#Special Purpose Grant

[thebuyeragency]

Special Purpose Credit Program- $10,000

Buy a Home in 2024 using a Grant in Selected Areas.

  Special Purpose Credit Program- $10,000 We’re offering the Home Ready First Purchase Program. $10,000 down payment/closing cost assistance in the form of grants. $500 Credit towards the cost of a Appraisal. $500 Credit towards the cost of a home warranty if purchasing one Must be a first time home buyer Minimum Middle Credit Score 620 Must be a approved for the Homeready Program NO INCOME…

[welcometogrouchland]

Thought about Damian and Dick's dynamic for too long and now I need to level a city block

[mariacallous]

 Our Nation has made tremendous progress in advancing the cause of equality for LGBTQI+ Americans, including in the military.  Despite their courage and great sacrifice, thousands of LGBTQI+ service members were forced out of the military because of their sexual orientation or gender identity.  Many of these patriotic Americans were subject to a court-martial.  While my Administration has taken meaningful action to remedy these problems, the impact of that historical injustice remains.  As Commander in Chief, I am committed to maintaining the finest fighting force in the world.  That means making sure that every member of our military feels safe and respected.

     Accordingly, acting pursuant to the grant of authority in Article II, Section 2, of the Constitution of the United States, I, Joseph R. Biden Jr., do hereby grant a full, complete, and unconditional pardon to persons convicted of unaggravated offenses based on consensual, private conduct with persons age 18 and older under former Article 125 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ), as previously codified at 10 U.S.C. 925, as well as attempts, conspiracies, and solicitations to commit such acts under Articles 80, 81, and 82, UCMJ, 10 U.S.C. 880, 881, 882.  This proclamation applies to convictions during the period from Article 125’s effective date of May 31, 1951, through the December 26, 2013, enactment of section 1707 of the National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2014 (Public Law 113-66).

     The purpose of this proclamation is to pardon only offenses based on consensual, private conduct between individuals 18 and older that do not involve any aggravating factor, including:  

     (1)  conduct that would violate 10 U.S.C. 893a, prohibiting activities with military recruits or trainees by a person in a position of special trust;      (2)  conduct that was committed with an individual who was coerced or, because of status, might not have felt able to refuse consent;      (3)  conduct on the part of the applicant constituting fraternization under Article 134 of the UCMJ;      (4)  conduct committed with the spouse of another military member; or      (5)  any factors other than those listed above that were identified by the United States Court of Appeals for the Armed Forces in United States v. Marcum as being outside the scope of Lawrence v. Texas as applied in the military context, 60 M.J. 198, 207–08 (2004).

     The Military Departments (Army, Navy, or Air Force), or in the case of the Coast Guard, the Department of Homeland Security, in conjunction with the Department of Justice, shall provide information about and publicize application procedures for certificates of pardon.  An applicant for a certificate of pardon under this proclamation is to submit an application to the Military Department (Army, Navy, or Air Force) that conducted the court-martial or, in the case of a Coast Guard court-martial, to the Department of Homeland Security.  If the relevant Department determines that the applicant satisfies the criteria under this proclamation, following a review of relevant military justice records, the Department shall submit that determination to the Attorney General, acting through the Pardon Attorney, who shall then issue a certificate of pardon along with information on the process to apply for an upgrade of military discharge.  My Administration strongly encourages veterans who receive a certificate of pardon to apply for an upgrade of military discharge.  

     Although the pardon under this proclamation applies only to the convictions described above, there are other LGBTQI+ individuals who served our Nation and were convicted of other crimes because of their sexual orientation or gender identity.  It is the policy of my Administration to expeditiously consider and to make final pardon determinations with respect to such individuals.

     IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I have hereunto set my hand this twenty-sixth day of June, in the year of our Lord two thousand twenty-four, and of the Independence of the United States of America the two hundred and forty-eighth.                              JOSEPH R. BIDEN JR.

[daddy-ul]

At least we can agree on this.

[coff33andb00ks]

vivvvv how about…

11 + 24 with lando 😊

"It's impossible to get rid of me."/"Are you awake or asleep?"

driver + number = drabble <3

maddie babe ily

warnings: disgusting perverted amount of fluff

Lando Norris is, in his own words, a little bitch.

Granted, he said those words when he was drunk and a moth flew too close to his face, but you'll never let him forget that he uttered them.

Nor will you let him forget you have video of him screaming in terror and running straight into the glass door of the balcony to get away from the moth.

It's what your friendship is based on: embarrassing moments that the other finds hilarious but no one else would understand. Like the time you spent three minutes telling a store mannequin what you were looking for, or the time Lando locked himself out of his apartment at four in the morning. He has a tendency of doing that, so much so that when it happens he shows up at your place.

Like he is now, in his joggers and slides, without his wallet or phone, smiling sheepishly at you like it isn't three a.m.

"Don't you have other friends," you grumble, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands.

"None that'll answer the door this late," he sighs.

You sigh and step back to let him in, pretending to be unaffected by the scent of him freshly showered. "How'd it happen?"

"Took out the trash and thought I had my key in my pocket." He looks entirely too comfortable in your tiny apartment, shirtless and his hair still damp.

Nodding, you shuffle to your bedroom to collect the spare key to his place. That he'd given to you so casually, like it was a normal thing for him to hand out an extra key, when you knew it wasn't because even Fewtrell didn't have a spare key back when Lando lived in England still.

"C'mon, you know I'll need it. Besides, you're the only one I trust to have it." He dropped the key - attached to a Snoopy keychain that you remember him buying in Vegas - into your purse. "There. Now it's impossible to get rid of me."

As if you'd ever want to.

He follows you into the bedroom and you're painfully aware of your unmade bed and the clothes you'd left on the floor. Which is ridiculous, because it's Lando, he's been in your bedroom before, he's seen your dirty underwear–

Just not at three in the morning...

"Fuck," you mutter, turning your purse upside down to empty it onto the dresser. The essentials of your life spill out, lip gloss and gum and wallet and keys - but not Lando's because that one stays on its Snoopy keychain it's special - and hand sanitizer and notepad and six pens and tissues and the ticket stub from the movie he took you to see two weeks ago and a friendship bracelet and two pads. Everything but his key.

"Don't tell me you've lost it," he says.

You scoff at the idea. You may have lost your mind, your sanity, and sometimes your wallet, but you'd never lose his key. Your sleepy mind scrambles. Two weeks ago you pulled it to give to him and–

"Oh shit it's at my place," he mumbles, clapping a hand over his face.

"Lando!" you groan, sweeping everything back into your purse.

He's sorry, you're annoyed, and after bickering uselessly you tell him to just go to bed, he can get his superintendent to let him in in the morning.

It's not unusual to share a bed with him. Lando's a clingy, touchy feely person, half the time you travel with him he ends up taking you into staying in his room. Ostensibly because he likes to talk but really because he wants to cuddle.

"You awake?" he whispers in the darkness. "Or asleep?"

You don't answer, because you know he's about to say something profoundly sweet or incredibly stupid.

He presses his face into your hair and sighs, much like an exhausted dog finally settling down for a good sleep. "I do it on purpose sometimes," he whispers. "Cuz I sleep better with you than when I'm alone."

As confessions go it's probably your favorite. But you have to pretend you don't hear it. You're smiling though, and you let out a sleepy little hum. And you feel him smile.

[lis-likes-fics]

eddie munson drabble

cw: smut, swearing, aftercare. 1.5k words.

Eddie Munson is a talker.

Eddie doesn't know how to shut up during sex. When he's balls deep inside of you, your arms pinned over your head as he fucks you, he's a constant spout of curses and pants and groans and words of “you're so tight” or “you're so pretty” or anything along those lines.

It's nice, though, and you enjoy it: his constant praise, his reassurance that you're making him feel good just by the way he breathes.

But you're not loud. You can't help it—you're shy. When Eddie's making love to you, you express your pleasure in gentle sighs and tiny moans. Sometimes you whine a little louder than you mean to, or a gasp is sharper than intended. You don't need to say much. Eddie speaks enough for the both of you.

But there's something about this position that gets you.

He doesn't do it a lot—mostly because you don't end up in this position a lot. Eddie is usually between your legs, or maybe you're on top of him, something simple and effective. You enjoy it either way.

But in times like these—which you seem to keep rare—where he's got you on your knees, one hand on your hip and the other wrapped gently around your throat, you seem to lose control.

It's not on purpose. You enjoy the little sounds, the gentleness. Eddie does, too. He loves his shy girl more than anything.

But when you're on your knees, you're nothing but shy. It surprises him so much that he's the quiet one compared to you.

Eddie's fucking you nice and deep, fast thrusts that have you gasping and seeing stars. You grip the sheets and let your head fall limp on his hold as you moan and whine loud enough to be heard clearly in the living room. (Granted it's a small trailer, but usually Eddie has to focus in to hear you when he's only inches away.)

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cry, your breaths rough and raspy. “Oh, fuck, don't stop. Please, please, please.”

Your words are pitchy and loud. They sound like you might actually be crying as his hips slam into yours. He has to keep checking to make sure you aren't.

“That feel good, sweetheart?” he asks, his grip tightening on your hip. “You like bein’ fucked like this?”

You nod quickly, a tearful huff slipping out of you. “Yes, Eddie! Yes, so much. Feels so fucking good, baby. Please don't stop, please.”

He's drunk on the sound of you. There's something so special about hearing you express your pleasure so much. He loves you shy, but this version of you also has a very special place in his heart.

“Won't stop, sweetheart,” he huffs. “Won't stop ‘til you fuckin’ cum for me. I'll have you cryin’, huh? You wanna cry for me, baby?”

You nod your head into the pillow, gripping the sheets until your knuckles pale. “Yes, yes, yes. Yes, make me cry for you, Eddie. God, fuck.”

Eddie's breath is thick, coming out in harsh puffs at the sound of your pleas. He reaches one hand to your clit, rubbing at it and grunting at the way you cry out.

“Fuck. Fuck, ‘m gonna cum, Eddie. You're gonna make me cum, Eddie.” Your voice is thick with pleasure, your breaths shaky.

Eddie's thrusts are unsteady now, shorter and rougher as he nears his own release. “Yeah? You feel good, baby?”

You're chanting “yes” over and over like a prayer on your tongue, each one more faithful than the last. His name slips from your lips again, and it feels like an orgasm on its own with the way the E erupts, the way the D’s stick on your tongue like honey, the I drags out in a desperate cry.

