#sorry about your ovaries

[canirove]

Mason Mount on Playing for England, Chelsea and His Hometown    

[thekeeperof-thefandoms]

My girlfriend requested this

Hazbin men trying the period simulator. Somewhat of a follow up to my period post so this is based on the reader having severe period pain due to PCOS/ENDO

Lucifer

The man is sweating before you even attach the simulator. He knows he fucked up. He only agreed to this because he loves you a lot.

He handles the first 3 levels ok. You tell him very few women experience that little pain and that usually 4-6 is the average.

Those levels make him tense. He's uncomfortable, but still pretty able to work and do normal things. 5 has him pausing to do deep breaths every now and then. (If this is the canon timeline where he birthed Charlie he compares it to bad kicks).

6-8 he's pretty much doubled over. If you tell him that's the level you experience, he will cry. Literally begs forgiveness since again, period and labor pain is technically his fault. He is so sorry. If he didn't have issues with his Dad before he does now because this is fucked up. God's fucked up for doing this.

He doesn't make it to 10, he's crying by level 9. This is labor levels of pain. He gets why all you do is sleep. Treats your period like a sacred ritual after that. Preps for weeks. He goes full Bible, sheltering you for the duration of it so you can have peace and quiet. Please never hook him up to this again.

If you wear it at anything from an 8-10 and tell him "It's close, but I've hurt worse" he's gonna sob and then try and fight his Old Man again. He'll settle for offering to have your bits removed for you.

Vox

Once again this man hates admitting he was wrong. And yeah he knows your periods are really bad, especially now he's witnessed it. But it's still a huge knowledge gap for him and he doesn’t really take the time to think about it.

He handles 1-5 well. He's mildly uncomfortable by 5, but thinks that if this is the average experience, then it's not such a big deal. Tell him the statistics on how many people with periods actually experience 6-8 because that's actually the majority, and he's just confused. How is the average pain level not the most common?

6-8 has him gritting his teeth and glitching, but he refuses to stop and keeps trying to work. Is starting to wonder how you went so long working with this level of pain without him noticing.

He makes it to 10, but by then, he's unable to move, clutching his abdomen and sparking and glitching. Tells you it feels like his entire insides are being squeezed. The fact that he can feel it in his groin. He's kind of afraid of period sex with you after that because of how much he felt it. And you said it's caused cramps from your ribs to your knees. He's like... genuinely scared of your period and pain tolerance.

He's going to snuggle the fuck out of you afterwards and apologize for not appreciating how much you still do for him when you're not feeling good. How he didn't see how hurt you were. He does a lot of research after that and not only does he spoil you by buying whatever you need for your periods and giving you time off, he looks into treatment options. Even if that means chopping the useless fucking things out. Sinners can't have kids anyway so who needs ovaries and a uterus?

He's more convinced you should just be rid of the damn things when you wear it and 8-10 is "Yeah, this is close, but it doesn't really cover how much of my body hurts".

Valentino

Is only doing this because he was dared to by Velvette. Or if this an au where he's trying to be a less toxic person. But really I think it's also to prove that you're all being dramatic. It's a perfectly normal body function and his employees are just trying to get out of work.

He gets all the way to 6 before he starts to realize he may have fucked up. Especially when it's explained that this is what most people experience.

By 10 he's gritting his teeth, chain smoking, clawing at things. He refuses to give in, but he can count on one hand the number of things in his entire life and death as a pimp and a whore that he's experienced that come close to this level of pain.

No one told him his dick was gonna hurt. Sitting hurts. Breathing hurts. He doesn't even try to eat. He won't ever admit to being wrong, but he does behave more leniently with his actors when they're on their periods.

If you put it on (and lets say he actually cares about you) and setting 8-10 is "Yeah, this an average day for my cramps. My bad days are like..5 or 6 levels worse" it's gonna rearrange his brain a little. He might be a little afraid of you and some of the other actors with periods because your pain tolerances are so high. It threatens his ability to control you and them. But on the other hand, that's kinda hot???

Alastor

Has never once doubted that people who experience periods undergo serious struggle and has nothing but respect for women (and trans people he just associates it with women more because of the time period and his mama) who work through it.

He is actually the one who heard about the simulator through Rosie and asks you to show him your experience. Just to better understand you. He knows you're the type to try and function through the pain (probably because society ingrained into you that your pain doesn't matter).

Initially, he wants to skip the lower levels and just have you set it to your pain level. You tell him that's a bad idea, and to be honest, you're not sure if this thing goes that high. He asks you to check and you set it to the highest setting and say, "It's pretty close. It's been worse, but this is a rough idea," he's a little frustrated but still tries it.

You agree to set it to 4 and tell him 4-6 is what most people report feeling. He acknowledges it, registers it as unpleasant, but otherwise is fully capable.

7-9 has his ears flat, his smile is more a snarl. This is uncomfortable. Not what he considers painful but certainly irritating. It makes sitting, stretching, and eating feel much more difficult.

10. There's static visble around him. His teeth grind. Actually painful. Not the worst pain he's experienced, but he hates it. He hates the way he feels it in his back and hips as he walks. He hates the way taking deep breaths (which for someone as dramatic as he is and with the transatlantic accent, breathing technique and posture is important) stings. He hates the way it causes his stomach to cramp and churn. He hates the ache in his thighs and groin that make sitting feel stiff and ackward. He can only picture how blood loss would make this worse. Tired, losing nutrients, the headaches, the increased moodiness. It's no wonder you sleep, so much, but he wonders how the Hell you sleep like this? He's snappy and short tempered because of the pain (and again he gets why you would be if you weren't sleeping so much).

How does this affect how he treats you?

Not much. He still expects you to know your body and your limits. He would never dare to presume otherwise. He still helps prepare whatever you need for your time of the month and still meal plans for you, though he perhaps finds ways to ensure you get all the iron and vitamins you need without cooking steak and other big, heavy meals, since he now understands how bad your stomach hurts.

The only really noticeable change is how much more protective of you he is. Your time of the month hits, and Alastor hates being more than a few moments from you. He growls, pins his ears, and his antlers grow when people get too close to you. He's more prone to letting you snuggle with him when you want, trying to comfort you.

Angel Dust

Another who volunteered. His girl besties insist he doesn't have to do this, he's got the pass. He still wants to do it though, for solidarity.

He also starts on 4 and handles it well. He handles all of the levels pretty well, even 10. By 7 it's obvious he's sore, maybe a bit more withdrawn, exhausted, trying not to move too much or eat too much. Just trying to find a comfortable way to exist. The sad problem is, Angel already has to do this after rough nights at Val's.

He's used to sitting being uncomfortable and aches in his groin and thighs, cramps in his stomach from muscles clenching constantly. 10 is the only level where he's visibly ill, hunched over, lower arms curled around his midsection protectively.

He and the girlies all curl up together and nap and chat and snack on easy to digest junk food and granola bars. He's the first one to say "I bet it's even worse for you gals, but I tried".

He gets it. He's one of the girls. Honestly, kind of becomes a favorite when the ladies have period problems. (If you're dating any of the others and Angel is openly your favorite after this it is gonna cause a lot of dramatic pouting, posturing, and tantrum throwing.)

Husk

I'm going full balls to the wall on Veteran Husk. This man has seen some shit and dealt with his fair share of pain. Like Angel he takes it the best, with very little outward reaction. He's used to stiffness and nausea. The pain in his crotch is a little off putting, but it could be worse.

He's more cautious how he moves, rests more, occasionally a cramp causes his ears to pin back or a small hiss. Overall he takes it like a champ.

Offers you endless amounts of supportive words for dealing with this as well as you do, for days on end. Also is deeply sorry you even have to put up with this shit. Offers all sorts of tips on how to do stretches that help with easing cramps and stiffness without pulling something. Tips of foods/protein drinks to keep on hand to make sure you're maximizing how much nutrition you get. Man's a whole ass survival guide.

He only offers advice if you ask, though. He's not mansplaining how to handle your own body. He genuinely wants to help you, and that's the best way he knows how.

When you're on your period and just want something soft and warm he doesn't even bitch about it, he just settles on top of you and purrs, offers a massage, maybe offers a sly grin and a "no man left behind" joke as he helps you through these dark times.

BONUS:

ADAM

Would only do this if you challenged him, he has to prove his masculinity. He is definitely nervous as fuck though because he's seen yours. You and Lute already forced him to sit through a whole PowerPoint on women's anatomy and shit. He remembers how shitty he was to Eve, even if hers were in comparison, not that bad, just scary and new.

You forcing him to learn about and acknowledge female health is making him scared of pussy. This isn't gonna help.

3 and 4 make him whiney. He's uncomfortable. His groin feels weird. This sucks. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN THIS ISN'T EVEN THE AVERAGE?!"

By 5-7 he's actually on his knees, curled over his stomach. He tells you getting stabbed hurt less. This is making him re-evaluate his entire view on women (again he knows about trans people, but because of personal history equates periods to women. Wouldn't hate if a trans person had a period, it would just take his brain a second to process). He whines that you and Lute shouldn't be more badass than him.

"I thought men were supposed to be tougher and stronger. This pain tolerance horseshit is a lie. You guys suck."

He insists on going to 10 because quitting is for losers. He may actually throw up at 10 though. Every time the stupid simulators sends out a pulse and his stomach clenches, he groans. He's in the featal position, there are tears. One hand clenches his stomach the other is cupped around his groin. He's apologizing so much and he doesn't even remember what he's apologizing for. At one point its just "I'm sorry...oh fuck this...sorry about...ugh just...just men?! I guess. Fucking shit ass. Men suck. Women are...fucking great. Aces. You do this shit every month? For like 5 days....what the fuck. What the fuck what the fuck."

You feel a little bad, but Lute is definitely filming this. Afterwards, he tells you you're a badass and any person shit talking people for bitching about period pain (Not that a lot of Winners do, but ya know, obviously they let some questionable people into Heaven if Adam and Lute got by) he's gonna beat the shit out of them. Like "Do you even fucking know, bitch? They're literally so much fucking better than you. Absolute queens. You try doing literally anything when it feels like your dick is falling off and your insides are trying to claw outside your body!"

[monzabee]

the alchemy - cs55

masterlist || part 1 || part 3 ||

Summary: The one where not Carlos, nor you, have the power to fight the alchemy. 

Pairing: dad!carlos sainz x mom!reader 

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: absolute fluff (been a while), possible ovary explosion bc of dad!carlos, cursing (because i use way too many f-bombs in real life too), kids (apparently, it’s a tw for some people), i tried hating charles but it’s not happenning so a cheater redemption arc (kinda, he's trying okay??)

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! first of all, thank you all so much for the love you showed for part one, i really appreciate it and i'm sorry that this part has been a little delayed, but i just wanted it to be just as drama-filled as the first part whilst still being a bit lighter so i hope i found the right balance for it. while we love dad!carlos, i felt like charles still deserved a chance to redeem himself and come to his senses so we love that redemption arc for him (well, kinda guess?). also, i know we have one more part of this little mini-series to go, a social media au (yay!), but i just wanted to let you all know, once again, that i do not have a taglist, and no i will not be making one!! however, i do appreciate all your support and comments, and please do let me know what you think about this part! thanks to @percervall once again, who had to listen me talk about this part for many many hours and who was kind enough to help me proofread!! i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee 

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

It only happened once every few lifetimes. 

You honestly did not expect to end up with one of your closest friends – especially not after you told your cheating husband that you were getting a divorce, after he chose his lover over you and your baby; and most definitely not after the said close friend told you that he would step up instead of your cheat of a husband.  

But there you are, in the arms of non-other than Carlos Sainz, your boyfriend, having just woken up by the excited pitter patter of feet right outside your bedroom door. “Carlos,” you whisper, nudging him softly to wake him up, “Carlos, wake up.” You watch as he stirs, and then buries his head onto his pillow mumbling all the reasons why he doesn’t want to be awake, but you just chuckle softly as you poke him again. “Carlos, please.” 

With a disgruntled grunt, you watch as his eyes open, and with a scratchy voice he whines, “What, amor, I was sleeping.” 

Rolling your eyes, you point to the bedroom door, “Listen,” you tell him, and watch as his eyes widen as realisation sets in at the same time his expression turns into a smiling one. “I think someone is excited for today.”  

“You think?” He retorts, snorting lightly as he pulls you closer, “That’s all he’s been able to talk about for weeks, amor.”  

“Well, can you blame him?” You nudge him, ignoring the sound of scraping of your son’s step stool outside your door. “He just wants to watch his father win.” Watching the smile on your boyfriend’s face grows as the door handle is jiggling, you point to the pillows with your head, “Let’s just pretend we’re asleep, he’ll be happier that way.”  

With a deep sigh, the happy kind, he pulls you closer to himself – at the right time too, as you hear the patter of footsteps getting closer. With a tug at the comforter, you hear, “Papa, wake up.” You can hear Carlos, badly, muffling a chuckle by burying his head deeper into your neck, but the little voice beside him is non-relenting. “Papa! You promised me we’d go to the race today!”  

“Carlos,” you whisper covertly, “you’re going to make him cry.”  

Giving you a look that silently says, No I won’t, he turns towards the little intruder in your bedroom, quickly gathering him in his arms as he puts him on the bed next to you. The sound of laughter coming from two of the most important men in your life bring a sleepy smile to your face as you watch Carlos tickle your son despites his protests for him to stop.  

“Mommy!” Your son exclaims, climbing over Carlos to reach you, “Tell Papa to stop! We need to get ready!” His face is flushed with excitement and laughter, a sight that fills your heart with warmth. 

“Alright, alright,” you say, giggling as you pull him into a hug, “let’s get ready then. You don’t want to be late for your big day, do you?” 

Carlos finally stops his playful assault, sitting up and stretching with a groan. “She’s right, buddy. We should all get up and get going. Lots to do before the race, you still remember our plan for breakfast?” Your son’s eyes light up even more, if that were possible, and he scrambles off the bed, running back to his room to get dressed. You and Carlos exchange a glance, something you seem to do more now than ever.  

You wait until Rafael is out of the hearing distance before you tilt your head sideways and narrow your eyes in question, “What plan are you talking about?” 

“Nothing for you,” he boops your nose with his pointer finger as he straightens up and gets out of the bed, “to worry your pretty little head about. Just come to the kitchen when you’re ready.” 

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued but willing to play along. “So, you think I’m pretty?” you ask, batting your eyes at him exaggeratedly as he gently shoves you back into the bed. Getting up and stretching, which you shamelessly take the opportunity to ogle him, you watch him with a smile as he heads towards the kitchen following your son. Getting ready consists of brushing your teeth and hastily throwing on a robe for you, too anxious to see what you son and husband cooking up in the kitchen – literally.  

The scene in the kitchen is enough to melt your heart on its own – Rafael is standing on his trusty step stool at the counter, his little hands busy arranging an assortment of fruits on a plate. The concentration on his face is evident by the way his tongue peeks out slightly in that adorable way he does when he’s focused, a habit that he picked up from his father. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, is busy with flipping something in a pan, shirtless might you add.  

“Oh my God, look at my boys!” You croon, leaning against the doorframe with a playful grin. “You even have matching hats and everything!” 

“Boys?” Carlos scoffs, turning to Rafael and pointing his finger towards you, “Can you believe her?” He then turns to you as he places his hands on his hips and puffs out his chest. “We are not boys, amor, we are men.” 

You chuckle at his exaggerated display of masculinity, shaking your head as you walk further into the kitchen. “Oh, of course, how could I forget? The two manliest men I know,” you tease, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm. 

Rafael, picking up on the banter, puffs out his little chest just like his father, mimicking his stance. “Yeah, Mommy! We're strong, right, Papa?” 

Carlos grins, his eyes twinkling as he looks at Rafael. “That’s right, we’re the strongest men in the world." He turns back to you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And we make the best breakfast too. Isn’t that right, Raf?” 

“Yes!” Rafael exclaims, beaming with pride as he holds up the plate of perfectly arranged fruit. “Look what I made, Mommy!” 

You lean down to inspect his handiwork, smiling softly. “Wow, this looks incredible, sweetheart. You’re so talented!” You give him a big kiss on the cheek, making him giggle. 

Carlos steps closer, holding out a fork with a piece of pancake speared on it. “And how about a taste test, amor?” His voice is softer now, the playful tone giving way to something more tender. 

You take the fork from him, taking a bite of the pancake. The fluffiness and warmth of it fill your senses, and you can’t help but let out a contented sigh. “This is amazing, Carlos. You’ve outdone yourself.” 

He watches you with a satisfied smile, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Only the best for you.” 

Rafael, not wanting to be left out, grabs a piece of fruit and holds it up to you. “Try mine too, Mommy!” 

You take the fruit from him, savouring the sweetness as you chew. “Delicious! You’re both going to spoil me with all this great food.” 

Carlos chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist as he presses a kiss to your temple. “That’s the plan,” he murmurs against your skin, making you shiver slightly. “I can also spoil you in the other way you like,” his voice drops enough for only you to hear.  

You glance up at him, meeting his playful yet heated gaze, and feel a blush creep up your cheeks. “Carlos,” you murmur, half-warning, half-inviting, as Rafael happily oblivious to the exchange, chatters away about his breakfast creation. “I would like to still be able to walk by the time we get to the paddock.” 

But Carlos just smirks, leaning in to brush his lips against your ear, his breath warm and intoxicating. “Later, amor,” he promises, his voice thick with affection and mischief. 

Before you can respond, Rafael tugs at your robe, breaking the spell. “Mommy! Let’s eat now!” His voice is filled with the kind of innocent excitement that only a child can muster, and it instantly brings you back in the present moment. 

You smile down at him, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Alright, let’s eat. I’m starving.” Carlos gives you one last knowing glance before stepping back to grab the plates. As the three of you settle down at the table, you try to ignore his lingering gaze that makes your heart race just a bit faster, though you’re not exactly that successful. 

It would be safe to say that it had been a crazy few years for Carlos Sainz. Or at least, that’s what Charles would say – if, you know, anybody was to ask him his opinion. First, he had lost his seat at Ferrari, and Charles really felt for him at first; after all, he was his teammate. But he was also the man who ended his marriage, so his feelings for Carlos changed for the worse very quickly. The whole situation had him coming to some revelations.  

First revelation he came to was the fact that he was wrong for cheating on his wife, however complicated the situation might be. He had tried to justify it to himself, blaming the stress and the strain, but deep down, he knew there was no excuse for what he’d done. 

Second revelation was that you deserved to be happy, with or without him – he was just being petty because it was with his old teammate. You deserved to be happy, and while Charles could admit that in theory, accepting that your happiness was now tied to Carlos was a bitter pill to swallow. 

Third, and probably the biggest, revelation was that he had royally screwed up when he chose the other woman over you and your son, and it was a loss that he mourned every single day. If he thought seeing Carlos thrive after his own life was crumbling down was hurting his ego, seeing Carlos be the father to his son, was a thousand times worse.  

Life took an interesting turn for Carlos after that night at the hotel in Monte Carlo. You had no expectations for him, you didn’t expect him to stay true to his words and be there for you and your baby. But that was the thing, because he kept his promise. He was at your door the next morning with a short list of apartments and penthouses in Monte Carlo. Anticipating your need of getting out of the country, he was prepared – he also looked at apartments in New York, houses in LA and townhouses in London (the few apartments he chose in Madrid also didn’t escape you, but it was a conversation you weren’t ready to have yet). So, when you were having, yet another breakdown in front of him, he just stood next to you and held you until you calmed down. He was always next to you, somehow managing his schedule for the racing season and coming out to see you between races. He kept true to his promise as he made waffles for you at midnight, grumbling about how pancakes were superior, and he held your hand when you were in the delivery room even though you were probably close to breaking the poor man’s hand. The bigger shock came when he announced that he would not be racing for the next season – something he had conveniently not told you in the months leading up to your pregnancy. It also led up to your first fight, and your first real confrontation since this unexpected journey began. The news that Carlos wouldn’t be racing the next season blindsided you. It wasn’t just the fact that he had made such a monumental decision without consulting you; it was the realisation that he had chosen you and your child over the sport he loved so deeply. 

“What do you mean you’re not racing next season?” you had asked, your voice edged with disbelief. You were standing in the kitchen of the new apartment he had helped you find, your baby—your son—napping peacefully in the next room. Carlos was casually leaning against the counter, arms crossed, as if he had just announced something as mundane as what was for dinner. 

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, a habit you had come to recognize as a sign that he was about to say something serious. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he said, his voice calm, and God it drove you insane how calm and rational he was being with a decision so irrational to you. “And after everything that’s happened... I just think it’s the right decision for now.” 

“But racing is your life,” you insisted, the weight of his words settling in. “I don’t understand how you can just walk away from it.” 

Carlos met your gaze, his brown eyes steady and full of determination. “It’s not about walking away,” he explained. “It’s about priorities. You and Rafael... you’re my priority now. I want to be here for you both, not halfway across the world, missing out on everything.” 

The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache. For so long, you had been used to being let down, to promises that were made and then broken. But here was Carlos, standing in front of you, willing to give up something he loved more than anything for you and your son. 

“That’s not fair to you,” you whispered, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes. “I don’t want to be the reason you give up on your dreams.” 

Carlos stepped closer, gently cupping your face in his hands. “You’re not taking anything away from me,” he assured you. “You’re giving me something I didn’t even know I needed. I’m choosing this, because I want to. I want to be here for you, to be the father Rafael deserves. I want us to be a family.” 

His words broke through the wall you had been holding up, and you let the tears fall. It wasn’t just about the sacrifice he was making; it was about the fact that he was doing it willingly, without hesitation, because he wanted to be with you and Rafael. It was a love that was deeper than anything you had ever known, and it terrified you as much as it filled you with hope. 

