#As it was when I was 15. As it shall be again

[camillasgirl]

Queen Camilla's speecht to mark Holocaust Memorial Day, 23.01.2025

Survivors of the Holocaust, Survivors of Genocide, Ladies and Gentlemen. As Patron of the Anne Frank Trust UK, it is an honour and a privilege to join you to remember the victims of the Shoah and of genocides since the end of the Second World War. It is also an opportunity to renew our commitment to two simple, but powerful, words: “Never Forget”.

This year we commemorate the 80th anniversary of the death of Anne Frank in Bergen Belsen, at the age of 15. Had she lived, she would be 95. Miraculously, her father, Otto, survived. He had been one of the 7,000 people freed on 27th January 1945, when the Soviet Army marched under the gates of Auschwitz that bore the sign, “Arbeit macht frei”, “Work makes one free”.

Words, as I said just now, have power. Those over the gates of Auschwitz represent one of history’s greatest, and most evil, lies. But Anne knew that they were always there to offer truth, comfort and hope. A year before she died, she wrote a promise in her diary: “I’ll make my voice heard, I’ll go out into the world and work for mankind!”. She was never to do so in person. However, over subsequent decades, and thanks to Otto’s tireless efforts, Anne’s diary has become the enduring embodiment of that promise. We can only guess at what she would have made of her legacy. Yet her story demonstrates that even the quietest, loneliest voice in the wilderness can change the world. That is the true power of words.

Anne’s life and death continue to inspire an anti-prejudice movement across the globe, including the Anne Frank Trust here in Britain. Last year, you reached 126,000 young people in this country alone, with your distinctive combination of Holocaust history, education about discrimination and youth empowerment. I am proud to be your Patron and grateful to all of you who support the Trust in its vital work – thank you.

Five years ago, I heard another survivor, Marian Turski, a Polish Jew, speak at a ceremony to mark the 75th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz. During his testimony, Marian said this:

I shall not be telling you about the very worst experience, the tragedy of being separated from my nearest loved ones and sensing what awaited them after the selection. I want to talk with the generation of my daughter and the generation of my grandchildren about themselves…. Don’t be complacent, whenever you see the past being misused for current political purposes. Don’t be complacent, whenever any kind of minority is discriminated against. Democracy itself lies in the fact that the rights of minorities must be protected. Don’t be complacent… Because if you become complacent, before you know it, some kind of Auschwitz will suddenly appear from nowhere and befall you and your descendants.'

Today, more than ever, with levels of antisemitism at their highest level for a generation; and disturbing rises in Islamophobia and other forms of racism and prejudice, we must heed this warning. The deadly seeds of the Holocaust were sown at first in small acts of exclusion, of aggression and of discrimination towards those who had previously been neighbours and friends. Over a terrifying short period of time, those seeds took root through the complacency of which we can all be guilty: of turning away from injustice, of ignoring that which we know to be wrong, of thinking that someone else will do what’s needed – and of remaining silent.

Let’s unite in our commitment to take action, to speak up and to ensure that the words “Never Forget” are a guiding light that charts a path towards a better, brighter, and more tolerant future for us all.

As Anne wrote in her diary on 7th May 1944:

"What is done cannot be undone, but at least one can prevent it from happening again."

Thank you.

[ranvwoop]

i so want to talk about my little guys but they are organic Vwoop Originals so I'm like ........ how. how do communicate

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s2 episode 7 thoughts

hmm. hmm. that is the sound if me pondering what i just watched.

(i understand that this episode was an analysis into mulder's self-destructive behaviors when faced with overwhelming grief, but. that does not mean i enjoyed vampire hookup time)

well. we shall start from the top!

i read that it was an episode about vampires which i thought was a weird narrative choice because. hello. scully still gone??? but then i remembered that i too ignored the main quest in skyrim to hunt some vampires and that i had no place to judge

(granted, my main quest wasn't finding scully though. might have given that a bit more priority than saving the whole world. because she IS my whole world)

we open with a guy that looks like joe biden meeting with an attractive young woman. they're making out in a hot tub and we just know someone is gonna get slurped upon. and woe, it be upon us! double vampire attack.

back in DC, mulder gets his old office back! it's covered in plastic. he takes some of it off. he adjusts his calendar from may to november, so we see how much time he and scully had been assigned to other tasks, which also has me wondering how she managed to get a new house that quick.

(also, this calendar is... scantily clad women posing next to tools such as hammers and saws. was this allowed? was this acceptable? was it normal? were the 90's a lawless wasteland and mulder an irreparable freak?)

well. scully is an x file now, and he puts her glasses and id into an evidence bag and closes the filing cabinet which was sooooo evil. but he can't bring himself to put her necklace away. oh man. oh he's gotta have it in case he finds her. he has to hold her close. i'm Fine this is Fine.

so. he goes out to california to deal with the joe biden looking fellow being murdered. and he is not wanted on the crime scene. we know this because someone greets him by saying "nobody called the bureau" and he says "well, they should have" and lifts up the tape to let himself in. because one thing about him is that he's gonna let himself into a place he isn't wanted.

he sees the writing of a bible verse in blood on the wall and says something about their grasp of biblical knowledge being "feeble and literal" and i was like okayyy need to have a theological discussion with him

he then scares the other guy who originally wanted to kick him out by reciting a LARGE amount of facts related to similar cases and it's very much giving photographic memory. got me thinking, have we ever seen this man forget something? (directions don't count. they're confusing. but everything else sticks in that man's brain)

he just needs one thing: a phone book. which he uses to call a blood bank and ask about a new guy. who must be the vampire who did this!

so he rolls up to the blood bank and i'm over here struggling because i do Not Do Blood, and i knew at this point this was gonna be a tough watch, but i didn't anticipate the non-blood related reasons why this would be true

anyway he's sniffing around the blood bank and he hears some slurping and wouldn't you know, this dude is tearing into a bag of the red stuff like it's a capri sun. somehow he gets him into custody, where the dude refuses to talk because the lights are on, and mulder comes in with a lamp he put a red filter over, because he was prepared for vampire interrogation.

the vampire is going on about how what he did isn't murder because it's not like animals hunting prey is murder which is. not the greatest approach in terms of legal defense. mulder tells the guard that the guy is delusional and it's best to play along, and he believed this to be true... until he, quite literally, burned to a crisp in the sunlight. and died.

he's talking to the coroner and rattling off a bunch of vampire facts and says he didn't believe in vampires which is so funny to me because like. why is that where you draw the line, my friend. not at bigfoot and definitely not at aliens. but man. vampires are just too out there for spooky mulder. until now!

the coroner has a very funny line: "you are really upsetting me... on several levels" which seems to be the general effect fox mulder has on people. and also because i felt the same way about his dumbass actions during this episode.

coroner finds a stamp on the dead body's hand, which seems to come from a nightclub. so naturally our fbi agent ends up there.

you often see posts saying that "(insert character here) should be at the club". i fear that this is not the case for fox mulder, but it's possible that it's his suit and tie that are throwing me off. he just doesn't seem like he belongs there. i ask myself, where should he be instead? perhaps some sort of star wars convention would suit him better. a book signing with some author he likes. idk, an interior decorating festival. not here.

i shall use my verbatim words to walk you through the next scene:

"pause. he's talking to a woman who was looking into a compact without a mirror. so. vampire suspect. and now why are they getting so close together. and getting a drink. okay now they're leaving to a new spot together? AFTER she admits to vampirism"

(here she did some stuff that required me to look away from my screen due to my Weak Constitution. but also it would have felt necessary to look away anyway because it was getting... charged)

she tries to get him to... suck on her finger... but he won't do it because aids. which is fair. i think that's a smart move, actually. it's just that getting flirty with a vampire he knows was involved with a ton of killings was such a stupid move, i don't know why it's now the braincells start to kick in.

that kills the vibe, though, so she gets another guy to take his place and things escalate.

mulder pulls in at a restaurant called ra. nice! the sun god! and he is... through a window, witnessing some more slurping action. he seems to want to intervene and save this poor soul being feasted upon...

but the poor soul is no poor soul at all! he comes out and decks mulder, and delivers this line with stunning conviction: "i don't know who you are, freak, but we're two consenting adults" and with this, he is forced to flee.

and yeah. it made me laugh. my expectations for the genre were subverted. he signed up for that shit! what he did not sign up for, however, was the next part, where he was killed by the other vampires.

cut to investigating the crime scene. mulder has brought along a forensic dentist, which is a job i had no idea you could go into. he needs to see about those bites, which are very human.

next they go to vampire woman's house. it's a very nice place. mulder... opens her oven. and sees a loaf of bread in there. and i'm thinking, man, i hope this doesn't go where i think it's going. baked goods... ovens... i never want a vampire pregnancy arc. but he cracks open the loaf and something red spills out and somehow, this to him means that she is gone and isn't coming back. he can read the signs of the bread. so add that to his resume. what did the bread tell you, my liege?

he seems to have stayed in her house, however, because he's there when she's back, and says he knows she was using the bread as a charm to ward off evil. because apparently that's an eastern european thing, blood bread to warn off evil. sound off if any eastern europeans in the chat wanna confirm or deny.

anyway. he's IN this woman he thinks is a vampire's HOUSE? what the hell. mulder seriously i need you to stop and think. like you should have stopped and done some thinking a while ago. honestly i'm not mad i'm just disappointed. and he's like "i want to save you come with me before they kill you" ohhh big tough man needs to save her huh. make him feel good inside. huh. certainly no ulterior motive here...

she's monologing about her horrible childhood and how sweet blood tastes. um girl. don't lie to him like that. i have busted my lip open before that stuff does NOT taste sweet and dangerous. it's like a penny with rust that you found in a parking lot.

it seems her vampiric origin story, if to be believed, is that things simply got too kinky. which is a new take on the genre.

(it's also about being caught in an abusive relationship and the damage that inflicts, but it seems abusive boyfriend came into vampirism at his kinky parties and things escalated from there. which. well. it blew the eyebrows clean off my head, to be fair)

at this point we see that he is WEARING SCULLY'S NECKLACE? he says something like "it's from someone i lost" and she says that she "hopes he finds her"

i did not like the undertones here and certainly not the overtones. because i knew where this was going. he was shaving in her bathroom. and let me tell you something: there is only ever a shaving scene in media because the writer needs a way to get some blood out of someone's body and into the real world. and man. i knew it was coming.

but what i didn't see coming was her SHAVING HIM??? girl. i am uncomfy. and she does, of course, cut him, and then they kiss. aggressively. terribly aggressively. can anyone answer what was going on in a satisfactory manner?

but the gag is: the original vampire- who burnt to a crisp in the jail cell, and was the abusive ex she spoke of- HE'S WATCHING THEM THROUGH THE WINDOW!

he breaks in and taunts the vampire woman about how he had to "wait for her to finish" and i was like cool. thank you SO much for that mental image i'm super happy with it. i definitely don't feel like i need a shower. but then he's going on about how he can't be killed.

here, at the tail end of the episode, we learn the rules of vampirism in this world: a vampire cannot be killed by a non-vampire. and a non-vampire BECOMES a vampire by consuming the blood of a believer and also taking a life. it is only here we realize that this woman is not an actual vampire yet, she just appropriates their culture by drinking blood unnecessarily.

mulder's still sleeping in her bed and she's like "you need to leave" and she stabs the wall to make her evil ex think she's killing him. but when they go to break out, mulder ties him up quite handily and he gets in the car to escape with vampire woman. until ANOTHER vampire woman jumps on the hood of their car. and main vampire woman knocks her out for a bit by running into her with said car, which is super effective.

mulder's leaving the place in shambles, his shirt still unbuttoned, wandering down the side of the hill. back at the house, now that we know the vampire rules, main vampire woman says she can finally kill the evil vampire ex. and he's like how!! you haven't had the blood of a believer or taken a life. so. she licks the blood off her hands (unclear if it's hers or mulders tbh) and says she'll take her own life. and drops a match after pouring gasoline.

so. that brings that to an end. and shabby looking mulder sits on a hill as he learns all four in the house died.

the episode ends with him playing with scully's necklace. which i don't even sort of feel like unpacking right now but maybe another time.

probably not, though, because i just didn't like this episode. and yeah, a lot of it comes down to me not wanting to see mulder hook up with people who aren't scully. can you blame me? is it so wrong to have preferences in this world?

but also, narrative wise- do you honestly see the guy fucking off to cali while scully's still missing to deal with an unrelated problem instead of devoting every hour of his life to finding her, like we saw him do in the last episode? you expect me to think he just puts it off for a lil while? the guy who, just last episode, pulled his gun on the ski lift operator to get to the top where she might be a little faster, and then choked his one and only suspect out of fury? you're thinking this is the guy that's gonna go soak up some west coast rays?

and yeah, he was obviously not himself through the episode- very cold and analytical- but c'mon. we all want to bang a vampire. he's not special. i just personally wouldn't do that if my friend were gone. like how is that gonna help the situation. be so for real. time and place!

and also the whole only learning the rules of being a vampire about 5 minutes before they need it to be plot relevant. that annoyed me too.

overall, mulder, like i said, i'm not mad, just disappointed.

let me know what you thought on this episode- i try to not be a hater, but i also understand that hating in small doses can be good for the soul. if it's a widely beloathed episode i'll feel better in my judgement as i join a long tradition of haters who have come before me.