You choke on the pleasure, and you do it with joy. “Oh, God, Eddie,” you gasp. The names so close together, an interesting pair, makes sense in this moment when his cock thrusts into you and makes you see stars you could easily be convinced he placed in the sky himself.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, please,” you beg, burying your face in the sheets on the mattress as he grips your hips and smacks his hips into them. You bite down on the, the cheat cotton indented with the shape of your teeth as your pitchy moans turned into a sound that mimics a growl.

Eddie's going to lose it, looking down at you and seeing the way he's making you so feral. You're like a wolf tasting lamb for the first time, a delicate and addictive taste that has your mouth watering and your hunger running deeper than instinct.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, his thrusts sloppy and his finger a messy, almost rough circle on your clit. “You look so—fuckin’ pretty like this. So fucked out on my cock, screamin’ my name like a fuckin’ angel.”

Tears have unblurred your vision as they slip down your cheeks. You can't help it. What you're feeling is reaching down into your soul and unleashing a lust that you hadn't known existed until the very first time he had you like this. It takes you by surprise each time, fills you up and leaves you wanting.

“Eddie. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, my God, Eddie.” Your voice will be sore in the morning, if the roughness of its sound now is any indication. “I-I'm gonna cum for you, Eddie. Eddie, you're gonna make me fuckin’ cum, Eddie.”

Your words are climbing higher and higher, the pitches rising like the prayers you were just sending to him ascending to the sky. You echo his name as the waves grow, charging on you with force and speed, but bating you all the same.

A harsh thrust makes you choke, and as you take a breath in, the water consumes you, and then you choke on that. You cry out his name, claw at the sheets—which fall from your mouth in disregard as you gasp around the pleasure.

The waves wash over you, crash after crash after crash, a swell of pleasure all over you. You go blind with it, your hands flexing straight.

Eddie keeps rubbing at your clit, slamming into you. As you clench down around his cock, a tight, crushing hug that makes him stagger, he follows right after you. “Ah, fuck, sweetheart,” he huffs, a moan squirming out of him as he buries himself to the hilt, listening as your pussy squelches around him.

He curses as you gasp, riding the high together as every atom in your body buzzes with pleasure. You cry out his name, rambling “I love you. Fuck, you're fucki—Ahh, I love you. S’fuckin’ perfect.” Half your words are cut off by moans or more words, other times they're blurred into the same until you're not quite sure what's been said.

His sounds are relatively the same. Stacked on top of each other, you both ramble as you burst, mewling as you're filled to the brim with his warmth and his love.

Your eyes blur as the crashing ends, and you fall down against his sheets. You feel yourself losing time, losing all feeling but the delightful buzz of your release. The feeling of his hands pawing at your flesh comes into focus later, along with the weight partially bearing itself onto you in his own creeping exhaustion.

You blink heavily, humming when you feel the warmth of chest on your back and the love of his lips at your neck, tickling behind your ear. “So pretty,” he whispers between kisses to your skin. “You did fuckin’ amazing for me, princess. So good, baby. So perfect.”

You bask in his care, in the haze of his cooing. His knuckles brush against your sides, rubbing into your hips as if apologizing for the bruising touch you hadn't even realized before. “Thank you for lettin’ me touch you, sweetheart,” he smiles. “So good for me.”

Your answer is a deep dumb that sits in your throat. Eventually, he turns you over and begins wiping away your tears with gentle thumbs. “You still with me?”

You nod, though your eyes are glazed and your smile is sticky. “Yeah,” you manage. “Just feel–” You take a deep breath. “Feel r’lly good.”

His smile rivals the sun. “Yeah? That's good. I'm glad.”

He leans down, kissing you so gently as he continues to embrace you with the gentlest fingers. You lift one hand, carding it through his tangled hair and rubbing the pads of your own fingers into his scalp. He hums.

“I love you, sweetheart. You know that?” He smiles. “Even when you're screaming.”

The delicacy is broken by a shocked laugh, snort included. “Sorry,” you say between bumpy giggles. “I just get excited.”

His gentler laugh is rough with the roll of his uvula at his throat. “Don't apologize. I said even when you're screaming—shoulda said ‘especially’.”

You hum again, your laugh still present but reduced to a tiny chuckle. “I love you, too.” You scratch his scalp at the back of his head so lightly, watching his lashes flutter. Then you reach up to kiss him again, his lips, then his forehead.

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[intheupside]

The game has been Crosby’s professional life. It’s who he is and what he talks about. Hockey is his everything. And it’s what matters most to him.

Once or twice a season, when Ray Shero was general manager of the Penguins, he would invite Crosby to his office for a brief meeting that was never brief. “Usually it was about four-hours long. I’d say to Sid, ‘What’s on your mind?’ And he’d say ‘Not much.’ And then we’d talk hockey for hours, usually all afternoon.

“Detailed talk about the game, the team, getting better, training, he has such an active mind. He’s always thinking about everything. He asks good questions. He wants good answers. And often the last thing he thought about — which tells you a lot about Sid — is money.

“One time, just after he signed his second contract in Pittsburgh, I took out a calculator in our meeting. I told him the season was 180-some days long and players got paid by the day. I then calculated how much money he was going to be getting paid each day.

“I slid him the calculator and he said, ‘What?’

“I told him that’s what you’re going to be paid every day.

“He said ‘You’re kidding, right?’

“I said no, that’s the number.

“He just stared at it and said ‘Holy cow. I guess I shouldn’t skip any optional practices.’

“That’s Sid being Sid. It was never about money with him. He’s left a lot of money on the table over the years. But when he saw how much he was making in his first big contract, how much per day, it shocked him. He’d never looked at it that way before.”

When Jimmy Rutherford took over as GM of the Penguins, he made it a point to meet with Crosby almost immediately. “I flew to Pittsburgh to have dinner with him and from the time you shake his hand, and you listen to all his input and all his knowledge, you just walk away and say ‘Wow.’ He’s more special in person than you might have thought he was before you got to meet him.”

“They play their best in the biggest moments,” said Ken Holland. “You saw that with Steph Curry at the Olympics last summer. Ultimately, no matter what the circumstance, Sid drove people to greater heights. It’s not just how they play, it’s how people follow them and jump aboard.”

“How committed are they? How much drive do they have? How motivated are they? How singularly driven are they? It’s not an accident that he scored the Golden Goal. That’s what winners do. And he’s one of the greatest winners of all time.

“Everybody loves Sid. He treats people well. He hangs out with everybody and he’s one of the guys. And the respect level for him, and for the game, is through the roof. When you’re around him you see he’s just a regular person but an extraordinary player.”

Kyle Dubas is in his second season with Crosby in Pittsburgh. Like everyone else who has been around Crosby over the years, he has been taken aback by the dedication he has to practice. “He works daily on the mastery of his craft,” said Dubas. “And he takes nothing for granted.”

But what has impressed Dubas the most is the way in which Crosby interacts with his teammates on a team struggling to find its way.

Kyle Dubas is in his second season with Crosby in Pittsburgh. Like everyone else who has been around Crosby over the years, he has been taken aback by the dedication he has to practice. “He works daily on the mastery of his craft,” said Dubas. “And he takes nothing for granted.”

“Recently, we were in Anaheim and we have a rookie defenceman, Owen Pickering, who was struggling. Sid is purposely hard on Owen in practice, competing full out against him, not maliciously, just showing the kid how hard he’s going to have to work to compete with him. Sid’s mindset is, I have to do this. If he’s going to get better, I have to do this. The kid got a little frustrated by the practice and you could see it was hard on him. He wasn’t feeling good about himself. The next day, Sid goes and gets the kid and takes him for a haircut. It’s a little gesture but on a team looking to build, it’s an important one. That’s the kind of thing Sid does on a daily basis. The kind of thing most people won’t notice.”

Five years ago, during COVID, the Penguins were upset by Montreal in the preliminary round of the playoffs. The disappointed team flew home from Toronto, where games were being played at Scotiabank Arena without fans.

The team scattered, as teams tend to scatter at the end of every season. Crosby didn’t scatter. He went from the airport to the arena. He wasn’t happy with how the season ended.

He got on the ice and practiced alone that afternoon. That was Sid being Sid.

a good day to have fond feelings about sid

[konigsblog]

This, but with Stepdad!Simon Riley and his stepdaughter... (🌽 link)

;Being humped by your stepdad.

PHOTO CREDIT: AVE661

TW/CW: SMUT, STEPCEST, DUB-CON AGE DIFFERENCE/GAP (20s - 40s) — DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. MDNI 18+

At the end of the day, can you really blame your stepfather for his perversity? You prance around the house in tiny skirts and revealing dresses, wearing nothing but your panties and thongs beneath the fabric. Of course, Simon is eager to see more, to admire and touch that soft and wet pussy. To Simon, it feels as if what you're doing is purposeful, like you're riling him up. Perhaps you need to be taught a proper lesson on how to behave, yeah?

You're easy to coerce and convince. It doesn't take very long before Simon has you choking on your words and unable to defend and protect yourself, despite being taught by the best about your safety. You slowly and nervously lift your skirt up for him, ashamed of what you're going to do, or let Simon do. You're disgusted at the realisation and intrusive, horrifying thoughts rushing through your filthy mind, scarring you as Simon begins to slide himself into your folds, easing into the tightness of your cunt while pushing you against his big lap. He's secretive about it. He's learnt how to hide his gross touch beneath the dining table during dinners with your mother, questioning you about college to hear the shakiness in your voice, the way you barely manage to get the words out coherently. Only when she leaves to water the plants outside or finishes off the dishes does Simon have privacy with his beloved girl.

You're special to Simon, you give him energy and remind him of his younger days, when he was in his twenties, just like you. Although, he wasn't studying and working hard like his stepdaughter. Instead, he was out on the field, a shotgun in hand and his eyes locked on the enemy, staining his hands with another man's blood. Simon will bounce you up and down on his lap for a quickie while groaning out loudly and deeply beside your ear until you have shivers running down your spine.

Simon digs his teeth into your bare neck to leave scars and hickeys over your skin, grinding his broad hips back and forth while rubbing your clit rapidly, overstimulating you until you're biting your knuckle anxiously through horror and mortification. You have to act normal, keep your voice down as Simon rolls and rubs his swollen, puffy tip against your slick clit, until you're hyperventilating and attempting to close your legs through guilt. You breathe out shakily and grip his muscular thighs firmly, shutting your eyes tightly as you think about how you're betraying your mother's trust.

