#i feel like i need to stress the fact that i am not catholic

[deluweil]

So I was thinking - I do have 2 theories that are tied for the rest of the season.

My main theory for the season finale is that Eddie gets hurt, badly.

With the way they talk about his catholic guilt, the fact that his family is coming, it's all pointing to some kind of crisis pending.

I think that maybe Eddie's dad dies, or some ill befalls the family (I really hope it's not Isabel, though I'm almost positive it's not), this season is more about Eddie's parental ties and history - Catholic guilt stems from a certain upbringing.

Also Eddie made his peace with his dad in 5X17, we also saw them afterwards talking like father and son in a more healthy way after Eddie grounded Christopher.

And Ramon was already sick in 5x17. - So it stands to reason that maybe what brings Eddie's family together is maybe Ramon (he could be there filming flashbacks) also Eddie has issues that are unresolved with his mother.

From personal experience, Fathers are not always a safe figure, we love them, but their jobs and lack of time, along with certain expectations and short temper due to stress and tiredness often leaves a child feeling like they are on the defense.

In all of that there is the mother, who may have been there, and loved her child, and took care of her child, but wasn't there to rein in dad when he was out of line, or not a safe figure.

It doesn't have to be a physical thing, sometimes the right words can break a child, make them feel like whatever they do, will never be enough.

And we see that in Eddie all throughout S3, where he wasn't enough, that didn't start with Shannon, that started with his family, the most basic foundation, whatever crap we grow up with as kids, untreated, unspoken can destroy us and any relationships we hope to have in the future.

Now, Eddie has been to therapy, he changed, he spoke to his father in 5x17 and we can see the change between them from there. But he has yet to speak to his mom, whatever is under the surface, needs to be spoken out loud, when he manages to make peace with her he will be more settled with himself.

I'm thinking that a lot like Athena and her mother, that talk will happen only if something happens to Ramon. - So that is another thing that enforces my theory.

That brings me to the finale (second theory) - in Chicago Fire, after Severide's dad dies he has a crisis himself, he gets distracted and nearly dies in a fire, one that his best friend and Cruz pull him out of. He also breaks up with Stella for a while.

So maybe, Eddie gets hurt, he may actually get his coma dream, that will be about him, and after making his peace with both his parents, he may be able to make his peace with Shannon and come back stronger and more sure of himself and his path from this ordeal.

I read around that maybe something happens to Bobby, I doubt that, Bobby got a 3-parter at the beginning of the season along with Athena, Heneren has their time with Mara, Madney got married, and Buck is waddling into bi-ness territory in a questionable speed - but it is a 10 eps season so...

The only one who didn't get a space for his own story (that wasn't about Buck and/or connected to Buck) is Eddie, and he's also due in the injury and NDE department.

So these are my thoughts, I think all roads here lead to Eddie's storyline and I am here for it. 👀🤗

[blaisenova]

how not to talk someone off of a ledge

Miguel O'Hara likes to go up to the roof of Spider-Society to think. What about? That's no one's business but his own. Though, unfortunately, Peter doesn't seem to agree.

or:

Peter B. Parker REALLY doesn't know how to talk someone off of a ledge.

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my first TRUE atsv work on here!

it's a bit of an exploration into miguel and the way that he reacts to things in atsv because i think it's really interesting. angry man? aggressive man? no, just stressed and afraid. plus can you really blame a guy for having a bit of a breakdown when everyone keeps pushing all of his buttons and doesn't stop even when he makes it VERY clear that they should?? he needs to learn how to handle his feelings better (read: learn to TALK ABOUT THEM AT ALL) and everyone else needs to learn when to BACK OFF. i'm looking at you peter. i love you so so much but you know how to push miguel's buttons and you USE THAT KNOWLEDGE.

you also get a bit of a parental miguel moment because he is soft for children and i will not be told otherwise. idiot parents or not, miguel would do anything for little mayday. apologies again for if any of my spanish is off at all. i'm fairly advanced but there's still some stuff i struggle with. if you speak spanish, please feel free to correct me! i am always always open and willing to learn!

i should warn you that there's some very brief religious exploration at the very beginning of the work, but it's not the main focus by far so i haven't tagged it. there is, however, a deep exploration of miguel's suicidal thoughts, so please watch out for that!

as always, the link to this work on ao3 is in the reblogs if you prefer to read there like i do, and thank you so much for reading!! <3

--------------------------------------------

A peculiar fact of life, as undeniable as the sky being blue or the sun being a star, was that the wind rushed with more and more desperate urgency the higher up into the atmosphere you got. 

Of course, Miguel knew, logically, why that was – there was less friction at higher altitudes, so the air was able to travel more freely – and he knew, even more logically, that it was stupid to try and find some sort of bigger meaning in something; that it only ever made him feel even more small. But, sometimes, despite knowing it was stupid and that he was indescribably tired of trying to find meaning in the meaningless or humanity in the inhuman, Miguel would get caught up in his own head, and he would begin to wonder if, maybe, the wind at the top of Babylon Towers pulled at him so desperately because it was trying to bring him over the edge. As if it knew that, even though he could catch himself, he wouldn’t. As if it knew that, if he just got one sign that he was meant to fall, he’d let himself.

It shouldn’t have meant anything, that the earth was functioning the way that it was meant to, especially since Miguel was the furthest thing from a spiritual person, but it wasn’t as easy as he’d like to pretend to forget the way that he’d been raised.

Miguel didn’t believe in a god.

Maybe it would have been easier to blame all of his woes on some higher power that had written his suffering into the stars millenia before he was born, but it felt like a shitty excuse for all of the things that he’d done to himself. It was supposed to make him feel better, to know that it wasn’t his fault that everything he touched fell apart, but all it did was make him feel trapped; suffocated. Who would want to be written into a destiny like this?

No, Miguel didn’t believe in a god.

His mother had raised him to be Catholic; fearing of a God with a capital g that had the power to save and destroy him all at once, but Miguel had always thought that his father had possessed that same exact ability and there was nothing all too godly about him. Having power didn’t make you a god, he’d decided, and the sentiment had only been made to feel more and more true as time went on. After all, he had power, and he was even further from god than his dad had been.

Miguel didn’t believe in a god.

But he would be a liar if he said that there weren’t still times that he wanted to break down and pray to a higher power – that either didn’t exist or loathed him completely – to make his pain stop. It was stupid, and childish, and Miguel thought he’d grown out of the urge the first time he realised that he had the power to stop the pain. Miguel was no god, though his life was in his own hands, for better or for worse, so he’d stopped praying. Even when he could think of nothing else to do but plead, Miguel did not pray.

Nevertheless, as his legs hung off of the edge of the roof of Babylon Tower’s – Spider Society’s carefully built and refurbished headquarters and, also, the location of what used to feel like home – Miguel could only silently ask of the wind to do what he was too afraid to.

There was no afterlife. That’s what he was counting on.

Each inhale burned his lungs, and he couldn’t be sure if it was because of all of the pollution in Nueva York’s atmosphere or if it was just because he was trying so hard not to burst into tears. Daring to take a breath would be to invite a sob, and Miguel was far too tired to cry any more tears, so, instead, he stilled his chest until he could no longer, then sucked in as quick of an inhale as he could before stilling once more.

There weren’t even stars anymore. The lights of the city were so blindingly bright that they drowned out the entire sky. Before figuring out how to jump universes, Miguel had never seen a star except for in pictures. Before he knew how beautiful they really were, it hadn’t really bothered him; he couldn’t have known what he was missing without having seen it for himself.

Even the most high definition of screens couldn’t capture the way that a million stars dappled the sky like freckles, twinkling and dancing; unmoving yet ever-changing.

The first time Miguel had seen the stars – really looked at them – on Earth 47219 (he could never forget), he’d been frozen in place. It felt as if he was being gazed upon by the universe itself, and he was staring right back; unabashedly marvelling at them. He remembered feeling small, and that was hardly a new feeling to him but he’d never felt it quite like he had in that moment. It wasn’t something he was being made to feel by another person, and, somehow, that had made it okay. He was small, but small in the way that he never got to be; small in the way a child was, or should have been.

And, really, stars shouldn’t have been the thing to wow him; after all, there was an entire, infinite multiverse with billions of versions of himself and every other person. The scope of the infinity of a single universe shouldn’t have compared to the scope of the infinity of the multiverse that contained it, but they were both infinities, weren’t they? So, in the end, they were the same, right?

Nevertheless, there was something about being faced with the natural vision of space’s endlessness that didn’t compare to computer generated strands of code that simply painted a picture of what infinity might look like. Nothing could be such a wholly genuine picture of boundlessness other than the real thing.

As Miguel looked up at the sky now, though, and was met with nothing but a blank grey-blue, he almost felt even smaller than he did when looking up at the stars. Small, but in the way that he was used to feeling; small, but in the way that made him afraid.

There were more Spider-People resting within the confines of the building beneath him than he would ever bother to count, so why did he still feel so alone? Infinite universes, infinite people, infinite opportunities, and, yet, Miguel had never felt so lonely. He’d searched for a solution to the hollowness once before, and he’d only found great loss – a loss he shouldn’t get to grieve when he was the one who’d caused it. Why weren’t the people he had here enough for him? Why couldn’t he just believe that Gabriel loved him, and that Xina no longer loathed him for how he’d hurt her? 

None of it was ever enough, and, at a certain point, Miguel had to admit that it wasn’t something lacking in anyone else that left him so empty; it was the fact that he tore himself open further and further each day in search of anything to fix him and was bled out in the process.

Infinity really was an unfathomably large concept. How could anyone be expected to stop the bleeding of a wound that was ever-expanding?

The wind whistled loudly in his ears, almost deafening. It urged him ever closer to the edge and the great fall that could swallow him up if he’d let it. It felt like a comfort; an assurance that maybe everything could be okay, even if only in those brief moments before it stopped, though that was a bit of a comforting promise, too.

The wind, thousands of feet in the air on top of Babylon Towers, was so loud, in fact, that Miguel missed the sound of footsteps approaching the door until it had already swung open and it was too late.

“Miguel?!” a voice shouted over the whipping air current.

Miguel’s shoulders grew even more tense, if possible. He peered over his shoulder, scowling at a certain Spider in a fluffy pink robe before he turned his attention back to the cityscape before him. If he tried hard enough, he could almost pretend that the passing headlights of cars and the faraway lit up windows of apartments were a starscape; one that didn’t inspire such unfathomable fear.

“Hey, man, what are you doing up here?” came the call once more, and Miguel tucked his head down as he hunched over.

“Avoiding you,” he shouted back, voice whisked away by the wind, but Peter seemed to hear him anyway.

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job of it!” he said, and Miguel was sure he could almost hear a laugh.

He grumbled, twisting his body just enough so that he could glare at the intruder without breaking his neck in the process. “I was.”

“Yeah, well, you know how it is,” Peter called, stumbling forward against the wind to unceremoniously plop himself down next to Miguel with a huff of exhaustion. He scooted himself over, pressing his shoulder against Miguel’s – which Miguel narrowed his eyes at and leaned, ever so slightly, away – and swung his feet in the open air with an almost irreverent glee. “Spidey-sense takes me all sorts of places that I’m not invited.”

As Miguel opened his mouth to tell Peter off, he felt a small hand press against his arm, and he looked down in horror at the bright eyes and wild red hair of Mayday parker. With one hand, he took her hand into his own, then gently brought up his other to cover her eyes. His gaze immediately darted back up to her father, who he flashed his fangs at unabashedly in a snarl.

“Peter, did you bring your sho- Did you bring your baby up here?” he seethed.

And Peter, in all of his carefree naivete – which Miguel knew wasn’t fair to think when he was well aware of all the hurt the other Spider had gone through to get here – had the gall to shrug. “She needed the fresh air!” Then, after a sniff, he corrected, “air.” Then, another sniff, and his face screwed up into one of disgust. “Actually, I’m not even sure I can call this air. What do they do in your dimension, man?”

Having enough, Miguel hissed out, “Ay, pendejo, ¡cállate!” and he carefully removed his hand from May’s face to give her a fangless smile. “Hola, criatura pequeña,” he cooed, and her hand wrapped around his finger even tighter as she beamed back up at him. “Está bien. Tu papá es un idiota. ¡Sí! ¡Sí! No tiene ningún cerebro. No. Es muy tonto, yo sé. Yo sé.” 

She babbled up at him in glee, and Miguel couldn’t help but to laugh, rubbing his thumb over her little hand as he babbled back.

Apparently deciding that he’d had his fill of being left out, Peter joined in on the laugh a bit awkwardly. “Hey, Miguel, I-”

“¡Cállate!” Miguel hissed again, shooting the other man a glare once more, though far more muted now that Mayday could see. “We’re having a conversation.”

And, seamlessly, he shot back into a stream of lovingly spoken Spanish. “Sí, me entiendes, arañita, yo sé. ¿Puedes decir ‘¡qué lástima!’? ‘¡Es una pena que mi papá sea tan estúpido!’” He hissed the last word with a pointed glare at Peter, knowing the man would know what the word meant, and, sure enough, he frowned. Then, Miguel immediately turned his attention back to Mayday, voice sweet once more. “Está bien, criaturita. No permitiré que nada te pase a ti. Lo prometo.”

“Miguel, please,” Peter interrupted again, tone desperate. “Don’t teach my daughter how to trash talk me in Spanish. I don’t know what I’ll do if I accidentally upset her one day and she starts prattling off fluent Spanish insults that I only half-understand. Or, god forbid, if it happened to M.J. instead. She took French in school, Miguel.”

More than happy to oblige, Miguel sat up, looking Peter straight in the face, and, in the same sweet tone as he’d used with Mayday, deadpanned, “You’re a moron.”

May blew a raspberry up at her father, giggling delightedly.

To his credit, Peter did manage to laugh, albeit a bit breathlessly, and he ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, alright, I guess I did kind of ask for that.”

“Do you ever think?” Miguel shot back, voice finally falling back into frustration, though only enough for Peter to pick up on.

“Well, I do have a degree-” he began only to cut himself at the look he was receiving. “Look, she’s fine!” he insisted, gesturing down to Mayday who was pulling at the yarn ends of her Spider-Man hat as they were whisked in every which way by the wind, secure in her carrier. Peter moved his hand to lay on Miguel’s shoulder, and Miguel immediately batted him away, which earned a frown but, fortunately, a bit of distance. “It’s you that I’m worried about, Mig.”

At that, Miguel’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

A finger pointing to his own skull, Peter smiled a bit grimly. “The Spider-Sense never lies.”

“Right,” Miguel drawled, rolling his eyes and biting down the rising sense of dread in his stomach. “Let’s put complete trust in your magic psychic abilities you got from a Spider over two decades ago. What could go wrong?”

“It hasn’t failed me yet,” Peter hummed. Out of the corner of his eye, Miguel could see the way his hand gripped onto Mayday’s when a particularly strong gust of wind hit their backs and minutely pushed them forward. It was a small comfort. Then, “You never answered my question. What’re you doing on the roof, man?”

