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phyrestartr · 5 months

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Icarus Drabbles (Pt.2) | Sukuna x M!Reader

W/C: 3.7k [#Modern AU, ABO dynamics, bottom!reader, top!sukuna, Mob Boss!Sukuna, Alpha!Sukuna, Street Doctor!Reader, Omega!Reader, toxic relationships, age gap, sukuna is mid 30s, yuuji gang and reader are mid 20s, sukuna and yuuji are brothers, sukuna has FEELINGS, but he is BAD AT FEELINGS, nsfw, fluff, hurt/comfort, cheating, zenin family mentioned, lightly edited lmfao]

Note: There will prolly be a third drabble thingie lol I just wanted to post SOMETHING

tag: @better-imagination-9

1. Restless

Sukuna finally bagged you, the omega he pined over and hunted down for over a decade, and knocked you up, made you move in with him to ensure he could keep an eye on you and that growing baby bump. His alpha had rejoiced, running its victory lap around Sukuna’s chest, but then it slowed, yawned, and curled up, satiated.

Now, his human side was left to its own devices, and it was bored.

Probably because you were boring. Or, well, you’d become boring–you and your omega seemed more in-tune with one another, both settling down as soon as you both agreed on staying with Sukuna, with your mate. To Sukuna’s human instincts, that meant you were about as exciting and fun as doing his taxes. Yet, at the same time, he couldn’t fathom letting you go. Whenever the hypothetical crossed his mind, that second set of eyes would open and stare, tear bared, anger rippling. And Sukuna would agree with it. He didn’t want to lose you, yet he didn’t always want you either.

And he was bored.

“Hey,” you cooed, leaning over his shoulder as he stared into space on the couch. “You okay?”

Sukuna blinked a few times and rubbed his face tiredly, finding himself growing pissed off at the dull delight your presence brought him. “Yeah, ‘m fine. Need something?”

“Well, Christmas’s coming up,” you reminded. “Wanted to make sure we were still–”

“Can’t.” Bitterness rose in the back of Sukuna’s throat. God, he didn’t even want to look at you right now. “Gotta work.” He finally spared you a glance, but only after a long stretch of silence. You didn’t look perturbed or mad, not really sad or disappointed, just…placid.

You looked at your phone, staring at something just for a moment before returning back to him with a slight nod of acceptance. “Alright.”

Sukuna's other bristled. “Alright.”

“I knew you couldn't really be taken ‘n tied down, Sukuna-sama,” Yorozu cooed as she cozied up into the spot between the man's legs, her hands smoothing up and down his thighs before deftly unlatching his belt and ripping it off. “You're too good for that sort of life.”

“Don’t you have somethin’ better to do with that mouth?” The nice part of Sukuna asked. The less nice part of him wanted to rip her head off and punt it at the stupid fucking moon. Luckily for her, he was trying not to throw as many things at the horizon these days.

Yorozu's eyes shone with pure delight. “Oh, of course, of course.” She unzipped his slacks expertly quick and pulled free his half-chub, excitedly stroking it to get him to full-mast.

Sukuna sighed and sank back in his chair, trying to focus and enjoy the attention and spice he so sorely missed, but it was hard. Well, not hard, which was the problem–his mind wasn't finding this (cheating, getting a blow job at his desk, having a woman with tits on his knees for him) exciting. Thankfully, though, his body reacted in his mind's stead, and decided to not embarrass him.

He closed his eyes and focused on the small hands grasping his base and holding his thigh–but your bigger, stronger hands held him better, digging in without the lethality of acrylics threatening harm. At least her mouth was warm, her lips soft--but your lips were soft, too, and you knew where he liked to feel your tongue press down. Her hair was silky and thick enough to fist his hand in–but yours was just…better. He couldn't describe it, but–

Knock it off, he growled. He needed a break from you, from how mundane you made everything, that was the whole fucking reason he ditched you in the first place. You were boring. You were making life boring. You–

What were you up to, actually?

Sukuna sighed, this time in defeat, and snatched up his phone while Yorozu gave him head. He scrolled through whatever socials he knew you had, but saw nothing new, nothing Christmas-y.

Who the hell is he visiting again? He looked to the side, gazing through the huge windows looming behind his desk as he thought, and then remembered.

Sukuna tapped open your text thread and grimaced–it was so blatantly one-sided. The sight of his flippant convo-killing responses hit him with a wave of psychic damage that probably couldn't be fully healed for as long as he lived. He wasn't a fan of texting, but he was a fan of you. But-wait, didn't he loathe you?

5:05am went to see my mom for christmas

5:05am getting picked up dw

5:06am hope work doesn't suck too much

Right. You went to see family. Right. Sukuna was supposed to meet your mother.

Damn.

“Fuck's sake,” Sukuna muttered moments before fisting his hand in Yorozu's hair and pulling him off his softening cock. “We're done.” He stood and tucked himself away, ignoring the indignant scoff the woman sent his way.

“Sukuna–”

“Leave.” He sent a text your way instead of tuning in to whatever Yorozu said as she picked herself up off her knees:

10:49pm When should I pick you up?

Of course he was gonna pick you up. He wasn’t about to let someone else take care of you for a second longer.

“Clearly you're unhappy,” Yorozu finally cut in.

Sukuna saw a read notification pop up in the chat.

“Clearly that other one isn't satisfying you fully.”

He watched the three dots pop up as you replied back.

“After he has your pup–”

10:52pm you can come now

10:52pm if you're free

“--you should reconsider your choice in mate–”

Bang.

10:53pm Send me the address.

He stepped over her and the pooling crimson on his way to the door, texting Uraume to call the cleaners to take care of a mess in his office while he went to pick up his baby mama.

Picking you up had been eventful.

Firstly, Maki and Mai had refused to open the gate for Sukuna in favour of mocking him and exclaiming, “are you kidding me? You're the baby daddy?” while incessantly prodding him for information. You'd managed to bat them aside to let him up to the house, though it took some effort on your part.

Next, Toji Zenin himself was waiting at the front door, arms crossed, totally unbothered, dressed in his hideous Christmas jumper that his woman had apparently made him wear as punishment for something. Sukuna ribbed him, hiding just how confused he was about the entire thing–he didn't fucking get why there were so many Zenin assholes here. The outcasts, sure, but what the fuck was that about?

“Oh. Toji's my stepdad,” you said when you had finally squeezed your dragon's hoard of gifts into the car and got in the damn thing to go home. Sukuna left it at that for the time being–he didn't want to think about what the fuck that meant now that the two of you were together. He had time to ask a thousand questions another day.

His mind still whirred in the elevator, though, and when he helped carry your only-child gifts into the penthouse like a servant put under a spell. You said something to him that he only realized a solid fifteen minutes later was, “I'm taking a bath. There's room for two,” and a fire suddenly lit under his ass.

“Huh, so you can bear to look at me,” you hummed from the bath. It was large and oaken, filled with yuzu thanks to Uraume's thoughtfulness, and it overlooked snowy Tokyo and all its bustling, light-filled glory and–wait, what.

Sukuna scoffed as he pulled off his clothes methodically. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You watched him undress shamelessly. “It means you still have lipstick on your dick.” You poked away one of the yuzu that bumped into you. “It's not really my colour.”

Sukuna clenched his teeth and kicked aside his clothes before grabbing the showerhead to wash off before joining you because he was going to join you. No matter the case. No matter the objection.

But you never objected. You leaned back in the tub and watched him while you rolled another yuzu between your palms. “Did you have fun fucking her?” Fuck, you could be so scary sometimes. And you didn't even have to try.

Sukuna found it hard to answer. He found it hard to even speak. Christ, was this shame? “Look–I didn't fuck her. Didn't even get close.”

“So she just sucked your dick.”

“Tried. Didn't finish. Couldn't.”

“So sad. Why not?”

“‘Cause she's not you.” Sukuna finished with the shower and slipped into the bath, sitting across from you with a content sigh. “You give better head.”

“That went from being somewhat meaningful to annoying,” you grumbled. Still, you scooched over to him and pressed up against his side, clearly in the mood to forgive his stupid little attempted fling. “So. Then you're sure about this.”

“Sure about what?” Sukuna wondered, suddenly feeling more at ease with the rich scent of you pooling through his senses. He leaned into you when you carefully smoothed his hair out of his face with that usual, simple gentility he'd come to desire so desperately every day. “Sure about you?”

“Yeah. Us. Everything.” You nuzzled at his neck, dutifully scenting him up with kisses, nips and licks. “You started pulling away like a pussy, so I figured you regretted it.”

Sukuna had to laugh. “You're callin’ me a pussy?” He half-growled before yoinking you into his lap and squeezing you up against him. His grin widened when he saw you hold back a smile. “I think you should apologize.”

“You cheated on me with your stalker. Why do I need to apologize?”

“You hurt my fuckin’ feelings.”

“Oh. Hm. I see.” Your fingers, bigger than a woman's yet still elegant as a piano player's, danced across his firm shoulders in thought. “I think you need to have feelings for me to hurt them.”

His hands found their rightful place (on your ass) and kneaded your skin thoroughly, squeezing and pinching wherever he felt most enticed. “You know I have feelings, sweetheart. Why do ya think you're here in the first place, huh?”

Your scent flared with bashful approval. “Guess that's good to know. These days, you've left me wondering.”

Sukuna grew placid gazing upon your features, listening to your words. If he really tried, behind that diamond mask of nonchalance most Zenin brats wore, there existed soft, vulnerable skin--tired and ragged, worried and creased. He'd done that to you. Why had he done that to you?

He lifted a hand from your curves to cup your face gently, his touch breaking through the shields you so bravely put up to tell the world to fuck off. And you leaned into that touch so eagerly, so hungrily, with a sigh that sounded like you just remembered how to breathe.

“‘M sorry,” Sukuna mumbled. The word felt foreign on his tongue. He didn’t know if he even said it right.

Your eyes squeezed shut just a little tighter, holding onto whatever you could of your crumbling shell as your hand rose to rest on his. “You know I love you,” you said while diamond dust turned to quicksilver.

Sukuna wiped the glimmer from your lashes. “Love you too, runt. Mean it.” Those words still felt strange, too, but he loved those words. He loved the way they made you glow from within, how they solidified you and stopped you from collapsing into a melted mess in the face of his betrayal and swift try at redemption.

You nodded a little, the hard line of your mouth softening. Sukuna relaxed and hugged you close to him, purring deep in his chest in rhythm with you as you wholly accepted him in return and buried your face into his neck. He did the same, scenting you the way you had him, enjoying your company and weight against him. Because he loved you. He really did.

So, he said once again, “Sorry.”

2. Family Matters

“Sukuna,” Wasuke warned. The attention of the younger alpha, leaning against the counter, was on you as you yapped on about this and that with his little brother.

Sukuna grunted and looked over his shoulder at the old man, though, silently and curtly asking, what? even though he already knew what was coming.

“Leave that boy alone.”

Sukuna stared at his grandfather. It'd become more and more common, the way the young man challenged his elder, maintaining hostile eye contact that threatened the beginning of the end if the older broke first–but he never did. The old fuck was too tough. Molded by whatever his own colourful irezumi put him through.

Once, when he was younger, Sukuna wanted to know how to break his elder. He wanted to crack him open and rip those secrets from him, find out how he could use that knowledge to his advantage to never feel so small in the eyes of another ever again. He hated it. He hated the dominance held over him, the humility that came with it.

But, like always, Sukuna broke first, looking away with a grumble, reinforcing his place in the food chain.

Sukuna sighed. The old house was the same–far too traditional, too plain, too normal. It irked him to his core. Here, amidst all the boring normal shit of his past, his status in society no longer mattered; here, he forfeited first place, and took up second.

“Hey,” came your voice, muffled by the car window separating you from your lover. When Sukuna looked over at you, he saw his little nugget tucked safely in your arms, only half-awake as she nuzzled into the warmth of your chest.

But then there was you. A face full of confusion, annoyance, and exasperation greeted Sukuna. You went for the door handle to wrench your man out of the car, but he locked it, watching you yank on the handle a handful of times before you knocked on the window incessantly.

“Get out of the goddamn car, you little shit,” you hissed, looking between Sukuna and the front door of the house frantically. You stared at him hard, then, your frustration building every second your alpha refused to budge and end the embarrassment crashing down on you.

A terrifyingly calm expression took over your face, before you adjusted the little pup in your arms and fished something out of your pocket. Sukuna didn't realize what it was until you leaned over and slammed your fist into the hood of the car, tearing into it easily with the fucking key in your hand.

“You gotta be shitting me–” Sukuna scrambled to unlock the door and swing it open. He hopped out and slammed the car door closed. “You little–”

“Oh, good, you found your balls.”

Sukuna groaned as he looked at the damage you left. “Baby, you know how expensive this is gonna be to fix? Fucking hell, why're you such a crazy bitch?”

“Well, look who I'm stuck with,” you said lightly. “Obviously you've corrupted me. It's not my fault.”

Sukuna grumbled and turned to you, grabbing you and pulling you close; but instead doling out a punishment as his past self was so accustomed to doing, he aggressively nuzzled the top of your head, viciously scenting you up and squeezing you against his solid frame while he grumbled and growled.

“I'm splitting you in half when we get home.”

You sighed, dramatic. “Oh no. I'm so afraid. But I guess I deserve such a brutal punishment. Sigh.” You nuzzled him back before tiptoeing up to kiss his chin, then his lips when he leaned down to meet you the rest of the way. “Ready?”

Sukuna took a deep breath and looked over your face, running the back of his fingers against the rise of your cheekbone. He loved touching your face these days (more than usual). You still held onto a bit of pregnancy plushness that filled in the hollow angles of your handsomely beautiful face and other once-bony parts of your body. You'd never panicked about it, but you bitched and moaned, loudly lamenting about the way your clothes fit a little differently or how you just had to keep stealing Sukuna's shirts to replace your own.

Touka, your little one, mewled from her spot smooshed between her parents. Sukuna sighed as he pulled back to look down at her, hoping she'd take most the heat off of him when he faced his grandfather again.

“Let's just get this over with.”

Yuuji was the one who answered the door. He lived with Wasuke, claiming it was just easier and cheaper than getting his own place, but most knew the younger was a worry wart; he couldn't stand by and let his grandfather get put in a home or quietly tough out everyday life on his own in his elderly years. Yuuji stayed for the sake of family, and Wasuke quietly welcomed it. His brother's goodness nearly struck Sukuna with guilt.

But any chance at guilt died the moment he met the old bastard's stony gaze.

“Itadori-san,” you cooed pleasantly, a far cry from the demon that'd keyed Sukuna's car. “It's good to see you again.”

Wasuke quirked a brow and walked up to you, nudging Yuuji aside so he could get a good look at you and the pup nestled to your chest. Sukuna took a breath and looked away. He didn't need to see the critical stare of the old man while he processed the fact that Sukuna had indeed not stayed away from you. Ugh, the idea of being scolded made the alpha itch.

“We're far beyond honorifics, boy. You know that,” Wasuke lightly scolded, and you beamed. Sukuna could imagine a little shiba inu tail on you, wagging fast enough to take flight. “I'm glad to see you in one piece after taming my grandson. It must've been a damn ordeal.”

Yuuji cackled impishly, pointing at Sukuna. “Oooh, burn.”

“Sorry, who got the omega in the end?” Sukuna quipped back, making Yuuji sprout a grumpy look and cross his arms with a mumbled you suck.

“Quit the fighting and come in,” Wasuke ushered. “And you,” he snapped, looking at Sukuna with chronic disapproval, “Take off those sunglasses. You're trying too hard. Look like an idiot.”

You stifled your laughter as Sukuna grumbled and plucked his shades off. His very cool, very neat, very fancy, very expensive shades.

Wasuke ushered you all inside, gesturing to the kotatsu prepared with food and drinks and starting off on a grumbling rant about the shitty cold mornings and warm afternoons that came with Spring. Obviously, he'd complained to break the ice, and it worked.

Small talk turned into easier conversation. Whenever Sukuna seemed to struggle with being cordial, you would lean into him more, squeezing his hand tightly whilst purring under the radar. That worked, too. As much as Sukuna was an asshole, he didn't want the afternoon to fall apart. Better he stay quieter than say something to regret.

“They've calmed you down,” Wasuke said, snapping Sukuna's mind to attention. It was then that he finally noticed Yuuji had effectively kidnapped little Touka and was giving her a tour of the house like she actually gave a shit.

“Hm?” He grunted, so eloquent.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, leaning into your partner more with a sigh. “Words, not grunts, Sukuna.”

He huffed. “You grunt at me all the damn time.”

“Not at our elders.”

“Tch.” Sukuna rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Whaddaya mean they've calmed me down, huh?”

Wasuke, for once, looked somewhat amused. “Your pup. Your mate. They've made you human.”

“Ha? You're actin’ like I was some four-armed, two-faced freak or some shit.”

“Some days you acted like it,” Wasuke scoffed. “Doesn't matter if you agree or not, I can see the change in you, kid–that wild thing inside of you is finally settling down.”

You hummed and looked up at him. “I've noticed, too. You're less pissy. More tolerant. Still annoying, but that's just a personality flaw.” Sukuna growled and nipped at you, but you faced him so very bravely and suffered no such nip.

“I'm glad for you, kid,” Wasuke interjected, breaking up the petty fight that was about to go down. The two of you looked back to the eldest. “You were a real pain in the ass, and you fucked up a lot along the way, but you made things work out. You should be proud.”

Sukuna would never be able to put his feelings, the utter rush he felt getting his grandfather's approval, into words.