This isn't the first time Simon has taken advantage of you. It's a common occurrence, especially since you began college. All Simon craves is a young little thing like yourself to keep him young and fresh, to toy with you and take your submissiveness for granted, for his own benefit.

[casedeviant]

“ 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓. ” ﹙ 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃 𝐒. & 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 ﹚ ⫘⫘⫘⫘ 私は主人をとても愛しています 2.7k wc

˖ ࣪ ִ𖤐 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 ⌖ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𓋰 ╭ 18+ ╮ dom top male reader & sub bottom cloud strife. dark content; noncon to dubcon, forced penetration, impact play, sexual harassment, angry sex, yandere themes. explicit sexual content; pervert! cloud, anal sex, dry humping, caught masturbating, voyeurism, scent kink, master & slave - set non-specific time period, squirting.

cloud strife was the type pervert you wouldn’t even think about comparing debonair wealth to. he was more filthy; more obscene than any sleazy little thing you had encountered. he was furtive, but not deliberate. he was artless, but not reliable. and most importantly, he definitely was not as innocent as he made himself out to be.

although, the act of perceiving oneself as such did have you play right into his trap on occasion - that still never compelled you to lay a finger on the boy, though. it was for his own good and your responsibility as his master.

yes, cloud knew what he was doing to you - for attention, like the little tart he was. he has a soft spot for you! the only master he has ever had that treated him well like a decent human being, over how slaves are expected to act. 

but he wasn’t special. he was a slave. slaves will always be denied such privileges. so, why did you grant him such leniency over the other ones?

it’s hard to tell when the only thing mediating the two of you was status. soiling a slave would mean ruining your own reputation in society. you’d be seen as the same, or worse, than what cloud merely believes is human nature.

when you grant someone such comfort, they take it for granted.

but every single time you catch him sullying your belongings - in the chamber when he is told to change your bedding, on the balcony where your smoking piston lay bare with lingering evidence of your hairs wrapped around the railing - the shockproof glass atwixt it all, cracks every single time you’re not supposed to catch him.

the smell of opium alone gets him riled up; you had to find another slave to replace his spot because he got a boner just from replacing the old poppy in your smoke with new poppy. it was an irritating experience, nonetheless, but you reassured him that feeling such a way in the presence of potent drugs was normal human reaction.

but was it really? if other people around you had to contain it, why couldn’t he? his intolerance to such things has nothing to do with you.

so, let’s recall perception number one: he was furtive, but not deliberate.

cloud was good at hiding his behaviour from the other servants of the household. he never let anything get noticed if it meant it could get him severely reprimanded, or worse, sold off. but he purposely let whorey, trollopy actions slip whenever he noticed you paid heed; you didn’t even need to look at what he was doing for him to know that you knew.

perception number two: he was artless, but not reliable.

profusely apologising for his actions were practically part of his every conversation with you. a minor slipup that didn’t even involve anything scandalous of such, let his tongue roll into his cheek and tears brim on his waterline. but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it again. he always did something new and undiscoverable that tested forbearance. but every single time he did justify his actions, you knew he meant it.

final, concluding perception number three: he wasn’t innocent. he never was. your desire for him was just as unmatched as it was for the burning lust he had for you. but you learnt from the books, that rationality was something slaves were never properly educated on. they only learnt through repeated abuse by those who took care of them. your abuse, on the other hand, was more absent than cause. everyone loved you because of this, not just slaves.

you settled upon a rather rash decision after thinking about that boy too much and his moronically petite expression he’d make whenever you did raise your voice at him. well, that’s how cloud would see it anyways - you never really did yell at him. it was more just…educating him on his wrongdoings, whether that ended up with you dragging him out of where he caused trouble, by the golden strands of his head.

that was beside the point.

so why is it, that in this very moment, when you catch cloud in your personal chambers, sprawled out on your silken bed, ass airborne, back impossibly arched, fingers wrapped around the head of his cock, and the scent lingering on your pillow where his face is mushed into, that all you can do is feel esurient?

you should be angry, furious, even, catching a slave doing something so disgraceful? that deserves a whipping.

but your patience chattered, and you shamelessly felt yourself finally wanting to do so many perverted things to him; it was out of anger that you felt this way about him, not because he was sullying your belongings, but because he finally won.

you wanted to violate his body with your cock in ways he had never even imagined before. you wanted to take him raw, without any form of preparation, his come and blood from the insertion of your dick, as a form of lube. you figured he’d be the type to enjoy a little pain, because in the end, that always turned into pleasure for him.

masochistic bastard.

all that hatred went straight to your cock, and you found yourself staring at his ministrations until he came all over the sheets. the pathetic little whimpers that dodged his lips with ease, were more tolerable than hearing him cry out your name; little pleas’ of “m-master, oh master [name]- it f-feels so good!” and sudden peaks of realisation that he needed more than just his fingers rimming the tight muscle of his asshole.

this was the first time you had watched him through to the end; all those other times you tried to spare your sanity. but this time, it was nowhere to be seen

“i came so much… i better clean this up before the master retires tonight.”

and when cloud spins around, as happy as glee, his expression, as well as his heart, sinks to his feet. the sheets he had stripped from your bed, fall to the ground, as well as his knees, already preparing some coherent apology in his head that only forces his lips to open in a babble.

standing at the now open entrance of your chambers, your hardened penis protrudes against the material of your night gown - as clear as the moonlit sky. there was no point trying to hide what he had caused; the difference wasn’t confidence, but a lack of care in the moment right now. you were going to make sure that cloud knew how heavy your balls were and that they needed to be taken care of of a release.

“m-master… w-wha- what are you doing back so early?”

like a deer caught in car headlights.

“hmm… well, you know…” the hum swirls around in your chest as you cross your arms over yourself, leaning casually against the curtains that hung against the rich mahogany of your chambers.

“i was just wondering what all that noise was, and here i found a little puppy pleasuring himself right in front of his masters eyes so barefacedly.”

cloud was flummoxed, those consuetudinal tears already drooling like a wet piece of paper, down his rosy cheeks. he was already a frightened mess, more so than usual, given your own heightened state. he was terrified.

the boy held his tongue as you sauntered over to him, the starkness of your thighs peeking through the slit of where your gown was tied together around your waist. he had never seen masters thick, well-defined legs before… and as expected, it made his own cock jump in newfound excitement.

you lean over, and thats when cloud frontlessly looks down your gown at where it slipped off your shoulder as you ripped the sheets from his grasp. the brief glimpse of your virile chest sends his mind into a complete and utter frenzy.

“cloud, tell me. what is this?”

he was lost in thought, and the sound of your textured voice shakes him back to reality. you stare at him with your mouth frowning, eyes filled with an unfamiliar craze that practically killed him. his pupils dilate, and he gasps, crying and moving to cling himself against your leg.

m-masters legs… are so soft. is what he can only think about at this moment. you and your fucking legs. not that he masturbated to the scent of you, of course. because apparently that didn’t matter to him.

you let out a spent sigh, head dropping backward as you breathe in the air above you. cloud continues rubbing his cheek against your calf, running his fingers a little too high up your thighs, and grinding his erection against your feet.

and in that moment, you realised no one was responsible for what was about to happen to this poor boy.

when you look down at him, smiling, and running your fingers through his hair, that expression is quickly replaced with a composed one when you tightly grip his roots. he writhes and kicks and screams and begs for you to let go of him, but he quickly finds himself thrown onto the same bed he was just soiling before.

you tear some of the sheets in half, wrapping a ribbon around his arms which were stationed behind his back. the part where he specifically dirtied, you made sure to stuff his head and nose into it completely, onto the mattress below.

asphyxiated by the damp material, cloud’s struggling gets weaker as you hold him there, his whines muffled. you proceed to pull down his pants, bare bottom on display for you as you bend his back further with your spare hand, pressing down on his shoulder blades. his legs wiggle and you make sure to sit on them before lifting him up by the thighs with both hands now, inspecting his hole.

cloud gasps, his eyes growing red and face saturating in purple hues from the previous lack of oxygen. all he can do is take deep breaths before screaming.

“M-MASTER!!”

his ugly cries, how amusing. you chuckle.

with his hole mere inches from your face, your long nails glide lightly around the tight ring of muscle, watching it shrink and relax with each teasing touch. you do this a few times to try and part it, feeling defeat when it caves back in on itself.

feeling for his dick, your hand instantly is smeared with his pre as you pop the flat of your thumb over his urethra hole.

it finally sinks in to cloud that your assaults are firm and intentional when you throw him back down to the bed in his previous position, face pressed into the dirtied silk. you hold him firm as you partly shrug off your robe, leaving it to hang just barely over your chest and one part of your collarbone. you push the long and untidy strands of your hair over your forehead in a maniacal laugh, now realising what sort of position you were in with him.

“fucking hell.” you mutter, jaw taut and eyes dangerously wild.

you then proceed to place one foot just below and to the side of his head, as your knee comes down beside one of his thighs. your hand is still holding his head firmly into the cushioning material below, and your other one gives a few pumps of your cock before rubbing it between his ass.

when you do this, cloud shivers, and you can physically see his hole wiggle in excitement from it. the warmth your shaft provided for just a brief moment, made him push back against you despite oxygen leaving his stupid head.

and without waiting, you lined your cock up with his hole, pushing in.

“ugh- shit… why are you so tight?” as if you didn’t know the reason for that, but if he acted like a slut around you, what stopped him from acting like one around his previous masters?

that thought alone, made you even angrier.

as you push more of yourself into him, spots of blood begin to surface, leaving a circle around your shaft to connect the two of you.

cloud’s toes curl and he heaves out grotesque grunts below. now realising you had held him down too long, you drag his head up by the hair as his back flushes against you, sheathing all of your meat inside of him.

his facial expression looks like he’s on the verge of passing out, no doubt. without any type of preparation and jumping straight into the punishment, cloud feels sick for how good it burns.

his insides cauterise with your cock, leaving a bump just below his navel. when he tries to look down to his leaking cock, you squeeze him by the cheeks, bringing his face back up to eye level, facing a mirror the blonde forgot was there half an hour ago.

he could see your glare shadowing behind him and your nose inhaling the sweat of his neck. the darkness of the room didn’t help how he felt either, and intensified that even more.

