#should babies be baptized

[shiningthelightministries]

Baby Baptism For Original Sin? - Bible Study - Shining The Light Ministr...

[songwithnosoul]

[ID: Trigun fan art. Vash is sitting at one end of a bench, holding a pad of paper in one hand and spinning a pen in the other. He's staring at the paper with intense concentration and his tongue sticking out. He says, "I'm trying to figure out a nonlethal alternative to bullets."

Wolfwood, who's stretched out diagonally with one leg dangling over the arm of the bench and his shoulders leaning against Vash's back, replies "Sounds like you need "Wolfwood's Water Weapon" AKA www dot lifehack dot com". He's smiling and holding a water gun, which is spraying straight up into the air.

Vash says "That's a waste of water." Wolfwood replies "Relax! It's also holy water and drinking water. 3 in 1 uses!"

End ID]

Wolfwood is that priest who baptized babies with a water gun during covid

[aperrywilliams]

Glowing (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: The team has been out on a case for about ten days now. You're not with them this time due to your 21st-week pregnancy and doctor's order not to go to the field, and you miss your husband, Spencer, like crazy. When they come back, Spencer can't stop looking at you and your recent baby bump. To say it makes him feral is an understatement, and he wants to show you how marvelous you are despite your insecurities about your changing body.

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: SMUT/18+/MDNI. Spencer and Reader are horny AF. There is a lot of teasing, heated kissing, heavy making out, oral sex, PIV sex, and breeding kink (a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy). Reader has some insecurities about her body.

A/N: This idea was requested a while ago. I'm so sorry it took me so long to get it done. But here it is! Someone asked for horny!future!dad!Spencer? Well, you’re welcome.

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You can't say you are thrilled about staying in Virginia when all of your team is fighting crime on the other side of the country. Not when it has been ten days since they are gone. Not when you haven't seen your husband that long because he happens to work on the same team.

It's not that you had another option, though. Considering you are almost in your 21st week of pregnancy, your doctor advised you to take it slow on the job. That means being on the field miles away from home became a big no, and this time, you had to settle for nightly phone calls and daily texts with Spencer.

So it doesn't surprise anyone to see the happiness on your face when Hotch calls around midday, announcing that the case is over and they are flying home.

Penelope, always the joyful human being on Earth, immediately got on board with Rossi to host a gathering in his mansion once they were back tonight. Of course, Rossi agreed. Virtually no one can say no to Penelope.

"Okay, mama-genius," she says after ending the call with David. "We have a party tonight and a lot of things to do."

You may be worried about what 'a lot' can imply, but it is just a saying. Penelope will do most of it anyway, claiming you can't do any strenuous task so as not to bother baby-genius. Since the moment you and Spencer told the team about the baby's coming, Garcia baptized you all: papa-genius, mama-genius, and baby-genius. You find it the cutest thing in the world.

Walking through the supermarket aisles, you get everything you'll need: snacks, alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks, and all the stuff. And with the cart full, Penelope sends you home to get ready.

"But Pen, you need help to set all this up."

"Don't worry, honey. I already have Anderson waiting for me at Rossi's. The benefits of having a spare key," she proudly says, dangling her keychain full of keys. "Now go! Go to get ready for your man. I know you have been missing him like crazy."

She is not wrong in the slightest, so you don't fight her. A bath sounds nice right now, and with all the pregnancy going on, you'll need the extra time to get ready.

-

Ten days have been torture for Spencer Reid. It's the longest he has been apart from you since you guys discovered you are pregnant. Sure, phone calls and texts help, but it's not enough. Not to the overprotective Spencer, anyway. It's not that he doesn't trust you; he does. But his mind always works in overdrive, and he worries more than he should. Not to mention, he has missed you like he hasn't seen you in months.

When Rossi tells the team the plans for the night once they arrive, Spencer is a bit disappointed. He would have preferred to go straight home to be with you. But when JJ assures him you will be there, his apprehensions change to anticipation.

The kind of anticipation that keeps him anxious until everyone arrives at Rossi's past 8 p.m. They were a little bit late for the estimated time, but the traffic was hell today.

A happy Penelope opens the door before Rossi can reach his key.

"Welcome home, mon amis."

"My home, you say?" the old man corrects, no real annoyance in his voice.

"Share is care, so our home is," Garcia retorts, effusively hugging every team member crossing the threshold. The last one is Spencer. "Your woman is waiting for you," she whispers to him after almost crushing him in her embrace.

Spencer practically runs to the living room, where you are greeting everyone. His eyes nearly can't give credit to what he sees. Of course, he knows how you look. He has known you for years and has memorized every detail of you: your height, the way your head leans when you're listening to someone, the color of your eyes, the way you smile, your expressive hands, and every curve of your body. But today? Something looks different, alluring, magnetic, and so entrancing.

His brain has a suitable explanation for it. Sure, when you haven't seen your partner in days, you tend to enhance every detail you love about them. 'Love hormones,' others would say. But no, this is more than psychology and chemistry.

Pregnancy has made changes in you. It was expected, and Spencer knows that, but reading it in a book is way different than seeing it for himself. Sure, there were the headaches and the morning sickness in the early stages. Adding the mood swings and fatigue. But nothing prepared him for the body changes. And not in the bad way people must think, all the opposite. To Spencer, pregnancy has made you the most sexy woman in the world. And after ten days of being deprived of those changes, to him, all come at once. Your breasts got bigger, and you definitely started to show more. The sundress you're wearing just enhances those details, and Spencer feels like he can faint right there.

When your eyes meet across the room, his breath hitches; those eyes he loves so much are glowing and chanting a spell Spencer won't escape from. Not that he wants to, anyway.

Shameless, you leave your conversation with Prentiss and Luke and run to your husband, throwing your arms around his neck.

"I missed you," you murmur into his neck. Spencer hugs you back and closes his eyes, relishing how good you smell and how good it is to have you in his arms again. "We missed you," you add.

The mention of your unborn child melts Spencer on the spot. "I missed you both, too," he manages to say, reluctantly parting from your embrace to look at you and get lost in your eyes again. "I love you," he whispers, leaning to capture your lips with his. And just like that, the anti-PDA, Spencer Reid, indulges himself in kissing you in front of everyone.

The teasing from the team around is only background noise, and neither Spencer nor you are very concerned about it. Not until you involuntarily tug his hair, and Spencer needs to do everything in his power to stop the groan threatening to escape his lips.

Parting and clearing your throats, you both try to regain composure. All the team's eyes are on you, but the only one who dares to point out the obvious is Rossi.

"I have a guest room upstairs, at the second door down the hall."

The comment causes the team to laugh and you to be mortified.

"Sorry," you both mumble, a deep shade of crimson adorning your cheeks. Grabbing your hand, Spencer pulls you to a corner. You're still in sight of the people but far enough to talk and not be listened to.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He points to your baby's belly. It's not an accusatory question, more like an excited one.

"I wanted it to be a surprise. I would have liked to be in a more private setting, but I wasn't going to miss being here and waiting for you at home to show you."

Spencer's hand rests over your now prominent belly and rubs soothing patterns there. "It's amazing," he admits. "How are you feeling?"

You let out a content sigh, feeling the warmth emanating from your husband's palm to your lower stomach.

"Much better now you're here."

"They haven't done much trouble, have they?"

"Nah. Behaves like an angel." And it's the truth. The second trimester has been much better than the previous one: no morning sickness, less fatigue, and it has been great.

There are other 'issues' though. The boost of energy has been paired with an increase in your libido that sometimes is very hard to control. The times Spencer is around, having sex can be enough, but with days passing and with the tenderness and care Spencer has been touching you, it's getting hard to satiate your most primal needs. You know he does it because he doesn't want to hurt you, but even if you have assured him you won't break, he hesitates nonetheless.

And now, after all these days without him, you are sure another touch from him, even the most innocent, will set your body on fire. You are sure this night will be excessively long.

Spencer's thoughts are not very different from yours. The moment he sees you in your sundress walking to him was enough to make his mind wander.

"OK, mister. Enough lovebirds' moment for now. The girls need their time, too." Without warning, Penelope grabs your hand to lead you to the group where Tara, Emily, and JJ are.

You can only shrug to Spencer as Penelope drags you from him. Spencer gives you a reassuring smile. It's fine; you are both adults, he reminds himself. How can it be so difficult to keep his hands to himself for a couple of hours?

Easier said than done, he'll realize.

Neither of you can't help the stolen glances across the room or the subtle smiles you share as you talk to the team at different spots in the house.

Spencer doesn't know if he can control himself much longer. You look stunning and tempting, and his mind starts to fill with unholy things he wants to do to you.

"Reid?" Luke's worried voice gets him out of his mental predicament.

"I - uh. I'm sorry, what did you say?" 

"Are you alright, man? You seem distracted."

If alright means extremely horny and with an incipient boner tightening his pants, then yes, he's more than alright.

"Yes. Yeah. Uh - I'll grab some water. Excuse me, I'll be right back."

The trip to the bathroom is quick and mildly effective: Splashing cold water on his face and reciting the Declaration of Independence in his mind, Spencer regains some composure and gets back to where the people—and you—are.

The night continues in the same way. It's not like you are openly teasing him, but Spencer can't help himself.

The last straw comes when you're in the backyard talking to JJ and Emily, and you're laughing so hard that your body jolts, making your breasts bounce a bit, exposing more of your cleavage. It's not that evident to anyone, but for Spencer, who has been gawking at you all night, it is clear as day.

He wants you, and he wants you now.

Spencer sets his glass of water on the table and strolls where you are. Giving JJ and Emily a tight-lip smile, he leans to whisper something in your ear. The girls can't hear what it is, but the flush in your cheeks should give them an idea.

"Yeah, it's kind of late. And yeah, I'm feeling a bit tired," you tell Spencer, now looking at the girls, not wanting to disclose what Spencer actually said.

"Sure, carrying a baby Reid must be exhausting," Emily teases, gaining a roll of eyes from Spencer.

"Go, guys. Don't worry; I think I'll leave soon, too," JJ says, and you nod gratefully to avoid making more uncomfortable the moment.

With a tight grip on your hand, Spencer walks with you to say goodbye to everybody. Then, no later than that, you hop on the Uber, already waiting outside Rossi's.

-

All the ride home, Spencer's hand rests firmly on your tigh. His eyes can't peel off of you. All of you. It's like he hasn't seen you in months and wants to memorize each feature. You look back at him with a mix of amusement and self-consciousness. The lust is all written on his gaze, but there is something more, too. Love, longing, reverence. It's like there isn't anything else in the world but you.

The thought only fuels how much you love him and, of course, how horny you feel. Is it hot in this car, or is that just your idea? Why is the ride taking longer than you would like? You're about to huff in protest when the vehicle stops at your destination. Thanks God!

Spencer never falters his grip on you all the time. You can feel him everywhere: on your hand as you take the stairs, on your lower back walking down the hall, on your shoulder when you fish the key in your purse.

As the door shuts behind you, Spencer's lips are on yours in an instant. Kissing you hard. Like he's a drowning man, and you are the air he needs.

"God, you don't know how hard it was to control myself," Spencer mumbles, now peppering wet kisses down your neck to your collarbone.

"Hard, uh? Well, I guess I have an idea," you say, palming him over his slacks, making him hiss.

"Don't tease me, please," Spencer growls between kisses as he walks you both through the apartment to your bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes in your path.

"I'm not, baby. I promise I'm not. I'm as desperate as you are." You're not lying. Your body has been on fire the whole night. You want him as much as he wants you right now.

When your legs hit the bed, you're both only in your underwear.

Spencer breaks the kiss to look at you. The bedroom is only lit by the hallway lights. He reaches for the nightstand to switch the lamp on, but before he does, you stop him.

"Can we just-" You don't finish the sentence, but Spencer understands what you're asking for.

"Yeah. We can, of course. But what's wrong?"

It's not the first time you have sex with the room's lights off, but those times, neither of you has explicitly requested it. You usually don't have trouble with Spencer seeing you naked, but since you got pregnant and your body started to change, you don't feel sexy, and it is mining your confidence. Spencer's suspicion goes in that same direction.

"Nothing," you say, pulling him to kiss him again with the same passion as before. Spencer almost surrenders at your doing, but he stops.

"Hey," he whispers. "Talk to me."

You sit on the mattress, knowing you have to tell him what's bothering you. He sits by your side, patiently waiting for you to collect your thoughts and choose your words.

After some seconds of deliberation, it is you who switches the lamp on. Standing from the bed, you plant yourself in front of Spencer.

"What do you see?" you ask, with your hands on your hips.

Spencer's eyes rack your body from head to toe, especially double-taking your lower stomach, where your pregnant belly is. The answer is obvious to him.

"My perfect and sexy wife, standing almost naked in front of me, trying to kill me because I can't touch her yet."

You roll your eyes, huffing. "Spencer, be serious, please."

"I am! Baby, I don't know why you could think I'm not being honest with you."

There is a scold on the tip of your tongue, but you relent, changing it for a deep sigh.

