#santo do día

[carloskaplan]

Santa Rosa de Lima, de Murillo (ca. 1668)

[zorrxchicle]

txicas aguantemos novo temazo da samantha hudson nunha semana ✨💖

[solxs]

Victoria miserable.

Cómo empiezo? Cómo lo afronto? Cómo aprendo a vivir sin nosotros?

No sé siquiera si quiero hacerlo.

Lo que teníamos no era débil, y con esa fuerza supimos sobrevivir tanto tiempo.

Los malos tiempos nunca nos ganaron, y los buenos momentos nos elevaban aún más.

Fuimos dos héroes que se llevaban toda la gloria, juntos.

Aún en mi historia seguís siendo el santo, te sigo adorando.

Y un día de mayo todo dejo de ser. Gracias por nada. Gracias por el dolor. Eso es todo lo que me trae este amor que espera por vos.

Cada parte de mí te la di. Solías adorarme, ahora soy el villano en tu historia.

Sangro gratis una victoria miserable.

CosmosNea

[tiredfox64]

Hi! I love your work, especially your Bi-Han writings. Not sure if you're taking requests, but would you write something for Mavado x Reader? Honestly any prompt is fine, there's literally no Mavado/Reader content and we need some 😭

It Only Takes 7 Días

Yip notes: Everybody stfu and let me cook. Gotta make something sweet for the fuckin people. (PS I actually had this set up in my drafts before and this encouraged me to finish it seeing that others are desperate).

Pairing: Mavado x Afab reader

Warnings ‼️: Suggestive kinda?

Everyone knows Mavado dedicates himself to the Red Dragon clan. He’s a man who listens and obeys Daegon’s command. A man who will bring hellfire upon anyone who disturbs his clan such as Kabal and Kano. All he knows is his duty and his clan. He is uninterested in such things as dating.

Or so everyone thought.

Mavado isn’t dumb. He could never allow anyone to know about you. It’s for your own safety. Heaven forbid Daegon finds out about you, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill you just to keep Mavado’s attention. Kano and Kabal would do so much worse. They would probably hold you hostage to force Mavado into giving up every piece of information about the Red Dragon clan. He would never forgive himself if he let the one person he truly loves get hurt. He had to be all hush hush, sometimes meaning he spent little time with you. He’ll make it up to you. He’s a man of his word. This whole week will be for you.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

You heard tapping on your balcony door. Little taps as if rocks were being flicked against the glass. You got up from your bed and slid open the balcony door. When you looked down below you saw Mavado holding a bouquet of flowers just for you. He had a smug grin on his face. He knows how to capture your heart.

“Trying to make up for lost time?” You asked.

“I think it’s obvious, mi reina.” Relax, papi chulo.

You smile as you begin to back away from the railing of the balcony. You knew Mavado wouldn’t come up the regular way. You saw his grappling hook wrap around the railing before he flung himself up. Of course, he landed perfectly since he had done this a thousand times. He handed you the bouquet before placing a kiss on your cheek.

El domingo empieza el juego de seducción

It’s never just one kiss. It’s always more. On your cheeks, on your forehead, on your lips, and on your neck. His stubble lightly scratches your skin, causing you to giggle. His arms wrapped around your waist so he could pull you in close. You jokingly told him to stop but you knew he never would. In fact, he started placing quick kisses on your neck before returning to your lips.

“We should get you back inside. I’ll help warm you up.” He whispered in your ear before picking you up.

Anyone with a somewhat developed frontal lobe knows what’s about to happen. Mavado was being truthful. He would help warm you up…without any clothes on. Body heat does count. It worked, didn’t it? You were sweating and panting by the end of the night. Knocked you out and left you curled up in his arms.

Monday night, una velada entre tú y yo

By the morning, Mavado was already gone. That’s not unusual. What was unusual was how early you got to see him again. He was back by the early evening. The sun hadn’t fully set yet.

The moment you walked through the door he came up behind you to give you a hug. You were spooked at first before you felt that familiar scratch when he kissed your cheek. You immediately relaxed from his touch and he chuckled about your tiny freakout.

“What? You didn’t expect me to come back?”

“Not really. You’re not really a man who stays for two nights in a row.”

Mavado acted like he was shocked but his face did not portray that. He still had that devilish smirk on his face which meant he had plans for you and him.

“I did want to make up for lost time.”

“Does that mean we are going for a second round?” You asked with a grin.

“If that’s what you want. But I was thinking of something more romantic. Whatever you want, mi reina.” Good heavens, Mavado. You’ll strike the hearts of many.

That evening was romantic, Mavado made sure of that. A nice dinner and great music. He literally swept you off your feet. If you didn’t know how to dance bachata before you surely did now. You can’t live your whole life without knowing how to dance bachata.

And as you requested, you both had a second round in bed. The Devil’s Tango.

Martes, te hago mi novia en París

You were surprised to see Mavado still in bed with you in the morning. He really was staying to make up for lost time. His hands traced up your body as your eyes adjusted to the morning light. You looked so majestic to him with the way you looked so relaxed and the only thing covering you were the sheets.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. You ready for another day with your favorite man?” He asked with a cocky tone.

“You plan to spoil me like you usually do?”

“Of course. And what better place to do it but in Outworld. The culture is rich I can assure you.”

A trip to another realm? Fancy. He’s not wrong either. He has traveled around Outworld and knows the best spots to find goods. The finest pieces of jewelry and best-designed clothes will be yours. Just say the word and Mavado will give it to you, one way or another.

Get ready, put your best outfit on, and don’t leave your place without a smile. Mavado wants that smile to stay on all day long.

By Wednesday, you'll love me the way it should be

Y el jueves, el anillo down on my knees te propongo matrimonio, dices que sí

The first half of the week was amazing. You couldn’t remember a time when you weren’t smiling or giggling. You thought that this week couldn’t get any better. You are wrong and for once, that’s a good thing.

You were standing outside on your balcony, watching the sunset. The sky was painted with yellow, pink, and orange. The golden light illuminated you beautifully. You were like a shining star in Mavado’s eyes. He came up beside you and you immediately rested your head on his shoulder. His hand rested gently on top of yours. You thought this was another romantic moment before you felt him messing with your ring finger. He was trying to lift it slightly and you felt something cold against it. You turned to look at him before pulling your hand away.

“Heh, I thought I was better at being sneaky. Well, guess I should be upfront with you.” He said.

You were confused about what he meant till you saw him get down on one knee. In his hand was the ring of your dreams. The band was the metal you wanted, shining in the light. The gem was your favorite and cut in the shape you desired. The ring was beautiful. This moment was beautiful. What do you have to say about this?

“Yes!”

Friday, we'll marry wherever you want

You guys got married in secret. No paperwork or the pope’s approval. Your love was true and that’s all that mattered. You guys killed two birds with one stone by having a destination wedding. Wherever you wanted, you went. It could have meaning or it could be fun. The choice was yours. Mavado would make it happen and follow through. All for his lovely bride.

Luna de miel es el sábado, hermoso final

The day after your makeshift wedding you two spent your time enjoying a new destination together. It’s a dream come true. But you did have one question for Mavado.

“I’m surprised you’re not quick to return to the Red Dragon. I would have thought you’d return to them sooner.”

“I am still loyal to my clan of course. But I am also loyal to you. The clan could wait, I couldn’t make you wait any longer.” He brought your hand up and placed a kiss on it.

Your new husband is truly loyal to you.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

“Where is Mavado!” Daegon yelled in frustration.

This was unlike the cruel crime lord. He doubted Mavado got killed since he was always super careful. So where the heck was he?

“Maybe he’s got a girlfriend now.” Hsu Hao suggested.

Daegon snapped his neck to glare at the idiot. His eye might have started twitching as well.

“Hsu Hao, you’re a bigger idiot than my brother. You’re loyal, but an idiot. Never in a million years would Mavado waste his time by dating. Don’t say another word to me.”

Unfortunately for you, Daegon, Hsu Hao is right. There ain’t nothin you could do about it.

Yap notes: unfortunately we never had a chance 😭. I mean when his name is basically malvado (literally accidentally call him that all the time) could we really expect him to love?

This feels satisfying to do and finish. This may be very headcanony but what can you do when we haven’t seen him in a long time. I can’t even find much for him when it came to the 3D era so I can’t figure out his speech patterns. I did my best and I hope this makes some people happy. Adiós!

[empty-cryptid]

Some episodes I want to see if an Encanto TV series is made:

Beach day

Family road trip

Young triplets

An episode focused on each grandkid- we get to see their rooms and their stories

Young Alma and Pedro

Rat sidestory

Madrigals make a play

Triplets doing something like baking or cooking together

Bruno, Félix, and Agustín have a guy's night

The first triplet birthday after Bruno returns

Christmas episode

Colombian traditions and holidays like Día de Los Santos Inocentes

So much can be done with this family. Not making a series would be a mistake.