“So where does this end, kid?” Wasuke asked.

“What?” He asked before he could properly think it through.

“This life. Your ‘profession.’ How long're you gonna keep that up, huh?”

Sukuna could feel you lean into him more, letting more body weight ease your shared worries about the life you shared and the professions you'd taken up. Both unpredictable. Both in the crosshairs of dangerous beasts.

“You think we'll end up six feet under like mom ‘n dad, that it?” Sukuna rasped. He looped an arm around your waist and squeezed you against his side in reassurance as Wasuke's expression grew gloomier.

“You're more like your mother than you know, kid. You don't–”

“‘Course I don't know,” Sukuna interrupted, firm but not vicious. “Mom was a fucking moron ‘n knocked up whoever the fuck she could to get an in into one of those big-name clans. No shit they'd get pissed off and kill the bitch.”

Wasuke scowled, but didn't argue. It was hard to when his daughter in-law was in the wrong, when she dug her own grave with every child sired before slipping and falling in on her own. A sad story. An incredibly stupid one, too.

“That won't happen,” you offered mildly. Sukuna looked down at you, suddenly feeling the urge to shoot another baby into you as you spoke up on your own. “I trust Sukuna as much as I trust myself; he's worked hard to create an untouchable empire, and I have the connections to supplement it.” You glanced up at him. “If it's not Sukuna, then it'll be someone else running Tokyo. I couldn't think of a better king.”

A beat of silence passed before Wasuke asked, “And you, kid?” You afraid?

Sukuna willed his mind out of R-rated territory to look at his grandfather. “You know me,” he started with a troublesome grin, “I can't stay away from what I want.”

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x male reader #sukuna x m!reader #sukuna x you #jjk x you #male reader insert #male reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

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spacerockfloater · 3 months

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Screaming. Crying. Throwing up. Shitting myself. Pissing all over the place.

Do you remember how we created communist-Aemond two years ago to mock the fans who believed that Rhaenyra is a feminist because she is a woman?

Well, look at this now. A king that feels uncomfortable that his lower class subjects have to pay tax. That’s a fucking first.

“Perhaps, we could just return his sheep, he came all this way! […] They won’t know!”

They convinced me that Aegon had the capacity to be a better ruler than Rhaenyra from three lines. Had his father spent any amount of time with him and given him attention, Aegon II would have not turned out the way he did.

#house of the dragon #pro team green #pro aegon ii targaryen #team green #anti rhaenyra targaryen #hotd #anti team black #pro alicent hightower #alicent hightower #anti viserys i targaryen

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sharedramblings · 1 month

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Let Me

Summary: You took care of one exhausted Larissa Weems.

—-—-

Larissa heavily slumped on the vanity chair after slipping in her night gown, her plaid dress and trench coat haphazardly strewn across the floor.

To say that she's utterly exhausted doesn't seem to give enough justice to how she's feeling. Her body is begging and screaming for sleep, for her to lie down and let her muscles finally relax, but she's yet to take care of her hair and make-up, leaving her frozen in place.

Her eyelids are heavy, and she's fighting a losing battle. Even the thought of freeing herself of the pins and cosmetics feels arduous in her state, much so actually doing it because lifting her limbs proves to be quite the impossible task.

Drowsy and weary, Larissa entertained the thought of sleeping without removing it all. Just this once, she reasons to herself. Or maybe she'll use her ability— rid herself of the make-up by shapeshifting. Something she had done only a handful of times, when the situation calls for it, much like this one.

The woman couldn't care less about her surroundings, going in and out of consciousness at this point so she hasn't really noticed that five minutes ago, you entered the room, wheeled her suitcase in the corner, and placed her discarded clothes in the laundry basket. You've watched her for a while, and Larissa hasn't moved even one bit in the chair.

You walk the five steps needed to get to her, gently tapping her shoulder repeatedly while you whisper to her softly, "Rissa, what are you still doing here? Go to bed, baby"

Larissa only managed to open her eyes a little, scanning her environment for a bit to get her bearings. Her voice came out hoarse in response, "Need to get make-up off"

That was her best attempt, and you can see her struggling to stay awake. You mumbled an okay in return, placing a kiss on her forehead before guiding her head to your chest, your lover pliant in your hands. You slowly locate the hairpins holding her hair in place, carefully taking them off and putting them on top of the vanity.

This was the first time in the duration of your relationship that Larissa could not complete nor start her night routine. The woman doesn't really tire easily, so you can only imagine how taxing the conference was.

When you're certain that you've got all the pins out, you did your best to brush her hair tenderly. You focus on her jewelry next, unclasping each piece and placing them on the table. Once that's done too, you massaged her scalp as a means to rouse her gently one more time. "Let's get you to bed, baby"

She let out a low moan of protest, still out of it while very much still remembering why she's seated and not in bed.

"I know, love. I'll take care of it, hm? Just lay in bed please."

Larissa didn't need any more convincing after that, letting you lead her towards the bed. You helped her lay down, lifting her legs and gently placing them on top of the mattress, squeezing once before letting go. You then maneuver her head in the pillows, making sure her face doesn't touch the cushion yet, tucking her hair neatly behind her ear.

Knowing that Larissa could move out of position anytime, you gathered the products you needed swiftly, setting them down in the nightstand before you took your seat beside her.

You wet a cotton pad with her make-up remover and started wiping her forehead, most of her foundation sticking to the pad. Delicately, your hand moves around her face, doing your best not to irritate her skin, particularly around her eye area.

The woman places great importance on her appearance, which includes keeping herself clean. You have no idea how she was planning to do just that when you saw her sitting in her vanity, because even in the ride home, she barely has any energy left.

Maybe she was planning to use her ability. Something she doesn't make a habit of when it comes to cleaning herself. You can remember how Larissa told you that despite feeling no trace of dirt or grime, it still bothered her to a point, leaving her unsatisfied and still itching to wash. Kind of a mind thing that she can't shake off.

After a bit of inspection, you went in with some wipes to remove any makeup residue that lingered before moving on with her cleanser. Gently, you go, admiring the few freckles that littered her cheeks and nose and the texture of her face, your eyes tracing her now bare eyebrows and naturally pink lips. Ever the pretty woman, you thought, even when she's exhausted.

Your fingers move lightly across her face as you finish with her toner and eye cream, caressing her cheeks in your palm. "Almost done, baby." You softly muttered in the air, letting Larissa know because she turned her head to the side once, probably to get more comfortable, and let out a short displeased sound when you prevented her from doing so.

Larissa is asleep, chest rising and falling in an even interval, but somehow, a teeny tiny part of her in the haze could still faintly pick up when you talk to her, and she briefly hummed to acknowledge what you said.

You proceeded with her chapstick, pulling her chin down slightly so her lips would open a bit, applying just the right amount as her breathe fans out on your hand. The strain in your neck and shoulders from your slouched position is starting to become unbearable, so you decide to quickly wrap it up with her moisturizer.

The feeling of your lips on her hairline pulled her from her sleep to a small degree, just enough to recognize the action and recall what's happening.

"All done?" She murmured weakly, her voice coming out husky.

"All done." You confirmed, and with great effort, the smallest appreciative closed-lip smile she could muster formed in her pink lips, and her sleep-ridden blue eyes, only a fraction open, looked at you lovingly.

"Thank you"

As you caress her jaw affectionately after fixing her blanket on top of her just the way she prefers— with one of her legs sticking out of the sheets— Larissa's last thought before getting truly knocked out was to thank you properly for being the best girlfriend and for taking care of her once morning comes.

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader

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spngi · 1 month

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My tears ricochet | mafia!carlos sainz jr x reader

Part 7

summary: Mr. and Mrs. Sainz lived in a dream for many years, now everything is falling apart and they need to deal with their feelings

warnings:Grammar mistakes, mentions of violence, Carlos is an idiot, mentions of cheating, sexual content, angst.

I watch the man lying on my bed, Carlos is in the same position as the night before, breathing high and I can smell the alcohol of perspiration infesting the room. I open the curtains and windows and let the sun enter along with the breeze to clean the smell of the room.

The man doesn’t move, still too drunk to wake up and I know that an infernal hangover awaits him.

“Wake up” I pinch the skin of his shoulder and he just murmurs leaving me with no patience. “The phone doesn’t stop ringing and if I have to solve any other problem with ports and tax I’ll throw the phone at you, carlos”

He just grunts, opens his eyes slowly and regrets it immediately.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, hoarse voice.

“Good morning” I approach him and extend the cup of coffee with the medicines for him.

“What’s going on?” I watch him scratch his eyes and face me, his eyes stopping when he sees the green nightgown I’m wearing.

It was good to provoke Carlos, even more after everything he told me yesterday, it was good to leave him desperate the same way he left me. The green piece was just a good detail to add to Carlos’ punishment.

“That idiot from the Port of Brussels does not stop calling, I have already solved the situation but it seems that he is too incompetent or just can’t stand to receive orders from a woman” I murmur to Carlos “me and Charles are solving this, but your accountant is also calling to talk about taxes, and we have to leave in a few hours for your cousin’s wedding preparations.”

“I can just...” he breathes, closes his eyes. It’s a lot of information for his head exploding and I could even laugh if I was in the mood. “Lay down for a while? Lie down with me, let’s forget all these calls”

This time I can’t help laughing, Carlos’ words funny enough for my state of mind. As if nothing had happened, as if that was his way of fixing things.

“Get up, Carlos! We still have to pack our bags” I murmur to him, leaving towards the closet.

“You look beautiful in green” his voice resonates groggy around the room.

“I know”

...

It’s strange to share the joy of creating a bond from a new family when mine was falling around. Although I still didn’t know exactly what to do, and the presence of carlos behind me wherever I went like a shadow left me stunned, the word divorce kept returning to my mind.

Maybe it was time for me to give up after all.

The excitement of being with the sainz family, the effort I had in buying the best wedding gift that this couple could receive, the joy in the eyes of the bride for knowing that she would soon carry the surname sainz as well. None of this was able to cheer me up, and I felt like an intruder taking off the luck of the couple.

I had once read in a Lima Barreto book the following phrase “we did not understand each other, their joys were not mine, my pains were not even perceived” and I never felt so represented.

Carlos seems to want to surround me, fill me with his attention, with his affection but that only makes me more uncomfortable, because I know that morning he didn’t choose me when he received that phone call, didn’t even think of me twice or doubted that I had done that. I think I could only really get over it by hearing him apologize, real apologies as an adult man and not that drunk show he gave the other night.

The shared hotel room becomes small enough for me, suffocating with the presence of Carlos. And the game of teasing each other ends up becoming a fierce trap.

I regret having started this game the moment I realized that I couldn’t get away from Carlos here, miles away from our house sharing a normal size hotel room. So every time I showed up before getting dressed or just in a towel after the shower I needed to hear him begging so that he could have me or just touch me, and for most of the nights I need to sleep frustrated with all the words and promises that I don’t let Carlos fulfill.

It is on the night of the rehearsal dinner, the day before the morning of the wedding that I let myself be defeated, maybe if I just let things flow I would feel better, I would remember what it was like to have a happy marriage and Carlos has always provided infinite amounts of pleasure.

I wait for Carlos to get out of the shower, sitting on the end of the bed, watching the TV passing an old movie, waiting and hoping that Carlos will continue begging tonight and don’t leave me a desperate mess today.

When he finally appears in only sweatshirt pajama pants and watches me, sitting, wearing only the old Real Madrid t-shirt of Carlos that became my pajamas a long time ago.

“You’re beautiful, I don’t get tired of saying that” he speaks, hoarse voice and body leaning on the door stop. “Please, cariño! Please let me show you how much I appreciate you, that I love you”

His voice comes out desperate and when he calls me cariño I can’t avoid the chill crossing my body. He realizes and takes the opportunity to get closer to me.

“Please” he whispers, kneels in front of me, brown eyes never breaking the contact, his hand is content to hold my ankle and kiss the area there. “Let me just be with you again, prove you, please I’m begging”

“Why did you do this to us?” I ask him, the same foot he holds I use to move his body away from mine.

“Because I couldn’t see you grow up and be like me,” he admits, “And I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, I know that words will never fix this but I want you to know that I will do everything for us”

I loosen the strength of my leg against him and let him get closer.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks.

“Don’t make me regret it” I murmur to him who doesn’t waste time, the big hands pull me by the waist and the mouth joins in mine. He is desperate and anxious after so much time away and provocation.

Carlos’ hands explore the sensitive skin under the t-shirt, the light touch of his fingers making me more anxious for him, pulling the black curls of his soft hair in the form of retribution. He takes the T-shirt off my body in a single movement when he separates the kiss, his hot mouth going down kisses around my neck, lap and letting himself play with my nipples, his teeth rubbing on the sensitive skin, he is still kneeling between my body, his hands holding my waist keeping me still with his grip, delivered to him.

“Carlos” I call his name, lust flowing from my voice.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ll take care of you” he murmurs, his mouth slipping through my body, one of his fingers caressing the already wet fabric of my panties and I hear him moan along with me when he realize that I’m already like this at his slightest touch.

I kiss him again, my hands firm on Carlos’ back probably leaving nail marks, he bites my lip and I moan, my panties going to the ground in a quick gesture coming from him, his right hand playing with the proximity of where I want him the most.

He separates the kiss, arrogant smile on his face before bending down to where I need him the most, leaving small kisses on the sensitive skin of my thigh and getting even closer, and when he arrives in my pussy I let myself lay my body on the bed, my breathing already heavy with the slightest touch. Carlos’ mouth explores my intimacy, my feet resting on his shoulders, one of his hands squeezing my chest while the other focused on provoking my entrance with his fingers, his tongue leaving me a mess crying out for him and after all this time I didn’t know if I was still prepared for all the pleasure that carlos could provide.

He devours me like a hungry man, making me squirm in the hotel bed, my hand trying to cover my mouth to stifle the unnecessary amount of moans coming out of it. Although Carlos had a provocative nature, today he had no patience for this, he wanted to catch up on lost time, leaving my high getting bigger and bigger, and the closer I get the more I move.

“I need you to stand still, mi reina” he murmurs, his head tilted up slightly, his mouth swollen, his thumb making slow and torturous circles on my clitoris. And all this vision makes me moan even more his name, he laughs and uses both hands to hold me against the bed, the strong squeeze in my ass. He continues his exploited, knowing that I wouldn’t last much longer that way, the way I pull more and more of his curls leaving him alert of how close I am.

He continues with slower movements even after realizing that I finally came, my head is in an eternal wheezing due to the pleasure I felt and when I open my eyes I slowly observe Carlos, now standing on the end of the bed watching the work he did, he licks his lip and then his fingers and only this action makes me squirm in bed.

“God how I missed you” he murmurs still standing.

“It was you who put yourself in this position” admirably I still have the strength to answer.

“I know, and I regret it every day” he puts one of his knees on the bed and leans over to my body, his hand caresses my disheveled hair “I will never be able to be grateful enough that you insisted on me”

I know that his words are true, I see in the back of his eyes the emotion this time, it is exciting at least to know that he is opening up to me again, to know that I can read his eyes as before and not the icy astonishment he stared at me in recent months. But, again, the memory of knowing that I didn’t put myself in this situation, that I wasn’t my husband’s first choice makes me nauseous. Then I pull him again for a kiss, more delicate this time, without all urgency and hurry, just showing each other’s devotion.

Not even after the four hallucinating orgasms and the most intense fuck I’ve ever had in one night, and after sleeping like a little angel, full of endorphins and in Carlos’ warm arms I wouldn’t be prepared for what would come next. Even after the morning sex, intimate and slow, full of caresses and whispers, declarations of love spread everywhere. I still wasn’t prepared for the weeding day.

I didn’t know I wasn’t prepared for the wedding ceremony, I didn’t know I would feel terrible at every step.

When I joined the bride for the preparations, and I looked at her, wondering if maybe the future that awaited her would be like mine, I wonder if I forgot some tradition during the wedding for it to have lasted so little, Carlos had never seen the wedding dress I wore, I wore a veil, I had a wreath on my head, I had my new piece, an old one borrowed and I had the blue too, I did all the right things and I still envy the innocence of the future Mrs. Saiz in front of me.

I laugh when they comment on how lucky I am, and how the men of the sainz family have the motto of being gentlemen and romantic and I imagine that mine certainly came with a factory problem.

The worst part is the ceremony, and my tears that I can no longer hold mix with those of the other guests who cry with emotion. I watch Carlos on the other side of the altar, next to the other godparents of the wedding, he smiles at me. He doesn’t understand the real reason I’m crying, his eyes seem nostalgic and maybe he’s remembering the day we got married, how he cried when he saw me at the altar, how my dress made me absolutely angelic as he repeated so many times on that special day, how we couldn’t help but smile with the realization that we were finally married.

My heart breaks with every word prophesied by the priest, with every vow I hear the bride and groom speak, with every good memory I had and was destroyed.

“I carlos oñoro sainz, receive you, Maria, as my legitimate wife. I promise to be faithful, love you and respect you. In joy and sadness, in health and disease, in wealth and poverty, for all the days of our lives. So receives this alliance as a sign of my love and my fidelity” the groom recites the vows, the most sacred laws of a marriage and I can only think of how they were all broken.

In how there was no fidelity, support and unity, in how Carlos and I managed to ruin everything, to break something so sacred.

I feel suffocated in the pink dress that matches that of the other bridesmaids, I clean the controlled tears that run down my face before I become a mess.