“But what if you regret it?” you asked, your voice trembling with the weight of your fears. 

“I won’t,” Carlos said firmly, his thumbs gently brushing away your tears. “I know what I want. And if I ever go back to racing, it’ll be when we’re ready. When we both decide it’s the right time. But for now, this is where I need to be.” 

You searched his eyes for any sign of doubt, but there was none. He was as serious as ever, and in that moment, you realized that this wasn’t just about him making a choice— it was about him choosing you, over and over again, in a way no one ever had before. 

The argument you had anticipated fizzled out before it could even begin. There was nothing left to fight about, not when he had laid his heart bare for you. All you could do was fall into his arms, holding onto him tightly as you let the weight of his decision sink in. It was overwhelming, knowing that someone loved you that much, that they would uproot their entire world just to be by your side. 

So, yeah, Carlos Sainz had not raced for the 2025 season. If it were up to him, he would stay with the two of you for the 2026 season as well, but you and Carlos Sainz Sr managed to convince him to get back to the real world, no matter how much he was enjoying being a stay-at-home dad. But the biggest shock for the world, and Charles, wasn’t that Carlos was returning to the F1 grid – no, the biggest shock was that he was returning to the F1 grid in one of the most coveted seats; right next to Max Verstappen. The reaction to the news had been mixed. Some were thrilled to see him back, eager to see what he could do in a car as competitive as the Red Bull. Others were skeptical, wondering if a year away from the sport had dulled his edge. For Charles, the news was a bitter pill to swallow. Carlos wasn’t just returning to the grid—he was stepping into one of the most sought-after seats in F1. But more than that, it was the reminder that Carlos had taken something else from him, something far more personal and painful. Watching Carlos step into his new role at Red Bull, knowing that he was now part of your life and Rafael’s life in a way Charles never could be, was a constant, aching reminder of everything he had lost. 

And so began the Leclerc-Sainz rivalry – which although sounds riveting, is probably the reason why you had to visit your cardiologist more times than necessary within the last couple of years. On the surface, it was the perfect storyline: two former teammates, now on opposing sides, battling it out on the track in some of the most intense and thrilling races the sport had ever seen. But for you, it was far from entertainment. Each race weekend became a new source of anxiety, and Carlos knew how much it affected you, so he tried his best to keep the rivalry on the track. He would reassure you, telling you that whatever happened during the race, it wouldn’t change how he felt about you or Rafael. But even he couldn’t deny that the tension between him and Charles was personal. It was more than just racing—it was about proving something, not just to the world, but to themselves and each other. And so, race after race, you found yourself on an emotional rollercoaster. The thrill of seeing Carlos perform at his best was always accompanied by the fear of what might happen if things went wrong. The rivalry wasn’t just a storyline for the media—it was a real, living thing that had a profound impact on your life. 

So, when Rafael told you that he wanted to watch his father race live, you were hesitant to agree. The thought of bringing your son into that world—where emotions ran high, and the stakes were even higher—filled you with dread. The last thing you wanted was for Rafael to witness the intensity of the rivalry that had consumed not just Carlos and Charles, but your entire life. 

Carlos, however, was adamant. He knew how much it meant to Rafael to see him race, to be a part of something that had been such a significant part of Carlos’s life before Rafael was born. “He needs to see it,” Carlos told you one evening as you sat together, discussing Rafael’s request. “He needs to know what I do, why it’s important to me, and why I went back to racing in the first place.”  

You couldn’t deny that Carlos had a point. Rafael idolized his father and seeing him in action would only strengthen the bond between them. But the idea of watching the race unfold, of seeing Carlos and Charles go head-to-head while your son was there, was almost too much to bear. The days leading up to the race were a blur of preparation and anxiety. Carlos did his best to reassure you, but the tension was palpable. He understood your fears and promised to keep things professional, but you both knew that once the lights went out, everything would be on the line. So, you weren’t exactly surprised that your boyfriend spent the entire morning buttering you up and getting you to relax as much as possible about the day ahead of you.  

And to be perfectly fair, he was right for the most part. It had been fine from the moment you made it into the paddock, which somehow worked wonders on your anxiety. As you made your way to the circuit, Rafael’s excitement was infectious. He was practically bouncing in his seat, his little face pressed against the window as he took in the sights. You couldn’t help but smile, his joy momentarily easing the knot of anxiety that had been tightening in your chest since the moment you agreed to come to the paddock in the first place.  

Seeing him so happy and in his element, you know instantly that the paddock, no matter in which country, is going to become his safe place. Rafael keeps asking Carlos questions about everything from how they manage to keep the cars so clean to what would happen if they didn’t wear helmets. And Carlos is patient as he answers all his questions, no matter how childish or obvious they might seem. So, when he told Rafael that maybe, just maybe, he might end up in one of the cars he admires so much one day, you know your son won’t miss the beat. “Can I?” He asks you, eyes widened with a pleading look as he clasps his hands together under his chin, “Please, Mommy, I promise I’ll be very careful.”  

“Absolutely not,” you shake your head, mind immediately starting to think about all the things that could go wrong, “it’s so dangerous! Just think about how afraid you’d be of the speed.”  

Rafael scoffs, arms crossed on his chest as he pleads through the pout he has on his face, “I’m not afraid of the speed! Papa, tell her I’m not afraid of the speed!” 

Carlos reaches over Rafael’s head as he takes off his cap and ruffles his hair, which manages to get a series of giggles from the little boy, and he affirms, “You are not afraid of the speed, but your mother is right.” You have to hold in your laughter when you see the indignant look on Rafael’s face, but Carlos continues talking as he signals for his son to listen, “We can talk about it when you are older, but for right now you are my lead strategist, capisce?” 

Rafael steers his pout towards you, and you shrug innocently in response, which gets a resigning sigh from him. “That’s fine, I guess.” He mumbles, and points to the garage door behind the table the three of you are sitting, “Can I look at your car again?” 

“Be careful, and make sure you tell Caco where you are.” Carlos reminds him, as Rafael excitedly scurries off toward the garage, leaving you and Carlos to share a quiet moment. 

Carlos leaned back in his chair, a content smile playing on his lips as he watched Rafael dart off. “He’s got the bug,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice. 

You sigh, shaking your head playfully. “I know. He’s already got the attitude. I don’t think I’m ready for him to jump in a kart and never look back.” 

Carlos reaches for your hand, his touch grounding you. “We’ll keep him safe,” he says quietly, his gaze meeting yours. “I promise. Whatever happens, we’ll make sure he’s ready, and we’ll protect him from the worst of it.” 

You nod, squeezing his hand in return, trusting him like you always have. As you sit together, watching Rafael’s excitement fill the garage, the sweet moment is interrupted by a voice both of you know very well. “Seriously? You’re using him to get to me on a race day now?”  

Your fingers nearly crush your poor boyfriend’s hand as you look at the intruder, your heart immediately racing. You turn to see Charles standing there, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. His eyes flicker from Carlos to you, then toward the garage where Rafael had just run off. “Excuse me?” You manage to get out, your voice sharp with surprise. The audacity of his accusation stings more than you expected. Charles' gaze hardens as he steps closer, clearly not backing down. 

“You heard me,” Charles says, his tone edged with bitterness. “Bringing Rafael here, right in the middle of everything... it’s not a coincidence. You’re just trying to—” 

“To what?” Carlos cuts in, his voice calm but firm. His protective instincts kick in as he stands, placing himself between you and Charles. “To have a good day with our son? To let him enjoy the race?” 

Charles scoffs, shaking his head. “He’s not your son, he’s mine. Stop fooling yourself into thinking you’re his father just because you’re here.” 

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, everything goes silent. Carlos' expression tightens, but he doesn’t move, his body still a shield between you and Charles. You feel your breath catch in your throat, the weight of Charles’ words hanging heavy in the air. “I know who his father is, Charles,” Carlos says, his voice calm but steely. “And considering the fact that he doesn’t even know you exist, I’d say me being here is more than proof that I am his father.” 

Charles' jaw clenches, and his eyes flicker with something raw—pain, jealousy, frustration, all mixed together. “You think you can just step in and take my place? Be the dad, play happy family with my son?” 

“Cabrón,” Carlos warns, and though you’ve heard him use that nickname for his friends countless of times, this voice is devoid of all affection, “you lost all right to call yourself Rafael’s father when you decided to choose whatever flavour of the month you were with at the time.” You feel your heart race, not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of the moment and the murderous look on Carlos’ face. Carlos steps forward, his voice low but terse. “You think being a father is about biology? About showing up when it’s convenient for you? Rafael doesn’t even know who you are because you’ve never been there for him. I have. I’ve been the one tucking him in, I've been there when he was sick and crying, and I’m the one showing him love every single day.”  

Charles flinches, the sting of the truth evident in his expression. For a moment, the fire in his eyes dims, replaced by something else— regret, perhaps. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and he straightens his posture, trying to regain control of the situation. “I made mistakes,” Charles says, his voice quiet but defiant. “But you can’t just erase me from his life. He has a right to know who his real father is.” 

Carlos’ gaze doesn’t waver, his protective instincts blazing. “Rafael knows who his real father is. He may not understand all the details yet, but he knows who’s been there for him. And when the time comes, when he’s ready, we’ll tell him the truth. But that decision isn’t yours to make anymore, Charles. You gave up that right a long time ago.” 

“You’re just going to sit there and let him talk to me like this?” Charles hisses, turning towards you in an attempt to find sympathy. His eyes are pleading, but there’s anger simmering beneath the surface. 

Your chest tightens as you meet his gaze, feeling the weight of everything that has been left unsaid between the three of you for so long. You take a deep breath, your voice soft but firm when you finally respond. “It’s time to let go, Charles.” Charles' face falls at your words, the weight of their finality hitting him hard. His lips part slightly as if he wants to argue, but no words come. The tension in the air is suffocating, each second stretching out painfully. Carlos remains silent, standing tall beside you, his hand subtly resting on your back for support. He knows this conversation is yours to finish. “It’s not about erasing you from Rafael’s life,” you continue, your voice steady though your heart is pounding in your chest. “It’s about doing what’s best for him. And right now, that means protecting him from the confusion and hurt that the fact that you were too much of a coward to choose him.” 

Charles takes a step back, the anger in his expression dimming into something more fragile. His eyes search yours, perhaps looking for a trace of the bond you once shared, but it’s clear that things have changed too much. Too much time has passed. “I’m not trying to hurt him,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I apologised countless of times, what more do you want from me? I am sorry, okay?” 

“Are you quite done?” Charles flinches at your sharp tone, the weight of your words settling heavily between the three of you. His gaze drops to the ground as if he’s searching for something to say, but nothing comes. Carlos stands steady beside you, his presence strong, comforting, even. “I am sorry, too, about it all.”  

You can feel Carlos’ confused stare on you, and Charles looks at you with the same expression as he asks, “You... do?” 

“I’m sorry that you were cheating on me from the start, I’m sorry you were too weak to stay faithful to me after we got married,” you continue, the words heavy but resolute as they fall from your lips. Charles' expression shifts, a mixture of guilt and pain crossing his face. Carlos’ hand tightens slightly on your back, offering silent support as you finally lay bare what you’ve held inside for so long. “I’m sorry I ignored it for as long as I did, and I’m sorry that I ever found out.” Charles’ face hardens, his eyes clouded with guilt and perhaps a hint of defensiveness as your words hit him. The weight of what you're saying seems to pull him down, and he takes a deep breath as if trying to absorb the impact. He opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, not willing to let this moment slip away before you say everything that’s been weighing on your heart. “I’m sorry I ever found out about the lies, but most of all, I’m sorry for Rafael. He deserved better, he deserved a father who was present and loved him without conditions,” you say, your eyes locking with Charles’. “You weren’t there, Charles, you weren’t there before Rafael, and you weren’t going to be there after him. So, I suppose what I’m not sorry for is falling in love with a man who was courageous enough to fill that role for both me and him.” Charles’ lips part as if to argue, but no words form. His eyes betray the guilt and regret he’s been carrying, but there’s nothing left for him to say. He knows it. You know it. Even the mechanics and people around you who have stopped what they are doing to watch this whole thing go down know it. “Finally, I’m sorry that you felt the need and audacity to come down here, now not only have you ruined our marriage, but you’ve also ruined my day-off which I intended to spend with my boyfriend, and our son.” 

Charles flinches at your final words, his face crumpling under the weight of it all. The sting of your truth, laid bare for everyone to hear, leaves him speechless. His bravado has completely evaporated, replaced by a hollow sense of regret and defeat. He opens his mouth as if to respond but quickly closes it, realizing there’s nothing he can say that will undo the damage he caused, the pain he inflicted, or the years he lost. His eyes flicker to Carlos, who stands steady, unmoved by Charles’ turmoil. There’s no room for pity here. “I—” Charles begins but stops as Carlos raises his hand.  

“I think you’ve said enough,” his voice lacks all sympathy for his old friend, his old teammate, “it’s best you should go before you distress my girlfriend, or my son any further.  

Charles’ eyes widen slightly at Carlos’ words, the final blow landing hard. He looks as if he’s been physically struck, his shoulders slumping as any remaining fight drains from him. His gaze flickers between you and Carlos, searching for something—anything—but finding no redemption, no sympathy. There’s nothing left to say. 

He swallows hard, his lips pressed into a tight line, before finally nodding in a reluctant acceptance. “Fine,” he mutters, his voice barely audible. He turns on his heel, walking away with slow, defeated steps. The tension that had gripped the air slowly begins to dissipate as he disappears into the distance, leaving only the echoes of his footsteps behind. 

Carlos turns to you, his hand still resting on your back, but now it’s a comforting gesture rather than a protective one. His expression softens as he searches your face. “Are you okay?” he asks gently. 

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything that’s just happened, but also a sense of relief. “I think so,” you reply, your voice steady despite the emotional whirlwind you’ve just gone through. “It needed to happen.” 

Carlos nods, his thumb brushing soothingly against your back. “He’s not going to ruin this for us. Not today, not ever.” 

You smile faintly, grateful for his support. “No, he’s not. He’s gone now, and I’m finally free of it all.” 

“We’re free of him,” Carlos adds, a reassuring strength in his voice. “You, me, and Rafael. That’s what matters.” 

“Just promise me you’ll be careful on the track today,” you plead, chin resting on his chest as you look up to him.  

Carlos chuckles softly, his warm smile easing the tension that still lingers. “I promise,” he says, his voice light but sincere. He tilts his head, giving you a playful wink. “But you know me, I can’t drive too carefully. It's in my nature to push the limits a bit.” 

You roll your eyes with a small laugh, but your heart flutters slightly at the thought of him racing. It’s something you’ve grown used to, but there’s always that edge of worry. "Just... don’t make me regret asking," you tease, though the concern in your voice is real. 

Carlos leans down, brushing his lips gently against your forehead, the gesture filled with tenderness. "I’ll come back to you both, safe and sound," he whispers softly, his forehead resting against yours for a brief moment. "Always." 

You smile, feeling reassured by his words, and you give him a small nod. "Alright. Go show them what you’re made of, then." 

As Carlos pulls away, you can see the familiar spark in his eyes, the passion and excitement that he always carries before a race. He gives your hand one last squeeze before turning to head toward the car. You watch him for a moment, taking in the sight of him—confident, composed, and ready for whatever comes next. Just before he reaches the garage doors, he turns back and flashes you that signature grin that always makes your heart skip a beat. “For you and Rafael,” he calls out. Your smile widens as you watch him go, knowing that no matter what happens on the track today, you’ll always have each other. 

It’s not hard for you to find Rafael when you head back to the garage yourself. He’s completely engrossed in conversation with one of Carlos' engineers, pointing out different tools and parts of the car with wide-eyed fascination. His little hands gesture excitedly, and the engineer listens with a warm smile, clearly amused by Rafael’s enthusiasm. Carlos stands off to the side, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, watching his son with a look of pure affection and pride. His eyes sparkle as he takes in the sight of Rafael’s excitement, and there’s a certain softness to his expression that makes your heart swell. 

You walk over, standing beside Carlos, who doesn’t take his eyes off Rafael but greets you with a small grin. “He’s already talking like he’s part of the team,” Carlos says quietly, his voice filled with pride. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s taking over the pit crew in a few years.” 

You chuckle softly, watching Rafael explain something animatedly, his little voice echoing through the garage. “He’s got your passion,” you say, leaning into Carlos slightly, feeling the warmth of his presence. 

Carlos hums in agreement, his arm slipping around your waist. “Maybe,” he says, his tone affectionate, “but the way he talks about everything… that’s all you. He’s got your curiosity, your heart, so, all my favourite parts of you.” 

“My boyfriend the charmer,” you mumble as you lightly hit him on his chest.

Carlos chuckles, catching your hand gently against his chest before pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Just telling the truth,” he murmurs, his eyes twinkling as he holds your gaze for a moment longer. “You deserve all the charm in the world.” 

You roll your eyes playfully, though you can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re lucky you’re good at this, or I might think you’re just trying to get out of bath time for the next few days.” 

Carlos laughs, his warm, deep voice sending a wave of comfort through you. “I’d never do that. Bath time is part of the job.” He leans in slightly, lowering his voice with a mischievous grin. “But if I do this race right, maybe we can negotiate something.” 

You raise an eyebrow, feigning suspicion, but you can’t help the flutter in your chest at the way he always manages to make you feel light and cared for, even in the most mundane moments. “Alright, we’ll see how you perform today,” you tease back “if you win, I’ll let you put a baby in me, how about that?” 

Carlos freezes for a moment, his eyes widening in surprise before a slow, playful grin spreads across his face. “You’re serious?” he asks, his voice filled with both excitement and disbelief. 

You nod, biting your lip, unable to hide your own smile. “If you win today, we can start thinking about it.” 

Carlos lets out a short laugh, running a hand through his hair as if trying to process what you just said. “Well, I’ve never been more motivated to win a race in my life,” he says, his eyes gleaming with a new intensity. 

You chuckle, your heart racing at the look on his face. "Just make sure you’re focused on the track and not… well, other things." 

“Oh, I’ll be focused,” Carlos says, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “But now, I’ve got the best reason in the world to win.” He leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. “For you, and for giving Rafael a baby sister or a brother.” Your breath catches at the sincerity in his voice, and as he pulls back, he flashes you that charming grin again before heading off toward the car. You watch him go, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness settle in your chest. 

Eventually going behind the barriers and watching the race is harder than you’ve expected, you realise. As the laps go by, you keep glancing at Rafael, who’s glued to the action, his eyes wide with admiration for his dad. You smile at the way he clutches his little racing helmet, a miniature version of Carlos’ gear, his excitement evident. It’s clear he’s living every moment of the race through his dad’s performance, just as you are. When Carlos is in the lead, you hold your breath, willing him to stay ahead. When he’s fighting for position, you’re on the edge of your seat, cheering him on with every ounce of energy you have. 

As the final laps approach, you glance at the clock and then at Rafael, who’s practically bouncing with excitement. You can tell he’s just as invested in the outcome as you are. You squeeze his hand, giving him an encouraging smile, and he returns it with a determined nod. 

When Carlos crosses the finish line, the roar of the crowd is deafening, and you let out a cheer of your own, tears of joy welling up in your eyes. You look down at Rafael, who’s jumping up and down, his face beaming with pride and excitement. “He did it!” you shout, lifting him up in your arms as you join in the celebration. 

Caco and a couple of the mechanics help you and Rafael to get to the barriers, weaving through the throng of celebrating fans and team members. As you approach the barriers, Rafael’s excitement is noticeable. His eyes are wide with wonder, and he clutches his mini helmet tightly, bouncing with every step. Caco, with his warm, reassuring smile, offers a few words of congratulations and gives Rafael a high-five. Carlos comes into view, his car parked in the parc fermé. His grin is infectious, and you can see the joy and relief in his eyes as he looks up at you and Rafael. The moment he gets out of the car, he���s enveloped by his team, but his gaze quickly finds you and Rafael. He finds his way to you after getting weighed and you can see him grab his cap before finally rushing towards you. Carlos scoops Rafael up into his arms, spinning him around as they both laugh, and then turns to you, his eyes shining with gratitude and affection. 

“Well, looks like we’ve got a baby sister or brother to start thinking about,” Carlos says with a wink, setting Rafael down so he can pull you a in for a kiss. 

You smile against his lips, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the joy of this moment. When you pull away, you look up at Carlos, your eyes sparkling with love and excitement. “We do, don’t we?” you say softly, your heart full as you take in the sight of your family together in this victorious moment. 

Rafael, still buzzing with excitement, tugs on Carlos’ sleeve, his little voice bubbling over with enthusiasm. “Papa, did you see me cheering? I was so loud!” 

Carlos laughs, his eyes crinkling with joy. “I heard you, buddy. You were the loudest cheerleader out there.” 

As the celebration continues around you, you feel a profound sense of contentment. The day’s events, the race, the emotions—everything has come together perfectly. You take a deep breath, savouring the feeling of being surrounded by the people you love most. 

Carlos pulls you close, wrapping his arms around both you and Rafael. “Thank you for everything today,” he murmurs, his voice filled with sincerity. “You’ve made this day even more special.” 

You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart. “It’s been an incredible day,” you agree, looking out at the jubilant scene around you. “I wouldn’t have wanted to spend it with anyone else.” 

As you watch him savour the moments with your son before he needs to go for his interview and the podium celebrations, you realise just how lucky you are to have something that only happens every few lifetimes. 