"But look at me! These-" you say, eyes darting between your breast and the skin of your stomach. "There is no chance this is sexy. I'm bloated half of the time; my skin feels gross, and the stretch marks are more every day. And my tits! God, if I unhook my bra, they are going to fall to the floor!"

It's true, your body isn't the same as it was a couple of months ago, and it'll probably continue to change as the weeks go by, but for Spencer, that doesn't make you any less attractive or desirable—quite the opposite.

"Hey, look at me, please," Spencer asks in a soft voice. You do as he says, now feeling more exposed in front of him. Spencer notices and takes your hands to bring you closer to him.

"You know you're carrying a human being in your womb, right?" he asks, tracing soft patterns with his finger over the skin of your arms. "That makes your body not look or feel the way it usually does. But it's perfectly natural, and I'm sure you know that." Spencer stops to kiss your stomach. "What you don't seem to know is that every change makes you more perfect than you already are. Love, you are perfect for who you are, and your body is perfect because it's yours—stretch marks or not, breasts enlarged or not, swollen or not."

"You have to say that," you complain with an adorable pout, and Spencer chuckles.

“I have to say that because it's true. Did I lie to you before?” You shake your head no. “Exactly.”

He pulls you to him so you can sit on his lap. Your arms rest loosely around his neck. He looks up at you with only adoration in his eyes.

“Love. You look amazing. Gorgeous. And so so sexy. I have been craving to touch you all night, renegaded to only see you from afar. That's torture,” Spencer says, lips hovering over your jaw before trailing down loving kisses—the feel of his wet lips pushing your heart rate to go up.

“You don't know what you do to me, do you? All these days thinking about you, what it's like to have you in my arms, what it's like to be able to kiss you, to smell you.” Spencer says, his fingers dancing over the patch of exposed skin of your breasts still clad in your bra. His lips sucking on that special spot on your neck. You can't help the nasty moan that leaves your mouth.

His eyes search yours for permission when one of his hands rests on the clasp of your bra. You nod, and he unclasps it, revealing your full breasts to him. You swear you hear him whimper at the sight, just as you feel him twitch beneath your thighs.

“Fuck, darling. They are so perfect. So round, so full, so soft,” Spencer praises as his mouth latches to one of your nipples and, with one hand, squeezes the flesh of your other breast. “I couldn’t stop all night thinking about doing this. Claiming these perfect tits.”

“Spencer, fuck!” you moan when he sucks harder. “Yes!”

“So sensitive. These tits are all mine,” Spencer mumbles as he switches his mouth from one nipple to the other.

He keeps lapping, swirling his tongue, sucking. It's like he can't have enough of it. And you can feel it in your bones.

'Extasis' keeps it short to explain how you feel right now. Just with the use of his mouth, Spencer is already pushing you close to the edge. In the back of your mind, you can hear his voice explaining how nipple stimulation can produce orgasms. You didn't think it would be possible at the time, but now you're nearing experiencing it.

"Spence, please. Just -"

One of his hands travels south, leaving goosebumps in its wake until it reaches the waistband of your panties.

“Tell me what you need, baby. And I’ll give it to you.”

“I need you to touch me,” you mewl, your voice cracking with desire.

“Here?” Spencer teases, trailing feather touches across your inner thigh. His mouth marks your neck, his favorite spot on you.

“More. Please, don’t make beg,” you plead. Spencer’s smirk could tell he was not done with the teasing. But in all honesty, he doesn't know how much he can contain himself.

“My baby is desperate already. Let's see how much.” A hand sneaks under your panties, and the slick pooling there tells Spencer everything he needs to know.

“Fuck, you’re soaked. It’s all for me?” He cockily asks as his fingers tease your folds. You gasp at the contact of his fingers on you.

“For you only. Spencer, I’m yours. Always.”

“And I am yours. No matter what. I love you so much,” Spencer says, now claiming your mouth with a searing kiss. It's like he wants to devour you whole, beyond the physics laws, if it's possible.

You let yourself go, kissing him urgently, your fingers tangled in his hair, giving experimental tugs, which Spencer rewards with grunts of pleasure.

You don't realize when you start rocking on his lap, seeking more friction from his fingers.

Spencer continues his assault on your center, alternating the thrusting of his fingers in and out with rubbing against your clit.

"Oh, God!" You whine, not fully believing how good it feels.

“So good, my love. So so good,” Spencer chants. His free hand on your back, maneuvering to lay you down on the mattress without stopping his ministrations in your pussy, and latching his lips to the crook of your neck. The new position allows him to reach deeper inside you with his fingers, massaging that spongy spot that makes you see stars.

“Right there! Oh, please.” You are on the verge of falling, your body surrending to Spencer’s experimented touch. He knows your body better than you.

Your moans go straight to Spencer’s cock, twitching inside his boxers, rock-hard and screaming for attention, but he has a mission before ever thinking of his pleasure. He needs you to come on his fingers first.

“Are you going to come for me, baby?”

“Yes! I’m so - so close,” you cry.

“I can feel you clenching on my fingers. That's it. Let go, my love. Cum for me; let me feel you,” Spencer encourages, and it's the last push you need. Your vision goes white, and your body starts to shake. The coil snaps and flows your body with waves of pleasure.

“Fuck! Yes!” You cry as your orgasm travels through your body. “Spencer! Yes!”

Spencer doesn’t stop the in and out of his fingers, still rubbing your clit, at a slower pace, helping you to ride it out. His breath is hot on your neck, mumbling praises of how good you are, how much he has missed you, and how good you feel around his fingers.

When the aftershocks subside, Spencer carefully retracts his fingers, sucking them clean before passionately kissing you. You can taste yourself on his lips, fueling the desire to have more of him.

“I missed you,” you say, still breathless. Spencer lies on the mattress by your side, stroking your cheek.

“And I missed you. Both of you,” he says, now rubbing a hand over your belly. You let out a content sigh. “We don’t have to do anything else tonight. We can just prepare to go to bed.”

Your head snaps up in an instant.

“Are you fucking kidding me? No! We’re not done, mister. We have a lot of days apart to make it up to.”

Spencer laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Start with those boxers. Get them off,” you command, kneeling on the mattress and suddenly feeling a rush of adrenaline. Spencer pulls his boxers down, freeing his cock from the confines of the fabric. It's hard, red, and already leaking precum. And your mouth waters.

“Like the view?” He teases.

“Very,” you shamelessly reply, gawking at the way his cock twitches under your gaze. You position between his legs. He is at your level sight with his elbows on the mattress. You wrap a hand around his shaft, giving a light squeeze, as your other hand looks purchase on his thigh. Spencer hisses at the contact.

“Baby, you don’t have to,” he reminds you, knowing this position could be uncomfortable for you.

“Oh, yes, I have to,” you counter. “I have been thinking about sucking you off for weeks, Spencer. Weeks!”

Spencer laughs at your dramatics, but still, he reaches for your chin to tilt up so you can look at him.

“Just let me know if it's too much, and we can stop, okay?”

Did you mention before about how careful he has been treating you since you discovered you were pregnant? Yes, you did. And here is a reminder.

“Okay,” you reassure him, giving an experimental lick at the tip. The salty taste just encourages you to lick the underside, from base to tip and back and forth. Spencer’s moans are music for your ears. You lower yourself now, taking him in your mouth—inch by glorious inch.

There is something special about giving Spencer head, and it’s beyond the sexual component of pushing him to orgasm. It's about the way he surrenders to your touch, the way he is splayed over the bed at your mercy. The way he trusts you in such a vulnerable position. He doesn't rush you; he’s pliant at your pace because he knows you know how to pleasure him.

“Fuck!” he groans when you go deeper. “So good, baby. You take it so good.”

As him with yours, you relish on his praises. He never stops complimenting you and vocalizing the way you make him feel. Evidence of how much you like it is the pool of wetness forming in your center just hearing him moan and talk.

With renewed vigor, you keep bobbing your head up and down, swirling your tongue, and extracting the more nasty and sexy noises from Spencer’s lips.

“Just - just like that. You are doing amazing.” His hands rest over your head, but he doesn’t push or pull; he just grounds himself in the midst of the pleasure cloud he is in.

But when that knowing coil is forming on him, Spencer knows he needs you to stop, or he won’t last much.

Gently, he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you back. You understand the signal and release him with a pop.

“What is it? You don’t want to?” You ask, licking your lips full of fluids of both of you. Spencer is panting, shaking his head no.

“You were amazing, but I don’t want to cum yet. And I want to cum inside of you.” The admission makes the heat in your body rise.

His hand caresses lovingly your cheek as you’re sitting on your haunches on the mattress. Spencer sits with his back on the headboard, raking your entire naked body from head to toe. His eyes are full of adoration.

Leave it to Spencer to look at you like you were Afrodite's incarnation, even with your grown breasts and bloated body.

“What?” You ask, giggling out of nervousness. Years with him, and that piercing gaze still makes your heart flutter.

"Marvelous. So beautiful. The most gorgeous. Perfect.”

Before you can protest the overflowing compliments, Spencer's hands cup your face to pull you into a deep kiss. You kiss him back with urgency, straddling him. Spencer’s hands go to your waist to keep you in place, where you belong, on top of him. From that position, you can feel his cock twitching with want.

"Spencer-" you mumble in his lips, almost like a whisper.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he asks, focusing on how you start swaying your hips, making contact with his hardness, and settling him on fire.

“I need to ride you, now,” you plead, and Spencer can’t say no to you even if he tried.

“Then ride me. Take everything you need from me,” Spencer says, leaving the grasp of your hips so you can lift yourself to position his cock at your entrance. You start to sink and you both are gasping for air. It feels so good. You feel so full with every pull and push of your core into Spencer’s cock. It's a sensation that never gets old.

“That's it. You are doing so well. Take your time,” Spencer reminds you, but you have been craving him so much that you don’t have patience anymore. Spencer's hands come back to your hips, and yours rest on his shoulders for balance. With a last bounce, you’re full to the hilt.

“Fuck!” You hiss. The stretching is a mix of pain and pleasure that’s driving you insane. Spencer’s concerned eyes seek yours.

“You okay?” He asks, his gaze now raking your body, looking for something that can tell him about your discomfort.

“Yes! I’m okay—more than okay,” you assure him. Then you remember there is something he needs to know, something you need from him.

"Spencer, look at me," you demand, and he does what you ask.

"Yeah?" he pants, eyes mapping your face for any sign of what you want to say.

"I want something. Better said, I need something,” you pant, feeling already the urge to move.

"Okay, whatever you need. I'll give it to you."

"I need to feel you. All of you.” Spencer nods.

“You are feeling me now, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Spencer. I’m talking about being rough. I need it hard. Please, baby, don't hold back."

“Oh.” Realization hits him at the same time you clench around him. “Fuck. But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Love, I promise you, you won’t break me.”

Spencer looks still hesitant.

“Please, don’t deprive me of you. I need to be consumed by you. I need to feel you everywhere; I need to be reminded I'm yours, and you're mine. Remind me you’re the only one who can have me like this. Remind me who put this baby in me.”

The way Spencer’s cock twitches inside of you and the groan escaping his lips is enough for you to know he got the memo.

His eyes darkened even more, and you could swear you saw a smirk on his face.

“You don’t know what you’re asking, do you?” he says, thrusting up so you can feel him deeper.

“Ah! Show me! Give me what you think I deserve, please,” you beg, and for Spencer is the last straw. With both hands on your hips, he starts to bounce you up and down. Your hands rest on his stomach as you try to catch a rhythm. It starts messy and frantic, and you can’t care less. You’re riding Spencer, and that's what matters.

“So tight. I don’t know how I can fit here. Feels amazing.” Spencer's voice is strained, breathless.

As you gain more control over your movements, the grinding intensifies. Every part of your body is on fire. The bounce of your breasts makes Spencer feral.

“These tits. Are mine. All mine,” Spencer chants, hands squeezing them. “You’re mine.”

Damn right, you think. You are his. Every part of you is his, in the same way you are claiming him as yours right now.

Not fully satisfied with touching, Spencer leans forward and captures one of your nipples with his mouth, one arm around your waist to help you as you keep riding him.

“Fuck! Spencer!” You cry when he sucks harder. Tugging his hair, you speed your rhythm, feeling the coil forming, a new orgasm approaching.

At some point your legs start to falter, the exertion making them cramp, but you don’t want to stop. Spencer notices, though.

“I’ve got you,” he says, maneuvering you on your back without pulling out. Now he’s on top, and your legs over his shoulders. “That’s better, uh?”

You nod eagerly. “But don’t stop, please.”

“I won’t.”

With this new angle, Spencer thrusts deeper and harder. It's all you have wanted for weeks. The sinful sound of skin hitting skin fills the room, and you can respire the smell of sweat and sex.

“Yes! Just like that!”

“Oh, so you wanted it harder, uh? My sweet, dirty thing,” Spencer coos, head nestled in the crook of your neck. You feel his hot breath, how he’s panting while giving you precise and deliberate thrusts, in and out, in and out.