[dormiloncito]

just remembered watchmen

[arolegos]

how the motherfuckers in college feel after giving you info LAST FUCKING MINUTE. DO THEY WANT ME TO FUCKING KILL MYSELF I SWEAR TO GODDDDDDDD

[words-with-wren]

I wish I could write long fics reliably I have many ideas. Currently one of such ideas is vague thoughts of a story focused on UNIT, exploring their dynamic, giving everyone little character arcs, digging into Jo's underlying Issues especially. It would be so fun.

Unfortunately I do not have a solid plot (plots are so HARD 😭) nor the confidence that I will work at it enough to finish it

[sol-draws-sometimes]

Not my sister reminding me I was posting BTTF fan content on a dead app called Blocks World. I didn't know what fanfic was cuz I was fucking 8 but I was MAKING weird fan content and watching videos about people talking about Back to the Future BECAUSE I WAS OBSESSED. I was too young to know how to find fandom as a kid and so I MADE IT myself. By the time I figured out fandoms I mostly outgrew BTTF but still posted the occasional thing on the app. God I hope this qualifies as me being in the BTTF fandom.

Anyways, have some pics! Some of these posts are after 8, I’d say 8-14(the 14 is cuz of the last pic)

(love how Candy made it in there)

I also made that BTTF outfit part of my persona for a bit

See nothing to do w/ BTTF but my persona still had the outfit!

Have this jumpscare hello dolly one as well

I WISH I COULD SHOW VIDEOS OF THE FULL POSTS BUT THE GAME DOESN’T WORK ANYMORE SO I CAN’T ACESS THEM. Basically it was game where you could make games, but they had speech bubbles so MOST people just did other stuff(shows, art, etc)

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 15

Part 1 [...] 14 15 16

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, smut (piv, fingering, double penetration, cock warming) violence, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: guys i think hes trying. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

You don't know how many times you and Daemon walked around the fountain. Truth be told, as the seconds bled into minutes, you began to fear he would get impatient with you and ask you to stop your walk before you were ready to. It didn't help that every time you looked to examine his demeanor, he was already looking at you. His gaze was scalding. You could not keep it for more than a second.

You could not help but pick at the flower in your hand until all its petals were scattered on the floor. You felt uneasy around him.

At some point, you became too restless walking around with him that you opted to sit down and be done with it. "Very well," you mutter, sitting on the wide ledge of the stone fountain, "I shall tell you."

Daemon sits next to you, brows furrowing at the way your breath hitches.

You suck in a deep breath, "our children are-"

"You need not speak of them this instant," he takes your hand, squeezing it, "not if it is unbearable."

You look at his hand. You look at him. You see the softness of his gaze. You feel nothing. You mutter his name.

He mutters your back in response, reaching for your cheek.

You pull away, both your head and your hand.

He gulps, watching you scoot back. He retreats and digs his nails into his lap.

"If I do not tell you now," you shake your head, looking over your shoulder, "I do not know when next I will be willing."

Daemon watches you watch the water trickle. He shifts, "I do not mind."

"I do," you whip your head back, "I do not want to keep you waiting."

He watches your dark hair flow with the wind. He so badly wants to brush it out of your face. He shakes his head, "you have waited enough for me."

You chuckle dryly, "you misunderstand," you look away and reach for the flower drifting over. You grunt as you stretch your arm out, "you make me uneasy."

Daemon's face twitches. Poison spreads through his thorax and an invisible noose tightens around his neck. He opens his mouth, but only a shudder leaves him. You say this so casually too... what horror.

You manage to reach the flower and relax back in your spot after grabbing it. You stare at the rose before turning to your husband. He looked so unlike what he did the day he left you. His hair, which was once nearly the length of yours, now couldn't cover his ears. And his eyes... they were uncharacteristically soft. You lower your gaze, "there was once a time I put a flower in your hair... do you recall it?"

He knits his brows.

You brush your rose petals.

He does not recall. "I recall the day you littered your brother and your ward with blossoms you picked from the field."

You chuckle as you fidget with your rose, "pity."

Daemon swallows a thick lump in his throat, "would you help me recall it?"

"Twas the same day," you smile, looking up at him.

He is winded, "I-"

"I pity you, I really do."

Deep lines form on his face. He shakes his head as his voice breaks, "I... do not mean to forget."

You chuckle again, though there was no trace of amusement in your chest, only tightness, "I know you don't," you tentatively raise the flower and take a deep breath. It takes a few moments for you to gather the nerve to secure the rose by his ear.

Daemon stills as you do so, then helps you put the flower in place.

You pull away, looking at him and his rose. You noticed the way his breathing grew heavy, how his eyes glistened with tears that threatened to fall. You sigh and shrug, "I remember placing a bud in your hair and thinking you-" you stop to chuckle. Youu shrug and shake your head, "-were devastatingly handsome I could not help but stare."

His lips part and his nostrils twitch.

You wait for him to react.

He does not.

"Do you not recall this either?" you raise your brows, "those were your own words."

He knits his brows, sheepish over how you were seemingly teasing him so suddenly for his vanity.

"You came from the City Watch," you clarified, "I did not know it yet, but you had razed King's Landing and executed criminals in the streets—"

His jaw slacks, "ah."

"—you were covered in blood. I stared because I was concerned and that," you point to nowhere, "was what you told me."

He shakes his head, "a poor jest of a man who thinks himself funny," he turns to the bushes, "forget the memory."

You knit your brows, "I do not want to forget."

He looks back at you.

"I did agree," you mutter, "though instead of devastatingly handsome, I would have called you beautiful."

Daemon wanted to speak, but then the flower in his hair was being blown off by the wind. He keeps it in its place, forfeiting the moment to respond.

"It must be terrible to have only the capacity to recall things that cause you rage or suffering."

A wind blows between you and the air in his lung is pulled along with it. Daemon shivers when you reach a hand out to him. He looks at your outstretched palm before taking it in both of his. His heat causes your skin to prick with goosebumps. His hand felt as hot as dragon fire.

"I recall your scent and the feel of your skin," Daemon scoots forward, "I recall your tenderness and your fire. I-"

"You must understand," you cut him off, placing your other hand atop his, "I do not ask you to recall merely to reminisce," you take a few deep breaths, "I do this to explain I no longer feel that way."

His stomach drops. He realizes then this stoic countenance you held was not that but indifference to him. He whimpers and lowers his head, "no, please-"

"I feel nothing for your sadness," you mutter, "I cannot lend you any more of my pity, for where I once saw beauty, I now see only grief..."

Tears stain his cheeks.

"And loss," you pull away to wipe his face, "my babes looked so much like you."

He presses his hands atop yours and pushes them into his cheeks so that you would not let him go.

"Our babes," you correct yourself.

He whimpers. He screws his eyes shut, trying to recall their names. He cannot.

"I did not write about them for I knew you took many lengths to avoid having children with me."

His eyes are suddenly wide open. He is blindsided.

"I, myself, could not believe it when the maester told me I was with child. He explained to me that it is possible to conceive with premature ejaculation."

Daemon's hold on your hands loosen. You knew what he was doing all along? You pull away.

"I was deeply afraid you would doubt me, doubt their parentage because you never spilled inside of me, but... you should know that my tw— our twins both had silver hair," you sniffle, "and violet eyes."

You begin to weep as the punishing memory plays in your head. He feels helpless to see you this like this, twice over because he knows if he touches you, you will retreat.

You whimper and shake your head, "many bore witness to my... miscarriage."

The thought horrifies him.

"Your brother being one."

Daemon's face is aghast.

"You can go to him if you ever wish to accuse me of infidelity."

"You think the worst of me," he groans.

You stare at him for a moment then burst into dry laughter, "I do not. You attacked my guards for something you misheard me mutter in my sleep— I think exactly what I know of you."

He makes a sound, "but I-"

You wait for him to continue.

There is nothing left for him to say.

"You must," you sigh, "understand... I am only trying to make you understand. Where you yearn presently I yearned for three years."

"But I don't understand," he shakes his head, "had I not returned today, would you have still written to me?"

You inhale deeply, "I would."

"Then why don't you want me?"

"Because, Daemon!" you come to a stand, "had you not returned today, you still would have ignored me!"

He looks up at you.

"And my children would remain unburied!"

His jaw drops, "w-what?"

"I did not have them buried!" you point to the side, "I had them kept rotting in a box so that they would be acknowledged once by their father and be sent off in the traditions of their house."

Daemon slowly rises to his feet. He gulps, raising a hand.

You step back, "do you understand?"

He clenches his fists, then relaxes. He nods, "what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to prepare the funeral rites for my children and I want their bodies honored tomorrow."

He stares at you for a moment before nodding again. He mutters under his breath, "eminna ziry gaomagon, ñuha jorrāelagon." I will have it done, my love.

"Ȳdra daor yne brōzā bona." Don't call me that.

He is taken off-guard, forgetting that you now speak his mother tongue.

You wipe your face and smoothen out your robe, "I nightly have supper with my sister and nephew."

He watches you shake your head. Something happens to his heart as he imagines how you've lived without him.

"You are more than welcome to join us, so long as you promise to keep your manners."

He perks.

"But you ought to know I normally invite whichever ward is keeping me guard to dine with us."

His eye twitches. He aimlessly examines the sky, "I..."

You watch his expression closely.

"I do not think I can stomach being around your wards, let alone dine with one."

"But I've explained that-"

He raises a hand. You clench your teeth, watching him shake his head. He releases a deep breath, "it is not my desire that you resent me more than you already do."

You watch him reach a hand out to you.

"Let me walk you at least?"

You stare at his hand for a moment. When you take it, you feel your stomach drop and Daemon feels his spirit lifted.

The walk you take is silent. When you arrive to the solar you dined at, Daemon rubs your hand before pulling away. You watch him fade down the hall and you feel conflicted to see him go.

He walks off to gods know where and aimlessly continues to do so until he hears someone call his name. When he turns, he sees his brother's face.

Viserys had been smiling, up until he got close enough to see Daemon's face. The king's brows furrow. He places a hand on his brother's arm, watching tears stream from his face, "skoros iksis pirta?" What is wrong?"

"I could not ask her... but she said you saw them," he mutters, gripping Viserys by the arms. His lips wobble and his brows tighten, "vestas ao ūndan ñuha riñar." She said you saw my children.

Viserys tenses when Daemon's grip tightens, out of aggression or desperation, he was not sure. To his brother, sometimes the two were one in the same. He places his hands on Daemon's shoulders and tries to calm him down.

Daemon shudders, "what did they look like?"

It hits him. He thinks of the moon you left for Oldtown after Daemon left for the Stepstones and how Alicent worried that it would cause conflict between in your marriage. A sourness spreads in the king's mouth as he recalls Alicent worriedly relaying her sister's worries to him— that Daemon would accuse her of fleeing to Oldtown because she had strayed. Viserys clenches his jaw, "they're your children, brother."

Daemon's brows furrow, "w-what?"

"They're Valyrian— silver hair, violet eyes-"

The prince shakes him, "you misunderstand me." He shakes his head, a whimper leaving his lips, "what did they look like?"

Viserys watches Daemon's eyes water all over again.

"Did they look like me? Did they look like her? Did they have her nose? Her lips? Her brows? Or mine?" He shudders, "were they beautiful?"

Viserys feels his lungs tighten when his brother sobs into his chest. His own eyes water and he throws his arms around Daemon. He leans into him as his brother's arms tighten around him. Viserys does not recall the last time Daemon's wept in his arms.

"Shijetra nyke. Nyke shifang aōha ōdres sir," Daemon says through tears. It forces tears to fall from Viserys's eyes. Forgive me. I understand your pain now.

Viserys holds him a little tighter, "ñuha valonqar." My (younger) brother.

The two remain this way until Daemon was calm enough to part from the embrace.

After supper, you make your way back to your chambers, frowning to see it empty. You take a candle and light it, heading out of your room to look for your husband. In truth, you did not know why you were doing so, for all you knew, he was out in Fleabottom, reliving the early days of your marriage. Still... here you were.