And it didn’t matter the way Carlos held my hand during the reception, or how he danced romantic songs with me and made slow and passionate love to me at the end of the night, I was already decided when I left that church.

I just didn’t imagine that it would be at a wedding that I would decide to end mine.

We are coming to an end 😭

I don’t know you were waiting for this or what your bets for how things will end but let me know, I love receiving your opinions and I can’t post nos because it may contain spoiler lol 😂

Thank you all ❤️❤️❤️

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #cs55 #cs55 x reader #angst #carlos sainz au #f1 fic #máfia!carlos sainz #mob!carlos sainz #mafia!f1

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venus-haze · 4 months

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Power in the Blood (Father Paul Hill x Nun!Reader)

Summary: There’s power in the blood. Father Paul knows this. Soon, you will, too.

Note: Female reader who's only referred to as "Sister," but no other descriptors are used. Also, the newspaper clipping isn't on the wall in this, for obvious reasons. I’ve been working on this fic in one way or another for about a year, but watching The Devils (1971) and Immaculate (2024) earlier this year as well as encouragement from my amazing friend @zaras-really-dreamless finally gave me the push I needed to finish it. Major visual inspiration from this scene in particular. Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: Major canon divergence. Angst, yearning, and unrequited feelings. Elements of Catholic mysticism. Sexually explicit content which involves dubious consent by way of religious manipulation, members of the clergy engaging in sexual acts, oral sex (f. receiving, but it's related to the stigmata and vampirism), blood play.

In retrospect, Crockett Island was the only place it could have happened. Desolation hung over the remote fishing village like fog in the early mornings, when you’d take your walks before the Monsignor awoke, and you heard the woes of the fishermen as they prepared to sail out for the day—oil spills, restrictive fishing laws, better paying jobs on the mainland but leaving everything they knew behind in exchange. Despite coming from the mainland yourself and otherwise alien to the ways of the dying village, your being a woman of the cloth on the largely Catholic (though predominantly non-practicing) island made the islanders trust you, consider you one of their own a bit more than they otherwise would have as you took on the burden of buoying their spirituality as the Monsignor’s health continued failing, and he could no longer fulfill the task himself.

You’d begged the diocese for help, hardly considered yourself equipped to care for the ailing priest and run a parish, however small, essentially on your own. But for a parish as small as St. Patrick’s, you were all the help the diocese would care to send. The letter you received in response to your detailing all of the things Crockett Island’s parishioners desperately needed boiled down to “wait until the old man kicks it.”

You supposed it was a miracle the diocese even sent you there in the first place. Though most of the islanders took the arrival of a young nun like yourself as a breath of fresh air, Beverly Keane didn’t seem all too pleased to have her self-appointed position as number two at St. Patrick’s knocked down to number three. She seemed to settle down when it became clear you had no interest in engaging in petty politics in a church that barely counted three dozen people for regular Sunday mass attendance.

The island’s social life, small as it was, interested you more. People were more open to receiving you as a friend than as a representative of the church, undoubtedly put off by Beverly Keane’s self-righteous fanaticism that veered into cruelty. You got to know the regular parishioners, like Erin Greene, who’d grown up on the island, left for some time, and returned pregnant yet eager to become a mother to her unborn baby. She taught at the island’s small school with Beverly, who encouraged you to take up teaching there, obviously hoping to bring a religious curriculum to the tax-payer funded public school. You declined.

Besides Erin, and to your chagrin Beverly, who was convinced the two of you were compatriots of some kind despite how often you clashed, you found yourself spending increasing amounts of time with Sheriff Hassan. Despite dutifully filling an essential role in the community, he hardly seemed any closer to gaining acceptance despite a year on Crockett Island.

The day he and Ali moved onto the island, you had a cold, and thus weren’t part of the unofficial welcoming committee. Your head pounded from the sinus pressure when Beverly brought the Monsignor back to the rectory afterward, and you barely heard what she said. You met Sheriff Hassan a few days later, when you were feeling well enough to shop for yourself and the Monsignor for the week. Among your expectations about Hassan Shabazz, his being handsome enough to make your breath hitch for just a moment before introducing yourself wasn’t on the list. But he was understandably weary of you, expecting the same horrendous treatment he undoubtedly received from Beverly.

Over time, he found you were only interested in buying groceries and not in underhandedly converting him or Ali. You were both lonely outsiders to the island and found some solace in regular conversations about the mainland, or observations about the islanders, occasionally broaching the topic of religion, which had a comfortable place in the space you two shared in the general store, sometimes over a cup of coffee he’d brew for you.

You admired him. His dedication to his son, the efficacy with which he performed his thankless job, and the unwavering faith he had in his religion, while yours had long lost its luster since you’d become Monsignor Pruitt’s live-in nurse in all but name.

But the days became your own when the Monsignor made his trip to the Holy Land, ill-advised considering his health. When you voiced your concerns to the parish, your outsider status was paraded through the discussion by Beverly, who insisted you had no way to understand how much the trip meant to the Monsignor, and by extension, every good, practicing Catholic on the island. At the time, to your frustration, she had won.

Besides, even if he were there, you weren’t sure a man on death’s door himself would have been able to give Mildred Gunning Last Rites. Torrential rain pounded against the rectory when you could barely hear the phone ring.

You had picked up with a hesitant, “Hello?”

“Sister, it’s—it’s my mom. I think she’s—”

“Sarah, do you want me to come over and see her?”

“Yeah, she’d want that. Just be careful with the rain.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

Grabbing a flashlight, you had only half pulled on your raincoat when you hurried outside, in a near sprint to the Gunning house. You almost slipped and fell on the way there, and then you wouldn’t have been any good to anybody, and the last thing Dr. Sarah Gunning needed was to tend to a broken leg while her mother was on her deathbed.

The door was unlocked when you arrived, the house quiet and dark save for a few lamps left on.

“Sarah?” you called out.

She emerged from her mother’s room, eyes red. “I thought I was ready for this a long time ago, but being face-to-face with it…”

“Are you sure this is it?”

“As sure as I can be. She hasn’t been eating. There’s only so much I can do,” Sarah said, her voice breaking in despair. “Sister, I—she’d want you to be here. Even though she didn’t know you very much, I could tell she liked you.”

“Of course,” you whispered, giving her a hug before approaching Mildred’s bedside.

Despite her labored breathing, she managed a kind smile when you took her weathered hand in yours and prayed the Our Father with as steady of a voice as you could manage. Then, you knelt, pulled the rosary from your raincoat pocket, and prayed until your knees ached and you nearly passed out from exhaustion at staying up so late. You almost thought you had dreamed it, the way she went, as peacefully as drifting off to sleep. It was only the cry of her daughter that pierced through your haze, and you struggled to your feet as you allowed Sarah privacy and called Sheriff Hassan over to certify the death, as was necessary for the burial Mildred would have undoubtedly wanted as a Catholic.

When the Sheriff arrived, about fifteen minutes after you called, you’d become acutely aware your nightgown had soaked through in the rain, and pulled your raincoat more closely over your body, ashamed you’d even forgotten such a detail in your haste.

“I should head back now,” you said. “I’m so sorry again, Sarah. You’ll be in my prayers. I’ll contact the diocese first thing in the morning."

She nodded. "Thank you, Sister."

“Do you need a ride back to the church?” Hassan asked. “This shouldn’t take long.”

You smiled, tempted by his offer, the prospect of spending more time alone with him. Instead, you shook your head. “Thank you, Sheriff. I think I can manage.”

Crockett Island was quiet the following day, when Annie’s son Riley arrived home for the first time in over a decade, following his four year prison sentence. You could tell through his polite greeting he had no interest in speaking with you further than his mother’s introductions. Fair enough.

Monsignor Pruitt was supposed to return that evening, but you had been calling the diocese to try to get confirmation that they could send a priest over to perform the funeral mass if needed. As usual, you got answering machines or the run around of being told to call different offices, none of which could apparently help you.

When you returned to the rectory after visiting with Sarah Gunning, you noticed the light on in the distance. Beverly had planned to meet the Monsignor at the ferry and bring him home. In all honesty, you couldn’t believe he survived the trip, both there and back.

“Monsignor, it’s me!” you called out. “How was your trip? I’d love to hear about—” You froze when you came face to face with a priest. A priest who wasn’t the Monsignor. Younger, handsome, absolutely unexpected. “Hello. I–I’m sorry, who are you? Father—”

“I’m Father Paul, Paul Hill,” he said kindly. “The diocese sent me.”

“That was quick. I thought they’d been ignoring my messages.”

“Yes, I’m afraid the Monsignor became ill on his trip, and I’m here until he recovers. I hope you don’t mind, I went ahead and brought my things into what I assumed was his room.”

“Please, make yourself at home.” You hastily made a sign of the cross. “But the Monsignor…I don’t think the islanders could take another loss. I’m so sorry, you come here and your first mass is a funeral.”

“Funeral? For who?”

“Mildred Gunning, an elderly parishioner who had been ill with dementia for a few years, I believe. She passed away two nights ago,” you said. “That’s why I’ve been calling the diocese all day. We need someone to perform the funeral mass.”

His deep, brown eyes widened with all the terror of a deer being chased through the woods. “Are–are you sure?”

“Of course I am. I was there when she passed.”

“Did she suffer?”

“No, it was like she had fallen asleep,” you said softly, watching in wonder as tears fell from his eyes. “Father?”

“I’m sorry, Sister. These things affect me deeply.”

You put your hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Can I make you coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, please,” he said, his voice empty, an almost far away sound to it.

“While that’s brewing, I’ll call Dr. Gunning, Mildred’s daughter, and let her know you’re here. I don’t think she’d want any deviation from the typical funeral rites. Her mother was quite devout.”

“Yes, I know.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What was that?”

“Yes, I–I figured.”

He retreated into the Monsignor’s room. When you brought the coffee to him, he requested you leave it outside the door, which you found odd. Even more strange was having to tell Beverly that she missed the Monsignor’s arrival because he wasn’t arriving in the first place, and the diocese forgot to tell you that he’d become ill on his trip and Father Paul was serving as his replacement until he recovered. You privately figured the assignment would be more permanent, as yours had unexpectedly become.

Mildred Gunning’s funeral was held in St. Patrick’s Church less than a day later. A simple, solemn affair that saw the church nearly packed for the first time outside of Christmas or Easter. Mildred had lived and died on Crockett Island, everyone knew her in one way or another. Father Paul conducted the funeral mass as if mourning the Pope himself, and you were particularly struck by his grief, the way he nearly fell apart while giving the homily.

He fared no better at the wake that followed the funeral mass, held in the community center. Father Paul was utterly disinterested in speaking with any of the parishioners who tried to introduce themselves to him or sought solace and spiritual guidance in his presence. Thus, the burden once again fell on your shoulders, and you almost thought the diocese would have been better off ignoring your calls after all.

You sighed. You couldn’t let your cynicism get the best of you. It’d be entirely inappropriate for Father Paul to treat Mildred’s wake as a social hour. Besides, people with such deep empathy for others, especially someone they’d never met, were rare, as reminded to you by Beverly, who made her way over to you with a plate of cheese and crackers and a slight sneer on her face.

“I suppose it’s nice and all, but it’s not like he knew the woman,” Beverly muttered.

“He needs time to adjust,” you said. “This isn’t the best way to start out his tenure here.”

“Yes, well, let’s just hope he gets his act together soon.”

You could swear the diocese had you on some kind of blacklist, the way your calls to them went unanswered, letters returned with vague instructions and empty assurances. Father Paul had no idea how long they intended for him to stay on Crockett Island or the condition of Monsignor Pruitt.

Your living in the rectory made sense when you were caring for the Monsignor, but with Father Paul fully capable of taking care of himself, you wanted to know if you’d be staying on the island, and if so, if separate arrangements would be made for your own housing. The island was too small, too chatty, for you and Father Paul to be living alone for too long before it was turned into something it wasn’t.

The bitter taste of married life settled on your tongue as you took up most of the responsibilities around the rectory while Father Paul moped . The old man could hardly help with cleaning, and you didn’t want him anywhere near the kitchen, but your new roommate was an able-bodied man who could spare to pick up some slack, couldn’t he?

“I made dinner, if you’re hungry,” you said, emerging from the kitchen and into the living room where he sat on the couch. “Just spaghetti and meatballs. The jar sauce from the store isn’t too bad. I usually add—”

“Red wine and oregano to it. I know.”

“Oh,” you said, taken aback by his statement. “I guess Bev told you. Not much of a secret recipe.”

“You’re pretty young for a nun,” he said, turning to you. “What made you want to give up a normal life for this?”

“It’s my vocation. For as long as I can remember, I knew this was what God called me to do. I never wanted another life.” You sat down next to him, sparing a glance around the room. “This is it for me.”

“Crockett Island?”

You conceded a small smile. “I was hoping for somewhere a little more exciting, but I think there’s a chance for something amazing to happen here.”

He shook his head. “That time’s long passed. Look around you, Sister. People are leaving in droves, and the ones who’ve stayed…it’s just too late.”

“Please, Father, I know this island may seem like it’s dying, and presiding over a funeral as your first mass here doesn’t help that, but the people still need guidance,” you pleaded, taking his hands in yours. You couldn’t contend with the diocese sending you to rot with the rest of the island. It couldn’t be for nothing. “The Monsignor is no longer well enough to fill that need, and I couldn’t do it on my own, but together, I think we can do something great if we try. This might be the island’s last chance to have life breathed into it again.”

“Sister—”

“I agree that Crockett Island is hardly a place anymore, but it’s somewhere to start, isn’t it? We couldn’t have been sent here without a reason.”

He swallowed roughly, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You’re right, Sister. I—Thank you.”

You smiled, relief washing over you at his words, at his assurance you wouldn't have to bring revival to Crockett Island on your own.

Following your conversation with Father Paul, his attitude completely shifted. He was friendlier with the parishioners, taking extra time to spend with Leeza, offering to hold Riley’s AA meetings in the community center to save him a trip to the mainland, and, inexplicably, he liked Beverly, who’d changed her mind about Father Paul since the wake and warmed up to him. The only time he wavered was when he visited with Sarah Gunning, still grieving the loss of her mother and considering moving her practice off of the island.

He’d return to the rectory on those evenings quiet, morose, seeking the comfort you selflessly offered him. A warm embrace in which he’d bury his face in the crook of your neck. A hand to hold and squeeze in his own, intertwining his fingers with yours. Teetering on the brink of an intimacy you’d made vows against, you weren’t quite sure how to bring it up to him, not when he needed you, and you, him, to fill the hunger in your heart for a man you knew you could never have.

You allowed the beast to live in you. Fed it. Nurtured it. Cared for it. Guarded it with a shameful protectiveness, shielding it from your regular confessions with Father Paul, in which uttering its name would make it real, and thus ripped away from you and destroyed.

Ash Wednesday and the first week of Lent were resigned to a haze in your memory, hardly able to think of the beginning of the holiest time of the liturgical year without feeling sick. Not after the potluck. You were sure it had been Beverly, Sheriff Hassan was, too. You knew she was cruel, but to harm an animal, something so innocent…You couldn’t stand to be in her presence for long after that, and silently resented Father Paul for keeping her so close. But you supposed everyone had their vices.

Yours came to a head in a dream, one that felt all too real, that you could hardly remember when you awoke apart from burning hands on your skin, lips pressed to yours, you and Sheriff Hassan in throes of passion. You laid in bed with a lump in your throat and aching between your legs. You hadn’t experienced a dream like that in…you couldn’t even remember.

The entire time you sat through mass, you thought you were going to be sick. You couldn’t concentrate on the readings or the homily. Taking the Eucharist felt wrong, and your hand shook when you brought the communion wafer to your lips when Father Paul handed it to you. Finally, when mass ended, and you were sure the church was empty, you approached him with trepidation.

“Father, I have something I need to confess.”

“Would you like to go to the confessional?”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to hide behind it. I need to be transparent and held accountable.”

He nodded. The two of you sat in a pew, facing each other as you crossed yourselves.

“How long has it been since your last confession?”

“Three days,” you answered.

“What is it, Sister?”

“I’ve been having lustful thoughts, Father, about someone incredibly close to me, who I care deeply for. Instead of asking the Lord to take these feelings from me, I’ve been indulging in them, and last night I—I had a dream about him. A sexual one that I experienced physical pleasure from.” You were in tears, guilt wracking your body as you spoke. “I’m so ashamed. I should have been stronger. I’ve been sinning against God, exploiting this man in my heart when he’s done nothing to deserve such disrespect. Sheriff Hassan is—”

“Sheriff Hassan?” Father Paul’s gaze darkened ever so slightly, and you leapt to the sheriff’s defense in his absence.

“He didn’t do anything, Father. Nothing more than friendly smiles and kind words, never anything inappropriate. It was me, letting my lustful thoughts ferment instead of nipping them in the bud right away. He committed no sin. It was me.” Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

“Why him?”

You were silent for a moment. “He’s a good man.” Better than most you’d come across. Kind, selfless, just—the virtues that were few and far between among the men of the cloth you had met. Above all else, even when it was difficult, Hassan Shabazz was good. “I love him.”

“You don’t love him, Sister. Lust after him, yes, but you don’t know him, not enough to love him the way you think you do.”

With a shaky, reluctant sigh, you nodded. “Will you help me, Father?”

He took your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Of course, it’s the least I can do after you helped me through the trial God set out for me when I first arrived here.”

“Thank you.”

“We’ll get through this together, Sister. Let us pray.”