“don’t act like this wasn’t what you wanted, cloud. you won against your master; a fair match indeed. so now, i shall give you your reward that you have craved for.” you hush to him in a condescending tone before moving your hips back, and slamming forward into him.

cloud’s unable to speak from this motion, his mouth lolling open which invites you to stick your fingers inside his mouth. drool instantly soaks your fingers as you place his tongue between the sides of your index and middle finger, his eyes rolling back into his head as you set a rough pace on his ass.

with every push and pull of your hips, you could feel his insides hold onto you for dear life, begging not to be tattered and mangled. yet, the sensation has you completely lost as you tear his ass open with your cock.

it’s messy, it’s bloody, it doesn’t look nice, but cloud’s leaking cock may say otherwise.

when you angle your hips up into him, his legs shake and he squirts strings of hot come into the air. it sprays all over the mirror in front of the two of you, and cloud collapses against your chest.

“after all that, you came so quickly.” disappointment lingered in your tone and cloud looked up at you, half of his face buried into the sheets. his hands were still tied behind his back, so he couldn’t do much but take whatever you gave him.

and then something unexpected happened.

for a moment, cloud swears dreaming when you place a soft kiss against his temple, looking down at him thoughtfully with your cock on tall, proud, and on standby.

tears of joy fill his eyes and he grins, giggling hysterically. you grimace when he does this, the snot and drool covering his face serving as a tool of unattractiveness. but he doesn’t care, he did finally get what he wanted.

“t-thank you- master. heh, thank you so much! hehe…hehehe. thank you for being so kind to me. i-i love you so much, master!”

your mouth then frowns and your eyebrows raise for a moment when you watch him thank you with full admiration in his eyes.

fucking disgusting.

all you can do after that is roll your eyes, remembering how this thing started in the first place.

you bring a hand down to his cheek, smacking the scorching skin roughly and turning him over onto his back. cloud invitingly opens his legs for you, his cock hard again and his hole ready for more action despite a stinging sensation still coming from that area.

“p-please… fill me up, master… i need your cock.”

he motions himself back and forth that catches your tip against his abused hole. and when you allow him to slither his ass over your tip, you just sit there on your heels, watching in raw amusement.

“you’re a strange little creature, aren’t you?”

now discarding all of your gown, leaving you completely naked, cloud can’t help but stare.

“enjoying the view?”

cloud whines, and you swear his invisible tail wags below him. you then let out a sigh, calmer than how you felt at the beginning of this mess.

it was going to be a very, very long night.

[aeralux]

"Mine" - Aemond Targaryen

Summary: You find Aemond in the Keep's library one evening. You thought that maybe reading a few history books might bore you to sleep. Aemond knew another way to tire you out...

Words: 6.5k

Warnings: SMUT! but more specifically: targcest; degradation; name calling (slut, cocksleeve etc); he uses the term "princess" a lot; rough sex; possibly breeding kink (he does cum inside); mention of Jace and the word "bastard" (by Aemond ofc); fingering; squirting; dirty talk; just straight up filth yknow?

Other notes: Reader has long white hair in this story (reader is Targaryen) but no other physically descriptive words are included. English is not my first language so it may seem like I'm trying too hard at times to sound "real". If you wish you could always leave me a comment <3

-- aera xx

In the quiet library of the Red Keep, evening light poured through tall, narrow windows, casting an amber glow on the shelves filled with dusty books. The scent of old parchment filled the air, creating a nostalgic feeling of ancient knowledge. The soft rustle of turning pages added a gentle rhythm to the library, which was filled with whispered stories.

Aemond Targaryen, exuding a regal presence, sat in this historic space. His silver hair shimmered in the soft light as he read a thick book about the ancient history of House Targaryen. His sharp violet eye was focused on the tales within the pages.

When the door creaked open, it interrupted the library's silence. Aemond lifted his gaze from the book, recognizing your entrance. He closed the heavy tome with a soft thud, changing the atmosphere as he acknowledged you.

You stepped into the peaceful library, bathed in the evening glow, with a quiet energy surrounding you. Aemond nodded, a gesture that was both formal and restrained, before asking, "What are you doing here?" His voice was low and deliberate, breaking the silence. Each word carried authority and thoughtfulness. His one visible violet eye—his other hidden by a black leather eyepatch—lingered on you, silently prompting you to explain.

"I beg your pardon, my prince. I was unaware that visiting the Keep's library was not permitted for someone of my stature," you respond with a playful curtsy, gracefully toward the venerable history section. Your long, flowing white hair cascades behind you like a silken waterfall. While your floor-length night dress, rich with elegance, glides softly with each step. A delicate, deep blue shawl adorns your shoulders, offering a subtle shield against the evening breeze that whispers through the grand hallways. You gaze at the ancient tomes that line the shelves, for knowledge is a treasure worth pursuing, as said by your father many times.

Aemond's gaze followed your graceful movements, his one visible eye tracking you as you glide through the hallowed halls of the library. The sway of your silken garments and the shimmer of your hair caught the dim light, creating an almost ethereal aura around you. His lips curled into a slight smirk, intrigue and amusement playing across his features.

"A library, you say?" His voice, low and rich, echoed in the quiet space. "Since when has the Red Keep's library been open to anyone?" He rose from his seat, his tall frame unfolding with a fluid grace that belied his martial prowess. The click of his boots against the stone floor marked his approach, each step measured and deliberate. "Or perhaps," he continued, his tone taking on a teasing edge, "you've been granted special privileges that I'm not aware of?"

As he drew closer, the scent of leather and a hint of smoke clung to him, a reminder of his time spent training or perhaps riding his majestic dragon, Vhagar. His hand reached out, fingers grazing the spine of a nearby tome, the touch light yet purposeful. "Tell me, princess," he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "what brings you to these hallowed halls? Surely not just idle curiosity." His one visible eye locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze palpable. The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with an unspoken tension. Aemond's presence filled the space, commanding and alluring, a blend of danger and magnetism that was unmistakably Targaryen.

You let out a soft huff, your lips curving into an incredulous smile as you surveyed the rows of books above you. The scent of aged parchment and leather filled the air, mingling with an undeniable sense of history. "Surely, I assumed this esteemed library would be accessible to all residents, particularly those of Targaryen lineage," you stated with poise. Your voice carried a subtle lilt of defiance, a challenge lacing your words as you turned to face the prince. "I fail to see why I should require written permission from the King to peruse the tomes housed within these walls. A noble mind seeks knowledge freely, after all." Your demeanour was resolute, fully aware that your words were a test of the prince's patience and authority.

A soft chuckle escaped Aemond's lips, the sound rich and warm, like aged wine. He closed the distance between you, his towering frame looming over you as you perused the bookshelves. The scent of leather and smoke intensified, mingling with the dusty aroma of ancient tomes.

"Ah, but there's a difference between being allowed and being… expected," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. His hand reached past you, fingers grazing the spine of a particularly old-looking book as he pulled it from the shelf. "Some things in life require… invitation, princess."

He turned the book in his hands, tracing the embossed title with a calloused thumb.

Aemond's gaze drifted from the book to you, his one visible eye roaming over your form with an almost palpable hunger. The air between you seemed to crackle with tension, a silent acknowledgement of the unspoken desires that simmered just beneath the surface.

"Tell me," he purred, leaning in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear, "what secrets are you hoping to uncover in these dusty tomes?" With a deliberate grace, you turned to face him, your eyes sparkling with a mixture of challenge and defiance. The air was thick with unspoken tension, and your voice, steady and composed, cut through it like a blade. "You dare to insult me, my prince. Do you truly believe that merely because I am a woman, I am devoid of the intellect to read and comprehend?"

You took a moment to let your words sink in, the candlelight casting flickering shadows around you. "For your information," you continued, your tone both firm and elegant, "I immerse myself in the written word far more than you may presume. Through hours spent in the quiet company of books, I have delved into the intricacies of the ancient language of High Valyrian."

With that, you leaned back gracefully against the towering bookshelf, the scent of aged parchment enveloping you, further emphasizing your knowledge and poise. Your stance was not just defensive; it was a proclamation of your strength and determination to be seen as more than just a princess.

Aemond's lips curled into a smirk, a dangerous glint in his eye. He leaned in closer, invading your personal space, his tall frame towering over you. The scent of leather and smoke enveloped you, a heady mix that stirred something deep within.

"Is that so?" he purred, his voice low and rich, like honey dripping from a spoon. "The ancient tongue of High Valyria, hmm? Impressive for a woman."

His hand reached out, fingers grazing your cheek with a feather-light touch. The calloused pad of his thumb traced the delicate curve of your jaw, a gentle caress that belied the intensity of his gaze. "But tell me, princess," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your ear, sending shivers down your spine, "what good is knowledge without the wisdom to wield it?"

Aemond's body pressed against yours, the hard planes of his chest a stark contrast to the soft curves of your form. The heat of his skin seeped through the layers of your clothing, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you whole.

As you linger in the hushed confines of the library, the air is thick with an almost palpable tension. Dust motes dance lazily in the moonlight that filters through the tall, arched windows, casting delicate patterns on the polished wooden floor. Your lips part ever so gently, the subtle movement accompanied by a playful flick of your tongue against your cheek—a gesture that hints at the complexities of your thoughts swirling within.

“What makes you say that? I believe you do not know me well enough to make such harsh accusations,” you murmur, your voice a silken whisper that cuts through the silence like a soft breeze. The starkness of the cold seems to conspire with the palpable tension in the room, causing your body to respond instinctively. You can feel a faint shiver suffusing your frame, and you —betrayed by your undeniable vulnerability—your soft nipples perk up in reaction. In a bid to maintain your composed facade, you fleetingly draw your thin shawl closer, attempting to shield yourself from the wintry draft and Aemond's intense gaze.

Your gaze, steady and unwavering, locks onto the source of the accusation. A lingering silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions.

Aemond's gaze dropped to your chest, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he noticed the way your nipples strained against the fabric of your dress. The air grew thick with tension, the silence broken only by the soft rustle of pages and the pounding of your heart.

"Oh, I believe I know you well enough, princess," he purred, his voice low and seductive. "Well enough to see the hunger in your eyes, the desire that lurks beneath the surface."

His hand moved from your cheek to your throat, his fingers wrapping around your slender neck in a gentle but firm grip. The warmth of his skin seeped through your flesh, sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

"You may hide behind your books and your knowledge, but I see the truth of who you are," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your ear. "A woman with needs, with desires that cannot be satiated by mere words on a page."

Aemond's lips brushed against your earlobe, a feather-light touch that set your nerves ablaze. His tongue darted out, tracing the delicate shell of your ear, a teasing promise of the pleasures that awaited you.