Any more episode ideas to add to the list? 📺

[brincandodeserfeliz]

Eres mi perla, el latido que le faltaba a mi corazón, el incienso santo que a Dios presento a la mañana y tarde, la sonrisa de mí alma... Sin ti la razón de mí existencia fenece entre juncos, la voz se me anuda, pierde su timbre de plata, y se torna tosca.... Amor, eres la luz y sonido de mis días, las huellas que sigo en la arena, la más linda de todas las creaturas.

Você é minha pérola, a batida que faltava em meu coração, o santo incenso que apresento a Deus pela manhã e à noite, o sorriso da minha alma... Sem você a razão da minha existência morre entre os juncos, minha voz fica embaraçada , perde o timbre prateado e fica grosseiro.... Amor, você é a luz e o som dos meus dias, as pegadas que sigo na areia, a mais bela de todas as criaturas.

Autoria de @chiwualanquia

💗💞

[esallaum1995]

El círculo vicioso...

Eso eras tú, mi círculo vicioso del cual por más que intenté salir de el tantas veces... No pude hacerlo!

Te amaba tanto que no podía ver o tal vez aceptar que todo estaba mal. Eras todo para mí que estaba dispuesta a hacer lo que sea por ti y nada más me importaba que el que estuviéramos juntos.

Me perdí en los recuerdos y la nostalgia que sentía por todas las cosas que viví contigo y ahora entiendo que hacer cosas por primera vez con alguien si amas a esa persona te marca el corazón y el alma.

Te marcan para siempre y los recuerdos se vuelven en contra tuyo, porque cuando estás enamorada no importa cuanto ese alguien te lastimo, tú no piensas en lo malo, tan solo recuerdas los momentos felices que viviste con esa persona y eso no te deja soltar y mucho menos olvidar.

Ya hace casi dos años desde que tú y yo terminamos, porque tú así lo querías, porque simplemente nunca te importo una mierda mis sentimientos y cuanto yo te amaba, me fuiste infiel y has vuelto a revolver todo una y otra vez... Siempre justificas lo que hiciste e incluso tienes el descaro de negarlo.

Pero sabes que... Eso me demuestra y cada día me deja más claro que tú no vales nada!!

Te ame con todo mi corazón en cuerpo y alma. En serio lo hacía, porque fuiste todo para mí... Te di lo mejor de mi y siempre fuí honesta contigo, te conté todo, hasta lo más oscuro. Y tú qué hiciste?

Dudar de mi... Usaste en mi contra las cosas que te conté en confianza y al final de tan santo y correcto que te creías que me terminaste siendo infiel.

Mientras estuvimos juntos, jamás vi a nadie más que tú. Nunca traicione tú confianza y tú "amor", porque no tenía ojos para nadie más que tú. Siempre respete nuestra relación porque para mí tú eras con quién yo quería estar por el resto de mi vida.

Planeamos tantas cosas juntos que tan solo quedaron en un plan, solo fueron palabras vacías. Y tal vez yo nunca voy a entender porqué cambiaste tanto...

Dejaste tantas dudas, preguntas que nunca tendrán una respuesta, pero para qué quiero tus respuestas? Ya no vale la pena como tú no vales nada! Siempre fue así y yo no lo podía ver. Me culpe tantas veces por ti y llegué a pensar que todo lo que paso fue por mi, pero tú siempre fuiste quién no sabía lo que quería realmente.

Cuando te conocí eras una persona herida y yo también estaba mal... Te vi llorar tantas veces que sentía tu tristeza y dolor y siempre estuve ahí para ti.

Yo siempre te apoye y jamás te juzgue como tú lo hiciste conmigo... Mi amor por tí era puro y sincero.

Y tal vez en esta vida nunca encuentres un amor como el mío, jamás nadie te va amar como yo lo hice.

Jamás en tu vida serás feliz después de mi, porque soy inolvidable y lo sabes bien!! Amor como el mío y personas como yo, las conoces solo una vez en tú vida.

Pero cuando reacciones y te des cuenta de lo que perdiste y dejaste ir será muy tarde ya.

Ya no me busques, no me escribas ni me llames... Tan solo déjame vivir en paz y seguir con mi vida, como tú lo hiciste, porque lo merezco más que tú y lo sabes bien!

Porque ahora tu serás quien sufre... Mi ausencia y mi recuerdo van a atormentarte y te juro que voy aparecer hasta en tus pesadillas, estaré en tus pensamientos en tu alma y tú corazón... Porque todo tiene un precio y tú me debes demasiado.

Que esté circulo vicioso llegué a su fin.

_Esallaum. 📝🖤✨🎶

[wreckmetoji]

Pastries and Peaches

A fic in which your local priest convinces you to help with the Easter bake sale

↳ Nicholas D. Wolfwood/M!Reader

content warning. amab reader, profanity, so much religion, smoking, oral sex, anal sex, daddy kink, creampie, fluff, soft wolfwood STILL makes me weak in the knees

this fic only exists because i was showed the most godawful peach hawaiian shirt at academy sports and my immediate thought was "wolfwood would absolutely wear that". happy easter!

minors DNI

A continuation of Angel Eyes, Cold Heart.

8.3k words

Easter bakesales; the heart of any good God-fearing suburban family. Only they can get you to feel too guilty to say no to their blue-eyed, blonde-haired cookie cutter children trying to sell you Betty Crocker instant brownies made half-assed by trophy stay-at-home wine moms.

You never bothered attending in previous years. You were always the volunteer (read: coerced) kitchen slave working behind the scenes, pumping out ridiculous amounts of chocolate toffee cookies and lemon lavender blondies– something most everyone insisted was far too much of an acquired taste to do well at a church bake sale, but always seemed to sell out first three consecutive years in a row. Eat it, Susan.

This would be your first year actually showing up to the function; Father Wolfwood having managed to convince you quite thoroughly when he had you folded under him begging for more a couple weeks prior. You couldn't find yourself staying mad about it, even if you did initially give him a huff and the cold shoulder over the fact he took advantage of your... somewhat submissive nature in such a vulnerable position. But to be honest; you probably would have done it even if he'd asked you without incentive. Which, in itself, was a bit of a head scratcher for you– after all, why would you willingly surround yourself with the people you so vehemently loathed on the average Sunday? Why would you want to see them both of your free weekend days?

Regardless of how or why, it brought you here; rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you yawned away the last vestiges of blissful unawake, slouched over in a creaky old dining chair. Waking up at six in the morning wasn't new to you working full-time, but somehow it was so much harder on weekends when you knew you could still be curled up under the blankets warmed by another body.

Taking a deep breath, you eased yourself to sit up properly, tired eyes looking across the wooden table and locking onto your beloved priest as he flipped through some papers attached to a clip board– no doubt the preparations list for set-up and who was bringing what and when.

In his tired state, softer around the edges, you always found yourself taking an extra long moment to soak in the strange sense of domesticity that settled around you like rays of golden sun peaking through parts in tree leaves and branches. The lazy grin he would give you upon seeing your usually much more disheveled morning state first thing, the soft kiss he would place to your temple without fail on his way to the coffee maker, paired with the gentle warm of a hand on your hip.

Small things like that made your heart squeeze whenever you managed to experience it. It wasn't often you could stay over with him, but after being there a day or two a week over the course of several months you'd managed to get a good idea of the routine.

"Oh, Jesús, a través del Inmaculado Corazón de María, te ofrezco mis oraciones, trabajo, alegrías, sufrimientos de este día, en unión al Santo Sacrificio de la Misa para el mundo–"

It was the longest standing relationship you've had– let alone the longest standing healthy relationship– and you often found yourself staring at him with perplexed intrigue when things were quiet and intimate between you, when you would simply exist in the same space together. More than a few times had he met your gaze mid contemplation, always tipping his head quizzically at your furrowed brows and pouted lower lip.

And yes, you found yourself even more befuddled by it in moments like these, sat at his shitty little two-seat dining table in the lofted living space of a church, clad in only your boxers and an oversized t-shirt that certainly wasn't your own. Befuddled by exactly what you found so endearing, what made this feel like two pieces of a puzzle locking together as Wolfwood murmured his morning prayers with his forehead in his hand, elbow propped up on the table.

The longest standing healthy relationship you've had also happened to be one kept secret from friends and family– and the entire general public, really. Sensibly. It was something that made you think every now and then, but you knew better than to look a gift in the mouth like that. Maybe not having other people constantly sticking their noses in your business allowed for a healthier personal dynamic, allowed you to look inwards for more introspection instead of having every other person giving you their shit opinion and clouding your judgement. Not like you were ever one to listen to advice you were given by your peers anyways.

"Hey, space cadet," His gruff morning voice catches your ears, not realizing you had temporarily gapped out in place observing the surprising softness that was Wolfwood. You blinked in return, shaking your head and inhaling deep.

"Sorry, still waking up. What did you say?"

"You okay to start setting up the tables outside while I get ready?" He asked, most likely a little slower this time.