The following Sunday, you tried to match the enthusiasm he had for ten o’clock mass that morning. You had gotten used to it by then, the way he always seemed to know something you didn’t or was aware of details about the islanders you weren’t keen to even after living there for two years. He was easy to trust, you supposed.

Sitting in the wooden pew, you focused on following along with mass until the homily following the reading from the Gospel. Father Paul’s homilies were always a bit odd, cryptic, even. You assumed his faith was influenced by mysticism, and sought out books by the likes of St. John of the Cross and St. Francis in an attempt to better understand him. The way he spoke that day unsettled you, a fantastical fanaticism that felt out of place on Crockett Island.

Then, when it was time to receive the Eucharist, there was a solid minute where you were sure you had never hated anyone more in your entire life than you hated him. Telling Leeza Scaroborough to walk, goading the poor girl to step out of her wheelchair in an act of cruelty you couldn’t abide by. You got up from the pew, en route to smack him across the face when she did it. Leeza stood up from her wheelchair, and with tentative steps forward and tears of disbelief and hope in her eyes, she walked up to Father Paul and received the Eucharist.

Everything that followed was a blur, but you knew you were one of the few in attendance who hadn’t broken out into frenzied celebration. Something just wasn’t right. You found yourself hesitant to make eye contact with him when you took communion, and remained quiet even as mass ended, the cacophony of elated voices almost background noise to you.

“I’m sorry, everyone, but I need to speak to our dear Sister in confidence. I’m sure you all understand,” he said, murmurs of affirmation from the congregants who had crowded around him, except for Bev, who had a puss on her face at being excluded.

Father Paul ushered you into the sacristy, closing the door behind you.

“Is something wrong, Sister?” he asked.

“How can anything be wrong? Leeza Scarborough can walk again.”

“Yes, a miracle occurred in this very parish, right before our eyes, yet you seem…hesitant.”

You chewed on your lip before murmuring, “Seeing isn’t always believing.”

“You were the one who told me this island needed life brought back to it, who said we could achieve great things together. Now I’ve done that, by the grace of God Himself, and you have cold feet?”

“It’s not that.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“You know I do,” you said, trying to ignore the lump in your throat. “Maybe my faith is still weak—I’m still weak. I’m sorry, Father.”

“You’re not weak, Sister.”

“I think I’m going to get some air,” you said.

He nodded, distressed by your continued lack of enthusiasm. “Alright.”

Leaving St. Patrick’s through the side door in the sacristy, you tried to muster up the joy and faith you were supposed to feel, but found yourself coming up disappointingly empty. You had seen it with your very own eyes, and had been standing right there when Leeza walked for the first time in years. It couldn’t have been a trick, not orchestrated or premeditated, not by her. But Father Paul seemed so certain. Was his faith that much stronger than yours? Strong enough that he could be a true miracle worker, a vessel of God Himself on Crockett Island of all places?

Even the more skeptical congregants present, like Erin and Riley, had bared witness to it. Could attest to what had happened just as everyone else had, as you could. As a nun, you were undoubtedly expected to believe, be among the most fervent of Father Paul’s advocates. Beverly wasted no time in declaring the act a miracle worthy of the Vatican’s attention. Your faith still wavered despite what should have been undeniable proof.

You’d lost track of how long you’d been walking around the island, but the sun was beginning to set and you realized you were tired and hungry. The general store wasn’t much farther of a walk from where you ended up while mindlessly wandering, and so you made the trek into town, telling yourself you were getting a few groceries for yourself and Father Paul. Really, the only person you knew you could speak to without judgment would be in there.

When you entered, Hassan greeted you with an emotional distance you expected. He probably figured you’d be among the dozens of people eager to relay Leeza’s miracle to him, underhandedly attempting to invalidate his own faith.

Grabbing a jar of sauce and a box of pasta, you brought them up to the counter. Your mouth was dry while he rang up the groceries, but you couldn’t help asking, “Have–um–have you seen Leeza recently?”

He nodded, his lips pressed in a thin line. “Walked right in here and bought a Twinkie earlier.”

“Amazing, how it happened.”

“I know about what happened to Leeza. I don’t believe what happened to Leeza.”

“Neither do I.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

“It doesn’t sit right with me,” you said. “It felt more like a show was being put on than a miracle. I don’t think she had anything to do with what happened, but he had to have done something. He was so sure she would walk, and I just felt angry, betrayed that he’d make a spectacle in mass. In all honesty, Sheriff, my faith has been wavering for a while, but this didn’t make it any stronger.”

“It makes me feel a little more sane to hear you say that.”

“Well, if anyone can get to the bottom of this, I’m sure it’s you.” You smiled, taking the bags of groceries from the counter. “Have a good night, Sheriff.”

“You too, Sister.”

Walking back to the rectory, you wondered if anything would be able to make you change your mind about actually bearing witness to a miracle.

Father Paul hugged you as soon as you walked through the door. “I was about to send out a search party for you.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you, Father. I just needed time to think.”

He looked at the grocery bag in your hand. “And to see the Sheriff.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Sister, something incredible is happening here. I need to know you’re on my side,” he said, his urgency striking you like lightning.

“I am. I want to be. Please just be patient with me. This is—it’s a lot to process.”

“I can’t do this without you,” he said softly, caressing your cheek. “I need you.” His gaze fell to your lips.

“I should start on dinner,” you whispered, pulling away from him.

“Let me, you cook enough for me already,” he said, taking the bag from you. He pulled out the jar of sauce. “Red wine and oregano, right?”

You nodded. “That’s right.”

“Make yourself comfortable out here. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

The following half hour or so was unbearably tense, and you could hardly focus on the book sitting in your lap, The Dialogue of Divine Providence, while he cooked. The two of you ate in near silence, and you retired to your room early, falling asleep almost as soon as you changed into your nightgown and crawled into bed.

Burning pain seared your limbs when you awoke in the middle of the night, the pungent scent of iron assaulting your nose, and for a moment, you thought you were dying. You reached over to the lamp on your nightstand, your arm heavy as you moved it. With trepidation, you pulled the cord, a phantom sensation in your hand as you did so.

Soft, white light from the bulb illuminated your beside. Lifting your hands to your face, you let out a panicked whimper at the gaping wounds in your palms, gently bleeding crimson and flowing down your arms to your nightgown. The fabric around your torso was blotched with blood, each tinge of pink becoming red with every ragged breath you took. You tried kicking at the covers, but found it excruciatingly difficult, and to your horror, discovered identical wounds to the ones in your hands through both of your feet.

Your hands shook as you screwed your eyes shut, telling yourself it was a dream, and that when you opened your eyes, the blood would be gone, the wounds healed. Except the pain was all too real, pulsing in your wounds, tears stinging your eyes as you choked out a sob. Your simple bedroom, with little more than a bookshelf, desk, chair, and crucifix on the wall, threatened to suffocate you as your panic set in.

A groan pulled from your lips as you pushed yourself out of bed, your legs nearly giving out beneath you. The strange sensation of your bare feet on the wooden floorboards made you feel dizzy, or maybe it was blood loss. Each step forward was more agonizing than the last, but you needed help. You needed someone else to see you, a witness to what was happening.

“Father Paul!” you cried out from the doorway, your voice hoarse and low, barely carrying across the hallway. “Father, wake up!” Mustering what strength you could, you threw yourself against his bedroom door, your closed, bleeding fist erratically banging against it. “Father, please!”

“Sister, what’s going—”

As soon as he opened the door, you collapsed into his arms, sending him stumbling backward with the sudden burden of your body on his. He looked at you, gaping at the blood that covered you—and him.

“Father?”

“I should call Dr. Gunning.”

You shook your head frantically. “Don’t! Not yet.”

“What happened?”

“I woke up, and I was like this.” Your bleeding hands clenched around the hem of your nightgown, keeping it at your thighs. “I’m too afraid to look.”

“May I?” he asked, his own hands shaking as his fingers brushed the blood-drenched fabric.

Staring at him for a moment, reckoning with the further vulnerability you were about to display to him, you breathed a soft, “Yes.”

He pulled your nightgown up, the fabric sticking to your skin from the congealed blood. You stared at the ceiling as he lifted the garment over your head, too embarrassed and mortified to acknowledge your body bare before him. His fingertips brushed your torso, and you moaned. In your horror, you looked down to see deep, fresh wounds on your sides.

“Oh my God.”

“Do you know what this is, Sister?”

Tears blurred your vision as you shook your head. “It can’t be stigmata. I’m not pure enough, not devout enough. He’d never—”

“Of course He would. He saw you needed faith, a reminder of His love for you, and look at you now,” Father Paul said with hushed fervor as he took in the state of you. “You’re beautiful.” He kissed your forehead, then pressed his lips to each of your weeping palms, and then your feet.

Desire twisted in your gut at the sight of him beneath you. He kissed your feet again, a terrifying hunger in his gaze as he brought his lips higher up your legs, his hands brushing your skin with a reverence you felt unworthy of receiving.

You watched as he dipped his fingers into one of your side wounds and then brought the digits to his mouth, tasting your blood from them. With a ragged breath, he brought his face to your torso. His tongue plunged in the valley of your wound, lapping up the blood that gently flowed from it. A moan tore from your throat, pleasure rolling across your skin as if you truly were a vessel for the divine. Surely it was the same sensation that inspired St. Teresa of Avila’s eroticism, a mystical ecstasy that saw her driven out of villages and cloister herself in search of the purest, incorporeal love.

Except before you knelt a man of God whom you could reach out and touch, eagerly devouring your flesh as if able to find salvation in your blood. His teeth grazed your skin, eliciting a shudder that echoed through you like a worn-out hymn. Words failed you, the pleasure you received from his ravenous consumption of you overtaking the pain from your wounds.

Holding his head against your side wound, you wanted more, the feeling of him indulging in you. Taste and eat. Everything you felt and saw was in shades of violently blossoming red, deeper and deeper with each curl of his tongue and brush of his fingertips, his unadulterated worship, his veneration for you, serving as the flowing cup of God’s grace and mercy.

Rapturous bliss hummed through you like an ecstatic prayer, pulsing in your wounds on your hands, feet, and sides. You felt like he was part of you, a mystical union between yourself and him.

But just as high as he’d taken you, you quickly came down. The gravity of the situation, of what he’d done, what you’d let him do, weighed on your conscience more heavily than any illicit feeling you’d ever harbored toward Sheriff Hassan.

Father Paul took your face in his hands, eyes glistening with a joyous faith you no longer envied. “Your own miracle, Sister. Do you see it now?”

“You did this to me?” you asked in distressed horror. “You—Who are you?”

“Not me, Sister,” he said. “Here, let me show you. You’ll understand everything. I think you’re ready.”

He held out his hand, and despite everything in you screaming otherwise, you took it.

#father paul x reader #father paul hill x reader #father paul hill #monsignor pruitt #midnight mass #midnight mass fanfiction #midnight mass fanfic #slasher x reader #<- for my own blog organization

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mashup-writing · 3 months

Text

A Borrowed Coat & A Security Marker; Donna Beneviento (Resident Lover)

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Requested? ❌

"This scene feels like what I once saw on a screen."

Summary: Donna lends you her coat as a makeshift blanket for whenever you fall asleep. You've joked about making a trade-off somehow and she's always brushed you off with a small smile. Today's a particularly unlucky day for your Toxicology and Botany Professor, it just might be the day in which she finally agrees to a trade-off with you.

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff

Resident Lover Masterlist

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"It should be criminal to have classes this early." You think to yourself while your whole body on autopilot sleepily shuffles through the empty hallways of your campus on the way to your first class of the week.

The only saving grace in this is that the classroom is usually just the right temperature to lull you back to sleep, and your classmates always make sure to wake you before Professor Beneviento starts her lectures.

You push the door open and make your way over to your seat before placing your things down and immediately laying your head on the table with your arms as a pillow. Sparing a quick glace through the windows, you see that the sun isn't even close to rising yet.

"Time to grab some shuteye."

A thump followed by a whispered curse wakes you from your slumber. The first thing that registers in your mind is that you're warm and that there's a comfortable weight on your shoulders. Taking a moment to get your bearings in order, you lift your head and stretch your arms before opening your eyes.

"Buongiorno, tesoro mia."

A smile lifts your lips before you could even manage to blink the sleep out of your eyes. You offer your Professor a small wave before setting your chin down on your palm, using your other hand to pull her coat tighter around your shoulders.

"Good morning." You greet in return. You squint your eyes a moment after, she's back to flitting around the table. You decide to get up and walk closer to her in an attempt to better gauge the situation. "What's got you all worked up?" Donna stops for a second, turning to you with a hand on her nape.

"I can't find my marker."

You raise an eyebrow at her, walking back to your bag and rummaging through it before pulling out a new marker- Teasingly brandishing it at Donna like it was a shiny little trinket in your hands. You walk back over to her, hand held out to give her the extra marker when you suddenly pull back.

You take a good look around the room, ensuring that no one's around before you continue with your early morning antics. "I'm sorry, Dr. Beneviento but the borrowing tax fee for this market is a good morning kiss!"

The Italian woman chuckles, a fond sigh escaping her lips before she steps forward to close the gap between your bodies. She wastes no time in kissing you. It's not chaste, as no kisses with Donna ever is, unfortunately it's over just before you start to lose your breath.

You didn't even notice that the marker has already left your hand, only realising it after you shake off the daze and hear the soft click of Donna uncapping the said marker before she starts on writing the lesson on the board.

She's humming to herself, you take a moment to appreciate her form before turning around to go back to your seat.

The door opens, drawing your attention to it. Cold, blue eyes meet yours from across the room and they flick between the Professor and you for a second before the owner walks to her seat.

The tall woman passes by you without ever sparing you a second glance. You could honestly care less, no one's in the mood for small talk when the barest sunrays are just starting to peek through the horizon.

You sit down, pull out your laptop and get to work on reviewing. It's Donna's style to hand out surprise quizzes and randomly call a student to recite after all, every meeting with her in a class is a game of Russian Roulette.

You can feel cold, calculating eyes glancing over at your direction every now and then- But you pay it no mind.

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Donna looks to her watch before ending the class with reminders. Everyone gets up hurriedly, in a rush to get back to their beds or to work on projects that are too close to the due date for comfort.

You take your time with packing your things up, and when the last classmate leaves the room you turn to walk over to Donna's desk- You're about to shrug off her coat and she immediately raises a hand, softly shaking her head before placing the borrowed marker in her pocket.

She walks over to you, placing a kiss to the top of your head before readjusting her coat to sit better on your shoulders. Donna pulls back afterwards, eyes squinted and trained on the floor as if she was thinking of something. It takes a moment, but when she looks up to meet your gaze- There's a humorous glint in hers.

"... Security deposit..."

You tilt your head in confusion, and smile when she pulls the marker out of her pocket. She brandishes it at you in light mockery of how you did earlier.

"I'm keeping this until the semester ends."

Shock renders you motionless until Donna starts walking back to her desk, you stand with your mouth opening and closing until she pulls her bag off the desk.

"I can't keep your coat!"

She smiles, unbothered at all by the words you've just forced out.

"It's bad business to lend assets without holding onto a security deposit in return."

You narrow your eyes at her, crossing your arms before huffing and pouting in indignation. "You're a botanist, the hell do you know about running a business!"

Donna only laughs at the accusation, she slowly uncrosses your arms before leaning down to place a kiss on the back of one. Her eyes never leaving yours even if her lips linger on your skin for a moment.

"Elena's sister might be manning the counter, but make no mistake cara mia- It is me who owns the flower shop in town."

Your jaw drops even lower than the last time, and this makes the Professor laugh as she takes it as her cue to walk away from you.

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A/N: Professor!Donna has been stuck in my mind for so long now, I might actually start foaming at the mouth.

#resident lover #reader!insert #resident lover mc #resident evil #resident evil 8 #re8 #donna beneviento x reader #donna beneviento #resident lover donna #Professor!Donna

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ticktokrobotsnot · 1 year

Text

Vapor

This is Part 2

You can read Part 1 here.

Pairing: Carmen Berzatto x fem!reader

Summary: An accountant helps Carmen organize his not-so-shit-restaurant and gets invited over for family dinner.

Word Count: 10k

The sky was blood orange and the reflection on the store window was mesmerizing. Y/n was supposed to be in the office getting ready for the full day ahead of her but she couldn’t resist slacking off for a bit, it was nice to finally enjoy the restaurant with no one inside. Y/n needed to be here early when a potential vendor came by to give some quotes. Carmen’s initial reaction was to stand his ground and act like some faux bodyguard because he couldn't fathom why some “sick fuck” would want to be alone with a woman in a restaurant at the ass crack of dawn without them having bad intentions—said it wasn't safe at all. Y/n had to inform him that the, “sick fuck” was a woman. And as soon as Carmen heard that, and realized they were going to be talking numbers for a while, he ran off to the farmer's market, wanting no part in that snooze fest.

Y/n grabbed her laptop and started reviewing the binders she organized. Just as y/n was about to check her phone for any messages, she heard a knock at the door. A pretty blond woman looks at y/n with a bit of confusion. This woman wasn’t expecting to see y/n and y/n wasn't expecting to see this woman. Y/n walked to the door and opened a crack.

“Who are you?” Y/n questioned.

“I could ask you the same thing.” The women laughed but y/n wasn’t finding this funny.

“Natalie…” Y/n shook her head like a bouncer sending a teeager away without his fake ID.

“Natalie Berzatto.” She clarified and y/n recalled the name as a co-signer for The Beef, now The Bear. Y/n opened the door a bit more to let her in.