"You seem to have lost track of yourself… my prince," you say, your voice flowing like velvet, rich with an alluring undertone that dances in the air between you. The candlelight flickers, casting warm shadows on the towering shelves laden with bound volumes. He arches an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Every woman has her needs and desires; I don’t believe I’ve ever denied that," you reply, your tone teasing.

You take a step closer, the scent of aged paper and polished wood swirling around you. "I truly came to the library seeking a few books," you assert, letting the words linger like a sweet melody as you survey the vast collection that surrounds you. "Yet, it seems fate has intertwined our paths, for it is you, who cannot seem to find satisfaction among the pages."

Your gaze locks onto his, and the air between you crackles with unspoken tension. The deep hue of his eye mirrors the mystery and allure of the old library, pulling you in like an enchanting tale begging to be read. You stand defiant, fearless in your challenge, as the study envelops you both in its quiet embrace, the world outside forgotten in the presence of such undeniable chemistry.

Aemond's lips curled into a wicked grin, his eye gleaming with a dangerous light. He leaned in closer, his body pressing against yours, the heat of his skin seeping through the layers of your clothing. The scent of leather and smoke enveloped you, a heady mix that made your head spin and your heart race.

"You're right, princess," he purred, his voice low and seductive. "I am a man with… insatiable appetites." His hand slid down from your throat to your chest, his fingers toying with the edge of your bodice. The rough pad of his thumb brushed against the swell of your breast, sending a jolt of electricity through your veins.

"And you, my dear girl," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips, "are a feast I am eager to devour." You observed his hand gliding gracefully across my body, each deliberate movement igniting a fire within you, while you struggled to maintain a steady breath. The air was thick with tension, a blend of desire and playful banter. "Do you truly see yourself as a dragon?" You teased him, your voice soft but laced with challenge. In the world of the Targaryens, such a title was often worn like a badge of honour, and most of them, like Aemond and you, embraced this fierce identity. There was a certain magic in declaring oneself a dragon, a symbol of strength and majesty.

As you gazed into his eyes, you could sense the latent power and pride he carried within him. At this moment, the noble essence of our lineage intertwined with the unmistakable charge of tension. Aemond's eyes flashed with a dangerous light, his lips curling into a wicked grin. He leaned in closer, his body pressing against yours, the heat of his skin seeping through the layers of your clothing. The scent of leather and smoke enveloped you, a heady mix that made your head spin and your heart race.

"A dragon?" he purred, his voice low and seductive. "Oh, I am much more than that, my dear." The rough pad of his thumb brushed against the swell of your breast again, making heat pool between your thighs and your breath stutter. He murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips. "And you are the prey I am eager to hunt."

Your breath catches in your throat as Aemond's fingers graze over the sensitive peaks of your breasts, sending electric sparks racing through your body. You can scarcely believe the words tumbling from his lips, the raw hunger in his voice as he confesses his forbidden desires. "Aemond…" You breathe, your own need rising to match his. "If you've already caught me, then what's left to hunt?"

You lean into his touch, revelling in the feel of his calloused hands on my bare skin. At this moment, nothing else matters - not your duty, not your honour. There is only the heat building between you, the promise of pleasure and passion. "Prove it then," you challenge him, your eyes gleaming with mischief and desire. "Show me the depths of your obsession, the lengths you'll go to claim me as yours."

Your heart pounds in your chest, your body aching for his touch. You know you should resist, should push him away and cling to the tattered remains of your virtue. But Aemond has awakened something in you, a hunger you never knew existed. And now that you have had a taste, you fear you'll never be satisfied again. "Oh, my sweet girl," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "The hunt is just beginning."

With a swift motion, he swept you up into his arms, carrying you towards the nearby table. The books and scrolls scattered to the floor as he set you down on the polished wood, his body pressing against yours, pinning you in place.

His lips trailed along your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your throat. One hand slid between your legs, his fingers pressing against the damp heat of your core. "And I always catch my prey," he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and heavy. "No matter how hard they try to escape." You yelp as Aemond suddenly picks you up, laying you on the wooden table. His sapphire eye glints with a predatory hunger as he realizes your lack of small clothes, his fingers grazing over your slick, aching core.

A whimper escapes your lips, but you quickly clamp your hand over your mouth, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment at how much you are enjoying his rough touch. Your body trembles beneath him, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he looms over you, his presence overwhelming, his desire palpable. You have never felt so vulnerable, so exposed, and yet so eager for whatever comes next. Aemond's hands are everywhere, roughly skimming over your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

"Please," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "Please, Aemond, I need… I need you" You gasped and moaned as Aemond's fingers plunged deeper into your sopping wet cunt, your tight hole clenching and fluttering uncontrollably around his thick digits. Clear juices oozed out, dripping onto the table below. You weren't a maiden, having occasionally "relieved stress" with your cousin Jacaerys, but you had never felt pleasure this intense before.

Your hips bucked and writhed shamelessly against Aemond's hand, lewd whimpers and whines spilling from your lips as he finger-fucked you roughly. You threw your head back, eyes squeezing shut, your mind going blank from the overwhelming sensations. "Ahh! M-my prince!" You cried out as Aemond's teeth closed around your sensitive nipple, biting and sucking the tender bud. Electric jolts of pleasure shot straight to your core, making your pussy clench even tighter. You were losing control, surrendering completely to Aemond's dominant touch.

Aemond's lips curled into a wicked grin as he felt your tight heat clench around his fingers, your wetness coating his skin. He could tell that you were no maiden, but the way you responded to his touch was intoxicating nonetheless.

"That's it, my little minx," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Let go and give yourself to me completely." He bit down harder on your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. You cried out, your hips bucking wildly against his hand. Aemond could feel your body trembling beneath him, your thighs quivering as you teetered on the brink of release. He added a third finger, stretching you further, his thumb circling your clit in maddening strokes. Your moans echoed through the library, the sound of your pleasure filling the air.

"Come for me," he commanded, his lips moving to your neck. "Let me feel you come undone on my fingers."

You sat up on your elbows, your breath quickening as you watched Aemond's skilled fingers playing between your thighs. The scene was so erotic that you couldn't help but let out a loud, wanton moan. "W-wait, this feels… weird," you stuttered, your voice shaking as he continued his relentless ministrations. The pleasure was unlike anything you had ever experienced, building in intensity with each thrust of his fingers. A strange tension coiled in your stomach, unfamiliar yet tantalizingly close to release.

Your head fell back, your long white hair cascading down your back as you arched into his touch. You bit your lip, trying to stifle the whimpers and gasps that escaped you. "Aemond, please," you breathed, your hips rocking against his hand. "I've never felt anything like this before. It's too much…" But even as the words left your lips, you knew they were a lie. It wasn't too much, and Gods, you didn't want him to stop.

Aemond's eyes darkened with lust as he watched you sit up, your chest heaving with each ragged breath. The sight of you spread out before him, your skin flushed with arousal, was almost too much to bear. "Weird?" he chuckled, his fingers never ceasing their relentless pace. "Oh, my sweet girl, this is just the beginning."

He could feel the tension building in your body, the way your muscles tensed and quivered beneath his touch. He knew you were close, teetering on the edge of something profound and all-consuming. "Embrace it," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. You cried out loudly, your moans escaping in broken sobs as the intense pleasure overtook you. "N-no! S-stop!" You pleaded, but it was too late. Your climax hit you like a massive wave, washing over you with a force that left you gasping and trembling.

Your body convulsed with the sheer force of your release, your inner walls clenching and fluttering around his fingers. Clear, sticky essence gushed out of you, coating his hand and splattering onto the table below. The sensation was overwhelming, leaving you drenched and shaking.

As the final waves of ecstasy subsided, your arms gave out, and you collapsed back onto the table, limp and spent. Your core continued to twitch and spasm, empty and aching for more. You panted heavily, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch my breath.

At that moment, you felt utterly vulnerable, exposed, and at his mercy. The intensity of my orgasm had left you raw, your defences stripped away. You lay there, trembling and gasping, your body still humming with residual pleasure. You couldn't help but wonder what he would do next, how far he would push you. But one thing was certain - you had never felt anything quite like that before. Aemond watched with rapt attention as your body convulsed in ecstasy, your cries of pleasure echoing through the library. He felt your essence coat his fingers, your release dripping down his wrist and onto the table below.

He continued to work his fingers inside you, prolonging your climax until you were nothing more than a quivering mess beneath him. Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, your skin slick with sweat, and your hair plastered to your face. "Look at you," he purred, his eyes roaming over your trembling form. "So responsive, so eager for my touch."

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "And we've only just begun, my love. There is so much more I want to show you, so many ways I want to make you come undone." "W-wait", you cried out as Aemond's fingers began to slip free from your sensitive, cum-soaked pussy. Your release dripping down your thighs, the table below you slick with your wetness. Your legs trembled uncontrollably, the aftershocks of your intense orgasm still ripping through you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks at the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

Your pussy continued to pulse and flutter around nothing, still recovering from your intense climax. But you knew you couldn't take anymore, not yet. You needed a moment to catch your breath, to gather your scattered wits.

"Please, Aemond," you gasped, your voice hoarse and desperate. "I need a moment. You've undone me completely." Aemond smirked at the sight of your tears, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax. He knew that he had pushed you to the brink, that he had taken you to a place of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

But he also knew that it was too soon to stop, that he had to continue to push you, to mould you into the perfect lover for him. "Shh, my love," he murmured, his fingers gently wiping away your tears. "I know it's overwhelming, but you must trust me. I would never hurt you."

He leaned down, his lips trailing kisses along your jawline and down your neck. His fingers continued their gentle ministrations, his thumb circling your clit with a feather-light touch.

"Just breathe, my darling. Let yourself feel everything." You whimpered as you felt his fingers brush against your over-sensitive clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You couldn't help but moan softly, your hips arching into his touch, seeking more, craving more.

"It never felt like this with Jacaerys…" You whined absentmindedly. You had never been so wanton, so desperate for another's touch. But with Aemond, you couldn't help myself. He brought out a side of you that you had never known existed, a side that craved pleasure and passion and the sweet oblivion of surrender. A low growl rumbled in Aemond's chest at the mention of your former lover's name. The thought of Jacaerys touching you, pleasuring you, filled him with a jealous rage that he could scarcely contain.

"Forget him," he snarled, his fingers tightening around your wrist. "He is nothing compared to me. I am the only one who can truly satisfy you, the only one who can make you feel like this." He leaned down, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising kiss. He poured all of his passion, all of his desire, into that single moment, claiming you as his own.

