the last set while Buddy raises their helm back at the Autobots.

“Have any of you seen Bumblebee? I have been looking for him.”--Buddy

Strongarm tensing her shoulders.

“What do you want with the lieutenant?”--Strongarm

“Well first off, lower your—”--Buddy

“No, we are not going to lower our weapons. The first thing your going to do is make us into scrap metal the second we do.”--Sideswipe

“What is the name of Ratchet’s rusty knee joints is going on?!”--Bumblebee

Buddy and Bee stare at each other.

Buddy jumps on to Bee’s chassis making the other scream and try to pry them off of him.

They aren’t lucky.

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF CYBERTRON WHERE YOU THINKING!? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW WORRIED I WAS WHEN YOU WEREN’T ANSWERING MY CALLS!”--Buddy

Bumblebee shrinking a bit.

Buddy expands their wings throwing everyone off.

“I swear to Prime’s spark, if you EVER think about pulling a stunt like that AGAIN I will personally go into the Well of Allspark myself and drag Prime out so we can both give you the scolding of a life time!”--Buddy

Bee chuckles nervously.

“Its good to see you too Buddy.”--Bumblebee

Buddy stops scolding and wraps their wings around the young bot tightly.

“…Anyone care to explain what just happened?!”--Sideswipe

Bee was relieved to finally have some help around.

Buddy was an excellent voice of reason when he felt like he was being a bad leader.

Also a voice to knock some sense into him sometimes.

Whether it be literally or figuratively.

Buddy whacking Bee on the helm.

“What kind of stunt were you trying to pull back there?!”--Buddy

“Well Optimus did it—”--Bumblebee

“Optimus did his things with his limits. You have to do your things with your limits.”--Buddy

“But what if that’s not good enough for the team? It will be my fault if we loose.”--Bumblebee

Buddy sits by Bee.

“Bumblebee, you’re the leader, of course its going to be your fault.”--Buddy

Bee giving them an unimpressed look.

“You know this is the part where you help me—”--Bumblebee

Buddy whacks him in the helm again.

“Will you quit doing that!”--Bumblebee

“When you learn to let me finish.”--Buddy

Be aggressively rubs his helm.

“Everything is going to be your fault one way or the other. As leader you need to accept that. The same way you need to accept that your limits and Prime are different. You both are accomplishing different things in different ways. His ways may not be the best for your situation, as I see it, you have to try some things your way.”--Buddy

“…Thanks Buddy.”--Bumblebee

Buddy chuckling a bit before stretching a bit.

Buddy grunting a bit as some of the joints pop hard.

“Hey, you okay?”--Bumblebee

Buddy giving him a bit of a tired smile.

“I’ll be fine little one. These old joints still work fine.”--Buddy

Strongarm and Sideswipe constantly tried to impress the old Predacon with stunts and facts.

Buddy loved seeing them try and impress them. It was a great source entertainment on slow days.

Though Buddy definitely put their pede down when things got a little too out of hand.

Buddy laying on top of Sideswipe and Strongarm.

The two are grunting and trying to get out of the Predacon’s weight.

“Get! Off!”--Strongarm

Buddy unamused and unbothered.

“Have the both of you decided to apologize to each other?”--Buddy

“Never!”--Sideswipe

Bumblebee walks by and spots them.

“They were fighting again?”--Bumblebee

Buddy just nods their helm looking at their claws.

“Bumblebee! Help a bot out!”--Sideswipe

Bumblebee backing off a bit.

“Yeah not doing that. The quickest way your getting out is if you apologize, trust me.”--Bumblebee

“Wait what did you do to get this?”--Sideswipe

Buddy and Bee have a flashback to him and Smokescreen under Buddy’s weight.

“That’s a story for another time.”--Buddy

Buddy stretches their tail a bit.

SQUEAK!

“…”--Everyone

“Not. A. Word.”—Buddy

“Yes Buddy.”—Bumblebee, Strongarm, and Sideswipe

Grimlock loved being around Buddy.

Finally, someone who understood the struggle of having an alt mode that wasn’t a vehicle!

Grimlock loves hearing all the stories Buddy has.

He means everyone.

From the happy ones.

To the sad ones.

To the funny ones.

And the serious ones.

It surprised him a lot how well Buddy kept up with him and how many times they would win during sparring matches.

After another victory from Buddy.