[velvrei]

Hellohellooohellooo!!!God I fucking love your way of writting Logan!!! You really imitates his aura and his own being! I can almost feel his temperamental blows coming out! and- not for talking about the smuts 🫨— that was my ovaries reading some smut request that you have done,sorry let me just: ❤️‍🔥🤏🏻 *gives you my damn horny heart due to so erotic request

I really wanted to tell you,i really like it,also to give you another request since you like so much writting them 😈 (and so do I sweetheart but even more)

My request it’s that,can you write about Logan sucking Reader’s boobs? I have always seeing him wit really big mommy issues (perhaps maybe him not remembering her :-c ) but also a man of boobs (he would lick some breast like his favourite tequila) I m not sorry🫶🏻other raqueta i tough about was him thrusting reader like drawer that does not close (if you are not very comfy about the own request feel free to just don’t do it,honestly principally i do it because i m very insecure myself of my own and my weird sexual headcannons)

have a good day when you are reading this my favorite Wolverine’s writer🫶🏻🫶🏻

this request is perfectly fine :) you are so kind. thank you so much!! i hope i wrote it the way your were imagining. (i tried to add your second request into this one!)

logan sucking your tits (18+)

logan is such a boob man. if he could touch, kiss or suck on your boobs just as a way to touch you he would do it. logan’s favorite physical thing about you was your boobs. he was a slut just to kiss and lick on your chest.

he was on top of you, he’d been making out with your chest for almost twenty minutes now.

his slutty ass was whining, whimpering as you watched him. the scene was so intimate.

logan kissing your body, his big light greenish-brown eyes staring up at you as if he was a deer in headlights. he would moan, whimper, everytime you pet his head, and he found himself rutting against the bed for some form of friction because of how turned on you had him.

“you that desperate, honey?” your words caused his body to shiver, his doe eyes gazing up at you.

“rutting against the bed for some form of friction? you really that turned on just from sucking my fucking tits?”

he nodded, not caring to hide his desperate nature. “you’re just so pretty, i love every part of you.”

his voice was his usually deep and raspy, but he added a little whine to it, as he batted his eyelashes up at you. fucking slut.

you ran your hand through his hair watching as his lips closed around your nipple again, his hand caressing the other breast.

he kissed, sucked and licked, all around the skin and his tongue flicking along your nipple.

“you’re so pretty like this honey, desperate for my touch.” he whined, eyes scrunching shut. you knew exactly how to make your tough boyfriend whine and whimper.

[sassyandclassy94]

*Girls only*

I am so glad that 'the bomb' decided to drop yesterday instead of Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, or next Sunday! Why, you ask? Cause imagine having to sit in a car for hours driving to Pennsylvania and worrying about possibly messing up the nice leather seats in your papa's nice fancy truck. Or sitting in the theatre for hours hoping you'll be okay until intermission. Or messing up the hotel sheets (mortifying!!). Or having to sit in church for three hours on your heaviest day. And THEN imagine having to entertain a guest (who happens to be your crush) while also hiding the fact that the literal Battle of Agincourt is going on in your uterus.

Bottom line is, I am so thankful that I'm getting the worst days of my cycle over with before my trip to Sight & Sound (SO EXCITED!!) and my birthday dinner.

[satoruhour]

need reader to have a confession with priest!geto about how they feel guilty for touching themselves late alone at night and priest!geto helps them by just fucking their brains out as a “penance” for their sins.

yes, i’m okay in the head btw! (lie)

AU REVOIR, O HEAVEN !

wc: 12.2k

warnings: DARK CONTENT, SLOW BUILDUP, CORRUPTION, priest!geto, fem!reader, age gap (reader is in early 20s, geto in late 20s), long descriptive fic that goes in depth of christian lore, lots and lots of christian references / metaphors / analogies, comparison to Satan’s banishment and fall from heaven, religious themes used in inappropriate ways, questions of religion and life, multiple scenes of f! and m! masturbation, fingering, clit stimulation, virginity loss, both f! and m! receiving oral, cumshot, praise, degradation, spitting, sex in a religious place, p -> v sex, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

for a small town like yours, it was a no-brainer that everyone knew everyone; and everyone’s drama as well. from the baker’s daughter being a whore to the mayor of the town being sacked for purposes that have since been twisted by word of mouth. that was another thing: word got around fast, and it was particularly suffocating in a conservative town such as yours. people were not outright about the obvious choices they favoured, but there was the older generation who were not shy to turn down progressive ideas.

because of that, the previous priest was kicked out because of the misuse of funds from mass collection and offertory. it was one thing to see a bunch of notes missing from the sack and the money counter but it was another thing to see that money going into funding a new strip club that was opening in the next town over.

it was simply unheard of, and the parishioners basically gave him a free ride to that very strip club by excommunicating him from his own church. it was unbecoming of a priest, especially in such a small congregation that everyone made sure the new priest to transfer here was a God-honouring one.

you hope he was. you’ve always felt the obligated need to serve your god and your parents. always the good girl, following the Ten Commandments, saving yourself for marriage. it was the natural order of a christian, and you could only hope that you’d get even a fraction of the eternal life they preach about in mass. but lately you’ve been having some . . thoughts, and you pray that this new priest could help you immensely, even if you had to do a hundred Hail Mary’s at the pews.

it was peculiar, the first time it occurred to you. the area where your body separates into two and forms two legs — the centre of it all, the middle where Eve had it covered in statues and paintings with a leaf, the middle where you had only learned of it in anatomical drawings. you knew what the vagina, cervix and the ovaries were, but seeing the convergence of pink and maroon between your legs confused you, even scared you.

and the next was when you’d had a guy come up to you whilst doing up your university application, saying something along the lines of how cute you were, would you like to grab a drink some time? and you were left dumbfounded and unable to answer. you let your eyes travel over his features, of the exposed arms of his button up shirt and the thickness of his forearms, you let your eyes skim over his plump thighs before you’re asked “are you okay?”

“n . . no sorry, i already have a boyfriend.” you lie through your teeth and all the guy does is sigh before walking away — but now you’re left with a bigger problem . . why was the thing between your legs throbbing? you swear you can feel your panties getting wet as well, but you aren’t quite sure why.

that night you’re lying in bed with a lewd website shining right in your face, as you’ve laid here for about two hours already, going through in your head whether you really wanted to do this. your hands had been clean, untainted from the moment you were born, but you imagine going to university and knowing not a thing about sex and that makes your whole body burn in embarrassment.

you chicken out and fall asleep.

“honey! come down here, i want you to meet someone.” your mother calls out to you, running about like she usually does. she’s always overworking — caring for the newborn, cooking the meals, cleaning the place. why don’t you ask dad to help sometimes? / nonsense! he works so hard and deserves a break! i don’t mind. / but he just lazes around at home after work . .

you’re pleasantly surprised to find a long-haired man at your front door, clad in a thick and loose turtleneck sweater with a gentle smile on his face. that uncomfortable feeling returns to your core and you land a hand to your stomach to calm the churning that’s happening.

“hello, and you are?”

you’d never think you would see one of God’s angels on earth in actual flesh in front of you. you’re convinced God is looking over you and you think you might see heaven when that silky voice repeats himself again.

“hi, kind miss, are you alright?”

“h . . huh? oh! yeah, uhm— who are you?”

your mother smacks you on your shoulder and sidles up to your side, holding onto your arm a little tightly that it hurts just a bit.

“don’t be rude!” she whisper-shouts to you, “this is geto suguru, and—”

“and i’m the new priest for the church.”

that catches you off-guard. he’s the new priest that was just transferred over? he looks anything but a holy man of God, what with his long hair and gauges in his ears; if you didn’t know any better you would think he was the one paying for the strip club instead. he seems to read your mind.

“i know i look . . a bit of a delinquent, miss, but i promise you the word of God is what i strictly live by. i honour and praise him with all that i can.”

“ah, i’m sorry if you thought i thought that way, father.” you mumble, giving him an awkward smile that he misses because he’s too busy focusing on the way you say father. you’re prepared to close the door on him already; the pulsing sensation between your legs isn’t fading and your whole body feels like it burns in hell. you rub your thighs together for some sort of relief, nothing.

“that’s usually the response i get, so i thought i would preface it first.” a little laugh leaves geto’s lips and if it wasn’t for you holding on for dear life on the door, you definitely would’ve buckled under your knees. “no hard feelings.”

“he’s a charmer, ain’t he?” there’s another sheepish laugh from the pastor at that. “told me he’s been going around giving cakes to all the people as a way to thank them for letting him take over the church.” your heart melts at that — he looked so hot and had a heart of gold, too?

“what cake did you get us, father?” you blurt out and you have no time to take it back, but the preacher doesn’t seem to mind. you also don’t seem to mind that barrier of authority that was established ever since he‘s introduced himself as the new priest of the church. it felt . . friendlier, less intimidating than the previous. it was probably mostly due to him not wearing his cassock or collar, though.

“chocolate.” that one word possibly ignited every nerve in you. the smooth lilt in his voice paired with the slight smirk. it was detrimental. you were going to hell, you were condemned to eternal damnation.

“how’d you know i liked chocolate?”

he shrugs, “lucky guess.” wrong.

he had come around the day before already, but you were too distracted with work and pressured with a deadline that music drained out everything else — one look at your side profile and the hard-working first year university student was all it took for geto to return again today with another cake of your liking. oh! you’re such a sweet one for asking what flavour we like; frankly, my dear boy, my husband and i don’t really eat cake but her . . loves it for some reason. i wonder where she gets the sweet tooth from, honestly.

geto could only thank his saviour that your mother had promised not to tell you he already came around yesterday. and it looks like she didn’t.

“i should get going, miss . .”

“(y/n).”

geto simply nods his head, resisting the urge to call your name pretty and only manages a decent call to your mother. “mrs (l/n), i’m heading off, thank you for having me. (y/n).”

you return his smile, hesitantly, inching the door close with immense difficulty — you wanted to see him walk away with that imposing height of his, of the proper gait he carried himself with and the politeness in which he greets people of the town.

that night you locked yourself in your room, muttering out some dumb excuse of having to study for a test when in reality you were more interested in the feeling between your legs. it both excited and scared you when you first find a comfortable position on your bed, stalling for a good half ’n hour before the clinking cutlery of dinner happening downstairs had brought you to your senses. there were countless articles open in your safari tab, none of which helped your growing dilemma — a tear in the Red Sea between the sin of pleasure and the liberation of acting on it. you felt like Moses, treading in the centre, on the fence.

one last text made you yelp out loud.

[8:03 pm, read]: R u coming down 4 dinner?

it was your mother, as if she knew what was happening behind doors.

[8:03 pm, delivered]: nope, sorry mummy. need to study for this test, its important !

[8:05 pm, read]: Alright, alright. I left out a serving of what we cooked tonite. Heat up if u need to with the microwave O.K.? Don’t sleep so late!

you simply favourited her message, losing all motivation from before; until your mind crosses over dinner and goes straight to that chocolate cake, and then to the person who had brought it.

“Farewell happy fields / Where joy forever dwells: Hail, horrors, hail.”

“geto . . geto suguru.” the name feels foreign. it does sound like a countryside name but it felt like he had come from the city instead. “geto . .” you sigh, letting your hands tremble and move along your body. they brush over your chest, over your nipples and you recoil a little from the strange feeling. they harden under your touch as you continue to repeat his name.

each murmur of his name is a step farther from God, dipping your toes into the waters of hell as your fingers travel lower, lower, lower. you press a finger against your clit unknowingly, and you let out a loud moan; you immediately slap a hand over your mouth.

but the pleasure’s too much, and so you try again. one hand goes back to your nipples, squeezing your tits and playing with them while your fingers rub pathetic circles along your core.

“su . .” you gulp. “geto—”

you pant softly to yourself as you continue to rub your clit, messy, inexperienced circles in whatever shape or form. as long as it felt good to you, you were doing it. you made sure to keep your moans in as your hips bucked into your hands, back arching off the bed in needy movements. your hands were getting tired, clutching at the bedsheets.

long hair, built physique, crucifix on his neck. funny, you never noticed that before, but now you imagine it clearly, dangling over your face. you’re imagining geto fucking you, thrusting his cock into you as he groans out your name.

you’re at the end of your tether, feeling the deep plunge of your body in Satan’s lair the same time you cum for the first time in your life and your body shakes so violently. you flail around on your bed, bite into your shirt, anything to keep you quiet from the immense orgasm you had just felt. your pussy clenches around nothing and your hand aches so much it might fall off, but it just feel so damn good that you only have a minute’s rest before you’re rubbing at your clit again.

scooping up a little of your cum, you marvel at the clear liquid, sucking on your finger to try the thing that’s always drenched your panties. and soon you’re conjuring the image of the long-haired priest yet again, never really studying for that test you made up or even eating dinner — all you do is rest and come again, each time more wrecked than the last time.

you dreaded going to church the next morning.

it had slipped your mind that service was to continue once geto has gotten settled down in the rectory, a small outhouse at the back of the church that had been revamped. you’re not sure on how father geto was able to get it done up so fast but, you’re not one to question.

with the short walk to church, you regret not eating the night before, groaning softly at the discomfort of your growling stomach. what you were more worried of though, was what would happen to you once you stepped foot in the church. was your body going to go up in flames? were you going to get ridiculed by the townspeople? were you going to get called out by father geto in front of everyone?

“what’s gotten you so worked up?” your father was walking behind and smoking, as always, not giving a shit about your mother and the newborn.

“nothing . . just, wondering if i got everything in my head for my test.” your mother coos, and your baby brother in the carrier thinks it’s because of him. he babbles into your mom’s shirt, giggling.

“you’ll do fine, honey,” the reassurance worried you only more. you were lying outright — you had no test, you weren’t even studying, you were busy—!

“i raised a smart girl, didn’t i?” you can only manage a smile, reaching the church within minutes. taking the chance to mutter a short prayer and a plea, you take a deep breath and that light from above Lucifer’s kingdom seem to call out to you again.

stepping into the simple but cozy church, you dip your hands in holy water. Father, Son, Holy Spirit along your forehead, chest and shoulders before you trail behind your mother, suggesting places for you to sit at the back. she only waved your hand away, pointing towards the front. we always sit at the front! why the sudden change? / nothing . . maybe thought we could switch it up a little.

the mass starts after a few minutes of waiting, and you have the luxury of wallowing in your self-pity and guilt for those few minutes, trying to get the very filthy imagery of father geto above you, father geto between your legs, father geto himself out of your head. you fail, it’s only amplified when the bell rings and the congregation stands up.

everyone waits in anticipation for the new priest in this small town, hoping he won’t disappoint them like the last one. but they already seem to be in good spirits as he makes the entrance down the very short church. two altar boys follow behind him in the procession, accompanied by an organist and a duo of choir singers, straining to have their voice heard over the loud instrument. he’s already made some friends, nodding to the excited kid who whispers and the shy girl who waves her hands at him. but while everyone feels anticipation in hopes of a good sermon, dread is only making your legs feel like lead, you feel lightheaded, dizzy even.

because whatever you had imagined last night was him in his sweater get-up, and it just now sinks in what a disgusting thing you were doing as you watch the rich purple of his chasuble sway alongside his stole — the very image of him in his priest robes (in Lent season too, not to mention) — meant to deter you from more thoughts, only fed your desires.

geto suguru made being a pastor look so natural, and attractive, that it was almost criminal.

“good morning, brothers and sisters, how are we all doing this morning?” there’s a few murmurs around, but geto doesn’t falter, instead pressing on with his very convincing, beautiful speech; as does he with the rest of the mass. he conducts himself with as much professionalism as he can, handling the Eucharist with proper hands, giving a sermon whilst giving you too many eyes, distributing Holy Communion with a gentle, accepting smile; your skin burnt when he handed you the body of Christ, a soft inaudible “amen” hanging off your lips.

father geto was all the talk after, some hanging around to catch a minute of geto’s time if they could and you were no different, purposely looping your arm through your mother’s and slowly down your pace.

“goin’ out for a smoke.” your father gruffly tells the three of you, two of which understands better. your newborn simply cuddles deeper into your mother’s breast, humming softly into the nap.

“’kay.” it was opportunistic, now, as your eyes flit around the place to find geto talking to two older ladies. he’s politely bent down to reach their heights better, chasuble now removed and simply in his alb, one patting his shoulder and the other giggling. you think you imagine it but his eyes dart over to you for a moment and then off to the other parishioners.

“how are you two lovely ladies doing?” you hear him before you see him and the voice startles you a little, jumping back from brushing your baby brother’s almost non-existent hair.

“fine.” it comes out kurt and abrupt and you burn when your mother nudges you like yesterday.

“think what she means is that we’re perfectly fine. how was your first mass?”

father geto looks around the church, recalls the altar boys, ingrains each church-goer into his head, “i hope the congregation likes me.”

“oh, nonsense! i’m sure they do,” your mother reassures. she was always good like that, putting others before her and making sure they see the best in themselves, “that was a very riveting sermon you delivered.”

“yeah—! yeah, i . . really enjoyed it, father geto.”

a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, “did you now?”

you nod, and he continues, “you enjoyed me telling you that sin was revolting?”

when he phrases it like that . . you swallow, “isn’t that what God’s whole schtick is?”

and that makes father geto laugh, because for such an innocent flower like you, you make it sound like you were forced to go to church and made to learn the basis of why God exists and now you just don’t know what to do with it. it’s common for people at their university age where they’re exposed to more views and mindsets, to question the religion you were born in and think about what it meant to be tied to a god you didn’t even really know existed, and when that happens, Christianity turns stagnant and boring.

“yes, pretty much, miss (y/n), but His schtick also involves forgiving anyone who has sinned against Him. after all, that’s what He died on the cross for.”

“y . . yeah, i know, father geto.”

you only realise now his purple chasuble matches his eyes, eyes that swirl with the colours of amethyst. they’re much brighter in the parish lighting, and they hold your stare much longer than yesterday. there’s the tugging feeling at your stomach again that goes right down to your centre and it throbs; your eyes flutter and blink to get you out of your head.

“good that you know . . of course, it’s not an invitation to sin. self-restraint and chastity still exists,” you hate how he puts an emphasis on the latter word, because he could be referring to anything, “but we need not be worried for our lives. we only need to pray and repent in prayer, and God will have mercy on us.”

but well, if God didn’t want you to sin, how then can he explain creating such an attractive person? if God valued his followers’ self control, why did he have to plant such lewd, inappropriate thoughts of his preacher in your head?

father geto could probably see your dilemma with how hard he was staring at you, and he only makes it worse by putting his larger hand on your left shoulder. it descends deeper to your upper arm and the skin there ignites—

“i hope you liked the chocolate cake.”

you manage a small smile, “haven’t had the chance to try it, sorry, father.”

“don’t apologise.” you forget your mother and baby brother is even beside you with how he talks to you. you’d love to be on his chest, hearing the deep rumbling of his voice or even have his hands be somewhere else but your arm. you don’t know how simply talking to you has got him doing everything in his power to restrain himself; not even a prayer from God could help.

“The mind is its own place, and in it self / Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.”

what you don’t know, either, that the hand on your shoulder was between his legs just last afternoon, trying so hard not to sneak under his cassock. he could barely keep his moans in, palming his bulge from above his robes at the mere thought of you. no touching means less sin, right? he comes to that pathetic conclusion easily, so all he does is bury himself in the outhouse after distributing his cakes, hips positioned over his pillow and he grinds.

the feeling for father geto was so archaic, been so long since he’s given up his life to God right after graduating university. all the carefree times that he’s experienced — drinking in dorms, going to parties, getting some nice quick fucks in between exams — were going to stop for good. but that doesn’t mean he stopped lusting.

lust. one of the seven deadly sins, a weak point for father geto’s journey as a pastor. it’s obvious now too that he hasn’t really left his older ways, bucking his hips into the fabric of his pillow. he thinks of you, your sweet little eyes and your cute outfit at home, he thinks of your face twisted into pleasure as he’s positioned between your legs.

father geto twitches, friction against the underside of his cock feeling so good after years and years of holding back — with a pretty face to think of, too. his hips ruts in short thrusts, desperate for that high and he chokes on a moan imagining your sweet voice begging to cum. and so does he, shooting such a large, hot load into his underwear that even his cassock is stained with his cum. but unlike you, he’s already thinking of his next round — if he’s doomed to die by lust, then might as well go all the way.

father geto spares a glance towards the door just to be safe before flipping over on his back, and pulls his robes above his lower half. the sight is dirty, underwear painted a darker colour and cum sticking to every part of the fabric. once he wraps a hand around his cock, geto is gone, pumping it so fast he might have gotten a burn along his length but it’s all rewarded by the second quick orgasm he reaches — spurting ribbons of cum all over his holy garments.

it’s why he didn’t have time to write a proper sermon for the morning mass. he was up all night, stroking himself — just, from the thought of you.

it was father geto’s turn to have uneven breaths as you asked if he was okay, hand on your shoulder shaking. but the visions of last night is overtaken quickly by his need to impress the other parishioners, and so he gives you a tense smile.

“enjoy the cake.” it sounded like an innuendo if you’ve ever heard one, but you mutter a soft thank you, before heading off back home with your family. that contact with your shoulder is all you can think of, giddy at the warmth of his hand and eyes.

“baby, could you open the door for me?” your mother calls out to you, hastily wiping her hands on her apron and abandoning the kitchen to tend to your crying baby brother.

“ok, mummy!” the doorbell’s been rung twice now, jogging a little to the door to prevent the person from waiting. you didn’t think to look through the peephole, a tight-knit (conservative) community made you trust anyone, opening the door to find father geto standing in front of you.

“o-oh. hi, father . .?”

he was dressed in his roman collar, a black shirt with a white strip around the neck and some black jeans. it wasn’t as casual as the first day, and it still held an ode to God even on a weekday.

“hi, (y/n).”