Y/n gave her name but she didn’t know what else to say but Natalie was already filling the space.

“Hi! It’s so nice to finally meet you, Carmen won't stop talking about you. You really saved our asses. Especially with the file organizing stuff, I found the old payroll stuff in like a minute, you're a real savant with stuff like that. Carmy is a real sticker for cooking but he is a real shit-”. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Natalie was nervous.

Y/n knew that Natalie was a part of Carmen’s family but she didn’t know how they were connected. One plausible scenario was that she was Micheal’s widowed girlfriend or wife, which would explain why anyone would co-sign the disaster that Micheal had created and promptly left. Y/n wondered why Carmen would be getting so chummy with his widowed sister-in-law, but then again men have done worse.

Y/n bit the bullet, “How do you know Carmen?”

“I'm his sister… Sugar?” Y/n was starting to feel like a real idiot for not being able to piece these easy deductions together, she was losing her edge because it was to fucking early in the morning.

“Yes, Richie told me that “Sugar” was going to stop by this week. What can I do for you?” Y/n didn’t mention that she thought Sugar was going to be a stripper because of the name.

“Actually I came to pick some old tax stuff… Micheal’s tax returns.” Y/n guided her to the office. Even if she didn’t look back she knew that Natalie was spying on her binders and laptop laid out on the counter, trying to find out a bit about y/n.

“So, Carmy tells me that you two used to work together back in New York.”

“Yeah it was only for a few years.”

“Were you close?” Natalie probed.

“We were…strangers at best.” Y/n chose to leave out the messy parts of her and Carmen’s origins.

Natalie shook her head in disbelief. "That can't be true, he actually came to my place one day, pretty late. You know why?" Y/n, not knowing the answer, simply shrugged her shoulders.

"He said he needed to make an important phone call, someone from his old job. He said that he wanted to ask for a bit of help." Natalie continued, her voice tinged with wishfulness "I thought maybe he was finally going to therapy or something." Y/n felt a strange sensation, like she was staring directly into the sun, hope gave Natalie a beautiful glow.

Natalie's smile softened as she added, "And you know what? He made that phone call right on our porch." Her words carried a touch of warmth. "Well, at least he's reaching out for help. It's a good thing, right?"

“I recommended therapy to him too but I think we would need to put a gun to his head for him to actually go." Natalie let out a humored exhale.

There was a lull of silence after she handed the tax returns. Y/n could sense that Natalie wanted to talk some more so y/n directed her to the bar stools out front. She checked her phone and saw that her vendor had a family emergency and needed to reschedule. After shooting a quick ok, she directed herself to face Natalie.

"You can ask me anything. I've got plenty of time to kill." Y/n offered, feeling generous considering the recent kiss shared with Natalie's brother just a week ago.

“I was here a few times but I never had a chance to meet you?”

“I was probably apartment hunting.” Natalie looked like she was debating asking her next question.

“What did you think of Carmen when you guys were back in New York?”

“He was like every other chef.”

“Nothing else? No pulling force?”

“No pulling force.”

“You moved state lines for him and you're saying there was no pulling force?”

“He asked me for help and I gave him some.”

“You chose to stay. There had to be a pull.”

“The restaurant spoke to my soul, I had to stay.” Y/n was bluffing.

“Bullshit, there was a pull.” Natalie said with a self fulfilled smirk like she had won a point in their imaginary game.

Natalie continued, “You know, he won a Michelin star. A man who cooks…is not too bad.”

“I don’t eat gourmet food. It’s pretentious.” Y/n didn’t want to make too much out of the kiss and make Carmen panic.

“I'm sure he can make something you will like.”

“I have yet to eat something of his that would warrant him having a Michelin star.”

“You don’t like his cooking?”

“I don’t like anyone’s cooking.” Natalie couldn’t come up with something else. Point to y/n. A smile spread across y/n’s face and Natalie was relieved to realize that y/n wasn’t being serious.

“What do you like doing?” Natalie probed.

“I spend most of my time working here but I also read.”

“Why did you leave New York?” Natalie blurted out.

“I don’t like working with other people, my boss was all over me. I thought Chicago would be a nice change of pace.”

Y/n saw Natalie unlock her phone to respond to a text from someone named Pete, who had a pink heart near his name. Y/n knew that memorizing people’s passwords was an invasion of their privacy but it was fun to be a bit nosy.

Y/n was also tired of getting the third-degree, she was hoping for a few fun questions asking if she ever murdered anyone or if she ever was contacted to be a part of a bank heist. She would be lying if she wasn’t a bit afraid that whatever she said would be relayed to Carmen so she didn’t want to say anything too damning.

“You read romance?” Y/n saw the book peeking out of Natalie’s bag, it was one that she had read before.

“Yeah, they’re my guilty pleasure.”

“Mine too. I liked that one.” Y/n pointed at the book peaking out.

“I hate it, it's filled with miscommunication. I’m only finishing it to justify the 12 dollars I spent.” Natalie said with a fake pout.

“I love miscommunication because I suck at talking to people too. Much better than the one I just finished.”

“What killed your book?”

“Third-act break up.” Natalie nodded her head, it seems like they agreed.

Y/n couldn't help but feel relieved; while the nature of Y/n's relationship with Carmen remained uncertain, it was evident that Natalie would become a more integral part of the restaurant. Carmen's recent discovery of three hundred thousand dollars hidden in tomato cans had sparked ambitious plans for renovating the place. Even if she ended up being nothing serious with Carmen, she needed to secure a stable support who wouldn’t completely hate her if shit hit the fan.

They continued to talk about a few books that they had read, a few so trashy that they had to hide their faces in embarrassment from each other when reading the summary out loud.

The door chimed and both women looked over to Carmen who was holding a few bags of produce and baked goods. Y/n went over and plucked the receipts for the top of one of the bags, she didn’t bother helping Carmen because he wouldn’t have let her help anyways. Carmen was gracious enough to put all the receipts together so she wasn’t digging to find them, she kept a record of them to write them off as a business deduction.

“Nat, you’re here early?” Carmen spared a glance before opening a box of croissants to share and then disappearing to the kitchen to put everything away.

“Yeah I had to pick something up, y/n was so kind to help me so early in the morning. Isn’t she just the best?”

“Yeah…How did it go with the vendor?” Carmen mindlessly mumbled while busying himself with a notebook of recipe ideas.

“Rescheduled.” Y/n didn’t look up, engrossed in cataloging some expensive mushrooms for record keeping. $268.43 for some mushrooms was honestly so ridiculous y/n needed to squint to see if she was seeing this right.

“I need to return the favor.” Natalie started.

“It was just a few folders, you really don’t-”

“Why don’t you join us for dinner on friday?” Y/n felt like she was performing front and center.

“I couldn’t-.”

“Please, Pete never wants to talk to me about…” Natalie was raising her eyebrows in the most unsubtle way possible so she didn’t expose y/n's softer side and her penchant for reading romance novels. Y/n couldn’t help but hide her face in embarrassment, “Yeah…fine. Just tell me what time.”

Observing the exchange, Carmen couldn't help but wonder if this was how dogs felt when humans engaged in their own incomprehensible conversations.

Y/n was starting to feel like she was edging closer and closer to Carmen’s limit. Kissing in the back alley of a restaurant and on the car ride to and from work was very different from being invited to his sister’s house for dinner. It carried a weight of intimacy, commitment, and solidity that made Y/n slightly uneasy, wondering if this was too much for Carmen. She waited for the other shoe to drop, Carmen would subtly show his discontent by telling Natalie that she shouldn’t force y/n to go to that dinner, which was just an excuse to create some distance. Y/n was surprised when Carmen asked what type of desert he should bring instead.

Y/n kept her cool and excused herself to go to the office so she could get back to work.

Carmen and Natalie moved to the kitchen where Carmen would experiment for a bit. Natalie sat on a stool next to Carmen who started washing produce.

“She is very smart.” Natalie whispered. She took a glance at the closed office door.

“Yeah. Great with the books.” Carmen peeled and diced some garlic.

“Nice too.”

“She is very nice.” Carmen started cutting some nepitella. The additional “very” caused some alarm bells to ring in Natalie’s head. She hid her smirk.

“Everything about her is nice,” Natalie made sure to pay close attention to Carmen’s face, “Nice personality, nice face-” Carmen took a worried glance at the office door and then looked up at Natalie with wide eyes.

“Why, why, what are you-?” He was flustered.

“I’m just sharing my observations. You don’t think she has a nice face-?”

“This is a business, we try to keep professional.” Carmen hid his fumble with fake professionality, unfortunately Natalie saw right through it.

“Try?” Natalie teased. Carmen looked away to pretend to look for some dried porcini. He felt like an idiot. He understood why people used to see him as an easy target when he was younger, he basically showed everyone his buttons, and asked them to get pushed. Carmen continued to chop in silence.

“I'm sorry, I just got a bit excited. I won't push.” Natalie gave her brother the benefit of the doubt, she always thought he would never get into a serious relationship but he liked y/n and y/n seemed like the serious girlfriend type. Natalie couldn’t help but nudge Carmen in the right direction.

Carmen chopped in silence for a few minutes, debating if he should tell Natalie about the kiss. In his mind, he didn’t know if it was too soon for him to introduce his girlfriend to his family. Calling y/n his girlfriend felt unreal, past him wouldn’t believe it even if he saw it.

He handed his notebook to Natalie so she could read measurements to him, he wanted her here for just a bit longer till he gained the courage to tell her about y/n.

Tagliatelle with porcini mushrooms was the first test item of the morning, and he had to soak the dried porcini for 30 minutes, he was bummed that the market didn't have the fresh kind but he knew he would get the real shit when y/n got a hold of that vendor. He looked up at Natalie and tilted his head to indicate that they should leave. Carmen avoided the alley because he knew that y/n would look there first and he didn’t want her to overhear anything. They walked over to a nearby supermarket and started roaming the aisles. It was nearly empty because it was six in the morning.

“I did something…and I need you to not…just listen and don’t make it a big deal.”

“I got it, Carmy.”

“A while ago, I…” Carmen looked at all the different types of instant noodles they had on display. “So, we were in deep shit with these pre-orders and I was a mess and y/n and I were talking after…” Carmen moved over to the boxed pasta, he didn't intend to buy anything but he did read the nutritional facts.

“I umm, asked her to…” Jesus, Carmen wondered, why he didn’t make more friends so he didn’t have to talk to his older sister about something like this. Richie didn’t seem capable of giving any advice that wasn’t, “Just Do It”.

“We ki…” Natalie kept her face hard but the second that Carmen turned around to look at a box of elbow pasta, she couldn't help herself but let out a small, barely audible squeal of delight. Her eyes widened, and a grin threatened to break through her determined facade. Natalie quickly covered her mouth with her hand, trying to contain her elation, making sure not to let Carmen catch a glimpse. She stifled her excitement with every fiber of her being, preserving the illusion of calmness for when Carmen turned back around, none the wiser.

“It’s been a while, and we k…” Carmen didn’t know how he was supposed to maturely ask for advice when he couldn’t even say a kiss in front of his sister while cringing. Carmen couldn’t do this, it was too open, too vulnerable.

Nat cut him some slack and started asking questions instead, “Was it a one time thing?” Carmen subtly shook his head no. Her lips parted as she squeezed a jar of Pego to contain herself.

“Do you regret it?” Carmen didn’t respond but that didn’t mean no, that ment that she was getting closer to the root of the problem.

“Do you think she’s going to regret it?” Carmen’s shoulder’s raised slightly, bingo.

“Why don’t I gauge how she is feeling at dinner.” Nat knew he was about to run away from her for exposing too much and she had to give him an incentive to not follow his instincts.

She continued, “We talked earlier, she said she hates your cooking.” Carmen’s head snapped up, Nat knew that y/n was just joking but it was still a bit funny to mess with Carmen.

The look of shock transported her back to when she was eight sitting next to Carmy and watching Micheal convince him to finish a glass of milk or else he would lose all of his teeth to a calcium deficiency. This wasn’t the time to reminisce but it made her heart warm knowing that even after going through so much, there was still a part of young Carmy that persevered. She was feeling the burning in the back of her eyes, her hormones were making her sentimental.

“Yeah she said that your food fucking blows.” Carmen caught on and let out a small laugh.

They both roamed in the aisle moving on to juices. Sugar free, diet, pineapple, orange. Carmen’s eyebrows raised when he saw the price of orange juice before putting it down and deciding to just make his own.

Carmen started, “She isn’t the type of person who changes her mind easily,” but if she can make that shift to see him in a good light, maybe she'll stick around and eventually see the real Carmen—a pathetic, insecure loser. All he did was make a promise to her but he knew it meant nothing without actions, and he was unsure if he could control his anger or keep his obsessiveness in check when something especially difficult happened. If another shit storm made its rounds in the kitchen, would he really be able to be the bigger person? Carmen doubted it.

Carmen just ripped off the bandaid, “I don’t know how to…I want her to not hate me. I know I'm going to..” Carmen waited till a child next to them moved to the other end of teh aisle towards his dad, “..fuck it up, but I dont want that to happen.”

“What makes you think she is going to hate you?”

“When we were talking…she told me that I should have done better. And that I…needed to be “stable”, but I don’t know how to be that for myself, let alone someone else.”

“She isn’t asking you to do it for her, she wants you to do it for yourself.” Natalie offered.

“Its like having to solve a word search to answer a stupid fucking puzzle. I don’t…” Carmen sighed in defeat. Nat knew that he was strong and it was impossible for her to fix this for him but that still made her palms itch seeing him struggle like this. She racked her brain, desperately seeking any glimmer of a solution that could offer him even a shred of relief.

They both walked out the market towards the restaurant. “It's really hard…and it's not that I don’t want to, it just feels impossible.” Carmen muttered, he was close to giving up.

A burning sensation welled up in the back of Natalie's throat, and she instinctively placed her hand on Carmen's shoulder as a gesture of support and to her surprise Carmen looked at her, saw her glassy eyes and hugged her. The shock knocked a few tears from her eyes..

Carmy was not a selfish person but Nat noticed that he was becoming a bit more aware that he takes up much more space then he originally thought he did. He now knew that his presence was big enough to be able to tear people down but was also big enough to offer meaningful support. He had come to understand his own significance, and this realization struck Natalie like a tidal wave, causing her to burst into uncontrollable sobs.

“Does crying mean I'm fucked, Sugar?” Carmen asked, his voice tinged with humor and uncertainty, as he gently rubbed Natalie's back for comfort. Nat shook her head no.

“You'll be okay. You always are.” Nat wiped her face before continuing to walk back to the restaurant.

Carmen snuck a few glances to see what was making his sister a sobbing mess, she wasn’t the type to break down like that, “Are you good?” Natalie nodded her head.

“Everything good at home?” It felt strange to say the word home, even after visiting multiple countries and living in many different apartments, Carmen couldn’t really call any place home. Home was supposed to be a sanctuary of warmth, Carmen's closest experience to that feeling was back in his family house—a place where the warmth was scalding and suffocating. Where it was a constant waiting game, anticipating the intense heat to escalate and cause everything, and everyone, to boil over.

Carmen was acutely aware that he would never have a home quite like Sugar's. He couldn't help but wonder if he had what it took to be like Pete for someone else—always helpful, kind, and perhaps a little too accommodating. He questioned whether he had the capacity to fulfill that role and maintain his own sense of self. Granted, what about his “self” was worth preserving?

Natalie nodded her head but Carmen wasn’t convinced. “It's just a lot, you know. Seeing the place getting renovated. I used to hate that place, but..” She sighed, “...I picked up Micheal’s tax returns, I didn’t even need them for anything…I just wanted to see them to know what he was going through towards the…'' end. She didn’t need to finish for Carmen to know what she was talking about. They were in front of the restaurant and Carmen gave her a side hug and against his better judgment he tried his hand in verbal reassurance so he could be there for her, fully.

“I think he tried his best to make everything look fine, and it’s nice to know that he was at least able to pretend till the...end.” Sugar looked up at him and didn’t comment on his successful attempt to be her support, not wanting to scare him.

They wordlessly walked in the restaurant and Carmen finished up his dish. He made enough for one plate because he was expecting to have to remake it a few times. He grabbed a small plate and served a separate plate for y/n before knocking on her door. She looked up at him, not hearing him and gave him a “hmm” which echoed in his chest. She sat with them in the kitchen, taking her laptop with her. They all took the first bite together. Carmen watched both women’s reactions to gauge their uncensored reactions. Natalie’s eyebrows raised and she gave him a nod of approval.

Y/n took a bite and looked up from her plate so see Carmen staring at her. “Why are you staring?”

“Do you not like it?”

“It’s good.” Y/n put her fork down and propped up her head on her hand.

“But, you didn’t-”

“I’m not really a foodie, so food is never like…” Y/n made an explosion sound and flicked her hands open, “Good, is the best you going to get out of me.” Natalie wondered how a chef and an anti-gourmet foodie were going to work.

“Is all food just ”good”?” Y/n looked up and tried to think of food that was better than good.

“I like mom's cooking.”

“What is her food like?”

“Intense…subtly in food doesn’t mean anything to me because I don’t taste the difference.” Carmen was waiting for more for y/n.

“I ate a lot of spicy, sour and bitter food growing up. My mom didn’t think that kids should eat different things than everyone else, so I guess pasta and mushrooms will always be just “good”.” Y/n felt like she was just shitting all over his profession but he asked for her opinion so he couldn’t get offended now.