“Spence, I’m close,” you warn, and Spencer doesn't halt his movements, leaning a bit back to look at you.

“Me too, baby.”

You are a sight to behold. Your messy hair, sweat sparkling on your skin, eyes full of lust, the moans leaving your lips, tits bouncing with every thrust, and that bump, where your baby is. Spencer still can’t believe it's real.

“You’re so gorgeous. You look so good, pregnant with my baby. Everyone knows you’re mine.”

“Yours, always,” you half-sob, half-moan. The pleasure is overwhelming, and you can feel it in your bones. Spencer knows exactly how to get you there. He’s almost there too.

“That’s what you want? That I keep you nice a knocked up all the time? Do you want my cum, don’t you?”

“Yes! All the time. Please.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you nice and full.” Spencer vows, kissing your calf and sneaking down his fingers to rub your clit in tight circles.

“Oh, God.”

You’re on the verge of falling. The wet sounds your bodies are making, the panting and moans, Spencer’s words, everything is pushing you to the edge.

“Come for me, come on my cock,” Spencer demands, and it is like your body has to comply because as the words leave his mouth, your orgasm hits you like a freight train.

“Fucking shit! Yes!” You scream, feeling your body trembling with pleasure. Spencer’s pace keeps, now chasing his own end.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, losing some rhythm. “So good for me.”

You can feel him twitching inside with each thrust as you clench your walls, still riding your high.

“Spencer, please. Cum inside. Fill me up, baby. I need it so bad,” you plead, and Spencer loses it. After a deep thrust, he grunts and stills inside, spilling everything he has. You feel his warmth filling you up, a content sigh leaving your lips.

For a few seconds, you both remain still, panting and trying to catch your breath. Spencer is the first to react. Not pulling out, he lowers your legs from his shoulders, massaging them gently while he peppers your neck with kisses. You giggle, still drunk of post-orgasmic hormones.

“You did so good, my love,” he praises. Your hands cup his face so he can look at you.

“I love you, Spencer. I missed you so much,” you declare as you lean in to kiss his lips. Spencer reciprocates immediately. This kiss is sweet, not rushed, but takes your breath away as all Spencer’s kisses do.

“I love you, too,” he mumbles on your lips. “And it was torture being away from you for so many days. But I’m here right now; I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good, because tonight I’m not done with you yet.”

With the whimper that escapes Spencer’s lips and the twitch of his cock still inside of you, it’s clear he knows exactly how the night will go from here.

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

[localfanficlover]

Baptized in Heat

(Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore x OC)

Trigger Warnings:

(Rough sex, semi-public setting, oral sex (f. receiving), choking, hair-pulling, dirty talk, possessive language, age gap, porn without a plot)

MDNI below the cut

I ain’t ever been shy ‘bout needin’. But the way I needed Smoke? That was a hunger I’d buried deep, somewhere between pride and pain. And now here he was, starin’ at me like he could smell it on me—like he always could.

My breath caught when his hand slipped under my dress. Thick fingers rough from work—slow, sure, confident like a man who knew exactly what he was doin’, exactly what I liked.

He brushed my slit once, twice, just to see how wet I already was. I whimpered, hips twitchin’ and he let out a low, satisfied grunt.

“Hell,” he muttered, voice deep as a well. “You soaked for me already, baby girl?”

I nodded, lips partin’, too breathless to be proud. “You know I am. Ain’t never stopped wantin’ this.”

He looked at me then, real slow. “Ain’t never stopped wantin’ you neither.”

Then he kissed me—hot, hard, greedy. Not gentle, not careful. The kinda kiss you remember more than you should. I melted against him, hands in his hair, body grindin’ close like I could crawl inside him if I just pressed hard enough.

—

Next thing I knew, he had me backed up ‘gainst that rough wood wall. His hand was still between my legs, fingers slidin’ through my folds like he was learnin’ me all over again. Except he wasn’t. He remembered.

“You still got that pretty lil’ moan,” he whispered, lips draggin’ down my neck. “Used to drive me crazy behind that sugar mill.”

I gasped when two fingers curled inside me, deep and deliberate.

“Ain’t nothin’ changed,” I managed to say, rockin’ my hips to match his rhythm. “You still make me damn near lose my mind.”

He dropped to his knees so fast it stole my breath. One hand hooked under my thigh, liftin’ my leg over his shoulder. He looked up at me from between my legs like he was about to pray—and I was the altar.

—

And then his mouth—

Hot, wet, devastatin’. His tongue slid over my clit slow at first just enough to make my knees wobble, then faster, suckin’ and circlin’ ‘til I was cryin’ out for him.

I tangled my fingers in his hair and rode that mouth like salvation. “Shit, Smoke—please—don’t you stop—”

He gripped my ass tighter, tongue flickin’ harder now, drunk on how loud I was gettin’. He knew what he was doin. He wanted me loud. Wanted the whole damn mill to hear.

When I came, it hit hard and fast—back archin’, thighs shakin’, body slammin’ into the wall like I’d been struck by lightnin’.

And he didn’t stop.

Kept lickin’, kept suckin’, drew it out like he was tryin’ to ruin me for anybody else. And maybe he was. Maybe he already had.

—

He stood, hands slick with me, and I could see the hunger in his eyes. He was hard, straining against the front of his pants and when he unbuckled his belt, the sound alone made my stomach clench.

“You remember how I feel inside you?” he rasped, palming himself slow. “How I stretch you out?”

My mouth watered. “Like I was made to take it.”

He growled. That’s what it was—low and primal. He spun me ‘round, bent me over a crate, and lifted my dress. My bare ass pressed against the heat of him, and I whimpered at the feel of his cock rubbin’ up my folds.

“No panties,” he said again, voice full of grit and lust. “You knew what you was doin’.”

“I hoped you’d do somethin’ about it,” I said.

Then he slid inside.

—

The stretch burned in the best way—thick, deep, takin’ me all at once. My breath left my chest in a long, broken moan as he filled me. It was too much, it was perfect.

“Still tight,” he said, voice low and ragged. “Still fit me like you was made for me.”

He started slow—deep strokes that made me feel every inch, his hips smackin’ into mine with heavy purpose. One hand grabbed my hair, pullin’ just enough to arch my back, and the other slid ‘round to grip my throat.

“Say my name,” he growled against my ear. “Say who this pussy belong to.”

“Smoke,” I gasped. “It’s yours. Always was.”

He picked up the pace then, poundin’ into me like he was tryin’ to make up for every year we’d spent apart. The sounds we made—skin slappin’, breath catchin’, moans spillin’ out like secrets—filled the room and drowned out the world.

—

I came again with his name on my lips, body clenchin’ around him so tight he cursed under his breath. His grip tightened on my hips as he chased his own release.

And when he finally spilled into me—hot, thick, deep—he pulled me tight against him, buried to the hilt, groanin’ like I’d dragged his soul out through his cock.

—

We stayed like that a long while. Sweaty. Shaky. Silent.

Then he pulled out slow, hands still on me like he wasn’t ready to let go.

“You still trouble,” I whispered, dress half-off, body hummin’.

He smirked, that dangerous glint back in his eye. “And you still worth every bit of it.”

—

Tags:

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Yearning

MDNI

Price's love is messy; it comes courting with grave dirt on its shoes.

CW: widow!reader, parent!reader, funerals, graves, hint of obsessive behavior

He watches the mourners file by, squeezing the new widow’s hands with feeling, then moving along, leaving her palms bare, baptized in everyone else’s clammy sweat. A beggar left to fill up on condolences and wrap her children in the warm embrace of near-strangers’ thoughts and prayers. Nothing a young mother can use. Nothing a woman who framed her life around her husband’s career can fall back against.

She needs the world and a table to lay it out on.

No one volunteers. No one steps up. Everyone respects her and her husband’s memory too much to offer the kind of help she and her little girls need.

Price can disrespect her just enough to save her.

Her girls sit in the front row wearing black sundresses – one in polka dots, one with butterflies. Those weren’t bought for funerals. The new widow’s black cotton skirt is a little too casual, at odds with her pressed blouse. They’re unprepared, and he already sees the way the woman is pulling their purse strings tight like she can rub pence together to make a pound. She’s magic, aye, but no alchemist. She’s made life, but she can’t bring back the dead.

When his turn comes, he can’t bring himself to take her hand. With everything in his heart, it would be profane, especially standing beside her husband’s closed coffin.

It had been a bad op. Rotten from the start, and though his taskforce wasn’t involved, grave murmurs of how light the body bags were upon their return echoed across base. He thinks she knows. It’s printed in dark crescents under her eyes, bloodshot despite her best efforts. Most of her makeup is on the balled-up tissue set behind the arrangement of white roses to her right, her efforts to appear collected and strong melted into faint streaks to reveal everything women paint themselves to hide.

She is too real to touch, so he folds his hands behind his back and nods respectfully. “He was a good man. A good soldier.”

Her smile is wan and polite to the point of pain. “Thank you, Captain Price. He always spoke highly of you. I’m sure he’d be glad to have left an impression.”

Nodding, pinching together his own weak smile, he glances at the girls. “How are they holding up?”

“They don’t understand it yet,” she says, taking the opportunity to check on her children around his shoulder. “But they’re upset and hurt. And because they don’t know why it makes it worse.”

He takes a deep breath. “Five-years-old last April, right?”

A little light returns to her flat expression, and he’s glad he asked.

“Yeah.”

They both watch the girls for another minute. They’re surrounded by coloring books, and their respective baby blankets sit to the side, neatly folded and ready for an emergency.

He’s glad he waited for the crowd to thin.

“And you?” He swivels, catching her eyes and angling his head to keep the connection when she reflexively drifts to the side. "Are you holding together?"

"As well as can be expected. I found one of his lost socks in the laundry yesterday and –" She pauses, and it must dawn on her that was a little too honest for polite society, and she backs away from it. “I’m fine, really.”

She’s clearly anything but. Nor should she be.

 Still reluctant to reach out, he sidles a half step closer, ensuring his words are for her alone.

“Just worry about yourself. Take care of your girls. All this, all of them,” he gestures at the wreathes, and the guests, and the stiff funeral director lurking by the door, “they’ll take care of themselves. You don’t owe them anything. Do you understand?”

Her next breath shakes, and he flexes his hands to resist grabbing her, pulling her out of the limelight to a dark corner where she can cry and be a mess without worries or witnesses.

She blinks rapidly, and her hand finds his arm as she smiles through teary eyes.

“You don’t have to worry about us, Captain. Thank you.”

Still prioritizing the performance. Tending to his emotions over her own grief.

It isn’t the time or place, he knows, and he nods again with another flinching smile, stepping back so a new string of mourners can burden her with their razor-wire recollections and hollow words.

He aches to stop and speak to the girls, but they’re safely tucked away in their world of paper and crayons for the moment, and he doesn’t want to disturb them. No extended family babysit while the widow performs her duties, and the twins sit in a bubble of silence and pitying glances. He hopes they’ve had time to cry, that they’ll have space with their mother to figure out what they’ve lost.

Without permission or authority to play another role, Price finds a seat in the back of the hall, eye on the exits, arms folded. This is all he’s allowed for now, so he’ll keep watch until the time comes to speak. It’s his vigil to honor the fallen before he broaches dreams of the future.

-------

There’s no sense in this, not tactically, not practically. His entire plan is to make a selfish mistake. All his training can do is map inevitable risks and try to catch the matches before they strike, before they fall and catch on the dry fuel he’s gathering.

He looks up at the house and imagines it in flames. He’s the torch, standing at the threshold, begging for a soft place to land, even if it puts the whole structure at risk.

A whiskey sounds nice as he festers in his thoughts. But if he can’t do it sober, he shouldn’t be doing it at all. She deserves that much. They deserve that much.

It hasn’t stopped raining since the funeral. The graveside was so foul with mud the twins couldn’t get close enough to throw their flowers into the open pit. The white petals fell short, lying soggy and stained at the edge of the abyss. He’d watched their mother wipe their shoes clean as they sat with their feet dangling out the side of the car. She didn’t bother with her own, just kicking the heels off and slipping behind the wheel in stockinged feet.

She shouldn’t have had to drive herself home from her husband’s funeral. He was sure she cooked dinner when they returned, cleaned up the girls, and found herself too exhausted to mourn or sleep by the time the moon rose.

He waited three nights. He forced himself to, mocking his own rush to step into dead men’s shoes. But he never knew when he’d be called away, and without her anchor, she could be lost to the wind by the time he returned.

The rain drips from his nose and gathers in his eyebrows. His beanie is heavy with it, and as he finally lifts a hand to knock, he realizes just how he’ll enter her home: a fresh mess to clean up.

Too late to think of an umbrella now.

The porch light flicks on. Her shadow moves across the peephole, and he listens with approval as both a deadbolt and security chain clatter free.

The door opens. His breath catches.