His hand moved lower, his fingers delving into your slick folds once more. He could feel your walls fluttering around him, still sensitive from your previous climax. "I will make you forget his name, my love. I will make you scream mine until the very walls of this library shake."

You whimpered as you felt Aemond's fingers delve into your sensitive folds once more, the obscene wet sounds of his ministrations filling the room. Your hips bucked involuntarily, trying to escape the overwhelming sensations even as your body craved more. "Aemond, please…" you gasped, your voice breathy and desperate. "I need… I need you inside me."

Your mind was hazy with lust, coherent thoughts slipping away like grains of sand through my fingers. All you could focus on was the heat building between your legs, the ache of emptiness that only Aemond's cock could fill.

"Please, my prince," you begged, your hips rolling shamelessly against his hand. "Does that mean I can't fuck Jace anymore?" You whined, biting your lip, your words leaving your mouth before you could stop them.

Aemond's eyes narrowed at your question, his grip on your wrist tightening to the point of pain. "No, you cannot fuck him anymore," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You belong to me now, body and soul. I will not share you with anyone, least of all that pathetic bastard."

He thrust his fingers deeper into your cunt, his thumb pressing firmly against your clit. He could feel your walls clenching around him, trying to push him out, but he refused to relent. "You are mine. Mine to fuck, mine to claim, mine to ruin."

He leaned down, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "And I will ruin you, my love. I will break you apart and put you back together again, moulding you into the perfect lover for me." You let out a broken whimper, your body trembling from Aemond's touch. His hands roamed over your naked form, igniting a fire deep within you. You had never felt such desire, such raw, primal need. "Please, Aemond," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want you inside me. I need you."

You reached out, your fingers tangling with his, guiding his hand to the slick folds of your sex. He groaned at the contact, his eye darkening with lust and longing. Aemond's eyes darkened with lust at your desperate plea, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"As you wish, my love," he purred, his voice low and seductive. He withdrew his fingers from your dripping cunt, bringing them to his lips. He licked them clean, savouring the taste of your arousal. "Delicious," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours.

He stood up, quickly shedding his clothes until he was completely naked. His cock sprang free, hard and ready for you. He pushed you down onto the table, spreading your legs wide. He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your slick folds.

"Beg for it," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "Beg for me to fuck you, to claim you as mine." You whimpered as you felt Aemond's hard, leaking tip tease your slick folds. Your body ached for him and craved his touch like nothing you had ever known before. "Please, Aemond," you breathed, your voice trembling with need. "I need you. I've wanted you for so long, dreamed of you claiming me as yours."

You looked up at him, your eyes glossy with desire, your lips swollen from his kisses. "I've touched myself thinking of you," you confessed, your cheeks flushing with shame and arousal. "Imagined you taking me, using me for your pleasure. Treating me like your personal slut." Your heart raced, your body trembling with anticipation. You had never wanted anything so badly, never needed anyone so desperately. Aemond was the only one who could satisfy the hunger that consumed you, the only one who could make you whole. Aemond's eyes darkened with lust at your confession, a feral grin spreading across his face.

"Such a naughty girl," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Touching yourself while thinking of me… I love it." He thrust his hips forward, burying his thick cock deep inside your slick heat. You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your walls stretching to accommodate his size.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groaned, his fingers digging into your hips. "I'm going to ruin this sweet little cunt of yours." He set a brutal pace, pounding into you with reckless abandon. The table shook with each powerful thrust, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing through the room.

"Take it, you filthy slut," he snarled, his eyes boring into yours. "Take my cock like the whore you are." Aemond's hips pistoned faster, harder, driving his thick cock deeper into your aching cunt with every powerful thrust. "Ah!" You cried out, your inner walls clenching around his throbbing shaft, the delicious stretch and burn of his girth filling you completely. The broad head of his cock battered my inner barrier, striking that secret place deep inside that made sparks of pleasure explode.

"Hngh! Oh gods, Aemond!" You moaned wantonly, your body quivering like a leaf in a storm. Your fingers scrabbled for purchase on his sweat-slicked shoulders as he pounded into you relentlessly, the obscene slap of flesh on flesh echoing through the chamber. "Have you ever… mph!… ever thought of me like this?" I managed to gasp out between his brutal thrusts, your eyes glazed with lust. "Thought of me while you touched yourself?"

You gazed up at him with hooded eyes, your lips parted and kiss-swollen, silently begging for more, for everything he had to give me. At that moment, you were his completely - mind, body and soul. Nothing else mattered except the feel of him moving inside you, claiming you, branding you as his own.

Aemond let out a dark chuckle at your question, his hips never ceasing their brutal rhythm. "Oh, I've thought of you plenty, my sweet," he purred, his voice dripping with sin. "Late at night, alone in my chambers, with my cock in my hand and your name on my lips."

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue plundered your mouth, claiming every inch of you. "I've imagined bending you over every surface in this keep, fucking you until you scream," he growled against your lips. "I've pictured you on your knees, choking on my cock, begging for more." He sat back up, gripping your thighs and spreading your legs even wider. He pounded into you with renewed vigour, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room.

"And now here you are, my filthy little fantasy come to life," he snarled, his eyes wild with lust. "And I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

You bite my lip, hearing his words, whimpers of pleasure spilling out. "Yeah?" You breathe, your voice barely above a whisper. "Have you thought about using me in front of everyone, just to show them who I belong to? Who's the only one who gets to fuck me?"

Aemond's eyes darken, his grip on your hips tightening almost painfully. "Poor you," you murmur, a wicked smile curving my lips. "You must have been so jealous of Jace…" You can hardly think, hardly speak, as Aemond's thrusts grow more brutal, more demanding. Each stroke sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Aemond's eyes flashed with rage at the mention of Jace, his thrusts becoming even more punishing. "That bastard doesn't deserve you," he snarled, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "You're mine, do you understand? No one else can have you."

He pulled out suddenly, flipping you over onto your stomach. He kicked your legs apart, mounting you from behind. "I should take you in front of the whole court. Let them all see who you belong to," he growled, his fingers tangling in your hair. "I should fuck you in front of that smug bastard. Make him watch as I claim what's mine."

He slammed back into you, his cock hitting that spot deep inside that made you see stars. "Yes, my prince," you moaned, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. "Parade me around the castle like the fucktoy I am. Let everyone see how you've claimed me, body and soul."

"This cunt belongs to me," he snarled, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust. "No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to fuck you. You're mine."

You let out a sharp gasp as Aemond thrust into you from behind, the head of his cock slamming against your cervix. The pain mixed with pleasure, sending shockwaves of ecstasy rippling through your body. "Fuck, Aemond!" You cried out, your voice high and breathy. "Harder, please! Use me, ruin me! I'm yours, all yours!"

You had never spoken like this before, had never even imagined yourself capable of such lewd, wanton behaviour. But Aemond's cock was driving you mad with lust, turning you into a creature of pure, unadulterated desire.

You couldn't believe the filthy words spilling from your lips, the depraved fantasies unfolding in your mind. But you were too far gone to care, lost in the throes of passion, the heat of Aemond's body against yours.

"I'm yours," you gasped, my nails gripping the wooden table as he pounded into me. "Now and forever, I belong to you. Use me as you see fit, my love. My body is your plaything, your toy to break and remake as you please."

Aemond grunted in approval at your filthy words, his hips snapping forward even harder. "That's right, you're my fucktoy," he growled, his fingers digging into the meat of your ass. "My personal cocksleeve to use as I please." He reached around, his hand finding your clit and rubbing it roughly. Your back arched, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you.

"That's it, cum on my cock like a good little whore," he snarled, his fingers working you through your climax. Your pussy clenched around him, milking his length. With a roar, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock twitching as he filled you with his seed.

"Fuck, I love you," he panted, his forehead resting against your shoulder blade. "I love you so much it hurts." You creamed all over his cock, painting it white with your releases. You came with a loud scream of pleasure, your eyes wide with disbelief. You looked up at Aemond, your gaze searching his face, trying to read the truth behind his words.

"Do you actually mean that?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of shock and excitement.

Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, the memory of your passionate coupling still fresh in your mind. You could feel the sticky residue of your combined releases on your thighs, the slight soreness between your legs a testament to your intense lovemaking.

But to hear Aemond say it out loud, to put words to the deed, made it feel somehow more real, more tangible. More forbidden. Part of you wanted to deny it, to pretend that it hadn't happened, that you hadn't surrendered to the taboo desires that burned within you.

But another part of you, the part that had been awakened by Aemond's touch, his passion, his love, couldn't deny the truth.

And as you lay there, naked and vulnerable before him, you knew that you would do it again in a heartbeat. Aemond pulled out of you slowly, his softening cock slipping free with a wet sound. He turned you over, his lilac eye intense as it met your gaze.

"More than anything," he said seriously, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. "You're the only one who understands me, the only one who sees the real me beneath the arrogant prick everyone else knows."

He cupped your face, his expression softening. "I love you. I've loved you since we were children, playing in the gardens of the Red Keep. You were always my favourite cousin, the one I felt most connected to."

His thumb brushed away a tear you didn't realize had fallen. "I know I'm not good enough for you, not with my temper and rage. But I promise you, I'll spend every day trying to be the man you deserve. The man who can give you the life you want." He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours.

You smiled gently at the memory he conjured from your childhood, a soft glow lighting up your eyes. “You were such a sweet boy,” you said, your voice warm and reminiscent. With a tender touch, you caressed his hair, your fingers brushing lightly through the strands, evoking a sense of familiarity and affection.

Leaning closer, you continued, “I liked you from the very moment you helped me when Aegon tripped me.” The scene played in your mind like an old tapestry, vibrant and full of life—the laughter of children mingling with the rustle of leaves, the way he had reached out with such kindness.

A long-forgotten warmth filled your heart as you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the heaviness of sleep gradually overcoming you, your eyelids fluttering as you struggled to stay present in the moment. With a soft sigh, you smiled at him, cherishing the connection that transcended the years—an unspoken bond woven through shared memories and gentle gestures, a bond that still felt as rich and regal as the day it was born.

Aemond chuckled softly, a low, melodic sound that resonated in the quiet room, his hand instinctively covering yours as it rested in his hair. "I was a boy who found trouble at every turn," he corrected with a charming grin, his violet eyes glinting with mischief. "Yet, despite my flaws, I always sought to extend kindness to you, even when my temperament faltered with others."