“Wooowie! That was fun!”--Grimlock

“Sure, was Grimlock.”--Buddy

“Wanna go another round?”--Grimlock

Buddy already laying down on the sunny part of their training ‘arena’.

“Maybe in a bit Grimlock. I’m a bit tired out.”--Buddy

Grimlock looks at them confused.

“But its only been half an hour? The team usually does an hour before we take a break.”--Grimlock

Buddy chuckles a bit getting comfortable as Grimlock sit in front of them.

“Well I am a bit older Grimlock, this frame is only going to go so far with my age.”--Buddy

Grimlock now laying down in front of them.

“Okay, then I guess I’ll nap here too.”

“You don’t have to Grimlock.”--Buddy

“Nuh nuh. I’m staying right here.”--Grimlock

Buddy smiles a bit before tucking their helm into their wings while draping their tail over Grimlock’s as they both take a nap under the warm sun.

Drift and the minis were a bit cautious at first.

Drift thought Buddy was going to be another Grimlock.

Except older and bulkier.

But he was sorely mistaken.

Drift never imagined a Predacon such as Buddy to be so fluid with their fighting motions, even when training.

The samurai has defiantly asked Buddy to be his sparring partner more than once.

He was not immune from the grandparent vibes.

His mini’s loved hearing Buddy’s stories with Russel.

Drift coming back from patrol to see the mini’s and Russel sitting down as Buddy acted out something.

Drift couldn’t hear what Buddy was saying.

“What do you think they’re talking about?”--Denny

“I do not know.”--Drift

Buddy makes the motion of a sword going through a body.

“…Maybe its something they saw on TV once?”--Denny

Buddy now mimics the motion of body slamming something.

“…I do not think so.”--Drift

One thing the team did notice was Buddy sometimes having trouble flying for long periods of time or remembering where things were.

It was the least they could do.

Bumblebee is especially vigilante over Buddy’s little problems.

Everyone wants to do their part in helping the ageing Predacon with their life when they helped them so much. Even do some less exciting things with them.

Buddy starts to lay down in a shady spot in the scrapyard.

“You’re not going to your sunny spot today?”--Russel

Buddy shaking their helm.

Russel just sits next to Buddy’s helm and leans back.

“Russel? What are you doing?”--Buddy

“I’m going to take a nap here.”--Russel

“You don’t need to. I’m sure the rest of the team—”--Buddy

“—is coming over.”--Russel

“What?”--Buddy

The team shows up and starts getting ready to take a mid-day nap with Buddy.

Buddy raises their wings and tail and carefully drapes them on their little family.

This is nice.

#tf rid15 #tf rid 2015 x platonic reader #bot buddy #maccadam #transformers x reader

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sailorsol · 2 years

Text

Star Wars takes I’m sick of seeing:

1. When a Jedi chooses to no longer follow the path of a Jedi, they are automatically a Sith. That’s like saying if you are no longer a practicing Jew, you’re automatically a Catholic. Being a Sith has a specific set of beliefs and doctrines that must be followed, the same as being a Jedi. One can choose to no longer be a Jedi and *not* be evil or Fallen in any way, shape, or form, and this does not make them a bad person.

2. That if the Jedi were just a bit more Mandalorian, it would have Solved All Their Problems and prevented Anakin from Falling. Usually this means that if the Jedi just showed more emotion/weren’t emotionally repressed/if Obi-Wan just told Anakin he loved him/was proud of him, Anakin wouldn’t have made the decision on multiple occasions to slaughter children. There are so many “fix it” fics where this is the underlying theme.

3. Likewise, the Jedi repress their emotions. The Jedi teach their students to be *mindful* of their emotions, to not react based on a person’s first initial knee jerk response. They asked Anakin to have the same level of emotional control as a kindergartener--you don’t get to punch someone because they took your favorite toy and broke it.

3. When Mandalorians adopt children (with or without parental permission) and indoctrinate them into their culture of weaponry and violence, it’s cute; when the Jedi adopt children (usually with parental permission) and teach them to control their emotions and their psychic powers based on those emotions, they’re an evil child-snatching cult. Only the Mandalorians are capable of forming a family bond and despite being communally raised, the Jedi are incapable of forming those same bonds, probably because of all that emotional repression. But if you violate the rules of the Mandalorians, you are cast out of said “family”, whereas even someone like Darth Vader was offered a way home.