She’s in a bathrobe, a thick fluffy thing that looks warm and soft. He can see the seam of a tank top, and her pajamas go all the way to her ankles, but the cozy intimacy is staggering. The kitchen light reflects off the hall mirror, haloing her mussed hair and weary, curious expression.

Beautiful. Effortlessly.

He isn’t here because he deserves her. The reminder barely keeps him from making his excuses and escaping into the night. He’s selfish, and she needs someone willing to selfish for her own sake.

“May I come in?”

“Of course.” She’s looking at the rain soaking his clothes, sizing up the problem she needs to manage.

As he steps through and peels off his soaked hat, she retreats to the guest bath to fetch a towel. He hangs his jacket next to a bomber jacket much too large for the woman of the house, and he unlaces his boots, leaving them beside a fleet of little sneakers and sandals in every color of the rainbow.

“Here you go.”

He accepts the towel, drying his face and neck as she leads him into the kitchen. At least he won’t leave a damp spot on her couch or the living room carpet. She pops on the kettle, and he takes a seat at the kitchen table. A tower of boxes looms in the corner, labeled but empty. A stack of flat containers wait to be assembled beside them.

She catches him looking as she drops tea bags into mugs, and says, “They gave us through the end of the month. It’s hard to pack when it feels like the girls need everything in the house at least once a day, though.”

A hum masks his displeasure. The military’s efficiency is downright criminal at times, especially when there’s an opportunity to trim the budget.

“Know where you’re going?”

“Not yet.”

The tension flows out of him. It disappears down the windows, caught in smeary raindrops that belong outside this little safe haven. He’s making the right decision. He knows it now.

Because he’s managed to wait three nights to approach – lurking at the end of her street, counting the hours like a fairytale creature making a bargain – he manages to wait for the kettle to sing, the water to burble over the tea, and the widow to come to the table with both cuppas in hand.

He accepts his with a smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She isn’t looking at him. She should look comfortable here, at her own table, but she’s diminished, crumbling in, and there’s no confidence left in her slumped posture. Her finger trails the lip of her mug in an infinite circle.

He waits for her to find her courage, and he’s ready when she finally meets his eyes and asks, “Why are you here, Captain Price?”

It’s his turn to adjust his seat, leaning in as they get to the heart of the matter. Hands clasped, resting on the table where she can see them.

He’s waited, and waited, and now –

“Marry me.”

It’s honest and blunt and hopefully romantic in retrospect, but this isn’t the right time for flowers and pretty gifts. Her survival instincts are in control, and he knows he’s the only ship for miles.

“What?” Her eyes flick over his face, bouncing between his eyes, looking for the joke, but it doesn’t come, and waits until the seed roots before explaining.

“I know… a little of your story,” he says, stepping carefully for fear of landmines. He wets his lips, buying a moment between thoughts. “Without a place to return to, life after the military is… challenging for widows. Especially with children.”

Even though they’re asleep upstairs, the twins’ presence lingers. Crumbs that escaped their mother’s eye on the table. A small plastic tiger under the chair to his right. Fingerprints low on the glass door to the back yard.

Their sippy cups sit on the drying rack, and magnetic letter spell their names on the fridge.

Anna and Nora.

He clears his throat, takes a sip of tea.

“I want to marry you,” he confesses. And it is a confession. Good men did not yearn for widows before grass grew on their husbands’ graves. “I don’t expect anything, but you’ll keep military benefits, and you can decide whether or not you want to stay on base.”

“You wouldn’t offer if you didn’t expect anything.”

Her knuckles strain around her mug, and she sits up straight, alert. He doesn’t move. Breathes slowly. Keeps his head and prays he hasn’t fucked everything up in his first few sentences.

“It would be nice,” he murmurs, “to come home to people. I’m deployed more often than not, and that doesn’t leave time to keep a place of my own. If you can keep a room for me – tolerate me when I’m off-duty – that’s all I ask.”

She’s still hesitating, but war widows understand loneliness. They practice long before they bury their partners. And he isn’t lying. He will never ask for more, no matter how much he hopes for it.

He only has to plant the seed tonight. There’s time yet for it to grow. It needs to see sunlight, and she hasn’t seen that since the funeral.

“I don’t know.” There’s a battle in her eyes he has no place in. He doubts she’ll be able to sleep at all. “It’s kind of you to offer, but…”

She trails off, but she doesn’t give him a hard no. It’s time to leave before she battles herself into a corner.

“Think it over. I’m happy to wait. I know this is sudden, but I wanted to ask face-to-face, and there’s no telling when I’ll be called in.”

Moving slowly, he grabs a sheet of construction paper the girls left on the counter and writes his number in army green Crayola.

“If you want to talk more about it, or talk about anything, just let me know.”

He stands and smiles, folding the towel she lent him and setting it by his half-empty mug. “It’s not much of a proposal, but I care about what happens to you and your girls. World isn’t always kind to those it should be, and I’d be honored to help. In any way I can.”

He leaves before he can say anything he’ll regret. In a moment, there’s nothing left of him in her home but the puddle from his boots and a wet streak on the bomber jacket from where it hung shoulder-to-shoulder with the captain’s.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Besotted 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes (silverfox)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“Ugh, you have no idea how much I needed this,” you say as you plant the umbrella in the sand. 

“Isn’t that what you said about the old man?” Angelique scoffs and pinches your ass. 

You swat her away, “were you not just asking me to hook you up with one of his friends?” 

“Whatever. A girl’s gotta eat,” she giggles as she sits on the beach blanket and flips the lid of the cooler. “And drink.” 

She cracks open the ready-to-drink long island iced tea. You opt for a fruitier option as you settle onto the blanket across from her. You flip down your sun glasses and sigh. 

“What about the others? I know it’s an exclusive trip but I doubt it’s just us.” 

“They’re coming,” she catches a trickle along her chin with her tongue. “Now you’ve been baptized, maybe you might find a hottie around here. Let me tell you, young dick is something else.” 

“Oh and you would know,” you roll your eyes. “I mean, don’t all dicks feel the same once have so many.” 

“Shut up,” she throws sand at you. 

“Matching energy,” you hum and push in the tab of the can. 

“Did he fuck air into your head?” She chirps. “Jeez, you’re a fucking bitch now, aren’t you?” 

You just laugh at her. She’s salty over everything. She never liked not being the better of you two. You don’t think it’s really all that different than before, she just has less to tease you about. 

“Angel,” Colin’s voice ripples over the beach. Angelique sits up and squeals. You didn’t know she invited him. “Hey, baby, you look good.” 

She jumps up, leaving her can planted in the sand, and skips over to him. She sends more sand your way. You shield yourself as his entourage traipses up behind him. 

“So do you,” she pets his hairy chest as she stands on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Took you long enough.” 

“Had to get the party favours,” he gestures behind to the keg carried between two of his bros and the bluetooth speaker better suited to a night club. “Huh, is that who I think it is?” He glances over at you. 

“Colin,” you greet sardonically as you lean back on one arm. His eyes drift down your body. You cross your legs subtly. He’s never done that before. 

“That a new suit? Looks good on you.” 

You narrow your eyes behind the tinted lenses, “sure is.” 

“Yeah, her tits never stop. She snapped the last top like it was tooth floss,” Angelique snickers and shimmies her pert chest at him. 

“Hey, Ang,” Harley calls as she unfolds her beach towel, “who’d you fuck to get this beach house?” 

“Oh, shut up, slut,” Angelique snakes around Colin and punches Harley’s arm. The two of them could be twins; tall, slender, high tits, even the same pedicure. 

You bend your legs and sit up straight as company files in. You know them all. The typical crowd. Colin, Ryan, Trent, and Sterling, who prefers Steez. Either way, he sounds like a douche. Then Harley, her sister, Hazel, Tracy, and Kissie. 

You put aside your drink and distract yourself with the bottle sunscreen. You should put it on before the sun’s too high and you’re too tipsy. The voices garble around you as you rub the lotion into your legs. 

As you reach for the bottle, it’s scooped out of your grasp. You look up at Colin. 

“Can I get your back, kitten?” He winks. You furrow your brow and glance at Angelique. She’s groping Hazel’s tits. They look bigger, not that you took measurements. 

“Fine,” you turn and let him smear the lotion on your back. You can’t reach and trying will only have you pushing out your already oversized chest.  

His hands run up and down your back. Tendrils spread over you and you hold back a shudder. Calm down, girl. You’re not that thirsty. 

His hands slip around and suddenly scoop up your tits. You smack him and yelp as you spin away. 

“The fuck, guy?” You sneer at him. 

“I was checking if they’re real. Hazel’s aren’t.” He chuckles. 

You grimace, “Colin, you’re such a perv.” 

“Never said I wasn’t.” He stands and snaps the elastic on his trunks. “Finish that drink and I’ll be back.” 

You curl your lip and grab the can. You flip him the finger and search for your bag. You pull out your phone. Low bars. You shove it away and stare out at the water. 

“...some old guy. Grey hair and everything...” Angelique’s voice wafts over. 

“Oh,” Tracy struts up, “I heard you’re a slut now.” 

You look at her and take a drink. You shrug. “I have a lot to catch up with around you guys.” 

She giggles and sits on the end of the beach blanket, “tell us everything.” 

You look at Angelique and she smirks. She’s such a bitch. 

“It was just... you know. Whatever,” you shrug. 

Hazel and Harley sit beside Tracy and Kissie hovers behind them. 

“How old?” Harley asks. 

“I don’t know--” 

“Like fifty,” Angelique says. 

“He doesn’t look that old,” you counter. “Or fuck like it. It was like hours. I’m still tired.” 

“Hours? Sure.” Trent scoffs. “Old guy blew and rolled over to get his five o’clock nap.” 

“Fuck off,” you wave him off. Colin peers over as he turns his hat backwards. You sigh. “Here.” 

You take out your phone and search for the picture that was your background until that morning. The one of you and Bucky. You show the girls. 

“Shit, he’s fucking hot!” 

“And jacked, look, you can see his chest--” 

“Guess he worked out in prison,” you joke. 

The girls go quiet. Kissie speaks first, “prison?” 

You frown, “I don’t know. He’s got tattoos. He mentioned something. I mean who hasn’t done a night in jail?” 

“You,” Angelique accuses. 

“Drunk tank isn’t prison,” Ryan snorts. 

You shake your head, “well, he’s not in there now. And it was one night. Who the fuck cares?” 

“I didn’t know men his age came in that flavour,” Harley wiggles on her knees. 

“What are we? Chopped liver?” Colin snipes. 

“One pump chump,” Harley retorts. 

“Like you would fucking know,” he turns away. 

The girls laugh. It’s a bit ridiculous now it’s done and over with. It’s not that big of a deal. Fun, sure. Just the thought makes you want to moan but it’s not life-altering. Nope, you’re over it now. Now you can focus on more important things. 

Like getting fucking hammered and going swimming. You don’t want to think about work or your neighbour or your rent. You just want to have fun. 

👙

The sun adds to the effect of the vodka. There’s that haze around the edges of the vision, that looseness in your body. You feel good. Lighter. 

You run alongside Hazel into the tides and she squeals as the waves crash over you. You plunge under as you feel the top of your tankini slipping. You pop up over the surface and catch your chest as the straps hang down your arms. 

You giggle as you search for Hazel. She’s adjusting her bikini as she wades around. She grins at you. The other girls come crashing through. 

A shadow lands next to you. You look over as the frisbee floats on the water. You pull up the straps of your suit and fix the cups. Colin chuckles as he swipes up the disc and flings it. Trent hollers as it flies errantly through the air. 

“Hey, need some help with that,” he tugs on the straps and your chest bounces. 

You smack his stomach, “god, you’re the fucking worst.” 

“How long we’ve been dancing around each other, huh?” He plays with one strap and you nudge him away. 

“Colin, don’t start with me, alright? I’m not interested and until two hours ago, neither were you.” 

“What? I'm not ancient enough for you? How would you know if you try something... fresher?” 

“I know, okay?” You back up. “I didn’t come here for that. I’m on vacation.” 

“What else are you supposed to do on vacation?” He asks as he catches your arm. He pulls you closer. “We could find somewhere in the trees...” 

“Ew, okay, stop,” you push on his chest. 

He bends suddenly and picks you up. He plunges under with you and the water floods your throat. He brings you back up as you hack and cough, wriggling in his arms. 

“Ugh, you two, no one wants to see it so go somewhere else,” Kissie chides. 

“Yeah,” Angelique agrees and you glance over to find her glowering. 

“It’s not going to happen,” you shove on Colin until he lets you go. 

You splash down and his hand brushes your ass. You swipe him away again. You stomp through the water, fighting through the depths, and come up onto the beach. 

You need water. Three drinks was way too much. So much that you’re half-considering Colin. He’s a creep but you’re getting a bit antsy. You should’ve known vodka was a bad mix with half-naked hotties. 

You sit down on the blanket and untwist the cap of your water bottle. You chug about a quarter then wipe your mouth. Someone drops down beside you. You peer out at the water in confusion before you look over. 

Bucky sits on the other side of the blanket. The sun shines over the silver streaks in his hair as he wears all black; tee and jeans. He’s unbothered by the sweltering rays. 