You pad quietly down the halls and ask the occasional servant you pass if they had seen Daemon. The response was the same between them all: no, princess. You nod and bid them good night each time before walking off.

You realize soon your feet were silently leading you somewhere, which is why you stop when you reach the hall to the Kingsguards' quarters. You find your eyes falling to the door that lead to the shared room of the Cargyll brothers. You momentarily recall the rather cold dismissal you gave them, which was so unlike you. Your heart calls for you to check on them. The next thing you know, you're knocking on their door.

You watch the light on your candle flicker as you wait for an answer. You watch it go off when the door opens with a, "princess."

You look up, finding Arryk's worried face, and soon, Erryk behind him.

"Has something happened?" Erryk asks hurriedly.

You shake your head, "no... I," you look at the smoke wafting from your candle, "I just wanted to see if you were alright."

Arryk, even through the darkness, could see your bare décolletage. His eye lingers before he shakes his head, "you needn't worry about us. My brother and I are well."

"It was your husband that ended up badly injured," Erryk quips.

Arryk looks over to his brother. Erryk has his eyes on you, or rather, your candle. He reaches out, "allow me to relight it, my princess."

You watch him take your candle and a shiver runs down your spine as the wind blows down the quiet hall.

Arryk notices and steps aside, "it will not take long, but please, take a seat."

You walk into their room and Arryk motions to one of the beds. You take a seat and watch Erryk look through his drawers, grumbling, "where the bloody hells did I put that damn flint?"

Arryk drapes a blanket on your shoulders, rolling his eyes at his brother, "hang on."

You tighten the blanket around you, immediately feeling warm, not only because of the added layer, but because it smelled like your ward. You watch Arryk dig through his own drawers and the moment he grumbles like his twin, you realize you it was going to take long. You didn't mind at all though.

You decide to lie down and make yourself comfortable. You yawn, knowing then you were, in fact, exhausted.

Erryk decides his flint is lost and snaps at his brother, "where's your fucking flint?"

Arryk glares at back at him, "mind your manners, worm."

Erryk immediately tenses, remembering why he was looking for flint in the first place. His eyes turn to you, throat tightening to see you lying down. He steps forward, calling out your name.

Your heavy eyes open wide, only to fall again at the sight of Erryk, "hmm?"

Erryk kneels beside you, "you cannot sleep here." His hand twitches, dying to touch you.

Hearing his twin's words, Arryk turns. He rubs his chest and curses under his breath.

You merely hum again, snuggling deeper into your blankets.

Erryk speaks your name once more.

You sigh, "yes?"

"Princess," Arryk says, clenching his fists in an attempt to steel himself away, "I do not think we will find flint to light your candle."

Erryk ignores reason and listens to desire; he places a hand on your cheek, belly burning when you lean into his touch.

Arryk gulps at the sight of it. His voice is soft and shaky, "y-you cannot sleep here."

You sigh once more, finally pushing yourself up from the bed. You tighten the blanket around you with a groan. Your heavy eyes look upon Erryk, knelt on the floor, his own eyes were blown, wholly opposite to yours. You then turn to Arryk, stood rigid by his drawers. You notice the way his fingers twitch.

You place your hand on Erryk's shoulders, intending push yourself up on him, that is, until you feel the heat of him; he is impossibly hot. You examine his face, lips parting at the sight of his furrowed brows. Erryk whimpers when your colder hands come to his cheeks. He wants for nothing else than to warm you.

"Do you want me to leave?" you mutter.

Erryk immediately shakes his head. Arryk immediately calls out your name.

Erryk ignores him, eyes lowering to your neck, or what was left uncovered by your blanket.

You turn to Arryk, licking your lips before asking slowly, "do you want me to leave?"

Arryk gulps, lowering his head.

"You're welcome to leave, brother," Erryk mutters, hands coming atop yours. He hisses at the coolness of your skin and mutters rather pathetically, "please."

You ignore Erryk, eyes on his twin, "Arryk?"

Arryk scoffs, lifting his countenance. He does not say a word. He merely walks to the door and locks it before walking in front of you to kneel beside his brother.

Erryk whines when your hand leaves him. You shush him as you take Arryk's cheek, "the gods gave me two hands to hold you both at once."

Arryk leans into your touch, nearly choking on his spit at the smell of your fragrance on your wrist.

"Please," Erryk begs for the second time, "my skin grows hotter. I need to warm you."

You relish the feel of their cheeks a moment longer before pulling away completely. Their eyes watch you like a hawk and you bask in the attention before pushing the blanket off your shoulders. You sigh and nod, tilting your head back.

They are immediately upon you. Four hands roam you at once, two hot mouths on either side of your neck. They move in sync, never colliding with a hand that did not belong to them, their touches somehow contrasting yet complimenting all at once.

Arryk, ever the more level headed and patient, kisses against your throat slowly and gently. His hands work to undress you, to massage your breasts, to assure you of his devotion. Erryk, ever the more hungry and eager, licks and nips against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, though not in a manner that would ever be unpleasant. His hands work to pleasure you, to make you moan, to make known his yearning.

Like clockwork, each twin finds your most sensitive part, loath to part from your skin. Though one was as greedy as the other in their desire for you, your own desire came before theirs, and never has there been a moment where either of them kept you wanting.

You lean into Arryk, eyes screwing shut as you chase after his mouth. He does not make you wait; his hand comes to the back of your neck and the other moves to the opposite breast, pinching your nipple, knowing it will get you to moan. He immediately feasts on your moan, tongue dancing into your open mouth. His hand kneads your breast to warm it like he did the other.

Erryk, now that you were tilted to one side, takes this opportunity to part your thighs more by bringing your leg over his lap. He easily finds his way past your bloomers and rubs your clit, moaning at the feel of your building wetness.

The twins work in efficient tandem, and soon you're all three of you naked and hot. The bed for the guards are unlike your own; it was barely just enough for one, let alone three, and yet, you made it work; the desire to be close to each other made it work.

It was not enough to have Arryk pressed behind you and Erryk in front, you were desperate to have them inside, and you relayed just that by reaching for Arryk's cheeks and throwing a leg over Erryk's hips. Receptive as ever, Arryk kisses your hand and Erryk rubs your thigh.

"I need you both," you mutter.

"You have us," Arryk assures, rubbing your belly.

Erryk manages a kiss on your jaw, "who do you want first, my princess?"

"Both."

"Fuck," Erryk tightens his hold on your thigh.

Arryk's brow furrow, "are you certain?"

You whimper at the feel of fingers brushing between your legs. You mewl as someone pumps in and out you. You arch your back and ride out the sensations, "please."

"She's more than ready, brother."

"We should make her peak first."

"No," you whine, eyes opening to look at them both, "I can take it."

They are about to protest, but their words are smothered by how you grind back into Arryk and grab Erryk's cock, each as hard as the other. You pant, "we've done it before."

Arryk squeezes your hip. His voice is heavy, "a-are you certain?"

"We do not want to hurt you," Erryk softly offers.

You nod and turn to Arryk, kissing him reassuringly. You then turn to Erryk doing the same as you stroke him a few times before guiding him into you. His reaction is instant, he moans when his tip feels your wetness, and the only reason he does not plunge into you is because he holds your comfort higher than his own need.

Arryk kisses your shoulder as he leans into you. The first stretch is the one met with most resistance and he, along with his brother, always ensure you have ample time to adjust to them before even thinking of their own comfort. It's all worth it in the end, because, gods, when they're both sunked in, the feel is maddening.

The sounds that you emit when they begin to move starts soft, but both of them know better than to think it would remain. As soon as they begin to pick up the pace, they muffle your mouth with their own, assuring you have enough room to breathe though your sounds are garbled.

In truth, they could only dampen the noise so much, as there was the sinful sound of wet skin slapping to account for. Soon, the thrusting and squelching became unmistakably lewd. Soon, dampening the uncontrollable sounds scratching up your throat became near impossible.

Faster and faster and deeper and deeper and hotter and hotter and wetter and wetter— then snap.

It was good that Arryk knew your body so well that he clamped his hand over your mouth just before you clenched around their cocks. The sound that left you was loud, loud and to the bone obscene. You make another sound at the feel of them pulsing and twitching inside of you; the twins single-mindedly ride out the pleasure raging across you all with increasingly sloppier thrusts.

Arryk eventually pulls his hand off your mouth, only to replace it with his mouth, and Erryk kisses you soon after. You three remain entangled like this, hot and satisfied. You want nothing more than to sleep in their arms.

An instant stream of hot seed spills down your thighs when they pull out. You whimper in protest, never liking it when they leave you before you are ready. You're rarely ready.

They tell you what they always do, they'd never leave if they hadn't just done so, and they ought to clean you up.

And they do; they clean you up and you whimper some more, this time to complain about the cold. So there, in that tiny bed, all three of you slept, keeping each other warm.

That's when Daemon starts from his own bed, heart racing, body sweating. He is severely disoriented as he turns to the window, blinded by the morning sun, then to space on the bed beside him. He heaves as he scans the emptiness, mind racing with the terrible nightmare he had woken up from.

He scratches his eyes as tears begin to prick in its corners. He jumps, throwing the blanket aside and forfeiting slippers as he marches off. He reaches the door, but then he starts when he hears a squeal.

You gasp, one hand on your chest, another on the door sill for balance. You had just emerged from the bath, startled to see him sprinting off.

Daemon immediately comes to your side, gripping your arm. He notices the smell of your soap first, then the presence of your servants behind you second. He gives them a look and leads you off, silently dismissing them.

Your servants scurry off as Daemon leads you to your vanity.

You look at him, noticing the manic expression on his face, "is everything alright?"

He does not turn to you as he sits you down.

"Is there somewhere you need to be?"

"You," he blurts and shakes his head rapidly, "I was looking for you."

You watch him scratch his eyes. He takes the comb on your vanity and only once he's untangling your hair do you see from his reflection that he looked distraught and teary. You mutter, "Daemon-"

"When did you come bed?"

Your brows quirk and you're about to respond, until he yanks through a tangle, causing you to wince.

Daemon stops and immediately shakes his head as he looks at your reflection, "I did not mean to."

You frown, slowly enunciating, "Dae-"

"Do not answer," he clenches your comb in his hand.

He looks erratic. Your heart rate picks up, "what?"

"I change my mind. I do not want to know when you came to bed," he shakes his head, combing through your hair again. You swear you see his hands shake as he does. He whispers to himself, "or if you came back at all."

You do not catch it, but you do catch his hand, forcing him to stop combing.

Daemon shivers as you come to a stand. You look at him, face falling at the tears so suddenly streaming down his face. You furrow your brows and reach for his cheek. You are taken aback when he pulls away.

You gulp, unsure if you should step forward or back. You decide to stay put and slowly call out to him.

Daemon wipes his face, "I-"

"Is it the wake?"

"..."

Your own eyes begin to water, "... did you, perhaps, have a nightmare?"

He is at a loss for words. He flinches when you take a step forward.

You watch him closely as you raise your hand. He does not move away up until you touch his arm. You must admit, the way in which he shrugs you off stings. Still, you compose yourself with a sigh and nod. "Very well," you step back.

His hand raises, "wait."

You are rendered frozen when he grabs your arm. Your chest begins to tighten and your eyes begin to water against yourself. You shrug and chuckle dryly, "I do not understand."

Daemon's face is pained as he releases you. He lowers his head and steps back, "neither do I."

You both stand there for a moment. You wait for him to say something but he never does. In truth, Daemon was waiting for you to do the same.

He was rather disappointed to hear you say, "perhaps you should take a bath."

He watches you wipe the tears off your cheek and wonders why it was tears found you so easily. Was it your affliction? Or just him? He nods, "very well."

Your gaze is fixed upon him as he heads to the bathroom. You sigh deeply, sitting back in your vanity chair to gather yourself.

[theophagie-remade]

>:3c

[neighbourscat]

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐑 , father charlie mayhew

MAKING A WOMAN OUTTA YOU.

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . priest!charlie m. X non-believer!black!fem!reader || second person ( you, yours, you’re ) + lowercase intended.

+ synopsis. for such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into the apostles of christ: and no marvel, for the devil himself is transformed into an angel of light: therefore it is no great thing if his ministers also be transformed as the ministers of righteousness, whose end shall be according to their works. - 2 corinthians 11:13-15

+ cw. grandma thinks reader is troubled and sexually active :: ‘G’ in ‘God’ is lowercased. use of ‘y/n’, brief mention of pregnancy and abortion, sacrilege / taboo, blasphemy, abuse of authority, feeding that fantasy / giving into obsession / scratching that itch , religious shame / guilt || pússy drunk father charlie, he’s so vocal — dirty talk, overstim, “angel” petname, choking, unprotected sex / charlie rejecting two condoms, multiple creampies, charlie & his standing positions.