Again, you were met with the glaringly obvious truth that despite you not being a motivated person, nor necessarily inclined to help out with anything that had to do with churches that contributed to your lifelong religious trauma; you would do anything for Wolfwood. You didn't even give it a second thought before shrugging, nodding your head while gazing at the disgustingly dark liquid in the mug before you. Wolfwood always said I don't have creamer, you don't need creamer, and you always tried to argue that you don't hate yourself quite enough to drink black coffee on a regular basis. He'd just laugh.

As if sensing the disdain simmering just under the surface, you heard Wolfwood snort, immediately followed by him standing from place and pacing over to the ancient fridge. You quirked a brow, watching him reach down to the lower section of the door, before stepping back over to the table.

The vanilla sweetened creamer thunked down in front of you normally wouldn't be such a big deal, not if you hadn't known the only reason he had it was for you specifically. That blanket of domesticity washed over you once again, heart squeezing and chest feeling tight. It wasn't like you to settle into something so comfortable and be fine with it, not run from the possibility of something steady or stable.

Perhaps that's why he didn't say anything or expect anything, simply sitting back down in his seat with one leg crossed over the other, arm slung over the back of the chair as he continued reading through his list.

"Y'know, the toffee one is better," You murmured teasingly as you cracked the seal and poured a generous amount into your mug. He only scoffed, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

The longest standing, healthiest, most comfortable relationship you've had... and it was with your local small town priest. If God was real, at least he had a sense of humor.

Everything went by much quicker once you'd managed to wake yourself up– blissfully sweetened coffee being a large contributor– so you found yourself slightly less grumpy as you pulled out plastic tables and chairs from the storage room and walked them all the way around the side of the building to set up near the gazebo.

Rolling your sleeves up to your elbows, you turn your wrist to check the time, noting the influx of newest edition mom vans pulling into the gravel church parking lot. Most likely the keener I'm better than you families– grandmas definitely not excluded. The anxiety began to rise in your chest as you glanced towards the church, no sign of Wolfwood in sight.

Setting up the chairs and tables for the bake sale, you didn't mind doing. Having to be the personal greeter, you did mind, since you knew from the bottom of your heart you'd get some kind of out of pocket, backhanded comments from the more... devout personalities.

Deciding to choose your battles this early in the morning wasn't exactly on your agenda, but it's not like you had a choice as a couple of old women your mother surrounded herself with walked up the concrete stairs, immediately greeting you with quizzical looks. You force a tight smile, give a slight wave as you pull the metal legs out on a table and set it down to stand.

"What are you doing here? Where's Father Wolfwood?"

"I'm doing good this morning, thanks for asking, Deborah," You reply, setting up a few chairs behind the table before evening the vinyl tablecloth over the top. It was tacky; a white base covered in peaches with verdant leaves behind them.

Upon glancing up, you could see your snide reply went completely over their heads, only receiving the blank lead-poisoning stare as they awaited expectantly for you to answer their initial questions. With a sigh, you straightened your back, hearing the adjoining cracks in return.

"He's just getting things ready inside, should be out in a bit," You decidedly answer only one of the two questions, considering the other would be much more incriminating and you weren't ready to deal with that amicably.

They nodded, pleased with the answer, before chatting amongst themselves and setting their containers of baked goods down on the tables you had already set up.

At some point the sun started to rise up a little too high, beat down a little too warm, and the growing crowd of nosey church-goers was doing nothing but grating your nerves down to the bone. Arguments of where things would look better, demanding more chairs to be set up, and of course since you were the designated helper assigned by the beloved priest himself, you were to comply with any requests or suggestions. It certainly didn't help when your mother showed up either, commenting on how you could have worn a more formal shirt, or that you were scuffing up your good Sunday shoes. It was ironic, considering you were finally here after years of her harrassing you to attend. You couldn't ever please the woman.

With clenched teeth, you pinch bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger, heaving out a slow, even breath as another shrill voice joins the choir of opinions on what they think would be best, only to inevitably result in bickering and disagreements.

"Hey, looks good out here!" A voice you can only recognize as salvation calls out, and your eyes shoot open at the sliver of reprive Wolfwood's presence might give you–

But once your eyes catch the shirt he's wearing, you instantly run a blank.

It's ugly. Hideous, even; the pattern matching the tacky table cloths– a short sleeved button up no doubt meant to be a direct affront on any decent Hawaiian patterned shirt. Too many questions ran through your mind, wondering what in God's name possessed him to wear something so undeniably atrocious in the general public when he could have– no, should have– just worn a black shirt. As any priest should, one would assume.

Then again, Wolfwood wasn't ever one to fit in the mold.

It takes him a bit to make his way over to you, doing his due diligence of addressing the people that came more specifically to win brownie (ha) points with him than to assist in the actual bakesale in a helpful manner.

"Thanks for holdin' down the fort," He says to you, hand coming down to tug at one side of the table cloth you had just laid out to even the coverage.

"These table cloths are hideous. That shirt is hideous."

"Deborah said I look charming."

"Deborah is a fucking liar," You scoff in return, though can't help the amused smirk daring to curl at the corners of your lips as you take in the shirt more closely. It's unbuttoned maybe a bit too low to not be considered scandalous. Even your eyes managed to wander for a moment too long, taking in the barely visible curve of muscle underneath the loose fitting shirt, though it did hug his biceps nicely. "And she's been trying to hop on your dick for months now."

"Ohh, has she?" Wolfwood inquired, eyes wide and brows raised as if he was genuinely surprised by your statement, as if he genuinely hadn't been privy to the many subtle arm touches and playful invitations to join her for a private dinner.

You were going to laugh at his obliviousness, going to mock him, but before you could he was leaning in just a little bit closer, words whispered. "Care for a threesome?"

Asshole. Your nose scrunched, and that shit-eating, mocking grin on his face told you he wasn't as clueless as you had been made to believe.

Lifting an arm, your fingers curl inwards, holding back your usual playful slaps that were reserved for when it was just the two of you. If you'd had just a shred less self awareness you would have ended up throttling him directly in the shoulder, but both you and him knew you were pinned in a position where you were simply left to flounder, cheeks warm and brows furrowed.

"Fuck off, freak," You mutter to him, rolling your eyes and refocusing your attention on setting up clear plastic display cases for the baked goods.His laugh was boisterous, a sound that never failed to make your stomach twist in knots even now months later. The fact he had no fear in expressing how much he enjoyed your presence even to the public was always surprising, and it was something you wish you had the luxury of being able to return.

You didn't miss the subtle lean in, the bump of his shoulder against yours, before he was off to join with the masses in discussion of how everything would be set up, leaving you to your dirty work and heavy lifting.

Not too long after, everyone managed to get settled. You would have been a little more pissed off about the constant back and forth and carrying chairs from the church storage closet to outside when more and more people started showing up, but every time your frustration would bubble up and make your throat tight, you would catch eye of Wolfwood in that fucking disgusting shirt, and it would quickly fizzle away to be replaced with something else. Perhaps fondness wasn't quite the right word, because you're certain fondness wouldn't result in a grimace or a scrunched nose, but maybe something close to that.

Also, you couldn't deny that, as horrible as it was, you wanted nothing more than to tear it off of him. There was at least six hours left to this goddamn bake sale, so you quickly tucked that thought into the back of your mind.

Several hours passed, and since you were such a doting... church-goer, you had also taken the liberty of manning the cash box with your beloved priest. It's not that you would ever mind sitting next to Wolfwood for several hours on end, it was more the fact you were irate, and it was hot, and even though you were fanning yourself with your clipboard it didn't do a damn thing to protect you from the sun beating down directly on your pretty little head.

You were rocked back in your chair, head tossed back behind the back-rest, idly fanning yourself with the otherwise pointless clipboard. Most of the other patrons had taken refuge in the gazebo, seeming content to be shielded from the unforgiving April sun. The thought popped in your mind that nothing was stopping you from joining, but you'd far rather burn the shit out of your face and forearms sitting next to Wolfwood than sit in comfort with a gaggle of passive-aggressive church women.

Peeking an eye open, you peer up at Wolfwood through the corner of your eye only to find he was looking back at you with a self satisfied smirk. You'd like to say you've grown accustomed to his frequent stares and glances, but the attention still made you flush.

"Have I told you how gross that shirt is?" You grumble, trying to get the attention off of your quickly warming face.

"About six times today, yeah," Wolfwood mused in return.

"It makes you looks like a fishing dad."

"Guess I'm in luck, considering your type is older."

You clam up, jaw clenched tight at the observation. He wasn't wrong. He most certainly wasn't wrong. That didn't mean he needed to point it out so shamelessly.

Another scoff, and another muttered comment about ugly fucking shirt had him sitting upright in his chair, reaching for the cash box and idly counting the bills you have collected thus far.

"If you hate it so much, why don't you take it off me?"

Oh, now wasn't that a tempting offer. Surely Wolfwood had little to no idea that your sanity was holding on by a thread anyways, and his comment did nothing but egg you on further. All you did was hum, close your eyes, furrowed brows and tight-lipped scowl adorning your face as you continued to fan yourself.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it) for you, your religious companion didn't have the luxury of a clipboard to fan himself. He seemed to be bearing the heat just fine, comparatively, though you did make note of the way he sighed, the free hand that reached up to pop another button on his shirt, the droplet of sweat dripping down his temple.