4. Love = Attachment. Attachment is about greed and possession. We are told *and* shown on multiple occasions that you can love someone and let them go. Obi-Wan does it multiple times. But when you go beyond love, when you refuse to accept loss, whether it’s external like death or internal like someone choosing to leave you, that’s when you move into Attachment, and *that* is what leads to the Dark side.

ETA, because apparently I wasn’t done:

5. The Jedi Order, which has existed for tens of thousands of years, should change everything about itself and its doctrines to suit one kid who doesn’t actually care about following other people’s rules in any circumstance.

6. Anakin Skywalker is the only Jedi who ever treated the clones like Real People, despite several blatant examples showing otherwise, and the fact that he was totally chill with them having their identities and free will stripped away from them. But because he was the only one who was Raised By A Real Mother, he’s the only one capable of showing compassion to other people.

7. That because they have accelerated aging, this makes the clones child soldiers. If they were completely non-human, no one would blink an eye at the idea of a species maturing at a different rate than humans. So they’ve only been alive for ten years? That does not make them children. Grogu has been alive for over 50 years and he’s still a toddler. Calling them children is infantilizing and demeaning.

8. Listen, I love whumping on Obi-Wan as much as the next fangirl, but I’m kinda getting tired of the whole “Obi-Wan never goes to medical/doesn’t sleep/doesn’t remember to eat” thing. He raised a whole ass padawan to adulthood. We have never actually seen him deny himself medical care, sleep, or food. He might work longer hours during the war, but so does everyone else. And the only reason I can justify him not eating isn’t because he “forgets” so much as the poor guy probably has a terrible case of decision fatigue. If all he has to do is walk to the chow hall and get served what everyone else is being served, I don’t think he’d have that much of a problem. There are, of course, extenuating circumstances to all of these based on any prior trauma he may or may not have, but otherwise it’s infantilizing.

This post is brought to you in part by fandom as well as interacting with members of the Star Wars costuming groups.

#star wars #meta #shitty takes #can we please stop with these #i'm tired of having the same argument over and over again

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would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend · 5 months

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how about eevee? I always felt like eevee and it's evolutions would make pretty popular pets!

Eevee would indeed make an excellent pet! And, I’d reckon, you’re probably right about them being popular ones too!

As far as looks go, eevees are perfect pet candidates: they’re lightweight, tiny, and fluffy! They may not be the best choice for people with pet hair allergies, since they look like they’re much more long a long-haired cat than anything when it comes to their coat. Ooooh, but I bet they’re soft! They are occasionally used as first partner pokémon for trainers in the Kanto Region, so we know that they are friendly and receptive to training, which is always a plus!

Unfortunately, we actually don’t have very much information about the behavior of wild eevees. This is a rare species (Yellow) that is rather rare to come across in most regions. Eevees are exceptionally adaptable, so it’s unlikely that they are endangered: rather, when faced with a new or harsh environment, eevees evolve to meet their new survival needs rather than remaining in this more vulnerable state (Gold, Silver). Pretty much all of the pokédex data we have about eevees is focused on this unique ability. This species’ genetic code is highly irregular, which allows them to mutate in a wide variety of ways to keep up with environmental and contextual changes (Red/Blue).

Eevees can evolve into an unprecedented eight other pokémon species, which each have different types and abilities to cope with different environments. These evolutions are most often triggered by radiation from special Evolution stones (Red/Blue) or unique area-specific conditions, but there are a few evolutions (namely espeon, umbreon, and sylveon) that are triggered by forming strong bonds with trainers and gaining experience under certain conditions. Keep in mind, when adopting an eevee, that it is really easy to trigger one of these evolutions by accident if your eevee isn’t given an Everstone!

Eevees can adapt their bodies to their environment without evolving as well. For example, it’s said that after spending a lot of time with a trainer, and eevee’s face will start to look more like theirs as an instinctually survival instinct (Ultra Moon). This could be really creepy or charming, depending on what that ends up being like. I personally have a hard time imagining what an eevee that “looks like me” would look like.

Since, when faced with dangerous or harsh environments, eevees tend to evolve both their bodies and capabilities, this species is not capable of causing much harm. Eevees mostly use normal-type moves that, considering their size, aren’t going to do much to you. Eevees aren’t particularly violent by nature, so they likely won’t ever be a threat unless accidentally evolved into a more powerful species.