With a graceful sweep, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms and carried you toward the grand sofa nestled between the ornate cupboards. As he laid you down with the utmost care, he settled beside you, repositioning himself to envelop you in his warmth. His arm encircled your waist possessively, drawing you close so your head rested upon his broad chest, the steady rhythm of his heart echoing a soothing lullaby. "I shall always protect you," he murmured, his breath a gentle caress against your skin as his fingers traced intricate patterns along your back, each stroke imbued with affection. "No matter what trials may arise or who dares to come between us, I vow to remain steadfast by your side." With tender reverence, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, a promise sealed in that delicate gesture. His breathing began to slow, a tranquil cadence as he held you close, a knight sworn to guard his cherished queen against the world.

[river-mort]

Sorgo, Night Cavalry`s leader and unexpected best friend of Morgott special thanks to @ penquinlori for helping me with english and some AU Lore for cavalry undercut

So there was an Outer god once before - Eternal Darkness, which didnt bring any specific curses or granted any power to some special lords. The only thing this god did was consuming dying lands, drown them in darkness and - to completely destroy everything on any taken land - this god has its army of creatures. These creatures existet for only one purpose - eat everyone they can reach. People of any age or sex, animals, birds, they were locusts who left nothing behind. Eternal darkness is analog of Apocalypse and its army is basically the rider of apocalypse. They didnt have any connections to each other, they didnt have bounds or desires, only leaders and soldiers and all they did was destroying lands and eat alive everyone. This was before Darkness reached Lands Between - so happened that Night, the aspect of Darkness, broke away and join the Moon with stars, Night no longer want to destroy but rather bring life. Cold moon and night sky filled with stars decided to make sure no Land will ever see such horrible end. This sudden betrayal weakened Darkness and it left Lands Between and where exactly this god now is unknown, but when leaving this place it abandoned some of its soldiers - Sorgo and his group of 40 people. Left alone without guidence of their god, they left behind without purpose. It was before the age of golden order Cavalry is unable to eat anything but humans - everything else is just disgusting for them and their own meat is toxic. Hunger is their primal instinct and desire, despite npow they have other interests and even bounds which is extremly unnatural for their kind. That happens when you`re bored on some unknown land - you start talk to your food. Wonder if Sorgo would join Darkness if it came back. Who knows

[hazard-symbols-that-fuck-hard]

Okay time for the PBS Kids essay

Read it under the cut!

:readmore:

In 1968, before there was PBS Kids proper, there was Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood. While it came several decades before the children’s block, it laid the foundation for the themes and values present in every facet of the network’s history.

Mr. Roger famously hated children’s programming at the time. To him, it all was droll and useless. But he didn’t dissuade the medium entirely— he saw potential. Potential that led to a few smaller television jobs, and eventually the creation of Mr. Roger’s neighborhood.

Rogers didn’t invent educational TV for children, but he did perfect it. He poured real heart and soul into probably the most sincere, heartfelt program in history.

Honestly, he could have his own essay. The more things you learn about the real man of Mr. Rogers, the more you’ll like him.

Anyway, the biggest thing that makes PBS different is the fact that it earns money through grants, fundraisers, and private donors— not through sponsorships and merchandise sales. This way, PBS Kids can push programming that it feels is important, rather than programming that merely sells well.

This also means PBS is less afraid of pushing social boundaries. Money doesn’t go away when their shows become subjects of debate— and Mr. Rogers took full advantage of this.

For context, this was 1969. The Jim Crow era had just barely, barely ended. Pool segregation was still very much legal.

Mr. Rogers sharing a pool and a towel with the Black Mr. Clemmons was a pretty big deal at the time— especially on a show made for children.

Rogers was far from the untouchable sacred cow of today. When he was alive, he had a large number of detractors. Let’s just say that scene didn’t fly nicely by everyone.

Just one year after the debut of Mr. Roger’s came Sesame Street.

While Mr. Roger’s was made for all children, Sesame Street had the explicit goal of supplementing the education of underserved communities— especially inner-city Black (and later Latino) children.

While it was made to be accessible to children of all races and income levels, they definitely went the extra mile to make it something special for inner-city Black and Brown kids. (Why do you think it it’s “Sesame Street” and not “Sesame Cul-de-Sac”?)

At the time, a wholesome, sweet show set in a brownstone street was practically unheard of.

Jon Stone, the casting director, deliberately sought to make the cast as rich with color as he possibly could, bringing on a huge amount of Black talent such as Loretta Long, Matt Robinson, and Kevin Clash, as well as featuring Black celebrities as guest stars. Later, the show would expand its horizons, bringing on actors from Latino, Asian, Native American, and many more backgrounds.

White actors were and still are a minority on show.

In addition to letters and numbers, the purpose of Sesame Street is clear: make kids of color know that they’re smart, beautiful, and loved.

It doesn’t get more explicit than this.

I want to point out this comment because it’s funny

You’re telling me this bitch isn’t Hispanic???

Anyway, these two were followed up by Reading Rainbow in 1983. And guess what?

That’s right. Non-white focus.

These three shows, (along with other, lesser-known programs like Lamb-Chops Play Along, Newton’s Apple, and Shining Times Station (who featured Ringo Starr himself?? seriously how did that happen and why does no one talk about it) and some other nostalgic favorites like Bill Nye the Science guy, The Magic Schoolbus, Arthur, and Thomas the Tank Engine) aired on the new PTV block, which evolved into PBS Kids in 1999, bringing along Between the Lions, Dragon Tales, and many more.

Arthur is another stand-out that I’d like to talk about— it doesn’t have the same racial focus of Sesame Street, but it does focus on different income levels. The characters have various housing situations, from apartments to mansions to no home at all.

It also takes cues from Sesame Street and Mr. Roger’s in regards to talking about tough topics, though as Arthur has a slightly older target audience, it discusses things through stories rather than talking directly to the audience.

Cancer, religion, workplace discrimination, along with current (at the time) events such as 9/11 and Hurricane Katrina are all discussed on the show.

Another big focus on Arthur is disability. For once, they don’t stick a character in a wheelchair and then pretend he’s not in a wheelchair. A striking number of major characters either develop or get diagnosed with physical disabilities and/or neurodivergences, such as asthma, severe food allergies, and dyslexia, and they deal with them in very realistic ways.

A handful of minor characters have more obvious disabilities, and THANK GOD they go beyond the trite messaging of “disabled people can do everything abled people can do! everyone clap now!”

One episode in particular has the awesome message of “holy shit stop trying to help me all the time— it’s patronizing as fuck. I can get around just fine without you stepping on eggshells and trying to be the hero all the fucking time”

There are sooo many other shows I could talk about, but I can’t write about them all. I’m definitely gonna point out some more standout ones, though.

Sagwa, the Chinese Siamese Cat

Created by Chinese-American woman Amy Tang

Dragonfly TV

Features a multitude of female and non-white scientists to foster an interest in science with kids in those groups

Maya & Miguel

One of the network’s first Hispanic-led shows

SciGirls

I shouldn’t have to explain what the goal of this one was.

Molly of Denali

When was the last time you saw a show that treated Native Americans as people? Much less a children’s show? 90% of the cast is Athabascan, and the show revolves around Athabascan culture, not shying away from topics like boarding schools and modern-day racism. Most of the writers are also Athabascan, and the show even has an official Gwich’in dub!

It’s this commitment to real, authentic social justice that makes PBS Kids so much different from its competitors. Could you imagine the Paw Patrol dog looking at the camera and earnestly discussing what happened to George Floyd? I don’t think so— but Arthur talked specifically about it, Sesame Street did an hour long special about race in general, and the network itself made a 30 minute special.

Disney Jr. could never. (Other than trying to teach colorblindness, of course.)

I’m gonna have to cut this into two parts, since I just hit the image limit

[balkanradfem]

So I've found Alyssa Grenfell on youtube. She shares her experience of leaving mormonism, and the inner workings of the religion. I had very little ideas about what mormonism is, only that it's a high-control religion, very difficult to leave, and has people knocking on doors trying to get converts. I've been interested to find out more, and I ended up watching almost all of her content, and some of the information I've got from it opened my eyes on other feminist topics, and I believe is relevant to the current discourse!

So if you, like me, don't know how mormonism works, it started when a guy decided that he too could be a part of the bible; he wrote a bible part two: mormon, and proclaimed himself a prophet. Then he started a religion based on his writings, decided it was more important than the bible itself because he 'translated it from gold tablets god gave him', and started gaining followers by convincing people he's the prophet. Once he had managed to get a following, he soon started to sexually exploit the wives and daughters of these followers, to the point where he had 20-40 wives and had married 14yo children. Families allowed it to happen because he would promise them to be royalty in the afterlife. He eventually got into a lot of trouble for stealing and raping children so he was killed by an angry mob, but the religion continued.

The religion is same as christianity except more rules (no coffee, no alcohol, no smoking), eternal worship of the predator who wrote it, followers are pressured to follow the rules exactly, and, the vital part, the followers have to give 10% of their income to the church. They developed a culture where once every young mormon kid comes of age, they have to go on a 'mission', which means they're removed from their home, and have to spend 2 years (1,5 for women) living in a foreign area, knocking on doors, sharing the gospel, trying to convert people. The conversion rate is extremely low, but at that point kids have invested so much time, effort, energy and passion for the religion, they become devoted to it and start to feel alienated in the world that rejects their religion. And even with the low conversion rate, every new convert means another continuous source of income for the church. So it's very profitable to send out young adults to make these sales. The kids are told that if they don't complete their missions, they will not be able to marry, and marriage is presented as their only life purpose.

So how rich is the church at this point? 230 billion dollars. I've been shocked to hear this because I had no idea. Alyssa explained that the mormon church is as rich as Pepsi, they have more money than Disney and McDonalds. So you might be wondering, like I did, well what are they doing with all that money? I've been left to wonder this for a while, until I watched the video called 'Why are so many influencers mormon?', which explained it. I didn't even realize a lot of influencers were mormon. But, this video showed me something both disturbing, and eye opening.