+ nali’s notes; charlie mayhew & those blood red cowboy boots. writing gratuitous smut to breathe / did not expect to write this much. wordcount :: 6.2k+

+ to be played: family tree, ethel cain. || alternative: church, chase atlantic + numb, rihanna & eminem.

MAKING A WOMAN OUTTA YOU.

in two swift motions, you refolded the pamphlet and shoved it into the large pocket of your purse — letting the sleek paper crumble and tear. your grandmother norrice sat beside you, scanning through her copy of the same pamphlet and grinning softly. “you new adults are lucky,” the elder had said, removing her thin-wire, rectangular framed reading glasses, “it’s so good for young women to attend these type of things; to keep their hearts and minds pure. if i had such opportunity at your age, i would certainly have my life together.”

your relationship with the church had always been strained, and belief in god, at least the way your grandmother spoke about him, never came naturally to you.

annoyedly, “grandma . .. your life is fine.” norrice gave a small shake of her head and pushed her grandma-glasses back into place. “my life could be better. i would have done more,” she said in a wobbly voice. grandma norrice had fallen pregnant with your father at the young age of sixteen, and since her parents ( your greats ) were opposed to abortion, considering such action immoral, grandma norrice was forced to adult much quicker. “look. look. come look at this,” showing off the pamphlet, pointing a wrinkly finger over a bolded textbook — “start over. rededicate yourself as a virgin,” she read.

grandma norrice lowered the pamphlet into her lap. “isn’t that amazing?” you sighed deeply, swallowing down the hysterical laugh that almost left your throat. grandma norrice could feel the aggravation that seamed off of your body. “hey . ..” again, she pulled those thin-glasses off the bridge of her nose. she placed a cold hand onto your forearm and squeezed lovingly, “i’m only asking you for one. one session, hmm?”

and on: “you go in there and you listen. you show up for yourself, right?” grandma norrice reached and hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your head toward her. “you go in there and confess your defiance. you go in there and pledge yourself to be pure again in the eyes of the lord-“ there had been a misunderstanding between you and your grandmother norrice.

backstory: grandma norrice likes to keep her receipts. all of them. every last one. she had folders upon folders that divided her receipts by year and frequently shopped stores. she considers her an organizer, but she’s a hoarder . .. of paper. anyways, one day, way back when, she had read an advertisement in the town’s newspaper, that pretty much said: ‘good-day people of mississippi! make money off your receipts! one receipt for one penny!‘ the company had been active many years later, sending grandma norrice rolls and rolls of pretty brown pennies, but as the world aged and technology progressed — the company died.

and for some reason, even though she’s been told time and time again that that company had no longer been operating, she still collects and saves — waiting to reach her goal amount and cash in her receipts. she’s nearing a thousand receipts; it was like playing bingo and scratching lottery tickets for her. separating those receipts into their categories gave her joy.

and the short version of why you are here: as she was cleaning out a reusable shopping bag, she had seen a receipt. excited to store it where it belonged, her misty eyes scanned the slip of paper for a date. and though she found the date, she had also seen: CRYSTAL CONDOMS EXTRA VALUE , 4.99. a box of condoms was bought.

no, you weren’t sexually active . .. . but you were planning to be with this guy. and no, he wasn’t just any guy. you’ve been talking to him for a while now and he, surprisingly, has checked off every box in your ‘my type’ list. for the last four months it’s been cute dates and sweet hangouts, and after that makeout session last weekend, you were sure you were ready for it. you wanted to do it with him, badly. so bad that you started carrying two condoms in your purse, like a highschool kid, anticipating the next meet-up.

“-you must desire to re-purity.” you have not had sex yet. “you must desire to be clean.” hearing the low clacks of flat-heels, you turned from your grandmother with a low groan — the quick distraction needed. a woman, looking around your age, had been coming down the hall, giddy and with a greedy look in her blue eyes. her blonde hair, seeming freshly curled, had bounced up and down on her shoulders.

you let your eyes stroll downward; seeing the pamphlet. her copy a nice, pastel green color. a more recent edition. and then came another young woman, she too hurried down the hall with a copy of the pamphlet. “-you need guidance,” your grandmother norrice had still been speaking ( to herself ). “do not let your desires lead you astray.” and as more young women came filing down the hallway, she silenced herself.

“i believe that your time has come for a cleanse,” grandma norrice said, watching as the duos and trios of giggling, beautifully polished young women gathered at the large, double dark-oak doors. she patted your knee twice, telling you to hurry up and along. “i will be right here waiting for you, okay? right here. go on now, hurry in.”

the basement of the church was cold, even in the middle of summer. the pearly fluorescent lights gave the room an almost sterile feel, a stark contrast to the warmth of the sunday service that was held upstairs much earlier. the chairs were arranged in a tight circle, creating an intimacy that felt more like confinement. you made your way down the creaky staircase, stopping at the bottom landing and staring at the misguided women.

the air smelled like old books and faint incense, but none of it brought the comfort your grandmother said that the church would. if you turn back now, you could hide in the bathroom — since whoever was leading this thing wasn’t in yet . .. . but you would have to pass your grandmother to camp out in the bathroom.

you dropped your shoulders with a deep sigh.

you clutched the strap of your purse and eased into the light — careful and observant. you settled down in between two white women who were holding hand-held flip mirrors and fluffing their shiny hair. honey blonde and deep brunette. your gaze shifted then and your curious eyes landed on two other women; spanish women who were re-applying their gloss. the air was heavy, thick with an uncomfortable silence.

one session, your grandmother’s words echoed in your mind: “you need guidance. do not let your desires lead you astray.” maybe if you had had sex, this could be useful. if only she were here to see all of these women in their makeup and neat hairstyles and sitting so proper to show off what they have in the front — and as a slam sounded, the women jumped startled and readied themselves . .. . their heads bowed low in what looked like guilt or shame. fake guilt and fake shame.

“welcome back ladies . .. .” the priest, father charlie mayhew, now stood in the center of the circle, his hands clasped in front of him like he was leading a sermon, but there was an edge to his presence that made your skin prickle. eerie, he was. “i applaud each of you for returning this afternoon. i applaud you for wanting better for yourself, and for trusting me to guide you through this process.” he was a tall man, with a face that was just on the edge of a smile, but never quite reaching for warmth.

his collar seemed to cling too tightly around his neck, and his eyes darted around the room, landing on each young woman, one by one; hungrily, before lingering on you for a beat longer than comfortable — his expression unreadable. but then, one corner of his lips tipped upward. the honey blonde at one side of you noticed and for a second, she considered tackling you. but she took a deep breath in and out. in and out.

“thank you for joining us this afternoon,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, his attention making you shrink slightly in your seat — wanting to disappear. father charlie fashioned a calming, slightly condescending grin on his face.

the other women turned to look at you, some with curiosity, some with attitude, but all with fake sympathy. “why don’t you introduce yourself?” his tone was warm, but something about it felt performative, rehearsed. the tall priest took two big steps back and gestured toward the center of the center.

you remained seated — shaking your head no. “i don’t plan on comin’ back, so . .. .” your fingers twisting in your lap, “i don’t think there’s a need to, y’know . .. . know me. know my name. why i’m here.” you finished with a shy chuckle. no one laughed with you. no one cracked a smile.

a bushy brow of his lifted a bit. he noted how sure of yourself you seemed after that statement. father charlie decided to try again: “please, come. introduce yourself.” all eyes were on you . .. . and you felt like a teenager again about to give a solo-project presentation. “i don’t . .. .” a scoff and another nervous chuckle. “there’s no reason for that. like i said, this is an in and out kind of thing for me.”

father charlie never had to ask twice. young women, such as those around him, moved whenever he needed something done. they moved as quick as possible, they never wanted him to lift a finger. any and every favor was complete without complaint or hesitation. though he never had to ask twice, for you, he’d give it a third go. “this is a safe environment. what is shared here will stay here. right in this circle. our small community.” as father charlie spoke, he stepped along said circle. the women smiled up at him as he passed, their hearts fluttering and their stomachs knotting.

when he landed, standing right before you, he held out his hand. “grab onto me . .. . and come forth.” his voice smooth, almost hypnotic. you felt the weight of the gazes from the other women — some surprised, their faces drawn in confusion and puzzlement. no one had ever hesitated to take father charlie’s hand. you could see the tension in their bodies, the way they sat stiffly, chests and shoulders leaned in, they were practically on the edge of their seats . .. . wondering if you’d keep denying the man or finally give into him.

but, they all swore that they’d rather be you right now; looking up at father charlie as he offered his beautiful hand.

“grab . .. . onto me.” fifth time.

you took a dekko at his hand — thinking.

and when your hand fell onto his, a collective sigh had gone up. father charlie clasped his other hand on top of yours and gave a pat; a pat that said: thank you, gorgeous.

you kept your hand in his as you took to your feet. father charlie’s palm felt nice in yours; surprisingly soft — he walked you to the circle’s center and released your hand, his fingers dragging against yours as he parted. “there is no need to be shy.”

you were annoyed.

“my name’s y/n, ‘nd, well . .. . i’m here ‘cause of my,” you cleared your throat, then trailed off abruptly, “my grandma.” the women stared amongst themselves for a second and then looked up at you again. you raised your chin softly, catching a glimpse of father charlie beyond you. not hovering, but towering perfectly. “it’s silly, really,” you had told the group, folding your arms over your chest protectively, “she does this thing . .. a-this weird thing, where she .. . like, keeps all of her receipts?”

you heard a soft hum come from behind your back. you wanted to look around, to look at father charlie, but you kept yourself from doing so. “it’s a long story . .. well, not exactly, no. it’s actually the shortest story in history, really-“ fast paced babbling. purely from the anxious energy that coursed and spun throughout your body. for some people, their brains lock up and they have trouble thinking of things to say. for you, being jittery filled your mind with thoughts, along with an urge to say them all. right now. as fast as you can. “-when she was much much younger and livin’ in mississippi, she was reading a newspaper . .. .”

and you rambled. and you rambled. and you rambled.

“‘nd she thinks that i’m having sex, which-“ you laughed at the thought, “-which i am not. i’m not.” directed to the women. “seriously, i’m not.” was directed to father charlie. “i’m here for no reason, honestly. i’ve been forced here on an assumption. a silly assumption. i’ve been carryin’ ‘round condoms, but that’s all-“ the embarrassing statement caught you off-guard.

with a hand, father charlie gestured toward your chair — clearly telling you to sit the fuck down. you hurried back. you dropped down and quickly kicked your purse underneath the seat; as if to hide the condoms that were already tucked in a zipper pocket.

“at least you’re having protective sex,” the brunette whispered over, not even facing you. you almost choked on nothing: “no, i’m not,” you answered too quickly. that didn’t sound right. “i-fuck. no, i’m not havin’ sex. but if i was, i would be protected,” you corrected. “that’s what makes this whole thing hilarious. i’m still a virgin.” the brunette looked at you. “then why are you here?” your shoulders slumped, “did . .. . did you not hear me?” you asked, pointing to the circle’s center. the brunette said no, “would you listen to yourself talk about your grandma collecting receipts? we all were falling asleep, sweetie. i was so tuned out, which never happens here.”

you shifted your weight a bit, turning your body toward her.

“wait, so why are you here, seriously?” she tilted her head.

you opened your mouth to speak and heard a finger-snap. “ladies . .. .” father charlie urged. he clasped his hands in front of him and continued, “you are here because of your struggle. each of you struggle. struggle with the desires of the flesh. desires that pull you away from god.“ he lifted a hand toward you, “she travels with condoms. can anyone tell me what that says about her?”

two arms had gone up and you so desperately wanted to leave.

father charlie called on tabitha, her loose waves pulled up into a high ponytail. her eyes sparkled. “it is clear that she is eager to engage in sexual intercourse with a man. it is on her mind and she is desperate for it. but if such dangerous thought continues to linger, she will eventually take action.”

you scoffed, “i am not ‘eager’ or ‘desperate’. i jus’ wan’a-“ father charlie raised a hand, shushing you from going any further. your lips shut, disappointedly. “that is correct, thank you, tabitha.” and she felt her bones rattled.

father charlie’s eyes slid back to you, his voice dropping into something softer, more personal. “these desires . .. these thoughts, like tabitha had stated, they are dangerous. but luckily, they can be controlled. with the right guidance.”

you felt the heat of his attention again, the way his words seemed to be directed specifically at you, though there were ten other women sitting in this circle. you lowered your gaze, trying to find comfort in your lap, but the room seemed to close in around you.

“lust,” he continued, stepping closer to where you sat, “is the most powerful weapon the devil has. it twists the human mind, makes you believe that these urges are natural.” father charlie had left the circle for a moment, their eyes following except yours. he had never left the circle before — he stuck there for every session. his hand rested on the back of your chair, and you froze. “but they are not. not one bit. they are sins. and we are here to free you from that temptation.”