Overall, this rare pokémon seems like they would be a model pet. So long as you avoid unwanted accidental evolutions with an Everstone, an eevee would be the perfect size and temperament to be a pet! They’re super sweet, and not dangerous by any means, so they’d be a great fit in most homes!

#pokémon #pokemon #eevee #pkmn irl #PR-A

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lurveinn · 1 month

Text

I’m so curious about Wizarding fashion. JKR isn’t very physically descriptive- we just know that wizards wear robes, which are outlandish to muggles, and pointy hats, but what does that really mean? What kind of robe? Magical fashion clearly isn’t very gendered, since Harry remarks on a man at the Quidditch World Cup wearing a dress and insisting that it’s unisex (certainly not the case in Britain at the time), but we don’t have any other parameters. Keeping in mind the uniform from the movies, and the fact that in SWM, Snape isn’t wearing any trousers, here’s what I think wizards wear:

1. Flowing silhouettes and cloaks; clearly, wizards love a good statement cloak. Think tassels and frills (not like Ron’s Yule Ball fit!), massive extended sleeves and lots of draping.

2. Skirts: let’s be honest, just one singular robe, without any layering, doesn’t give us much to work with. Skirts go with the general silhouette, explain why the World Cup wizard thought muggle men wore dresses, and keep with the no-trousers thing from SWM. I’m South Asian, so I like to have a little fun with it and think of wizards in ghararas (my favourite item of clothing); the Wizarding World is quite insular, travel is relatively unrestricted (hello, they have magic!), everyone has a common enemy in muggles (and other species- goblins, house-elves) etcetera, so race probably doesn’t function the same way and I headcanon a lot of cross-cultural exchange. Plus, wizarding fashion isn’t restricted by weather- they have warming charms- so wearing clothes made for hot climates in England, for example, wouldn’t be a problem.

Plus, I actually think saris are a natural fancy dress option- flowy, drapey, colourful. Speaking of which-

3. If there’s one fanon idea that I hate (aside from fanon!Sirius, of course), it’s this image of wizards (specifically high society wizards) as reserved. Sorry, did we read the same books? Wizards, even posh, rich wizards, like the Malfoys and Blacks, are camp and very outlandish. They do house-elf taxidermy, they keep their wands in canes. Just because Hogwarts uniforms are black doesn’t mean that people dress like they’re in mourning all the time. People can be total snobs and obsessed with their image and still wear bright pink, insane robes, because guess what? They have different social conventions than we do. Men and women dress basically the same, so there is no reason to believe that a man wearing a flowing robe would be against the norm. I say this as someone who believes misogyny and homophobia are well and truly alive in Wizarding society, especially in pureblooded families where the emphasis is on continuing the line; they definitely exist, but they probably look different.

4. My personal obsession and headcanon: rich wizards wearing bones. Look, I might not think of them as racist in the traditional sense, but they are undeniably speciesist, if that’s a word? They think of themselves as superior, and other sentient magical species either work under (goblins) or are enslaved (house-elves) by wizards. We only see Veelas very briefly, but despite them being admired for their beauty, I doubt wizards treat them very well. So- show me blood-purists wearing corsets made of goblin bones and teeth. Show me Veelas being hunted for their blood to stain and dye clothes with. Show me exotic “magical creatures” that are humanoid and capable of reasoning and should have rights, like mermaids and werewolves, being hunted for their scales and pelts while also being ostracised for being ‘non-human’. It’s terrible, but that’s the kind of archaic jewellery and fashion the old families that the fandom likes to fetishise would like to wear.

#harry potter #wizarding fashion #wizarding world #meta #hp

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tourneys-by-me · 9 months

Text

Welcome to the Element Specific Character Tournament!

This is a tournament is to see which character that specializes in a specific element is the best!

There will be 10 different elements represented in this tournament, and they are:

Pyromancy (fire)

Aquamancy (water)

Aeromancy (wind, air)

Geomancy (earth)

Phytomancy (plants, vegetation)

Electromancy (lightning, electricity)

Cryomancy (ice)

Ferromancy (metals)

Umbramancy (darkness, shadows)

Luxomancy (light, holy)

There will be 10 different brackets to decide which characters of each element is the best of their respective elements. Then there will be a final showdown of all ten characters to see who is the best overall!

