I know I shouldn't pick fights in r/TrueChristian but I can't help it.

part ii of this ♡︎ (+18)

notes: dbf! james kelly… reader is in her early 20s & james is 36, dddne, reader’s dad is a drunk & kinda sexist. reader is a virgin. slight daddy kink if you squint… this part is longer! there’s a buildup!

(i was not expecting people to want a part two! omg! thank y’all so dearly & i hope y’all enjoy ♥︎) (if you see any grammar mistakes… no you didn’t… 😇 #englishmajor)

when the door opened, you were holding two beers, doe-like eyes wide and skin flushed warm. “james?” your tone was quiet, shy… whiny? he looked down at you, eyebrows knitting together as he parted his lips to speak, fearing you heard him. but before the tension could even be fully formed, frankie yelled some incoherent bullshit from the kitchen—somethin’ about a beer, and he pulled his gaze away from you. fuck, he jus’ couldn’t do this. not right now. so like any sensible man out there who fantasizes about fucking his friend’s young and sweet daughter, james excuses himself. shaking his head slightly, eyeing you one last time, his legs move—fast. he goes straight for the front door ‘n leaves, the screen door slamming shut behind him.

that was three days ago, and you haven’t seen james come ‘round. you lie on your bed, kicking your legs gently as you stare at the photo on your dresser. you, james, and your dad. james… you wanted to cry, wondering why he left like that after seein’ you. you can’t help but wonder if you did something. he appeared so conflicted… so disgusted, but the way he looked at you? james looked at you as if you were delicious, like a sweet apple pie on a summer’s day. did he… find you pretty? the thought alone makes your body melt into the bed, your thighs clenching together gently. it’s such a conflicting concept that you can’t ignore now.

it’s been a week now, but you know he’ll be over soon. seven days without seeing him… without james. even your dad was confused, given he was always a little hazy, of the absence of james kelly. a lot of time to think, to pick apart interactions and behaviors, time to have your hand trace your body, play with your sensitive lil’ clit and pretend it’s him. time to imagine him above you, tellin’ you things that would need to be confessed to a priest. you lingered around your dad, mentioning james every once in a while, asking when he’ll be over for the game. ‘so… when does the game start again? and he’ll be over before that, right?’ already three beers in, your dad just smiles and tells you he should be here in an hour.

you spend the next hour dolling yourself up for a thirty-six year old. a thirty-six year old who practically helped raise you—which should disgust you, it really should, but he cared for you so deeply. by the time you had finished your hair and makeup, picking out another slip dress—shorter, pink, and lacy—james was helping himself into your home. you heard him, calling out for your dad and telling him to ‘turn the damn TV on!’ you slipped on your pink slippers and made your way downstairs, trying to control your breathing.

your dad was already seated on the couch, finishing the beer in his hand. and james? he must’ve been in the bathroom, because the six pack he brought was sittin’ on the table and he was nowhere to be found. so, you took it upon yourself to unbox the beers and put them in the fridge, bending over as you do so—your dress riding up your thighs. you hear the bathroom door open and click shut, shoes hitting the floor as james walked and it forced you to stand upright and turn around. he was lookin’ at you, a disapproving expression on his face. “what are you doing?” his voice was quiet, and he licks his lips as he looks over to the couch. “‘m putting the beers away…? sorry—was i not supposed to?” and he wants to rip his hair out, his gaze back on you and traveling down your body. “this… this is the problem,” he starts, large hands reaching to adjust your dress that had ridden up. “d’you usually have your panties on full display?”

and it clicks. it finally sets into place… you were right. james did think you were pretty. but it was more than that. james wanted you, with the way his hands lingered and how he swallowed real hard when he pulled back and put distance between you two. you blink, processing the hundreds of thoughts consuming your mind. you can play this game, you decide—and you can play it good. you shake your head softly, a small pout gracing your lips as you hand james a beer. “sorry, i don’t know what you’re talking about… i’ve always dressed like this.” closing the fridge, you walk over to the couch to sit in the middle.

james—poor, poor james—he was fed up already. he watched as you made yourself comfortable on the couch, crossing your legs as you stared at the TV with that fuckin’ smile on your face. oh, he wanted to put you in your place, have your mouth be useful for once as you choked on his cock. it was a thought that made his stomach hurt. irritated, he walked over and sat next to you, eyes never once meeting yours as he opened his canned beer. it didn’t take long for the game to start, and as much as you didn’t care about football, both your dad and james were immersed. yelling at the screen, throwing their hands up… you jus’ rolled your eyes.