Carmen nodded his head before walking away. Y/n pierced her lips and looked over to Natalie wondering if she hurt Carmen’s feelings. Natalie looked just as bewildered. Just as y/n was about to find Carmen, he came out with a few more ingredients.

“What are you making?”

“Something you will like.”

“I liked what you made-”

“Good is not enough.”

“Come on, Carmen, it's something that everyone will like, it’s going to kill opening day.”

“But you have to like it.” Y/n sighed before indicating that he should continue.

“You won’t be able to serve the food I like to eat, it would be considered a biological weapon.” Y/n was warning him but Carmen thought she was teasing him. He would learn to listen to her warning in the future. He put the porcini mushrooms to the side before getting started on some penne all’arrabbiata.

Y/n laughed at him knowing that he wouldn’t have the courage to spice up a dish to her standard before grabbing her laptop so she could get some work done and also talk to Natalie about contractors.

While Carmen chopped and stirred, y/n subtly glanced up at his flexing back and strong arms. She thought she was hiding it well but when she went to check if Natalie noticed she saw that Natalie was already watching her. Natalie snickered as y/n hid her face behind her laptop to hide her embarrassment. Carmen turned around to see what was so funny but was just met with the view of both of them with their faces hiding behind their hands.

Y/n felt someone pass behind her and knew it was Sydney without having to look up. “Hey guys, what are we making?” She took a bite out of the pasta, which was slightly cooled but she still nodded her head.

“It’s fire, chef. It would be great if it was hot, I want to remake it to see what it was supposed to taste like.”

Y/n couldn’t say that she completely forgave Sydney but y/n did respect that she went to Richie to give some type of apology after a while. Y/n could accept that the two of them wouldn’t be best friends, they just needed to be able to work together.

Y/n went to Carmen’s locker before pulling out a few Tums for everyone, it looks like today was going to be pasta day because of her and she didn’t want to send everyone home with a stomach ache.

Carmen continued with his pasta, and served it in front of y/n. All the women took a bite,

“It’s got a kick to it.” Natalie said while reaching for a food container filled with water while wiping sweat from her brow. Sydney gave Carmen a, “This is fire, chef.” Y/n couldn't help but cringe inwardly at the comment because she knew she couldn't quite match their shared vernacular and the ease with which they expressed themselves with food. What private passion did y/n and Carmen share?

Carmen stared y/n down as she took a bite.

“It’s good.” Carmen waited for her to elaborate. “It’s too subtle.”

Carmen smirked, “Yeah, next time I'll just make you a ball of fire for you to enjoy.” Y/n gave him a shit eating grin, it was just too fun not to mess with him, and when she saw him smile back she felt a bit of imaginary nostalgia, this was what she longed for back in New York.

The restaurant was still closed for renovations and after a while a few other crew members came by to do some demo. Y/n was stuck on hold with the inspector's office when she was approached by Natalie, “I’ve got a doctor’s appointment so I've got to go, I’ll see you on Friday at eight.”

The rest of the week flew by because they were on a very strict time crunch to open in a few months. Y/n wasn’t very worried but she could feel the nerves from everyone else and she knew it would be in bad taste to tell them to toughen up, so she let them be grown ups and deal with their own anxieties.

On Friday, y/n left early to get ready for dinner, she opened an old moving box and pulled out a dress that she wore to an old work function. It was very tasteful because it was freezing outside. Y/n grabbed her gifts before running into Carmen’s car. Y/n took one look at Carmen and had to do a double take to make sure that she went into the right person’s car. Carmen’s hair was lighty slicked back, probably with pomade, and he was wearing a deep blue sweater with a white collar.

“I didn’t know you had clothes other than aprons and Dickies.”

“You look..” Carmen marveled at the way her eyes sparkled with an inner radiance, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. He knew he wasn’t able to get the full picture yet because they were in a dark car but he could only imagine what she would do to him when they went to the well lit house. “..great.” Carmen wanted to punch himself for being so unoriginal but he couldn’t focus on anything.

“Thank you, you look good too. Blue is definitely your color..” Carmen’s fingers loosened around the steering wheel, compliments had always made him uneasy; he spent the majority of his life trying to make himself as small as possible and now he was pushed into the spotlight and he wondered if he even liked it?

“Carmen, can you look at me for a second?” And when he swiveled his head towards y/n, she squished his face lighty before giving his puckered lips a soft kiss. Just as she was about to lean back into her seat, Carmen, unable to resist, slipped his hand beneath her hair, grasping the back of her neck and drawing her in for a deeper, more passionate second kiss.

Yeah, he liked it.

“We are going to be late.” Y/n whispered before giving him one last peck. Carmen, still in a daze, fiddled with the radio so he could get his head straight. The ride to his sister’s house was quiet barring the soft jazz. Y/n was very nervous, they never had that conversation that said that they were official and for all she knew she was just a friend that Carmen kissed from time to time. She resisted the urge to ask right now because she was scared to find out that they were nothing more. She would savor the few minutes before she was inevitably introduced as a friend, or worse a co-worker.

They pulled into Natalie’s driveway and got out of the car, y/n grabbed the bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine and they rang the doorbell.

"Why are you holding the tray like that?" Y/n asked, noticing how Carmen clung to it like a shield. Before she could receive a response, Natalie opened the door with a warm greeting, inviting them inside. Y/n handed over the gifts, but Carmen still clung onto his belongings. Just then, Peter descended the stairs, seemingly about to approach Carmen for a hug before his gaze landed on Carmen's protective tray. He hesitated and stepped back, realizing it was acting as a barrier. Y/n stifled a laugh, biting her cheek to prevent herself from laughing at Carmen’s immaturity.

Carmen greeted, “Pete.” Y/n could feel the dislike and she felt bad for Pete because he seemed nice.

“Carmen, it’s good to see you, man.”

“This is my girlfriend, y/n.” A sense of numbness overwhelmed her. It was like when people get run over by a semi and say that they don’t feel anything. Y/n extended her hand to shake Pete's, and she followed him into the living room.

Carmen went into the kitchen to help Natalie and y/n made pleasant conversation with Pete, he seemed a bit soft but she could understand why Natalie might want someone like him. Y/n pretended to be interested when he showed her his Cubs memorabilia, she initially thought the Cubs were a fictional sports team made by the New Girl writers.

Y/n and Pete walked over to the kitchen and asked if they needed any help. Pete looked like he wanted to actually be helpful but y/n had her fingers crossed hoping she didn’t have to do any cooking. It was weird to see Carmen let someone else take the lead while he watched. Even with Sydney, he still watched over everything like a hawk, not because he didn’t trust her, it's just because he wouldn’t let her fail.

Y/n watched as everyone spoke and she wondered where she fit in. Natalie and Carmen were obviously close and Pete was doing his best to get close to Carmen, trying to bridge the obvious gap between them. Y/n had to stop herself from telling Carmen to either be nicer or for Pete to drop it.

Other than being Carmen’s new “girlfriend” and sharing small talk, what else was there for her to talk about? Y/n didn’t know them well but she could tell there was a lot of subtext between the three of them that added weight to their interactions that she wasn’t privy to yet. She was a flame trying to suck in any bubble of oxygen so she could ignite, she needed more information before she could actually join them.

It felt like she was reading Dune for the first time, being dropped in the middle of an already moving plot and she was scrambling to play catch up. Carmen had a lot of triggers and she wondered if Natalie was the same. Even if they acted completely differently, y/n could tell that they were sidestepping something, like they were avoiding talking about a gaping bullet wound, and if siblings were acting like that it means that it's a problem with the parents. Despite the fact that they were in the kitchen, the three of them weren’t talking about the food. Y/n made a mental checklist of a few rules; 1. Don’t bring up parents 2. Don't mention food because it's a trigger 3. Pay attention to Natalie because she was not as good at hiding her feelings as Carmen.

Dinner was served and they all took a seat, y/n took slow sips of wine and saw that Natalie’s wine was slightly darker than hers. Y/n was sitting across Natalie so she recognized the smell too, apple. She was drinking sparkling apple cider. Y/n hid her smirk by talking another sip, she would be a spy or something because she was killing it in the recon department.

Dinner was starting to feel stiff, y/n took a deep breath and turned to Natalie, “Your cooking is to die for.” Natalie tucked in her lips but couldn’t help but hide her smile, y/n never told Carmen anything like that, barring the first day she got to Chicago, it was a petty way of getting back at him for blindsiding her by calling her his girlfriend.

“Thanks, It's a family recipe.” Y/n wanted to stab herself with the fork, she just broke rule one and two. Just as y/n was about to make some asinine comment to change topics, Carmen did it for her.

“Can you pass me the bread, Sugar?” Y/n found her opening.

“Sugar, that’s a nice nickname, what’s the story?”

Natalie paused and y/n had a feeling she fucked up, “We were having this Chrismas family thing and I added a cup of sugar into the gravy instead of salt. The name just stuck.” Y/n definitely fucked up, she was breaking rules left and right. Y/n scrabbled to put herself in the same level as Natalie.

“I’ve been there. My parents were having a few co-worker over for lunch and they brought a box of these expensive mangos and I was told to make some smoothies because it was boiling that day. I filled up the sugar container with salt without noticing and made them smoothies with a ton of salt.” Y/n saw that all eyes were on her and she didn’t allow herself to be nervous because she was trying to get a deeper point across.

Y/n continued, “I have never heard that many people gag all at once.” Their faces broke into a smile.

“What did your mom say?” Bingo, looks like the taboo parent could be narrowed down to their mother.

“She didn’t say anything bad, she and her co-workers just laughed. I mean I was a kid and we all make mistakes. I ended up making lemonade instead.”

Natalie’s eyes lit up,“It’s a shame that all those mangos went to waste.” Natalie joked.

“Waste?” Y/n had a fake offense, “I drank the rest to prove that it wasn’t that bad.”

“Was it that bad?” Pete asked.

“My blood pressure was through the roof. It was the first time I ever got a headache.”

The rest of dinner was a bit more relaxed, y/n was expecting Carmen to talk a bit more because these were his people but it looked like she would have to do the talking for the both of them. They finished up dinner and y/n got up to help them clean up. It was y/n and Carmen alone in the kitchen while Natalie went upstairs to check on something, aka she needed some rest and Pete went to check up on her.

As Carmen washed the dishes, Y/n stood by, towel in hand, drying them. The domestic scene felt comfortable, yet she couldn't determine if she truly enjoyed this newfound domesticity. She wondered if in Carmen’s eyes she was merely playing the role of the perfect partner – someone who could effortlessly navigate his family dynamics, fix his business, and be his own manic pixie dream girl.

A selfish thought crossed Y/n's mind. What was she truly gaining from this relationship? She had been too afraid to make a move with Carmen after the kiss, fearing that one misstep could lead her to being shut out completely. She hesitated to voice her preferences about his food, to ask about the nature of their relationship, or to discuss their future plans if this relationship fell through. Y/n wasn't one to dwell in discomfort, except for her previous job, and she felt frustrated that she had to jump through so many hoops just to ensure that Carmen wouldn't leave.

They finished the dishes and y/n could tell that Carmen wanted to check on Natalie but he didn’t want to leave y/n alone. Y/n being a supportive girlfriend, practically pushed him up the steps before walking out the front door and leaning on the porch. Y/n grabbed her jacket and walked out. She underestimated the frigid Chicago air which felt like a sharp slap to her face, serving as a wake-up call. It reminded her that the warm and fuzzy feeling she had been battling within herself was merely fleeting, and that the reality of the world could be much harsher and more painful.

Y/n couldn’t help but wonder why Carmen was even bothering with her, they had nothing in common but the restaurant. Work was everything for him and Sydney, their shared connection always pulled them together despite both of their volatile personalities. What pulled y/n and Carmen together? They both worked in the restaurant but Carmen didn’t have a passion for running said restaurant, it was a mere obligation that y/n took from him. If she stopped working there, what else did they have in common?

Y/n came to the daunting realization that Carmen picked Sydney because he saw potential in her, a chance to let both him and her grow. However, he didn’t pick y/n because he saw something deeper in her, it was an act of embarrassed desperation.

Was she just a means to help Carmen get his shit together? The restaurant meant a lot to Micheal and after he died Carmen stopped seeing the restaurant as something that was out of his reach but as something to connect him to his brother, a small thread connecting the estranged brothers. Y/n was there to hold up the connection in the vaguest of ways, she kept the restaurant afloat so Carmen could come to terms with Micheals’s legacy, good and bad.

She was lost in thought when she heard the door close, she turned her head to see Carmen was already lighting a cigarette. It was difficult for her to be objective when Carmen locked eyes with her with such intensity. Y/n ripped her eyes from him and faced forward looking at the neighbor's yard, they had nice shrubs.

“I thought you left.” Carmen started as he leaned on the railing with y/n. He looked forward to see what was so interesting that y/n couldn’t look him in the face, it was just some trees.

“I needed some air.”

“You could catch a cold.”

“I don’t get sick, sick is a mindset.” Y/n was obviously joking.

She lowered her head so that she could feel the cold metal on her forehead, maybe a different type of pain would make this conversation easier. Her forehead landed on something warm, the back of Carmen’s hand. She turned her head to its side but remained connected to Carmen’s hand. The warmth radiating on her cheek was making her stomach do backflips. Even if she knew she shouldn’t be indulging like this she couldn’t help it. He felt too good and y/n was getting more and more greedy.

“Hey, Carmen?” Carmen was still staring at y/n. “What do we have in common?” He looked taken aback.

“We like each other…” He was starting to feel the slow slitter of nausea because he knew the other shoe was about to drop.

“If we don’t have much in common, what do we talk about?”

“We can talk about whatever we like. It’s nice to…be with someone who isn't wrapped up in the same things as me.” Carmen expressed a genuine warmth in his voice. Carmen wanted to say that she made him feel like the roof wasn’t going to collapse on him and that the small things weren’t going to destroy him but it felt selfish to describe how much he cared for her based on how she made him feel and not on facts about her.

“I don’t care about fancy food.” Y/n blurted out.

Carmen chuckled, “You know about the vendors, where the supplies are sourced, how much they cost, and a bunch of other stuff. You do care, just in a different way than I do.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“It gives me perspective. It’s very realistic and grounded.” Y/n knew he was calling her realistic and grounded.

“I like hearing you talk about my food.” Carmen offered.

“Even if it’s just “good”?”

“Especially if it's just "good". That means you're telling me the truth.” Carmen recalled a ninth grade world history lesson about the Rosetta Stone, an artifact written in three different languages and made it possible to translate some ancient language. Though he hadn't fully paid attention during the lesson, Carmen now saw the parallel. If Y/n had the courage to express her opinions on his food, it meant she was being honest with him about everything else.

Y/n cracked a smile before covering her mouth and started laughing. It was a jarring sound, Carmen couldn’t pinpoint what the laugh was meant to convey but he knew it wasn’t good.

“What?” Carmen asked, Y/n rubbed her face with her cold hands.

“You said that you were scared of me a while back but now…” Y/n's laughter softened into a smaller chuckle, conveying a mix of amusement and irony.

“I’m scared of you.” The weight was lifted off her shoulders and slammed down on Carmen's. Y/n wondered if this is how the rest of their relationship was going to be; one person transferring their hurt to the other till the weight became too much to bear.

"It's... I want to bring so many things up to you but..." Y/n wondered if this counted as an accusation. "..you’re so flighty. I don't know what to say that won't make you..." Y/n struggled to find a word that didn't feel so definitive, but the only word that felt honest was, "...leave."

The porch fell into an uneasy silence, both of them grappling with the weight of Y/n's vulnerability.

"I...I didn't realize..." Carmen stammered, his voice betraying his inner turmoil. "I would never just... leave." They both stared in silence, they knew that wasn’t true. Y/n lifted her head leaving the warmth behind, she knew this wouldn’t work if he made false promises. And against everything telling her to just accept his promise as law and ignore any doubts, she couldn’t fool herself like that.

“That’s such bullshit.” Y/n lighty giggled. It felt as though a shark had promised to stop swimming—it was ingrained in their nature. In that lighthearted moment, a mischievous thought crossed Y/n's mind: What would happen if Carmen actually stopped running away? Would he cease to exist, like a fish in space?

Her playful musings, though immature, offered a brief respite from the weight of their conversation. It was a temporary escape, a way to diffuse the tension. Y/n noticed that she brought all this shit up to comfort herself but she was giggling to make him feel safe. Even when she knew she shouldn’t, she couldn't help but try to make him feel better.

As the laughter subsided, Y/n met Carmen's eyes, she forced herself to ignore the emotions he was conveying and instead tried to match his eyes with things she had seen in the past. If this ended poorly, she would miss his eyes the most and she wanted to know what else could match in intensity in case she never got to see him like this ever again, nothing came to mind.

Carmen felt like he was backed into a corner, he couldn’t promise her anything without her, justifiably, doubting him.

"I don't want to leave you," Carmen offered, his voice carrying a mixture of sincerity and vulnerability. It was the most honest response he could offer at that moment. He couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't feel the urge to run, to escape when things got tough, but he had a genuine desire to stay.

Y/n's eyes met Carmen's, her expression softened. She knew it wasn't a perfect answer, but it was a step forward. It was enough to know that he acknowledged his own complexities and still chose to be present with her.

They stood in the quiet watching neighbors turn off their living room lights and go upstairs. She wanted to test out whether, “They could talk about whatever they wanted too.”

“What do you think they’re doing?” Y/n asked, Carmen parted his lips and turned his face to look at y/n so see if she was serious, she was.