RULES

Be nice and respectful please. I don’t want any insults thrown at anyone.

Characters have to use the element that you submit it as (ex you submit Zuko as a fire character, not a water character).

If the character uses multiple elements, submit them under an element they’re best known for/most proficient at (ex Soren fire emblem can use multiple elemental tomes, but he is a wind mage and only he can use SS rank wind tomes).

You are allowed to submit as many characters as you want but it has to be one form at a time please.

No submitting the same character multiple times please.

Please specify where the character is from and please no acronyms!

Propaganda is allowed and encouraged but no anti-propaganda (aka character hate).

My time zone is EST and I won’t be active all the time to answer questions (sorry I got real life stuff to do).

There will be certain guidelines on certain characters and media (I’ll get into more detail later) this is because specific media can be weird on how they classify what power is what element. Especially with certain elements being more vague and loosey-goosey.

I don’t particularly mind who you submit as long as they stick to the guidelines, but I might have polls if I’m unsure about a certain character.

Anyways I’ll edit this post as it goes on if more questions are raised.

Elements, Characters, and Media clarifications

Do they have to be magical

Toph is going to be put as a geomancer. I know she invented metal bending but she’s better known as an earth bender and I don’t want her on both earth and metal brackets.

Since Aang is the avatar, he can use all four bending styles, but he started off as an air bender and the show is literally called “the last air bender” I’m going to put him under aeromancer.

Korra on the other hand, won’t be in this tournament at all. Even though she is apart of the water tribe, she doesn’t really have a bending style that’s she more attached to (I mean she was able to do three of the four bending styles much earlier than Aang).

Todoroki won’t be in this tournament. His fire and ice powers are basically on the same level of importance.

I’m going to in-act the same rule I did for Korra and Todoroki for characters like Kirby and Arceus. Just because they can do/become that element, doesn’t mean they are going to be in the tournament. Their whole shtick is they can be any type (arceus) or copy abilities (kirby).

The exception to this rule is Ben 10 with his alien forms. This is because the aliens will be considered as a representative of their species, since 1. people are more familiar with Ben’s names for the aliens 2. Not all alien species have an official canon name.

NO DEMON SLAYER CHARACTERS WHO USES THE BREATHING STYLES! The breathing styles aren’t actually summoning elemental powers, it’s a visual metaphor. Submit only those who can summon actual elements!

Both rock and ground type Pokémon will be considered geomancers

Umbramancy regarding dark and ghost type Pokémon

Luxomancy regarding psychic and fairy type Pokémon

Aeromancy regarding flying type Pokémon

Ferromancy and robots

Magnetism: Ferromancy vs Elctromancy

Why I am also calling Luxomancy “holy”

If the character is a god that doesn’t mean they are inherently a Luxomancer. They have to have something holy about their attacks.

Please don’t submit necromancers as umbramancers. Being able to raise the dead≠umbramancy, if the character can raise the dead ON TOP of general shadow/darkness manipulation they are allowed.

Have fun and let the submitting begin!

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scaredycatqlt · 3 months

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Some silly platonic headcanons of bill cipher x reader pls?

Oh hell yeah!!! I love my lil AroAce triangle >:3

Bill Cipher X Reader [PLATONIC!]

Alright, well, for starters, how you became friends could vary.

Either you’re some messed up otherworldly creature with a thirst for chaos and destruction like him, or some unsuspecting human. Or maybe you knew what you were doing? Who knows! Bill knows.

Regardless, at first he doesn’t pay you much mind. You’re simply another pawn on the chessboard to him.

He can get bored easy, so he hangs out around you a lot. Not for long, mainly frequent short visits.

He finds you amusing, you and your antics! If you’re a dimensional thing like him, he’s quick to invite you to join him in wrecking havoc. If you’re a human, he’s more still in the ‘I’m better lol’ mindset.

When you guys are finally friends, he will try to convince you to let him possess you. Not all the time! And very infrequently! Come on, won’t you help a pal out?

His love language (PLATONICALLY) is acts of service and gift giving. He’s not an emotional being by any means at all, so this is how he expresses his care for you.

As canonically presented, his gifts are kinda…..messed up.

deer teeth, a eternal screaming head, weird shit in general.