Jesus fucking Christ, for being a priest he certainly was sin incarnate.

"Put those away before Deborah sees," You grumble, eyes locked onto the peek of sculpted muscle and smattering of tasteful chest hair.

Wolfwood barked a laugh, placing stacked bills back in the cash box and flicking the lock closed. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of smokes. Unbecoming of a priest, but it wasn't exactly a sin. "Why, are you worried she's going to steal me? Whisk me away in her two-thousand 'n eight Grand Caravan?"

Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was because you used up a perfectly good Saturday to sit in said broiling heat just because you were head over heels for your local priest, but you didn't respond in your usual snarky tone. Your tone was even, sharp, no-nonsense and matter-of-fact as you spoke, "No. I don't want people getting an eyeful of what's mine."

Wolfwood choked on his inhale, coughing a few times on a pull that was a little too sharp, the statement catching him by surprise. Your gazes lock, and you can see the bewildered expression, the disbelief brimming behind wide eyes.

There had never been a discussion whether or not the two of you were exclusive, never a discussion on exactly what the two of you were doing. It never seemed like the right time, and the answer was more complicated than both of you cared to explore. There had been simple passive implications, each of you going out of your way to show you care in the small ways you could. This was neither simple nor passive, it was a statement.

Never once had he looked like a deer in the headlights, not in the time you've known him, and it only fuelled your disgruntled desire further.

He huffed an amused exhale, shaking his head and smirking after he got his bearings. "Maybe you should go sit under the gazebo, I think this heat is gettin' to you." A dismissive statement that didn't go unnoticed by you, considering you yourself were the master of dismissing his playful remarks and harmless teasing.

You didn't take his advice, staying right where you were despite your growing agitation the longer the day went on. The crowd began to disperse, thankfully deciding that they should help after sitting around all day being the textbook definition of useless.

Every emotion swirling inside of you came to a header as you were folding up the tables and chairs, preparing to lug them back inside to the storage closet so you can go home and take a long cold shower. A few of the chair clips didn't click, a table leg got stuck in the grass, and an insurmountable heap of other tiny inconveniences had you huffing in poorly concealed anger as you leaned over a table, fingertips ghosting over the clip on the other side but unable to reach it. A growl of frustration passed your throat, but before you could yell an obscenity, a body that was far too warm pressed in close behind you, reaching a longer tanned arm out and flicking the plastic latch for you.

"There ya go, short stuff."

Normally, you'd be muttering a quiet thanks, accepting the condescending help with relieved frustration– but you felt the sweat dripping down your back stick to your shirt when he came in close, could feel the heat of Wolfwood's damn near bare chest pressing into your back making it more unbearably hot, and the press of his pelvis into your hip had your mind finally breaking.

When he backed off, you were quick to stand, and judging by the reaction on the priest's face you were probably scowling up a storm. "Help me bring this shit to the storage closet. Now."

The demand was clipped, fingers tugging at the metal supports of a few chairs leaned up against the outer wall of the church and storming off towards the front entrance. You didn't hear Wolfwood following behind, but you were sure he was aware enough of your foul mood to follow through with what was requested of him.

Using a little more force than necessary, you pushed the front door open with your shoulder, stomped your way over to the storage closet, and dumped the handful of chairs onto the hardwood floor with a lack of grace. It was significantly cooler in here, at least, and you hadn't bothered turning the lights on in your rush.

The door opened up behind you, light peeking in before fading away again when it closed. "Hey, are you– where's the damn light switch," Wolfwood sighed, leaning the table he was carrying up against the door to the storage room in favor of palming at the wall, searching for the light.

The sound of Wolfwood's voice added to your irritation, his half voiced question, the fact that he's run this church for over a year and he didn't know where the fucking storage room light switch was–

You didn't think before you turned on your heel, reaching out to grab a fistful of the priest's shirt and giving him a tug. He audibly protested for the briefest of moments before you were pushing your lips up into his with bruising force. He took a half step back, but your grip on his shirt only wound tighter, tugging him back.

It didn't take him long to hum, for a hand to find your waist, for a slow, deliberate pressure pressed in on his end. The way he kissed was surprisingly sweet, tender, and that frustration that had been simmering in the pit of your gut all day finally boiled over. You didn't want sweet, you didn't want tender.

With a low growl of disapproval, you pushed forwards, foregoing any sweetness in favor of parting to clamp your teeth down on the exposed skin of his collarbone in a manner just shy of aggressive. Certainly, you weren't strong nor imposing enough to be able to walk the priest backwards as easily as you did, especially since he had an aversion to not being in control at any given time of intimacy. He was giving you this, allowing you to walk him back into the wall, which was significantly closer than either of you had initially thought. A winded noise came from the depths of his chest when broad shoulders collided with poorly insulated drywall, the resounding thump falling on deaf ears as Wolfwood reeled, elbow hitting the lightswitch.

"Ah– there it is," He breathed, umber brown eyes flitting down to meet your sharp gaze, to watch as your deft fingers impatiently tugged at whatever remaining buttons were still holding his ugly ass slutty fucking shirt together.

"Shit, Jesus," Wolfwood grunted, brows furrowed as he cupped your hands in his own, trying and failing to halt you in your tracks long enough for him to ask exactly what had gotten into you.

Truthfully, you didn't think you could give him a reasonable and coherent answer. Remnants of your epiphany from earlier that morning rang bells in the back of your mind, you were agitated by the heat, by the amount of bullshit and idiots you had dealt with today, and if you had to spend one more second looking at this stupid peach patterned shirt instead of tanned broad muscle you were going to have an aneurysm.

He seemed to get the idea that there was no stopping you as you persisted, slipping your hands out of his grip just to move back and continue working. For some reason, his teasing was more irritating, less endearing than it usually was.

"Y'know I was just teasin' you earlier about takin' this off of–"

"Please shut up."

Your brusque tone caught him off guard, you could tell, but you really couldn't find it in yourself to care when you already felt your erection straining against the tight of your slacks.

But, much as you should have expected, Wolfwood was quick to catch your wrists in a tight grip when you got to the final button, when the shirt fell open to reveal warm tanned skin and the dark trail of hair disappearing into his pants. It didn't matter how many times you got a look at him, you still felt tight in the chest, stomach still twisting in response. With your wrists bound, you couldn't do much past pushing up onto the balls of your feet, creasing your Sunday shoes to crush your lips against his again.

This time, it was more teeth and tongue than lips, and Wolfwood didn't seem to hesitate to give as good as he got. He gave you that, at the very least.

"What's the deal," Wolfwood muttered when he pulled back just out of reach, despite how much you tried to chase him. "Yer bein' a needy brat."

A knee pushed forwards, pressing between your legs and nudging up against your growing problem as if to emphasize his question, further prove his observation. The way you exhaled quick, the way you twitched and leaned forwards seemed to be enough to get you off the hook for now.

"Shit, angel– you're already hard?" His question was rhetorical, meant to mock. You knew this, but even the slightest bit of attention to your growing problem was enough to get you to fold.

Up until now, Wolfwood was never one to shy away from giving you what you needed; certainly not when you were the one to initiate– a rarity in itself. You only ever jumped him once when you were miserable and confused and drunk off your ass. So when you weren't met with the usual urgent touches, fingers digging into your pelvic bone as they shucked down your pants, you were confused. Frustrated. Agitated.

You knew better than anyone that Wolfwood was surprisingly perceptive, so the fact he was standing above you with an awfully smug smirk instead of doing anything set you off completely anew. You scowled up at him, pulled away and scoffed, before grabbing at a chair you had thrown on the floor. Unfolding it, you tossed it back to the floor, the legs rattling as it landed rightside up.

"If you're gonna be fucking useless at least take a seat to make it easier on me," You snapped. His smug expression didn't once falter, and he didn't once move. Asshole.

Lithe fingers reached out, curled around the buckle of his belt, and tugged with a little more force than necessary. Of course, you were of the understanding that Wolfwood wasn't exactly small, so either he stumbled forwards to mock you, or you genuinely caught him by surprise. Your hands dug into the relaxed muscle of his shoulders, pushing down, forcing him to sit on the chair you had so graciously set up for him.

"What's got you so–"

"I said please shut up," You cut in, taking your respective seat directly in his lap, close enough that your clothed erection was brushing up against his stomach and making you jolt.

You lean in, kisses messy and desperate, the stark contrast of your touch making him hum. One hand cupped the side of his neck, thumb brushing over the scratch of stubble on the cut of his jaw, gentle and reverent. The other was fisted in the back of his hair, angling his head back and making him groan into your greedy mouth.

He seemed to get the idea, though continued to do nothing to help. It appeared that was a common theme for him today, let you do all the work while he fucks around. What a piss-off.