“desires,” he said then, his voice dropping into a low murmur, “can be dangerous if left unchecked. they can consume you.“

a few of the women murmured, their voices barely audible. you remained silent, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. his fingers brushed against your shoulder, lightly, almost as if by accident, but you knew it wasn’t. the touch was deliberate, testing. father charlie leaned in more, pressing himself into the chair fully now. “god forgives,” his voice velvety, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment too long. “but only if you are truly willing to repent. to give yourself fully to him . .. .”

you stiffened, not sure if you were reacting to the feel of him or the fact that he was singling you out again.

you wanted to stand, to leave, but something kept you anchored to the chair. a combination of guilt, fear, and an unshakable sense that you should’ve never came.

father charlie moved away, continuing his slow pace around the group of beautiful women. he spoke about discipline, about submission to god’s will, about sin and repentance, but each word felt laced with something darker. something unspoken.

you glanced around the room, noticing the way the other women seemed to hang onto his every word, their eyes ogling and admiring how he carried himself. you weren’t sure what you expected from this session, but the way he spoke about desire — like it was something to be ashamed of — made you uncomfortable. sure, you had your own struggles, but was that really something that needed to be controlled like a disease?

this was something else entirely . .. . and it was confusing.

as the session dragged on, you realized that the shame you felt was from being here, in this room, where father charlie wielded his authority like a blade, cutting away at the parts of you that made you human.

at the end of the session, as the other women began to gather their things and shuffle toward the door, father charlie gestured for you to stay behind. you hesitated, but the weight of expectation pressed down on you, making it impossible to refuse.

you slung the strap over your shoulder and held the leather close, as if to comfort yourself.

and once the room was empty, he stepped to you, a smile creeping back onto his face. “thank you for sharing this afternoon. that was quite the story,” he said, his tone sickeningly sweet. “i know you said that this was a . .. . ‘one and done’, type of thing-“

you wanted to speak but nothing came out.

“but, i think we need to have a private conversation. just you and me. i can help you further. i would like to help you further, y/n.”

the bile rose in your throat, but all you could manage was a nod, the fear of what would happen if you said no silencing you. you quickly turned your back and left for the double doors.

you entered quietly, hoping not to draw attention, but the oak door creaked louder than you expected, making a few heads turn. you weren’t that late, just a few minutes, but it was enough to feel the shift in the room’s energy as you found an empty chair in the circle. the same chair you had been seated in last weekend. father charlie had made sure to leave it out.

“punctuality is important,” father charlie said smoothly, his voice breaking through the murmurs as he watched you take your seat. his smile was there, but it didn’t reach his eyes. you gave a quick nod of apology, shifting uncomfortably as you settled in, trying to brush off the feeling that all eyes were on you.

this time . .. . you were here by choice — you hadn’t told your grandmother norrice that father charlie had asked you to return. you knew that if you did, she’d throw a fit. she’d throw a damn superbowl party — it unsettled you, but at the same time, something pulled at you. maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about how he had made you feel just by looking at you, as if he could see something in you that no one else could. whatever it was, it brought you back.

there was a distance between you and the women, a sense that you weren’t part of their world just yet. a sense that you were special, and far more important to father charlie.

“but, i am glad that you’ve decided to return.” you gave a small nod, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “yeah, i . .. . i figured i’d give it another try,” you had said.

he nodded, as if he had expected nothing less. “good. very good.” father charlie smiled at you, but it wasn’t comforting. there was something behind it — something almost predatory in the way he seemed to hold his gaze on you, like he was sizing you up. then, he turned to address the group, but his words felt distant, again like they were just for show. you couldn’t focus on the session. your thoughts were too tangled, your mind too occupied with what he had said last time.

i think we need to have a private conversation.

“even if-when you don’t believe,” father charlie said, closing in behind your chair, his voice low enough that only you could hear, “god has a plan for you. you just have to let him in.”

you swallowed hard, fingers swiping along the smooth paint of your nails, unsure of what else to do. his hand found your shoulder for a second or three before he moved on, continuing his speech. the other women nodded along, their heads still bowed in what looked like submission.

as the session dragged on, you found yourself drifting in and out of the conversation, only half-listening. you weren’t here for the church, you weren’t here for god, you weren’t here for your grandmother, you weren’t here to be lectured about how your desires were dangerous if not properly controlled . .. . you were here for father charlie.

as the session wound down, the other women began to gather their things, exchanging quiet goodbyes. father charlie’s eyes followed them out, but he didn’t speak. he was waiting — waiting for them to leave, waiting for you. he caught your eye, giving you a knowing look. “stay . .. ?” he mouthed, the request felt more like a command.

tension.

when the last of the women finally left, the door closing softly behind her, the room seemed to shrink. the room felt different — charged. father charlie slowly walked over to where you sat, his presence looming larger now that it was just the two of you. his smile was still there, but it was different in this quiet space, more intense, more focused.

father charlie sat down in the chair right next to you. he scooted closer to you, grunting as he moved the chair with him — scraping it against the stone floor. his voice was soft, intimate. “i’m really glad you gave this another chance.” his dark eyes locked on yours with a strange intensity. “you know, sometimes the answers we are looking for are . .. . in places we wouldn’t expect.”

“like the basement of my grandmother’s church,” you had said mindlessly. father charlie gave you a gentle grin, showing you that he had been amused. barely. “yeah. exactly that. the basement of your grandmother’s church. but . .. . like i was saying-“ his hand brushed lightly against your arm, “-i think that you’re searching,” his voice a bit lower, like a secret was being shared. “-searching for something deeper, something that no one else can give you. i see it in you, the desire for connection.”

connection.

“i want to help you work through . .. . your urges.”

there was no mistaking it now — the way he said urges, the way his voice dipped, made it clear he wasn’t talking about faith or repentance anymore. “we all have them,” he murmured, his eyes scanning your face like he was looking for something, some sign of compliance or curiosity. “it happens.” his hand slid downward. just a little closer they went . .. . fingers grazing the back of your hand, subtle but deliberate. “i can guide you through it,” he whispered. “let me help you.”

your pulse quickened, a sense of alarm flooding through you, but there was also a need.

“you have to trust me. you have to let me in.”

“i don’t . .. know. i don’t think-“

father charlie’s smile deepened, his hand gently squeezing your forearm. “sometimes, we don’t know what we need until we find it. trust me. you’re here for a reason. god brought you back for a reason, right?”

his words hung in the air, heavy with a meaning that wasn’t lost on you.

“i don’t know,” you repeated yourself.

you tried to look away, but his hand reached out, his fingers lightly gripping your chin, forcing your gaze back to him — like he was trying to hold you in place, make you stay in this moment with him. “i know what you’ve been feeling. i know what’s pulling at you. you want to give in, yeah? to feel something . .. .”

“sometimes . .. . we’re not meant to fight it. sometimes, we’re meant to feed it.” he dropped his hand from your chin.

“but yesterday, you said . .. .”

he chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it, only a dark edge. “i know what you want. i know what your body wants, what it’s demanding from the world.” his hand moved, not to your arm this time, but to the small space between your shoulder blades. “and there’s nothing wrong with wanting and needing to feel pleasure. most times, we need personal attention to overcome and strive.

“i didn’t tell the others; but sometimes . .. . we have to allow ourselves to feel these things in order to rise above it. that’s how we control it.” his fingers slid down your back slowly. “desire can a gift — one that can bring two closer to the truth of who we are. allow me to help you feed it.”

. .. .

“are you going to let me help you now?”

. .. .

“yes.”

and he wasted no time bringing a hand up to grab the zip of your short-sleeved hoodie. he pulled down carefully, the plump cleavage of your breasts peeking. his other hand smoothed along your curly slicked back hair, “thank you,” he whispered.

and though you were prepared for something like this, the contraceptives in your purse went unused. when charlie had seen you flick it out — showing off the metallic dark green wrapper, the imprint of the condom bold — he refused, immediately: “no.” simple. flat and cold.

charlie plucked the packet from your perfectly-manicured fingers and tossed it across the floor, dark eyes boring into you. you looked at him as if he had lost his mind. just as you were about dig into the pocket for the other condom, charlie gripped your wrist; the pressure gentle but firm. “what do you mean ‘no’?” you asked — though you knew exactly what he meant.

“i have something real to give.” in other words, he would not be spilling his seed into some rubbery latex. there was no blocking him out. “i need you to feel everything. okay? you need to.” you couldn’t oppose him.

and here you were: holding onto his forearms. his arms had prodding veins for days. from his wrists to the tops of his large shoulders. he was so built, you weren’t at all expecting it. “. .. ready, angel?” you nodded down at him sweetly, hands sliding up to his flexed biceps. “wan’a be yours already. please ..” charlie had you right where he wanted you. there was something so nasty about the smirk that grew across his face, “god saved you for me . .. . wanted me to have you.”

“mm, think so?” came quiet and soft.

“know so,” charlie muttered, stroking himself messily. “i know so.” he reached down for you, carefully lining himself up with your heavenly entrance. “taste me.” his words are sweet, poison laced sugar. you kissed him, letting your eyes close as you did so.

and when he slipped inside, spongy and slimy, it was like his own personal hell. you were so much better than he could’ve imagined. charlie had gone completely silent, choking on air — like he was just punched in the gut. there’s no comparison, no feeling in the world . .. . he couldn’t form a single, coherent thought. you were gripping him just right, massaging his cock like you really were made to have him as your first. like he was made to stretch your hymen.

“fucking shhit,” charlie’s head gradually tossed itself back. he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice, couldn’t keep himself from hiccuping and mumbling your name and calling you ‘angel’. “f-fuck. fuck, fuck, hang’on, f-please . .. hang on.” charlie had to pause halfway, huffing out an overwhelmed breath. he’s drooling — he couldn’t quite fathom how amazing you felt on the inside.

you sighed, and sighed again as his nose brushed your throat, as he guided your hips — slowly and tediously, pulling you up and down. your jaw hung open desperately, toes curling with each vein he gradually dragged so rigidly along your walls. “i’ve got y-you . .. . i promise, angel. i’ve got’cha,” you were taking him so well despite the pain, making it harder to resist the urge to pound into you.

your cunt readily accepting the priest’s dick as it oozed against your insides and spreads the flame of desire.

he’s making your pussy his own; shaping your cunt, molding you into the perfect cocksleeve. pretty much carving his name into it. and he was trying his best. trying so hard to be as gentle and as slow as he could possibly be, fighting every bad thought that so tightly pulled and demanded he go deeper. charlie did well, swallowing those thoughts down . .. but it was tiring.

it was exhausting. so fucking exhausting, especially when your desperate cunt keeps sucking and swallowing him in deeper after each and every pass. charlie kissed and licked at your neck, blankly trying to distract himself — which gave nothing. your cunt would not let up. nothing would give. not like this. there was no way. there was nothing in this world strong enough to pull him away from you and your warm cunt.

charlie’s guiding your hips so slow that it was painful. he’s trying to make every thrust connect — he’s groaning and struggling to keep his dark eyes open. you're smothering his entire cock with nothing but your slippery slick, hearing the filthy clicks ring from in between your sweaty thighs — he’s so lost in the sounds of you.

you are secured to him; fingers tangled into his brunette hair, gripping strands and raking your nails along his scalp, eliciting a satisfying moan to slip past his pretty lips. you blinked away, only for a moment, and stared down at his glossy lips. covered in his spit, your toes are curling. your tummy is doing cartwheels — butterflies no longer butterflies but pterodactyls.

“y-you’re .. . .. ‘t’s so deep ..” charlie gave a gentle smile, one hand slipping up and caressing the curve of your back. “i know i am. i know. i can feel it too, angel.” your sleepy gaze remained on his smiling lips. you licked at your own, almost leaning in to capture his. “i can feel everything . .. .” and you felt fan-fucking-tastic. “everything.”

you bit back a smile.

charlie winced lowly, his thighs starting to rattle. “hurts to .. to keep goin’ this slow ..”

it felt like he was worshipping you — that you are the sacred body here, two bright candles flickering in the corner — he’s worshipping you, you’re sure of it, with tongue and teeth and cock. it’s messy, and he’s not shy, those lips that could stir a congregation with their sweetness, his golden tongue .. . “nngh-wait,” you pleaded softly. “w-wha’?”

clenching around him so tight you could feel the outline of his prominent veins, the sensitive spots along his shaft. charlie’s brows furrow in clean focus, letting out a sultry string of words, “i .. i can’t.” he's buried nose deep near the crook of your neck. “i’m sorry, angel. i can’t .. fuck, i can’t.” he softly rasped as deep brown locks of hair stick against his shiny skin. “takin’ everything in me . .. i’m tryin’, fuckk, i’m tryin’ for you-don’t wan’ it to hurt . .. .” you felt his throaty pants trail against your skin, “but i’ve gotta go harder.”

with a sheepish smile, you met his chocolate-eyed gaze, moaning a soft: “okay ..”