“So why didn’t you mention you were going away?” He asks as he rests his elbows on his knees and rubs his hands together. 

“How-- what are you doing here?” 

“I don’t take too kindly to being ditched,” he looks at you, his jaw clicking. 

“Ditched? No, Bucky,” you look away. “I... I had this planned for a while, I just... forgot to say. I mean...” you pick at your lip. “Look, it was a lot of fun. You and I,” you smile at him. “But like, that’s it, right? I mean, we’re neighbours, we don’t want it to get weird. And I’m a bit young for you--” 

“I said that. I told you that,” he hisses as a lock of hair falls forward. His eyes swirl like the lake. “I begged you to back off and you said you wanted me.” 

“Bucky...” 

“No, you told me I was perfect for you.” 

“Perfect in the moment, but--” 

“This isn’t a fucking game. I’m too old for that. I spent enough time locked up that I’m well-past this bullshit,” he snarls and you wince. You’ve never seen him like this. And the mystery of how he even found you has you reeling. 

“I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear--” 

“You fucking started this. You,” his lips trembles. “I warned you. I told you to stop over and over. Don’t make me the bad guy.” He shakes his head as his eyes search the horizon. He brings his hands to his cheeks and drags them through his stubble. “Then I fucking see you out in there in the water with some fuckhead--” 

“Bucky--” 

“Let’s get one thing straight. It’s not over. Not fucking close,” he growls. He leans forward and pushes himself up. He stands over you, a blight against the bright blue sky. “I’ll be fucking watching. Understand. You have your fun but not too much.” He balls his tattooed fist. “And that boy touches you again, I’ll break every single fucking finger on his hands. Then I’ll slice his dick off.” 

You stare at him, stunned. You’re confused. Is this some hallucination? Is the sun playing tricks on you? 

“You’re fucking mine and I don’t mess around with my territory.” He grits down at you. “I’m your first, your last, your only.” He points at you. “Doll.” 

He marches away, unhindered by the sand in his thick-treaded boots. You turn to watch him and shudder. You look at the water. The rest are perfectly ignorant, splashing each other, tossing the frisbees, diving under. None of them have any idea that he’s there. You suspect if they find out, it won’t be good. 

[fallenprophets]

Home.

Jinx x reader

Summary: set between Act 1 and 2 of Arcane season 2. You find a moment of calm at home with Jinx, Isha, and a stray dog you've found along the way.

Warnings: spoilers for Arcane season 1, tooth-rotting fluff (I hope) not proofread

No use of Y/N, no pronouns used for reader, no gender specific terms etc...

A/N: WHOO first piece of writing by Lev on this blog yippee!! I sincerely hope you all enjoy this lolsies. Please interact! I'm taking requests teehee

You don’t remember the last time you felt this at peace. 

It is like a buzzing, filling your chest, lifting you practically off your feet as you make my way home. 

This feeling is manufactured- it is not coming from the outside. It comes from deep inside your chest, thrumming happily, snuggled between your lungs, right below your heart. There are reasons for this warmth, this light- well, one reason. Her name is Jinx. 

When you say you’re going home, all you really think of is her. Yes, her lair is home- it is warm, and cozy, and as safe as a hot air balloon suspended above what seems to be an infinite void can be- but without her, it would be nothing. 

She is the light that fills your chest, with her bright smile and ridiculously long blue hair and perfect pink eyes. She is the weight on your lungs, making it hard to breathe when you think of her. She’s all the cheesy, corny shit the romance authors you hated so as a child wrote. Only instead of being a character, only words on a worn out page, she’s real, and she’s only a two minute walk away from where you are now. 

You have a satchel slung over your shoulder, the Dog (you don’t know when it became your dog; it just appeared by your side one day, and hasn’t left since) trotting along beside you. Its fur is matted. You reach down and scratch between its ears as you near the Last Drop, smiling to yourself. Never had you thought you would be living this life- on your way home, supplies for Jinx in your bag, the Dog padding alongside you- it is so domestic, so soft, so clean (despite the grime of the Fissures, the thickness of the air, the moaning of the people crowding the sides of the streets). This life is so unlike anything you remember your parents having. 

You take the quick route into Jinx’s lair, the dog following happily, its pink tongue lolling. You should name it, you think as you step onto one of the propellers. 

After Silco had died, you had expected the place to fall into disrepair; you had thought the lights would stop twinkling, and the tinny music would stop playing, and the workstations would gather dust until finally the propellers snapped and fell, taking Jinx with them. And yes, that had started to happen. But then, Jinx had met the kid. Isha, you had called her. All of you, huddled around an old, matted baby names book one of you had found at a scrapyard, pointing out names to each other. Isha, the kid had pointed at, a huge, toothy grin splitting her round face. One who protects. You had closed the book then, knowing that it was perfect. Jinx had smiled at you over the newly baptized Isha’s head, and you had smiled right back, squeezing her hand in yours. You had tossed the book down, into the void below. 

Now, your home was transformed. Jinx’s creepy dolls were gone, replaced with different colourful toys and gadgets picked out or made by Isha. The walls were covered in crayon drawings of all kinds of things- dragons, flowers, the three of you in fields of green and blue and pink and orange. There was a tent set up in the corner, full of Isha’s belongings. It was where you all slept, huddled together like a litter of cats. You love the place. 

At first, you think they’re both out. You call out, and when no answer comes, you venture further in, dropping your bag by Jinx’s workbench. The Dog sniffs around, its tail wagging as it comes closer and closer to an odd lump covered in blankets. You grin to yourself, putting a hand on your hip, tapping your chin with the knuckles of the other. “Hmm,” you muse to yourself, purposefully ignoring the giggle coming from the blankets, “wowie, I wonder where Isha and Jinx could possibly be.” You go in the opposite direction, checking under the workbench, scratching your head. The Dog watches, its eyes saying Can’t you see them? They’re right here! You wink at it, and it sits, tilting its head. “They must have gone out,” you declare loudly as the giggles intensify. “Guess I have this whole place to myself! Finally, I am rid of those stinky-“ 

As you are talking, you approach the mess of blankets. Before you are able to finish that last sentence, a small orange and blue bundle barrels into your legs, almost knocking you flat on your back. Isha launches herself into your arms, grinning her toothy grin as you spin her around. 

“Oh my goodness!” You cry, “where were you hiding? You really are a master sleuth!” Jinx, still have tangled in the blankets, barks a laugh. You hug Isha to your chest and raise an eyebrow at her, mouthing you couldn’t hide anywhere better? She flips you off, but she is smiling. 

She stands and joins you and Isha, her hand finding the small of your back, the other going to Isha’s shoulder. 

“I have a surprise,” you whisper to the child, “but don’t tell Jinx, mmkay?” 

Jinx tilts her head, still smiling. Isha nods solemnly. 

“I found waffles,” you breathe, looking at Jinx out of the corner of your eye. Isha gasps and puts her hands over her mouth. Through trial and error, you and Jinx had discovered that the little one seemed to live for waffles. You now went out of your way, as the only one with your face not plastered all over the place, to find the sweet treat. 

“Gee, I wonder what the surprise could be,” Jinx says, playing along. She follows as you carry Isha to your bag. You set the kid down, the Dog nuzzling into her hand. You rifle around for a moment, and finally pull out the waffles. Jinx lets out a loud gasp, and Isha turns to her, delighted, pleased with herself that she was able to keep this secret. 

“Waffles?” Jinx cries. Isha claps her hands together, startling the Dog. 

You all sit together in the tent, sharing the waffles off the same plate. Isha (who thinks she’s being slick) keeps sneaking pieces of her food to the Dog, who delightedly licks it off her hand. She giggles every time, earning an affectionate look from you and Jinx. 

Once you have finished the waffles, you push the plate away and lie down. Soon, Isha curls into a ball in the space between your knees and your stomach, settling her head on your legs. Jinx dims the lights, then joins you; the two of you become a protective cocoon around the now snoring Isha. The Dog squishes itself in between you and Isha, resting its head on the kid’s side and looking up at you adoringly. You brush a strand of hair from Jinx’s face and smile. She smiles right back. She’s been smiling so much recently. 

“This is perfect,” you whisper to her once you’re sure Isha is fast asleep. 

She smiles, but doesn’t answer. One of her hands rests on your waist, and her fingers trace soothing patterns there. 

“I thought,” she begins, then stops, frowning. Her other fingers tighten around your hand. “I thought that, with Silco gone, there was nothing left for me.” Her words hurt you; it stings somewhere deep in your stomach to hear that she is in any kind of pain. 

“But then… I met the kid,” she continues. “And then I found you.” 

You feel an overwhelming wave of affection for the girl lying in front of you then. A girl you had once known what feels like a very long time ago; a girl who had once had blue eyes and the same wide, toothy smile as Isha. A girl who had been part of your distant past, who was now back in your life. She was right; despite having known each other your whole lives, you have really only just found each other. 

“And- and I realised that maybe, maybe Silco wasn’t all I needed. Maybe…” she trails off, but she has said enough. You shuffle forwards (careful not to disturb Isha or the dog) so that your forehead is only centimetres from hers. She meets you halfway, pressing her forehead to yours; your noses brush, and you smile, reaching up to cup her face. 

“I love you, Blue,” you whisper. A name, who she has always been to you. Blue. Blue like the sky, like the sea. Blue like the warm, the fluttering bird nestled in your chest. 

For a moment, you think she is going to cry. But she only pulls you closer, and whispers the same words back to you, your name uttered like a prayer. 

You close your eyes and smile, and her breathing slows. 

As you fall asleep, you think: 

You have never felt this at peace before. 

[hihomeghere]

Here is my collection of Red Dead Redemption fics! I hope you enjoy! All of my fics are f!reader if not specifically mentioned

Smut 💋, Fluff 🪽, Angst 🗯️

Rdr2 Boyfriend vibes

John Marston

Burning Love Set in the epilogue of RDR2. You stumble upon John in Blackwater after being alone for years. When he invites you to visit Beecher's Hope, will you be able to fight feelings that have been building ever since you were kids? 🪽💋

Gloves John goes crazy over you dressed up for a job, more specifically your white gloves 🪽💋

Based off an ask 💋

Right Person, Wrong Time You and John have constantly been at each other's throats until you left the gang after he chose Abigail over you. When you return you find him gone, leaving Abigail and Jack. You create a relationship with Abigail and Jack, but what will happen when John returns? 🗯️💋

Part Two of Right Person, Wrong Time

Arthur Morgan

Fakin' It After a botched robbery, Arthur and you take refuge in a hotel, hiding from the O'Driscolls outside your door. When they do decide to search for you two, how will you throw them off your track? 💋

Fishing in the Dark You and Arthur have a private evening away from camp on the Dakota river. 🪽💋

Dreams Arthur starts having dreams of starting a family with you 🪽

My Eyes Only Arthur thinks you look like a work of art 🪽

Salt and Pepper Arthur notices his hair is starting to gray 🪽

Deserving. 6. I won't let anything happen to you, I swear. 34. I think you're showing. 36. You're glowing. 41. The baby loves hearing you sing/speak. 83. Was that a kick? 🪽

Blue Ain't Your Color Loosely based on the song, Blue Ain't Your Color 🪽

Little Things Arthur returns from a successful job and wants nothing more than to bury himself in you 💋

Prompts : #30 I just want to be yours. #50 We need to talk about last night 💋

First time : You want Arthur to be the one to take your virginity, you just dont want to tell him💋

Prompt : #4 "god, here- just hold my hand." Low Honor!Arthur 🪽

Arthur Morgan x Reader x Charles Smith

Baptized by Fire series masterlist

Wanna bet? It all started with a friendly bet and ended in the night of their dreams. When Arthur and Charles make a bet to see who can get the better score in bareback bronc riding, you, a barrel racer, asked if you could get in on their bet. But the prize you’re after isn’t who will pay each other’s tab, you’re after something more physical.

Charles Smith

Knight in Shining Armor 1. "Kiss me" "What-", 81. "Your heart is racing." 🪽💋

Prompts : 12 "You look so much softer, so much calmer, I wish you could see yourself as you sleep."13"Sleeping with you was the best sleep I've gotten in years." 54“Here, take my blanket.”55 “You’re cute when you smile, you should do it more often.” 61 “I said I’d take care of you.” 🪽

Desperado Set four months after Charles leaves with the Wapiti. You and Charles try to figure out what to do after the gang falls apart. Comfort fic 🪽

Javier Escuella

Prompt : #19 You're leaving now? 🗯️

Prompt: "You heard me. Take. It. Off.” "Do I look like I’ve moved on?” 🗯️🪽

Kieran Duffy

Prompt : #66 Were you touching yourself? 💋

[ozzgin]

Hiiii ozz!!!! I have a question for you!!!! What is our vegetable lamb baby's name? Or does our kid not have a name yet???? Maybe we should give our baby a name????

(Our little lamb is so cute!!! (⁠���⁠ﾉ⁠ω⁠＼⁠｡⁠) Little baby!!!)