Questioning why all of the people he associated himself with now were insufferably stubborn – and, more importantly, what that said about him – Miguel leaned forward, elbow on his knee and head resting on his hand. His other hand was still occupied by a little Mayday hand, and he wouldn’t dare let go until she decided she wanted to. His eyes peered over the edge of the roof, at the staggeringly long way down – so high that it almost gave him vertigo – then shifted slightly up to focus on the buildings that littered the view beneath them.

“Thinking,” he finally replied after a long pause. “I came up here because nobody bothers me.” The words were punctuated with another glare, albeit somewhat half-heartedly.

Smiling a bit sheepishly, Peter leaned back onto his free hand. “Well, you can’t win ‘em all.”

“You make it very difficult to win any,” Miguel grumbled.

“Hey, I have my moments,” came the retort, backed by a snort. Then, “y’know, if you really wanted to be alone, you could’ve just locked yourself in your room, angsty teen style.”

Unamused, Miguel didn’t grace the suggestion with any more than a scoff. His eyes were once again drawn downward, fingers curling upwards around his jaw to dig into his cheek minutely, and he hummed in thought, the sound barely inaudible over the rushing air. The sheer wind cut right through Miguel’s suit, and he shivered as a chill ran over his skin, though the feeling wasn’t entirely unwelcome; a reminder that its silent urges hadn’t given up on him just yet. Unfortunately, though, neither had Peter, who leaned over to briefly brush his shoulder with his own, brows furrowed.

“I don’t like the way you’re looking at that drop, Mig,” he said. Then, with a bit of a nervous laugh, “I mean, I’ve looked at drops plenty of times, but in a ‘I think that’d be fun to skydive off of’ sorta way, not… whatever this is.”

“I’m not talking about this in front of a child, Peter,” came the immediate retort.

“Miguel, she’s a baby,” Peter insisted. “She can’t understand anything that’s going on.”

“You don’t know that,” Miguel insisted in turn, his brows furrowing. He tore his eyes from the ground below to peer at May with thinly veiled concern.

“You can’t keep cutting everyone off, Mig,” he tried again. If Peter was trying to meet Miguel’s eyes, he wouldn’t let him, keeping his full attention on Mayday instead. “You keep finding excuses to not talk about things, and I-”

“It’s not an excuse,” he interrupted, a bit too quickly.

“Miguel-”

“Don’t make me argue with you in front of Mayday,” Miguel practically demanded, finally meeting Peter’s gaze with a vulnerability neither of them were prepared for. “Please.”

Startled, Peter’s eyes went wide, and he immediately went silent, mouth, mercifully, snapping shut. Miguel heaved in a breath and forced himself to look back out at the city. He steeled himself, forcing the weakness back out of his mind, but wasn’t quite prepared for the gentle way that Mayday squeezed his finger. The feeling made Miguel perk up a bit, and he snapped his attention right back onto the baby, on unreasonably high alert. May’s big blue eyes shifted from their hands to Miguel’s face, and she babbled at him, a strange worry in her gaze, too.

“Is- Is she okay?” Miguel asked, hating the way that he stuttered without meaning to.

With a hum, Peter glanced down at the baby, shifting her hat so he could see her face. She glanced up at her father, making more nonsensical sounds that somehow still resounded as urgent in Miguel’s ears, but Peter just smiled at her softly, petting her head. “Seems like she’s worried about you, too, big guy.”

“Wha- Worried about me?” he echoed, voice strained. “Peter, she’s a baby. She can’t understand anything that’s going on.”

“You don’t know that,” Peter countered, giving him such a stupid grin that Miguel couldn’t help but to frown.

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Use my words against me,” Miguel hissed. “That’s not funny.”

Holding back a smile, Peter raised a hand and tilted it from side to side. “It’s a little funny.”

“You brought your baby onto a roof, Peter,” he reminded almost exasperatedly. “Don’t try to act smart now.”

“I have a degree-”

“In what? Incompetency?”

Giving an irritated laugh, Peter shook a finger in Miguel’s direction. “You know, you are a very difficult man to talk off a ledge.”

“I’d say you’re doing a fantastic job,” Miguel said with false sweetness, then pointed towards the ground thousands of feet below, “if that’s the direction you want me to go.”

“Okay. Alright. I’ll give you that one because it was actually kind of funny-”

Miguel scoffed, letting his head fall back onto his hand. “How kind of you.”

“-but I’m being serious here.”

“Wow,” he deadpanned. “First time?”

Seemingly not as amused now, Peter frowned, and his hand gently fell back onto Mayday’s head, who squealed delightedly despite the confrontation. “Alright, you’re pushing your luck now.”

“I am?”

“How is it even possible for one guy to be in this bad of a mood?!” Peter half-shouted, throwing his head back in frustration.

Again, Miguel scoffed, and his head fell to one side to stare at the other man, unimpressed. “Would you like your answer in the form of a list or an essay?”

“I’d like an answer at all, actually,” he said desperately.

“Ah, now that’s asking too much of me,” came the response, and Miguel turned his gaze away once more.

Gawking, Peter sputtered for words for a moment before pausing, falling silent, then trying again. “Are you impossible to talk to on purpose? Jess says it’s on purpose, but Ben… Well, actually, I don’t remember what Ben said.” He laughed awkwardly, waving a hand. “It’s kinda hard to focus on the words coming out of his mouth when he’s basically a clone of me. Or- Or literally a clone of me, actually. Isn’t that freaky? Poor guy. But the point is that it was probably the same answer. Everyone thinks that-”

“Are you done?” Miguel finally interjected, glaring with every bit of vitriol he could muster, but Peter wasn’t impressed.

“I could be,” he hummed, “or I could keep going. I didn’t think you were going to answer the question, and someone’s got to fill the silence.”

Now it was Miguel’s turn to gawk, and it took a few blinks for him to muster up the wherewithal to actually answer. “You are so childish.”

“Sticks and stones, Mig,” Peter mused. “I haven’t even gotten started. I could talk for days, if you let me. Next topic?” 

Still holding onto both of their hands, Mayday squealed and bounced a bit in her carrier with a spitty razzberry, and Peter immediately smiled, drawing a preemptive groan from the man by his side. “Mayday!” he exclaimed. “Oh, I could write a book about Mayday. She’s only a baby, but she really is sophisticated, you know. She’s a baby with layers! With complexities! I know I’ve already shown you all of her pictures, but-”

“Ay, Dios, enough!” Miguel hissed, his free hand running through his hair and his eyes wide with exasperation. “Yes, it’s on purpose. Because I want to avoid this!” He gestured between Peter and himself vigorously. “This drives me nuts, get it? You drive me nuts. I don’t want to talk, and everyone seems to get that but you.”

An exasperated laugh fell from him, though he gently squeezed Mayday’s hand to assure her that everything was okay. “I came up here because I didn’t want to talk to anyone, Peter. Do you not get that? Do you not understand that I don’t want you here?” He pointed a clawed finger in Peter’s face, mouth open in a snarl. “Listen to me closely because I need you to understand this before you get hurt. Leave me alone. Leave me alone.

“If you want to talk to me about work,” Miguel continued, “or if you want to talk to me about Mayday, or M.J., or anything other than this when I’m not trying to be alone, then, please, be my guest. But I am not talking about this.” He pulled his hand to his chest roughly, the fabric of his suit getting caught on the talon he pointed directly at himself. “I will not talk about this. Leave me alone.” Then, more insistently, “leave me alone.”

For a moment, then, there was silence, only filled by the whistling rush of the wind around them and Miguel’s heaving breaths. His nostrils were flared in rage, hand hanging in the air, but his anger faltered when he finally caught sight of the look on the other man’s face; a chill ran over him that was almost worse than the one caused by the roaring wind. Beside him, Peter wore the most impassive expression Miguel had ever seen on him, and the look, admittedly, scared him a bit. His hand fell back to his side, and his brows quirked upward in quiet unease as his eyes darted between Peter and literally anything else.

“Miguel,” Peter finally said, and his tone matched his face, “I’m not just going to leave you to kill yourself on a roof.”

And, all at once, with a startled and impossibly frustrated bark of laughter, the fury returned to Miguel’s chest, chasing away the chill of fear and concern that had previously gripped him. Gently, Miguel slid his hand out of Mayday’s grasp and, less so, stood to his feet.

Immediately, Peter’s eyes widened, and he half-shuffled to get up himself, stumbling onto one knee. “Wait. What are you-”

Without a word, Miguel stepped off the edge and into the open air, a strangled screech following him.

“Miguel!”

A horrified face popped over the edge of the building, where Miguel’s talons dug into the metal plated siding, and he couldn’t help the bitter sort of amusement he found in the reaction. Served him right. The thought was chased away as the wind continued to pull at him, beckoning him downward, but Miguel didn’t give in to its pleas. There was a strange sort of satisfaction to defying what was asked of him both by Peter and by the very world, though such nauseating satisfaction was probably what had kept him around for so long in the first place; whenever the promise to himself to be useful in his wretched existence managed to fail him. Maybe, for now, bitter contentment could be enough.

He snarled up at the other man, pointing at him with his free hand. “I’m not riding the elevator down with you.”

And, with that, he loosed his grip on the building a bit, allowing himself to slide down the side, followed by a half-enraged, half-relieved shout of, “yeah, fuck you, too!” and an even quieter, “don’t repeat that, Mayday.”

[angeltreasure]

Hi Angel and anyone else who would like to pray because I desperately need it. I’m probably going to send this to a couple other blogs I follow because I am very desperate and scared. Firstly, as of right now I’m Christian but not catholic but I feel if I have some kind of Devine intervention from this then I don’t know because it’s something I’ve been in the verge of for a while beforehand - anyway I have had an Eating disorder for a very long time and off and on it’s gotten worse and then better but recently I’ve burnt myself out and ended up experiencing some of the worst and intense stress of my life. This, along with the fact that because of the stress anyway I’d slipped into worse ED habits I suddenly lost weight and now I’m at a point where I’m scared. I don’t want this; I don’t want the stress or the ED and I want to get back to being healthy and gain weight. I’ve started an eating plan but I still feel so stressed tbh about so much and I don’t know how to get it under control but I also don’t want it to make this more challenging. Please pray for me and I know this sounds so dumb (maybe???) but I am seriously open to Jesus or honestly I’ve heard about Mary coming to help people and I need something , thank you for reading this and anyone who prays 💗

Hi! Just saw this now because I’m at work. I’ll absolutely pray for you. God loves you and I’m glad you are reaching out for help, that’s a big step! I know it’s scary but you are not alone. I’ll send my prayer for you up to God and ask Mary for her intercession, she is so full of grace from God she cannot deny our request.

[bilbobagginsomebabez]

there are ways of saying what everybody else is thinking that feel so so so so so good and it's usually when you take the step to reassure someone

like ok you've got an anxious acquaintance and you're in a situation where you can guess where the anxiety is stemming from. it takes nothing to say "I see what you're thinking, it's okay, I see why you think that, I can provide reasoning for why it's not accurate right now, and I'm here to comfort you either way."

ive got a burgeoning friend who clearly feels an incredible amount of anxiety every single time she cancels on me. she grew up catholic and they're all hella fucked up by the guilt-complex motivated Personal Responsibility To Everyone Else so i am guessing that she feels like she's Failing At The Right Thing every time she's too tired to show up for coffee. i am unbothered. i really do not care. she texts me every single time, she's got a stressful ass job with a ton of responsibility to children, and I don't think she'd endure the guilt of cancelling if she didn't actually wanna hang out. so i told her that outright. I told her that I literally do not think she's lying or making excuses, i 100% believe that she's giving me real and valid reasons for her actions, and I am not upset with her at all. I am in fact happy that she trusts me enough to not freak the fuck out on her to tell me what's going on and why she can't come. it's clear that a parental figure regularly freaked the fuck out on her

and that is what everyone else is thinking. everyone that knows this girl is like 'heart of gold, anxious as hell.' and you know what?? she would probably literally be less anxious if more people than me started telling her she's got a heart of gold and we wouldn't even be mad or worried if she was lying. i'd literally assume it was for a good enough reason to just go along with it. she doesn't have a mean bone in her fucking body why tf would I be concerned about her reasons to lie.

and yeah! a good part of this is rooted in what I would have needed comfort for at a previous time in my life. i didn't grow up catholic but i know what it's like to have a parental figure with demands of you they will extract without regard for your wellbeing. it was a different flavor soup, but it was the same broth in the end. and that's part of the joy isn't it? recognizing an unfulfilled need in yourself along with your own fundamental capability to fill that need for another person. to become the person you needed once upon a time. to stop a cruelty you've experienced in its tracks. to save the next person.

there is no better feeling than passing along the fucking relief. becoming the balm. trusting that someday it will get passed forward back to you

[facetsofthecloset]

Ok now that I’m caught up with RWD s4e7,

(KINDA SPOILERY CHARACTER TALK INCOMING)

I feel like Kyana is rapidly becoming that thing that’s like,

“Oh yeah, everyone deserves grace and space to make mistakes and improve from them!

…

…

Not me though!! Obviously haha

If I make a mistake I deserve to self-destruct as hard as possible no matter how much it’ll hurt my friends, to atone :)”

Very religious trauma there which fits with the monk part, though I think the thing I’m thinking of with sin and redemption is kind of a Catholic thing? Maybe? I’m Shinto/Buddhist I don’t know shit about that other than pop culture Christianity lol (Also I know Red’s Jewish so probably weird. Again I don’t know shit about this or her personal views though so I’m gonna stop talking about it)

Not that she hasn’t dealt with guilt and assuming the “it’s all my fault” all or nothing attitude before, but definitely prominent in this ep lol

Red has described Kyana’s actions as selfish before (leaving the monastery and specifically Aioni) (am I spelling that right I’m too lazy to look it up rn Austin I hope you haven’t fucked me with your interesting spelling decisions here /j) and I think her desire to hurt the Nautiloid ship somehow instead of fleeing when they had the chance is also a very selfish action that comes from a place of guilt and martyrdom

And I’m pretty sure it’s going to lead to tension with everyone probably but Dani specifically later, which’ll be juicy drama but also incredibly painful lol

ESPECIALLY if one of them dies in the attempt >_>

Good god imagine if Dani dies for good while fighting the master brain or whatever and then Kyana has to later come to terms with the fact that her desire to get out her frustration over being stunned (which I think is the main and most immediate motivator here) for most of the combat led directly to one of her friends dying

I don’t think she’d handle that well and if anything would probably reinforce her guilt complex and need to self sacrifice. Could head into a Kyana Batman dark solo arc 😂

If

Idk what the spell slot situation is but if I were Dani or VRLA I’d definitely have grabbed her and tried to teleport out somehow (even though I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t work bc of the willing creature clause)

Anyway, just to say, I’m not criticizing Red or Kyana’s decisions at all! Just rambling about my feelings on it bc it’s one of the first major decisions that Kyana has made that I personally deeply disagree with and think is coming from a reeeaallly bad character-flaw-driven place

Which is narratively super interesting! I’m just stressed about the consequences lol

[lonlonranching]

more ramblings

i’ve always hated that I’m so…  loud. I don’t mean the volume that I talk at or anything, I think I mean more so quantity of thoughts. my personal output. The sheer mass of it. I sit with this feeling and I wonder if I think i need to take up space at the chance to be seen in it. if I want to convey to you that there are in fact thoughts in my head, do you see them? have I proven to you that I think as well? or do I just have… A lot on my mind (yeah). I take a moment to think about this thought, if it’s shallow, if I’m not giving everyone else the complexity that I give myself (sometimes I don’t want complexity. sometimes I feel too simple - bunch of half baked thoughts that don’t have conclusions. simplicity as complexity? write that half baked one down. Think about it later when I’m too far from the origin. maybe it’ll make sense maybe it won’t).  anyway, I don’t think that’s it. I think I recognize it’s hard for me to know people. it’s hard for me to let them know me bc it’s hard for me to realize that they can catch the important words a throw into the mix. i’m strategically plotting our conversation (theres not THAT much strategy. its just defense disguised as offense). what you can know about me. what I’d like you to know. what I can’t say it out right. but did you catch it? it’s hard for me to realize you might not catch any of it at all. 