“there’s a reason girls like you don’t enjoy football,” your dad slurred out, patting you on the shoulder. “it’s because men like these are big, strong, and dominant—y’all don’t like that shit anymore.” he isn’t making any sense, but it was enough to make you snappy. “seriously? that guy?” you point at the screen, giggling as you side eye your dad. “he’s smaller than james… i could take it.” and james nearly chokes on his cheap beer, eyebrows knitting together as his head snaps to look at you. he just wants to get up and leave at this point, but all your dad does is shrug and say, “ain’t that right, jimmy?!”

“hey, be a peach ‘n get another beer for your old man.” your dad mumbles after a silent ten minutes, eyes heavy as he mindlessly stares at the television. he unabashedly adds, “see, this is what women are made for! to please—and my sweet has always been a big pleaser… surprised no man has snatched her up…” you stand up, slippers quietly pattering against the floor as you walk to the kitchen to grab another can. when you return, two beers in hand for your dad—because ‘another’ usually means two—you dramatically sigh. “‘m surprised, too… i mean, i am the sweetest girl in town. right, daddy?” but you weren’t lookin’ at your dad. no, you were staring at james with that innocent little smile adorning your beautiful face, and he had the grip the handle of the couch because he was fucking exasperated.

“well… ‘m gonna go now. this is extremely boring,” you chew on your bottom lip in an attempt to hide how pleased you were with james’ reactions. turning on your toes, you walk down the hall to the stairs as you sway your hips. and james has had enough, moving on his feet quickly and waving off your barely conscious father as he followed you to the bottom of the stairs. he corners you into a wall, forcing a small gasp out of your lips. “you don’t even,” he inhales sharply, stepping closer as he points a finger at you. his jaw clenches, his voice low and accusatory. “you don’t even know what you’re doin’, doll.” the tip of his finger digs into your chest as he leans in closer. and you bat your eyelashes at him, your back pressed against the wall as you stutter over your words. “don’t know what you’re talking about…”

and he laughs in your face, all frustrated ‘n deep and your legs nearly give out. your face feels like it’s on fire, and your thighs clench together because you’re so, so wet for him. “what? you’re gonna act as if you didn’t just call me ‘daddy’ like some cheap hooker?” after a moment, he sighs out your name, his knee moving to slowly spread your legs apart. “you’re makin’ me feel crazy.” and it nearly makes you whine, the way he says it—deep and breathy. leaning down, his lips meet your neck gently, before he quickly pulls away to look down the hall. your father was already snoring, how perfect.

“james,” you whimper quietly, both of you staring at each other before the tension finally breaks—and he leans in to kiss you. it’s rough and passionate, just like james. he groans against your lips—soft and plump—and he was losing it. his hands come up to cup your cheeks, and you flutter your eyes shut at how breathless he’s already left you, your heartbeat pounding against your chest. he furrows his eyebrows, his lips moving aggressively against yours as your hands grip at his unbuttoned over-shirt, creating fists as you pull him closer to you. his tatted hand moves down from your cheek to the curves of your breasts, to your stomach, and slipping underneath your slip dress. he pulls away, barely so, his lips ghosting yours as he opens his mouth to let out a strained, “fuck, baby…”

his fingers gently trace the damp spot of your panties, and he sharply inhales through his nose. “this all f’me? so fuckin’ wet,” his eyes are half-lidded as he gazes down at you, taking in the way you can barely form a coherent thought as he slowly slips the fabric aside to run his fingers through your soaked folds. “you ever been touched like this?” he asks in a whisper and you shake your head, your eyes opening to look into his and james swears this is what an angel looks like. your eyes are so heavenly, wide and doe-like, your plump and stained red lips are parted as you let out shaky puffs of air. and your body, fuck, he cannot get enough. his other hand, still on your cheek, moves until his thumb is running along your bottom lip. “do you wanna stop?” you shake your head again.

he nods his head slowly, his lips curling up. and suddenly his hand, large and scented strongly of cigarettes and oil, is covering your mouth. his fingers move slowly, sliding between your slicked folds and teasing your clit—your eyelashes fluttering at the feeling. “sorry, doll… as much as i’d love to hear your voice, we don’t wanna wake up your real daddy.” your moan is muffled when his fingers rub against your clit, his calloused fingers moving so perfectly that you swear you see stars, and james moves so close that he’s caged you against him and the wall. your grip on his shirt tightens, your eyes on his—deep, blue, and piercing—as he finally slips a finger in your tight, sopping cunt.

you watch as james grits his teeth, muttering something about being ‘so fuckin’ tight,’ as he stuffs another finger inside your heat, slowly moving them so you can feel his long fingers reach places that yours could never. it was too much, yet so little. he needed to be inside you, needed to taste you… to fuck you proper. but he was nice, having a soft spot for you, and wouldn’t let your first time be against a wall while your dad was passed out on the couch down the hall. james’ cock was straining against his pants, hard and throbbing and begging to abuse that little pussy of yours, but he was nice. for now, he’s content with fingering you, giving you a sweet taste of what it’s like to be treated right.