With a low, frustrated growl, you inch back on his lap, hands abandoning their respectful positions to work at the buckle of his belt. His own shifted up, loosely landing on the dip of your waist, forearms resting heavy and warm on your thighs. A huffed exhale was breathed through your nose, tongue pushing into his mouth as you struggle for a moment too long. Finally getting it undone, you make an airy noise of satisfaction at feeling his hips raise. At least he wasn't being completely useless.

It took some effort, toes touching the ground and thighs burning as you held yourself up far enough to tug his pants and underwear down just far enough to free his half-hard cock. You sat yourself back in your respective seat, peeling away from the kiss to pull at your own pants. The kiss left you hazy, lips glossy with shared spit, barely parted as you tug at your own belt, undoing your pants and pulling your painfully hard erection free from its confines. You heave a sigh of relief, leaning into him for a moment of respite, a few long seconds of appeasement that helped your boiling anger bubble down to a slow simmer again.

A deep breath in, a shaky exhale out, your hand moved to encircle Wolfwood's cock, fist moving with gentle patience you hadn't harbored five minutes ago. He rewarded the good behavior, a hand leaving your hip to hook a finger under your chin, tip you down, lean his neck forwards and kiss you in the way he knew you loved. It was so easy for him to work you up, so easy for him to lay you open and bare, the way his mouth moved and his tongue curled against yours.

But it just wasn't enough.

Your hand moved quicker, squeezed a little tighter, and once he was hard enough to stand at attention you were scooting up his lap, whining an airy little noise into his open mouth when your hand clasped around the both of you. The simmer in your gut began to bubble again, the warmth of him pressing into you, how slowly he was working you open. You needed more.

"Fuck sake," You grumble when he parts from you to lay a couple slow kisses at the corner of your mouth, trailing to your jaw. Your attitude doesn't seem to go missed, his teeth gently catching on the skin making you suck a breath between your teeth. "Can't you go any faster?"

"You seem to be doin' fine on your own."

Motherfucker.

The sneer, the slight curl at the corner of his lips, his words all set you off again. Your jaw clenched so tight you could hear your molars grind, fingers squeezing tighter around the both of you.

"Fucking ridiculous," You end up huffing out, the anger in your gut churning and melting into arousal, cock twitching as you stood from your place. "I've been doing fucking everything today."

Dropping to your knees, palms laid flat on Wolfwood's inner thighs, you push them apart as you lean in. He raised a brow in intrigue, but was quick to gasp and lurch forwards when pretty pink lips wrapped around him and swallowed him down to the hilt in one single motion.

"Shit! " He choked, hands finding your hair as your throat clenched around him, nose buried in the thick wiry hair sat at the base. Your eyes watered, brows furrowed, and you felt yourself gag once, twice, before pulling off with a gasp.

A strand of spit kept you connected to his cock before dropping to the empty space between you, your lips just as glossy as his length with your gathered saliva.

"I set up your fucking tables for you–" You stand from your place, thumbs hooking in the waistline of your pants and boxers, pushing them to the floor after kicking off your shoes.

"– I sit in eighty degree weather for hours for you–" You clamber back to his lap, fingers encircling the base of his length as you line him up, spit slick tip prodding your tight ring of muscle.

"– I deal with passive-aggressive old women I hate all day for you–" Slowly, you begin to sink down; all the anger and frustration bubbling over and churning with arousal, creating a heady mixture that fogged your head and spread heat through your gut and chest.

"– and now you won't even put in even the slightest bit of minimal effort into fucking helping me here," You sigh out, sinking down to a sit in his lap, sheathing his cock completely in your tight warmth.

Tanned fingers dig into your thighs, cupping just below the swell of your ass as you lift yourself, then sink, then repeat, setting a pace that certainly got your point across. Your own fingers curl into the meat of his shoulders, dull nails sinking into the skin and carving crescent moons in your wake.

"It's too fucking hot out, and your ugly fucking shirt–"

Protests began to die on your tongue the faster you moved, the more your thighs burned, eyes sliding shut as your back arched and your body tensed and shook. It was good, the push, the pull, the fullness helping stoke the fire growing and growing. A part of you had expected the weight of his cock to tamp the fire down, quell the heat, but it only seemed to push you further towards the edge without actually giving you any relief.

Frustrated tears pricked at your eyes the longer you went and the faster you moved, muscles tensing and shaking as you struggled to keep the pace. Every time you felt yourself building up, closing in on the edge, your legs would give out, unintentionally edging yourself to absolute insanity. A pathetic little whimper fell from your lips, indignation and petulance pushing you nearly to tears.

Finally, you gave up, lips parted as you panted softly, breaths shuddered against warm tan skin. Your forehead fell to the space between his shoulder and neck, willing back the distressed sniffle as you sat in the deafening silence of the storage room.

A warm hand shifted up, palming up your thigh, hip, settling low and comforting on the small of your back under your partially unbuttoned shirt.

"Done with your tantrum, brat?" Wolfwood inquired, voice condescending, mocking, a stark contrast to his tender touch. You scoff, but don't have the energy do much else.

"Isn't a fucking tantrum."

"Right, 'n I'm Mother Mary."

You hated whenever he said that, but you couldn't find it in yourself to even be mad anymore. Just frustrated, just distressed, helpless and hopeless with Wolfwood buried balls deep inside of you.

"... yeah, 'm done," You eventually mutter, voice wobbly as you held back tears.

Strong fingers encircled your waist, lifting you a few inches before dropping you back down, testing the waters. You gasp, hands dig into his shoulders, and he does it again, then again. You're complacent, trembling in his grasp, breathless and desperate and needy.

All he gave you was a low hum, broad hands cupping underneath your upper thighs as he began to stand. "Good," Wolfwood said low, walking you over to the nearest surface– a stack of totes filled with craft supplies and miscellaneous fabrics. He set you down on top of them, hands pushing your thighs up, knees into your chest, hips bucking forwards.

"Looks like someone needs a fuckin' attitude adjustment," He mused, not missing the glassy haze in your eyes when he gave a few short thrusts, teasing you with just the tip.

"I don't need a– ah–! "

One hard smack of his hips up into yours silenced you, statements of denial tapering off into a depraved moan as you held onto him, toes curling at the sensation.

Had you been moderately more perceptive, less in your head, you would have seen that Wolfwood was just about at the end of his rope as well. After all, it wasn't just yourself you were edging. He was simply enjoying watching the show more than you hated putting it on.

His lips met yours, messy, teeth clacking together at the force, tongues pressed together. Spit dribbled down your chin, warm and wet and adding to every debauched slap of skin meeting skin, at the unforgiving pace he set to put you in your place.

Sweat trickled down his temple, the room growing hotter by the second. You felt a hand leave your thigh, urging you to part a few scant inches to watch what he was doing. Seeing his hand wrap around the edge of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, you were quick to reach out and clasp your fingers around his wrist.

"Don't– keep it on," You insisted, voice choppy, choked out and breathless between every hard thrust.

"You want me to keep it on? " Wolfwood couldn't help but chuckle low, obviously amused by the fact you were so insistent on looking at something you'd been endlessly bitching about all day.

However, he did nothing but appease you; hand back to your thigh and forcing your knees into your chest, folding you into the wall as the totes below you shook and rattled. You could feel every pull and drag, every ridge and vein as he fucked you with reckless abandon, bullying his cock into you as if it were a punishment. The coil in your gut began to wind tight again, the familiar feeling you've been so desperate for the entire goddamn day–

"Thought it made me look like a fishing dad, huh? Or do you like that? Want me to bend you over 'n call you kiddo? "

There was no build-up. It was fucking shameful how fast you were cumming from the pet name, shameful how much of a mess you were making as spurts of white hot seed splattered against your partially clothed chest, soaking into your button-up. Strangled cries fell from your throat, choked out, heady, and utterly sinful.

Wolfwood's hips stuttered to a halt, a stunned expression on his face at the reaction, at the unannounced premature climax shaking you to the core. It didn't take long for him to recover, hands clenching tighter against warm skin, eyes growing hazy and dark.

"Oh, Christ," He growled, giving you absolutely no respite as he set the pace even harder, pulling you in to meet every buck forward.

One hand moved, his touches becoming more urgent, more desperate, grabbing at the meat of your hip, your waist, before shooting up and cupping your jaw in a vice grip, fingers squeezing your cheeks. He angled you back, fucked you stupid, ignoring your cries of too much and slow down as he leaned into you, noses touching.

"That why you've been such a needy fuckin' brat all day, huh? Not gettin' what you need? Missin' daddy's dick?" He rasped, each word more punched out than the last. Filthy words had you keening, tensing in overwhelm, had him groaning in response. He was absolutely feral, an urgent heat he hasn't unleashed on you in months.

All you could do was whine, brain scrambled from the speed, the force, the orgasm still hazing your brain and clouding your thoughts. Every resounding slap just pushed you deeper, jaw slack as you moaned and whined for him, taking everything you were being given. Your thighs burned from the angle, from the earlier efforts you had put in, and you could feel yourself melting into his grip.