“ohhh! it’s father geto, come, come!” your mother bellows throughout the house, baby brother on her hip as she bounces him to get him to stop wailing. “are you hungry already?”

geto displays a meek smile, “a little, mrs (l/n), since you mentioned how big of a feast you were cooking.”

your mouth drops in recognition; was that why she was so preoccupied for the whole day? doing the maximum in the kitchen not just because it was for your father’s recent promotion at his job, but also for dinner with father geto.

“you’re having . . dinner with us.” it’s more of a statement to yourself than a question to the priest, but he still catches on and assists you by closing the door himself, and taking off his shoes. already, he looks part of the family, looking like a hard-working husband coming back from his job to you. instead, he’s answered the vocation of priesthood, and not matrimony.

“it looks like i am.” it’s such a sly comment, like he already knew the effect he had on everyone. this sucking up was just to get every church-goer to like him more, and it’s working.

geto is charming at the dinner table as he is at the parish, cracking jokes that make both your parents and you laugh, talking about his university life and telling a myriad of stories that he’s gone through.

“what did you major in in university, father?” it felt such a weird question, especially with an honorific attached to something that you were doing at the moment — it felt out of place that someone so close to your age was already pursuing a lifetime commitment of serving God.

“my studies focused mostly on philosophy and theology. i minored in linguistics.” there’s a chorus of ooh’s that echo throughout the table, cleaning up the last bit of food on his plate before he continued. “i’m currently going more in depth for latin, which is a stunning language, beyond those who say it’s dead and should stay dead.”

that only makes him hotter, and you cross your legs beside him, looking at him from the corner of your eye at you play with the last meatball on your plate. the sauce leaves a trail of red from the tomato, somehow mirroring the murder of your old self — or what you thought it was. it was more of a knife wound, a cowardly stab in the arm.

that dinner with father geto only deepened your sense of guilt.

it was the way the priest was quick to stand just as your mother does, offering to help with cleaning up the dinner table. even when she brushes him off, he insisted, answering for her when he only silently takes the plates to the back. all your mom does is shake her head with a smile, letting you help as well. your father just watches curiously, entertaining the baby with his canned alcohol.

“i’m embarrassed i can’t fight back against you well enough to stop ya from cleaning up at my own house,” your mother confesses, already having used her last breath to tell him to not help with the dishes as well. you scrub at a stain on geto’s plate over and over, a stubborn one at that until you finally are able to get it out. it still leaves a faint red glow, though.

“it’s nothing, really, mrs (l/n), i’m happy to help whenever.” father geto’s eyes rake over your figure as you clean alongside your mother, heel bouncing up and down; to non-existent music or in impatience he wasn’t sure.

she just takes the soapy plate from your hands with a laugh, “c’mon, it’s okay, my dear. go entertain father geto.”

it was the way his courtesy shined through when he doesn’t enter your room until he has gotten verbal confirmation from you, guiding him in with a uneasy hand as he looked around your quaint little space. it was filled with photos, some plants, tons of research papers and a messy table to match, but all he did was reassure you. you take note of his flowing hair and the laid back hairstyle he liked to don when it wasn’t for mass.

“how is university treating you?” you’re stuck on being completely honest and lying with every answer, but father geto has a face that makes it difficult to lie to.

“it’s . . alright, i guess,” you settle on your bed, crossing your legs and hoping he wouldn’t pick up any of your essays. thinking is manifesting, though, and his hands naturally go for the paper with the many red markings on the front page.

“Paradise Lost? by Milton?” ah. that paper. you shoot up from the sheets before he can read it, because frankly your thesis in that paper was weak and wasn’t well supported, but you still believed it deeply. you were just having a little bit of trouble straying from your reverence for God. you only manage to clutch the top of your paper, but geto is adamant on reading it, piqued by genuine curiosity.

“the retelling of Milton’s Paradise Lost humanises the experience of Satan’s (or Lucifer’s) fall from glory . .” he trails off, reading over your evidences and analysis. you feel like you’re being read like an open book, laid out bare for vultures to pick at and for God to enumerate your sins until you felt no shame.

with his head still tilted down, father geto has to look up through his lashes and bangs, seemingly making you cower more and more in your spot as the unsolicited advice for your essay dies down on his tongue. the size of his hands has you hypnotised, and he decides it’s against his own values to give feedback about a text he so childishly brushed off when he was in university, even if he had to read it to complete four years in the seminary. geto places a hand upon yours and the heat is dizzying; you can’t help but think if he was just normal person, instead, holding your hand like this.

it was the way he let you explain yourself a little better through your own words. it was a premature essay, anyway, made to test out your close reading and citation skills. but he found your interpretation of Milton’s poem to be much more insightful than he expected it to be — you think maybe, your understanding of the text grows the more you learn about your body, how you like to be pleasured; you feel like Lucifer.

“i . . don’t necessarily think you are born into evil. it’s multi-faceted and loaded, this question. God our Father would do anything but create evil willingly, it’s just unfortunate that the people that bring up their offspring contribute to the shaping of their identity and outcome.”

“then, how . .” your lips twist as you think of a way to word the question, “how would that justify evil existing? wouldn’t the fact that evil is developed somehow meant that God created evil in some shape or form, in the first place?”

father geto rushes to answer but—

“why did he have to create the serpent that tempted Eve in the first place? couldn’t he have just left them alone in Eden?”

“...there to dwell / In adamantine chains and penal fire / Who durst defy th' Omnipotent to arms.”

you frown, not expecting the other to answer but instead just wallowing in your thoughts. you never thought the talk with father geto would turn into some philosophy lesson, but the more you chatted with him on the bed, the more the conversation seemed to steer that way.

your own faith wavers in the night, a quietness settling over the two of you like a cloak of stars. the mass of each star weighs heavily with your questions up in the air until you faintly hear his answer.

“i don’t . . know, miss (y/n).”

“ah! no no— sorry to dump everything on you, father geto,” you scratch the back of your head, “it was just passing thoughts. i’ve never thought to think of this before.”

it was morbid, it was macabre. it was like looking over and seeing a skeleton in your place instead of flesh and skin and yet each question after question ignites something in him that no one has excited before. he can already feel lust influencing the other six, pumping through his veins at a life void of God, void of religion, a free place to think of the omnipotence of a higher being that no one was sure really existed.

“it’s okay . . it’s natural to ask. it’s natural to inquire. God,” he nods like he was in a trance; the word feels weird on his tongue, “God would want this.”

that night you did anything but sin, clutching the essay between your hands and digging your knees into the floor with elbows on your bed until they ached and you prayed. you wished blessings on your family, you wished blessings on the parishioners, you wished blessings on father geto and you wished eternal damnation on yourself.

there’s a heavy pull on your heart when you go to sleep a few minutes after and the dream you have of your body turning to soot and burning with each feet into flames makes you crave salvation all the more — like all a bad dream, it will be fine as long as you pray, and pray, and pray.

but the flesh desires what the heart denies: the more you ‘hang’ with father geto (by God, he was perfectly okay with that word when you let it slip to your mother. he merely throws up a peace sign in a ‘cool’ way and then immediately cringes, but it makes you laugh), the more you find yourself attracted to his morals, to his ideals, to the natural way in which he exists. he could speak for hours on end, voice sounding like birdsong and a chilling breeze all at the same time.

his voice did wonders in your head, as well, coaxing you into betraying your own code; and you betray it easily. that phantasmic voice leaving you to remove your top and pinching your nipples as soft little moans leave your mouth. the imaginary sway of his crucifix above your face while you harshly abuse your clit and dip a finger into you for the first time. the feeling is so foreign and weird that you shamelessly think of the slight lilt of his voice helping you: “it’ll feel better soon, (y/n). c’mon, finger your pussy for father geto.”

father geto had a natural talent for talking and preaching. that downturn of tone like hitting a dead-end when he holds a point above your head (“but”) and then resolves it into perfect cadence like chords ending a phrase when he proposes a solution (“God will take care of everything”). he does it so much you think he’s rather convincing himself more than he’s convincing you, though.

“perhaps this parable that Jesus uses tells us rather to look within ourselves, to look within the vineyard that is us. the owner have done everything: kept the roots tied so it would not be trampled, making sure they get all the sunlight and water it needs, yet . .” he pauses a little, looking at the almost full parish now that he’s won over the hearts of your town. his eyes flit down to you at the second pew, shooting you a quick smile.

“and yet he yields sour grapes. we pray, we act civil and diplomatic, we are giving, but are you truly doing it for the glory of God? is that maybe why we only get the sour grapes — not satisfied with the ‘thank you’ after doing a favour or silence from God after praying daily?”

geto looks over the last bits of the scribbled sermon, a little more coherent than last week, but still done with thoughts of you. there’s multiple smudges of his words that he has to squint and stutter a bit, caused by the frantic cleaning of his cum upon the paper.

“we all . . naturally expect things back, but to be Christian, to be a follower of Christ, we would have to abandon all thoughts of that.” father geto’s mind wanders to last night as his eyes look for you again. “we would need to be generous, to be kind without needing anything in return.”

father geto integrates into the church easily, shown in how his sermons capture the hearts of many. albeit, they never really take in the true meanings of the preachings he gives, but it’s enough for geto if they nod and mutter amen like fools in mass; whatever they do out of it is out of his hands.

but along the many preachings he does, there is one subject he fears approaching: lust, the one thing that threatens the downfall of his vocation and yet he cannot get enough of it. each walk and meeting with you only heightens his desire, makes his cock throb beneath his robes. each sunday he wishes he could split his soul in half — one as the confessor and one as the confessing — and repent in the confessional box.

“today’s gospel from Mark, chapter 6 talks about lust, briefly.” there’s a shake in his voice, eyes now scrambling over the congregation to find you in a much more revealing top contrasting with the out-of-place cardigan you have on. he’s sure it was mrs (l/n) that had made you put that on before you left the house; the house where he’s memorised the placement of your shoe rack and how your door creaks when it’s opened too quickly. geto is so fucked.

geto clears his throat before continuing, seeing you adjust your body for a moment, “King Herod is tempted by his flesh when he sees one of Herodias’ daughters dancing, so much so that she tempts him to commit murder. a clear beheading, just from giving into her body, and when she asks of him, he delivers like a dog. this calls us to truly think of the desires that we possess. they need not be sexual,” soft whispers emerge, a taboo subject, “they can also be related to money, to power.”

“lust for more things turns into greed when we act on that initial lust,” geto is sweating by now. he pulls lightly on his collar when you press your arms together in retaliation and he has to look away from the way your tits perk up so perfectly.

you had to know what you were doing, surely. partially — you were feeling cold, but you stifle a smile when you realise how geto’s eyes linger a little longer on you, or rather your chest, before he coughs and continues,

“when we are driven so terribly by the feeling that we abandon all morals just to please this person, thing on earth is when we tread into dangerous territory. no earthly possession must make you feel this way,”

the irony settles in his bones after he says it and his dick twitches at the thought of having you under the podium right now, sticking his fat cock down your throat while you struggle to keep the gagging noises to a minimum.

“no matter . .” a gulp, “how rewarding the aftermath must be.”

father geto knows you both are braving the edge of God’s merry kingdom. it is just a matter of who falls first.

“your place is in the kingdom of God, meant to fulfil eternal life with Jesus and the Lord which is what we all should be keeping in mind and working towards, ignoring all the distractions that will soon fade and die off.”

geto coughs again in the mic and breaths shakily, finally tearing his eyes away from you before he concludes the sermon and eases into the Offertory and Eucharist. he buries himself so deep in the procession in order to get you out of his mind, and it’s shown in the haste in which he carries the mass. it feels like he rushes so much that even the day outside follows too, because evening seems to arrive earlier than usual.

the sun sets outside, illuminating the altar. it taunts you like reminding you of the beauty of your faith; it deepens the need developing in your core.

“body of Christ.” you can faintly hear it being repeated over and over at the front, just a few steps away from your turn and you wish you weren’t standing behind your dad’s hulking figure so you could actually prepare yourself for father geto. you’re greeted with his cascading hair tied up into a bun and the cup containing Jesus’ body, gold and shining. you see your stretched reflection before your eyes snap back to the pastor in front and you will your hands not to hail routine.

instead, you stick out your tongue for the father to put the communion on and you take in the little panic of his hands and the choked sentence of body of Christ. his eyes drift down to your pink tongue, to the small twitch it does when he places the host on it and he cannot wait for you to get out of his sight, lest he be overtaken by the sin he particularly preached about just minutes ago.

“any test to study for tonight, darling?” your mother asks after dinner, meaning to ask after seeing you be so fidgety like you needed to be somewhere.

“uh . . no, not exactly, but i do have something i need to do.”

“oh! what is it, sweetie?” she doesn’t read your expressions, you mannerisms, so you were safe from that, but you willed your voice to not break. your body is on fire, you needed to quell your needs, now.

“just— i promised father geto i would meet him later for a confession, since he’s so busy, he could only propose a late timing,” no, you didn’t. either way, you give a reason, explain yourself before she can speculate, works every time.

“oh, okay . .” she trails off, seemingly unaffected, “just don’t get home too late, alright, darling?”

you nod even though she’s too focused on the dishes, pressing a hand to her back in thanks and she carries on, carefree, while you sprint to your room. lock the door, get your phone out.

“ . . ings turns into greed when we act on that initial lust . .” the words recorded just hours ago leave the phone speakers on a low volume, already lighting a flame in your pussy when your hand brushes over the microphone and he stops at the same time, “when we are terribly dri . .”

you sigh loudly when your hand starts to make its way down to your centre, rubbing slightly to the sound of his voice. your clit is just begging to be touched, begging for your inexperienced hands flicking your nub in every which way. impatient, your hands dip into your cunt and your jaw drops open at the intrusion of your fingers, just as your eyes widen and your imagination has never worked as well as it does now.

you can see geto’s amethyst eyes boring into yours, you can see his hips fucking into yours and yet it doesn’t give you the same kick as you think it would — you’re fucking yourself with your fingers even faster, circles on your clit increasing in speed and messiness and you smear your juices all around.

“father— father geto—” it was pathetic, the way you moaned for a man of God, but the feeling of your cunt clenching around what you wished was his dick was too good, the coil in your stomach still feeling rather uncomfortable but welcoming and you’re unravelling with a silent scream soon, back arching off the sheets.

“s . . suguru, f-fuck,” the swear word feels weird on your lips, as with his first name, but the trembling of your virgin body is so delicious that you just keep rubbing and rubbing, taking so long to come down from your high as your pants get heavier and heavier. and then his face starts to fade off, eyes turning into lilac air and you’re glancing towards the crumpled essay on your bed with guilt festering in your chest.

“ . . mptations of the flesh are childish, are temporary. they lead you to do foolish things that have no place in the kingdom of God. we may repent and put it past us but the memories that our tainted bodies possess, they remember the sinful things that you did.” the recording of father geto dies out as with his powerful conclusion, speaking so loudly into the mic that it screeches with feedback, you remember. you don’t even know where the guilt builds up from, in your torso and your heart, despite questioning the faith you were in for all your life.

if God did not want us to sin, why did he create temptations and ask us to pray for forgiveness?

you roll over and remove your fingers with a small whine, taking up your phone and opening up the contact with father geto hesitantly. it was meant to be a strictly professional exchange like the conversations he’d had with many other parishioners: updates on the church, changes in mass timings, but your chat was filled with questions from you and answers from him. you didn’t dare ask him anything out of the faith.

[9:37 pm, delivered]: uhm. father geto? are you there?

oh god, it’s you. the you who on the second walk around the town exchanged numbers with him because he found your thoughts so intriguing.

[9:39 pm, read]: Yes, Miss (Y/N). What is it?

you take a deep breath. better to ask for that confession, you couldn’t risk your mother asking about it tomorrow.

[9:40 pm, delivered]: is it alright to have

[9:41 pm, delivered]: can i come over to the church, for a bit

father geto straights up in the rectory, getting closer to the socket where his phone was charging and hovers over the screen. his hands are clammy when typing a response and he manages it in about three minutes.

[9:44 pm, read]: Of course, my dear. The doors of the church are open for the congregation at any time.

bidding goodbye to your mother, you stay on the lit path to the church and you’re bathing in anticipation, too excited to see father geto that you bump into a dark shadow. almost resembling a hard wall, hands emerge from its sides to clutch at your biceps.

“miss (y/n), what is it? what has gotten you up so late at night?” if he was still in university, he would’ve laughed at how he asked that question. hundreds of texts of u up? that mimic the nature of the question right now. 

“i was hoping . .” you ignore the tingly feeling of the way in which his hands leave goosebumps along your biceps and then to your forearms. finally, they clutch your hands between his, meant to be like a warm hug but instead is like fire, licking at your fingers and wrist like you’re at the stake. “i was hoping that i could, request you for a confession?”

the priest across you swallows with a nod, swiftly putting a hand across your back to lead you to the booth. you both could’ve done it perfectly fine in the pews, sitting across each other. “the confessional is where we will feel the strongest compulsion of Christ. come,” he answers your question before you can ask it, “take your place on the kneeler behind the curtains.”

father geto showers in the same sea of anticipation when he makes sure you’re okay before heading over to his side of the confessional. he’s imagined this scene over and over — you on the pew kneeler, breath warming the velvet curtains — he cannot help the bulge that forms.

the first words he speak behind the curtain shock you, voice sounding so close yet so muffled and distant.

“come, now, (y/n), make the Sign of the Cross with me.”

Father, Son and Holy Spirit

upon your head, chest and shoulders you do it, taking a deep breath before you start. “bless me, father, for i have sinned. it has been . . about five years since my last confession.”

geto nods, the soft carry of your voice in the late night having an effect on the priest. the hold he has on the crucifix of the rosary is so tight it makes an indent on his skin, the only thing on mortal flesh to keep him from falling.

“What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield.”

your thighs rub together, hot breath sending chills down your clutched hands and down your arm as you ponder over the things you’ve done — “i’ve . . lied to my mother at times, to my friends when they ask me where i’m from. i have stolen money for my own needs, n-not— that high of an amount but um . . still a fair amount.”

“what did you need to buy, sweetheart?”

the name surprises you, but you simply ignore it. “i wanted new clothes — was all the rave at uni when the girls wore miniskirts and little tops. unfortunately it didn’t suit me.”

geto swears under his breath when the image of you in such skimpy clothing infiltrate his thoughts. his curiosity overtakes him; overwhelmed with emotion, he never had the chance to see what you were wearing before he pulls back the curtains and hopes your eyes are closed and they are: pulled tight with quivering eyebrows. there, like a sinning Christian is you in a thin camisole, cleavage showing beneath your arms. he peers lower, gasps softly to himself when you’re wearing a skirt.

“father? father, what’s wrong?” you think you hear the swift swoosh and the rings of the miniature curtain clatter.

“n—nothing is wrong, miss (y/n). are there any other sins you want to confess?”

you swallow, “i . . i’ve wished misfortune on my father.”

not the sin he was hoping for but he wasn’t surprised; his head moves in understanding. he had seen your father — merely a ghost in the house and hardly contributing to fostering the family. it goes against what Mary and Joseph stands for as the Holy Family, but father geto has seen a lot of absent fathers and incompetency to truly be taken aback anymore.

“i’ve also . . i’m not sure whether to tell you this, father geto.”

your breaths were all you could hear in the silence of the church, an eerie quietness settling as if the critters and animals of the earth strived to listen to your ultimate sin, too. Beelzebub, Asmodeus, possibly even Lucifer himself clawed themselves up from hell to eavesdrop.

“of course you can, my dear.” the wind through the wooden confessional box sounds like the hisses of the three demons, like they have had holy water sprayed on them from the mere sounding of his voice; but they look hopefully for a server of Christ to fall exactly like they did.

“it’s, related to my body, father. i,” gulping, you continue with a prompt from the other, “i’ve had this growing need, like, one has when they’re hungry. they have the need to fill their stomachs. or— or a sudden pain you have to massage yourself through, like a cramp in the arm of sorts.”

“well . . is it your torso or your arm?”

“it’s . .” you spare a glance towards your centre under your very, very short skirt, the familiar pulsing of your clit turning more and more prominent. “it’s related to my pussy, father.”

you hear a choke from the other side, and then you realise your choice of words.

“ah— m-my bad! i meant my . . vagina, father geto.”

“no— no u-uhm, the previous term was fine. could you describe what you did? how far did you go so i c-can . . give you the appropriate penance?”

behind the curtains, geto have already started palming his bulge, massaging the ache in his length that still continues to grow and harden. the way you describe is so terribly innocent and unknowing, a deepening urge to corrupt you running through his veins.

“i played with um— my breasts, first. i pulled up my top and felt around my nipples, but i got impatient and . .” geto hangs on to every word of yours, shifting to get his robes out of the way. it was just like the first night: his underwear stained with so much pre-cum it’s probably changed the colour of the garment. he peels it away and the lack of restraint leaves him sighing softly while you ramble on—

“i tried playing with that . . thing between my legs.” you recall the quick google search from that first night, “i played with my clit, father.”

geto stifles a groan into his hand just as he starts to stroke himself softly. “y . . yeah, and?”

“i tried to um . . fit my finger in. it was uncomfortable, at first,” you cannot ignore the pull of your core; your hand shimmies past the clasped hands and down to your skirt. you have no panties to swipe to the side: you came here without any. your finger rubs gently at the throbbing bundle of nerves, a soft whine leaving your lips before you remember you’re in the midst of a confession.

“but i . . i got it into my pussy soon enough. and then i put in another finger.” there was a more audible grunt from the other side, the confessional weirdly heating up immensely as you follow your confession: two fingers easily glide in from just how wet you were.

“when?” there’s a strain in father geto’s voice when he asks it, maybe because he was trying so hard to keep quiet. his jaw is locked as he pumps his cock slowly because his tip is leaking so much that even a simple movement would give him away.

“w-wha—?”