I admire people who don’t say words in excess. very sincere earnest people who don’t feel the need to fill the white space between us. how are you so sure. are you? am I overthinking this again.  and what do you think about me? do you like me (why do I need this so badly? like forgiveness from a priest. if I grew up Catholic, confession would ruin my life One way or another).  maybe it’s not that either. maybe I’ve spent so long estranged from my feelings it’s difficult for me to find my own perspective on them. i’ve spent so long trying to perceive the lens of others, on me, on themselves, on everything else that’s in between us, outside of us, that has nothing to do with us. i’d like to ask you how I should feel. The data intake tells me that’s an inappropriate question.  but I’d like to ask you if you ever feel that way? how nice it would be to let someone take the reins Who knows what to do with them. or in the least knows them better than you. i’d like to ask you if you ever thought God was in your brain and helped you choose your feelings. no real input, but the thought he was always there was looming. stressed you the hell out. I grew up thinking God was constantly in my head, just surveying. I wonder if that feels self important. The idea that God knew me so intimately.  that I didn’t know him at all. (I have The opposite of a god complex? a person complex? thats extremely silly)

im constantly thinking about whales. i limit how much i bring them up in conversation. i’m constantly thinking of the second coming. I don’t even believe in God anymore.  the rapture came in 1874 and we are whats left. it’s a joke. but I think of the possibility that that happened and we didn’t notice. its ironic. i think irony makes me feel smart for a moment (im in on the joke! not the subject of it! im in on the joke that i am the subject of! actually, that is funny. its also other things). I Google what rapture means: A feeling of intense pleasure or joy. is this an unreliable narrative? is the act of God leaving us behind the greatest thing thats happened to us? leaving my brain the best thing that’s ever happened to me? The fact he was never there at all? is it lonely to be in your head by yourself? i’ve been spending too much time dwelling. rambling! i’d like to play more video games.

[nickgerlich]

Raising The Bar

I am a Midwest guy. I grew up in Chicagoland, spent all of my university years in Indiana, and took the majority of my vacations in the Midwest. I came to know the culture well, which was heavily influenced by the many northern Europeans who had immigrated there more than a century ago.

If you know the Midwest, you know that there are taverns everywhere, from the inner city of Chicago to the smallest farming community in Wisconsin. In fact, in those small towns, you will find a tavern before you find anything else, including C-stores. They are the hub of small-town commerce, gossip, and all-around community.

In Chicago, neighborhood taverns were on practically every street corner, and you were as likely to see the parish priest sitting on a stool as you would the local drunk. Actually, maybe the former was doing his job by ministering to the latter, albeit out-of-office. But I digress.

A sad thing is happening to those old taverns, though, particularly in the city. They are closing.

Now, to understand the Midwest tavern is to know they are typically dark, have a heavy emphasis on wood fixtures and paneling, and are usually not the place you would go to find an exotic craft beer. They are decidedly more pedestrian, blue collar. And, taverns often open as early as 7am or 8am, not so much to attend to the needs of problem drinkers, but to service shift workers getting off the graveyard.

Decorations typically fall into the category of “privilege signs,” meaning promotional signage (metal, cardboard, even neon) provided by breweries and distributors. In Chicago, there was (and still is) likely an Old Style Beer sign hanging over the front door. A lone television was usually on, but it was not the centerpiece, and often muted. The Cubs game might be on, or the news. Rare was the day when you saw a woman occupying one of those bar stools, because the tavern has always been a Man Cave of sorts, a refuge from all the stresses of life.

And the bartender was someone whom you would swear lived there. In fact, he may very well have occupied an upstairs apartment with his family. He was a fixture, and knew your name, would listen to your problems, and engage in whatever the political rant of the day was. Whenever he wasn’t pouring beer, he was washing and drying glasses.

So what happened? Why are there reportedly only one-third as many taverns in Chicago alone as there once were?

Simple. There has been a huge paradigm shift over the last half-century, with the arrival of restaurants positioning themselves as sports bars. While some of the taverns of old did serve food, it was limited, and sometimes only a Friday fish fry to serve the predominantly Catholic population. Today’s suburban oasis offers a full menu, a full bar, and dozens of big screen TVs so you can watch everything from baseball to corn hole, bowling, and poker.

Oh, and today’s modern tavern typically—at least in Texas—has a white paper sign visible near the door with a large “51%” on it. What’s that about? It means the establishment derives more than 51% of its revenues from food, which allows it to be classified as a restaurant instead of a tavern. During COVID that point of distinction was critical, because taverns were not deemed essential.

That distinction still has meaning today, and varies by state. In Texas, whether you are a bar or restaurant has implications on whether you can carry a firearm, but if you are trying to be a “restaurant,” there are rules governing how many menu items you must have at minimum. It’s messy.

Essentially, the tavern of old has been replaced by family-friendly establishments where women will feel more welcome, as well as the kiddos. And, the emphasis is also on watching sports. I see this as oddly contradictory endeavors. While it’s great that the whole family can go there (or groups of men and/or women), the fact that eyes are focused more on a big screen than on the F2F is telling of our time. At this point you have traded the small screen of your phone for a much larger one on the wall. Either way, you are more focused on that than human interactions.

You can almost be alone together, while at the tavern you could just be alone alone.I get it, though. Maybe we want to consume media while we dine and drink, and the more people the merrier. But the big screen is still the main attraction. Or 40 screens. Conversation, if there is any, tends to focus on the game and what just happened.

Spectator sports are not my thing, and I would much rather toss around lofty ideas than watch someone else tossing around a ball. Better yet, I crave a nice old-school tavern where I could go to gather my thoughts, do some writing, and escape the din of everyday life.

Alas, I must be as much a dying breed as is the tavern, the kind I grew up around in the Midwest. Maybe we can be buried together.

Dr “Call Me An Outlier” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[vamptastic]

wish i didn't stop going to temple regularly this past year because i have been thinking a lot about the holocaust leading up to my senior trip (we are going to dachau for a day and i am very worried what my some of my very very sheltered, christian, white, preppy classmates will say afterwards).

i have talked about it with my mom a bit but she's very stressed right now with her college class and i don't want to be dumping all that on her every day. but my dad grew up catholic and is still in the process of converting, and idk hes just not as involved in jewish identity and doesn't see judaism as a ethnicity/race the same way me and my mom do, so i don't know if he can fully understand the kind of grief im trying to process right now.

i think mostly i am having a more difficult time grappling with the reality of what happened right now because i have not spent nearly as much time with jewish elders and so it's easy to forget that we're still very alive and that people survived and not all was lost.

there are just so many little things i hear that make me so angry and sad and disbelieving about the massive massive hatred and disregard for human life. there was this one anecdote i heard, where josef mengele was searching for an assistant, and out of the lineup of new auschwitz inmates he asked who was a doctor, and 50 or so people raised their hands, then he asked for a forensic pathologist, 5 hands, then one who had trained at a specific university, one man left, who was forced to perform an autopsy on a decayed, gangrenous corpse in front of him to prove his aptitude and was then essentially his slave until the camp was liberated.

and the story of that individual man is horrible, obviously, but what really struck me was the other 49 doctors who were just. killed. 49 doctors. Forty-nine! obviously all life has value, but it drives in the fact that our accomplishments and merits as a people just did not matter, there was nothing you could do to earn your humanity. for fucks sake, heisenberg (of the heisenberg uncertainty principle) was widely ridiculed for using 'jew science' because he based his work on the theories of albert einstein.

and then there are the demographic changes. im basing this off of loose memory here, but ashkenazi jews went from like 20% of the global jewish population to 80% after the holocaust (i have tried to find out WHY that happened but all i can find is the raw statistics). it's far from the only one in jewish history but the holocaust is a classic example of a bottleneck event and it's so fucking hard to fathom how much our genes have been affected by the repeated occurrences of interference with natural selection through forced reproductive isolation and rapid reductions in population.

it's just, it's such a huge event, so (blessedly) few times has this happened to a people, so few other diasporic peoples exist, especially ethnoreligious groups, and i feel like people who are not jewish or close with jewish people cannot wrap their head around why i care so much, beyond historical interest. and i do love jewish history its just, this is not a love, this is a need to understand.

there is always this sense of who cares, jews are so sensitive caring about things from nearly a century ago, it's not even real to me. but the more you learn the more its so painfully scarily real and the more you have to grapple with the fact that you can be hated so much for something so simple as ethnicity and religion that the most awful unspeakable things can be done to you and nobody will really care.

idk i don't have an answer here, obviously, i just wish i could talk to people at temple about this but i haven't been in ages and its such a heavy topic.

[lovingchopshopbarbarian]

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[daggery]

tagged by @hersilentlanguage tyty!

Head over to personalitydatabase and pick out the top six fictional characters you identify with that share same MBTI as you! If you don’t know your MBTI here are a few tests to try out! X X X

tagging @lovehaze​ @gwenspendragons​ @xialingsupremacy​ @tridentarius​ @wespers​ @cilophytes​ if you wanna do this <3 <3

i only really relate to like four or five characters and none of them are listed as infj so i just chose some characters i like :)

i actually once saw a descendant mbti chart by michael that put jane as infj (i think) @vndooms i was like lol yeah bc idk mbti things but if i had to describe my personality thru descendants characters i’d describe myself as a mix between carlos and jane probably? whichhhh for the record i don’t rly relate to either of them kfjskdf

the characters summarized: catholic guilt, tits, eldest daughter, bard, i don’t remember much about her other than her really cool aesthetic, Norman, and the other mad max fury road character who i have an url for. it’s a private sideblog that i use for saving editing resources but yes i got two mad max urls <3

[maeleesblogg]

- Unholy Affairs

Characters: Father!Sam x Reader

Summary: Every Sunday your family goes to their catholic church in your town and you, lacking religion, only go because of the new priest. Having unholy thoughts in such a holy place doesn’t make you any more of a saint, but who can say the same about him.

Warning: Choking, degradation kink, size kink, creamp*e, cumsh*t, hair pulling, thigh riding, fingering, oral (male receiving) and just rough sex all over the place

Author’s Note: If you’re religious, I don’t recommend reading this. I’m not trying to disrespect anybody’s religious beliefs. If this isn’t your cup of tea, then keep scrolling.

✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞

*God, he’s so hot in a suit I could just-*

“Molly?”

Your impure thoughts were interrupted by Father Sam who towered over your petite figure sitting on the pew, looking rather handsome as always, yet concerned

“S-Sorry, I spaced out during the service. My apologies, father”

You stuttered in embarrassment while avoiding eye contact, too shy to look him in the eyes for more then one second without feeling your knees give out on you.

He gave you a sly smile and said:

“Call me Sam. No need to be formal now, Molly. You’ve been distracted for a few weeks now and I’ve noticed that you haven’t been paying attention to my preachings. Would you like to have a private session instead?”

*P-Private session? With a hot priest? Holy mother of god-*

You just stared at him with lost eyes, too caught up in your daydreaming to respond. The things that you’ve pondered in your head have almost - not entirely - came true. It’s like God was answering your not-so prayers and speaking right to you.

“Come on, the confessional booth is still open. Follow me”

Sam said, sounding slightly demanding but who are you to complain, you liked l̶o̶v̶e̶d̶ it. So, you followed him to the back of the church where there was a big red booth standing right in the corner of the cold room.

“In there. I’ll be seated right beside you”

Having no clue what all this is for considering you’ve never confessed like this before, you were hesitant to get in the booth, but he was persistent and reassured that it’s alright

You made your way in the small space and sat there with your hands on your thighs, gripping at your mini skirt as he sat beside you. A wall separating you from him.

It was quiet for a while until he broke the ice

“Tell me, what has you anxious? You don’t have to get too personal with me, you can keep things to yourself that you don’t want to tell anyone else”

Sam said in the most soothing, deep voice that you loved the fantasize about. He sat there patiently, not forcing you to say anything until you’re ready.

*How am I supposed to tell him that I dream about him railing me in this church?? I’m sat next to the one guy that gets me hot and heavy. Wtf do I do?!*

Scolding yourself quietly, you took a deep breath and said:

“It’s really nothing, father. I’ve just been very stressed lately”

He paused before replying:

“Do you mind telling me what it is that you’re stressed about?”

Your hands began to feel sweaty, they shook a little as you closed your thighs in fear of him looking over and seeing you bite your lip which he did, but didn’t point it out.

“I-I just have thoughts. Uhm, very i-impure ones”

Instead of being shocked and laughing at you, he hummed and you could see a small smirk curve up in the corners of his luscious lips.

“I see. These thoughts that you’re having are completely normal and the urge to fulfill them can drive you off the edge. It’s not something that you should be ashamed of because everyone has them, Molly. If you care to go deeper, then please do. I don’t want you to overstep boundaries you don’t want to”

He replied

You didn’t feel embarrassed. As a matter of fact, you were utterly comfortable with him.

It was an intimate moment between you two

“The thoughts are about you, father”

You blurted out unintentionally.

*Fuck, why did i say that?!*

Looking over to your left, you could see his eyes widened and cheeks began to flush in red.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that-“

You apologized, about to sit up and walk away until he said something that made you stop in your tracks

“I know, Molly”

Swallowing the lump in the back of your throat, you turned toward him and said:

“Y-You do?”