I hadn't considered a name when doodling him up, so you can go ahead and baptize the kiddo however you'd like! He's going to love it either way.

I imagine his tiny head sprout rustling a little in excitement whenever he hears you calling out for him.

You're playing hide and seek, but you know he always sprints for the vegetable garden.

"I wonder where this cheeky boy went", you shout, then quickly survey the patch of land for any movement. Surely enough, those familiar leaves jingle above a cabbage.

[windvexer]

I actually do think that doing magic takes a lot of work and is kinda hard and there aren't very many good shortcuts, and many modern shortcuts actually just amount to leaving out steps, which means you either have to be powerful enough to brute-force it or it fizzles.

Look, I know some people are just much better at magic and witchcraft; anything they do works with little effort, and the lengths some of us have to go to accomplish magic seems bizarre to them. Those people are cool and I wish I was like them but I'm not.

But I also think some of the truth of how to work effective sorcery gets paved over by these "witchcraft has no rules, do anything you want" support posts.

Because A) that is not true, I believe that witchcraft has lots and lots of rules (it's just that nobody else can tell you what they are), and B) I think do anything you want is taken to mean anything you do should work, which is also not true.

I feel like I always see advice given that you don't need to do things (like use physical tools, or cast circles, or whatever). But I never see anyone explaining the techniques and paths of power that are supposed to replace them.

Let's just imagine for a moment that clear quartz really is a universal substitute. Discordians would say that it totally is. So does that mean all you have to do to sub out clear quartz is to just put it on the altar and do the ritual as if it's something else?

Or do you have to do something more?

Do you have to consecrate the stone as being something other than what it is? Do you have to ritually birth it into a new life and baptize it like a baby? Do you have to spend weeks or months honing your technique of focus and beliefs so that you can mentally shift from consensus reality to a personal reality where there is literally no difference between clear quartz and sodalite?

Do you have to raise energies of sodalite and imprint them into the quartz crystal, perhaps working over it for an extended period of time? Do you have to use energy work to tie the clear quartz into Ideal Sodalite so that it becomes like an avatar?

No, you don't have to use physical tools if you don't want to. But that shouldn't be taken to imply that tools are useless or can be replaced in a way that matters by just visualizing that you have them.

A witch spends six months propitiating a tree, ingratiating themselves with the land, offerings and acts of fealty to the tree, a week-long branch harvesting ritual, blood offerings at midnight on a holy day, then another year curing the wood and crafting a wand. Big effort, right?

And you don't need to do that. But if you want that power, what are you going to do instead?

Same with circle-casting. Same with magic on the full moon. No, you don't have to wait until the full moon. You don't have to wait until the moon is in Libra. But there's a really good reason people do those things. So if you want those effects, what actions can replace those effects?

You literally could not do the spell while the full moon is in Libra. That's fine. But then what will bridge the gap? Will you have to raise more energy somewhere else? Include a new aspect? Modify the spell for the moon you can work with?

"You don't have to follow the moon phase for magic" doesn't mean the moon phase is irrelevant and some witches just like to inconvenience themselves for no reason. But it does mean that you can probably adapt your working to overcome the moon being in the inopportune phase.

Every time I talk about how much time, energy, and effort magic can be I feel like someone always replies, "well, it's just not that hard for me! I do what I want with what I have when I need it and it always just works, with very little effort."

Which I think is very great for them, but I also don't think that most people can get results with such low effort.

So anyway my entire point is that I think sometimes the reason people struggle with getting witchcraft to work is because they are operating off of out-of-context soundbites that make it sound like you can just completely cut out some of these foundational concepts of witchcraft.

Maybe you don't have to accomplish those steps in traditional ways. Maybe you don't need all of those steps for every spell you're doing.

But if you've just cut out swaths of steps only because you heard someone say you don't need them (not because of your own experiments working with magic and determining what works best for you), then is there enough left to constitute a functional system of magic?

[rationaliity]

church — chase atlantic

' i'm about to take you back to church well, tell me your confessions, baby, what's the worst ? baptize in your thighs 'til it hurts cuz i'm about to take you back to church '

requested

you were sunday's favorite. as pure as a lamb, his perfect little toy that he could do whatever he wanted with, even though he wouldn't tell you to your face. no, his actions said all that he needed to say, there was no need to speak his favoritism openly when you accepted him so easily.

you, his darling favorite, were on your knees, looking up at him from where he stood behind his pulpit, your head bowed to him in reverence, one hand curled over the other closed fist in a prayer. " forgive me, father, for i have sinned. " the words flowed effortlessly from your mouth, and he almost found himself unable to keep a calm look on his face, content with your piety.

with your head bowed, all you could hear were his footsteps as you prayed for his forgiveness. fingers hooked underneath your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. sunday loved this view of you on your knees in front of him, your eyes begging for a forgiveness that he was so willing to give, for a price.

" tell me of your sins, " his voice was as smooth as butter, his hand never leaving your chin, forcing you to look directly into his eyes as you confessed. and of course you would, who were you to ever disobey a direct order from sunday ?

" i have.. been touching myself, father, " you admitted, and he swore he could see you melt underneath his piercing gaze. " i know it's wrong, so every time i.. get close, i stop. i know it's not right to orgasm with such sinful intentions, but i.. father, the need.. these sinful urges are taking over my body, my mind. everything. i can't stop thinking about being touched by another. "

sunday is a man who's mind always precedes before his bodily needs. but with you looking up at him, begging him to do something to help you with your urges, even he couldn't turn a blind eye to his favorite believer in need, now could he ?

" this is quite unbecoming of you. i can't even begin to describe my disappointment in you, " although his voice was gentle, his words were biting, reminding you of your place beneath his elegance and divinity. he had the ability to be kind, but he could also ruin you. you could bend to his will, or you could break. he didn't care either way, as long as he had you right where he wanted you.

" i'm sor- "

" i'm afraid apologizing isn't going to make up for your actions. you know as well as i do that acting on such carnal desires are nothing short of blasphemy, " his lips curled into a smirk as he guided your head closer to him, your body leaning in subtly to his, until you were just inches away from him, and his legs were on either side of your body.

" how can i trust you not to act on these desires again ? one should, no, one must ensure that you never act senselessly again. be not afraid, i will take care of your desires. your reverence has never faltered, my precious devotee. i would not be in this position above you if i could not qualm your running thoughts, your aching body. "

" father, please, " you pleaded, the words falling off of your lips like you were about to cry, your bottom lip pouting just a little bit. " i cannot continue to live like this with these thoughts. i need you, father. " you were in the corner of his cage, caught up in his web of desires, but even if the door were open, you would stay.

" then worship me, " sunday commanded, his tone leaving no room for arguments. you only nodded, breathless, as your eyes so lewdly flickered down to his crotch just inches away from your face, his free hand unzipping his silver pants, the sound of the teeth of his pants coming undone enough to make your head spin. you hadn't realized that his hand on your chin had loosened, allowing you to look at him as he freed himself from his pants.

he wouldn't take his clothing off completely, that was entirely off of the table. even when committing such baseless desires. no, he was teaching you how to properly worship a man like him. your god. his hands were clean of sin, it was yours that needed his grace. what was the most efficient way of giving you the body of god himself ?

you didn't need to be told twice to worship him, something that sunday admired from you, always so obedient in everything that he said. you took his cock into your mouth, letting the fat tip of it rest on your flat tongue for a moment as you looked up at him, swearing the sun was in your eyes the way his bright golden eyes were looking down at you, scrutinizing your every move.

sunday didn't move, needing you to prove that you could do such a simple task without his assistance, and a god does not chase after his people, and you did not disappoint. your pretty lips wrapped around his cock so perfectly, your head bobbing up and down as you sucked, eliciting small groans of pleasure from him. drool slipped through your lips and onto your cute little white church dress, dampening the fabric.

your eyebrows were creased together as you worked your warm mouth along his shaft, your focus evident. although he was the one being pleasured, you looked like you were in ecstasy, losing yourself in his pleasure, cock drunk and only thinking about the way his precum tasted in your mouth, like holy water.

" what a perfect little lamb, " sunday purred, his chest rising and falling quickly, his bottom lip in between his teeth. you looked up at him the moment he spoke, your eyes cloudy with desire, but still determined to listen to his every word, hanging off of them as if they were your commandments. " purifying you from within, yes, this is the ideal. my innocent, pure acolyte. your defiling of your own body was sacrilegious, but don't worry. i'll save you. "

sunday was sure controlling you was his claim, his birthright. he could give and take away from you freely as he wished, and you were to give him your everything. and in turn for your everything, of course he could give you his blessings, in the form of exactly what you craved from him. as your mouth worked up and down his cock, the lewd sounds filling up the otherwise silent church, echoing within these holy walls, he felt the pressure threatening to burst out at any moment.

his hand grabbed your hair a little tighter than he expected to, quickly pulling you off of his cock. you hesitated for a moment, the suddenness of his actions catching you off guard, momentarily breaking the spell he had you under, your eyebrows furrowed together as you looked up to him. his free hand gripped his own cock, stroking the length with rhythmic strokes.

" did you think that i would be so generous ? " he asked, his voice holding a hint of condescension. " beg for it. beg for my blessing. beg for your god. "

" fa- g-god- " you stuttered out, his hand in your hair holding your head at the right angle so you could look up at him with your big, doey eyes. you weren't even looking at his ministrations in front of you, solely focused on his face, his radiance. " please- please, i need your blessing, god. i need you to bless this sinful body of mine with your holiness, " the words fell from your lips like a prayer, a mantra that he'd have you repeat over and over again. " my god, please. "

sunday felt his need come to a fever pitch at your prayers, and he threw his head back, moans slipping out as his orgasm exploded outside of him, coating you in his essence. thick ropes of cum splattered onto your face and chest, covering your hair and your forehead like the crown of thorns. his hand dropped his cock, letting it rest on your face, covering one of your eyes as his tip leaked cum into your hair even more as he caught his breath subtly.

" such devotion, your baptism has cleared you partly from your sins. " he murmured, finally releasing your hair, his eyes on how lewd you looked covered in his cum, his cock resting on your face as if that was all you were good for. but his price had been paid, and now he was ready to grant you his forgiveness. " go, sit in the pew. spread your legs for me, and i'll take care of the sins plaguing the inside of your body, too, where the baptism has not yet reached. don't worry, i will make sure your body is completely free of sin, inside and outside, my little dove. "

[bibiwrld]

Creepin’ In— Sammie “Preacher Boy” Moore x Black Vamp Fem!

Synopsis: Someone’s got a crush

Warnings: Sexual content, mentions of depression and ptsd

Tags: @shimmerfyre @resurrectionist3 @pinkpantheris @heyyimmisunderstood @dakotali @motheroffae @thatitbitch @jackierose902109 @iceyyycapsicle

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

The texture of Sammie's tongue sent shocks throughout Charlotte as he swirled it all over her erected clit. Her eyes glowed a deep red, trying to hide them from Sammie by squeezing them shut.

"Sammie!" She moaned out, palming his head.

Outside of the storage room, the loud thumping of people's dancing feet drowned out her orgasmic cries.

Sammie hasn't let up for one second, giving her multiple orgasms with no breaks and barely coming up for air. "Just one more baby, you sound so beautiful when you let it all out for me." His eyes peaked from between her legs, glancing innocently at her.

He went right back to it, sucking like his life depended on it

Charlotte tried holding herself up, arms giving out at the pleasure. "It's happenin'..OH SAMMIE!" Her body writhed, back arching off the table.

That only made him suck and lick at her more, his hands squeezing at her thighs, leaving indents on the smooth of her skin. He felt one with her lower half, the plush of her folds melting onto his tongue, her cries egging him on.

This time, she released a strong pressure of liquid, shocking herself and Sammie. He stayed silent, kneeling between her legs, soaked from head to shoulder.

They didn't know who should move first.

An awkward pause before their eyes slowly met, only thing heard was the piano keys of Delta Slim and Charlotte's soft panting.

Charlotte reacted first, feeling embarrassed under his gaze. "Sammie I'm so sorry!" Sitting up quickly, she scrambled to grab her shawl and dry him off. "I've never—l didn't even know that—"

He held her hands, pausing her movements with a small smile. "You just baptized me baby, I feel like a brand new man."

Disbelief is maybe what you could call the look on Charlotte's face, maybe confusion. She's never met a man quite like this one.

“And you tasted so good." He stood to his feet and licked his lips, savoring the taste of her. He helped her off the table and began helping her get descent, discarding the ripped pantyhose.

"For a preacher's son, you sure are unholy." Charlotte breathed out, wiping sweat from her forehead and she couldn't help but notice the bulge in his pants.

She knew men were also to be pleasured, but Sammie didn't make a move to. Should she be the one to initiate it? She picked up a few things about the art of pleasure in her long life after breaking Remmick’s curfew a few times on her solo hunts.

That earned a chuckle from him. "Never said I was the preacher now, did I?"