Also with acts of service he totally offers to take care of anything bothering you. Someone annoyed you? He can get rid of them! Don’t you worry your fuzzy little head!

A litttlleeee bit of a platonic yandere but who here’s surprised….

He does a lot of small things for you that you might not notice. Like picking something up, summoning an object, giving you whatever small thing you happen to want at that time, yeah.

If something happened to you he’d probably go crazy ngl.

You’re like his partner in crime!

Also, if you’re human he makes sure you’re taking care of your meat-suit properly.

Have you drank water? Eaten? Slept? Done all the human things?

One last thing, I feel like Bill would love Doritos. I know this kinda doesn’t match the theme, but there used to be this whole ‘Bill hates Doritos they’re his species :(‘ kinda thing and while it is funny, personally I disagree. I think he’d find it hilarious, and probably eat them specifically because they look like him. He’s a little creacher.

Here they are!! Again, sorry it took forever. I’ve been busy with school n shit, but I’m working on these requests one by one.

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls headcanons #gravity falls #headcanons #x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #platonic love #bill cipher #bill ci the all seeing eye

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blueskittlesart · 6 months

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I get the impression from your posts that you don’t think there’s a future where Zelda would end up queen of hyrule (I can see where her becoming queen would undermine her entire arc of getting freedom from the painful expectations of princess/chosen etc), but how do you think that hyrules government will work beyond that? Is the population recovered enough for that to even be something established within their lifetime?

honestly, based on what we see in other games, hyrule was never REALLY a proper monarchy. I think it's pretty likely that the hylian monarchy was functionally a symbolic one, especially by the time that botw rolls around. in most games in the franchise, hyrule is largely made up of sort of mini single-race societies that function by defaulting to whatever small tribal government they happen to have. With a kingdom technically made up of multiple different species, each with their own differing cultures, customs, and even lifespans, it makes much more sense to have small governments united in name alone. i think any genuine attempt at true united government of such widely varied and relatively isolated races would not end well for hyrule (can you imagine being a hundred-year-old zora and being told that you have to listen to laws made by hylians who have been alive for a fraction of the time you have?? no way.) But by having a technical alliance under the symbolic hyrulian royal family, all of these races reap the benefits of alliance amongst each other while maintaining their relative independance. This is why most of the villages in hyrule are race-isolated and have their own governing bodies--the zora have a king, the rito, gorons, and gerudo have chiefs, and several of the hylian/sheikah villages have mayors or other governing bodies. these are the actual, functional governments of hyrule. the royal family serves both symbolic and practical purposes as a symbol of the kingdom's allyship and as an entity that can build, maintain, and direct a widespread military force (and i think there's also definitely a religious element to their rule over hyrule, as literal descendants of god in-universe,) but other than that it isn't doing a whole lot of actual governing. (the exception to this rule is MAYBE post-wind-waker on the new continent, and maybe immediately post-sksw, specifically because in both those cases the hyrulian royals would have needed to take a more active governing role in order to rebuild the country.) so with that in mind, I think botw and totk make it pretty clear that this method of small government works pretty well for hyrule. I think the most zelda would EVER be is a sort of ambassador between villages and races, especially as hyrule becomes more intermingled in the aftermath of the calamity. small democratic government largely appears to be working for hyrule and for zelda in totk, so i think that's the road she would choose to continue down rather than attempting to reinstate a monarchy that never actually did that much in the first place.

#hyrule's government is fascinating to me bc like obviously the hylian monarchy isnt REAL bc not a single other race in the country actually #defaults to their governance. even the sheikah have their own village governments in most games #the zora literally have their own secondary monarchy despite also supposedly being under hyrulian governance #so like it's fairly obvious that the hyrulian royals are symbolic/religious leadership and nothing more #EXCEPT for when they're building an army. that's the only true power they seem to have #and i think that's probably to do with the religious aspect. i think the reason a symbolic monarchy was able to build an army like what the #did in botw is because they were functionally fighting a religious war against. the devil. lmao #anyway. yeah #asks #zelda analysis

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mental7anguish · 5 months

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I would like to know mroe about that beaststars tadc au please

The basic set up is that they all go to college in varying years

1st year — Jax, zooble

2nd year — gangle, pomni, bubble

3rd year — ragatha

It’s kind of zooble and pomni centric at first with zooble sharing a dorm with her after pomnis last roommate went missing (they were a herbivore). They’re also forced to be around each other almost all schoolday because of zooble being a hybrid and other factors making the school force them to have a 'guardian' (they’re trying to seem progressive and don’t want to get any bad rep), so basically forcing pomni to be a caretaker for a person who doesn’t want or need one.