“y-yeah?”

your weak arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, the pads of your fingers almost rubbing against a fresh scar, “mhmm .. . do it, please.” the ghost of a smirk. charlie’s thick fingers clasped at your waist; the decorative beads printing mini dents into your brown skin. effortless, he lifted your hips and fixed himself — the feet of the chair loudly scratching the cold, stone floor. “you’re the best i’ve ever felt, angel .. . s’hot inside. s’soft.” that deep, silky whisper has your cunt quivering disgustingly. and he’s driving his hips up, fast, drilling himself into your body.

“so fuckin’ wet-“ one hand cupped the side of your face, bringing you in. you’re both panting, quick and short, breathing hot and heavy air into each other’s mouths. “pretty hole sucking me in so good . .. .” your teeth nipped at your plump lower lip, drinking him in. charlie’s hot fingers slipped underneath your waistbeads, toying with the jewellery. “so good, angel . ..”

the gel slicking back your naturally thick hair put up zero match against the heat of this basement. edges once neatly laid, were puffing up — stretched curls lifting out of place and shrinking.

“fuck-never wanna leave.” your heart continued to race at his obscene words. and you caressed his face, whispering about how good he was making you feel. he mewled at your validation, wanting to please, needing to be the best for you.

and he’s so loud, so hungry for more. with the way charlie’s long lashes flutter and his hooded eyes droop, he was so visibly pussy drunk. already nearing the edge and trying his best not to tip over. balancing on a uni-cycle on a string of the cheapest of cheap dental floss.

he could practically taste the pleasure on his tongue — release is coming quick and there was no preparing himself for it. not enough preparation in the world. the pointed tips of his ears burn with intense, searing heat.

“oh my-! oh god!”

“no-“ charlie cursed under his breath and snapped a hand over your throat, all five fingers digging into your brown skin — “-no. fuck no. you don’t call on god. you-you don’t call on him. don’t. he’s not makin’ you feel good. i am. you call on me,” he ordered, harshly. and all you can is nod and follow his direction. “call for me . .. . do it.” you’re practically speechless, nothing left from your lips yet, all that could be heard was the constant slap slap slap of slippery skin.

and his hand tightened around your neck. “come on, angel . .. say my name.” charlie’s muscled chest heaved up and down, hard. “fucking call on me.”

your hands latched onto his wrist — this new feeling, you couldn't quite describe it. it was tasty and he was peeling you apart, layer by layer. “do it. who’s makin’ you feel good? huh? who’s breakin’ you in half? .. . who’s splittin’ you the fuck open?”

“charlie!” all you can do is choke out a shrill. “you are!”

what happens next takes you by surprise — charlie locked his big burly arms under your thighs and stood up, keeping himself plugged in; nice and snug. the new position, standing, had charlie’s head spinning. he grunted loudly, and it’s a sexy guttural noise. your legs kicking and dangling in the air as he feeds your cunt inch by greedy inch, again and again. “charlie .. .” you whined, pulling at his hair.

“shiit,” and as if a switch had been flipped, hot sticky ribbons shoot right into you, spilling way into your sweet welcoming womb. you gasped, nails scratching into his large shoulders — and the feel of him letting go inside of you has you cumming as well. his panting is deep and animalistic. he held onto your shivering body tighter, his hips never faltering.

beefy arms lifting your sticky body up again, he’s back at it — pushing and eager to reach another one. “a-angel .. .” his entire body hot and heavy. “gonna fill you up again-i’ve gotta.” his brown eyes continued to grow hooded and low.

you were still trying to recover. still coming down from your first orgasm and just barely adjusting to the feel of having his previous load fucked even deeper. “‘m gonna cum again,” he warned softly — cream tearing down his trembly thighs. he’s silently babbling out more whispers and moans of your name. “givin’ you all of me .. .”

you’re flustered right away and wanting to kiss him, hungry to. but as your leaning in, the heels of your feet knocking into the back of his thighs hard, he hoists your legs over his shoulders without so much as a warning. you’re scared to fall, but he won’t let you. he promised you through shaky moans, rocking you up and down.

and you’re gonna pass out, eyes knocking in the back of your skull. your legs bobbing from the movement, you’re trapped against him — and it’s even hotter. even messier and you can’t squirm at all. charlie’s watching your face contort and scrunch and there goes his ego; shooting through the church’s roof and into space. you’re barely hanging onto his big arms and he’s feeling so good about himself. “i can’t-can’t anymore,” you cried to him.

“but you can, angel . .. .” charlie snapped. “keep takin’ it .. and let’s finish together, ‘kay?” and every time you touched down on him, you squeal —

— “charlie . ..” you cooed, voice cracking cutely. your voice made his cock twitch and from the inside, you felt it all . .. . and it felt so nice. so sweet and so insanely intimate. “ch-charlie, pleaseee.” sickly, your voice bounces along the holy walls of the church’s basement.

lips parting as he tried to find his voice: “cum with me, angel-do it,” he pleaded. charlie felt every little reaction and spasm. every cute gasp and cry and moan sent a thick rush through his aching body. and you’re cumming again, holding onto him as tight as you can, clawing at his biceps.

and that’s when he lets go. pumping in yet another hot, thick load of his cum — you almost gag at the re-fill. his grip weakened, but charlie doesn’t let you fall. he told you that he won’t, so he won’t. he’s shivering, feeling a wave crash down onto him as he’s caving into his high . .. .

if this is sin — this beautiful, divine feeling — then what is the point of it all?

[imjustdreamingig]

Isn't that sweet, I guess so

Part 1, Part 2

pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

summary: The secret's out, Steve's proud of himself, and you can't seem to keep your mouth shut

A/N: chat there is no way I put out 2 fic in the past week, this has never happened to me before! yay everyone cheer. again, i have no idea where this story is going how far im gonna go, i def want to try writing other stuff and idk if this is the best place to put and end to whatever this series is but again, we shall see i guess. thank you all so much on the love on my last two works you have no idea what that means to me! please please PLEASE send me asks or comment what you'd like me to write next or if you want a pt4 i need help people

warnings: sfw, swearing, fluff, idiots who like each other

Facing your fears is tough. No matter what it is, no one would actually choose putting themselves through a situation in which they know would cause them extreme distress. For some that may be going on a rollercoaster, interacting with a clown, going into a dark forrest alone, it could even be making a phone call by yourself to schedule a doctor's appointment (which is a valid fear to have, thank you very much.)

And here you were, facing your fears: being sat in your living room with Steve Harrington 3 feet away from you for an extended period of time. It's only been about 15 minutes, where no talking has happened since minute two.

You hope you can get to 30 minutes without fainting.

As you attempted to focus on the book in front of you, Jane Austen's words, who usually kept your focused for hours on end, were not being absorbed by you in the slightest. How could they, when Steve fucking Harrington was in your house.

Steve is the type of guy who Jane Austen would write about, you thought, eyes flickering towards him as he hunched over his book, face crinkled in concentration, trying to understand said author's musings.

The swoop of his hair, the two moles near his neck, his deep, beautiful, chocolate eyes, his gorgeous smile, and my god those arms? Yep, Jane would be absolutely obsessed with him.

"God, why did I agree to do this book?" You are snapped out of your daze at Steve's words. "What do you mean?", you replied. He gave you a look that can only be described as "seriously?"

"I mean, that I can barley understand what any of these characters are saying half the time, and honestly, it's a bit boring. I thought you would have better book recommendations," he said, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his face.

A scoff left your mouth before you could stop it. "Excuse me, are you actually hating on Pride and Prejudice, the best romance story of all time, the romance story, period." You leaned over and snatched his book. "I mean, come on! You are literally only 6 pages in, you can't just judge it that quickly, you haven't even gotten to the good parts yet!", you exclaim.

Steve watched you with an amused look on his face, unbeknownst to you, who kept rambling on, trying to convince Steve this book was worth continuing.

"— and Elizabeth, she is just funny, like actually hilarious. There is one part where she basically tells someone that I'd rather not be wasting my air talking to someone like you, like please, how did she even come up with that? Also, I'm just obsessed with this proper English style of speaking, or writing I guess, because they're basically talking shit but covering it up with fancy words! And when—"

"You talk a lot, don't you?"

You look up from the book and towards Steve, eyes widening slightly, realizing you had indeed been talking too much.

"One of my greatest faults, some may say, and by faults I mean my mom, but she only tells me this when we're arguing, so..." You glance away from Steve's face for a little reprieve. God, he's so hot.

"Well, like a good partner," you continue. "I'm trying to help you get some of this project done, and maybe if Robin were here, she could've helped," you defended yourself, crossing your arms, "which I'm still confused about, by the way. You said something about her telling you earlier how I invited you guys and some other people to work on the project together, but then she doesn't show?"

Steve leans back in his chair, also crossing his arms. You glance down for a quick second and send a quick thank you to anyone who's that Steve is wearing a tight shirt that beautifully enunciates his biceps. Or maybe you should be mad at them, you don't know yet.

"Maybe it's the fact that she noticed, like I did, that it's been a month since this project was assigned and we haven't even started," Steve countered, "which is unlike you, you usually want to get stuff done ASAP."

You look at him in confusion. "How the fuck do you know that?"

Steve smirks, "I also happen to know that you don't have a sister, thanks to that lovely dinner with your mom." You shake your head in disbelief, mentally making a note to yell at your mom later.

"Isn't that what you said one of the many times I asked you to work on the project?" Steve looked so amused with himself, all cocky and proud that he had uncovered your lie. Your brain tried desperately to come up with a realistic enough explanation, but nothing was coming up.

You throw your hands up in defeat. "Ok, fine! I lied! Is it just so hard for you to believe that maybe, just maybe, not everyone in that high school wants to spend time with you outside of it?" Oh my God, why the fuck would you say that, you screamed internally.

Steve stared at you for a second before letting out a chuckle. " You know, I did think of that actually, but only for a bit." He reaches out for the book and grabs it from your grasp, flipping to a random page.

"You can only run away from a guy so many times before he catches a hint," he peers over at you, " and I mean literally, you're a fast runner, did you ever do track?"

"Yeah, in middle school," you answer quickly. Steve lets out a hum of agreement before placing his attention back on the book. You open your mouth, about to quip about being careful to not rip the pages when he speaks again. "I know I'm dumb, but I'm not an idiot, ya know?"

Your gaze snaps to his face. "Steve, I don't think you're dumb." He doesn't look too convinced. "Eh, I think you do. But you're interesting, you took me a lot longer to figure out than the others since girls just typically throw themselves at me."

You make a face of disgust, "Ok, you sound like a total prick, you know."

"Yep, heard it after I said it, but that's not the point here." He point his finger at you, "You have a crush on me."

You splutter out a sound of indignation. "Hello, what?" In your head, fire alarms are sounding. It's a code red, all hell is breaking loose. "Pfft, no I absolutely do not."

Steve raises his eyebrows. "Then how else do you explain the running away when you see me anywhere at school? You always have an insane excuse why we're not able to meet up to start the project, which some are hilarious," he admits, "but you've got me complaining about not doing homework, look what you've done to me!"

At this point you've gone silent, mouth agape with an excuse stuck in your throat refusing to come out. Steve's expression has changed, his eyes bore into yours with earnest, almost as if he's anticipating a certain answer, hoping for it. "So?"

You muster all the courage you have left and just when you're about to respond, Steve interrupts you again for like, the 15th time.

"Anyways, I've to get going, have some things to do and whatever." He gets up, shrugs on his jacket and then places his books in his backpack. You get up too, having absolutely no clue how to tell him not to go, that you want him to stay. "Steve, what do you mean?"

He glances over at you, "Nothing, I just have to go. I'm a busy guy." He starts making his way to your front door, leaving you behind in the kitchen, trying to understand what the fuck just happened. First, he accuses you of having a crush on him, which you do, and then he just thinks he can leave?

Oh, absolutely not.

With a new wave of determination, you catch up to Steve just as he's finishing putting on his shoes. "Say thanks to your mom for me for dinner, it was great," he says as he grabs the door handle. You don't let him continue with whatever stupid thing he was going to say next.

"Listen Harrington, I don't know what the fuck just happened back there, but the fact you think can just, leave after dropping a bomb like that is ridiculous," you say, glaring at him in annoyance, and Steve's just staring back at you with that stupid, stupid, smirk that has not left his face since the moment he stepped foot in here.