With a small smile, she rolled her eyes. "You are something." Fixing her hair blindly, she felt a bit airy down there, very naked. "Um, Sammie." She looked down shyly.

"Yes beautiful?"

"My undergarments."

"Damn." He chuckled, pulling her underwear from his back pocket. "I was hopin’ to take these home."

Her neck snapped up at his words. "You're crazy."

"For you, yes."

Snatching the underwear from him, she fought back a grin and slid back on her underwear, while Sammie stood by the door with a smirk.

"You're not plannin’ on goin’ out there like that, are ya?" She pulled her shawl on.

"But of course I am, I just got blessed by the most beautiful woman in here." He said it with pride.

"You sure now how to make a lady's heart stutter." She sighed, taking another quick glance at his bulge. Her eyes couldn’t help but look at it, it was so—big.

"But I was also talkin' about—" She pointed to his prominent bulge. “That.”

He quickly covered it with his hat and looked down with wide eyes. "Oh..uh."

For the first time, she saw him embarrassed and it was...cute. "Don't men usually sort that out with the women?" She found some confidence in his vulnerable state. "You don't want to sort that out with me?"

Her hand was now on his chest, pushing him up against the door.

"Lottie." He breathed out, almost like he was begging her for something.

"Mmm?" She was feeling flirty all of a sudden, Sammie had her feeling all brand new.

"Come again tomorrow." Smooth and velvety was his deep voice, along with a seductive stare.

She gave a puzzled look. "You kickin' me out after gettin' a taste?"

He almost jumped at her words, his entire seductive demeanor vanishing. "N-no! 'course not, I ju-"

Her head tilted, brows furrowed and voice oh so sultry. She was intimidating him and making him so aroused altogether. "You just what, Preacher Boy?"

His lips parted, but nothing came out. He was hesitant, eyes looking at her like she was the answer.

She could hear his heart beating, it was fast, rapid, like he was scared. Her ears picked up every twitch of his muscles, almost like he was nervous.

Was this her doing? How silly, it was silly.....right? Did he actually enjoy spending time with her? This monster? So silly of him to feel for her, touch her like she was living, like she was human.

She could kill him, right here, right now.

Was he trying to cherish her? Not rush into anything because he..liked her?

This wasn't good, not one bit.

Looking back into his eyes, she removed her hand from his chest. "I've better get goin' now."

Sammie moved out her way, leaning on a wall beside her. "Are you comin' tomorrow?"

Turning the knob, she replied. "Have a good night, Sammie."

"Let me walk you out, at least." He pleaded.

"I'm a big girl." And she was long gone.

"Fuck." Sammie cursed to himself, sliding down the wall.

Maybe he could’ve said that differently.

4 days and 3 nights have passed with Charlotte locked up in her room.

“Are you stayin’ in again tonight?” The door creaked open at Remmick’s slow entry. He stood in the doorway, hesitant to make a step.

She didn’t answer, lying under her thick covers. He was used to this, from time to time he’d witness her go through these moments. Not eating, staying in bed for days, barely speaking. She reminisced about her life before she died, sleepless nights, nightmares of the night she died—replaying over and over again. Sometimes, she’d have episodes, forgetting she was dead—that she was a vampire, nights where she asked for her mother in her sleep, weeping out for her.

And Remmick, he was there for her, always, comforting her in her sleep, wiping away her tears. It hurt him more than anything, he felt as though he was torturing her by allowing her to live this immortal life. He always thought that maybe he should’ve never intervened that night, he had so much regret.

With a sigh, he step foot into her room. “You should eat, at least.” He plopped on her bed, removing some of her covers to reveal her pouty face.

His rough hand gently caressed her forehead.

“Dad.”

He stilled his movements.

It caught him off guard, she didn’t call him that very often. For as long as they’ve known each other, he could count on one hand how many times she’s ever called him that and every time it was as shocking as the first time.

Being a father, he’s never been one before, even when he was alive.

“What’s wrong, Lottie?” He frowned.

“You ever liked someone?” Her tired eyes found his concerned ones.

“Well yes, back when I was ali—”

“No, I mean as a vampire, as a dead man.” She corrected. “And likin’ a livin’ person.”

He paused, his face contorting into confusion. “Do you actually..” He was only joking when he mentioned her having a crush on that boy. “Is that why you’re like this, right now?”

“N-no.” She looked away.

“You’re lyin.” He got up and went through her closet.

She sat up quickly. “What are ya doin?”

“Lookin’ for a pretty dress, you’re goin’ down there tonight.” He skimmed through all of the dresses he got her and some she made herself. “Not makin’ a lil’ boy stop you from enjoyin’ your stay here.”

She sighed. “Okay.” She knew it was pointless arguing with him.

“Sun’s settin’ soon, get ready.” He pulled out a dress she’s never worn before. It was pretty and yellow, reminded Charlotte of daffodils. “You gonna be there early.” His smile was bright.

Charlotte couldn’t help but groan, getting out of bed, making her way out of the room.

“And Charlotte?” He hung up her dress, then looked at her.

“Mhm?” She looked back at him.

“Don’t forget that I have a plan. We’re here for a reason, remember, okay?”

She almost forgot. Whatever this plan was, she had no idea what it was, but she was sure it had something to do with Sammie.

“Okay.” She nodded and walked away.

[madameaug]

Whose Better Than Me?

Erik "Killmonger" Stevens x Black Fem Reader

WARNING: Erik is extremely toxic. Threats of homicide and suicide. If these subjects matters upset you please scroll :)

The chapel smelled like roses and old wood.

It had seen better days — faded pews, chipped altar, dust tucked into the corners of its stained-glass windows. But the church still stood with pride, rooted in generations of Black love and tradition. Your paternal grandmother was baptized here, as were her parents before her. It was also the same place your mother and father exchanged vows.

There was a lot of history here.

You stood behind the heavy double doors, heart beating hard against your ribcage. You fiddled with the lace at your waist, trying to keep your hands from shaking. The vintage-style dress hugged your upper body with a sweetheart neckline that perfectly framed the sapphire pendant your mother wore on her wedding day. From the waist down, it flared into a voluminous ball gown. Your natural curls were slicked back into a neat, low bun, woven with tiny white crystals like fallen stars.

You felt silly for being this nervous — not cold feet, just emotion bubbling too close to the surface. You blinked fast to keep your makeup from smudging. Your fiancé was a good man—no, a great one. Alvin Freeman. Dentist. Soft-spoken. Generous. A man with a honey complexion, calloused hands from years of working in underserved communities, and a smile that could warm the bitterest room. He proposed just one year after meeting you at a public health conference, and not once had he made you feel like you were too much or not enough.

Regulating your heart rate you blew out a heavy breath. Your father stood on your right. Years of hard work etched into his skin, calluses that could only be grown from thirty years in manual labor. Yet in your arms they felt like pillows. A man of few words, you didn't bring to his attention the red glaze in his eyes. Tears threatening to fall. You were the last of his 'baby girls' to wed.

The doors opened. The soft piano cover of Beyoncé’s "1+1" floated through the air. You took your first step, and it suddenly felt like everyone in the room was watching just you. Their eyes were heavy with joy, memories, expectation.

Your gaze stayed straight ahead. Not daring to glance at your sister, who you could hear sniffling, or your mother, who you knew was mouthing a prayer.

Alvin stood at the altar, eyes already brimming with tears. His seafoam-gray suit fit him like a glove, and his cologne drifted to you like a whisper. When he saw you, his jaw trembled.

"You look beautiful, baby," he said, voice low and cracking.

You smiled, wiped his tears, and the guests let out a soft "aww." As the officiant welcomed everyone, Alvin lifted your veil. It was surreal. You were floating.

"Dearly beloved. We are gathered her today to witness and celebrate the union of two souls in marriage. Today is a day of joy. Marriage is a promise a promise to stand beside one another through every high and every low, every triumph and every challenge. It's not only built on passion, but trust, respect and unwavering commitment.

On this day, Yn Ln and Dr. Alvin Freeman are choose each other- choosing to walk forward hand in hand, not as two individuals but as life partners. In front of friends, family, and the people who mean the most to them, they make a sacred vow to cherish, to protect, and to love.

They have both taken the time to write their vows to each other. But before we move the exchanging of vows, I ask if there is anyone here who has reasons why this couple should not be joined in marraige.

Speak now-"

"You don't have to finish the rest."

Every head turned.

Erik Stevens stepped through the open church doors like he owned the place.

Combat boots. Fatigues. A devil-may-care smirk stitched across his face. The room didn’t recognize him — but you did. Your soul did. He wasn’t just an ex. He was a ghost you’d buried.

"How come I didn't get the invite, Yn. You don't want me here on your big day." He emphasized the later half of the sentence. Mouth dry and speechless, you couldn't muster up the ability to speak.

"Erik." Your fiancé snarled.

"Oh, so you have told him about me." Parking his step, his eyes never left yours. Barely even acknowledging the stares from all around. His eyes were focused. Focused on no one but you.

"Get the fuck out of here."

Never had you heard Alvin use that tone of voice. He was a naturally easy-going man. Rarely fixing his voice to raise it above a conversational tone. Stepping in front, you, Alvin squared off with Erik.

Brave- yet stupid.

Sure you had a discussion about your previous relationships. And you were honest, telling Alvin about your relationship with Erik. Erik was a man hardened by the world, with a stack of cards less than promising. Mother sentenced to federal prison for life, left to be raised by a father who ran the streets. Until the moment his father was gunned down outside of the apartment Erik lived in. Shipped between foster care, Erik never knew of a good, loving home. A man looking for someone to carry some of his baggage and make his pain hurt less.

You never told Alvin about Killmonger. Erik's black-ops code name that haunted you in this very moment. The skills that Erik was naturally gifted with made him a perfect asset for the US Navy Seals. To the public, he was a defense strategist and specialist. But all that really meant is that he was a ruthless killer.

Erik held the title of being your first real relationship. No puppy love, but plans for forever. You never told Alvin that Erik had shown you all the wrong ways love wasn't supposed to feel. That you both were trapped in a cycle of loving and hurting each other.

Taking a step toward Erik, Erik looked over his shoulder. Smiling at the frightened faces of your family. Lifting his shirt, Erik pulled out a semiautomatic pistol. Aiming directly at Alvin's head with one eye closed with chilling precision.

"I ain't going nowhere." You could hear the hinges unwraveling from the way Erik spoke. Your chances of walking out of here with no bloodshed were dwindling with every passing second.

Alvin lunged toward Erik, and a gunshot cut through the silent tension.

Everyone hit the ground.

And officially, all hell broke loose.

Your ears rang. For a moment, all you could hear was a high-pitched ringing. Slightly disoriented, you hadn't realized how hard you hit the ground. The wooden floor now cold as your elbows scraped against it. Your train twisted beneath you, you kept your head down until you heard your sister's panicked scream.

Looking to your left you saw scrambled to your knees crawling over to Alvin.

He was down; his body lay stiff on the steps leading to the altar. Blood was already soaking through the pale fabric of the suit. The suit that he picked out because you liked the color. His breathing was ragged and his eyes blinked slowly.

"Stay with me- just breathe, baby. I got you, You're gonna be okay." Hands covered in blood. It was like a horror movie coming to real life. Your dress ruined. However, that couldn't even fully register, as you were only concerned with keeping Alvin breathing.

"Yn." He rasped. "Leave, get away from here."

"Shh. Don't talk. Save your energy." You said, panic tightening your throat.

In front of you Erik peered over you. He clicked the safety and tucked the gun into his waistband.

"Look what you made me do,” he said, voice almost playful. “You always did have a thing for soft niggas. Thought maybe the white coat would make me jealous, huh?”

He looked around at the horrified faces of your family, everyone either frozen in shock or crying silently on the floor. “Y’all don’t gotta worry. As long as nobody tries to be a hero again… I ain't shooting nobody else.”

He turned to you with that same venomous grin. “Unless I gotta.”

You stood, body shielding Alvin’s, even though your knees threatened to buckle.

“You’ve made your fucking point, Erik. Just let them go. They don’t have anything to do with this.”

He tilted his head at you, like what you just said was so amusing to him.

"See, that's where you're wrong. They have everything to do with this. They put you int that dress. They talked you into some happily-ever-after bullshit with a man who ain't built to handle you." He stepped close to you. His voice lower.

"You think I forgot about you? You think I ever could?"

"You are the one who left me." You shot back.

"You put a gun to my head when I begged you to stay with me. But you choose your missions, every single time."

"I protected you. You never saw the dark sides From the evils of this world. I was called to a greater purpose. Liberating people who look like us all over the world. I left so you wouldn't see what I turned into."

Shaking your head you couldn't believe what you were hearing.

"I never stopping thinking about you. I watched from a distance to make sure you were safe. You were mine then, and you're still mine now."

With as much defiance you could gather, you swallowed hard. "You became a monster."

He scoffed.