Each warm breath huffed against your lips had you reeling, eyes rolled back into your head as you whimpered and mewled; overstimulated, overwhelmed. Every time you tried to string together enough words to beg, to protest, try to say anything, he would fuck up into you harder. He left no room for you to do much other than take it, love it.

The handle of the storage door clicked, a choir of muffled voices chattering amongst themselves behind the thin wood no doubt trying to find where their beloved priest had run off to. It rattled, catching against the table leaning up against it, handle unable to push down completely. The voices sounded concerned, frustrated. You wanted to tense, wanted to get him to stop, but his thrusts were unabating, only pulling out and pushing in enough that his hips wouldn't smack against the swell of your ass. Though that was only half the issue when you yourself were making a considerable amount of noise.

When you managed to breathe a pathetic little Nick against his lips, he kissed you hard enough that it pushed your head back into the wall. He moaned, you whined, and you could feel his hips stutter. You had fucked him enough times to know he was close. 

Tongues moved in tandem, his fingers digging into your cheeks, into your thigh, clenching and grasping you so hard you thought you might bruise. The voices faded, and you released a breathy moan you didn't know you had been holding into the kiss.

"Gonna cum." Wolfwood parted from your lips with a wet smack, tongue passing over the plush of your lower lip once before muttering, "You gonna be a good boy for me, kiddo? Gonna take it all? "

God, if you could cum again so quick you would have.

You nod quick, head feeling heavy, foggy. "Yeah, 'm gonna take it all, Nick–" 

"Daddy." He corrected, causing your throat to grow tight, your stomach churning. You hadn't really discussed this particular kink with him, but you had certainly fucked into your own hand at the thought of nearly this exact scenario an embarrassing amount of times. It wasn't something you anticipated, the fact that he would be so into this. 

Choking on your words, each thrust into you growing more urgent, quicker in succession, you moan. "Gonna take it all, daddy–"

His hand released your cheeks as he pressed another heated kiss against your lips, palm sliding down to your lower back to tug you into him, force you closer. The totes below rattled and shook in protest, but the tight, tender hold he had on you was more than secure. 

Something you had learned over the months is that Wolfwood was mouthy in bed. He was vocal in the sense that he could talk you through an orgasm like no one better, whisper filthy things into your ear to get you to tumble over the edge faster than you could count; but past the occasional groan and grunt, he didn't make much noise. So when he was breathing into your open mouth, huffing out a depraved moan as his thrusts faltered, poured liquid white heat into you, it had your entire body tensing, committing the sound to memory. It was fucking hot.

Stammered thrusts slowed to a halt, his cock still hard enough to cut diamonds as he poured everything into you. His mouth moved sinfully good, tongue working you open again, leaving you desperate for more despite just draining him for all he was worth. Touches grew more gentle, less dire, calloused fingertips brushing reverent over your skin where bruises were surely going to form in the shape of his hands. Not that it would be the first time.

A few long moments passed of post-orgasmic bliss, kisses melting from messy to soft, before he was pulling back just to press his forehead against yours. 

"Holy shit, kid," Wolfwood chuckled, breathless and exhausted. You weren't fairing much better.

"Yeah," Was all you could rasp in return, eyes glazed over with exhaustion. The day had been too long for you to want to stay conscious after being fucked into oblivion. 

Wolfwood seemed to understand this, umber gaze falling to the cum stains on your shirt. He looked amused, exhaling a quick breath through his nose as he slowly, begrudgingly, pulled his now softening cock from your tight heat. You whine in protest at the immediate loss, at the drip down, milky white decorating the lid of the tote you were rested on. 

"Mm. Can't let you go back out there lookin' like this," He murmured, peppering your cheek and temple with a few gentle pecks. A finger hooked below your chin, tilting you back so he could kiss you one more time, slow, sweet.

His free hand fished into his pants pocket, pulling out an absolute mess of a keyring and rested it in your open palm. "Here. Go take a shower. I'll handle cleanup."

Your legs wobbled when he helped you down to the ground, using the wall as additional support when Wolfwood walked away to fetch your pants and shoes. He brought them back, handing them off with care. Really, you only bothered to slide your underwear and pants on, deciding putting on your shoes was far too much work to simply walk through a corridor and into Wolfwood's living space. 

"Hold up," He called out just as you reached the door, urging you to turn and glance over your shoulder. He already looked cleaned up, for the most part, shirt buttoned up, for the most part, and tucked into his pants. The only tell was his tousled hair, or the wrinkles in his shirt he hadn't bothered to smooth out. 

Strong hands grabbed at the table wedged under the door handle, sliding it out of the way and lifting to lean it up against the adjacent wall. He pulled the door open, peering out and glancing around. The sight brought you deja vu, shooting you back to the first time, the situation that had landed you here in the first place. It looked no different, the glance around before a hand clasped around your wrist, giving you a slight pull to urge you out the door. 

Caught in your head, you stumbled forward before a gentle, yet firm hand locked onto your hip. 

"Hey," Wolfwood whispered low as he leaned down to kiss your temple, the husky timbre of his voice melting you. "You did great today. I appreciate you helping out so much."

It's not that you ever scoffed at his praise, but for some reason this one was a little deeper, a little more tender, and a lot more meaningful. Your chest grew tight, words lodged in your throat, but just like every time he expressed such genuineness towards you, he didn't expect you to say or do anything in return. The warm of his palm pressed a little more firmly into your lower back, guiding you out the door, encouraging your feet to shuffle you down the hall towards the massive wooden door of his living quarters. 

You really only clued in to how well you've come to know both Wolfwood and his ways when you so seamlessly and quickly executed your clean-up. You knew exactly where he kept his towels, knew that he stored the special soap��you used in the mirror cabinet because you refused to use his, knew exactly where you needed to pull the shower nozzle to get the perfect temperature. There was that domestic tenderness tugging at your heartstrings again, the familiarity of it all really only making itself prevalent in these moments. Never once did you think you were someone that could fall into a routine with someone, stick around long enough that you could grow so intimate like this.

The sound of the bathroom door opening startled you from your thoughts, blinking up at the ceiling as you sat at the bottom of the tub, staring at white subway tile. You didn't even question it when you heard the rattle of a belt buckle, heard clothes hit the tiled floor below, the peel back of the shower curtain. Didn't once think to question the nudge to your arm, urging you to scoot a little further towards the warm shower stream, allowing a space for him to slot in behind you, to sit with you, to pull you into a gentle embrace. 

However, you did think to question the half-hard erection poking at your lower back when he tugged you into his chest, pressing a few small kisses to your shoulder. You huff an amused noise, tipping your head back to look up at him with an incredulous expression. 

"I didn't even do anything. What's with this?" You inquire, half expecting some smartass response like you usually got. What you got instead was a neutral expression, soft gaze trailing along exposed skin before locking with your own. 

"You don't have to do anything," He murmurs, low and intimate. "I just love you."

Breath caught in your throat, eyes locked. He gave you a beat or two to process it, before he was kissing you with such saccharine reverence you didn't know how you could possibly return it. But, like usual, he didn't expect you to say or do anything in return. 

Love, huh?

Maybe you could get used to love if it was like this. If it was with him.

[elbiotipo]

algunas imágenes del Futuro Biopunk que tengo vívidas en mi cabeza pero no sé como escribirlas:

Las Defensas, inmensas moles de cemento dando al Río de La Plata para evitar su crecida durante la crisis climática. Cubiertas por una infinidad de grafittis de pintura bacteriana que viven y mueren cada día, creando una pintura irreal en costante cambio

Una estación de servicio que se convirtió en un restaurante, ahora que todo el centro porteño es peatonal. Sentados en una réplica de un taxi negro y amarillo, dos pibes esperan un lomito

Mariposas multicolores y geckos de cristal caminan entre los recovecos de un ombú artificial, con hojas traslúcidas como claraboyas. Entre las ramas esculpidas como repisas, reposan orgullosos trofeos y fotos de campeones de tiempos mejores.

Pedazos irreconocibles de cemento se desploman sobre humedales de algún barrio, en donde las lianas biomodificadas con kudzu crecen sobre la flora envenedada y frágil, en un intento de contener a bombas bacteriológicas aún no desarmadas. Escritos con grafittis insultado a los ecocidas, silenciosos gritos sobre las aguas oscuras.

En una pampa sin alambrados ni soja, tropas de ganado corren bajo monilos eólicos. Como un relámpago, un tren bala blanco y celeste aparece y se desvanece. El expreso Buenos Aires-Resistencia, en menos de 4 horas.

Otra alerta de patógenos. El barrio está en oscuridad de noche, los helicópteros del SENA zumbean como langostas, los genedarmes humanos y caninos entre las calles. La única luz es la parpadeante alerta azul de la torre de bioseguridad que se eleva sobre las viejas casas de ladrillo. Todos rezando por que no se vuelva roja.

En la costa de Fortaleza, Brasil, la suave brisa del Atlántico ecuatorial mece las palmeras. Un hilo de luces desciende al tranquilo mar. Es el cable plateado que conecta la Tierra con los cielos, el ascensor espacial Santos-Dumont.