"So what if I did like you, huh? What if I did have a crush on you? Because I do, but that, quite frankly, is none of your business, none of your concern, actually, so... yeah." Steve is looking at you and you're looking at him, a little out of breath after your declaration. You don't have the energy right now to fully process what you just said.

All of a sudden, Steve seems to break character, the smugness gone, replaced with subtle endearment. He leans down and presses a swift kiss on your cheek before whispering, "Well, it's a good thing I like you too." He straightness back up and says, "I told you I knew you were different, you're a mystery. You're lucky running away seemed to work on me, by the way. I don't think it would for everyone else," he says while you stare at him in shock. You've been rendered silent once again, with nothing but the thought that Steve likes you back, repeating over and over again.

You clear your throat before speaking, "Well! Um, yay?" You truly have no idea what to do right now. Steve chuckles at your reaction, like he can't believe his words have caused you of all people, who continuously talk and talk and talk, to not have anything profound to say for once. He's kind of into it.

Steve grabs your hand and encases it with the other. "Come over to my house tomorrow after school, I'll drive you. We can work on the project and you know, talk, if you want." You nod fervently, "Yeah, yeah ok."

He smiles and drops your hand. "I really do have to go though, I wasn't making that up," he remarks as he opens the front door. "Oh, sure, that's fine," you reply. You hold open the door for him and watch as he descends the steps and makes his way towards his car. You watch him, holding onto the door for dear life.

As Steve gets into the car, he looks over at you and waves, "I'll see you tomorrow!" You wave back and yell back, "Yeah, tomorrow!" You don't go back inside until the car is out of sight. As you shut the door, you press your back against it, trying to wrap your head around what exactly happened in the last few hours.

Holy shit, you though, Steve Harrington likes me. Steve fucking Harrington. You let out an involuntarily squeal of excitement and immediately regret doing it as your mother calls down from upstairs. "Mija, are you ok? What happened?" Hearing her voice reminds you of her involvement over the events that transpired tonight.

Putting your happiness on hold for a moment, you start to storm up the stairs. "Mom!", you yelled, "How could you embarrass me like that, asking him to stay over for dinner, you know how I feel about him, I just about fainted 5 times throughout the night, how does that make you feel!? You almost killed me an—"

You would thank your mom later, because ultimately she helped, but for now, you'll stick to this.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

just finished el mundo gira and i thought it was like. comically bad. sorry to any el mundo gira stans, but tomorrow's writeup will have some hater energy.

[zentriii]

see when i think of styes i think of what i see when i google it. an eye pimple looking thing. i never make the connection bc that’s never what it looks like on me

fuuuck what’s it mean when one of ur eyes looks like kaiser’s if the eyeliner/tattoo was on top. my eyelid lookin kinda swollen under that fold/crease thing too augh is this why my eye’s been hurting all day ???

[seancekitsch]

GIVE US PHOS

ask and ye shall get! this is a shorty, a little warm up, i love him

“He’s asking for you again,” The man in the suit tells you. You don’t remember his name, never having committed it to memory, but he doesn’t work for Arkham. Hes government, or something, and a lot of the others look worried when he’s around.

“Okay? And are you gonna let me see him?” You ask, your nail between your teeth as you bite down and tear the broken nail from your finger. Your nails are uneven now, and you scowl as you look at the botched job. You paid a lot to have one of Two-Face’s girls to do your nails and now the whole thing is ruined because you had the smart idea to try and scratch the last guard when he got too mouthy with you.

The man in the suit doesn’t respond, but holds up a shock collar as the door slides open with a woosh. You bend towards him, as if a queen on her coronation to allow him to put it on. The collar means yes, the collar means you get to see Mr Handsome again, means you might get to sit pretty on Boss Man’s lap again. The collar hisses as its lock clicks into place.

It feels like endless hallways you walk, the only differences being that the further you go, the more the tiles fade from pristine white to a faded yellow or a blood stained bloom across the floor. The man in the suit leads you to a set of double doors with no lock on them, like the doors to the mess hall and the rec room. Whatever this is, no one important is worried you’ll be too much of a threat. The idea of that puts you on edge as much as it comforts you, as this means whatever you’re facing will either be a grossly romantic reunion with Phos because you’ve been oh so good and haven’t killed anyone in three years, or one of Waller’s damn suicide squads. The man in the suit opens the door and motions for you to enter, but he doesn’t speak and he doesn’t enter the room himself. You more or less stomp your little pink slippers that the institution has given you into the room, its fluorescent rod lighting too harsh and irritating. But a voice you hear stops you from any anger or frustration you might feel from the lighting.

“My doll!”

That voice. You freeze, and look up into familiar eye sockets. It’s Alex, Dr. Phosphorus. It’s your boss, your man, your devoted, the reason you’re locked up to begin with. A smile breaks out across your face as you see him, and you’re so thankful you don’t have handcuffs on as you run forward to throw your arms around his neck. For a split second, you curse yourself for burying your full face of makeup into his soft hoodie, but its been 15 years since you’ve seen him, and you’ll scrub it clean if its really a problem. Warm, edging on hot arms wrap you in an embrace, strong and tight to pull you flush against his chest. You almost think you hear him whisper ‘finally’ against your hair but you can’t be sure. His fingers tangle in the hair at the base of your skull, his flames just hot enough to sting but not hot enough to cause damage. You’d learned quickly when he took you on how he could control it. Often times, he either didn’t care or didn’t want to control it besides his clothing. With you, he cared until you begged him to burn you, and even then, he held back. Your embrace gets needier, his arms moving from your back to hook under your thighs and lift you up. Instantly, you hook your ankles around his hips to secure your place on him. Its crazy, the way that you fuse back together so easily after over a decade apart, how easily the two of you fall back into your patterns.

“Oh Phos,” you sigh, “I’ve missed you, baby.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he tells you, and then pulls back just enough to look at you, “Did they tell you I just helped stop the end of the world?”

You shake your head, your eyebrow quirking up in question. They didn’t tell you anything.

“Yeah, stopped a whole war. Got the right strings pulled that they’d give me you as a reward for my good deeds.”

He doesn’t need eyes or lips for you to see the smirk or the roll of his eyes as he speaks.

You are many things, call girl, amusement park ride operator, gun for hire, and now a spoil of war. You cannot find fault in any of those titles, especially with the fact that you have his affection on your side.

“And uh, does your prize… get conjugal visits?” you ask, leaning closer to his flames. He doesn’t answer with words, instead he just kisses you, that familiar burn that you’ve dreamed and touched yourself about finally returning to your mouth. He drops you down onto one of the institution staple folding tables, the plastic cold and hard as your back slams against it.

“I didn’t ask,” he tells you, his hand reaching for the waistband of your sweatpants, “But I was planning on doing this no matter what.”

He doesn’t even tell you about the new team you’re joining.

[tarre-was-right]

ROUND ONE: MATCH-UP EIGHT

Remember, this is NOT about who would win in a fight. This is about who makes the best leader for Mandalore as a whole.

Explanation post

Seeding

Propaganda below the cut! You can submit more on this post and I will reblog it back to here!

ALPHA-17

@ihuntmonsters: He’s uhhh super badass and sexy and kicks ass and is really awesome and I’m in love with him Perfect propaganda yes. He shall lead Mandalore

Anon: He's pretty good with training children! He is very good at inspiring loyalty! He is very willing to go after sith lords with just his teeth if he has to!

Anon: Vote for Alpha he’s got Cody’s thighs, Fox’s tits and Wolffe’s ass. He’s also a DILF, if you consider the shebse squad/command batch headcanons. And who wouldn’t want a Mand'alor like that?

Anon: Alpha-17 would be a great mandolorian leader I mean look at those Pecs! What else do u need in a leader?

Anon: HERES WHY ALPHA-17 FOR THE WIN: HE WILL ASSASSINATE ALL OF THE OTHER POLITICAL FIGURES WHICH MEANS DEAD SKEVY SHEEVY PALPATINE AND WHO DOESNT WANT THAT?

Anon: What a guy. I love him so much. He's such an asshole. Alpha-17 was part of the second test batch of clones of Jango Fett, one of a group of 100, and as such he was trained directly by Jango Fett in the art of war; these early batches who had more contact with their Mandalorian trainers are commonly considered to have a stronger claim to 'Mandalorian-ness' because of this exposure and learning experience than clones from the later, larger batches

Anon: Propaganda for Alpha 17: tall

Anon: Alpha-17 should rule Mandalore because a good king doesn’t want the power of the throne and he does not want that at all. also he’s the funniest choice. might have the skills to not get killed by maul

JANGO FETT

Anon: Jango became Mand'alor (according to Legends) at the tender age of 15 immediately after the death of his adopted father Jaster Mereel. While another of Mereel's men (Montross) made a grab for the position Jango brought up the betrayal Montross had done to Mereel causing the older man's death. The other Haat Mando'ade fell in behind Jango as he had become Jaster's Legacy. He led the Haat Mando'ade for 8 years and seemed prosperous. - And then Galidraan happened, between poisoned information and tensions being high between the Jedi and Mandalorians it only took a spark for it all to be blown to hell.

Anon: Jango was trained to be Jaster's successor to the title of Mand'alor from the time he was adopted at about 8 years of age, following the death of his blood family - when Jaster was killed, Jango was chosen by their people to step into the role despite being a young teenager at the time, suggesting that he was already known to be a good leader, and one who had earned their loyalty and trust over even Jaster's formerly-trusted second-in-command - while his time in the position was short, he did seem to command great loyalty and respect from his followers, although his focus seemed to have been more on their faction's mercenary work than on serving as a ruler or even cultural figurehead for the people of Mandalore at large - regardless, Tor Vizsla saw him as enough of a threat to his own claim to the throne to seek his swift removal from the political field - even after having disappeared from the field of politics for years following the incident at Galidraan, many Mandalorians still answered his call to come and serve as trainers for the GAR, suggesting that they took his claim seriously as well

Anon: Jango Fett, while a man of many mistakes, inherited the role of Mando'alor from Jaster and tried to do the same as he did: honour their past, move forward and provide for their people - He took care of Montross and tried his best to protect the people who followed him, to make sure they had a future and didn't fall apart and get scattered to the winds again.

@lightsaberwieldingdalek: I mean. Jango’s got the best brand recognition? Absolutely everyone for centuries with recognise the Jango Fett look, and that army that Jango was kinda sort of responsible for did conquer at least half the galaxy, just…. Not in the name of mandalore

[daydreams-after-dark]

Hi love >_<!! How are you???

Because it's almost my birthday. (just 15 days !) Could you maybe write something for my birthday? :> I am requesting it very early because I'm so busy with my own life, including my mental health, so I won't be online often ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜)  ( 1 am totally okay, tho!! So don't worry about me!) You can post it before or after my birthday. I don't really mind when!

Something about birthday sex mixed with slight angst if you don't mind?? (Pure smut is totally okay!) Make it filthy and add whatever you want, as I already said once; I'm open for everything!! (I'm a slut ngl..)

P.s. I'm into piss lately..shhh

- lots of love 🎪

pairing: male escort!lino x fem birthday girl reader (I hope it's okay that I have chosen Lino for this?)

Your friends pay for a sex worker for your birthday, but what happens when arrives and you already know each other?

A/n: Hey Happy Birthday 🎪 my love. I hope you are well and taking care of yourself 😘 Tending to real life and mental health is extremely important.

I hope that my little scenario is okay, I am struggling with writing lately. The ideas are there, but the execution is not as good as I want it to be.

warnings below the cut

CW: Piss Kink (f on m), breeding kink, unprotected p in v (pls be safe), restraints, paid sex, birthday sex, oral sex, vaginal fingering.

You’re not really sure why you decided to dial the number on the gift card your best friends gave you. Really? Why of all the presents they could have chosen, did they think it appropriate to gift you a male escort/gigalo? One who does home visits at that?

Yep! They knew you hadn’t had sex in almost a year, and they knew you really needed to get laid.

You’d never paid for sex before. Technically, you’re not paying for sex in this instance either, your friends have. But still. What are you thinking? Letting a stranger come in and do things to you.

The doorbell chimes and you let out a shaky breath. “Happy Birthday, Bitch!” You wink at yourself in the mirror and take one last look over your body. You’d shaved your legs, popped on a little thong, and slipped a short satin dress on. No bra. Fuck! You sigh. It’s basically a short satin camisole nightie. Will this be okay?

The doorbell chimes again and you hurry to open the door to your apartment.

“Lino?” You gasp in surprise when you see your brother’s best friend standing in your doorway and not the escort. You squint your eyes. It is him isn’t it? You haven’t seen him in five years. But it has to be him.