This time he made eye contact with you. His dark eyes looking into your tired hazel eyes that sparked. Maintaining long and intense eye contact until you broke it by looking down at your thoughts squished together to keep the arousal from dripping on your inner thighs

“Yes, I see the way you look at me when I’m preaching. I look your way and I see you staring off into space with your mouth gaped, clenching your thighs together and biting your lip. I find it cute and rather slutty”

You could‘ve swore that you gushed. Blushing terribly and biting your bottom lip, the skin in between your teeth breaking because of how bad you wanted to suppress your whines

“Father, I-“

“Come here”

He demanded. You simply obeyed without question and got out of your side of the booth and into his where he sat there with his legs spread, manspreading. His thick thighs just waiting to be pounced on, you stood there awkwardly with your hands behind your back

“Don’t be shy, pretty girl. Come closer”

That deep voice got even deeper if possible. He stared you down like a hawk ready to devour their prey. Veiny hands patting his thigh signaling you to sit and make yourself comfortable on him.

You nodded and moved to him slowly. So shy that you almost started to whine as his hands brushed up against your arm

He helped you prop yourself on his thigh and held your waist. Pushing you closer to his chest and your big breasts squishing against his broad chest. Your hands hovered over his shoulders and the two of you didn’t say anything for a long time, just admired one another

“What do you think about, Molly? Tell me your deepest darkest desires”

He said. Never pressuring you, just slowly but surely getting you out of your comfort zone. You squirmed in his lap, your skirt riding up your stomach and your laced panties damp against his black jeans. Pretty sure he could feel the wetness in between your thighs by now.

“I think about you running your hands up and down my body and putting your fingers in my panties, fingering me to tears as we kiss”

Feeling the graze of his fingers on your exposed collarbone, he hummed

“Like this?”

*You smooth bitch*

Your breath hitched as his index and middle finger ran down your cleavage, sending chills to your spine.

His soft lips met your neck and kissed your skin, feeling so high as he bit down on it and kissed once more to relief the pleasuring pain

Large hands cupping your clothed breasts and squeezing them tightly, you threw your head back and moaned softly. Soaking in the intimacy for as long as you could

*Please just fuck me*

Suddenly, your blouse was no longer on you. He ripped it open and the buttons fell onto the floor. Slipping your bra off like a fucking pro. Almost like he’s taken off more than he’s put on and without a doubt, probably has.

Your nipple was engulfed by his warm mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip and sucking on it while cupping the other. Feeling you grind on his thigh, he groaned. Loving the way your wet cunt rubbed on him like a greedy whore

“Get up”

He commanded

You furrowed your eyebrows and got up, confused as to why he stopped so abruptly

You weren’t confused for long as he stood up in front of you and unzipped his jeans. Pulling the leather down and stepping out the restricted clothing, then he sat back down and ripped your panties in half. You jumped as he was getting so rough with you

Your stomach was doing backflips at this point

“Ride my thigh”

*Don’t gotta tell me twice* 

You got on his thigh and propped yourself up, bare pussy on his warm thigh. He sighed and played with your clit, watching as your pussy gushed a little more and your hips swaying back and forth. The friction was overwhelming and you’ve never experienced this before nor anything sexual with anyone except him

It felt right. This felt right even if it was wrong, but you didn’t care nor did he

His long fingers moved down from your clit, neglecting it for now and pushing up inside your cunt. The sudden stretch made you gasp

His fingers were so thick and long, you could’ve came right there when he curved them inside you and finger fucked you all the while looking up at your scrunched up face

“Is this what you wanted?”

He asked, already knowing what your response was going to be, but he wanted to hear it from you.

After you didn’t respond and just kept moaning, he slapping your ass hard and made you yelp at the stringing pain it left

“Answer me when I’m talking to you”

You cried out a faint ‘yes’ and fell into his chest

Grinding nonstop on his thigh that was covered in your arousal. He growled and fingered you faster, adding another and scissoring your tight walls open

“God you’re tight. Have you ever done this before?”

Nodding a small ‘no’, he went faster and you could see the outline of his cock poking out of his briefs

Trying to be bold, you placed your hand on top of his erection and kissed him. Jumping on his fingers at this point as you kissed him deeply, tongues meeting and fighting for dominance in which he won. You bit down on his bottom lip and tugged at it, giggling as he stopped and picked you up.

“What are you doing?”

You asked but he didn’t reply

He pulled down his boxers while holding you with one arm, hand cupping your ass to keep you in balance

His hard cock sprung free and the tip leaked with pre-cum. Twitching against his stomach

Wrapping his hand around the thick shaft, he slapping it against your clit a few times before entering you

“Oh my”

You moaned, mouth wide in an “O” shape and eyes rolling back as he slid inside your pussy

“Fuck. Your pussy feels so good, doll”

He commented and gripped your ass cheeks, thrusting back and forth slowly for you to get used to the feeling of being stretched out by such a big cock like his. The girth itself made you cry because he was so big

Eventually, you got used to it and begged him to go harder, deeper, faster

“F-Fuck me plz”

You begged and he gave you what you asked for

Bouncing you up and down his long cock, feeling your pussy grip him tightly as he slid out only to fuck back into you harder than the last

“Tell me more about what you fantasized, love”

Breathing hard and gripping his broad, wide shoulders, you screamed his name and watched your cunt take him

So exotic

“I-I’m going to cum, father”

You moaned. Holding onto him like your life depended on it and cried into his chest, shaking uncontrollably as you came around him. He felt your juices coat his cock and pulled out. Letting you down gently and placing you on your knees by gripping your hair and guiding you to kneel before him

“Open up”

He growled. Jerking off as you opened your mouth, waiting for his cum to coat your tongue

“Urgh shit”

Soon enough, he was cumming in your mouth and all over your face. Your tits were covered in his cum and he tapped your chin to make sure you swallowed it all

“That-a girl”

Tapping your cheek, he wiped away the tears that fell to your cheeks and kissed your forehead

“Let’s go somewhere else hm?”

He requested and you took his hand that was signaling for yours, he pulled you back up to your feet and guided you out of the booth

*Please don’t tell me we’re finished*

✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞

He led you to the main room and sat you on the closed piano in the rear corner where he preached during services.

The butterflies swarming in your stomach only got intense as he lifted up your skirt and rubbed his length in between your labia. Prying at your entrance and putting only the tip in

“N-no teasing please. I want you”

Your small hands gripped his throbbing shaft and guided him into your tight space.

Letting a groan as the feeling of your walls contracted around him. Engulfing him as a whole and letting his hands roam your body with every hard thrust being delivered, he gripped your breasts harder than before

“You’re so pretty wrapped around my cock. I just want to cum in you now and feel you take it all inside this small pussy of yours mm”

Such filthy words sounding angelic

He breathed heavily in your ear and hid in the crook of your neck. Being slick enough, you didn’t realize his hand was traveling up your neck until he wrapped it around your neck and squeezed hard enough to throw you over the edge

“F-Father, please cum in me. I can feel you throbbing inside me please”

The sight of his big cock ramming into you never ceased to make you cry in pleasure. Coated in your wetness and the sound of skin slapping against skin

He grunted and thrusted one last time, hard and deep. Then, a warm thick liquid filled you up nicely

Moaning as he fucked you fast while he was cumming, shoving it deeper inside your abused hole until he pulled out to watch it ooze out of you

“Good girl”

He praised

Lapping up some of it on his tongue and swirling his warm tongue in circles around your clit

“Sensitive!”

You yelped and closed your thighs around his face like it would stop him from eating you out

Your body shook and trembled as he sucked on the bundle of nerves. Holding you down by the hips and letting you ride his tongue while shaking his head back and forth

“Hmm”

He moaned in your pussy, sending vibrations through your spine and eventually, you came all over his face. Embarrassed as you shook violently, covering your face in the palm of your hands

“No need to be shy, love. It’s okay”

He reassured in his naturally soft voice. Picking you up and sitting you down on the pew in front of the stage, holding you as you gained back your senses

*I just did that*

You thought, but for some reason you didn’t feel guilty.

It was like it felt right all along and it did. Not once did it feel wrong or hesitant

“I can take you home, Molly. I know you must be tired”

Sam offered, rubbing your back and helping you up as your legs shook a little

“Sorry”

He apologized, but you just rolled your eyes as you know he didn’t mean it

“Sureee”

You said and hit his arm

He just laughed while guiding you outside to the parking lot. Opening the car door to the passenger side

“After you”

You got in and closed your eyes as he did the same. Starting up the engine and taking you home

“I hope you don’t think that this will be the last time because there’s so much more that I want to do for you”

You were taken back

“What do you mean?”

His hand gripped your thigh gently and he continued:

“I’m going to take you out and make you mine”

✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞

Author’s Note:

I hope ya’ll liked reading this as much as I enjoyed making it. I tried with this one. Better than nothing ☠︎︎. Anywho, have a good day or night!

[kafka-ish]

richie tozier gets off a good one | r.t.

“This was not to say Richie could not be very funny from time to time; he could be. When referring to verbal zingers and farts, Richie’s terminology was the same: he called it Getting Off A Good One, and he got off Good Ones of both types frequently...” -- Stephen King

word count: 3.3k

warnings/included: nsfw (explicit smut, oral -- male receiving, male x female, mentions of masturbating), fem!reader

a/n: pls enjoy ! 

-

It was a cold shower kind of afternoon as the thunder from outside Richie’s bedroom window roared loud enough to be mistaken for a dragon. Dragons don’t exist. Richie, however, ignored the booming sounds of nature from outside—his thoughts lost in a certain someone; and his ears muffled by the pillows encasing him.  

y/n was coming over for a study session at two p.m. sharp, per Wentworth’s request, but Richie still had time as his left hand traveled to the zipper of his orange, corduroy trousers. It’s not like Richie knew y/n. This afternoon, this shameful afternoon where if his dad were home right now, he’d be caught with his hand in his pants and a name he’d rather not talk about in between his lips, would be his first time meeting the girl.

Wentworth Tozier was the one to suggest she come over on this grey Sunday afternoon during Thursday’s family dinner when he noticed Richie’s recent report card.

“A C in chemistry?”

“The C stands for Chemistry,” Richie said with a smirk on his face. It didn’t seem to work because Mr. Tozier’s frown didn’t budge, and Maggie Tozier only sipped her coffee which had to be cold by now.

“You know we expect better from you.” He was right. His parents weren’t used to anything other than a line of A’s on the weekly transcript he brought home. Richie wasn’t either. But lately, something had taken a toll on his grades—or someone.

“You know what might help him, dear?” Wentworth looked up from the chicken he was currently cutting through. “A tutor.”

“I do not need a tutor.” Richie dropped his fork which was being used to play with his green beans.

“Your grades say otherwise, kid,” Wentworth countered. “You know, Maggie, I think that’s a good idea.”

“Not you too, Dad!” Richie cried out, exasperated at the scene playing out in front of him.

Ignoring his son, Wentworth continued, “In fact, I think my buddy back from Catholic school has a kid who could tutor him.” He took a bite. “Last I heard, she was fairly good at the sciences.”

“You should think about calling them after dinner,” Maggie said without looking up. Which was how Richie ended up with only an hour left to get himself off rather than the rest of the day.

Although his hand was no match for any of his previous hookups, it was faster, and it got the job done. He was just about to finish when the doorbell rang and a knock on his door startled him from his position and kept him from finishing.

“Coming!” Richie yelled; certain that the outsider wasn’t going to hear him. He stood up from his position on his bed, pulled up the trousers that hung from his ankles and trekked his way downstairs. His feet made a thumping sound as they padded their way down the stairs—roughly at that. He was surprised the house didn’t shake at his footsteps. “We don’t want your Girl Scout cookies,” Richie said, half annoyed that his session was cut early.

“I’m not a Girl Scout.” y/n held open the door with her hand before Richie could close it. She wore a white button down that was haphazardly tucked into a blue-green, plaid skirt. Her already see-through blouse was even more see-through, as the rain from standing outside for so long had drenched it from the outside in.

“Oh.” Richie didn’t say anything for a moment. “I didn’t order a pizza, either.”

“I didn’t bring you a pizza, either.” y/n was growing just about as annoyed as he was. “Can I just come in?”

“I don’t know about that one, toots.” Richie made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Pops said I’m not allowed to let strangers in.”

“Richie, please, just let me in,” y/n seethed. She didn’t have time for his bullshit and quite frankly, he didn’t either. If Richie let his grades take another blow to the one-inch margin, his C would threaten to turn into a D. “Your dad called mine on Thursday… I’m here to… tutor… you.”

Richie noticed how her voice had lowered and he could tell she was just as ecstatic as him for their study session. Wordlessly, he stepped away from the front door, allowing y/n some space to walk in. His eyes inadvertently glued themselves to her backside, watching as her skirt’s pleats swayed against her hips and the rain’s water trail against her long legs; a sight he’d swallow at and feel himself grow semi-hard to.

If all the girls at Catholic school looked like y/n, he might just have to transfer because just one glance at her made Richie forget all about the reason for his tragic C that stood for Chemistry.

“Where are we studying?” y/n asked. Her eyes darted around the place like it was foreign. It was foreign. Her hands clutched the book bag she held onto tighter, anxious by the new atmosphere.

“Is my room okay?” Richie asked, already starting up the stairs. His tone had gone soft, like when you microwave butter. He almost felt bad for protesting against the idea of being tutored just a few short days ago.

“Yeah.” y/n followed him, making sure to leave an appropriate amount of space between the two bodies.

“Do you need a change of clothes?” Richie said, not trying to cover up the obviousness in his voice; that he was obviously looking at her covered chest each second she spent turned away from him; that he had an obvious hard-on that he hadn’t bother to conceal under his ridiculous corduroy pants.

“No,” y/n said with a bit of uncertainty. Sure, she was soaking wet from her hair to her toes, but she wasn’t about to borrow one of Richie Tozier’s ridiculous band-tees that would wear like a dress.

“What’s with the get-up, anyway?” Richie smirked. Before he sat down, he pulled out an extra seat for her. Usually, it would be used to discard his dirty clothes on. Luckily, Maggie Tozier had taken the liberty of cleaning up before their guest got here.

“Laundry day,” y/n sighed while sitting down her bag next to her. She brushed out her skirt as she sat down so it’d cover as much of her bare legs as fabric would sparingly allow. Her skirt was drenched, and she was sure it would leave the chair just the same as if she stood up any time soon.

“Don’t have to wear that thing tomorrow?” Richie couldn’t help but think about all the other girls who’d be wearing the same outfit on Monday. Of course, their blouses wouldn’t be overly exposing, but their legs would still be bare and long—longing for Richie’s stare if you catch a drift.

“Aren’t you failing something?” y/n snapped back.

Richie swallowed the rest of the words lingering in the back of his throat.

“I was thinking we start with the basics.” y/n bent down, searching for the green folder she had marked ‘Science’ in thick, permanent ink. Richie couldn’t help but steal another look at her figure—outlined by the white shirt that clung to it.

“Basics?” His voice cracked, but he was too caught up in her to care.

“Well, what do you need help with?”

“Nothing.” Richie scoffed, not letting some girl he barely knew deflate his ego.