They are not happy and cannot stand each other at first

The cast meet each other by having all joined a new circus club by Caine, that outside of customes has almost nothing to do with circuses lol, it’s more of an theater club but clowns. Like in the show he comes up with acts and/or adventures for them to do, where his intentions are to teach teamwork or whatever excuse he came up with to create it. The crew mostly joined because they get free stuff from it.

The story is undercooked still, because at first I loved the worldbuilding in beastars and just thought the craziness of it was fitting for tadc. I do have characteristics and dynamics in my head, like pomni having trouble with taking control of her carnivorous instincts while ragatha doesn’t have any herbivorous instincts at all, or Jax and zooble being frenemies who somehow almost always find each other in the same place and have matching pendants (zooble around their neck and Jax on his ear)

Kinger is probably a teacher, I’d imagine that he would teach something related to bugs. I also have some ideas for the abstracted, but you’ll just have to wait to find out if I flesh it out bc I think this is long enough already haha. This au will definitely include some beastars craziness, don’t worry.

Lastly I’m just gonna make a list of the character species:

–pomni: cat, long–haired Scottish fold, but shaves fur short

–Jax: European hare + Flemish giant rabbit hybrid, the latter of which is mostly just the height

–Ragatha: Dorset horn sheep

–Gangle: Malay weasel

–Zooble: Hybrid, dog + bird + deer (don’t rlly have any specific species)

–Kinger: lion

– Kaufmo: also a cat

–bubble: Thresher shark (Ik in context this doesn’t make sense, but it’s my au so I’m gonna have fun with it)

– Caine: genuinely have no idea, I need suggestions please

So yea, I hope this gives more insight! This au also dips a little into ships, which hopefully people won’t mind.

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prof-peach · 4 months

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I’m awfully sorry to be profiting off your misfortune, but as someone with a lot of tactile affection to give, I’ve always struggled with good ways to show my partner Magcargo (his name is Cornelius!) how loved he is and how happy he makes all of us! I keep his blowhole clear of debris and scrape the sides of his foot clean from hardened lava when it creeps up too high, and he seems happy enough, but tales of your woes keeping the Slugma out of your garden has also given me a whole host of new flavors for him to try, and it’s great to have ways to put in the effort and show him he’s appreciated! (And if it’s not uncouth to ask… are there maybe any specific plants you notice the intrusive Slugma like best? No grass-type Pokémon being harmed, of course!)

Oh I don’t mind, every Pokemon has its place, though many feed on plants, specially the ones I’m trying to grow, it’s never a cause for long lasting anger.

The slugma line are actually a real fun little duo, I got no qualms with them even if they chew through my seedlings.

For ease I can suggest fruit and veg that they seem to prefer, seeing as sourcing specific plant matter year round is not always so simple.

Most are not picky eaters, their nature makes them very resourceful and adaptive, and often their high body temperature means they aren’t so focused on taste, more texture.

My poor vegetable patch gets ravaged by them, but they noticeably go for the really leafy greens or higher water content plants, so cucumbers, cabbage, lettuce for sure, they aren’t adverse to the brassicas, so broccoli and kale and the likes. Mushrooms also seem to go down well, though they can be a hit or miss overall. Worth a try though. If your buddy has a sweet tooth try strawberries, never met a Magcargo that doesn’t like em, like a built in love the whole species shares. It’s kind of a weird little thing they all have in common.

Dandelion greens and hosta leaves also go down a treat but are very seasonal. I personally like to grow pea shoots for salads, but they sprout so fast and grow in all seasons, so having a few trays of them growing is a winner. If you have a small space, a window ledge is plenty to grow your own for your buddy. Takes no time for them to get going, and you and your Pokemon can enjoy them together. They only need to sprout so you don’t have to think about feeding them or doing more than putting them in all of a 3-4cm layer of dirt and watering them now and then. Super easy!

But seriously, cucumbers. I hate to admit it but last year I had to buy a few, they wiped my whole crop out almost.

#prof.peach #pokemon #peach talks #magcargo

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