“w-when did you first start . . touching your pussy, (y/n)?” hearing a priest say such a lewd word makes you clench around your fingers.

“after you came to deliver t-that chocolate cake . . father geto.”

“f-fuck—” geto squeezes his eyes shut and it’s like he’s a university student again losing his virginity for the first time by the hands of some random chick pumping him. the implied confession has him stroking faster; it was after that trip he made to your house, it was after seeing you stand at the door like a good little girl, it was because of him, right? right?

you snap back the curtains and your mouth waters at the scene: father geto hunching over the little window that separates the two of you and his head hung low; his cassock gathers around his hips and his cock— good Lord, his cock was so big, clutched tightly between his left hand. his tip was weeping, an angry red as it continued to push out globs of pre.

“f-father!” geto doesn’t seem to care, giving you a drunk and nonchalant glance as he continues to stroke his shaft. he knows it’s wrong, doing this in the house of the Lord but it feels so fucking good. “y-you—”

you’re at a loss for words, pointing to his exposed bottom, but even though you’re speaking out against him, you can’t help but follow his hand as it moves up and down like a spell. his eyes are simply pleading, hips bucking up and you would think he was a parishioner instead. shaking in the presence of God, in the presence of you—

you stick your hand past the squeezy window, drawing his interest and before you know it you’re blindly bumping into his erection. there, he silently grabs your hand, guiding it to his shaft. he uncomfortably leans down to look at your face, eyebrows still furrowed but your tongue stuck out and his dick twitches in your hand.

“s-shit, baby . .” geto swears under his breath, and again when you pull on his dick to the window. uncomfortably his body lightly slams against the partition, a soft thud coming from the booth as his head collides with the wood, “(y/n) . .”

he can’t see you, but he can hear you. “may i, father geto?”

you don’t wait for his answer, gauging mainly from the heavy breaths coming from above you. they really do need to change the confessional, too, because you can clearly hear every word he mumbles out from the holes in the partition.

“shiiit—” when you kitten lick his tip, collection the pre-cum that continues to leave his tip, and it feels better than his Rite of Ordination and when he finally got to host his first mass. it’s better than that prophetic dream he has of God calling him to serve Him and the churches in the city with church-goers of boring faces and predictable stories.

here was a rural place, a place where he never expected such a pretty girl to practice the Christian faith, only to falter in the presence of a pastor. he’s gotten such a cute little slut to corrupt. you start to bob your head slowly, unsure of what to do apart from putting his cock on your mouth. your teeth grazes his skin a little and he hisses.

“no teeth. suck in your cheeks,” he cannot see you but he wishes he can, and he knows you listen to his advice when he feels only the smooth glide of your mouth and he wishes it was your pussy that you fingered.

“going deeper, darling,” geto grunts when he pushes his cock past your mouth and into your throat, the sweet gag you do making him dig his forehead deeper into the uneven wooden partition. he can hear your struggling sounds, the muffled moans with his cock down your cavern. but he cannot go any longer without seeing you and reluctantly he pushes you off, still holding your hand and you seem to catch his drift soon enough.

you’re as eager as him, bouncing off the kneeler and leaving your side of the booth, and you’re opening the door to his. the reality of the situation fully sinks in, geto standing there with his cock dripping with your saliva and your camisole pulled down under your tits.

“oh . . baby,” geto coaxes you into him, under a little spell of his when you trail in a light as a feather. you don’t resist his hands pushing you down to your knees, and just like earlier, you’re sticking your tongue out and the priest looks at you from under hooded lids.

“did you touch yourself to me, little girl?” it comes out stronger than intended but you seem to like it, even when your answers are cut off by him slapping his tip on your tongue. it’s so heavy, his cock, and thick too that you can help but suckle on it when you get the opportunity.

“ever since that day, father geto.” you look drunk, swirling your tongue around the tip and continuing to talk, “i . . i imagine you above me and sometimes i dangle my crucifix thinkin’ it’s yours.”

a small laugh escapes the priest. “did you now?” it’s reminiscent of the time where you praise his sermon. his laugh is cut off as you continue to suck him off, hands still confused. he helps you by bringing your hands to the places you can’t reach and you follow like second nature. “dirty fucking slut, aren’t you?”

“i promise i didn’t know anything before this . . father.” you look up at him through your lashes, big doe eyes proving every last bit of your innocence. aht, partially. you did watch a video of this chick blowing her boyfriend, cumming with your own fingers in your throat, wishing it was geto’s cock in your mouth instead.

but having a real cock in your mouth? it was divine, better than the body of Christ in melting on your tongue. your ministrations speed up, the obscene noises of you gurgling reverberating in the wooden box late at night. it would be even worse at the altar where it would echo everywhere.

“y—yeah, baby, that’s it, that’s it . .” his eyes are shut tight, intoxicated on the way your warm mouth feels. you whine into his shaft, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from how deep he was in you.

“mmf— mmph!” your moans sends vibrations up his body, interrupted when geto thrusts his hips into your mouth suddenly and your nose meets with his pubes, eyes rolling back from the muskiness of his body. it smells like incense and sweat, filling your senses as he keeps you right up to his hilt.

“ohh . . fuckfuck fuucck—!” the father pulls you off to let you breathe, pleasantly surprised when you start pumping him violently, tongue stuck out again. there’s a hint of light from the outside that highlights the pinkness of your tongue and he’s never wanted to cum this badly before.

“i’m cumming— baby, baby, i’m g’nna c-cum—” there’s a long, drawn out whine from father geto upon feeling the warmth of your hands stroking his cock so obediently, resting his tip on your tongue where you’d willingly drink his cum like wine. geto shoots his load into your mouth and is the loudest he’s ever been; he doesn’t care who hears him, he doesn’t care if he gets transferred out tomorrow, all he wants to think about is you on your knees and your nipples hardened from confessing to him. he’d like to bet that your pussy was drooling too, hips bucking into the soft skin of your hands.

some of his cum gets onto your face and on your lips, and geto almost cums again when you use his tip to smear his seed around your face, sucking lightly on his tip.

“dirty girl . .” he pulls on your biceps to bring you up, and your lips meet instantaneously like you were meant to be separated for eternity, doomed only to meet for one day a year. it’s messy and sloppy, drool drips from your sides of your mouths as your lips merge together.

“was that your first kiss, baby?” father geto can tell by how you don‘t know how to follow his lead, teeth clashing and breathing uneven.

“am i that obvious?” you frown, feeling self-conscious, but geto is quick to reassure you.

“father geto’s going to teach you everything you need to know, alright?” he brings you in with a finger to your chin, hovers over your lips like a tease.

he teaches you everything you want to know and more, like how the front of the church looks like and how cold the marble of the altar feels against your back as he eats you out and the sensations are all too much for you. he teaches you that using God’s name in vain is alright when it comes to moaning out how good he makes you feel and how your penance is whatever he makes it out to be he teaches you how you can take not one, not two, but three fingers up your pussy.

they’re so much thicker than your own, one hand pushing on your shaking thighs to keep them open while his three fingers move in and out of you. you’re leaking so much, your virgin cunt dripping like holy water down the white marble and onto the matching marble floor.

he teaches you his first name and he makes sure you say it.

“su—suguru . . god, r-right there—” he latches his mouth onto your clit, suckling and flicking his tongue impatiently because he just wants to see you cum. your legs stretch out to knock over a candelabra and the clatter of the metal against the ground is enough to wake up a whole village but you. don’t. care.

your hips grind onto his tongue, feeling the borderline painful stretch of his thick fingers in you but they reach all the right spots that you can’t find it in you to care.

“you taste so good—” geto spits onto your cunt and goes back to sucking on your clit, “pussy’s so fuckin’ sweet, holy fuck.” your noises come out of you non-stop as you bury your hands in his hair, finally knowing what you sound like in an unrestrictive space under the apse.

father geto teaches you how to take a cock up your cute, tight pussy, not bothering for a condom when basically all of your clothes have been discarded throughout the night. it’s almost midnight and your mother have fallen asleep on the couch, unaware her sweet, sweet daughter is losing her virginity in the place she was baptised, where she got her first communion.

the first push into your drenched cunt is painful, mushroom tip stretching you out slightly as you clutch tightly onto his forearm, brows knitted together at the girth of his cock.

“been wanting . . to fuck this pussy so bad, baby,” geto grunts it out, obsessed with how his length slowly disappears into you. he can feel each ridge of your gummy walls, hugging him so snugly that there’s several moans that leave his lips, “have you been— thinking ’bout this as much as i h-have?”

your jaw stretches beyond your limit when he eases himself inch by inch into you, thanking the hells below that your vision was finally coming true. above you there’s that same crucifix, sterling silver with amethyst stones embedded into the design, you remember, catching the light of the lone spotlight above the both of you. there’s a similar glint in father geto’s purple eyes.

“all the time, father—” you moan out, pulling him by his necklace to your lips that are more experienced now, each minute that passes is one more atom of your body turning black from the fire that licks at you from below the altar. you kiss the lips of your parish priest, whimpering slightly when his hips buck and you feel the stretch more clearly now.

“is this what Isaac felt when Abraham tried to bind him for a sacrifice on Moriah? helpless, confused, betrayed?”

geto lets out a hum, sucking hickeys into your neck and you think it’s a million times better than questioning a God that never showed himself, who never really had the intentions of the people in mind, who created sin to watch the downfall of men while he enjoys his time in his kingdom.

if this was what was meant by losing yourself to your devils, you would gladly shake hands with Lucifer and hope the warmth of the fire in hell would be a hug warmer than any hug you’ve received by people of the Christian faith.

“well, baby, do you feel helpless?” thrust “confused,” thrust “and betrayed?” thrust

he punctures each word with a snap of his hips and the pain gives way to pleasure and soon he’s already lost in the comfort of your pussy, hips starting a pace easily that emphasises just how wet you are. the echoes of your weeping cunt and the lewd slapping of his balls into your ass is like the bell ringing during mass, loud, resonating, it shakes your whole body.

“mmfuck . . helpless, m-maybe,” you whine out, legs wrapping around his back, “confused, n-not— suguruuu, yesyesyes!”

you try again, “n-not really. betrayed . .”

you feel like a sacrifice, but it was willing, of a confession that has led to this lewd showing of just how much the temptations of the flesh were insanely undeniable. there’s a murmur of i don’t think i can last much longer into your ear, cock driving into your tight pussy so harshly you’re hoping the small altar doesn’t move.

“b-betrayed, i think—” you squeal when father geto angles his hips up and it kisses your cervix just nicely, sending multiple chills down your body. your moans penetrate the holy air, hair splayed out like a painting and geto knows this is better than any Eucharist he’s ever tasted.

you clench around his fat cock, and he twitches, switching to short, pathetic thrusts into your pussy and he cries out your name as he cums deep in you, giving you all of his seed deep in your womb. your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of your first load, the warmth already hooking you in and you pull so hard on his hair he has no choice but to follow your hand.

you let him handle you deep into the night, taking you off the altar and pushing you up against it, entering you again and you brace yourself against the marble.

“s-sorry, sweetheart, you were saying?” he also wants to apologise that he hadn’t made you cum just yet, but your pussy’s so fucking heavenly he just has to be in you again.

“i-i feel a little betrayed,“ you sag over the altar, back arching into his hold. father geto is fixated on the movement of your ass fucking back onto him, “that a priest would break his m-marriage to God for me.”

“i thought they were supposed to be men of God,” you barely manage to form sentences. geto’s laugh at that startles you, as with the hand grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling. payback. you love it, however, a sweet Christian girl turned into a slut, and the last bits of the thread unravels when father geto reaches around to rub your clit.

“’m gonna— cum, suguru—” you whine out, body turning to mush with how hard he rams into your pussy. by now there’s a ring of white around the base of his cock, your juices slowly starting to coat it, too and Lucifer succeeds at sin yet again.

you cannot blame Eve when the serpent is as beautiful and cunning as geto suguru, nor can you blame her when his thick cock just reaches so deep into you, tip kissing your sweet spots and his hand impatiently drawing messy circles on your bundle of nerves.

“that just makes it the best though, right?” geto breathlessly says, “a holy man fucking a virgin raw in a holy place where prayers are said.” your legs are spreading further and further, his sweaty body engulfs yours, you’re dizzy, “you’re too tempting, sweet girl. tempting enough for me to want to abandon priesthood just so i can be buried in this pussy for fucking eternity.”

and you cum, head and heart going a hundred miles per hour as your body trembles in his hold. “there we go, little slut, thereee we go . .” you can feel the chill of the sterling silver into your back and his smile before he orgasms a second time into your waiting pussy, a second, heavy load let go into your pussy. it’s so warm and filling, and you already want more, more, more.

lust for more things turns into greed when we act on that initial lust.

“aw,” father geto coos at your fucked out face, flipping you around to give you a sloppy kiss and forcing himself to his knees just to watch his cum drip out of you, “does she want more?”

“always, father.” you answer with a drunken smile, putting a leg on his shoulder. again, your finger hooks around his crucifix, and you drag the priest down deeper into hell, somewhere father geto would‘ve always ended up.

somewhere where he would renounce his priesthood and worship something, and someone: you.

“Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav'n.”

a/n: LOOOONG MAN WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS. also i put the author’s note at the bottom this time bc i wanted to format of the fic to look the best without my goofy words ruining it! hope you guys liked it :) / tagging @crysugu @omgeto @kazushawty @suguruplsr @hydrovillette @slttygeto @hyomagiri @jabamin

part two ✶

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

idk if this is a sex ed question, or if you're the right person to ask, sorry, but do you have any reputable sources about what testosterone *actually* does?

i see people saying it limits your emotions, that it gives you breast cancer, that it makes you malnourished, its a second more dangerous puberty, etc, and I'd like to think im good at picking out lies, but there's a lot of stuff that sounds like bullshit coming from blogs i thought were trustworthy.

if not, all good, thank you in advance!

hi anon,

I'm really glad you sent this ask, because this kind of scaremongering misinformation is deeply upsetting and I'm so happy to provide a better information.

there are tons of reputable sources as to what testosterone does; some that I'll be pulling from in this answer include Cleveland Clinic, Harvard Medical School, University of California San Francisco, Mayo Clinic, the Society for Endocrinology, and Planned Parenthood.

so, what's up testosterone?

testosterone is a hormone produced in everyone's bodies, either in the testes or the ovaries depending on which set of equipment you're working with. all bodies produce both estrogen and testosterone, usually in different levels. regardless of the genitalia you were born with, how you understand your gender, or what levels of testosterone you have in your body, testosterone affects things like your sex drive, your hair growth, muscle and bone density, and the production of red blood cells.

in people born with testes, puberty usually comes with an increase in testosterone that kicks off changes such as growth of the penis and testicles, the production of sperm, an increase in hair growth all over the body, deepening of the voice, greater production of oil on the skin, and an increase in height, weight, and muscle mass.

either an overabundance or a deficit of testosterone can have health complications, just as having more or less of any hormone that a body needs can cause complications.

people who choose to transition by taking testosterone will experience many similar effects as cisgender men going through puberty, including the increase in body hair, skin oils, and muscle mass, as well as a deepening voice. while people on testosterone are unlikely to experience significant growth in terms of height unless they start hormone replacement therapy (HRT) at a fairly young age, testosterone does frequently cause a redistribution of fat on their bodies to be more similar to that of cisgender men. bottom growth, the increased size and sensitivity of the clitoris to more closely resemble a penis, is also common; the clitoris and the penis are homologous structures (they're made out of the same goo when embryos start developing genitalia), hence why they react similarly to testosterone.

to address your specific concerns:

testosterone does not limit the range of a person's emotions. while it may impact a person's mood and the severity of their feelings, the same is true of any hormone - for instance, people also report mood changes when they take antidepressants or birth control. the sometimes drastic mood fluctuations experienced during puberty are not tied to a specific hormone; this is a turbulent time regardless of what hormones your body is producing the most. testosterone is stereotyped as making people angry and violent, but all people are people regardless of their biology and are shaped by much more than the hormones in their body.

while cisgender men and trans people on testosterone can both get breast cancer, testosterone does not pose any particular risk. several of the sources linked about don't find any significant link between taking testosterone HRT and an increased risk of breast cancer, reporting that transgender individuals who take testosterone are not at any particularly higher risk of developing breast cancer than cisgender women. for more detailed information about potential health problems affiliated with taking testosterone, I recommend the "Risks" section of the linked UCSF document. yes, there are health risks affiliated with taking testosterone; this is true of literally any medication and, more importantly, is also true of just being a person with any kind of hormones in your body. cis men and women also have health conditions affiliated with being cis men and cis women, this is the price of admission for having a human body. nobody gets out unscathed.

there is no evidence that testosterone causes someone to become malnourished. people undergoing a testosterone-based puberty, whether they're cis or trans, are likely to experience a great deal of growth and bodily changes that will use a great deal of calories, which means they may be hungry and need more food than they did previously. this is a normal effect of puberty on a body, and is only a risk for malnourishment if a person isn't able to eat in sufficient amounts to keep their body properly nourished.

there is nothing about a testosterone-based puberty that is "more dangerous" than an estrogen-based puberty, which is what I assume is the point of comparison. puberty is a completely natural process that does not pose any significant dangers unless you want to be a real dipshit about it and pull some shit like "puberty is dangerous because you grow breast tissue and then you're at risk for breast cancer," in which case sure, great job, Sherlock. you solved it, puberty is cancelled forever. I cannot emphasize enough how stupid this is, conceptually; roughly half the human population goes through this kind of puberty every day and they're fucking fine. puberty by itself is not a risk factor of anything.

I don't know what particular interest the blogs you've been following have in making testosterone-based puberty sound like it's going to turn you into an emotionally stunted skeleton with breast cancer, although I fear it's transphobia hidden unsubtly behind concern trolling and disdain for cisgender men.

if you're interested in taking testosterone and are concerned about the changes you might see in your body please, for the love of god, consult with reputable health resources and a doctor rather than whatever nematode is posting about testosterone ruining your life.

[pierregazly]

1+ 2 = ...4? ꨄ pierre gasly smau

pierre gasly x wife!russell!reader

warnings: pregnancy, mentions of twins, george having a meltdown

in which pierre put his tripod to use and caused two major outcomes, george has a meltdown, and all the fans just want to know what's going on?

ynrussell

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc, georgerussell63, and 23,407 others

tagged pierregasly

ynrussell joyeux anniversaire mon amour. three years ago today i married the love of my life and became the official mrs. gasly, so excited to give you your present tonight 🫶🏻

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username omg babes post the present!!! let us all be jealous

username happy anniversary mom and dad

charles_leclerc 🥳💗

username feel like it was just yesterday that i was jealous out of my mind about their wedding... still jealous tho

pierregasly joyeux anniversaire ma chère, i am the luckiest man in the world

pierregasly can't wait to give your your own present tonight

pierregasly it rhymes with tierod

username TRIPOD PIERRE

username im SCREAMING send this man right to PRISON

georgerussell63 god every time i see anything to do with you two i have to bleach my bloody eyes. happy anniversary you two, im disgusted.

username poor george, him and carmen are so tame compared to these two... i love the polar opposite sibling trope

ynrussell has posted a story

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pierregasly i hope the pizza was good ma chérie, and hope it satisfied the little bean's cravings

ynrussell it was delicious... but we kind of want chocolate now too :(

pierregasly ill check ubereats and see what i can do

ynrussell mine and the bean's saviour 🫶🏻

pierregasly

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tagged alpinef1team

pierregasly unfortunately not the finish we would have liked, the 15 second penalty cost us significantly and i apologize to my team and all our fans for it. will come back bigger and better next time 💪 now time to go and spend some well deserved time off with my family

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username thank you for pushing through and giving us an awesome race to watch pierre!

username loved your helmet this weekend pierre!

username sad that mother ynrussell wasn't here this weekend, but happy to see her in the likes

username 'well deserved time off with my family' do we think that's alluding to something else????

username girl he's obviously talking about his wife and his family??? like what

username ummm sorry he almost always says 'my loved ones' gotta push the pregnancy rumour agenda some more

ynrussell we're all so proud of you pear 🫶🏻 the track limits and penalties are bullshit and i'll be sending a strongly worded letter to whoever costs you anything good

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pierregasly 😂😭🤍

username who is 'we're all' who is the plural that she's referring to omg

username i'm telling y'all... mother is becoming a real mother idc what any of y'all say

pierregasly has posted a story

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ynrussell omf make sure you get extra cheesecake... and extra elcairs, and a few brownies... maybe get a few of everything??? the bean's want them!!!!

pierregasly well if the bean's want them....

username this SCREAMS my wife is pregnant and sent me on a late night snack run omf

username tell us your secret!!!!

ynrussell

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tagged pierregasly

ynrussell sorry just have to appreciate how incredibly sexy it is seeing my super sexy amazing husband with kids!!! like how lucky am i!!! can't wait til' you're holding our future babies (my ovaries are exploding, i am crying, it's going to be a long day)

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username girl this seems a little feral idk

georgerussell63 this is certifiably disgusting. please grow up.

username you know who would post something like this??? a wife expecting a baby who is getting more excited about that baby seeing her husband with kids

username seems legit idk

pierregasly is this your nice way of asking me to pickup more eclairs on the way home?

ynrussell cinnamon buns too?? please?? je t'aime

pierregasly can't wait to hold our future bean's too ma chérie

username pierre as a dad is going to be so sexy, ynrussell is so right??? those babies are going to be beautiful omf

ynrussell and pierregasly

liked by charles_leclerc, carmenmmundt, georgerussell63, and 566,493 others

pierregasly october 2024 / gasly thing 1 and gasly thing 2 🐣🚼

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ynrussell omg i'm pregnant???? SURPRISE

ynrussell maman is begging for them to come sooner, her poor back.

username AH I KNEW IT. I CALLED IT. MY HEART.

username THING 1 AND THING 2 AHHHHH

username pierre is gonna be a girl dad AND a boy dad?????? we're so blessed

georgerussell63 excuse me????

georgerussell63 you knocked my sister up????

georgerussell63 i told you to stay away from her??? this is outrageous i am disgusted

pierregasly sorry, tripod's work well.

ynrussell pierre delete this comment rn, i swear to god.

georgerussell63 (i am so excited to meet my baby niece and baby nephew. uncle georgie loves you both so much)

lewishamilton congratulations! roscoe is so excited 🤍

charles_leclerc uncle cha reporting for duty 🫡 congratulations, you two.

georgerussell63 i'd like to emphasize i'm still having a meltdown from when you casually gave me a bottle of gin to announce this. gasly genes should not be casually mixed like this.

username i dont think anyone understands the joy im feeling??? im honoured to be alive to see this

username they're gonna be such amazing parents im literally ????? so excited??????