“Then why am I here?” She countered. Her eyebrow raised, unimpressed, and her fingers started to drum anxiously against the wood of his desk.

“Right now, we’re going over stoichiometry,” Richie shrugged, not bothering to meet her eyes—her bright, keen eyes he’d find himself lost in if he weren’t careful. “It’s not the math part I need help on it’s the—”

“Concentration.”

“Yeah.” Richie let out a heavy sigh. He already knew what y/n looked like—beautiful, while water droplets kissed her neck that he itched to touch. It wouldn’t hurt to steal yet another glance, he thought, while turning towards her. “It’s like I can’t focus,” he said, finally making eye contact.

“And you need help with that?” She questioned. The familiar feeling of anticipation welled in the back of her throat but there was no telling why.

“I guess.” Richie’s eyes left hers to stare at the wall. The view was less impressive, but it let him form a cohesive thought.

“I think I know a way.” y/n’s demeanor had completely changed by now. Richie was about to mutter out a how or what the hell are you talking about but the words in his mind scrambled together like the eggs his mother made that morning when he felt her hand travel down to his knee.

y/n’s touch was light and delicate—almost nothing as it grazed against the fabric of his jeans. But it was there. He felt it, and if he didn’t, his imagination must’ve been pretty goddamn realistic for running at a hundred hertz a minute. Her thumb ran circles against the corded pattern making his breath hitch.

“Uh, what’cha doin’?” Richie’s eyebrow rose at the hand on his pants which was making its way to the zipper.

“Helping,” she insisted, “if you’re having trouble focusing, you’re probably stressed, right?” Richie could only nod. “So, this will help you unstress.” He gasped at the sound and sight of y/n undoing his zipper. His eyes widened and she found herself smiling at his movements from such little touch already.

Richie was quick to roll his jeans, and the underwear underneath, to his ankles. His eager length stood hard and erect against his stomach and if it weren’t for his lack of social awareness, he’d be embarrassed to be seen bare in front of a girl he just met.

y/n’s right hand—timid but daring—wrapped itself around the base of his cock, eliciting a groan from Richie’s now parted and perfectly pink lips.

Surprise wouldn’t even begin to describe the swirl of emotions that found themselves in the pit of Richie’s stomach and began to bubble in his throat—another groan. Though, as surprised as Richie was, he couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of pleasure and yearning for more as he harshly swallowed at the feeling of friction and tightness y/n managed to spring upon him in one firm jerk.

She was on her knees now, the feeling of hardwood against bare skin didn’t seem to faze her. All her attention was on Richie. The sound of unsteady breaths from above had y/n’s cheeks flushed and panties in a heat. The only cohesive thought in her mind was wanting to hear those pretty little noises coming from Richie’s pretty little mouth again.

y/n didn’t need a mirror to know her pupils were blown, the sight before her that she couldn’t quite look away from and the uncomfortable feeling between her legs was enough, letting her realize what she was doing. What was she doing? Her grip on his length loosened as she moved her hand up and down, allowing for enough space for her mouth when she connected her lips to his dick.

“God. You feel great, toots.” It only took a few motions for Richie to already come lax at the feeling of y/n’s mouth. He wished it were another part.

y/n chuckled to herself. Having this much power over a boy made her feel… confident. No guy at her school would give her the time of day, it seemed—not even Jeremy Fields. But Richie Tozier… Richie Tozier was practically falling apart at the sight of her and y/n loved that. Richie felt her pace around him speed up and y/n felt herself grinding on her palm to meet his same high. The sight of her alone was enough to have Richie on edge.

“Sugar, if you don’t stop I’m gonna—” His heavy pants were enough to cut him off, but y/n took her chance to interrupt further.

“—You’ll what?” She pulled apart from him, a string of saliva connecting them. Richie almost whimpered at the warm feeling of her mouth provided—gone.

“I’m gonna bust before I can take care of you,” he admitted somewhat bashfully. His face was red, and y/n couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or the fact that he had been worked up.

“Oh.” Back at her shy state, y/n ducked her head and felt her cheeks heat in a similar fashion to his. “Well, in that case…” y/n didn’t have to finish her sentence for Richie to get a grasp on what she was saying. She began to undo the buttons of the thin, white button up at an unbearably slow pace. She managed to peel the wet material that stuck to her skin gracefully even though she’d been itching to take it off as soon as she put it on.

“Wow.”

“Shut up,” y/n mumbled mindlessly, not daring to make eye contact. Part of her was embarrassed enough at the fact that she was on her knees for the boy she was supposed to teaching qualitative chemical reactions to. Her skirt was next to come off. The plaid fabric fell helplessly fell to the ground as soon as she unzipped it.

“I’m serious. You’re like… hot stuff, hot stuff,” Richie said as soon as she stood up, giving him a perfect view. Her underwear was a scalding red with embroidered flowers that decorated the side of her breasts and hipbone. The matching set was far from innocent, far from what Richie would imagine Catholic school girls to wear.

y/n didn’t say anything—her stomach too full of butterflies and a lump still caught in her throat. Richie could sense her nervousness and pulled her into him. To think, a girl he had met only thirty minutes ago was now engulfed in his arms and half-bare for him.

The rough pad of his thumb drew circles on her shoulder. The slow, sensual movements against her skin was electric and had the two riled up even more as Richie slotted his thigh in between hers for her to buck up against. The feeling of her clothed clit on lace as she dragged herself back and forth on his leg at an uneven pace was indescribable.

“Fuck.” It wasn’t unexpected that Richie broke the silence and occasional gasps. “You’re soaked… so… fuckin’ soaked.” He could feel the wetness from her panties that dripped onto his bare leg and he groaned at the thought that it was because of him.

y/n giggled but the sound of her breathy laughs in his ears didn’t last long as she pressed into him further and latched her lips onto his. It was like no other kiss he’s had before. As for y/n, she’d be ashamed to say it was her first kiss. That is, her first kiss where she felt something.

y/n swallowed the moan from Richie as their lips still locked and their tongues swept over each other.

“You’re like—”

“You are, too,” y/n breathed quickly, not bothering to hear the rest of the words. Her attention was now focused on him—or the lack of him inside her. She grabbed his throbbing length once again, taking barely any time to admire it. “Do you have any?”

“Yeah.” Richie swallowed. He opened the top left drawer of his desk, revealing a box of Trojans which he quickly took a foil packet from.

It was weird. Although y/n knew this was just a one time thing she couldn’t help but feel jealous as the small hairs on her neck stood to attention.

Effortlessly, Richie tore open the foil and slid on the condom. “Ready?”

y/n nodded and bit down on her cheek as she sunk down on him. Patiently, Richie waited for her to adjust to his size and a sign for him to move.

A quick kiss to his lips was it. It was different from the first. Swift, sweet, teasing. Richie wanted more. He wanted more as he thrust up into her and he wanted more as he felt y/n’s fingertips dig into his shoulders through the fabric of his shirt.  

“Unfair that you have more clothes on,” y/n managed to speak through a whine. To which Richie opened his eyes and through hazy lids and lust-blown pupils he saw her panties that were pulled to the side as his dick met her entrance and the bra strap that was making its way down her arm.

Richie stifled a chuckle. “You want this off?” He gestured to the graphic tee that was basically draped over his slim figure.

“God, yes. Take a hint much?” She tugged weakly on the sleeve of his shirt and he pulled away for a second so he could remove it, revealing his smooth chest and delicious collarbone.

Another whine left y/n’s lips as he pulled her in closer again. His speed picked up as he bottoms out, reaching a spot no guy has ever found before. Her left hand his in his hair, gripping at his long locks that only a Rockstar would dare wear and her right hand is clutching his cheek—his freckle-sprayed cheek that relaxes under her soft hands and delicate fingers.

Richie’s hands, however, are in a much more intimate place he realizes as he moans yet again, this time at the feeling of his roots being pulled on. One is on her ass, keeping her from falling off, though it might be impossible seeing as how close the two are. The other is playing with her folds, using the same circular motions from earlier to coax her closer.

“You feel so good,” Richie says as his eyes roll back to his head. “Fuck.”

y/n hums. Her lips can’t help but curl into a smile once the words reach her ears. “I’m close,” she whispers and Richie nods in agreement.

It’s dirty and the total opposite of what Richie would expect from the girl who walked in his door a short hour ago, but they reach their highs together, while the filthiest noise Richie’s ever heard leaves y/n’s swollen lips. He watches her as she cums. Her hair is moussed and sweat shines across her furrowed brows. But Richie Tozier swears he hasn’t seen a prettier sight.

“Fuck, doll,” Richie says in amazement.

y/n’s still smiling as she opens her eyes, but she can’t help but be embarrassed at the same time.

“What?” The question is small, but there’s a certain weight on her shoulders that Richie notices.

“You’re hot.” He’s wearing a shit-eating grin and y/n wants to smack him right then and there. But she doesn’t. She only smiles back, quickly removes herself from him, and redresses herself with the same pace. Her shirt is only slightly less damp and slightly less uncomfortable, but it’ll do. y/n supposes she could just change into her pajamas once she got home. “What, don’t tell me our session’s over already,” Richie tries to joke.

“Sorry,” y/n sighs. Her backpack is already slung over her shoulder, she didn’t even need to ask Richie for help with her stuff.

“Hey, is this because…” Richie’s large palm finds a home on y/n’s shoulder which she tenses up at.

“No!” y/n’s barely able to choke it out. “But the session was, like, supposed to be an hour, you know? And I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” She’s back to her nervous self again.

“God.” Richie realizes what this is about now. “You’re not overstaying anything, toots. You can stay for dinner if you’d like,” he offers. “Hell, stay forever.”

y/n resists the urge to roll her eyes and opts for the dead skin on her lip instead. “I really have to go. Sorry, Rich.”

The last he sees is her half-smile from her all perfect lips before she slips out the door and into the rain again.

[sapphicgarlic]

turpitudinem part 2

warnings: i mean..... its the 70´s and harry is a pornstar......

YOU DONT NEED NEED TO READ THE FIRST PART BUT LIKE...ANYWAYS here's the link ;) 

ONCE MORE thanks to the lovely @real-work-of-art for enduring this with all the errors and to my dear Casey @berrynarrybanana because this is part from her sex bucket list  challenge!!! i am very late to the part but here it is!!! i was thinking of keeping it and adjust more (my self doubt is thriving) but i decided to say fuck it. here it is!!!!!

If Y/N didn´t know she would be arrested for arson she would have burned the library to the ground by now. She needed to get out of the two story brick library she has been working at for the last 2 years before her body deteriorates and vanishes into thin air.

Cause of death? Boredom.

Dramatics aside, things can´t get more monotuos than this, she is sure of it. It's not like Rosemary, her 80 year old manager, was up Y/N´s ass and paying attention -- or at least trying--  to her every single move  or the loud uni students that came in just mess the shelves she just spent hours organizing. The fucked up thing about organizing books in a big place like this is that it comes back to bite your ass later: there is always someone that asks Y/N about a book that knows she didn't put in the right place and she must run like a maniac to find it before the person gets cranky.

No, no,no, in fact, Y/N couldn't have found a better place to work. A year round quiet place where most people that come in are too stressed or way too in their own head to notice that she is high as a kite or still drunk from the party from last night/early-morning. Being under the influence surely did help Y/N deal with anyone, putting her mind in a tranquil state where she actually didn´t care if she was called a bitch or a stupid library rat -- only if they knew.

Y/N truly felt bad about lying to Rose and Willam, other co-workers that was working during one of her shifts, about why she sometimes seems a little airy and too zoned out. The two were very gullible people because of their age (Willam was still in a private, very strict, catholic high school). So when Y/N shared her very “sad” childhood story about the time her mother let her fall off the crib, permanently messing up with her brain, and how the medicine was so strong that it made her dizzy, they both ate it up like it was Marie Antoinette´s brioche during the French Revolution (or something like that, Y/N didn't pay much attention to her history classes.)

She even got access to the roof! The very secluded and locked roof was disposable only for her when she was feeling extra lightheaded about “the medication”. Needless to say that Y/N would go there to smoke her brains out or chug Campari from her flask if her shift was taking too long to end or if some creeps got in to “study”.

With all of the benefits only a fake disease could pull off, wishing the library to burn down into ashes would require a major problem to happen.

Y/N´s problem had a name, curly brown hair and green eyes, that made her truly hate her once very loved job at the public library.

The problem is, after you fuck a buff guy that also happens to be a very famous pornstar in the backseat of his fancy convertable , life becomes dull and grey. And the fact that it was probably the best fuck Y/N ever had did not help her to get him off her mind.

It did not take long to discover that Harry was a true gentleman.

He didn't rush her to get out of his car and send her away after they were done. Harry made sure they had a fantastic time afterwards, smoking and chatting about their lives and getting to know the woman he fucked in his car. Never too pushy, even let her the last drag out of the joint! Having a nice talk with a man that wasn't trying to get into her panties was rather rare and Y/N thought it was refreshing.

Quickly offered to drive her home even after Y/N telling him it would be quite a long ride. Harry just smiled and drove around the coast for as long as he would before officially entering downtown, so they could enjoy the peaceful noise of the waves clashing. Y/N regretted being so nervous about meeting him, but alas, she couldn't have predicted his sweet personality.

“If you don't mind me asking, why did you move all the way across the Atlantic Ocean?” Y/N moves her head to his side, looking at his gorgeous side profile, trying not to have her words eaten by the wind.

“Money was getting really tight at home and my older sister got a job offer here. I came with her but not a year after she got extremely homesick and went back. I stayed.”

“So you didn't comehere to pursue pornography?”

“That´s fooey thing to say. It would be very dumb of me to do that, however, it would not be something I would pursue if I was at home, I will give you that. I just...stumbled upon it.”

“How does one stumbles into porn, Harry? That is what is fooey. But I guess you are right, I wouldn't do the same stuff if I was still back home with my family. Maybe we aren't that different.”

“You actually thought we were? We are made from the same side of the tape, darling.”

Unfortunately, their little bubble of happiness and bliss bursted open the second Harry parked in front of Y/N´s small building. A moment passed by before Y/N decided to make her way out of his car after mumbuling a small ´goodbye´. It was awkward, they knew it and the lady that was passing by knew it too. Her movements wereslow because of the joint and the amazing fuck she just had -- if someone asked her why her legs looked like they were made of jelly, Y/N would say it was the tension of carrying a heavy envelope full of money.

She was almost at the door when she heard his voice and she never felt more relieved.

“I can call you, yeah? Like...just to talk..and stuff?”

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

It didn´t take too long for Harry to call her, just two short days and her phone was ringing.

Talking when their schedules allowed easily became a habit for them. It was organic and there wasn't such a thing as silence, one would always be  rambling about something. Harry was exceptionally and consistently in a bad mood the rest of the week, on the brink of pulling all of his beautiful locks from his head. His employers and producers, in his point of view, were making an extra effort to mess up everything they could that week. Y/N always loved to talk and Harry welcomed the delightful distraction with his arms wide open.