“next time,” he starts, his movements faster and more punctuated, “‘m gonna use my cock… it’ll feel s’good, bein’ stretched out and taken care of.” next time? your heart flutters at the thought, your mewls and begs quieted as you feel the warmth low in your stomach grow. your legs begin to tremble, the stimulation of both his touch and words leaving you drooling against his hand. james leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “you gonna come, doll? that’s it. come on my fingers, be good for me. you’re always such a pleaser, right?” and your walls clench tightly around his digits as your body tenses up, your orgasm leaving you lightheaded and soundless.

his fingers slow down before completely pulling out—leaving you feelin’ empty—but instead of giving you the chance to calm down, he rubs your puffy clit, your hips trying to squirm away from the sensation. you breathe heavily through your nose, one of your hands quickly moving to grip james’ wrist as you feel yourself become overstimulated, whining softly and eyes pleading. he licks his lips, before hesitantly stepping back from you, taking his hand away from your mouth as you slump against the wall. “james,” you whine dumbly, tone high-pitched and so fuckin’ sweet; your mind hazy as you look up at him through your lashes. he can’t help himself, of course he can’t, not when it comes to you. he closes the distance once more, kissing you quiet.

when he pulls away, he adjusts your dress, tapping your thigh gently. “go upstairs and rest,” he mutters, his breathing just as ragged as yours. “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

and you will… ❤︎︎

happy easter everyone As a little blasphemous treat here’s how pfms started before i abandoned it<3

Faraway beyond the heavy wood doors, the sound of the organ resonates. It’s a deep, solemn melody, shaking up the insides of your ribs. Monotone voices rise just above it, though the words are drowned out through the walls. Against that very wall, drenched in the reds and blues of a Blessed Virgin Mary stained glass window, Matty kisses your neck. 

His hands are deep in the mane of your hair, his lips greedy against your skin. You tilt your head, panting, scratching at his back under that leather jacket of his. It’s a messy, hungry affair; rushed like the end of the world is near. 

I keep doing things that could ruin my whole trip for me mentally speaking like what the heck

Amen!

Symbolism in Hoodlum priest (1961)

currently stallled on my second attempt at a Lymond read because on the one hand I made it far enough through TDK last time to know that The Whipping Scene is coming up and let me tell you that is a hell of an incentive!

But on the other hand. I made it far enough through TDK last time to know that if I want to read The Whipping Scene I first have to get through the Dumbarton sequence and.

I have been in this staring contest for months now.

Appreciation of little women's genuinely feminist messaging for its time and place of writing vs disgust at the all too obvious lingering sexist undertones vs wanting jo to be the queer icon she was meant to be vs understanding her desire to be able to fall on love without having her independence questioned vs knowledge that her marrying was certainly motivated by the expectations of a sexist audience vs wanting her and Laurie to end up together because you want to see couples who are actual friends and also you want Jo to be with someone who unapologetically likes her gender nonconformity and independence vs appreciating the inclusion of a plotline where a woman refuses a man and isn't demonised for it vs acknowledging the truthfulness of Jo's claim that people who make good friends won't necessarily make good life partners vs agreeing with the moral that childhood must end and change must be accepted vs hating the way every girl's process of maturing conveniently brings her closer to the motherly American housewife ideal vs i love stories where authors aren't coy about their beliefs vs this particular story is so blatant and pushy with its messaging it almost feels insulting vs the messaging itself is a mixed bag vs it's especially frustrating to see the writer vicariously pat herself on the back for writing something neither overly preachy nor amorally sensational vs oh my god this book is so obnoxiously christian. Fight

Christians will see a group of stressed college students and ask if anyone else is gonna make their stress worse and not wait for an answer

there is a darkness in my soul (<- forgot to add three !!! after a text )

everything taken away from me has always been returned better. i gotta believe that once i make peace with my physical body, i'll be able to gain weight again and dance ಥωಥ

Taiju brainrott is really really REALLY strong right now. I need just one message from him and I will write all my impure thoughts into a smut 😩

a sinner needs to be taught how to pray. Teach me Taiju. 🛐🛐🛐

how can it only be Thursday 😔

:/

i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i can't help how my brain is killing itself, i'm kneeling at your altar and i can't feel past the pain in my knees and i promise i won't slip up again, i promise i won't make the same mistakes again, i promise i won't make you leave again