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ynrussell thank you for the beautiful baby shower, auntie carmen already has spot number 1 🫶🏻

username omg omg omg omg

username this is SO CUTE

ynrussell has posted a story

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username girl u look like ur about to pop (lovingly)

pierregasly my beautiful wife

ynrussell i don't feel very beautiful right now. i feel huge and tired and exhausted.

pierregasly still the most beautiful woman in the world

ynrussell

liked by pierregasly, alexandrasaintmleux, georgerussell63, and 56,439 others

ynrussell things are getting very, very real (not real enough for my back to not hurt, thing 1 and 2 you both are killing me)

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username this aesthetic is so CUTE (that room is fucking beautiful i want a house tour????)

username they're literally due in like less than 2 months???? pierre is gonna be a dad that soon???? praying for u ynrussell

charles_leclerc im personally demanding compensation for the bruises i have from putting the nursery together

ynrussell shut up cha, you literally offered and begged to be involved

pierregasly yeah shut up cha

alexandrasaintmleux can't wait to see my art piece up in the bébé's room 🫶🏻

ynrussell knew i could always count on you angel

username im so invested in this pregnancy none of you even understand

username starting a poll asap on the babies names omf

ynrussell and pierregasly

liked by charles_leclerc, georgerussell63, roscoelovescoco, and 675,487 others

ynrussell 2024.10.16 / welcome to the world my precious théodore and éloïse. maman and papa love you so much.

view all 5,640 comments

username omg congratulations!!! such beautiful names.

username they share a birthday with charles im crying

lewishamilton congratulations! so beautiful, you are a rockstar ynrussell

charles_leclerc truly the best birthday present i could've asked for. ellie and théo should be so proud of their maman.

pierregasly the happiest day of my life, given to me by the most important woman in my life. thank you for blessing me.

username again i am so invested in this. i am so happy for these two, they're going to be incredible parents.

alpinef1team welcome to the family baby éloïse and baby théodore!

mercedesamg welcome to the family x2

username oh girl the racing teams are gonna FIGHT over these two just you wait

and there she is! after weeks of gasly!twin asks, i finally decided it was time to bring them to life in the realest way i could. i hope you all loved this as much as i loved writing it. thank you to everyone for all the incredible inspiration, and for continuing my obsession.

taglist

@leclercdream @myescapefromthislife @princessria127 @iloveyou3000morgan @love4lando @asfaraslifegets @decseptapril @somanyfandomsbruh @fangirl125reader @imagandom @motorsp0rt @jspitwall @glitterf1 @christianpulisic10 @carlandonorri-s @smoothopz @eugene-emt-roe @epitios @myloverjk-blog @glow-ish @goldenmclaren @mercunty @success78 @nicolereinara

if you're missing from the taglist, pls dont hesitate to send me a message!!

[russellsppttemplates]

Reader having an absolute baby fever while seeing Lando interacting with little fans during a race weekend.

Note: I have been in my Lando feels so much recently (who knew, right? With what I've been posting 🫠), and the little ones near him just send my ovaries to the moon, I swear!

It first happened when the little boy with a Mclaren cap Lando waited for him at the entrance of the McLaren unit after qualifying. You walked with Jon in front of Lando as he was giving Sky Sports a quick interview, spotting the little boy immediately.

"Oh my goodness, look how cute!", you gushed as you approached him and his family who seemed to recognise you, "are you here to see Lando?", you asked, crouching down so you were at eye level with him. He got really shy and hid beside his mum's legs as you smiled at him, hoping would finish his interview soon.

"Well, hello!", Lando greeted the little boy as his parents ushered him gently to take a picture with him, "come here, buddy!", Lando smiled as he walked up to him, "I really like your cap!", he tried to settle his nerves and as his parents were about to take the photo, he ran away from your boyfriend, "oh- okay", he chuckled before the little boy stood back next to him, "you have to say cheeeeese!", Lando exaggerated as the little boy giggled.

"That was such a cute moment, I snapped a couple of pics to put in my photo dump! And I'm going to send this one to your mother!", you cheered.

.

Walking through the paddock, you noticed it was quieter than usual at this time of day, scanning your pass and trying to stay out of the way of the people working there and saying hello to the ones you were familiar with as usual until you spotted a little McLaren driver.

"I'm sorry, miss!", the man you assumed was his father called for you. You had on your McLaren rain jacket, and the grey pants you were wearing did make you look like you worked for the team, so when he asked you at what the time Lando would be doing autographs, you apoligised, "Oh, I don't work for the team, I'm sorry!", you explained, "Oh, it's just Liam wanted to meet him, we'll ask someone else, thank you", he smiled warmly as Liam waved at you.

"Actually, I can make that happen for you", you smiled as you explained the whole situation as you walked to the unit, calling your boyfriend's trainer to make it happen.

"Who's this?", Zak asked you as you walked hand in hand with Liam into the garage, "this is Liam, and he's a big fan of...", you encouraged him to speak up, "Lando!", the boy said loudly, "Oh - thank Goodness! I thought someone had done some magic and Lando shrunk!", Zak said, feigning relief as he out his hand on his chest to emphasise.

"Look, it's Lando!", Liam yelled as he saw your boyfriend walk to where you were, "Hi Liam! I was told I have a very special fan at the track today!", he said as he crouched down, talking to him about all things related to racing and then showing him around the garage.

"How much do you want to have his kids after this? I promise I won't tease you too much about it", Max jokingly whispered on your ear as you watched your heart eyes directed at your boyfriend as he let Liam touch the steering wheel.

"In a way that concerns what I believe and questions feminism, as in I would happily give him a football team, bench players included, so, yeah, that much", you looked up at Max with a stern face as he seemed shocked by your words, "told you, it's been hitting me pretty hard lately", you shrugged your shoulders.

.

Max had space on his jet for you and Lando, and since you were all flying back to Monaco, you accepted the offer to fly with them.

"There they are", you nodded with your head as you spotted Kelly, Max and Penelope by the passport verification counter.

"LANDO!", the little girl yelled as she jumped in her spot in excitement at seeing your boyfriend, who ran up to her and crouched down against the wall.

The little girl was quick to hug him, small arms wrapping around neck as she smooched his cheek, "Ugh, that's it", you groaned as Kelly looked at you, "I'm sorry - I don't mean it that way!", you quickly apoligised, "it's not your cute daughter I'm complaining about, she's the sweetest girl, look at her", you smiled as she happily did a few turns to show Lando her dress and then her bracelets, "it's the sight of my boyfriend near her that made me groan - it's been like this every single day, I swear. A cute little kid goes up to him and he's all cute and cuddly with them, and boom! My ovaries are doing somersaults", you chuckled at your own words, "my baby fever has been alm over the place! Oh, they're trading bracelets!", you gushed, "I think I might cry, actually!".

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

[copper-16]

The Beginning

The decision to have a baby, as well as how the Barcelona girls find out about Ingrid's pregnancy (confusion ensues, as it always does).

(a/n: repeat after me: thank you @lucawrites11 for sending me the picture of Mapi with a child so I could write this and not end up down an internet rabbit hole of trying to find a picture of Mapi with a child! This was highly requested, so I hope you guys enjoy it!)

They were sitting together on the couch watching a movie when Ingrid brings it up, less because she had intentionally thought through doing so and more because the words tumble out of her. 

“I want a baby with you,” she blurts out, her eyes widening at her own candor. Mapi seems equally as shocked, fumbling to get the remote and turn the movie off, the conversation at hand exponentially more interesting than whatever they were watching. 

“I’m sorry! I don’t…I don’t know why I said that,” the Norwegian shakes her head, but Mapi stops her as she moves closer, her focus now solely on Ingrid. 

“No, no, clearly you did. Where is your mind?” The Spaniard asked thoughtfully, because she could tell this was something Ingrid had been thinking about. 

All week, ever since they had a big win in the Champions League last Saturday, the dark haired woman had been a little bit quiet. Not in a bad way necessarily, but Mapi could tell that something was on her wife’s mind. Something was bothering her, but she had simply been waiting for Ingrid to come to her before she did something about it. 

“We have a plan,” Ingrid started nervously, playing with her own fingers as she looked down at her lap where they lay. 

And it was true, they did have a plan. They had gotten married a little over a year before, had just bought a house together. They were going to wait a few years to have children, until Mapi had retired and then they would adopt. 

Ingrid knew she was throwing a wrench in the meticulously planned setup, but she couldn’t help it. She says as much, trying to explain her thought process. 

“We have a plan, but every time I see you with a kid or a baby I can’t help but want one with you. My ovaries feel like they are going to burst, and I just know you would be the best Mami and I well…” Ingrid stopped herself with a sigh. Mapi was showing absolutely no emotion, simply observing the defender and trying not to give anything away as to her own thoughts. 

“I know it would be a lot more complicated, but I don’t want to wait. We are stable, and I know we are both playing but I see more and more players having kids and I just…I feel like we could do it. I want a little baby that is you and me, I want to experience all of it,” Ingrid couldn’t decide if she was begging her wife to do this or trying to talk herself out of it, but either way Mapi softened when she saw how misty eyed the Norwegian was growing. 

“Oh Ingrid, come here,” she replied gently, bringing the green eyed woman into her arms and hugging her firmly. She rubbed her hand up and down the dark haired woman’s back for a moment, before she pulled back slightly. 

“Princesa, I want that with you too, of course I do,” Mapi promised, as Ingrid paused, looking up at her wife’s face with confusion. 

“You do? But we had…we had the whole plan!” She exclaimed, brushing away her own tears as she sat up, now a little lost. She was getting conflicting accounts, and her confusion persisted when Mapi appeared to grow a bit guilty, rubbing at the back of her neck. 

“I don’t…I really want kids but I do not want to carry them. And I didn’t want to put that on you, so I suggested the plan instead so neither of us would have to sacrifice our careers,” the brunette admitted, feeling a little bit bad about it. She wanted kids, very badly in fact, but the thought of carrying them held absolutely no appeal to her whatsoever. And given her own negative thoughts on the matter, she had absolutely no intention of making her wife feel like she had to carry their kids, if she didn’t want to. 

“Oh my god Mapi no, I want to carry,” Ingrid gushed, realizing with a flush of hope that she might not be entirely crazy or alone in her desires. “I only went along with the plan because you seemed so insistent!” 

The center back appeared skeptical, if nothing else. 

“Ingrid, are you sure? This is a big decision, I do not want it to be something we decide lightly, and then you regret it later on. You would have to stop playing for upward of a year, it might end up being very rough, I know that–” Mapi just keeps going on and on, and after a moment the Norwegian has to stop her, a hand on her wife’s knee. 

“I have thought about it. And we can talk more about it, sure, but I have definitely thought about it. If we started a transfer soon in the new year, we could have the baby in the winter of next, and by the time the new season rolls around I should be good to come back fully. My contract runs for long enough that it would work, and I spoke to Jonatan already about a renewal after that. I think it makes sense to do it now,” Ingrid explained, as the Spaniard listened to her thoughtfully. 

“You have thought about it,” she concedes, trying not to allow herself to grow too excited. The thought of a baby, her own baby with Ingrid, was more than something to be thrilled about. 

“The only thing is…” Ingrid trails off, and the amber eyed woman’s eyebrows furrow in an instant, as she leans in toward the Norwegian. 

“What is it?” She asked softly, the care in her voice quite clear. 

“I don’t think I would want to do it more than once. At least not right now…after I retire perhaps? But I don’t want to take off playing like that a whole second time,” she admitted, and Mapi’s entire body softened. 

“That is completely understandable. We can start with the one, and go from there,” she replied very matter-of-factly. Ingrid bit her lip just slightly, feeling a flush rise up in her cheeks because of the excitement. 

“Does this mean we’re having a baby?” She asked, her voice filled with hope. Mapi appeared to be tearing up beside her as well, a surprise considering that the brunette was not usually a crier. 

“I think we might be,” the center back confirmed, as both of their hearts flew with excitement. 

—

“Are you sure I can’t come in?” Mapi pleaded for what was probably the seventeenth time in the span of a minute, and Ingrid took a deep breath before answering. 

“I said I wanted you out there, so just stay. I will be out in less than five minutes, I know you can go longer than five minutes without seeing me!” The dark haired woman called back from behind the closed door. 

The Norwegian was in the bathroom, having just peed on a stick, while her wife camped right outside the door, her cheek pressed against the wood. Ingrid had said she wanted to do this alone, and Mapi respected that…almost. 

But at least her incessant pestering would be good practice for when the baby came. 

If…if there was even a baby to come. Ingrid didn’t really feel all that different since her insemination two weeks ago, which felt more like a bad sign than a good one. Surely she would have felt different if she was pregnant, right? 

The doctor did say that there was a chance it wouldn’t work on the first try, but the thought made Ingrid far too discouraged to even begin to think of. She would cross that bridge if she came to it, she decided. 

“Three minutes is up!” Mapi called out from behind the closed door, her clock app open. 

“Okay, I’m looking,” Ingrid called out, while the Spaniard paced back and forth outside the door. She wanted to respect the Norwegian’s boundaries, she really did, but she was equally as eager as her wife to know if they were pregnant. 

After the taller woman had said she was going to check, the silence in their house seemed to stretch for an endless amount of time. The brunette waited with her breath held, and as the time stretched on longer and longer she began to grow more and more worried that it was not going to be a positive result. 

Just as she was about to say something though, the door to the bathroom went flying open, and the dark haired woman was shoving the pregnancy test in her face. 

“It is positive!” She squealed, clapping her hands together as Mapi took the test, staring down at it with huge eyes. 

“It worked?!” She asked, looking up at Ingrid with alarm. When the green eyed woman nodded, tears immediately began to well up in her eyes. The Norwegian’s excitement dulled just slightly, suddenly concerned about the Spaniard beginning to cry. 

“No, no, amor, it is good! It is a good result, no?” Ingrid asked, gripping her wifes shoulders as Mapi nodded her head insistently, fat, bumble bee like tears rolling down her cheeks. 

“It’s a perfect result!” She sobbed, blubbered practically, and Ingrid looked at her wife as though she had grown a second head. 

Mapi was not a crier. The Spaniard was typically a very happy person, and when she was not, it wasn’t typical to find her crying. Ingrid was pretty sure she could count on both hands the number of times she had seen the center back cry, even now that they were married. 

So to see her crying was…unusual, if not a tiny bit alarming. 

“Are you okay?” She asks, as Mapi reaches down to touch her hand gently to Ingrid’s stomach, and she’s crying and smiling brightly all at the same time, somehow.

“I am SO happy,” she replied easily, and Ingrid felt herself relaxing as she realized that they were happy tears, and that everything was okay. 

“Hola mi sol, we are so excited to meet you, we are so thrilled that you are here,” Mapi whispered to Ingrid’s stomach, and the Norwegian now found herself tearing up as she realized what this really meant. 

They were having a baby. 

—

The decision was made not to tell the team until Ingrid was thirteen weeks along. 

All of the necessary staff was informed, and the Norwegian had been cleared to continue playing as she usually did, if not a bit more on the light side. But it was nothing to arouse attention, and honestly the pregnancy had been going very smoothly. She hardly had any symptoms, and if it were not for the continued positive tests and the fact that her breasts were so tender, she would not have believed she was pregnant. 

But the thing that is absolutely going to break their cover? 

Mapi fucking León. 

In the last several weeks, the brunette had gone from her usual, slightly emotionally repressed self, to a complete and utter puddle. 

All of the sudden she was crying at the world's most random things. A cute cat video, Alexia saying she had a good day at training, Jana announcing her renewal at Barcelona. 

Which was very cute…if not for the fact that she had already known about the announcement for several weeks now already. And all of the girls were starting to grow 

“Mapi, they’re going to catch onto us,” Ingrid whispered harshly to her wife as they walked out to the car, her gaze more than a little judgemental. The amber eyed woman looked back at her with absolutely no amusement, clearly not thrilled by the feedback. 

“I do not know what to tell you amor I cannot just turn it off! I don’t know how you do it,” she grumbled as a stray tear leaked out of her eye, and Ingrid shot her a look. 

“What do you mean–how I do it?” She questioned with a raised brow, and Mapi shrugged, gesturing wildly with her hands. 

“Oh I don’t know - you cry more than me!” She announced, and the dark haired woman looked over at her as she sat down in the car. 

“Not right now I don’t!” Ingrid couldn’t help but laugh as her wife made an indignant noise next to her, but had absolutely no comeback for that. 

—

“Shh! I can hear them walking in, get it together!” 

Mapi and Ingrid turned to one another as they heard someone whisper scream that, in the direction of what sounded suspiciously like the locker room. 

As it turns out, Mapi’s behavior had begun to worry not just some of their teammates…but rather all of them. They had all stayed late one day to discuss, and decided that the best course of action was to ask the Spaniard if everything was okay. They decided to do it as a team, as a show of support. 

They weren’t sure what was going on with the center back, but she was very clearly going through something, in their eyes. They did not want it to go unnoticed or undiscussed. 

Which was how Mapi and Ingrid walked hand and hand into a changing room intervention, when the green eyed woman was only nine weeks pregnant. 

And really, looking back it was a miracle they had managed to last as far as they did, given how strange the brunette was acting. 

Which led them to right here, right now, standing in front of their entire time, who were all looking at Mapi with varying levels of concern. 

“Uh…hi guys?” Mapi asked more than said her greeting, and it was Alexia who stepped up and forward to greet her friend, clearly the leader of whatever this conversation is going to be. 

“Hi Mapi. We need to talk to you,” the captain explained as she looked around at the group, who all nodded at her. 

“We are worried about you Mapi. Clearly something is going on, and that is okay! We want to be here, support you, however we can. But we can’t help if we don’t know what is going on,” Alexia’s words were soothing, and the Spanish center back could feel the panic inside of her growing larger with the minute. 

She really was not a good liar. She wasn’t the worst liar, but she wasn’t a good one either. 

She considered telling them that it was something private, but that was only going to start more discussion and concern among the team. All of the girls look worried, and she feels bad for concerning them with her behavior, even if it was accidental. 

But oh god, Ingrid is going to be furious if she tells them, Mapi is sure. 

When the brunette chances a glance at her wife, she’s surprised to find that the Norwegian doesn’t seem annoyed but rather amused by the whole thing. More than likely, she, like Mapi, realized that they were fighting a losing battle of trying to keep this a secret. 

When a question forms on the amber eyed woman’s face, Ingrid responds with a small nod, and Mapi knows that she has her permission. 

She lets out a sigh, rubbing her hand over her face before she looks back at her team. They are all looking at her with confusion, and she decides to just tell it to them straight. 

“We are pregnant!” She announces, looking at Ingrid briefly, before she looks back to her team. 

Everyone seems to be stunned into complete and utter silence. Someone lets out a gasp, and Alexia’s jaw looks as though it would be on the floor if it were not still attached to her cheek. 

The blonde captain looks from Mapi’s face to her stomach and back again, unable to gather up any words for a few seconds. 

“You are pregnant?!” She asks in complete disbelief, and the center back blanches at the comment, her own jaw dropping open in shock as she looks down at her own stomach, as though checking to make sure that she wasn’t actually pregnant. 

“What? No! Ingrid is, not me!” She rushed to amend, frantically gesturing to her wife, and the midfielder looked from her best friend to her best friend’s wife, who went from looking unimpressed by her wife’s gesturing to holding up her hands as though to say surprise! to the whole team. 

“You are pregnant?” Alexia repeats, except this time it is directed at Ingrid and not the brunette standing next to her. The Norwegian blushes, before she nods her head in the affirmative. 

“I am. It was a little early still, I am only nine weeks along. We weren’t planning on telling anyone until I was done with the first trimester, but apparently someone can’t keep a lid on any secret ever,” Ingrid explained to the collective, still holding Mapi’s hand. 

When she focuses back on Alexia though, she finds that the Spanish captain appears to be deep in thought. 

“Are you not happy Ale?” Mapi asked suddenly, and there is insecurity laced in her voice that the whole team can tell. That seems to break the blonde out of her trance, and she jumps to shake her head. 

“No, I am thrilled for the both of you!” She explains, and her tone is nothing but genuine. 

“Then what is wrong? You look like you are doing mental math,” the amber eyed woman comments nervously, still a little confused and worried. 

“I’m just–Ingrid is the pregnant one, no?” Alexia receives confirmation of this when they both nod. 

“Then why the hell are you the one that is crying all the time! Isn’t that supposed to be her job?” The captain points out, and Ingrid’s face raises in triumph as Mapi’s face falls in annoyance. 

“That is exactly what I have been saying Ale!” The Norwegian gloated happily, while Mapi crossed her arms over her chest in annoyance. 

“I have recently converted to being an empath! I have to sympathize with her pain!” She cried, and received twenty two equally unimpressed gazes staring right back at her. She deflates like a balloon at the pressure, throwing her hands up. 