His favorite calls were the ones that took place really early in the mornings when he is getting ready for work and Y/N is getting ready to go to bed after a party. Her drunk bluntness was the perfect pick-me-up.

“You won´t believe it, Harry. The guy fucking broke the pool table and ran away. The owner w-will be mad when h-he sees the damage.” She says in between hiccups.

“The parties you frequent sound way more fun than the ones I need to go to.” “Rich p-people don´t know how to party-y.” Y/N could feel her eyelids getting heavier and heavier with each word, but she didn't want to hang up.

“Ouch.” Y/N falls like a little mouse into his trap, trying to correct herself believing he got sad until she hears his giggles. “I am kidding. But you are right, most people from here are stuck ups.”

“You should come and party with us sometim-e, t-then.”

“I bet you would have more fun if I was there.”

“So cocky when you are the one getting ready t-to go to work.” Y/N yawns.

“You should go to sleep.”

“And you should stop working so much.”

“Touché, darling. Let's compromise: you go to bed and before you know it, I will be done with work. Sounds good?”

“Just because I am really really tired. Good morning, Harry.”

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

Roxy nor Gwen thought that Harry would be keeping constant touch with Y/N afterwards but they sure found it nice for her. For all they knew, he was a good company for their friend, very funny and up-beat. They never were too protective of Y/N because of her natural spirit of being assertive but it was very pleasant to see she had  new company by her side. Even if that meant she would be a little bit late for their Saturday brunch.

“Why don’t you guys just meet up again instead of talking over the phone? It is really dumb, honestly. Have you considered how high your phone bill is going to be?” Gwen says taking another bite of her eggs and toast.

With not a cloud in the blue sky, the three girls decided to eat on the outside patio of Bruce´s under the nice shade of a parasol. Maybe it wasn't the brightest of ideas since the three had partied until 3 am and they would start to sweat alcohol at any given moment with the only refresher being the ice cold water and orange juice they requested.

“Yes, I have. He has been busy with some shit that I didn't understand. Something about the development of a film being late or something.” Y/N picks up a piece of mango out from her fruit bowl and munches on it, not necessarily waiting too long to start talking again. Manners could wait. “And it's been like, two weeks, I don't want to sound desperate.”

“You didn´t vanish with Christopher last night. Actually, with no one, you were always in my sight. That doesn't really happen so I would say you are probably desperate for him.” Roxy chimes in and takes the black and bulk sunglasses off her face to clean them with the sheer fabric of her blouse.

“I heard stories of him under performing and I didn't want to test it for myself.” Both Roxanne and Gwendolyn snort, not believing a word that comes out of Y/N’s mouth.

“What?”

“And you didn't bother finding someone else? That hasn't stopped you before.”

“Wasn't Connie there too? She never says no to you.” Gwen adds as Roxy murmurs ´yes, yes´ under her breath.

“Fine” She huffs. “ Maybe hooking up with someone that wasn't Harry didn't seem good yesterday.” Y/N groans, closing her eyes in agony. The sun and the not-so-pleasant conversation hit her all at once. “I need new sunglasses, these are shit.”

“Don´t try to change the subject, Y/N, because I don't think you fucked someone after him and, as you said, it's been two weeks.”

“If this goes on for one more week, I will throw you into a nunnery since you decided to join the celibacy life.” Gwen teases.

“Both of your sex lives must be really boring for you two to keep tabs on mine.” Y/N lowers her head trying to make the sun not directly hit her face again. She should have chosen her other pair to wear today but her mind was still a bit fuzzy and she was already running late.

“Well, neither of us fucked a pornstar in the backseat of his convertible.” Roxy says nonchalant downing her water glass.

“In the middle of the day, may I add.”  

“Oh, really? Didn't know, Gwen.” Y/N´s head falls to her right and rolls her eyes to her friends who had a big smile on their faces. She was really not used to being the one with a romantic interest -- if she can even call Harry that. “Fair, enough I guess. I mean… he is a great guy and a good company so, yeah, I wouldn't mind spending more time with him.”

“Spending more time with his dick, you mean.” Roxy corrects her while cutting a piece of her toast and eggs and eating it immediatly after.

“Why do I even bother going out with the two of you?” Y/N huffs giving up on her sunglasses and taking them off, throwing them on the table, deciding that if she went blind by the sun, so be it.

“You love us”

“I wouldn't go that far.” Y/N inhales deeply, her body slumps onto the backrest. “Anyways, are you two free later? I need to run some errands and I am craving fries and a milkshake for later.”

“I have a date with Robert today and I need to nap for quite some time in the afternoon. Sorry.” “I was thinking of having a quiet afternoon and going to sleep early. If you really want some company I can go but I--” “It´s fine Roxy, really. Was just asking if guys were free or needed to hit the shops too.”

“We didn't fuck a pornstar and have some extra money laying around, Y/N.” Gwen teases.

Y/N throws her friend her middle finger making Gwen laugh.

“You know where Robert is taking you?” Roxy asks, shifting the topic and Y/N zones out imagining meeting up with him again.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

If Y/N could get rid of something permanently it would be her annoying conscience because if it weren't for it, she wouldn't be working the Tuesday morning shift at the library.

It was normally her day off work but the late call from a very worried Rose rambling about how William´s mom called her to say that her son fell ill and couldn't work his shift. The poor old lady was on her eighth call to find someone to substitute the guy. Y/N pitied her, feeling especially guilty about lying to both of them, and accepted the offer trying to ignore how early she would need to wake up the next day.

The only thing that was pushing her throughout the shift was the little naps she was taking every thirty minutes in different book sections. Turns out not many people were going inside a poorly dimmed library on such a pretty hot day like today so Y/N was stuck to reorganizing books while another teenage girl called Linda was the cashier. From a distance, she seemed really bored too and Y/N enjoys the fact that at her normal shift there were at least some people to interact with while being high. Far much more fun than collecting 7 different bibliographies on Abraham Lincoln and placing them on the shelves in alphabetical order.

Y/N was contemplating taking another nap in the Wiccan and Witchcraft section that was far in the back and secluded until she heard loud footsteps getting close to her.

“Someone on the phone is requesting to talk to you.” Linda says making Y/N frown. No one calls her while she is working especially since this is not her usual shift. The walk to the phone in the staff room seemed longer than usual, Y/N could feel her muscles tense and her breathing falter a bit. Did something happen to her friends? Or to her parents?

“Hello?”

“Thought you had gone missing for a moment, love. Weren’t answering my calls.” Y/N scoffs at herself, not believing she got all startled for this.

“Co-worker got sick and I had to fill in last minute.” She smiles while her back touches the mustard yellow wall knowing this wouldn't be a short and quick call. “The streets are getting dangerous, darling, didn't know.”

“ So you called me just to warn me about the streets? Is that it, Harry? Was thinking it would be an important call.”

“You don't consider me important? Consider my ego very bruised.” Y/N hears shuffling and other people talking in the background and her mind quickly wonders where he is.

“You know what I mean, Harry.” Her eyes travel to the boring looking room. Beige and brown were the main thing, a long stained wood table with four jabed chairs that matched the counter of the little kitchenette they had to warm up lunches. Would Harry surprise her and fuck her against the table, it would easily break therefore ruining the whole experience. Maybe the roof then?

“Well, I do have good news.” Y/N mumbles ´what it is, what it is´ during the dramatic pause of his. “The tape is finally ready. Even though it was a pain to get it done, I do think it was worth it.”

Y/N is stunned because a part of her thought that Harry was going to give up on it and burn the film. He has been absolutely cranky about it and how it was complicated to edit the tape so it was a huge relief to know it was set to go. However, before she can express anything, the door swings open revealing a fussy Linda with the weirdest expression Y/N has ever seen.

“Why are you taking so long. I am absolutely sure Ms. Rose doesn't pay you to chat on the phone and would be extremely sad to kn-”

“Oh, I am so sorry, Linda. It´s my head doctor, he has an important thing to tell me. Something about my head x-ray arriving from the lab and not being good. I-I--”

Y/N needs to bite her own tongue to stop herself from laughing watching Linda´s pale cheeks turn into a crimson shade of red. Her acting skills that she gained from doing theater during high school clearly paid off. The teen girl doesn't have the courage to even speak or say sorry, just goes away as quickly as she came.

“Sorry, Harry. What were you saying?” She says between chuckles knowing that, now, she could be locked up in the little room until the shift ended that Linda wouldn´t say a word. Probably would think that Y/N would be crying about the fake lab results.

“Head doctor?”

“It´s a complicated story. The girl tried to intimidate me so she definitely deserved it. Now she will definitely think twice before lashing out on other people. But I do need to stop traumatizing people, that lie is what got me here in the first place.”

“I could almost hear the girl's cheeks exploding over the phone, so I highly doubt you will stop. Sounded too much fun to stop.”

“It most definitely is.”

“Speaking about having too much fun and not being able to stop, I was getting to the point where I invited you over to my pad so you could watch it and give me your opinion about it.”

“You mean today?”

“If you aren't too busy for me since I have so little importance in your life….”

“I think I can fit you into my very tight schedule. You better make it worth it.”

“I most definitely will, darling, don't worry.”

“What time do you think? Because I do have a meeting with Brigitte Bardot and Cybill and I simply must not make them wait.” Y/N says in the most proper and lavish accent her mind comes up with even though she knows it sounds ridiculous.

“What about eight? It gives us a lot of time to chat before the sunset. Not to brag, but the view from my house is rather pretty but no-”

“Let me guess, not as pretty as me. You are a really smooth talker to get in a girl's pants.” Y/N swirls her index finger on the curly cord that connects the actual phone to its base. “I already have, I reckon. I don't have to worry about being smooth anymore.” Harry giggles.

“That doesn't mean you will get in twice.”

“I´m very good at negotiating, sure I can help you get there.”

“That is really sad, Harry. Having to negotiate to get someone to go under you, that just means you underdeliver. But I guess charity work must be done.”

“So you want my address or we should just forget I invited you?”

“Wait just a second so I can get paper and a pen.” She positions the phone on her shoulder, pressing the side of her face to keep it in place while looking at the cabinet for stationary. “You can say it now, please.”

“6187 Collington Place.” He says it slowly, repeating himself two times so Y/N doesn't get it mixed up. “If you want I can pick you up.”

“Thank you for offering but there is no need. I will get a cab.”

“You sure?” He asks once more as Y/N rips the paper off the little notebook, lazily folding it and putting it in the back pocket of her jeans.

“Yes.”

“So you will show up?”

“Maybe….maybe not. Guess only time will tell.” Y/N breathes out, looking at the clock on the corner. “I think I need to go before Linda thinks I died in here and calls an ambulance.” “Killing your co-worker shouldn´t be on your check-list, yeah. See you soon then?”

“See you soon. Bye Harry.”

“Bye Y/N.”

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Y/N screwed up and it is too late to turn back.

Her subconscious shouldn't have assumed that the invitation would include sleeping over because now she doesn't have money to pay a cab back to her house. The car was already up the hill, there is no way she could ask him to turn around so she can grab more money without making Harry think she bailed on him. All of this trouble would have been avoided if she just brought a purse with her.

Stupid Roxy and her “Don´t wear the purse! It's going to look too formal!”.

And now Y/N was standing in front of Harry´s house with no money to come back home. Great. At least she looked good. The contrast between her plain black long sleeve cotton dress with the shiny leather-like Mary Jane shoes really made it look like she put enough effort without trying too much -- that was what Roxanne said anyways. Even though the material of the mini dress didn't do much to protect Y/N´s body from the cold breeze, the stockings were enough to keep Y/N from shivering.

At a first glance, his house wasn't intimidating or flashy as Y/N imagined. They had just one encounter personally but Y/N knew Harry had an eccentric style -- the red heart shaped glasses and blouse truly gave it away -- so to see the rather simple driveway was surprising. The entryway was secluded instead of being the first thing you see and it surely was because of the bronze metal double door, Y/N thinks. Her first instinct was to knock but she stops herself knowing how probably loud it would be and rings the little doorbell.

Y/N´s eyes can't help but to peak over to the window. She could see the wide corridor and the statues and painting Harry had over the sides. The way the sunlight came through the windows and reflected on the objects made everything look extra fancy. Y/N would confess that it was kinda creepy how she could just observe the interior so easily but since it's not an actual room, maybe it wasn't as bad.

Distracted by the little golden reflexes on the frames, she doesn't notice Harry coming until it was too late and he is about to open the door. She takes a step back, as if he hasn't seen her peaking, trying her hardest not to look like a child who just got caught.

“Hello.” He smiles, putting one of his hands inside the pocket of his checkered pants.

“Hi, sorry for looking. I-I…” Fuck, her cheeks are flaming hot. Karma is a bitch. “ I couldn't help.”

“Creep.” Harry says seriously, the smile vanishing from his face. She freezes but her body feels like it is on fire, burning from inside out. For all she knows she might start crying at any second. “I am just fucking with you, darlin´.”

While he laughs away, Y/N tries to regain her breath and heartbeat to normal.

“You should have seen your face.” “Not...funny.” Y/N shakes her head trying to forget what just happened but unfortunately for her, her mind will replay it every time her head hits her pillow before sleep sweeps her away.

“Well, I found it pretty amusing.” Y/N lingers to respond, analysing Harry´s laid back outfit. Whatever Y/N thought she had done with the dress and shoes couldn't compare to the contrast of the white tank top and the ink on his large arms. His hair was disheveled as if he just woke up from a nap but it couldn't look better in Y/N´s opinion. “You are all dolled up for me? You look really nice.”

“I am starting to regret coming here.” “Nonsense, come in, come in.” He steps off the door, clearing the way from Y/N. “Sorry for huh-, teasing you like that. It probably wasn't the best idea.”

“It is okay, I think I kinda deserved it. After what I did to Linda and all.”

“Oh, yeah. How's your head by the way? Are you really hurt?” Harry examines her face, searching for something wrong.

“Perfectly fine. It’s just a dumb excuse if I am too trippy.” Harry snorts guiding her through the corridor to the main living room and Y/N is surprised. From the wooden high ceiling to the enormous pivoted window, the room had an unique charm and it was undoubtedly the selling point of the whole house. The green carpet matches perfectly with the brown L- shaped couch and the big yellow pouf next to the analog television. It seemed, however, a center table was missing because of the huge empty space.

“Want something to drink? I was thinking white whine but if you want something not alch--”

“White wine is fine.” She smiles and Harry´s shoulders relax before moving to another much smaller all glass hallway that must lead to the kitchen.

The soft last rays of sunshine coming through and the lovely view from the back garden and the pool which, at this time of the day, seemed to be filled with honey. The house was not too far away from the fancy shops and yet, it felt like Y/N was far away from the bustling city.

“Here” Harry comes back with two wine glasses handing one to her. She sips it quietly as Harry looks around, trying to find something. “Probably should’ve brought the projector here before you came. Fuck. I need to go get it. It’s in my bedroom.”