“Y/n? Noona?” He smiles and takes a good look at your face. “Um… I…ah…must have the wrong address.” He begins nervously. “Let me just check where I’m supposed to be.” He whips out his phone. “Unit 4, 70…”

“Yep. That’s this address.” You say awkwardly.

You stare at each other for a moment as realisation hits.

“You booked an escort?”

“You’re the escort?”

Lino laughs while you hide your face in your hands “Fuck! This is so embarrassing.” You wail.

“So you did hire an escort. Well then... Do you want me to come in? Leave? You’re the client. It’s your call.”

“My friends organized it. They think…” you trail off.

So many questions run through your mind. Why is Lino an escort? And dear god, what if he tells your brother about this? Is Lino actually going to fuck you? No! That’s probably very unlikely. But he is extremely attractive… and he is paid for… You bite your lip.

“So? What’s it going to be?”

“Hmm?” Your thought are broken.

“Shall I stay, or leave?” He repeats.

——

You couldn’t turn him away, that would have been rude right? So you brought him in, offered him a drink and snack and invited him to sit on the couch with you.

Now you’re half an hour into a conversation about what you had both been doing for the past few years. You learned that being a gigalo… sorry, escort, is Lino’s side hustle while he brings to life his big dream of opening a restaurant-slash-dance entertainment establishment.

“Like a strip club?” You raise an eyebrow.

He rolls his eyes. “No, not a strip club. It’s going to be for all ages.”

He learned about you too. What you do for a living, your bad breakup a year ago, how it’s your birthday and your friends organized this as a gift.

He unzips his black backpack that you hadn’t even realized he had with him, and retrieves a tablet.

“Alright, let’s see what you have booked.” He opens an app and smirks as he skims over the details.

“Wait! What are you reading?” You try to catch a glimpse of the screen but he pulls it away.

“I don’t know what my friends told you…” you tug your hair wishing you were invisible.

"it says here: vanilla sex." He turns the tablet to show you.

Your mouth hangs open in shock. "Those fucking bitches think I want vanilla sex?" You shriek. "Or was that the cheapest option?" you pout.

Lino laughs haughtily. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger. Or orgasm giver. What is it I've read on Instagram - 'don't bite the hand that fingers you?'"

"Give it here." You snatch the device from him. "Am I suppose to sign something? Tick some boxes? Consent to some shit?" You scroll the screen.

"The next tab over." Lino leans over your shoulder. "Yep. Right there." He pokes his tongue out of his mouth slightly as his eyes catch some of the "inclusions" that can be selected.

In your desire to prove your friends wrong, and that you don’t want just vanilla sex, you hastily tick every single box on the form and sign the bottom. "There! Surprise me! It is my birthday afterall." you huffed.

Lino raises an eyebrow. Then suddenly he pulls you by an arm and a leg forcing you to straddle him. You yelp in surprise, but it’s quickly replaced with a sigh, and you really hope he didn’t notice.

His face is awfully close to yours and you can already feel yourself growing wet with anticipation. Are you really about to be fucked by your little brother’s best friend? The one that used to have sleepovers at your house. The one that used to wear cat print pyjamas?

“Do you even know what you signed up for?” He whispers eyeing you up and down and swallowing hard.

“I said surprise me.” You gulp.

His hands run up your thighs. “Is this thing expensive?” He asks gently tugging at the hem of your black satin dress.

You shake your head.

“Good.” He growls as he tears the garment from your body. Your hands fly up to cover your exposed breasts, but he tugs them away roughly. “I used to wonder what your tits looked like. Fuck! They’re perfect.” He sighs and takes a nipple into his mouth. You gasp and throw your head back. You grind against his crotch, and you notice he has hardened in his jeans.

“Wanna know a secret?” He says as he pops off your nipple and licks it. “I used to get hard when you’d walk around your house braless.” He bites down your nipple making you cry out. “Sometimes,” he begins to pepper kisses across your chest towards your other nipple. “You’d show me your nipples through your shirt. They’d get so hard, poking against the fabric. I’d have to go jack off. That’s how hot I thought you were.”

“Were?” You raise an eyebrow.

"Were. Are. Always will be." He locks eyes on you and you feel the tension in the air thicken.

"Are you really going to fuck me, Lino?" you whisper quietly.

"I'm going to make this a night you're never going to forget." He replies huskily.

"You didn't answer my question." You smirk, threading your fingers through his dark locks.

He holds onto your ass as he slips off the couch to lay you down onto your soft fluffy rug in the middle of your living room.

Leaning over you, propped up on one arm and cupping your cheek with the other, he leans down and captures your mouth in a kiss. The gentleness is unexpected, but it isn't long until he is kissing you more purposefully. His tongue glides over yours making you hum into his mouth. He moans at that, deepening the kiss even further, like he wants to possess you.

You hold on for dear life as he presses his strong thigh between your legs, nudging them open so he can press hard against your core. Your back bows off the floor and you whimper. Fuck, you must sound so desperate. But it has been so long since you had anyone, besides yourself, has touched you.

He presses his thigh against you again and chuckles when you respond with another moan. "Such pretty noises, Noona." He smiles against your cheek. "If I were to touch your pussy, I bet it would be soaking." He leans up and looks at you. "I'm dying to know."

He looks around the living room, seemingly making some kind of assessment, and then he's back into his backpack. You lean up on your arms to see him with a velvet-like rope in his hands. Your cunt clenches and an excitement swirls around your stomach.

"Lay back down." He instructs, and then he's tying your wrists together with the soft rope. He positions your arms above your head and secures the ropes to the leg of your chunky timber coffee table.

But that's not all. Lino is back with more ropes, this time tying one around each of your legs. He manages to position you in such a way that he can secure the other end of the ropes to the little wooden legs of your couch, forcing you to be spread open for him.

You feel so exposed and so utterly vulnerable, even with your tiny thong on. But even that doesn't stay on for long, as Lino cuts it off with scissors.

He sits back on his heels between your legs and takes you in. "That's better. You won't be able to squirm away. Now I can get a good look at your pussy." He bites his lip and runs his hands up the inside of your thighs. You shiver at his touch, not sure how you're going to last. You're on the verge of an orgasm as it is.

"So fucking wet, Noona." He states as he spreads your folds gently and runs his thumb through your arousal. He slides a finger into your tightness, then a second. "Tight too. It's been a while, hmm?" He teases.

"Unfortunately, yes." You cry.

"Let's take care of you then." He promises and without warning begins to finger fuck you hard, fast, and angled directly into your g-spot.

"No! Lino! Not yet...can't come yet!" You beg.

"Oh Kitten, you are gonna come when I say, and as many times as I say."

He's relentless with his fingers. You can't squirm away, forced to take what he is giving you. You're cunt is already producing the most lewd sounds you've ever heard. How can you possibly be this wet? How can Lino be so good at this? Your eyes roll back as you give in, accepting the pleasure. The tightness inside of you ready to burst. "Oh god... fuck..." you pant. Your chest feels flush and you know your face is turning a slight shade of pink as you edge closer to release.

"That's it... come all over my fingers." He coaxes.

You come hard, your back lifting off the floor, your thighs trembling, and tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

You collapse, panting. "Lino," you say as your try to catch your breath. "So good...so fucking good. How are you this good?" You sob.

"Shhh. It's okay. Here. Suck these." he lays beside you and pushes his glistening fingers into your mouth. You've never really had anyone shove their fingers into your mouth before, but it feels so erotic. You moan as you taste yourself on him, urging him to push his fingers deeper into your mouth. You make a pathetic sound when he goes to pull them away, so he lets you suck and lightly choke on them a little longer.

"If that's how you suck my fingers, my cock's not going to stand a chance." he says with a half smile. Your eyes snap open and you stare at him with pleading eyes.

"Oh you wanna suck it do you?" he pulls his fingers out of your mouth.

You nod. "Please! Let me..."

He sucks in a breath. "Well, I can't say no to the birthday girl. Or client. Especially when they selected everything under the sun on their terms of agreement. Including, golden showers."

"Wait! What?" You lift your head, horrified. Minho looks at you incredulously, as he strips his clothes off. You are stunned. Partially because you didn't even know that was on the list, and also because Lino naked is the most beautiful thing you have ever laid eyes on.

"It's okay. You don't have to do anything you don't want." He says as pumps his delicious looking cock a few times. He seems to be hard as stone and leaking. He's leaking for you? Fuck.

You don't have time to even think more about the piss option, as Lino positions himself so you are in 69 position. You open your mouth wide, allowing him to sink his cock into your eager mouth, while at the same time he buries his face in your pussy. You moan around his thickness as he demonstrates just how skilled he is with his mouth.

He eats you out like a starved man. Lapping at you eagerly. You try to grind against his face, but he holds you firm so you can't move. He groans against you, making you whimper around his cock. It's a delicious cycle, each of your sounds and vibrations from your mouths, making the other respond in the same way. Lino starts to thrust into your mouth, his balls hitting you in the face each time. You want him to suffocate you, and you wish your hands were free so you could pull him in deeper.

All you can do is try to meet his thrusts by lifting your head as much as you can and hope he gets the message. He does get the message, and fucks your face as he slides several fingers into your cunt. He slurps on your clit and hits that sweet spot inside you, all while you're struggling for air.

It's too much and you come again. This time harder than before. He works you through it, slowing both his cock and fingers down to a slow pace. He eventually peels himself off you and sits beside you panting.

"Lino?" You whimper looking at his disheveled hair, and drenched chin. "Didn't you want to come down my throat?" you panted.

"I wasn't sure if you wanted me to?" he says shyly. He unties you from your restraints and you sit up and give him a devious look.

"What?" he looks back at you suspiciously.

"When you used to jack off because of me, what did you think about?"

"Oh, right. That?" he lays down on the rug beside you. "Well." he pauses to think. "I often imagined you riding me. Like... You couldn't contain your urges, so you'd find me in your brother's room and push me down and force me to breed you." He admits.

"In my brother's room?"

"Yah! He wouldn't be there in the fantasies." He growled. But you were already moving into position.

"So... you mean I'd climb over you like this?" You throw a leg over him hovering over his needy cock.

He nods and swallows hard.

"Then what? I sink down onto your thick, hard cock, because I need it so badly?'

"Y-yes. Wait!" His eyes flick open in horror. "Condom."

You lean down over him and kiss him on the mouth. You really don't know where this confidence is coming from. Maybe learning that Minho had it bad for you when he was younger makes you feel powerful.

"Oh, but Lino. How are you gonna breed me if we use a condom?" you whisper.

"Fuck!" He moans and pulls you down hard over his length until he is completely inside of you.

"What are you doing to me, Noona?" He whimpers as you start to roll your hips. He's so deep, and fills you so perfectly, and you can already feel your third orgasm building.

Lino's hands are all over you, caressing, squeezing, digging his fingers in. Eventually his hands find purchase on your hips, digging his fingers in hard enough to bruise as he rocks you hard on his cock. Your clit grinds perfectly against his body. It's rough, fast, slippery from your slick. He slaps your ass a few times and growls when your flesh jiggles.

"I'm close." You squeak.

"Fuck! Me too. Me too. Piss on me." He pants.

"What?" You cry, but you don't slow down. You need to come so bad that nothing is going to slow you down.

"Do it." he cries. "Hurry!"

Fuck! Really? He really wants you to? Can you even do it? You aren't sure that you're body will even let you, even if you wanted to.

"Do it now, Noona. I'll give you all my cum if you do." He sounds so desperate underneath you, that you close your eyes and let go.

You feel a warmth pool on his pelvis between your legs. You dare yourself to open your eyes. You peek through your lashes to see Lino with the most aroused expression you have ever seen in your life. Then he starts fucking into you. Painfully hard. The breath knocked from your lungs with each thrust. You feel him grow even hard inside you as he is on the verge from exploding, and it sets r you orgasm.

You clamp down hard around him like a vice. He cries out, filling you to the brim with his cum, just like he promised he would.

Your orgasms are intense, long, satisfying.

You flop down on top of him, allowing your heart to calm and your breath to return to normal.

"Lino. I hope there was an inclusion where you clean up and replace damaged items in your terms of service. Cos this rug is well and truly fucked."

"I'll take care of it." He hums.

"Lino?"

"Hmm?" he wraps his arms around you.

"This was the best birthday present ever."

"You're very welcome." He smiles to himself, but you don't see it because your face is on his chest.

“Happy birthday, Noona.”

————

A/n: I feel like Lino breached several rules as an escort… unsafe sex, knowing the client, having had a crush on the client in the past… but this is how the story turned out… so…. 🥴

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @chuuchuu1224 @fun-fanfics @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @armystay89 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @kyunchoni @justforreaders @melochacco @scenuniverse @oddracha @ismokeeweed @galaxycatdrawz @jiminssluttyminx @teddy-stay @lunearta