"Is that so? I remember the way you looked at me when I was the only one who had your back. When no one believed in you. When the world turned its back on you, who was there for you Yn? Me. Every time you cried, I wiped those tears. When I brought Heaven to your Earth. Admit it. You couldn't get enough of me."

"Don't pretend this clean-cut charity case dentist loves you the way I did. He can't even survive a bullet wound."

"Come with me, and no one else has to get hurt."

You looked back down at Alvin. His eyes still full of love for you. He held your hand weakly. Shaking he brought your hand to his lips. New blood is beginning to pool at the corner.

"Erik, he needs a doctor!"

"I don't give a damn about him." Alvin's grip on your hands progressively gets weaker. Moving your hands to hold his face, your body sobbed. His breathing was shallow, every second ticked by like a death sentence.

Erik continued pacing. Growing more frustrated by the minute. On his way over here he timed to the exact minute how long he was going to take. Calculating the math to be just shy of nine minutes. He burned through five minutes already.

"Do you remember the night I left for Wakanda. You pleaded for me not to leave. How you grabbed onto to me, crying not to leave you. Said that you needed me to feel safe."

But you were silent. You didn't look up. Holding Alvin's head into your chest. But you must have forgotten how Erik feels when he is ignored. It was one of his childhood triggers. Feeling ignored, abandoned. It made him desperate for recognition.

"Don't fucking ignore me, Yn." He snapped, in a swift motion pulled out the gun again.

Crouching down to the other side where Alvin laid. He burned a glare into your face. You could feel his eyes, but you opted to keep eye contact with Alvin.

"You welcomed me back with open arms. I came back with new scars, a couple on fractures that would take months to heal. You didn't care. You loved me, took care of me."

"I didn't know what else to do. I was scared." You hissed.

"You kept me in the dark. You came home with blood on your hands. I stayed only because I thought I could help you. But that's how you used me. That's how you controlled me."

A bitter laugh erupted from him. "Control? Not at all baby. If I wanted control you'd be in the car already. No dress, no ring."

A fresh wave of rage washed over him.

"You think he could ever know you the way I do? He'll never be able to make you feel the same as I did. The way you use to whimper for me. Legs shaking, your body molded for me. He can never give you that."

Prepared to seal Alvin's fate, your father stood up from his seat. Fury written all over his face. Erik always prepared pulled out a second weapon. But now it was aiming at your father.

"Sit the fuck down old man."

You lunged onto his legs. "Don't! Please- Erik. Don't you fucking dare."

"There's my girl.I always knew you liked the crazy."

"I was misguided and you loved that. You fed off it. I didn't know what love felt like. You made me believe love hurts."

He was quiet for a moment. Really quiet. Nostrils flaring.

"You think this is pain? This ain't nothing. I would do anything for you. I came here for you."

"You shot my fiance!" You screamed at him.

"Stop bringing him up." Clicking off the safety on the gun pointed at Alvin. Erik locked eyes with you.

"Tell me, Yn are you willing to die for him?"

"Please-"

With a warning shot nearly missing Alvin's chest. Erik wanted a direct answer.

Yes or no.

His fingers hovered over the trigger. "You wanna keep playing this game. I told you. You come with me and nobody else dies." He barked out.

You stood to your feet, slowly. Alvin groaned behind you, you could hear his wheezing getting louder. Your heart was splitting down the middle. Palms open you approached Erik.

"Put the gun down, and I'll go with you."

"Yn no-" Alvin tried to reach for you, but the amount of blood that he loss was catching up to him.

Erik remained stoic by his words. He stared at you. Like he was trying to read every part of your brain. Showing a slight act of good faith, Erik lowered the gun pointed at your father. You saw his chest drop, slightly relieved that his life was no longer in immediate danger.

"You have one chance." Erik pointed the weapon at you. Not aiming to kill, but to move in the direction away from Alvin. Leaning over Alvin, Erik's smile grew.

"I don't even have to waste another bullet on you." He lifted his foot to provide a swift kick to his abdomen. One kick turned to two, then three. No one dared move from their position. Erik laughed as he brutalized Alvin. Not caring that splurts of blood landed on the wooden floor.

Quenching his thirst for violence Erik grabbed one of your arms with a death grip. Leading you away from the chapel and way from your family. But you hadn't lost your fight. You saw the SUV that Erik had likely prepared for his escape. You wiggled against him, trying to run away. But he was strong, too strong.

Putting all your weight on your heels, you faught with all your might. Tearing the sleeve on your dress. In the moment of distraction, you managed to reach for one of the pistols on Erik's hip.

Now, balancing the odds in your favor you took a step back. Hands shaking from the weight of the weapon. Erik just stood in place. His gaze followed your every breath. He hadn't reached for his gun yet, but it was out by his sides.

"Hands up!" You commanded.

"I'm not afraid to die," His voice wasn't raised. No indication of fear- it was worse than that. Calm. Cold. Controlled.

"Part of me died a long time ago."

"You need help, Erik."

“You ever look in the mirror and not recognize the man staring back?” he continued, eyes unfocused now. “I seen too much. Done too much. Burned through every goddamn good thing in my life, and for what? So I could stand here and watch you marry some soft-ass man who never had to fight for his life?”

For every step he took forward, you took two steps backwards. Removing the other gun from his waistband, he put the barrel to his temple.

For the first time that day, he showed an emotion other than anger. He was allowing you to see him.

"Do you not love me?"

"I used to." You paused before you continued. "I really did."

"Then how could you move on. Leave everything that we had behind."

"Because I love him. Erik, I was in a dark place myself when we started dating. I was trying to figure out how to love you, while trying to love myself. It was never going to last."

"You don't know that."

"It was clear as day. The fighting to make up. The cussing and throwing things, just to hold each other and confess our fears. It was a recipe for a disaster."

Your eyes blurred, and you put down the gun. Erik kept the gun pointed at his temple. He was unusually quiet. He shook his head looking at the ground.

"Everytime I find something good in my life, it slips right out of my hand."

"But not this time." He pointed the gun at you, know with his fingers over the trigger.

"You will be the last thing I let slip out of my hands again. I can promise you that." And with his tone, he meant every word.

"We will leave this Earth together, Yn. This world don't mean shift if you aren't with me."

"It doesn't have to be this way." Slowly raising the gun back up. You were unsure if you were actually prepared to pull the trigger. Crossing the lines from victim to perpetrator.

With one final plea, you asked for Erik to leave. An eye twitched, and he looked you over. As if this would be the last time. Then he turned- gun still in his hand. He got into the SUV, speeding off, a smell of burned tire in the air.

Sirens could be heard in the distance.

You fell to the ground. The dress doing little to cushion your fall. Little had you know, Alvin had just taken his last breath.

[howisthepope]

This is dumb, but are there any rules saying the pope has to be human? Like could a male animal that was baptized (can animals be baptized?) be a pope if it tried really hard to? Like, could we have a sea lion as a pope or something?

This question is bringing me back to second grade religious Ed. Idk, I'm Catholic I feel like I should know this.

Animals can not be baptised, they can only be blessed. Baptising signifies a belief in God and Christ and an intention to subscribe to the beliefs and carry forward the mission of the church. Sure, babies get baptised who can't really do that either, but there is an intention because of their capabilities to do so. Animals don't have the level of comprehension to believe and carry forward the mission of the church.

You also need to become priest and bishop and to do that you need to be at least 35 years of age and sea lions usually only live to 30 years of age.

Aditionally you are expected to complete certain theological studies, which a sea lion would be incapable of doing.

So no, sea lions can not become popes for a number of reasons.

[aqlstar]

Listen I don’t like to participate in Joe Biden bashing, nor do I want to fuel right wing anti-Catholic bs- but I’ve got to say that this

makes me angry.

Now Pope Francis is the best pope we’ve seen so far… but the bar is literally in hell.

So sure, it might make sense to celebrate and incentivize better behavior from the Catholic Church, but it still makes me angry that this guy gets the highest honor any civilian can receive for… not being as genocidal and evil as his predecessors.

Indigenous people of North and South America deserve more than words of apology from the Pope for the Catholic Church’s policy of kidnapping and forced assimilation in residential schools (the last of which closed in 1996). They deserve, among other things, full access to the Church’s records.

https://www.reuters.com/world/pope-says-genocide-took-place-church-schools-canada-indigenous-children-2022-07-30/

The Pope has not acknowledged the kidnapping of Jewish children (especially the official policy of baptizing Jewish children, changing their names, and refusing to return them to their families when they came for them after the Holocaust).

Not to mention the Pope’s repeated failure take a stand in support of democracy and against antisemitism-

https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/pope-says-ukraine-should-have-courage-white-flag-negotiations-2024-03-09/

https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.timesofisrael.com/vatican-nativity-scene-showing-baby-jesus-on-a-keffiyeh-removed-after-backlash/amp/

[thecapricunt1616]

Dad!Carmy x Beach Day

Okok guys more Dad!Carmy brainrot! It’s time for a walk *gently grabs your hand* okay okay so your first is away at summer camp for the first time, that was it’s whole ordeal (Carmy cried the whole first week they were gone intermittently bc he missed them esp. after you put your littlest to bed bc ‘the routine just feels odd babe we’re missing one’) so to turn his frown upside down you had been planning little outings so he wouldn’t just sit by the mailbox every day like a sad puppy waiting for the letters your kid sends home. Todays outing: A beach day! 

(More BTC 🫶) 

So as soon as your Toddler got up that morning and told you she wanted to make sand castles that day, the choice was easy. Seeing your sexy man carrying your little girl on his shoulders while you relaxed and enjoyed premium beach snacks that he’d pack for you and get some well needed tanning time? That was always a good day. 

By this time - Carmy has gone full dad mode because having a son old enough for sleep away camp and a daughter out of diapers that’s about 8 years of dad-ing, he has it all. Meaning, the man has yes - he’s gotten a truck. *Keep walking don’t look at me that way* because imagine he’d be like 

‘Babe- think, when we take the kids camping, or when we go on trips- we need something with a lot of space, plus it’s so comfy inside! And seat warmers! So you won’t get cold in the winter. And I can get a snow plow for the front so i don’t have to keep spending hours doing the driveway in the winter, and grocery shopping! Whenever we go to Costco we never have enough space and it’s so much safer you should see the safety ratings on this thing the guy really sold me on it. Unc was for it babe! He told me to go for it’  

Like he would have an endless amount of reasons but let’s be real. Little man, big truck - plus your son would think it’s cool. So you’d be all comfy up front with your cooled seats, your daughter in back in her little princess sunglasses and flip flops chewing on bubble gum to be like dad because after 6 years he’s just replaced cigarettes with nic gum and he hasn’t even considered quitting. Of course she’d have one of those little screen things on the back of the seat and bluey is on deck, or Ms Rachel if he’s feeling particularly educational that day. 

He would of course stop at Starbucks when you and your daughter ask and get her a lemonade and a cake pop, get you your signature drink he’d already have memorized for years and then a black cold brew for himself - I still can’t picture the man having anything in his coffee he still seems like a black coffee dude to me!!! 

When you get to the beach he has the whole set up. I’m talking he has the truck bed loaded, he has a beach cart and everything. You are a beach cabana family you are that family. Because let’s be real if Carmy is anything he’s prepared and every family needs that guy so Nat and Richie and all the nieces and nephews would also come hang!! He’s researched and found you the comfiest beach chairs, he has a timer on his watch and is carrying the baby to the tent and baptizing her ass in sunscreen but it’s funny because you have to force him to let you get his back 

He would totally be the sand art uncle, he would help his daughter make the sickest sand castle ever, he would teach Evie his ways too like he’d have a whole method with adding water to build a base he would be in there. Oh!! And he would loooove taking his daughter hunting for seashells. Like imagine you’re just watching as he walks back and forth with her on the shore, bright blue bucket in one hand and her little hand in another, crouching down whenever he finds a cool one and doing the same when she finds one she wants to show and bring like

“Wow! That’s a pretty one baby, I can’t wait for you to show mama that one!” He would be so supportive omg. Also teaching her how to write her name in the sand 🥹. Don’t even get me started on him bringing her swimming. She would absolutely love the game of holding onto his back while he dives under the water and he’d tell her like “take a deep breath we’re gonna go under ready!” And he would just tire her out within a few hours so that she could take a nap on his chest in the cabana after you have lunch and get a chance to talk. Premier sandwiches of course, Carmy has mastered the beach sandwich. Doritos, the whole lot. 

Oh!! Oh!! And he is a total grill master. He has a little charcoal grill he makes you guys smash burgers on the beach and you get to hang and watch the sunset, around the 4th he would always bring sparklers for the kids they would be heavily supervised of course because Carmy plus fireworks is a nervous wreck but sparklers are ok 

And of course on the way home your daughter would beg to stop for ice cream and he would be suckered in because he is absolutely the pushover parent. 

To end the day if you came home and checked the mailbox and there was a fat letter from your son detailing all of the stuff they’ve been doing that week along with a ton of pictures from the polaroid camera you sent him with it would be a day he gushes about literally forever ingrained in his memory. 

Okay, I hope you enjoyed our walk 🫶