“In your bedroom? Isn’t that thing too big to be carrying it around?” From the last time she heard, film projectors hadn’t improved a lot on their shape and size to downsize to something more compact and easier to carry.

“Yeah, but I can handle it. Had to put it there in the first place.”

It turns out that Harry couldn't actually handle it, especially not with one hand holding his wine glass. A loud ´bang´ echoes through the house followed by some shattering that makes Y/N jolt and search for where it came from. She guides herself through the same corridor Harry first disappeared in and through the kitchen. The hardest thing was to not get distracted by the insane amount of glass and other decorative pieces, than to navigate through an unknown space.

When she does find Harry he is crouched on the floor gathering the pieces into his hands murmuring something to himself, trying to put the projector together. By just glancing at the room, Y/N figures it is a smaller living room with the same aesthetic as the other just not as majestic. She puts her glass down on a little side table and crouches down to help Harry out.

“I stumbled on the carpet.” Fortunately, the glass pieces didn't shatter to tiny little particles. Taking that out of the carpet would be impossible. “The projector is a goner.”

“I can see that.” Y/N giggles, Harry gets up putting the projector -- or what was left of it-- off to the side. “Where should I put this?” “Kitchen.” They start making their way before Harry quickly adds. “I am so sorry. Should’ve thought about bringing it out before”

“It´s okay, things happen.” When she was making her way to Harry, her eyes really didn’t register the kitchen and the skylight above the double sink. He opens one of the wooden cupboards. The backsplash and the corners had the same squared yellow tile and were even more eye-catching with the golden specs of sunlight.

“Made you come here for nothing. Here.” Harry gets a plastic bag so Y/N can toss the glass pieces in here.

“At least we got to see each other.” Y/N says before frowning. “You keep your cameras in the kitchen?”

Harry´s head perks to see what Y/N is referencing to.

“I was planning on taking some pictures but I forgot about it. I am not the most organized person.”

“I can tell.” Y/N laughs as she moves closer to the Polaroid. “You still have all ten shots.”

“What do you mean byI can tell’?” Harry approaches her after tossing the bag with a sloppy smile on his face.

“Nine!” She exclaims after quickly snapping a photograph of him and grabbing it. “You look nice.”

“It’s still blank, Y/N.” Now, they are closer. Too close maybe. Y/N´s back is against the counter and one of Harry´s hands is placed near her waist.

“My point exactly.”

“That's not a nice thing to say.”

Y/N looks up, facing Harry and his smirk.

“I never said I was a nice girl.”

Harry nods, licking his lips.“Can I?” He points to the camera. Y/N hums in response giving it to him. Suddenly, he takes two big steps back, increasing their distance. Y/N wishes he didn´t, having him so near was good, she missed it.

Y/N tries to angle herself a bit, feeling her dress rise a few inches.

“Part of me wished the tape hadn’t developed. I want it for myself.” Harry confesses pushing the button. “Eight.”

“Greedy.” She slowly walks over to him, picking up the still white photo. He places his hand on her cheek, caressing it softly and Y/N can sense her body melting and reacting to it, her cheeks hot and her skin asking for more.

“I can´t help with, love. It´s a shame you couldn't see it today.”

“That just means I need to come back here again.”

“Win, win, I guess.” Harry lowers his head to Y/N´s level gently pressing his lips against hers. Submersed in their needy kiss and lingering touches, both lose track of time for a while. It seemed that the last time they were in each other's embrace was forever ago so the urgency for more was escalating rapidly inside.

“Wait, look.” Harry whispers close to Y/N´s mouth. “The sun is officially setting down.”

“You were right, it does look very pretty from here.” Maybe it was because of how much of a clear vision his house had since it was a little up a hill or maybe it was his presence, Y/N couldn’t put her finger on it.

“I was also right when I said you are prettier.”

Y/N snorts, closing her eyes and smiling, missing the flash. “Seven.”

“Jerk! I wasn´t ready!” Harry ignores her comments, throwing the unrevealed photos on the counter.

“I didn’t ask.” He extends his arm, moving his hand. “Come over here.”

Y/N doesn’t bother responding, connecting her hand to his letting herself be pulled in his direction. The camera once again is glued to his face, aiming at Y/N’s even if it's too close to get all of her face in the frame.

“A picture of my huge pores?” Y/N asks, pressing her lips together trying to think about anything to distract herself from the feeling of Harry’s growing bulge from the light pressure of her hips.

“Relax your mouth for me, love.” He says, scooting his face a little further from hers and taking a picture. “Perfect.”

Y/N´s mind is foggy from desire, something about Harry paying attention to a small detail made her legs weaker. “I had an idea for the next one.” She smiles and Harry snaps the fifth picture. “It was not that.”

“Yes?” Harry´s face is still behind the camera when Y/N takes his free hand delicately, closing his fingers one by one but leaving the thumb up. She sticks her tongue out, placing his thumb there before sucking on it. Harry takes a few seconds to process what is happening and takes another photo. “Fuck.”

She takes his finger out of her mouth, smirking. “Down to the final four. You blew threethere.” “Fucking worthy.” He tosses them into the counter, not caring much about them at the moment. Harry lowers his face once more to Y/N´s level to kiss her. This time, however, it´s much filthier and needy. Now, he fully had a hard on and Y/N could feel it pressing against her, making her core ache.

Her hands getting lost in his curls, tugging them as she pleases. In response, Harry moans, wishing to throw the damn camera away and fuck Y/N right there.

“I want a picture too.” Y/N says, she grabs the camera and slowly pulls away from Harry. His hair was even messier now and his pretty pink lips shiny. He looked like a dream, his eyes glistening from lust and from the sun. “Take off your shirt.”

He obeys her removing his tank top off his torso. All the breathing exercises in the world couldn't make Y/N regain her breath. From his butterfly tattoo, to his happy trail to his beauty marks, it was a piece of heaven on earth. The sun making his skin look golden, making the ink on it look as if it was alive.

Y/N can´t help herself but to touch his chest right below one of his swallows. She can feel his breathing falter as she drags her hand down letting her nails softly scratch him. He hisses, shutting his eyes to focus on the warmth of her hand trying to figure out her next move. Y/N positions the camera, her index finger ready to press the button and take the picture, deciding that her other hand making a small appearance on the side would be a great final touch.

“Take the fucking photo already, Y/N. Jesus Christ.” She was also getting angsty and too touch-deprived but the idea of playing with Harry just so he would fuck her even harder was too tempting to turn down. “So eager.” Y/N taunts him before hitting the button. “Patience is a virtue, you know.”

“Fuck patience. I still have to take three more before I can fuck you properly. Give me the camera.” She hands it off to him with a sweet smile. “Take your dress off for me.”

“I don't know if I should. You didn't buy me dinner first.” Y/N tsks with her tongue.

“I think we are way past that point. And you did make me take my shirt first without dinner too. It's only fair.” “Touché.” Y/N grips the hem of her dress pulling slowly towards her head, letting the fabric fall onto the floor gracefully before her eyes go up to his face.

Harry doesn't move, taking his time to devour her with his eyes and appreciate the piece of lingerie she had on, mostly focusing on the garter belt above her lacy panties. After a long pause, he approaches her.

“Can I?” Even though he doesn't make clear what his next move is, Y/N nods, completely trusting him. Harry angles the camera to her cleavage. “I want a before and after.” “Of what?” She says before the flash goes off, her cheeks ablazing. Before she can press him to answer, she feels his hot lips suddenly kiss the sensitive skin of her neck hard. A moan escapes her lips as hands instantly fall to his hair, tugging it. Y/N thanks her past self for choosing black because if it was any lighter color, her panties would be see-through.

Harry continues nibbling and kissing her skin, lowering and exploring the area but not passing the material of the bra. It´s not night or outdoors but Y/N can see stars all around the kitchen until he takes a step back and immediately presses the button on the camera. Y/N´s chest was definitely redder and shinier from Harry´s mouth, tomorrow they would probably be more noticeable but that is the last thing in their minds.

“Can you sit on the counter for me, please? The kitchen falls quite once more and yet, the air felt heavy from the sexual tension between them. Y/N does what she is told and hisses when her naked butt touches the shivering yellow tile. She looks back at Harry, a fair distance between them, with the camera on his face. “Open´a bit for me, darlin´.”

He doesn't specify what, however, Y/N is not daft and innocent as she seems, spreading her legs so the soaked center of her underwear is exposed. Before she notices what she is doing, Y/N perks her bum pressuring her pussy against the tile releasing some of the pressure inside of her. Her body now in control, rolls her hips forward, her hands against the counter making sure she doesn´t fall, mouth opened from the satisfaction. Her mind goes blank as she gets lost in the feeling of the cold material against her cunt, forgetting about Harry and the camera for a moment.

Y/N realises what she’s done after the flash goes off for the last time and the sound of Harry´s steps move towards her. She would be embarrassed if Harry didn’t havea huge smirk plastered on his face and his cock wasn't so noticeably hard through his white pants. The urge of being wrecked by him was undeniably taking control, her core was already throbbing and needing him inside of her. The memory of it won´t do it anymore.

“I wasn't expecting that.” He says under his breath, laying the Polaroid and the photo far enough from them. Harry doesn't miss  beat, positioning himself in the middle of her legs, hands going straight for the side of her underwear. One of them travels to her mons pubis going further down, deliciously pressing both his palm and finger on ther wet overed core. Both of them hiss, Harry noticing how soaked she became for him during their “photoshoot” and Y/N from finally feeling him where she needs him before his fingers go to her waist again.

His nails grab the side of the lace material, tugging it down a bit before Harry looks at her to ask for permission only to find her already nodding.

“Fuck” Is the first thing he says after throwing her panties away from her body, mesmerized by how wet she truly became for him. His fingers subconsciously go straight to her hole, picking up her juices and spreading them over her labia.

“Harry--” Y/N whimpers as he circles her clit and buries his face in her neck, kissing it once more. Even if her mind is lost in pleasure and her arms are trembling, Y/N makes an effort to use one of them to softly grab Harry´s cock through his checkered pants wanting to give him something too. His mouth opens in an “O” shape and a loud moan gets out, his breath hitting her collarbone making her only more hungry of his response. “H-Hold me.”

Promptly, one of his arms goes around her lower back, Y/N didn't trust her body enough to not have something - or someone- holding her in place. With both of her hands free, Y/N fumbles with the front of his pants until she thinks she's found the fly and buttons. She undoes them but can´t take it out.

“Help.” In one swift motion, Harry drags both his pants and briefs down as well as pulling Y/N´s hips closer to the edge of the counter. His fingers continue to tease her cunt without properly putting them inside making Y/N go mad.

Feeling his hard cock in her hand is a heavenly sensation, she thinks. Y/N´s thumb goes to his sensitive tip, collecting the pre-cum there and smearing it down before wrapping her hands around him. Y/N wishes she wasn’t so desperate to have him inside of her so she could feel his heavy cock on her tongue and how good his faint veins would feel against her lips.

Harry´s mouth goes to hers desperately. At a glance, it just seemed like a normal sloppy and urgent kiss but both of them - if they could speak in that second- would say that it felt like their bodies were melting into one. Such an intense addictive feeling and neediness that both never experienced before.

“Please, Harry, jus-”  She whines with her forehead pressed against his, their lips only mere inches apart.

“I got it, baby.” Harry shushes her, pulling her even closer to the edge, close enough so she could push his leaking cock inside of her pussy. “Go on.”

“Shit.” Y/N moans wrapping her legs around his hips so all of his length would easily slide inside. “Fuck, Harry, fuck.” She whispers as Harry starts to thrust into her, it was the perfect snug hit, almost like his cock was meant to be hers. Y/N wraps her arms around his neck and desperately kisses him again.

“I won´t last lon-- fuck, you are so perfect, darlin´.”

“Me neither.” Y/N throws her head back as her nails scratch the back of his head. “Harder, please.”

Harry picks up the speed not wanting to prolongate their highs any longer, he needs to feel her cum around his prick now.

“C´mon, darlin´. Be a good girl and cum for me, yeah?” Y/N hums in response. “Yeah?”

She can't find enough strength to speak so she just nods her head, completely focusing on the bubbling sensation in her belly that grows exponentially. Harry continues to whisper little encouragements for her but she can't process any. The sensation is overbearing and the second her pussy starts to clench making him stop whatever sentence and moan.

“Just li-like that. Fuck.” Suddenly, her bubble bursts, if her pleasure was in control before now it completely diminished her sense of reality. Y/N´s body was shaking, her arms and legs going limp -- fortunately, Harry grabs her thighs so he can ride her orgasm down -- but it felt like she was floating away to the lilac sky. She could still hear and feel Harry´s last thrusts before he collapsed onto her.

Moments pass as if nothing else mattered. Harry´s hand goes to Y/N´s face, moving some of the hair that has fallen out of place, kissing her cheeks softly.

“Can you stay the night this time, darlin´?”

[apenitentialprayer]

hi! saw your response to someone about some of Paul's writings, and I was hoping you could help me too? In 1 Corinthians 16, and 2 Corinthians 8, he talks about why they need to show their love by giving him money. It really seems like Paul is asking for money for himself from the churches, but in the name of Jesus...I feel especially uneasy about 2 Corinthians 8:8, "I am not commanding you, but I want to test the sincerity of your love by comparing it with the earnestness of others." thank u!

Okay, sure! But before I talk about Paul and that context, I think we need to talk about tithing and almsgiving in general; I find that a lot of people criticize churches for being 'money-hungry,' and... well, in some cases, that might be fair. But the concept of the tithe has been an important part of Abrahamic religious traditions in general (it's so important in Islam, for example, that it is considered one of the five pillars of the faith). We see it as 'unspiritual', 'worldly', and the like. But part of living in community is... well, supporting that community? If you like the services and institutions that your community provides, they have to be maintained, you know?

And we see that play out in the writings of, John Chrysostom, for example, where he suggests prayer itself should be prefaced with putting aside a little bit of wealth to be given as alms. We see it at Catholic Masses, where the act of placing money in the collection basket is closely linked to the act of making an offering to God. Almsgiving and prayer are two central pillars of the Christian ethical life.

But, let's go back to Paul. (I'm partly relying on commentary from the NABRE for this, for the record.) There was a series of famines that occurred throughout the eastern part of the Roman Empire in the 40s and 50s AD. This is reported in Acts 11, and corroborated by Josephus (Antiquities of the Judeans 20:2:5) and Tacitus (Annals, 12.43). Judea seems to have been hit pretty hard; Josephus records a Parthian queen and convert to Judaism who gave a lot of alms to Jerusalem in order to relieve the stressed populace, and Acts records that (at the prompting of a prophet named Agabus) many of the Church's early leadership resolved to send relief funds to Jerusalem.