“Okay fine, you all win! I’m just weird, I do not know!” She finally admitted, not knowing what else to say. That seemed to make everyone happy, as the whole team stood with excitement, making their way over to hug both the Spaniard and the Norwegian. 

“I can’t wait, we are going to have a Blaugrana baby!” Pina squealed, and at those words Alexia lit up like a child on Christmas, realization dawning on her face as she turned back to the couple. 

“Oh my god!” She properly squealed, taking both Mapi and Ingrid by surprise. The two looked at one another before they looked back at Alexia. 

“What is it capitana?” The dark haired woman asked, shaking her head slightly in confusion. 

“I AM GOING TO BE A TÍA!”

---

Note: Since I know someone might ask - if you would like to read the fic of when Elena meets the Barcelona girls for the first time as a baby, it can be found on ao3 at I Wanna Thank You Baby, You Make It Feel Like Christmas

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐓𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐞𝐯𝐚 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤 || 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ from that time when Miguel and you had an extremely big sexual tension and during the chaos of a tropical storm hitting the HQ, both of you ended up tangled under the humid rain. 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ SMUT 18+, sex…minors, go away pls, size kink, unprotected sex (just don’t…), dom!Miguel, sub!reader, shy reader, creampie, porn with plot, porn starts in medias res sorry, age gap. NO PROOFREAD, and poor attempt at writing smut bye. 𝐀/𝐍_ if I had Miguel calling me mami and chiquita while destroying my coochie… I would die… happily, listen to fetish with this PLEASE!!!

♪ ♫ my miguel playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

When clouds started to look bigger at earth-928, everyone should’ve known something weird would happen.

However, you don’t have time to worry about that at midday. You are laughing so hard at the sight of baby Mayday Parker; she had vomited all over Peter because he bounced her right after Mayday drank her milk.

“I can’t-oh my god. I can’t stop laughing!” You babble, tears in your eyes, and your stomach hurts.

“Stop laughing and get me a towel,” the man pleaded.

“Oh boy, Spider-Man from the humble reality is having a humble moment” Your laughs increase when Hobie walks in, to Peter’s dismay. The bench on the rooftop of the HQ slowly filled with colorful petals. Petals that emanated from you and your happiness.

“Could someone give me a towel?” You wipe the tears from your eyes with a napkin before handing it to Peter while Hobie carries Mayday.

“It’s not a towel, but it’ll work,” the older man grunts but accepts your help.

“Is it me or the weather is weird today?” Peter asks again.

“Yeah, it’s cloudy but hot. It’s so weird,” you added; Hobie nodded, analyzing the sky. In addition, Mayday keeps drinking her milk bottle, looking fussy as usual.

Nueva York was always foggy but sunny and warm but not hot. So this was something new, but not enough to make you wonder further. Then you start walking inside the giant building of the HQ with your friends.

Mayday now in your arms, Hobie walking by your side, and Peter was stuck on the showers trying to clean himself.

“Miguel was looking for us…” your smile disappears as Hobie speaks. Nervousness immediately ran across your body, and a blush painted your cheeks.

“Oh… Really?”

“Yeah, he’s mad as usual. And Lyla making it worse… as usual,” you laugh awkwardly.

When you had Miguel in front of you, if you were with friends, you had the ovaries to talk back and be reckless. But you couldn’t even look him in the eye when it was just you.

And when he wasn’t around, you were a mess of anxiety. Because you had a crush on your boss, who was older, grumpier, and more traumatized than you.

“That’s not new….”

“Yup, here…” he opened the door of his office. And all you could hear was Mayday’s babbling the whole way inside. She had a dirty dress, and her curly hair was a mess.

“You need a shower, little woman,” the baby giggled and started playing with your hair. At least she was entertained.

Miguel was on the screens as usual. Seeing anomalies and random canon events makes you wonder if he ever spent time at his own place.

He turned his broad back to see you. And there you were, looking like a nymph (technically, you were half one, anyways…). He saw you carrying Mayday, and his heart started to beat softly. A warm feeling assaulted him. Something that often happened whenever you were near him.

“I’ve told you to stop that…” his firm and deep voice was all you heard.

You look back to see more petals scattered over the entrance. Oh…

“I’m sorry, I can’t control it,” you admit. He rolls his eyes.

In the past, Miguel had said that your weird ability to leave petals behind was dangerous for Lego Spider-Man and spider plushie due to their height.

“Sure. And where were you an hour ago?. I sent Lyla for you…” he can see how you shield yourself by looking at Mayday. Oh, there it goes, pink painting your cheeks.

“Well… While I know we have big responsibilities here, bombón, I was busy back at home” You don’t know what possessed you to call him like that. But it doesn’t feel as bad as you thought it was gonna be. He’s surprised, you rarely make that type of comment, and he always ignored them. But as time progressed, he couldn’t deny his real feelings.

“Really? Doing what, bonita?” For you, it was shocking. Was he flirting back?

“Uh-… I had to build my schedule for the next college semester,” Miguel nods mockingly. He sauntered towards you, tilting his head, and for some seconds, you think you’ll drop the little girl in your arms. The man hears you gulp, bringing a little smile to him again.

“Don’t get all shy, chiquita…” you don’t feel when Hobie grabs Mayday from your arms. You are going to fall on your knees.

The man with punk vibes knows it's not a moment for Mayday to be present.

“We’re out…” Hobie announces. He leaves with the kid, and silence reigns.

Miguel grabs your chin to make you look up at him. The urge to feel his hands somewhere across your body invades you. Maybe his hands on your hips would look good. Or his hands holding your legs apart.

stop it, y/n, you think.

“I can hear your heartbeats… “ he had an idea of the effect he caused on you. And he was eager to discover if his feelings were reciprocated.

“You do?…” your voice is a melody to him. Sweet, cute, and shy. He won’t admit he wants to ruin you.

“You sound nervous. But I can also smell you… and it’s telling me how wet you are” A barrier had been crossed. Nothing would be the same. The tension that slowly built since you joined the spider society a year before the events with the kid Miles Morales, had exploded.

“Miguel…” You don’t want to ruin your barely existing friendship with him. So you place your hand on his broad chest to stop him from leaning closer.

But his gaze is focused on your eyes, and it confuses you. Because if you didn’t know Miguel and what happened to his daughter in that alternate earth, you would believe he was looking at you with a mix of lust… and love.

“We both feel the same…” his voice was confident. Like he was sure of his actions and words. Like he was confirming he felt something for you.

Miguel can hear your slow heartbeats,

You close your eyes, and by the time his lips brush yours, a loud and scary thunder startles you, pulling you away from having a kiss with your boss.

“What was that?” You ask just after a little scream of scare you let out.

“A thunder, I guess…” Miguel confirms. He had an arm around you because you had looked for comfort in his arms after the thunder.

“But Nueva York never has storms in summer.”

“If we learned something last year… was that anything can change,” the man replies.

And it’s true. After Miles ran to Earth -42, Miguel owed him an apology after discovering that canon events could change.

He even apologized to you for not believing and hearing you.

“True… but still, it’s weird” Slowly, he pulled away, noticing and analyzing what just happened. The sound of rain distracted him and you, but both were having a hazy moment for what almost happened.

And before he could talk about it again, Lyla appeared.

“Oh, good to know you two are here… We’re locked,” you frowned. Miguel walks away from you. But the heat in the room, between you two… barely decreases.

“What?” Lyla ignores your question to move her heart-shaped glasses and cross her arms.

“The storm is messing with us. The portals won’t work, and everyone is stuck inside here.” Miguel sighs and starts walking in little circles. You exchange looks with the AI before she shrugs.

“Isn’t there anything to do?” He asks tiredly. Another wave of thunders hit, and now you’re curious to look outside. It was rare to have tropical storms, even rarer in Nueva York.

“Well…”

Peter entered the room, now changed, with no more baby vomit over his suit. Gwen and Miles were beside him, with Pavitr holding the tiny Spider-man popsicle. The man near you is rolling his eyes and already stressing.

“Great. Now what are you doing here?” Miguels asks, visibly frustrated. Because Peter, Gwen, and Miles were not some of his favorite spiders. He tolerated Pavitr and secretly admired popsicle Spider-man. But that's it.

“It’s raining…” Miles said.

“No way, for real?” Lyla mocks him

“What do we do?”

“Power is unstable, too,” Peter announces. Miguel is about to burst into anger when he hears Peter, thinking his words make him more annoying.

“He’s right, boss. Our security system needs a boost to stabilize it.”

“Which is?…” you ask, stepping beside the tall man. He sends a little look down to you.

“A button…” Lyla answers.

“A button?…”

“Yes. It’s a yellow button that we have to secure the power and security system of the HQ. Someone has to go outside and manually press it from the electricity box,” everyone sighs.

“But it’s raining…” Miles protests again, and Gwen nods. Of course, nobody wanted to go out and get drenched.

“We are heroes, kid. C’mon, I’ll do it…” immediately, Pavitr stops Peter.

“NO! Mayday needs his dad. What if you get a cold in the rain? What if you die?”

“It’s like 90 degrees outside, Pav. If the power goes out, we melt to death and die anyway…” For some seconds, you want to laugh; but when you catch Miguel made looking at you, your cheeks turn red, turning away again. He chuckles in disguise, thinking how cute and hot you look.

After seeing your reaction to the almost kiss, he's eager to do more than just kiss you. Blaming his intense desire for you caused by the stress of the storm and the damn button.

“Where’s the electricity box, then?” Peter asks again. Lyla opens a virtual map and selects the rooftop area.

“It’s in zone A of the rooftop. You have to be careful; the floor in that section is from crystal. Even your spider senses can betray you and make you fall badly with the humidity outside.” Peter looks scared because he doesn't remember the rain and its potential risk.

Miguel sighs, frustrated again, and steps further, urging you to walk by pressing a hand on your lower back.

“Save it; I’m going with y/n” Everyone knew you were one of Miguel’s favorite spiders. Half of the spider society suspected he was in love with you. So it wasn’t a surprise that he chose you for the task.

“Hold her tightly…” Gwen suggests Miguel as you two leave the room.

Oh, I’ll do more than that to her, Miguel thinks.

…

Well, the rain wasn’t that bad. It was like a warm breeze; the awkward part was the humidity, which felt like the whole HQ and the rest of Nueva York evaporated.

“There’s the box. Look, Miguel!” You yell when you look at the grey box with buttons and wires. The man nods. And he thanked for wearing his mask because you looked amazingly pretty with your hair wet. Even more, flowers seemed to grow around you because of the rain.

And your suit, he wanted to avoid looking at you with desire. But he had been pushing his emotions for so long that it seemed like that summer would be impossible.

“Let’s be careful” Your soft muscles looked tighter with the drenched suit. But god, when you reached the box in the wall and opened it, he let go. The fabric looked so thin that your nipples were visibly perking, and the outline of your pussy lips was almost there, tempting him.

His cock hardened utterly. And as you tried to reach the damn yellow button, he was getting hypnotized by your small figure, imagining you in the most erotic scenarios.

“I can’t…” you admit in the middle of the pouring rain. Jumping wasn't the best option, but the floor is so slippery that you'll likely fall if you stand on your tip toes for an extended period.

Everything changes when you jump one last time and slip, set to land on your back against the crystal floor. The moment was so fast that you only closed your eyes, hoping for the worst.

But when you open your eyes, Miguel is on top of you. His arms had saved you, and you were okay.

"Are you okay?" His brown eyes are one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. And you find yourself getting lost in them. Before you can thank him, he has already smashed his lips on you. Kissing you like a starved man.

His hands attach to your hips, and your arms hug his neck tightly, kissing him with the same passion.

When he hears your first moan, he knows he reached heaven.

__

The lights of the cafeteria blink nonstop. Gwen, Miles, Pavitr, Hobie, and Mayday are sandwiched on a couch. While Jess, Ben, and Peter talk near them.

“Poor y/n and Miguel, they must be getting wet,” Pavitr laments. Everyone nods in agreement, hearing the rain pouring outside.

“Maybe y/n will fall, but Miguel will save her, and they’ll finally be together,” Gwen fantasized. Even Jess, Peter, and Ben turned to look at her in disbelief.

“What? Everyone wants them together. See,” the blonde takes out her phone and shows everyone a screenshot of a poll made by Ultimate Spider-Man. 91% said they wanted you to date Miguel.

“Oh-, wow…” Jess mumbled, confused.

“What? And I didn’t vote? Let me check!” Peter immediately went to vote on his own device. Jess and Ben rolled their eyes.

“Let’s just hope they get here early. They had been out for forty minutes already” Gween nodded at Miles.

“Maybe that button is giving them trouble,” Ben says.

Everyone wonders how you two are dealing with the hot storm outside.

…

“Miguel, you’re so fucking big. You’re stretching me so good.”

How you ended up having sex in the rooftop of the HQ with Miguel?

One second both are kissing, then you remove your suit, and he follows you.

You had seen his cock; proportional to his massive body. A pink tip slowly getting swollen and leaking pre cum, a vein across the length that made your mouth water and pussy clench. His abs and massive arms caged you in an intense yet soft way.

There’s a solid dominant aura that Miguel is holding as he buries himself inside you. Your velvety walls welcome him tightly. He hits a spongy wall that makes you arch your back, and your tits invite him to taste them. So he does; Miguel sucks your nipples like a starved animal. You feel his fangs over the sensitive bud, and his talons are holding your hips with just enough pressure to make you feel pleasure.

“Dios…I can’t believe this,” he’s shocked. You had disintegrated your suit minutes ago, offering your body to him. He asked if you were okay because just with the stretch of his tip sliding through your folds, you couldn’t stop sobbing. He knew he was big, and with you being so small, he wanted to be careful, even when, in his most dark desires, he wanted to ruin you.

The image is erotic; how you shyly took him. Still, you look hotter than ever, arched back with the rain leaving your hair and body all wet, your face shining with tears mixing up.

“Oh-Miguel…” he thinks your face is a treasure, showing him how much of a good job he was doing by pleasuring you.

“Mig-Miguel,” your eyes are closed. But he wants to see you and your pretty face while you moan and cry.

“Look at me, chiquita. Look at me when I’m buried inside you” Your walls clench at his voice using the hottest nicknames in Spanish. But you can do that too. However, you obey. Your eyes are now glued to him; the visual contact is a challenge for you, but his cock and balls hitting your ass are enough to distract you.

“you’re gonna let me be yours?” He asks, his hands holding your hips so tightly. That you’ll likely get bruises. That doesn’t stop the whole scenario from being so lustful.

“Yes, ah-. Yes, Miguel… And I’m gonna be yours too, papi” he’s a goner; the passion is hypnotic. Both of you can feel the way his cock pulses inside you. You clench around him on purpose, causing the man to close his eyes briefly, savor the pleasure, and believe what is happening. He had you on your back, your actions making him think you might want him in the same ways as he does.

“You’re gonna be mine?. Solo mía….” You can feel every vein of his thick length helping to rip you open, and it’s the best feeling ever. Your hand rests on your lower stomach, and your brows furrow in pleasure as you feel the outline of Miguel’s cock. The man looks at it and wishes to photograph the sight.

“Can you feel how hard you make me, bonita? Very easy, mami” The rain turns the moment stickier, and it’s naughty. His pace is fast but soft, with the humidity reigning over Nueva York, the sweat and rain shower over your burning body and his.

You believe he couldn’t look better with the hairs on his forehead. It makes you want to say the most vulgar things. Feeling his cock causing a sting with every thrust, it only makes you feel dirtier.

“Soy tuya, Miguel… I’ve always been” maybe you’re cockdrunk cause you don’t even remember that the whole HQ is locked inside. At least they had a lot of things to do.

“Fuck…” he mumbled. His eyes were glued to your cunt, seeing how you sucked him in. And every time he bottomed in and out when his cock was balls deep inside you, something extremely hot happened; the mix of the sound of your cunt squelching and a ring of fluids mixed forming at the base of his cock. Miguel accepted he had never been so hard before, to the point where he could feel himself being extremely hard even inside you.

“Please, bonita. Please let me fuck you harder” It takes you by surprise; the duality of Miguel. He was possessive, in control. But he was soft like he wanted to be good for you. Thing that made you fall more in love with him.

“Do it, Miguel” He welcomes your sweet lips as he starts pounding harder into you. Miguel knew he wasn’t acting as a leader. He was getting lost in the lust, in your gorgeous eyes and perfect body, instead of returning to the HQ's safety.

“You’re so pretty, chiquita.” He whispers in your ear. Your heart clenches and softens for him, the urge to scream I love you, to welcome him in your life, and keep him forever.

“Fuck, god-Miguel, fuck me harder, papi!” He kisses away your tears before he focuses on your tits again. His hot mouth sucks and leaves wet kisses on your chest. A hand was still gripping your hip, and the other traveled to land on your swollen clit.

“Are you getting closer, bonita?” You nod, accepting the way he was fucking you. The mix of his lips sucking your nipples, his fingers circling your clit, and his cock causing the most obscene sounds with your cunt.

“Yes, yes, fuck…” At that point, the rain was only a boost to keep going. You hold tightly from his neck, biting him occasionally, sending him to death.

“Oh-I’m cumming. I’m gonna cum, Miguel,” he moans when your hands comb his hair. His thrusts start to get sloppy, and the lips that were once on your tits now rest on your neck.

“Cum, bonita. Make a mess on my cock” You keep repeating his name, louder each time. He loves it and wants to keep being the reason for your pleasure.

This is heaven, you think. You see stars even when the sky is dark, only Miguel had the capacity to do that to you with an orgasm.

You arch your back, clenching around his cock so hard that, consequently, Miguel cums too. His hot cum paint white your walls, and with each thrust, a mix of your sheer fluids and his white seed drip from your folds.

Both of you pant, breathing for air.

“Wow…” and you’re back to being shy. When Miguel turns down to see you, you have your hands on your eyes, covering yourself.

He slowly slips out of you and gently touches your hands.

“Y/n…” he calls you, slowly removing your hands from your face. A blushed face pops in, and he can’t help but chuckle.

“I’m on the verge of being in love with you…” his touch on your chin makes you forget you are still naked. The shock on your face grew, and Miguel awaited your answer.

“Is-, Is this a joke?. I mean, we just had sex, but… Are you kidding?”

“Am I known for being someone who jokes often?” he asks you with sarcasm. And you’re hesitating, analyzing every possible reaction to any possible answer you could give him.

You love him, and he was admitting the same to you. But… everything was so sudden.

Then you have been contemplating that couples that tend to wait for the moment or analyze everything are separated too fast. And while you and Miguel had never been anything besides work partners, now you know the feelings were always there.

“So you like me as… a potential love interest?” you asked to confirm that you weren’t dreaming. Miguel smirks, brushing your cheekbone with his thumb.

“I would like you to be my partner. Long term and everything…” Another giant wave of blush invades you. Only the rain pulls you out of your daydream. By then, it was a warm breeze mixed with some wind.

“I like commitment…”

He smiles, and a genuine smile appears on his face.

You’re not ready to have him smiling and showing a soft side every day.

“Then… it’s a yes?” you nod, leaning closer to hug him. Maybe both should have talked about the feelings before having sex, let alone that the first time happened on the HQ rooftop in the middle of a tropical storm. But it’s okay.

“Yeah…So now you’re my boyfriend?”

“Indeed” Oh, you’re so happy. He kisses your temple, knowing he would quickly fall in love with you completely.

Suddenly you remembered why you ended up naked with a new boyfriend on the rooftop.

Well, only the grey sky was a witness of your sin.

“Oh, shit!… Miguel! THE BUTTON!” he chuckles, accepting he got carried away by the irresponsibility. He offers his hand, and simultaneously, both of you have your suits again.

“They must be fine,” he assures you, walking towards the box that caused everything. There’s a little door that opens the box full of wires and the infamous yellow button. Miguel presses it and turns back to you.

“Ready?”

“Sure…” You try to suppress the urge to scream when he takes your hand.

-

Jess is the first to see you and Miguel back inside the HQ. She frowns in confusion, making everyone else turn around to encounter the scene.

“Damn. What the hell happened to you two?” The woman asks, inspecting how your hair and Miguel’s are totally drenched.

“Uh-…” Miguel grows quiet, and you chuckle nervously, planning a decent lie.

“It was a hard mission. We couldn’t open the damn box to press the button” Everyone nods, understanding.

“Why are you holding hands?” Gwen looks curiously at your small hand covered by Miguel’s giant one.

“Oh, uh-…”

“We’re together….” First, you covered him, and now he was covering you; you would be a good team. One last time, a blush paints your face.

“Shoot, WHAT?” Peter, Pavitr, and Gwen seem to be celebrating. Peter shows you a poll debating whether you should date Miguel or now; the majority said yes. Your boyfriend rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed by his workmate's antics.

“So today we had a tropical storm and a couple revelation? On the same day? Weird…” Pavitr's comment makes you realize how chaotic the day was.

“Even weirder because the portals are still out of service” While Jess is stressed because she left her baby and husband at home, the younger spiders are excited.

“We should make a sleepover,” Gwen suggests, and you agree with excitement.

“No. I don’t think that’s matu-…” but you stop Miguel, turning back to him.

“Can we take a break and relax for one evening, love?” Everyone can see Miguel blushing cause you called him love. Of course, Hobie laughed and pointed at him.

“We can sleep in the cafeteria and tell supernatural stories.”

“That’s so silly…” Jess said to Ben, but the young man seemed excited too.

Ultimately, Jess and Miguel were the only serious adults looking at the upcoming mess.

“The button wasn’t an issue, right?” She asked Miguel. For some reason, Spider-Man 2099 couldn’t lie to Jessica.