[afadaily]

Los franceses también quemaron la bandera de argentina y se burlaron de los asiático, los alemanes hicieron cantos de los gauchos y los dos no tuvieron que pedir disculpas ni los cancelaron 🤷🏻‍♀️ pero ahora si se debe?

Cuando dije que teniamos que pedir disculpas? Simplemente dije que es un papelón. Además (y es algo que quería mencionar) en lo personal hace años tengo la espina de los alemanes burlandose de nosotros, AÑOS, ellos siempre tuvieron libre alberdrío de hacer lo que querían. Y no solo eso: se quejaron de que el "Dibu" era ofensivo con los bailes y lo prohibieron, no dijimos nada; decían que somos los favoritos de la fifa y que nos regalaron un mundial, no dijimos nada; ahora hace rato que nos quieren meter lo del racismo: : que no tenemos jugadores negros, que somos todos blancos, que por qué, que pin, que pan, y les dimos la excusa perfecta para que hoy nos señalen, ya tienen de donde agarrarse, por un canto boludo. No hay que ser igual que ellos, nos rebajamos exactamente al mismo nivel. En segundo plano quedó el bicampeonato. A lo que voy es que hay que ser mejor, hay que demostrar profesionalismo y cortarla con estas burradas. No aprendieron nada de Messi, cuando Holanda le buscaba la boca a la selección y salio a hablar en el campo de juego, De Paul quería salir a picantear en la final del 2021 y Leo lo paró, de eso se trata, porque al final del día ES FÚTBOL.

Nadie aca es un santo, a todos en algun momento se nos escapo un chiste que otro, pero estos pibes vienen de lograr hazañas con la selección y dejarnos en lo más alto, tienen que ser mejor que cualquiera dentro y fuera de la cancha.

[carloskaplan]

Giovanni Antonio Boltraffio: Santa Bárbara, 1493

[mujerconalasdemariposa]

MI ALMA CLAMA:

Como el ciervo brama por las corrientes de las aguas, así clama por ti, oh Dios, el alma mía...

(Salmos 42:1)...

El ciervo en el desierto requiere de agua, quizás no solo por la sequía del lugar, sino también puede ser por la persecución de algún depredador; según el salmista, la necesidad no es poca, necesita corrientes de agua, expresión que ilustrar que la cantidad de agua que busca, no es suficiente un pequeño pozo como si fuera un mero espejismo, el necesita sumergirse, refrescarse y calmar su sed...

En la Palabra de Dios se hace una analogía respecto de cada uno de los elementos:

El ciervo: Animal hecho para vivir en las montañas, brama con un sonido particular para expresar la necesidad física de sed y agotamiento...

Tiene una agilidad particular que le sirve de defensa frente al asecho de los depredadores, pero se cansa rápido, lo que lo hace vulnerable y en tiempo de verano su sudor es excesivo, lo cual lo expone también a sus enemigos...

Esta característica le hace encontrar con urgencia agua, la fuente, la corriente, para sumergirse y lavarse, así perderán la pista sus enemigos...

El agua: Medio que suple la necesidad, escaso y difícil de encontrar, especialmente en tiempo de verano...

Esta característica es lo que desarrolla en el ciervo la expresión particular de su necesidad física: sed y sudor...

Tal vez David se encontraba frente a las rocas, y las cascadas de aguas que bajan de la montaña...

Estando allí, seguramente observó a los ciervos que huía jadeantes, bramando; es decir dando una especie de grito, llenos de una mezcla entre furia y dolor, buscando dónde saciar su sed, y es esa visión la que lo inspiro a escribir este hermoso salmo...

¿Por qué David, usa la sed como imagen de sus ansias, de sus anhelos de Dios? 

Porque no hay carencia más fuerte y dolorosa que la sed, mucho peor que el hambre...

Una persona sin alimentarse puede vivir muchos días, pero sin agua, muere deshidratado y de otras complicaciones, en pocos días...

Esta analogía con los dos elementos, nos ayuda a comprender lo que el salmista quiso expresar:

Yo necesito bramar como el siervo, jadear para expresar mi sed, mi necesidad de Dios y las corrientes de agua como la presencia de Dios,

Su Espíritu Santo que me permite hacer real la experiencia de buscar a Dios y encontrarlo...

Punto de acción

Señor mi Dios, tú te ofreces como el agua que calma mi sed...

Mi alma te desea como el ciervo que brama por encontrar fuentes de agua para satisfacer su necesidad...

Anhelo que en tu presencia pueda saciarme y tu Espíritu Santo tome mi vida para calmar toda necesidad espiritual y emocional...

En El Nombre de Jesús...Amén... DTBM.!! 🙌🦋🌼🍃😴✨💫

[joseandrestabarnia]

Título completo: Pentecostés Artista: Bernabé de Módena Fechas de artistas: activo 1361 - 1386 fecha realización: 1377 (?) Medio y soporte: Temple al huevo sobre madera Dimensiones: 54,4 × 50,1 cm Crédito de adquisición: Comprado, 1895 Numero de inventario: NG1437

Los discípulos de Cristo se reunieron 50 días después de su muerte cuando, según la Biblia, comenzó a soplar un fuerte viento. Llamas como 'lenguas de fuego' aparecieron sobre sus cabezas y fueron llenos del Espíritu Santo (Hechos 2: 1-4). Este evento, llamado Pentecostés, fue cuando a los discípulos se les dio la autoridad divina para predicar acerca de Cristo y su mensaje.

Aquí, el Espíritu Santo está representado como una pequeña paloma blanca sobre la cabeza de la Virgen María y podemos ver las llamas de dos lenguas sobre las cabezas de los discípulos. Es muy probable que se tratara de una serie de escenas que componían una obra mayor, probablemente un tríptico (un cuadro formado por tres paneles). En la iglesia de San Giovanni Battista de Alba hay un cuadro de la Virgen con el Niño firmado por Barnaba di Modena y fechado en 1377. Pudo ser el panel central de este tríptico.

Información e imagen de la web de la National Gallery de Londres.

[elartedpaz]

Fiesta del Corpus Chisti 2004 en Madrid: Solemnidad del santisimo cuerpo y sangre de Cristo.

Su vida: derramada por nosotros para inaugurar la nueva alianza.

Angelus del Papa Francisco en https://youtu.be/930r3nj3XoY?si=OgOU363E_nlOdx74

Misa solemne en https://www.youtube.com/live/X6OVRGSxxEs?si=vsK3nJLu3k8yoTbD (la almudena) y tambien en https://www.youtube.com/live/bAR09KafGIA?si=9A6x7lt0oPTsLZ6E (desde Medinacelli).

Tambien des de Ns del Rosarion en https://www.youtube.com/live/ghlTg2cPg8Y?si=9cC8uc-ZloLkpKvR

Lectura del santo Evangelio según san Marcos 14, 12-16. 22-26

El primer día de los Ácimos, cuando se sacrificaba el cordero pascual, le dijeron a Jesús sus discípulos:

«¿Dónde quieres que vayamos a prepararte la cena de Pascua?».

Él envió a dos discípulos, diciéndoles:

«Id a la ciudad, os saldrá al paso un hombre que lleva un cántaro de agua; seguidlo y, en la casa en que entre, decidle al dueño: "El Maestro pregunta: ¿Cuál es la habitación donde voy a comer la Pascua con mis discípulos?".

Os enseñará una sala grande en el piso de arriba, acondicionada y dispuesta. Preparádnosla allí».

Los discípulos se marcharon, llegaron a la ciudad, encontraron lo que les había dicho y prepararon la Pascua.

Mientras comían, tomó pan y, pronunciando la bendición, lo partió y se lo dio diciendo:

«Tomad, esto es mi cuerpo».

Después, tomó el cáliz, pronunció la acción de gracias, se lo dio y todos bebieron.

Y les dijo:

«Esta es mi sangre de la alianza, que es derramada por muchos. En verdad os digo que no volveré a beber del fruto de la vid hasta el día que beba el vino nuevo en el reino de Dios».

Después de cantar el himno, salieron para el monte de los Olivos.

Palabra del Señor.

Y hoy seguimos rezando el rosario en ferraz en https://www.youtube.com/live/_EQFMSuBXDk?si=meTy19aroA10xwFw

La procesión la pondré en diferido.

#Catolicismo

#Iglesia

#Church

#evangeliodehoy

#ChurchLife

#ChurchBoletin

#corpuschristy

[fanaticsnail]

Ok, that Anon ask with the Romeo Santos song made spiral and now I need to share my latin favorites to dance while mopping with purple Fabuloso:

Romeo Santos: Propuesta Indecente, Dile al Amor

Pedro Capó: Calma

Don Omar: Dile (freaking classic from my earliest teens)

Yandel 150 (somebody shared a reel of Taz Skylar doing bottle bar tricks with this songs and I was like "excuse meee, are you trying to give me an aneurism???)