Paul seems to have taken this charity project to heart. It's mentioned in multiple letters dated from the early to late 50s. It is mentioned in Romans 15:26 that the Macedonian church participated in this money-raising effort, and in 2 Corinthians 8 Paul prefaces his request for donations by making reference to the big sacrifice the Macedonian Christians had made, "according to their means, [Paul] can testify, and beyond their means" (8:3). Paul is now asking the Corinthians to do the same, out of love for their brethren in Jerusalem.

Is Paul attempting to pressure the Corinthians into giving money? Yes, absolutely; in fact, he's using the Macedonian church to shame them into giving. Paul is a missionary, trying hard to keep the communities that he helped to establish going. And part of that involves fundraising, as distasteful as we might find that to be. Paul needs money to perform the ministries that he is trying to perform. And he needs money for a goal that he clearly deems to be very important: helping fellow believers in a time of intense difficulty.

[16woodsequ]

Weekly headcannon ask!

Do you have any headcannons or opinions on Steve and his dads relationship?

Hi! Sorry this took a bit, but here we are!

I do have some headcanons about Steve’s dad, and because I’m me, a lot of them are pretty angsty, so be warned!

TW: discussion of child abuse, ableism, and alcoholism

So first off, we have to talk about whether or not Steve’s dad is even alive. I’ve discussed this a little in a previous headcanons post, but Steve’s dad is technically dead in the mcu. Steve says he died of mustard gas. In the comics of course, Steve’s dad makes it home from the war, and is generally a terrible person.

I usually headcanon that Steve lied about when exactly his dad died. If Steve’s’ dad made it back from the war, then I headcanon he was a gas casualty at some point, and had lung issues afterwards. If he then died from something like influenza, then Steve could technically claim he died from mustard gas, without it being 100% a lie.

I headcanon that Steve does this, because I headcanon that Joseph Rogers (if he survives the war) is abusive. I imagine Sarah Rogers told Steve that he came back from the war a different person, and I can see Steve thinking to himself that the mustard gas killed his dad, just slower.

So anyways, that is an easy way to work around Steve’s claim that his dad died from mustard gas. If Joseph was abusive I can see Steve sort of wishing his dad had died in the war like he claimed. 

Joseph Rogers’ A+ Parenting

I haven’t read the comics, so I am not sure if any of them expand on why exactly Joseph is abusive, but I imagine it has a few layers to it. For one, he is a veteran who is no doubt dealing with trauma in a time period when the effects of shellshock are not fully recognised. Alcohol is a common self-medicating tool, and I can see Joseph turning to that for relief.

Add onto that Joseph being a gas casualty, I usually headcanon that it is harder for him to breath after the war. PTSD and difficulty breathing would be a frustrating loss of control for someone like Joseph, and that isn’t even taking into account the daily stress of living in poverty as an Irish-Catholic.

And then there is Steve himself. Steve is chronically ill. He wouldn’t be the ideal son. His illness would cost money, and his breathing problems would probably remind Joseph too much of his own issues.

Ableism would be an easy thing for Joseph to latch on to. Eugenics was popular in that time period, and I can see Joseph seeing Steve as the embodiment of a lot of his anger. He went to war and barely made it back to his wife and child, but his child is sickly and can hardly breathe, and when he gets sick he uses up money that they don’t have.

Of course, Joseph wouldn’t be helping anything. I imagine he would have worked as much as he could, but it is debatable how well he could hold a job. I usually headcanon that he died right before the Great Depression, so he didn’t have to deal with that, but even if jobs were more available in the 1920s, I think his alcoholism would be his worst enemy and lose him jobs every couple of years or so, if not more frequently.

Sarah would be working too, since working class women would be more likely to work than middle class women, but I can see Joseph being sore about that too. I imagine every time he lost his job he was extra bitter about the fact that he had to rely on his wife’s work to survive. Toxic masculinity was deeply entrenched in that time period, so feeling emasculated would not have helped Joseph’s mood at all. 

As for how often he drank, it is kind of hard to say. Technically prohibition was going on, but it was easy enough to drink in speakeasies most of the time. I’m not sure how easy it would be for him to buy alcohol and drink it at home, but it would be realistic for him to come home drunk.

Even if he had work that could be the case, since I imagine his work buddies would often go out for a drink after their shift. Of course, Joseph’s drinking would do nothing to help the financial situation of the family.

Joseph and Steve

I imagine Joseph was abusive and was a violent drunk, but while I think he hurt Steve, I don’t think he regularly beat him to a pulp. This is mostly because if he did that, then Steve would die. Steve is sick enough that I don’t think he would survive regular all-out beatings.

Of course, that doesn’t mean Joseph didn’t grab, push, hit, etc. But I think his anger tunnel-visioned on things, so if he were distracted away from it, or Steve managed to get out of the general area, then his focus would be taken elsewhere.

I think Joseph did a lot of damage with his words though. I imagine he yelled a lot about Steve’s inadequacies and how Steve is a waste of money, etc. That kind of thing would stick with Steve for a long time, and I can see him trying to be the least of a burden possible in response.

In general, living with Joseph would put anyone on edge. Even when he wasn’t actively hurting people, he could still get mad over basic things that remind him of his helplessness. Being around him would be like walking on eggshells. I imagine young-Steve flinched at loud noises and slamming doors, and yelling, but also tried not to show it, because his dad didn’t like him ‘being a coward’.

Also, I headcanon that adult Steve never really liked the smell of alcohol, especially on other people. I think part of him was a little glad that the serum made it so he couldn’t get drunk, because that means he can never get violent like his dad. I think Steve was always a little afraid of letting his temper get the best of him after the war, and so he tried to bury his feelings instead of dealing with them, because he didn’t want to turn out like his dad. 

Good times

As all humans, Joseph would have his good days. Maybe he found a new job, or maybe something else put him in a good mood, but sometimes he would come home without being angry.

Those would be hard days too, in a way, because Steve and Sarah wouldn’t know if something would set Joseph off—and some days, acting worried that he will get mad would be enough to make him mad.

But I think Steve must have at least a few good memories of his dad. Maybe his dad being proud of him for a good grade in school, or maybe even being proud of him for facing off against bullies and telling them what’s what.

I think sometimes Joseph would try to treat Steve as though he were the son he wanted. He would chat with him about things they could do together ‘as men’, or he would tell him stories of his own boyhood days...but then, inevitable Steve would get sick again, and Joseph’s good humour would wash away.

Others and Joseph

I don’t think Joseph’s abusiveness was a very well kept secret. Tenement building walls are thin, and I imagine the neighbours knew what was going on. But I doubt Joseph was the only loud/violent drunk in the building.

Bucky might not have known the full extent of what was happening—because he was a kid—but he would have seen some of the bruises, and maybe Steve’s initial cautiousness around his own dad, and he would come to the correct conclusion. I don’t think Steve talked a lot about what was happening, but he would probably talk about his dad getting angry about certain things, or breaking stuff sometimes.

I imagine Bucky’s mom knew more about what was going on, and would do her best to help Sarah out, but Sarah would be in a tough spot. Divorce and single-motherhood were generally frowned upon, and her poverty would also make it harder to leave Joseph.

As for Steve’s teachers etc. I think most of them suspected too. But I don’t think much came about from it. Interesting fact, doctors were not legally required to report child abuse cases until the 60s.  

Joseph death

This is a headcanon I’ve had laying around that I haven’t been able to put anywhere yet, but I headcanon that Joseph died of influenza when Steve was between 8 and 10. Given their poverty, I think Joseph would have died at home, which is kind of horrible, since that would mean Steve was around to watch his dad get sicker and sicker, and then eventually die.

As an extra cruelty, I think Joseph would be pretty peeved at dying this way, and I can see him vindictively telling Steve that he will die this way too one day, since he gets so sick all the time. I can just see Joseph being spiteful and saying something like that while Steve is trying to look after him while Sarah is working.

MCU canon Joseph

I also have a few thoughts for if Joseph did die in the war, and didn’t come back. I’ve seen content speculating that Steve wanted to join the army because his dad was a soldier. I don’t know if the comics say that anywhere, but I usually headcanon otherwise.

I think having a father who died in war (or having an abusive one afterwards), and seeing what that did to Sarah, Steve would know all too well what war could do to people. 

No doubt Steve’s father would be on his mind while he tried to enlist, but I think saying he wanted to join mainly because his father was a soldier takes away from the heart of the reason Steve wanted to join—he felt like Hitler needed to be stopped, and he didn’t have a right not to do something about it.   

Well, that got longer than I thought it would, but I hope you enjoyed! 

Headcanon masterpost

[thatesqcrush]

Christmas Confessions

Rafael Barba x Reader. @itsjustmyfantasyroom requested: Hey lovely, may I please have a Bryan Kneef or Rafael Barba or both 😉 x reader for your holiday bingo for the mistletoe square. Semi public would be delicious 😘

Ask & ye shall receive. I went with Barba. This is super fluff with a hint of sexy. Timeline wise this is after The Undiscovered Country, but Rafael never left - pretty current to s.22 (spoiler warning: with Kat having joined and Carisi is an ADA.)

WC: 1235

--

"You have no choice, you have to come.” Sonny commented to his mentor who was busily scribbling on a yellow notepad.

"You really are like a dog with a bone, Carisi. I said no, I'm not up to it. Besides, I have back logged reports to work on that Hadid said that she needed ASAP.” Rafael replied as he continued working, not bothering to look up at the younger ADA.

"Don't give me that crap, Barba. I'm not buying it. You're just looking for any excuse to not go.” Sonny replied, crossing his arms against his chest. "Just come for an hour; pop in, get some punch and say hi. Besides…" he continued, "Y/N is there now."

Barba grunted before taking a sip of his lowball glass filled with scotch. "What makes you think I want to see Y/N?"

"Barba, you seem to forget that I used to be a detective. And now, I’m an ADA. if I can't tell what's going in someone's head then I am doing a pretty shitty job. Sonny replied honestly. "She doesn't know.” He added for good measure, not wanting his friend to stress.

Rafael looked up at Sonny, letting out a deep exhale as he did so. "If I go will I get you off my back?"

Sonny cheered. "Carmen owes me twenty bucks; she told me that I'd never be able to convince you to come."

"It's great to know that my emotional well-being feeds gambling addicts.” Barba muttered sardonically. He looked at the pile of reports he had to finish. “I’ll go for one drink, say hello, and come back.” He told himself as he grabbed his phone, camel wool coat and scarf.

**

The 16th precinct - SVU division was brightly decorated with gaudy holiday decorations that looked like they came from way back when God walked the Earth. Holiday music filled the room as people chatted and laughed.

Rafael walked in slowly, following behind Sonny. Rafael scanned the room in search of you and he sucked in breath as you appeared in his line of vision. You wore a snug red top which accentuated the swells of your breasts and a black leather mini skirt – the look complete with knee high boots and a Santa hat adorned on your head. You were busy chatting with Kat and Fin when you caught Rafael out of the corner of your eye.

You smiled brightly at Sonny and Rafael, waving them in as you did so. "Merry Christmas guys! Sonny, I see you managed to drag Rafael out of his office. Carmen owes you what? Twenty-bucks now?"

Sonny laughed, "Yeah, something like that."

"Care for a drink? I made my famous coquito.” You turned your attention to back to Rafael.

"You made coquito?” Rafael questioned; his eyes were wide. “Uh, yeah that would be great. I haven’t had that in ages.” Rafael found himself suddenly parched. He assumed it was his nerves getting the best of him. He watched you saunter off, your hips swaying suggestively, and Rafael wondered if you knew how much sex appeal you dripped on a day to day basis. He hadn’t meant to fall for you – the fresh detective that came straight from the Academy since SVU had been so short-staffed after Sonny left to join the DA’s office.

**

What was one drink – turned into many more. Hours later, Rafael found himself enjoying the holiday party, though he assumed it was mostly due to the fact that the coquito was spiked with a lot of rum. Watching his colleagues get drunk around him was amusing. He had always had a high tolerance for alcohol, so it took him longer to feel any effect, especially since the drinks were served in bitty paper cups. But still, he felt pleasantly relaxed.

You made your way over to Rafael who was lounging on the sofa that was brought out from the breakroom. You plopped yourself into his lap, but your balance was off. Rafael was quick to steady you onto his lap. You scooched a bit to make yourself more comfortable and Rafael silently groaned.

"Whoa!” You giggled. "Thanks Rafael."

"Not a problem.” Rafael replied flustered. "Too much to drink detective?"

"No, not at all. High tolerance runs in my family. We're champs.” You rambled and Barba arched a brow at you. He had had more than one conversation with you to know that was a lie if he ever heard one.

"Sure…" he agreed, knowing disagreeing with someone under the influence always led to bad repercussions. You snuggled herself against his chest, your legs dangling over his.

"I just love the holidays.” You mused. "What about you Rafael?"

"Uh, not necessarily.” Rafael replied as honestly as he could. “It’s become over commercialized and it’s true meaning has been lost. And as a lapsed Catholic –”

"That's a shame.” You replied mournfully cutting him off. "Oh!" you suddenly interjected, your previous thought and emotion quickly forgotten. "What did you ask for this Christmas?"

"Nothing.” Rafael replied. "You?"

You chose to ignore his question by further probing his lack of want this upcoming holiday season. "Were you a naughty boy this year Rafael Barba?" You wagged your finger, and made a disappointed sound.

Rafael coughed, startled by your loaded question. "No, I was… fine; my usual self."

You pondered his comment thoughtfully. "Well, then you deserve something for your efforts."

"Such as?" Rafael wondered out loud, his brow cocked once more in your direction. He hadn't realized it until that very moment, but you had placed his hands on the tops of your thighs. He was positive that you could hear feel his pulse racing but apparently you either didn't notice or didn't care. He was unsure and preferred to not misinterpret your actions.

You bopped him on the chin and pointed above. Rafael moved his gaze from you to where you were pointing and sure enough, mistletoe had been hung from the ceiling.

Rafael returned his gaze towards yours, feeling his cheeks burn. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. The kiss caught Rafael by surprise initially, but soon he found himself kissing you back. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, seeking entrance and you opened your mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss. You let out a low moan as your lips tangled passionately. You ran your hands through his salt and pepper hair, gripping the back of his head. He nipped at your bottom lip which earned him another moan, this one more earnest.

Silence reigned the room as the onslaught of lookers watched in shock. The gossip tonight would be tomorrow's headlines around the precinct.

You pulled away and lowered your lips to his ear, "“Like I said, you deserve something for being such a good boy.” Rafael didn’t miss how your voice was laced with lust.

He chuckled as you rested your forehead against his. "Excuse me?"

"I know about your feelings for me; I've known for a while.” You confessed before pressing a quick peck on his lips.

"How about we get out of here?" You suggested. “I could use some fresh air.” Rafael nodded, helping you up. Rafael helped you with your coat and then grabbed his. You both left, hand in hand and the party continued to stare dumbfounded at what they had just seen.

"Damn.” Sonny replied as he took another swig of his beer. “Carmen owes me a lot more than twenty bucks."

FIN.

**

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