“Of course not,” he heard Jessica laughing, knowing or at least suspecting what had happened between you and him.

“You’re insane,” she accuses his friend. But Miguel can’t feel embarrassed with Jess or Lyla. Yes, he wasn’t proud of fucking you on the rooftop under a storm, but he was happy that it made you two come together, at least.

After watching you leave the recreational area, he goes behind you and the blonde girl.

“Hey…Where are you going?” He asks, taking your forearm softly.

“Miles and Gwen want to get some sleep bags. And then I’m going with Ben for some lamps and-“

“I never approved of a sleepover” You send him a playful look, arching a brow.

“It’ll be fun. Besides, there’s nothing else to do. You can’t even send us on missions. Please?…” god, he hated how fast you were gaining power over him. As you bat your eyelashes and remark the e on please to convince him, he’s already considering improving the silly sleepover.

“Está bien pues…” you cheer and stand on your tiptoes to pull him down, kissing him.

Miguel couldn’t pull you away; even if many spiders were watching him, he couldn’t. Not when your lips felt so good on him.

Suddenly Gwen pulls you away, annoying Miguel once again.

“Okay, macho libre, I’m taking your girl away some minutes…” he rolls his eyes but gives you a little smile that you reply with a giggle.

Sure, something weird had happened that day in Nueva York.

__________________________________

It’s official, I’m doing Do you want a baby part three .

[speirslore]

masters of the air types of kisses hcs

(a/n: if i didn't include your fav just send me an ask and i'll add them! requests are open for bob, tp, and mota. sorry i have been inactive this summer, i was super busy with my internship!)

lmk if you would like to be on my taglist: @ronsparky @bcon24 @blueberry-ovaries @1waveshortofashipwreck @beautifulbluejay

[john egan]

okay... obviously... confident kisses

bucky knows what he's doing

he's also so spurred on by an audience like would he admit that... no. but in front of the other officers that have been eyeing you all night... yeah bucky loves that

always talking into the kisses, always has something to say

and his voice is always very low and hoarse too

kissing you but breaking away to murmur close to your lips, "god i love you, i haven't told you that yet but i do." he can't even try to repress his emotions, they bubble over the surface so easily and he's very honest about his emotions and how he feels

bucky just can't let himself repress anything, he expresses a lot of emotion through physical affection and intimacy

his kisses mean so much more to him than just the act of kissing, it's intimacy, it's knowing you- how you like when he cups your cheek or wraps his hand around your waist, every single kiss is a love confession to bucky

he loves just spending time with you, being around you, being next to you, laying next to you, wrapped around you, yeah he can definitely get a little clingy

a lot of morning, lazy kisses

but he is not a morning person, this is just him in between kisses trying to convince you to stay in bed with him all day

likes draping himself all over you except he's huge, hugging you from behind, chin resting on the top of your head, which means a lot of kissing the crown of your head or forehead <3

[gale cleven]

gale has a lot of self control and he's a private person

especially in regards to you, he's not against pda but he just loves the intimacy of being completely and totally alone with you

especially while being in the military where there's no such thing as actual privacy

so... private kisses

he also lets kisses say a lot, lets them speak for him... like i can't articulate how i feel right now but give me a few more months and it'll slip out eventually but right now please take this as a token of my appreciation and love for you <3

i think he has to feel very safe to truly articulate how he feels, has some left over fear of rejection from childhood

loves domestic, routine quick kisses like greeting you, saying hi or bye

always a quick peck when he's leaving or when he comes back, or when you're cooking in the kitchen

sometimes he'll get brave and might sneak a kiss while dancing in the officer's club

gale can be a little (very) unsure of himself at times

feels inexperienced overthinks it but it's never obvious

big fan of being super close, hand around your waist, your hand in his hair, his thumb running across your cheek to pull you in closer, a leg hooking around his own thigh... very fun

[harry crosby]

nervous kisses are we joking

a hot mess but your mess!

likes holding your hands in principle but is too embarrassed about his sweaty hands, but sometimes he'll pull your interlocked hands up for a kiss

also will opt to keep his hands in your hair when it's really getting heated

when you're first start seeing each other, it's more like quick pecks

he's just reallyyyy overthinking it

once does accidentally headbutt you and gets so red and takes like a month to not be totally mortified about it

but you just think it's cute <3 he's trying!

but the longer you're together, the better and more comfortable he becomes with intimacy

harry really loves slow kisses, taking everything, taking you in

allows him to get more comfortable, to relax and take his time

not constantly rushing, especially after deadline after deadline, you're his escape so taking your time in the moment is crucial to him

and it helps a lot too when he's at first so nervous, he can figure out what you respond to, what you like

which he is incredibly concerned with... and if he's ever unsure it's really stemming from him wanting to make sure you're having fun and you're enjoying it too

so many tired kisses, likes to just fall into your arms or bed after hours of working and straining his eyes staring at so many maps, trying to plan successful routes... he's exhausted

and kisses are definitively the cure!

[rosie rosenthal]

rosie is just the sweetest and he just so happens to also excell at kissing

comforting kisses? encapsulating? dare i say practically perfect?

he just gets to know you so well and is naturally so good at nurturing, leading, and taking care of people

so that definitely applies to his attitude towards physical intimacy

loves when you run your fingers through his hair while kissing, like his curlssss...... guys

maybe a little (or a lot) embarrassing in public like loves swooping you off your feet or when you arm into his arms after he's been flying for hours, giving you a big smooch, or very enthusiastically dancing with you at the officers club (showing off his moves) which you find incredibly charming

but can it really be that embarrassing when he doesn't care about that, about what anyone else thinks of him... it's only you <3

it's always a big event with him, he lovesss a romantic gesture, he's a total romantic

random but absolutely melts whenever you call him robert, especially when you're kissing or cuddling

absolutely a lot of forehead kisses, it's a natural reflex for him at this point

will never run out of ways to say i love you, to show you he loves you

[john brady]

john is no nonsense type of guy like if he wants to kiss you... he kisses you

protective in front of other people, especially at the officers club, his hand is always hovering on the small of you back or holding your hand, he's very touchy

a little possessive, maybe a lot

that can rile him up very easily, and then suddenly you're not on the dance floor anymore, you're in the bathroom with his hand shoved up your dress and your lipstick smudged :/

he's very direct but that doesn't mean he's impersonal, especially in regards to physical affection and intimacy

john definitely has a soft side that you see routinely

so also very tender kisses

loves cupping your jaw, bringing you in closer, loves looking into your eyes, loves tucking your hair behind your ears, loves slow, intentional kisses that could last forever

he absolutely has to have the perfect music for everything so he's hunched over flipping through vinyls while you're lying in bed like... honey come back pls <3

uncharacteristically lacks restraint, usually has a lot of self control but not with kisses

has a very intense kissing style

his eye contact, touch and firm grip, his lowered voice...

john is also very observant so he catches on very quickly to what you like and how you're feeling

[howard hamilton]

okay, hambone is a complicated man, he has many layers

you love the gold teeth, i'm projecting but like objectively they are hot?

little rough sometimes

has bitten your lip, it was on accident but unfortunately (fortunately) you both enjoyed it

at first it definitely felt weird kissing him, warm skin contrasting with the cool metal

is pretty insecure about the scar across his cheek when he returns home

it just makes his cheek and face in general so sensitive

so you're of course very gentle

running your hand very, very carefully over his cheek to cup his jaw

is he super gentle in return?... no

he's just naturally so excited, a little rough, like a puppy who doesn't know his own strength except he does know he's just a tad bit insatiable

but also so surprisingly (unsurprisingly) a gentleman! he's from the south

but he's also always aiming to please (lady in the streets but a freak in the bed, thank you ludacris)

only interested in you and doesn't try to hide it. does he really care about this officers party? absolutely not, he's trying to get you back to barracks better yet

[james douglass]

yes he is upfront very cocky like way too assured for his level of game

approaching you at the officers club like, "i actually love amelia earhart by the way. just so you know," he's an ally <3

yet it works every time so...

he's very expressive and very in tune with what you feel or what sounds you're making

kind of noisy... always humming, very vocal like he's always trying to find someway, somehow to get leave to go to london or anywhere private. day dreaming about privacy so he can be as loud as he wants... james is sick of muffling his moans

grins into kisses constantly, he's just that excited

pulls away a lot to look at you, so tenderly

always has an excuse for why you need to kiss, like, right now

yes he's cocky and self-assured but at his core he's still a huge romantic... shhhh secretly

he loves a sappy sad romance film or book

like that letter he was writing, yes he's an amateur but he has great prose

you do tell him that ofc and hype him up

because him trying to write romantic letters or god forbid poetry is precious to you, just as precious as his flushed cheeks, blushing that he tries to hide

[everett blakely]

he's just so effortless

everything he does just seems so cool including when he's kissing you!

ev makes it seem easy like it comes so naturally to him, he always seems to know exactly how to move his lips to mesh perfectly with your own

he lovessss spontaneous kisses too

just out of nowhere cradling your neck, head in his hand, or suddenly in front of everyone pulling you closer for a kiss

ev has no shame

just casually does things that leave you in shambles

but that feeling is very much mutual

and don't tell anyone but cool, suave blakely is secretly melting on the inside when you kiss him

sometimes you still give him butterflies but he plays it off as always

but when you use his scarf to pull him closer to you, laughing into the kiss... it's harder to hide how flustered he is then

and after he's been flying for hours after a shitty, as per usual, mission, your kisses are so grounding for the both of you

it's all he needs like interrogation needs to end quicker so he can get his kiss it's truly part of his post-flight routine

[benny demarco]

quiet, intimate kisses are his forte

lives those moments private and sweet moments, like laying in bed together with meatball on the floor next to you (actually let's be real benny lets her sleep in the bed)

he is such a cuddler like benny does not play about cuddling, he just loves physical intimacy and being close to you

his cheek smushed against you, feeling his stubble against your cheek, or running his fingers through your hair as you rest your head on his chest

he's just so content laying with you, with the occasional kiss

he can fall into a domestic routine so quickly and he loves it

like you're meatball's designated babysitter while he's up in the air

wlaking meatball together

everyone around the base is very much used to seeing the two of you together, if they see you they know benny's not too far away

[ken lemmons]

oh my god he's so earnest and sweet

you just can feel the love and his intentions through his kisses and how he carefully cups your jaw to pull you closer or wrap a hand carefully around your waist

i mean he wears a locket come on...

and ofc he has a tiny picture of you in it

he's very gentle as well, always so careful

especially at first, he was so nervous about messing up somehow, was genuinely debating asking one of the guys for kissing tips and advice

but he figured it out quickly and now knows you and your body/lips like the back of his hand

whenever you both pull away from a kiss, ken is always smiling

he has a very idealistic but fun and young attitude about love

it's so contagious and just so freeing to be around

and it's evident in how he kisses you, quick and sweet, or sometimes deeply intense and intimate

kissing ken feels like a summer day

he smells vaguely like oil and his hands are rough which always surprises you, his skin is so warm from being out in the sun, and his curls are so close to you

just a great experience overall

he's just young and in love <3

it's very easy to read how he's feeling and he will never run out of ways to compliment you

[guqqie]

This might be a really awkward question to ask and if it is I am SO SORRY but I just got diagnosed with PCOS yesterday and I’m wondering how you deal with it if that makes sense??? Maybe cope is a better word idk either way any words are GREATLY appreciated tysm :D

NOT AN AWKWARD QUESTION AT ALL!! Let’s talk about this :)

Not sure if you mean deal with as in the diagnosis or the actual symptoms but I will touch on both!

When I got diagnosed the doctor seemed more upset about it than I was. Usually with PCOS (polycystic ovaries syndrome) it means you have a lower fertility rate. Meaning it’s not impossible to carry your own children but it’s very likely there will be complications or even miscarriages. With me, I guess I am lucky I never had that maternal instinct to want to carry my own children, so it wasn’t really a loss for me hearing that. I already decided from a young age that if I was gonna have kids that I would adopt. When I got my diagnosis also I had already accepted it as I suspect I had PCOS for about a year at that point, so it wasn’t a shocker to me and I had already l known.

As for symptoms, sadly I am still figuring out what works to ease mine. Altering my diet has helped, but everyone’s body is different and what helps me may send your symptoms the opposite way. It’s a trial and error thing. I can’t take the hormonal medication to help ease my PCOS, if I could I would. And if you have that as an option take it. I can’t due to there being a history of breast cancer in my family (my mother having lumps removed, my aunt battling it for years and only this year getting the all clear and my mother’s aunt passing from it shortly before I was born). Hormonal treatments can enhance that gene so I would much rather raw dog and find other ways to help my PCOS. One piece of advice I would give is to be patient and kind to yourself. There will be times where it is bad, or you are feeling bad emotionally. But remember this is a thing that also fucks with your hormones, so you will feel intense depression, anxiety etc (maybe you will, i do due to it!). Just give yourself a minute when it gets to that.

I hope this helped, I am not a medical professional so take anything with a grain of salt. I am glad to hear you have a diagnosis and hope that it gets better. You got this! ❤️

[werecreature-addicted]

I always wonder how many werewolf pups a woman could realistically carry since werewolves are always like, “You’ll give me a litter of pups.” Think about it. Are the pups the same size as human babies? Making werewolf x human pregnancies a big strain on the body carrying 3-4 in the womb at a time. Or are the pups drastically smaller than humans, and would be like 6-8 in the womb?

I know this is a stupid thought because it’d also imply that 3-8 eggs were released from the ovaries to get fertilized (excluding identical twins), and twins in humans are already pretty rare. Rarer with triplets and higher, as those don’t usually occur naturally without medical aid (fertility drugs/treatments).

Then you gotta think if werewolves are born in werewolf form, human form, puppy form, or even a new combination, looking human with wolf ears and a tail. I am thinking way too much about this. I blame your lovely blog for corrupting me with werewolf content <3

Thoughts? Or just what you’d wanna personally headcanon? I’m struggling obviously and needed to share my thoughts and opinions to the world. Sorry it’s a lot what I wrote.

I think realistically it would depend entirely on who in the partnership is the werewolf. If the person with a womb and carrying the babies was a werewolf then something like 3-5 pups at a time would be reasonable to expect, even if their lover was human. If the person carrying the baby was human 1-2 is much more likely.

I do think werewolf babies would be around the same size as human ones, but werewolves are huge so in comparison they're much smaller and easier for a werewolf to carry multiple at a time, but humans are shit out of luck with that one.

In my personal head cannon born, werewolves start to transform around 12-13 with puberty hitting, so they're born and spend most of their childhood in a human form. Transformations can be painful and difficult at first, you need to have a slightly more grown body to handle them.

Also- if Twilight has taught us nothing else it's taught us that humans could not survive giving birth to a monster baby. When their teeth grow in they are sharp fangs instead of normal baby teeth, and their razor-sharp fingernails are tough enough to dent most nail clippers. But other than that you have a cute baby who can pass for a human!

[dipperscavern]

The brain worms have brain wormed once more, my friend. Tonight, they writhe for Cregan Stark. As do I but that's not the point.

I am a firm believer Cregan has a corruption kink. Something about his sweet, blushing bride, and her timidness when it comes time to consummate the wedding just makes him want to howl at the moon. Doesn't matter if you're always shy and submissive after that or if it was just for your first time, he looooves to see you blush and whimper and plead for him to be gentler, that you can't take it, that it's too much.

Maybe after some time together, you throw in some roleplay. The blushing bride and the big bad wolf. Sounds like a shitty porno honestly. You're so sweet and soft and shy, and he just wants to ruin you and make you cry.

God, the things I would do to this man and let him do to me.

-chonky anon.

P.S. I think Robb might also be into corruption but moreso pretending to be the one getting corrupted. Idk, I can feel it in my ovaries. Something about virgin!Robb just speaks to me. And my coochie.

CORRERERRRRRREEUPTION KINK 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

when it comes to cregan & kinks like this, he’s so ashamed that he feels that way. but no where near ashamed enough. he’s so close to feeling guilty about it, but he can’t help himself in the satisfaction he feels knowing he’s ruining you. knowing he’s making you feel so good you’ll never be able to go back to the way you were.

and the trust you put in him drives him crazy. sorry, it drives him up the walls and around the corner. it’s part of that more domestic-vibe he loves, and you (accidentally) feed into it by submitting yourself to him during those few times you were getting a grip on ‘the act’ (or, if you’re the submissive type, then indefinitely. but even if you’re not, he still has the corruption kink) (don’t make me elborate) (or do, this is a democracy). showing that trust when he’s sliding in for the first time (or the second, he takes a while to get used to), mumbling something about how it’s too much. how you can’t take it, and he just presses a kiss to anywhere he can reach n reassures “You can.” (because you can. you aren’t pulling away, you’re just unsure. cregan knows what you need)

AND ROBB BEING ON THE RECEIVING END OF IT.

you being the one to take robb’s virginity, and now you both are certified fuck buddies. you’re so good and so gorgeous it’s all he can think about. spotting you around the castle, in the most innocent of settings, even, and his mind is plagued by thoughts most unbecoming of a prince. and he loves it.

[lyrenminth]

have a request for a joe burrow fic can u do one where the reader has surgery and joe takes care of her in the hospital

Partnership

The pain started during the night. At the beginning you thought they were cramps, no big deal until the pain got worse and worse. You tried not to wake up Joe, who was peacefully sleeping next to you. You went to the bathroom and sat on the toilet and you saw blood like you were in your period. You changed your underwear for a pad, but you were bleeding a lot, and you couldn't stand up from the pain. You started gasping for air, and cried silently.

Something was wrong.

Joe knocked the door and open it. "Babe, what's wrong?" He asked, when he saw you crying, sitting on the toilet his face changed from sleepy to alarmed in matter of seconds. "What's happen? Are you having cramps?" he got closer.

"I'm bleeding a lot, and I'm having a-a lot of pain" you cried "I can't stand up and I'm feeling dizzy"

"I'm calling an ambulance" he went back to the room, looking for his phone. When you started feeling wet your legs you realized it was blood. "Joe!" You called him, weakly.

After a couple of minutes, you were on his arms, he was carrying you outside the bedroom and laid you on the floor. You closed your eyes, sleepy. "Baby, hey, it's not time to sleep, baby" you felt a hand touch your face. His voice sounded distant but you could hear the worry and anxiety. "Hey, honey please, wake up, the ambulance it's closer but I need you to stay up, okay?"

You nodded, opening your eyes only to look at his blue eyes. Joe seemed like an angel coming for you. But he was frowning and talking to the phone.

You wanted to stay awake but he was getting blurred, and the world was so slow. "Baby, don't sleep, don't do this to me" fear, Joe was scared.

***

You woke up with the beeping sound of some device. You looked around, confused. Your eyes stopped on Joe, sleeping on the couch. He looked so peaceful and handsome as always. When you tried to incorporate, a pain in your lower abdomen made you flinch. You hissed and laid back again.

Joe woke up, and stood up, rubbing his eyes. "Are you up" he stated. "What happened?" you asked. "You were losing a lot of blood" he took your hand and squeeze slightly "Damn, I thought...I thought you wouldn't-" he shook his head, keeping the thought away "You scared me,bad" he kissed your forehead and looked for any sign of discomfort.

"Sorry, I don't know what happened" you apologize. "The doc said something about your left ovary" he explained a little embarrassed he couldn't provide more info. "Let me call a nurse"

Minutes later a doctor and a nurse entered the room.

"Oh, Mrs Burrow. How are you feeling now?" The doctor said, she was friendly.

"Better" you replied.

"Yes, we have to do a emergency surgery for your left ovary. You had an enormous cyst that exploded" she explained "you lost blood but we could bring you back"

Your breathe shakily. The nurse checked your pressure, while the doctor explained the process and your recovery.

"No lifting heavy things, and you need to rest. We're going to have you here for the day but tomorrow you can go to your house" she looked at Joe "I'm sure you are in good hands, he was so worried about you"

You looked at Joe but he was serious. Did you really scared him? There was a turmoil of emotions inside you.

Once you were alone, he was still holding your hand. You touch his hand, playing with his fingers. "Are you ok?" he had bags under his eyes, and looked a little bit messy.

"Yes, I'm tired. I was calling your parents and everyone to let them know the situation" he replied. "So don't worry about that, you need to rest"

Joe was with you until the last minute you left to the hospital. He helped you to get into the car, bought the medicine the doctor gave you and healthy food your dinner. "I need to take a bath, I feel sticky" you confessed, he snorted but help you to undress. He was so gently with you, you almost cry. When he tried to get into the shower, you stopped him. "Baby, I think I'm alright" you said, giving him a kiss.

"Are you sure?" he asked, but he was holding your elbows like you were leaving forever.

"Yes, I-I can do this"

"Just yell my name if you need something"

Once the shower was over, he looked for your clothes and help you to dress again. "Do you want me to braid your hair?" It was one of his hidden talents. When you taught him, he learned fast and actually like to braid your hair. "I find it relaxing" he explained.

You nodded and sat on a chair, and his hands caressing your hair relaxed you so much you were falling asleep.

"Joe" you mumbled, "Mmm?"

"Did I scared you?" silence, he never stopped moving his hand though "Yes"

"I'm sorry"

"Don't apologize. You didn't know"

"Joe, the doctor told me she had to removed my left ovary" you starting saying, finding the courage to continue "it's going to be difficult for me to get pregnant"

"That's ok, you are here right now. That's what matters"

" I know you wanted a family"

"Yes, but I want my wife to be healthy too"

"Thank you" you cried. His reassurance was relieving. When he finished braiding your hair, he brought you a soft dinner, and while you ate he took a shower.

Joe always took care of you when he could. As you did with him. You were a couple.

A team.

Thank you for this request. I have a similar fanfiction written about Joe too, but it's shorter. You can check it on the masterlist!