Enrque Iglesias: De Noche y de Día

Luis Fonsi: Despacito (recent universal classic)

Noelia: Enamorada

Onto the playlist they go, beloved 💃. I love Latin music, one of my favourites is Malaguena Salerosa by Chingon. I don't speak Spanish, but I do for that song. There's so much passion in that song 🥹.

[jartita-me-teneis]

León Tolstoi - Las tres preguntas.

Cuento.

Cierto emperador pensó un día que si conociera la respuesta a las siguientes tres preguntas, nunca fallaría en ninguna cuestión. Las tres preguntas eran:

¿Cuál es el momento más oportuno para hacer cada cosa?

¿Cuál es la gente más importante con la que trabajar?

¿Cuál es la cosa más importante para hacer en todo momento?

El emperador publicó un edicto a través de todo su reino anunciando que cualquiera que pudiera responder a estas tres preguntas recibiría una gran recompensa, y muchos de los que leyeron el edicto emprendieron el camino al palacio; cada uno llevaba una respuesta diferente al emperador.

Como respuesta a la primera pregunta, una persona le aconsejó proyectar minuciosamente su tiempo, consagrando cada hora, cada día, cada mes y cada año a ciertas tareas y seguir el programa al pie de la letra. Solo de esta manera podría esperar realizar cada cosa en su momento. Otra persona le dijo que era imposible planear de antemano y que el emperador debería desechar toda distracción inútil y permanecer atento a todo para saber qué hacer en todo momento. Alguien insistió en que el emperador, por sí mismo, nunca podría esperar tener la previsión y competencia necesaria para decidir cada momento cuándo hacer cada cosa y que lo que realmente necesitaba era establecer un «Consejo de Sabios» y actuar conforme a su consejo.

Alguien afirmó que ciertas materias exigen una decisión inmediata y no pueden esperar los resultados de una consulta, pero que si él quería saber de antemano lo que iba a suceder debía consultar a magos y adivinos.

Las respuestas a la segunda pregunta tampoco eran acordes. Una persona dijo que el emperador necesitaba depositar toda su confianza en administradores; otro le animaba a depositar su confianza en sacerdotes y monjes, mientras algunos recomendaban a los médicos. Otros que depositara su fe en guerreros.

La tercera pregunta trajo también una variedad similar de respuestas. Algunos decían que la ciencia es el empeño más importante; otros insistían en la religión e incluso algunos clamaban por el cuerpo militar como lo más importante.

Y puesto que las respuestas eran todas distintas, el emperador no se sintió complacido con ninguna y la recompensa no fue otorgada.

Después de varias noches de reflexión, el emperador resolvió visitar a un ermitaño que vivía en la montaña y del que se decía que era un hombre iluminado. El emperador deseó encontrar al ermitaño y preguntarle las tres cosas, aunque sabía que él nunca dejaba la montaña y se sabía que solo recibía a los pobres, rehusando tener algo que ver con los ricos y poderosos. Así pues el emperador se vistió de simple campesino y ordenó a sus servidores que le aguardaran al pie de la montaña mientras él subía solo a buscar al ermitaño.

Al llegar al lugar donde habitaba el hombre santo, el emperador le halló cavando en el jardín frente a su pequeña cabaña. Cuando el ermitaño vio al extraño, movió la cabeza en señal de saludo y siguió con su trabajo. La labor, obviamente, era dura para él, pues se trataba de un hombre anciano, y cada vez que introducía la pala en la tierra para removerla, la empujaba pesadamente.

El emperador se aproximó a él y le dijo:

—He venido a pedir tu ayuda para tres cuestiones:

¿Cuál es el momento más oportuno para hacer cada cosa?

¿Cuál es la gente más importante con la que trabajar?

¿Cuál es la cosa más importante para hacer en todo momento?

El ermitaño le escuchó atentamente pero no respondió. Solamente posó su mano sobre su hombro y luego continuó cavando. El emperador le dijo:

—Debes estar cansado, déjame que te eche una mano.

El eremita le dio las gracias, le pasó la pala al emperador y se sentó en el suelo a descansar.

Después de haber acabado dos cuadros, el emperador paró, se volvió al eremita y repitió sus preguntas. El eremita tampoco contestó sino que se levantó y señalando la pala dijo:

—¿Por qué no descansas ahora? Yo puedo hacerlo de nuevo.

Pero el emperador no le dio la pala y continuó cavando. Pasó una hora, luego otra y finalmente el sol comenzó a ponerse tras las montañas. El emperador dejó la pala y dijo al ermitaño:

—Vine a ver si podías responder a mis tres preguntas, pero si no puedes darme una respuesta, dímelo, para que pueda volverme a mi palacio.

El eremita levantó la cabeza y preguntó al emperador:

—¿Has oído a alguien corriendo por allí?

El emperador volvió la cabeza y de repente ambos vieron a un hombre con una larga barba blanca que salía del bosque. Corría enloquecidamente presionando sus manos contra una herida sangrante en su estómago. El hombre corrió hacia el emperador antes de caer inconsciente al suelo, dónde yació gimiendo. Al rasgar los vestidos del hombre, emperador y ermitaño vieron que el hombre había recibido una profunda cuchillada. El emperador limpió la herida cuidadosamente y luego usó su propia camisa para vendarle, pero la sangre empapó totalmente la venda en unos minutos. Aclaró la camisa y le vendó por segunda vez y continuó haciéndolo hasta que la herida cesó de sangrar.

El herido recuperó la conciencia y pidió un vaso de agua. El emperador corrió hacia el arroyo y trajo un jarro de agua fresca. Mientras tanto se había puesto el sol y el aire de la noche había comenzado a refrescar. El eremita ayudó al emperador a llevar al hombre hasta la cabaña donde le acostaron sobre la cama del ermitaño. El hombre cerró los ojos y se quedó tranquilo. El emperador estaba rendido tras un largo día de subir la montaña y cavar en el jardín y tras apoyarse contra la puerta se quedó dormido. Cuando despertó, el sol asomaba ya sobre las montañas.

Durante un momento olvidó donde estaba y lo que había venido a hacer. Miró hacia la cama y vio al herido, que también miraba confuso a su alrededor; cuando vio al emperador, le miró fijamente y le dijo en un leve suspiro:

—Por favor, perdóneme.

—Pero ¿qué has hecho para que yo deba perdonarte? —preguntó el emperador.

—Tú no me conoces, majestad, pero yo te conozco a ti. Yo era tu implacable enemigo y había jurado vengarme de ti, porque durante la pasada guerra tú mataste a mi hermano y embargaste mi propiedad. Cuando me informaron de que ibas a venir solo a la montaña para ver al ermitaño decidí sorprenderte en el camino de vuelta para matarte. Pero tras esperar largo rato sin ver signos de ti, dejé mi emboscada para salir a buscarte. Pero en lugar de dar contigo, topé con tus servidores y me reconocieron y me atraparon, haciéndome esta herida. Afortunadamente pude escapar y corrí hasta aquí. Si no te hubiera encontrado seguramente ahora estaría muerto. ¡Yo había intentado matarte, pero en lugar de ello tú has salvado mi vida! Me siento más avergonzado y agradecido de lo que mis palabras pueden expresar. Si vivo, juro que seré tu servidor el resto de mi vida y ordenaré a mis hijos y a mis nietos que hagan lo mismo. Por favor, majestad, concédeme tu perdón.

El emperador se alegró muchísimo al ver que se había reconciliado fácilmente con su acérrimo enemigo, y no solo le perdonó sino que le prometió devolverle su propiedad y enviarle a sus propios médicos y servidores para que le atendieran hasta que estuviera completamente restablecido.

Tras ordenar a sus sirvientes que llevaran al hombre a su casa, el emperador volvió a ver al ermitaño. Antes de volver al palacio el emperador quería repetir sus preguntas por última vez; encontró al ermitaño sembrando el terreno que ambos habían cavado el día anterior.

El ermitaño se incorporó y miró al emperador.

—Tus preguntas ya han sido contestadas.

—Pero, ¿cómo? —preguntó el emperador confuso.

—Ayer, si su majestad no se hubiera compadecido de mi edad y me hubiera ayudado a cavar estos cuadros, habría sido atacado por ese hombre en su camino de vuelta. Entonces habría lamentado no haberse quedado conmigo. Por lo tanto el tiempo más importante es el tiempo que pasaste cavando los cuadros, la persona más importante era yo mismo y el empeño más importante era el ayudarme a mí…

»Más tarde, cuando el herido corría hacia aquí, el momento más oportuno fue el tiempo que pasaste curando su herida, porque si no le hubieses cuidado habría muerto y habrías perdido la oportunidad de reconciliarte con él. De esta manera, la persona más importante fue él y el objetivo más importante fue curar su herida…

»Recuerda que solo hay un momento importante y es ahora. El momento actual es el único sobre el que tenemos dominio. La persona más importante es siempre con la persona con la que estás, la que está delante de ti, porque quién sabe si tendrás trato con otra persona en el futuro. El propósito más importante es hacer que esa persona, la que está junto a ti, sea feliz, porque es el único propósito de la vida.

FIN.