“I think they go to bed and she has this super long night time routine and he is already asleep by the time she gets to bed. You?” Y/n knew that if they ever slept over at each other’s place, that’s exactly what would happen between them.

“She probably got home from a shit day and she starts reading an easy romance book…Do you read any books?”

“They are mostly cooking stuff.” He took a drag from his cigarette.

“You read cookbooks for entertainment?”

“Sometimes, it's a part of the craft.” Carmen realized how fucking pretentious he sounded and was a bit ashamed but seeing y/n refrain from teasing him by bitting her lips made him not want to crawl into a hole and die of shame, her smile was addicting. “…but there is a lot of history and science too. '' Carmen knew he sucked at conversation but he would do anything to keep talking.

“What was your last book?”

Y/n and Carmen kept talking till they lost track of time and eventually when they had reached a comfortable lull, y/n could confidently say that they were in fact capable of holding a conversation about mundane shit.

Against every fiber of her being telling her to end their conversation like this, she couldn’t help but ask, “What happens…if this ends?” Y/n didn’t know if she was supposed to use “if” or “when”; one was cautious, the other was a prophecy.

Carmen didn’t look back at her, instead giving her, “You’ll still have a job…I’m not a dick…all the time.” Y/n lips curved upwards.

“Will you be able to work with someone you’ve been in a relationship with?”

“Yes.” Carmen wondered if the answer could ever be anything other than yes.

Y/n knew that if this ended badly she would be allowed to stick around so that Carmen would have an excuse to throw himself at his work. She would be the catalyst to merge him from an individual to a vague reflection of Micheal’s legacy.

Whether or not Carmen knew it, Micheal was a huge influence in his life and just like Micheal began to isolate himself towards the end, Carmen would do the same if they drifted apart. It was his inherent weakness and a relationship gone sour that would make it difficult for him to break the cycle that Micheal had started.

“I won’t stay if it hurts you, Carmen.”

“I would want you to stay, y/n.”

“There is no trophy that comes with going through unnecessary shit.”

“I know, I would still need you.” Carmen hesitated but eventually placed his hand top on y/n's.

“Because I can do the books?” Y/n rolled her eyes jokingly.

“No…you do more than that. You are…” Carmen read books with a shit ton of adjectives, they had to be descriptive to describe food through text. Despite that, he was at a loss for words to describe her.

"You are..." he began again, this time his voice was a little gentler than before. He took a deep breath, hoping that he could find those words that would express everything he felt.

"You are very important to me,". His voice was soft like he was realizing this for the first time.

The second time was meant for y/n, "You are very important to me." I love you, y/n.

Y/n locked eyes with Carmen for a moment.

"You are important to me too." I love you, Carmen.

Neither of them had the courage to say that to each other, wondering if they were the only one’s feeling like this.

They both had jackets on but y/n’s hands were freezing and she could feel Carmen’s hand was also ice cold. She knew that they had both reached their limits but y/n couldn’t help but relish in the cold for a bit longer.

For y/n, the biting cold was always a catalyst for clarity, stripping away the unnecessary and forcing y/n to distill her focus onto the few things that mattered. Amidst the frost, she found solace in the simplicity. It was within this chilling environment that she discovered a clear chance to confront her inner turmoil head-on and confront the world.

Carmen had always been drawn to the intense heat. It was as if the scorching temperatures matched the fire that burned within him, igniting his passion and driving him forward but leaving him with nothing to look back on. Extreme heat was his poison of choice, his way of confronting the world.

Carmen’s heat was turning her mind into a messy slurry of slush. Y/n had to force herself to focus despite the fact that Carmen’s hand was providing her with a sliver of intoxicating warmth.

“You didn’t ask me to be your girlfriend.” Carmen’s head shot up aback by y/n's words. He was excited to introduce her to his family, and he hadn't thought to ask her permission first. He tried to explain himself, his words coming out in a rush.

"I didn't mean to assume anything. I just thought that since we've been seeing each other for a while now, it was... " He took a moment to catch his breath, trying to gather his thoughts.

“I think you should try asking first.” Carmen stared at y/n not knowing if this was a trap to get rejected twice. He opted for silence.

“Carmen, ask me if I want to be your girlfriend?” Carmen didn't want to say the wrong thing, not when it was so important, for someone so important. Carmen trusted y/n so he stubbed his cigarette on the ashtray before taking a deep breath and asking, “Will you be my girlfriend, y/n.”

Y/n wrapped her freezing hands around his neck accidentally grazing her finger on his neck making him shiver. She leaned in against his lip and even though they had kissed before this, Carmen felt like he couldn’t think. Y/n lips barely touching Carmen’s before whispering a soft, “Yes, Carmy.”

Carmen closed the small gap between their lips. And y/n felt a gentle heat seep through the folds of her head making it difficult to focus on her freezing fingers, or her numb toes, or her goosebump riddled legs, or her shivering arms. Y/n felt Carmen pull her closer and even though they were as close as physically possible, it wasn’t enough. Carmen’s lips left y/n’s before trailing down the column of her neck, y/n could feel the blossoming of heat radiate from his lips. Y/n’s hands sank down to Carmen’s waist and slowly drifted up his shirt. The cold sent shivers down his spine as y/n’s hands moved at a glacial pace.

Just as Carmen reached the collar of her jacket he looked up at her and y/n had to resist every irrational and reckless part of her that told her to continue. The realization that they were on Carmen’s sister’s porch made y/n look around to ground herself. She landed on a black box right near the door before looking back to Carmen with her mouth agape and her eyes wide open.

“What?” Carmen questioned with furrowed eyebrows.

“We are on your sister's porch.” Y/n said with a thousand yard stare and a distant mutter.

“I’m not a fucking animal, obviously we aren’t going to do this here.” Y/n softly grasped Carmen’s face before turning towards the black box, a doorbell camera.

“Jesus…fuck.” They both looked at each other before y/n scrambled inside with Carmen right behind her. Either they were caught and they had to face Natalie despite the embarrassment or they got to the footage before Natalie saw it.

Y/n let Carmen lead her to Natalie’s room, who thankfully was still laying on her side, Pete had gone to the restroom.

Y/n leaned up to Carmen before whispering, “Distract her.” Carmen sat near Natalie and asked her if she wanted some ginger-ale or if he should stop by a pharmacy.

Natalie's phone was on the nightstand and y/n swiped it when Natalie wasn’t looking before unlocking her phone with the password she acquired from being noisy. She then deleted the footage of the last hour from her Ring app. Y/n wanted to scroll back a few months to watch Carmen call her for the first time but she didn’t have enough time.

Y/n set the phone exactly how she found it and gave Carmen a subtle thumbs up.

“I’m fine, I think I need to sleep this off.” Natalie sat up while glancing at y/n and y/n had to resist freezing like a criminal caught in the spotlight.

“I’m really sorry-” Natalie started.

“Please don’t be. I had a great time. Is there anything we can do for you before we leave?” Y/n felt bad for taking advantage of Natalie’s pregnancy induced sickness but this was a matter of prestige, she wouldn’t be able to set foot in this house if Natalie ever saw the footage.

Natalie shook her head no and they said their goodbye’s before Camren and y/n practically tripped over themselves running out of that house. They sprinted to the car and slammed the doors shut before bursting out laughing. Y/n felt like she was a teenager again, sneaking her boyfriend out the fire escape before her mom walked in. Carmen pushed his forehead into the steering wheel to laugh and the sound that echoed felt like it was melting itself into y/n’s brain, forever branded into her memory.

“How many times have you been here, Carmen? You never noticed the fucking camera, you dick?” Y/n struggled to shake off the heat that pulsed up her body, Camren hadn’t even started the car yet and she was burning up.

“I…I never looked, what kind of freak looks?”Carmen said in between laughs. Y/n gave him a fake look of disapproval.

“Turn the car on, Berzatto, you’re getting on my fucking nerves.”

Carmen turned on his car before pulling out of Natalie’s driveway, he was still snickering and in the streetlight y/n could see his neck turn bright red.

“Stop by a CVS or something.” Y/n said while fiddling with the radio.

“You think you caught something from Nat.” Y/n resisted telling him that pregnancy wasn’t contagious, men are so fucking stupid.

“You have condoms on you?” Carmen slammed on the break, lucky they were at a red light.

“N...no.” Scarlet crawled up his neck and up his face. Y/n didn’t know someone’s ears could ever get that red before. Carmen stayed still trying to collect his fractured thoughts.

“It's green, Carmen.”

He stepped on the gas and y/n was glad that the roads were practically empty because he was driving like he had all the insurance in the world. He pulled over to a Walgreens and ran out of the car. Y/n shook her head at his shit parking, he was in between two spots. Carmen came back in a minute with a plastic bag, y/n could decipher from the shapes that he had also bought some gatorades too.

Carmen pulled out of the parking lot.

Y/n didn’t recognize the streets on their ride back, “Your place?”

“Mine is closer.” Carmen replied, his voice tinged with a mix of anticipation.

Y/n could help but giggle, she always loved it when he was desperate. She knew it was wrong, but she always felt such a rush of excitement when her control over him was at its pinnacle and they both knew it.

When they reached a stop sign, y/n glanced over at Camren and saw that he was already looking back at her.

They couldn’t seem to care that they were wading in uncharted waters and they couldn’t convince themselves that this was going to end badly enough for them to not at least try. If they looked at each other like that, there was no way they were going to let each other go.

End Notes:

Fire + Ice = Vapor; It took me an embarrassing amount of time to think of that.

There is a lot of tension and maturity that needs to be written in smut for it to be good and I just can’t do that. I tried for this one and I had to close my laptop and take a lap because the second hand embarrassment was too much. So those drafts have been deleted and I’m glad I never have to see them again.

I didn't think people would like Turbulence, I was going to delete it after a few hours and just keep it to myself but i'm glad that people liked it so ig it's here to stay. I tried to keep this one more contained then Turbulence bc writing about multiple days is such a pain.

I really don’t know what else I might write about for these two, or in general, so if you have any suggestions feel free to send them to me. If your suggestion inspires me, you better believe that I'm going to get out of bed at 2 in the morning and start writing. Or we can bury these two in a shallow grave and forget they exist, which is also fine by me because I think fic aged me.

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hauntedestheart · 7 months

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Security Footage - Body Swaps (Part 1)

One of Trevor & Andy’s misadventures, a more detailed account of the sort described in Security Measures - Body Swaps

While the university claimed it was supportive of its professors doing independent research and experimentation, Professor Bernard Smith of the Humanities department suspected that "using ancient magics to take the form of one of his students" was a proposal that likely wouldn't make it past the review committee, so he kept his activities on that project private.

He thought of the past twenty years he'd given to academia and heaved a melancholy sigh- society didn’t really put much consideration to how emotionally taxing it was to be a college professor. Every day, year after year, he stood at the front of a classroom and looked out upon a sea of smiling youths hopeful for a bright future that he had already resigned himself against; he aged, but his classes never did. Every rakish young man was a reminder of who he’d never be, and beautiful young woman was a reminder of what he would never have.

After all, the clock only moved one way.

Or, he glanced down at the ritual items he'd assembled before him. Maybe there's a miracle waiting for me.

He lit a candle and the changes began.

🔀

Once it became clear that Andy's… situation wasn't going away, moving in together had just made sense, but in the back of Trevor's mind he had been worried about it. Old habits are hard to unlearn and he hadn't yet shaken the niggling doubt that if they spent too much together and the novelty of the relationship wore off, Andy would realize that he could probably find someone better and leave Trevor hanging for a second time.

Reality was much kinder though, and living together actually brought the two boys closer than ever. Between school, attempts at a social life, and their constant misadventures, their small apartment became a sanctuary where it could be just them and no one else.

Trevor grabbed his bowl of tortilla chips and made his way from the kitchen to the living room, where Andy was sprawled out on the couch clicking through options on the television. Andy gave a little wolf whistle at the sight of his boyfriend bending over to put the bowl on the table, which made Trevor roll his eyes, and he picked up a chip from the bowl and flicked it towards Andy's face.

The throw fell short and bounced off of Andy's chin, dropping down and settling atop the boy's pronounced bosom; he plucked it up and tossed it in the air. Trevor watched with mild bemusement as Andy actually caught it with his mouth then squinted his eyes shut while he chewed, scrunching his forehead up as if he were deep in thought.

"Mmm, I'm detecting notes of salt… a hint of corn… is this gourmet? It must be," Andy smirked up at Trevor then leaned forwards and grabbed another chip, popping it into his mouth with a crunch. "This is why I got man who can cook. I would starve without you."

He threw Trevor a wink and a smile, which Trevor responded to with an eye-roll and a smile of his own. Andy scooted back on the sofa and spread his legs, patting at the empty space in front of him, and Trevor slipped in to claim his spot; the larger boy wrapped his arm around the smaller boy's midsection and placed an absent kiss on his head before returning his attention to the tv.

"Is this what you picked for tonight?" Trevor asked, referring to the film queued up on the screen- some sort of anime movie he didn't recognize but vaguely recalled Andy mentioning before. He tilted his head up so he could see Andy's face above him. "Have you seen it before?"

"I have, but I want you to see it too," Andy smiled down at his boyfriend before giving a mischievious chuckle. "It's awful, you're gonna love it."

Watching bad movies had become something of a "thing" for the two boys as Andy (for some reason) thought Trevor's dry observations were hilarious, and if Andy was introducing the movie as awful, Trevor knew he was in for a good time.

As Andy clicked play, Trevor snuggled in closer to him and gave a contented sigh. His muscular boyfriend boy liked to joke that he worked out so much so he could give better hugs, and when those strong arms were wrapped around him, Trevor could believe it. Being with Andy had made him appreciate being on the smaller side for a guy because it meant they fit together perfectly, and Andy's broad physique made for an incredible pillow.

He leaned back and rested his head on Andy's firm pecs, relaxing as he felt the young man's belly pushing outwards against his back while they- wait.

Trevor bolted upright and looked over his shoulder to confirm his suspicions- Andy's body was changing, and from the expression of shock on his face, he was well aware of it. Surprised, Trevor slipped off the couch and fell onto his ass, and his new vantage point on the floor let him see that his boyfriend's toned muscles going saggy beneath his clothes. The transformation made it appear almost as if he were melting, and the sight of it made Trevor so queasy he had to look away.

"FUCK!" Andy exclaimed, staring down helplessly at his hands as his skin bubbled and his flesh grew softer. He hurled himself off of the couch and bolted out of the room, the slam of a door echoing down the hall a moment later.

Well, Trevor thought to himself. There goes our weekend.

🔀

Unbeknownst to the couple, in a house across town, a lonely old college professor was having a significantly nicer evening. The Egyptian ritual he had uncovered had gone off without a hitch and now, everything that Andy had lost belonged to him.

"Well, I'm definitely getting tenure after this!" Bernard announced to no one in particular. He'd just made a major breakthrough in his field by proving that magic was real, and the proof was staring back at him from the mirror!

He leaned in closer to the glass and stared into his new eyes, tilting his face back and forth to admire the enviable visage he'd stolen from one of his students. A smile, which made him look rather dashing, appeared.

Andy Douglass from his Intro to World Religions class was far from the first jock to pass through his classroom, but there was just something about the boy that had caught his eye. He was an okay student, often late with his assignments but otherwise unremarkable, but his appearance made him hard to overlook- the tallest boy in the class, magazine-worthy looks, and a sculpted body so good it was actually a distraction to the other students.

Professor Smith couldn't miss the way every girl in the class spent more time looking at Andy than at the whiteboard, even going so far as to arrive at class half an hour early just to stake out the seats closest to where he usually sat so they could ogle the way his biceps flexed whenever he raised his hand. But whenever the young women tried to chat him up after class, the stud never seemed interested in them. The professor thought he was an idiot for it- beautiful females were throwing themselves at him and he wasn't taking what was offered? The young fool clearly didn't appreciate what he had.

After a few weeks of classes the professor had begun to fantasize about what it would be like to be the one in Andy's shoes, to be the hot young stud who had his pick of all the girls in the school. If that were his muscular body he would use it right and plow through as many women as he could find!

So when he'd stumbled across a spell to "take the form of another" in one of the hieroglyphic scrolls he'd been translating, there had been no question about who he would use it on.

Words could not describe how incredible it had felt as the spell took effect and the years shed off of him, his body shifting until all traces of his old visage were gone and he stood there in the form of the student he'd so envied. The professor quickly divested himself of his clothes so he could perform a thorough examination of his new body to gauge the effects of the ritual- as a staunchly heterosexual man it was a bit strange for him to be studying another man's body so intimately, but since it was his now he relished the opportunity.

It was a literal weight off of his shoulders as his belly melted away into nothing and for the first time in decades he had a flat stomach- more than flat, it was cobbled through with abs. He could touch his abs now, and he couldn't bring himself to stop rubbing at them just to feel the rock hard ridges beneath his fingers. In his old body these muscles would be shriveled up from years of disuse and buried behind layers of fat but now they were fully on display, and they looked damn fine! This was actual six pack, the kind that came from countless hour of crunches and other such exercises that Bernard knew nothing about.

His entire body was now threaded through with muscle and he had no idea where any of it came from but he was grateful for it and he intended to have a lot of fun with it. Broad, well developed shoulders slithering down to powerful arms that hung down on either side of a set of hefty pecs that look like they belong on a Greek statue- and he felt as good as he looked! Everything about his new body was so tight and compact, built out of trained muscles that stood up proudly rather than weak flesh that surrendered to gravity.

Experimentally, he dropped to the floor and began doing push ups- he hadn't even thought of the exercise since his days in high school physical education class, but he was filled with a burning need to test out his new muscles. Back in his old body he’d usually collapse after one or two and then need an aspirin, but as he pumped up and down with his strong arms he felt like he’d never have to stop. Liquid gold was flowing through his veins!

Over and over again he sank so close to the floor that his chest almost touched the boards, but something else always touched down first- the pièce de résistance of his new body, Andy's penis. Given the unfortunate size of the cock Bernard had been born with he'd been certain that it would be an improvement no matter what his student was packing, but this was beyond his wildest dreams. Even soft it was a behemoth, and the heavy balls that accompanied it were equally impressive. He'd certainly made the right choice when picking a new body!

Grinning, he hopped back up to his feet, appreciating the simple joy of being able to stand without his joints protesting. The years had not been exceptionally kind to him but even in his youth he’d been something of a weakling, so being a strapping young lad was a novelty to him. One he intended to make the most of...

There were so many possibilities! His mind raced but ultimately he came to the conclusion that there were really only two things he really wanted: to drink and to fuck.

In his real body he got drunk often (partially due to the sting a lifetime of missed avenues and wrong choices, mostly due to boredom) but there was a difference between drinking alone and at a party... and as for the sex? Bernard turned his attention down again, admiring the young man’s enormous cock. He couldn’t imagine what lovemaking would be like with such an impressive tool at his disposal!

Tilting his face side to side he admired how handsome Andy was. With that strong jaw, those deep brown eyes, the manly stubble, he’d certainly have no trouble landing a pretty young thing! And a head full of hair too! He ran his hands through his hair, a bit surprised by its unfamiliar, wooly texture, but he wasn't going to complain because he was just thrilled to have anything on his head.

"Hello there ladies," he tested out his new voice, which was so deep and rich compared to his old one. If he'd taught classes with a voice like this, maybe students would have listened more! He leaned in to the mirror, letting him stretch his new wingspan, and imagined that he was talking to a group of admirers. "I don't suppose any of you pretty young things would be interested in showing an old man a good time?"

"No? Well how about a young stud like me instead?" he said cockily, making his bicep bounce a few times, and he pictured a classroom full of girls swooning. "Ladies, please, don't fight! There's enough of me to go around." He winked then reached down and took his new cock into his hand, wagging it around so its huge (even when soft) length danced, and he felt his balls tingle. "More than enough for all of you."

His mind drifted back to his ex-wife, who had left him after ten years of marriage because she "wasn't attracted to him anymore" and he cackled with delight when he looked at the young stud in the mirror. He'd like to see her try to say that now! But he wouldn't give an old broad like that the time of day anymore, no, he was more interested in girls "his own age," and on a Friday night he knew there would be plenty of them out there waiting for him.

Satisfied with his examination of his new body, Bernard hastened to get dressed so he could head out for a night on the town. He could work out the realities of his situation tomorrow- tonight he was going to have some well deserved fun.

None of his boring old clothes would fit a body like this so he'd thought ahead and picked out a new outfit to match his new body- something classy, unlike the baggy dreck that the youth of today wore. He slipped into a button up shirt, purposefully leaving it unbuttoned halfway down his chest to allow a tantalizing peek at his new torso, and he dabbed a bit of cologne on his wrists for good measure. The pants were a bit tighter than expected and he had to shimmy his hips to squeeze himself inside and leave the belt fairly loose, and when he looked in the mirror he realized why.

"Oh dear god..." he whispered, turning himself to the right and left to get a view of how his new butt strained at the back of his pants. He'd had to guess at the boy's measurements and he'd severely underestimated the size of Andy's posterior. Bernard never understood the fascination that young men these days seemed to have with their posteriors- what on Earth would any man need with such a giant backside?

But when he turned back around and saw the bulge in the front of his pants, the only thing he could think about was stepping out the door and finding someone to use it on.

"Get ready world," he boldly declared. "There's a new big man on campus."

#male body swap #Series: Security #This was not supposed to be two parts but I can't shut up so I had to split it up :\

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angelpregdreams · 1 month

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maggie the midwife 2

maggie the midwife (1) (2)

content: twin birth, fpreg

“Miss Maggie! Excuse me, Miss Maggie!”

Halfway down the small dirt path that led to her small cottage, Maggie heard someone call out for her. The voice was masculine and her brows furrowed in slight confusion when she saw a tall man in leathers jog up to her fence. She gave him a polite smile, “may I help you…?”

“Forgive me, ma'am - Quinn.” He introduced himself and stepped inside her gate, to which Maggie raised her brow. “I hope I'm not interrupting but my sister by marriage - she…her waters broke, and she sent me to find you. She's heavy with her twins and said you have been tending to her.”

He spoke of Cecelia, a woman trapped in town as her husband went north to try and find work. She was heavily pregnant with twins and had been overdue for almost two weeks now.

About time for them to arrive.

“Ah, yes,” Maggie soothed quickly, to ease the poor man's mind. “I know your sister-by-marriage. Do I have a moment to collect my gear equipment or shall I send you to fetch it for me?”

The man paused, fully confused what she meant by that question and took several seconds before he shook his head. His dark hair bounced with the motion, and Maggie couldn’t help but stare as he finally came back to himself, which appeared to be confident. “You should have time, her water’s spilled minutes ago, she should be fine for a bit…right?”

His sheepishness returned and Maggie smiled, before turning back to the pathway towards her cottage. “Come then,” she called out behind her, “let me collect my things, then we can return to Cece.”

Quinn followed behind her as she entered her home, politely standing outside until she asked for his help to carry her extra bag. Then he dutifully stepped up to take what she requested, eager to assist. He appeared almost puppy-like, and internally, Maggie found it very attractive. Her eyes diverted away from his frame just as he stepped back outside her home and turned to look at her expectantly.

“Do you have everything you need?” He asked, antsy that he had been away from his sister-by-marriage for several minutes now.

Maggie nodded and shut the door behind her, “yes! Let’s make you an uncle, shall we?”

That made the tall man take on a lighter step, excited now, but knowing the rest of the night would likely tax his brother’s wife. Maggie noted his softer personality, while also donned in knight’s armor. It was a charming thing, a chivalrous knight with the brightness of a sunflower. Briefly she hoped he would linger with Cecelia, knowing she was alone without her husband near would have to be hard, perhaps Quinn would be a welcome comfort. And Maggie could admire him a bit longer.

Cecelia’s home was tucked behind the main market, a bit hard to find as one had to wander deep into an alley, but Quinn walked there with familiarity when it failed Maggie, and they were in front of the small home. Quinn didn’t bother knocking, instead just stepping inside and calling out for Cece. Following behind him, Maggie slipped her smaller bag off of her shoulders and glanced around, trying to find the laboring woman.

It did not take long to locate her. Cecelia was sitting on an old armchair, her fingers digging into the arms as she moaned loudly in pain. Her skirts were hiked up onto her knees, still keeping some modesty, but her front laces were tugged at roughly, exposing one of her breasts. Maggie gave the woman a smile and placed her bag down next to Cecelia, asking Quinn to do the same with her other bag that had the clean linens.

“How are you doing, Cece?” Maggie asked calmly and stepped around the two to enter the small kitchen. She found a basin of water and dipped her hands in, listening to Quinn come to Cecelia’s side, asking her again how she felt.

“I’m fine…” Cecelia said quietly, as she seemed to come down from her pain. She took the hand Quinn offered with a tired grin as Maggie came back into the room. Cecelia shifted in the chair, parting her knees slightly, and grimacing.

“What’s wrong, mama?” The midwife came around to Cece’s front, kneeling in front of her and lifting the woman's skirts.

“Nuh - just hurts…” Cece breathed, squeezing Quinn’s hand before looking up at him with wide eyes, “please, don’t leave…”

“Hush, girl, I won’t,” Quinn said without pause, getting on his knees next to the chair - politely trying to keep his eyes averted from where Maggie was now revealing the lower half of Cecelia. The midwife gave him a reassuring nod to encourage him to stay if the mother wished and pushed her skirts all the way up and guided her to lift a thigh, letting her have full view of her red folds.

Cecelia was very swollen, her vagina bulging slightly as the first baby sat in her birth canal. Maggie was slightly surprised at the speed of the first’s descent but also was not sure when the pains started, simply when her waters broke. Quickly, and before another contraction happened, she pushed two fingers into the laboring woman, earning a gasp from Cece and an apologetic look from Maggie. Quinn’s eyes flicked over to Maggie and saw where her hand disappeared into, his cheeks turning pink slightly, before he looked away from both women.

“First is sitting low, honey,” the midwife commented, catching Quinn’s eyes before he averted his gaze, “have you felt the urge to push yet?”

A contraction took over Cecelia then, her body tensing and trying to curl into itself. She squeezed Quinn’s hand tightly and he visibly winced, but uttered not a sound as the woman in labor groaned loudly. With her fingers still buried in her charge’s vagina, she felt her walls tighten as her body rode the wave of pain. Maggie took deep breaths, trying to remind the woman to breathe. It worked, briefly. Cece huffed out harshly, before going immediately into another moan and Maggie felt the woman’s body tense - signaling her body pushing down on its own.

Maggie opened her mouth to urge Cecelia to relax, but before she could speak, her fingers came into contact with a fleshy bulge.

“Cece, dear - listen to me, how long have you been in labor?”

After several long seconds as the pain passed, she finally opened her eyes and quietly uttered, “about a day.”

“Gods, you’ve got to be kidding!” Quinn uttered, shaking his head slightly. Maggie gave him a soft look before pulling her hand free of Cecelia and dropping her gown back over her thighs.

“You are ready to start pushing, where do you want to deliver?” Maggie continued, not skipping a beat after his outburst. She had to get things moving so Cecelia could be as comfortable as possible, her body was ready to finish this quickly.

Face now covered in sweat, the woman in labor grunted and shifted slightly to begin to stand, “The bed,” she muttered quietly. Instantly, Quinn was on his feet and sliding an arm around her waist, while Maggie grabbed a fistful of her gear and followed the other two to the woman's bed. Quinn placed her on the edge of the bed gently, taking his position next to her again without question.

Cecelia groaned and sat back on the bed, her thighs spreading apart on their own as she began to push with the pain, urging her first deeper into her birth canal.

“Good, just remember to breathe.” Maggie urged, tugging the woman's dress up and over her massive belly. It heaved with every breath Cece made, tensing as she pushed down instinctively. Next to them Quinn sputtered but thankfully said nothing. “Keep going, Cece, just like that.”

“Ta-take this off…me.” Cecelia whined, tugging at her dress with her free hand. “Now!”

Obliging, the midwife did as requested, letting Cece sit on the edge of the bed fully nude in her laboring form. Quinn, who was still quiet, turned bright red, but never left her side. It was admirable, Maggie thought to herself.

“Oh, Gods! This is awful,” Cece continued groaning, her body pushing ever so slightly as the pain subsided then immediately returned. She cried out in slight shock and pushed down hard, her thighs spreading wide apart in an effort to give the emerging babe enough room. The instinct made her legs tremble, her body moving as if on its own accord. After a second, her free hand wrapped around the back of one of her thighs to pull it closer to her chest, screaming out in effort, “AHH!”

“Good! Push, push,” the midwife continued to coo softly to Cece, smiling slightly as she watched the woman's dark pussy bulge even more outward. The head lodged itself between the woman's lips and Cece began to tremble, before she released the push, the head receding just a bit as she relaxed slightly. “That was so good, mama, another one of those and this baby will be crowning. You ready?”

Cecelia gave Maggie a fierce glare, before gripping Quinn’s hand tightly, her face scrunching up as she bore down hard with her pain. Maggie's hand shot up to the woman's bulging lips, the head shooting out to almost a full crown. Slightly in awe at Cecelia’s determination and strength, Maggie didn't really notice the gush of fluid that leaked out around the baby's head. However, Quinn did not, his eyes lingering on what he was witnessing then trailing up Maggie’s arm, watching her as she assisted Cecelia in her delivery. His mouth dropped open slightly as he remained focused on the midwife between Cece’s legs on the floor.

Her fingers spread around her charge’s stretched hole, applying a bit of pressure as the woman continued to push, oblivious to her husband's brother and his wandering amazement.

After a few more pushes from Cecelia and no longer able to ignore his staring, Maggie's eyes flicked up to his, watching as he licked his lips looking at her. Her heart pounded in her chest and she was lost for a moment before she felt Cece push again, sobbing as she did so, the head stretching her straining and swollen folds as far as they could go. A cry of pained relief soon escaped the woman as the head lurched into Maggie's waiting hands, a very large puddle of fluid gushed over her fingers and onto the wooden floor.

“Good, good job.” She uttered quietly, trying to ignore what she was suddenly thinking of while she was working. A bolt of shame hit her and she cleared her throat as if to clear her mind, “almost there, honey. I know you can do it.”

Quinn seemed to catch on to what was happening and also returned to Cecelia’s side, his eyes now cast away from both women now. “You're close, it's almost over.”

Nodding weakly, Cecelia pulled one thigh up and apart, and with the next pain pushed. She released a loud groan, pushing hard as the baby turned the remainder of the way and lurched into Maggie's arms, the baby instantly releasing a loud cry. Fluid dribbled out of the woman's swollen folds, but it went unnoticed by the women as Maggie smiled broadly and cried out, “you did it!”

She quickly brought the child up to Cecelia’s chest, who just as swiftly wrapped herself around the crying infant, her own tears falling down her face. “The other one…” Cece trailed off with a sharp look of panic across her face.

“Hey!” Maggie napped, watching the laboring woman begin to slip, “hey, Cece, you did it once, you can do it again. And it was so fast, it'll be alright.”

The midwife had enough experience to say that was true enough most of the time. However, this was not like the others. Cecelia’s labor with the second continued for another hour. They trio worked and shifted every which way to spur on the second baby's arrival but it was trailing on. Cece had shifted to her hands and knees on the bed, rocking her hips as she moaned through her contractions. Now they were a never ending stream of tightness and pain, her body trembling even as Quinn tried to support her weight on his larger frame. Behind her, Maggie watched as the woman pushed, her opening bulging outward but never showing the head of the second twin. The first little one resting comfortable in a hand made crib near the bed, unbothered by its mother's plight.

“I'm going to check where the babe sits, alright Cece?” Maggie asked, her hands on the woman's hips as she saw her release another push. Cecelia nodded weakly.

Once again, she was close and the babe sat in her birth canal - that much Maggie could feel as soon as she pushed two fingers in. Her fingers bumped the wet head almost immediately but the progress was not happening as swiftly as the first.

From his spot on the bed, helping rub Cecelia’s shoulders when she paused between pushes, Quinn gave Maggie a worried glance, his eyes lingering over where her hand disappeared before looking away. She was still staring at him when his grey eyes came back to her, this time giving her a sheepish smile.

The midwife adjusted herself on the bed, his eyes getting harder to ignore the longer this went on and her body was alight at the attention. However, at this time, she had a job to do. Unable to really think of anything else, she met his gaze and mouthed the words, ‘focus now, talk later.’ Even as her body felt a thrum of excitement under his intense attention, she needed to focus as well.

To his credit, Quinn nodded and continued his ministrations on Cecelia’s shoulders, which made Maggie look away and back at the weeping womanhood, a tiny sliver of the second baby's head now starting to spread the woman apart.

“It's too - nuhg - big!” Cecelia screamed as she finished her hard push. “Too big!”

“I know, mama, this one is certainly bigger,” Maggie reassured her, her hand offering counter pressure around the pulsing heat between Cecelia’s legs. Her poor pussy was pink now, the taunt flesh pulled almost too tight around the crowning head, and Maggie knew it was taxing on the woman. “Keep pushing, I know you can do it.”

Crying, Cecelia obliged, her entire body shaking. She released a long moan and pushed down, her fingers digging into Quinn’s arms. “I-I…it's coming out!

“Yes, good girl! Push, push!” The midwife cheered on with a soft smile as she watched Cecelia’s pussy bulge even more outward, fully distended from her core. The head sat there for several long seconds, even after she released her push. That prompted her to cry out, even whimpering as she tried to immediately try to force the rest of the head from her. Maggie pressed her fingers around the head, Cecelia’s bulging folds pulsed under her hands, and she swore she could feel the woman’s flesh strain to its maximum. “Breathe, breathe, then push again.”

There was no indication that the woman heard her, but next to her Quinn rubbed her shoulders, coaxing her on with the promise it was almost over. Weeping overwhelmed tears, Cecelia sobbed and tried to take several deep breaths as instructed before gathering her strength to push once again.

As if her resolve returned, Cecelia bore down hard, her hips jutting upward slightly at just the right angle to push against Maggie’s hand. It applied just enough pressure, along with Cece’s harsh push, the second baby erupted from her vagina, the body falling into Maggie’s waiting hands.

Unable to contain her surprise, Maggie let out a chuckle and brought the babe up, rubbing its back firmly to urge it to cry. Which it did a split second later, the baby’s cry prompting the twin nearby to start sobbing. On the bed, shaking still from the effort, Cecelia laughed as well, rolling over onto her pillows and half leaning on Quinn.

As the new uncle, Quinn looked over the moon, his eyes misted while looking at the newborn - watching as Maggie passed the newborn off to his sister-by-marriage. “They both sound so healthy,” he commented, sniffing slightly and looking at the filthy infant she held, “gods be good, you did amazing Cece.”

#birth fiction #birth kink #birthing kink #fpreg birth #fpreg #preggophilia #giving birth #labor kink #preggo kink #pregnant angel thoughts #maggie the midwife chronicles

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