Before I go into that, I have to point out how patriarchal and misogynistic this religion is. Women are not given any options except marriage, and it's presented as the only righteous way to live. They're groomed for marriage from a very young age, encouraged to start writing letters to their future husbands at the age of 9. They're taught cooking, sewing and childcare, and to coddle any males in the family. It's taken for granted that m*n won't respect women, to the point where male children are allowed to harass grown women and their families will not intervene or consider it a problem. Chastity and purity are promoted to the level where members of the religion are expected to wear special underwear at all times, which hides their entire torso, shoulders, and legs down to their knees, and their clothing is expected to cover this up completely. They're rejected by the religion if they dare to have sex before marriage, or drink alcohol or coffee, or in some cases, tea. The church has a history of allowing and promoting polygamy, in the sense that a male was allowed to have as many wives as he wanted; they've since stopped this, but refused to break up the existing marriages. They're also promoting anti gay and racist propaganda, which Alyssa observed in school where she'd been teaching; a gay kid almost ended his life due to extreme homophobia.

I know all of this is somewhat common in all areas of society, all religions, and all cultures, but in mormonism it seems to be written into the core of it.

So now, why are so many influencers mormon? I didn't even know they were. The influencers themselves are not promoting the fact that they're mormon, nor does it come up in viral discussions. Ballerina farm is mormon. Tradwives are mormon. Whataboutaub, Rachel Parcel, brooklynandbailey, tanner_mann, thebucketlistfamily, Taylor Frankie Paul, Sarah Beeston, Ruby Franke, these are all mormon. Most of the Utah-based influencers are mormon, and there's a bigger amount of successful and popular influencers from Utah, than from LA or NY.

For me it immediately explained why this viral content is like that. Why we're having such influx of highly patriarchal, anti-feminist, very dangerous and sexist content, put in front of the eyes of young women. Why it's being promoted as an ideal way of life. How are these women able to share this life as if they truly believed it was good and ideal. How could they think it's harmless? If they're using the internet to the extent that they're creating content, how would they not be exposed to any feminism at all? And they wouldn't because it's against their religion to engage with content like that, or with people talking about it. Because being raised in a high-control religion, they would truly believe their lives are the ideal. They would be presented with it as their only option, the only way of life possible for a woman.

It's heartbreaking because I can now understand why it was so easy to push Ballerina Farm to give up her entire life ambition to get married and carry children for a male she didn't even want to go out with, the pressure from the religion to do so would be immense, she would have been raised to see this as the only option, everything else in her life would be considered pointless. She wouldn't have an actual choice, she'd be groomed for this from the moment she was born. Mormons don't advertise 'looking for your soulmate', they only instruct women to marry a mormon male who completed his mission and make it work.

So how does the immensely rich mormon church play into this? I couldn't see it until Alyssa explained in a very detailed way how youtube content advertising works. I didn't know about this either, but here's the overview:

How much you get paid on youtube, instagram, tik-tok, or other online content platform, depends on what type of content it is, based on how much advertisers are willing to pay to put adverts on it. For instance, you get paid much more for finance content, because banks will pay premium prices to be advertised in a finance-related video. If you're making content on cooking, you get paid way less, because it's not such a lucrative field. If you're making content on christianity, you get similarly low price as for cooking, christian church is not that rich. But, if you're making content as a mormon, that's showcasing some aspect of a mormon life, even if you don't specifically say you're mormon, the price goes way up, to the point where it's as lucrative as finance. The mormon church is making sure that the mormon influencers are being paid premium prices for their content, because people who get massively interested in the influencers, eventually find out that it's the mormon life being advertised, and some of them consider taking on mormonism. Which gives church more converts, which means the church will earn more money. The content we're watching is one huge advert sponspored by mormon church, and we don't even know it.

Alyssa figured this out because her content falls under the keyword 'mormon', and her comments warned her that the church is advertising on her videos, even when she's making mormon-critical content. She then realized that she too was being paid a premium price for her views, just because they're mormon themed. She went on to discover that even just being an influencer in Utah will fetch a premium price, because most of mormons are based in Utah. For more detailed and comprehensive explanation on this, watch her video!

Advertising is not the only way the mormon church is spending their money, they've also built a shopping mall, and are basically spending their money by investing and gambling and everything any corporation does with their profits. It's making me mad, and also makes the members of the church mad when they discover where 10% of their income goes, because they're told it's being used for charity and community service, and not advertisments and building malls.

For me this solves a mystery of how is it possible, in this day and age to have such influx of tradwives and influencers of 'traditional life', they're being sponsored by an organization making a profit off of it, making sure that anyone making this content is so well paid, they're able to live off of it, and keep creating more of it, and in the process of doing that, groom young women into their lifestyle.

Learning more about religions, specifically high-control religions, makes me realize just how much of it is happening all around us, but invisible, not naming what it is. It's similar to MLM's, the people inside are constantly trying to lure more people in, to make profit for those on the top, while the organization keeps changing names and hides their business structure in order to save their reputation. People can get influenced by it, and sucked in, without even knowing about it. Somehow most MLM's are also in Utah.

Mormon church also asked to no longer be called that, in order to stop being associated with the words like 'cult', which people have identified it as. Now they're working under more secretive names, and hidden business practices, so we wouldn't even know what we're being influenced by, and why is the content in front of us what it is.    

[leah-lover]

Royal support.

Jenni Hermoso x Alexia putellas x royal!reader

“ Your royal highness thank you very much for agreeing to give us some of your time today.” Said the interviewer.

You were sitting in a well lit room across from a camera. It was something you were very used to. Interviews and social conventions were a part of your job as monarch. You didn't love the attention but you didn't hate it either. You frequently used it as a way to connect with your future subjects as you were the heir to the Spanish throne. 

You used your very large platform to talk about social  issues that were important to you. This was a double edged sword but you were ready for every consequence. 

You were sitting in front of that camera today  for a specific purpose that was close to your heart. 

“ So your highness we are here so that you can deliver a statement to your people about a pressing matter that has taken Spanish news by storm.” 

“ Yes, indeed, we are here to talk about the crime committed against a member of the Spanish women's national team, Jenni Hermoso. What has been done by the RFEF is inexcusable and the people involved must be punished.”

“ What would your message be to your people, your royal highness?”

“ I think the message would be that what happened to Jenni Hermoso is only an example of what happens to women on a daily basis. I think we as a country need to stand in support of these women and believe them instead of ridiculing them in public. I once again reaffirm mine and the crown's support of Jenni Hermoso and every woman that has been through a similar experience. And I promise that I have my full attention on the matter and will personally see it through to the end.” you said firmly while looking at the camera in front of you. 

“ Do you have any plans of attending any of the upcoming games of the women's team?”

“ Yes I do, I am in fact going to support them at their next celebratory game.” 

“ Well thank you very much for your support, your highness.”

“ It is only my duty and thank you for being here “ you responded, shook her hand and got up leaving the interviewer to close out her segment. 

You then head towards the head of your security who then ushers you towards your room in the palace. 

Upon arriving you were met with your assistant and a few members of your father's council.

“ Princess, what you have said has now happened. Important people have sided with you and are now announcing their support for Jenni and for the entire national team just like you predicted.” Said your assistant. 

“ You gained the support of many which may help you in the future, your highness.” added one of the council men. 

After thanking them for the praise they offered you finished some pressing matters and then headed to bed. 

You kept your promise and attended the Spanish’s game which was now sold out. You sat in the royal box knowing cameras were going to document your every move. You were wearing a red and yellow jumpsuit so as not to favor a player for another. 

The game went well with Spain winning 5-0. After it was over and after much disagreement with your team you made your way to the field.

As soon as you stepped foot in the grass the crowd's shears were loud. You headed first towards the losing team and then made your way to your country’s team. You thanked everyone, shook their hands, gave most of them a hug, and took photos with all of them. You made it a spectacle for all to see your support of the women to which they have voiced their appreciation. 

When it was time for them to head to the locker room you asked your head of security to guide your special guests to a private room in the stadium. A room that only a few knew about which granted you the moment of secrecy you were craving.

You weren't an anxious person but this moment found you bouncing your leg in anticipation of the arrival of your lovers. Mere moments later the door opened to reveal the blonde and brunette Spaniards that stole your heart. You exchanged a nod with your head of security which meant that you wanted your privacy, and as soon as the door was closed the dark haired Spaniard made her way to you, picked you up and gave the tightest hug. 

“ Princesa, you can't believe how I have missed you.” whispered Jenni in your ear. After a few moments she put you down, grabbed your face locking her lips with yours in a messy, passionate kiss. Your lips danced together and it was like time has never passed since the last time you were together in her apartment. The kiss was cut short because of a series of forced coughts by your other lover. 

“ Mi Reina, no reason for jealousy.” You joked as you made your way to a now frowning beauty. You took her face in your hands and went in for a kiss. While Jenni's kiss was messy, Alexia's was soft and sweet. Together they were everything you needed and more. Jenni crept up behind you, pushed your hair to the side and started kissing you neck. Delighted, you threw your head back, placed your hands on Alexia's toned abs and enjoyed as they both pleased you, sucking gently as your neck. 

“ I have missed you so very much.” You moaned. Alexia and Jenni's hands were wandering all over your body. 

“ We have missed you too, Reina.” answered Jenni.

“ You were very sexy today out on the pitch. I am very proud of you both.” You responded. Then they both abruptly stopped. 

“ What's wrong?” You asked . 

“ Thank you. I know it wasn't easy supporting me publicly. “ Said Jenni while looking down on the floor. 

You raised her head up by her chin, looked her in the eyes and said “ don't ever say that, I love you, I love both of you, and I will do everything in my power to support you, whatever the cost.” 

A knock on the door interrupted your moment together. 

“ Your  highness, it's time to leave.” said your head of security through the door.

“ We will meet back at the hotel. I have booked a suit so that we can spend the night together. And I can reward you properly for all that you have done for the country.” you joked as you gave a kiss to both of them, each one lingering too long. 

“ Princess, your statement the other day has caused some commotion so it is best to go to the palace tonight.” said the head of your security. 

“ Antonio, I will go to that hotel tonigh. It is a non negotiable.” You reaffirmed to which he only nodded. 

The ride to the hotel was long as you were very eager to get in and get ready for your lovers. So you mindlessly opened the door of the car and got out only to be met by a sharp sound that caused  you to drop to the ground. You then felt a sharp pain in your abdomen, as blood covered your already red outfit. It took you a second to realize you were shot and you were bleeding. Your security hurried to your side. 

“ Don't worry princess, everything's gonna be fine.” assured your head of security as he picked you up. Screams filled up the air, orders were being barked everywhere but the only things you were thinking about were your girlfriends and how you werent gonna see them tonight. 

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: Your attempt to surprise Astarion with a thoughtful gift goes awry when his innate curiosity and suspicion lead him, again and again, to the wrong conclusions ... [Astarion x Tav/Reader]

Genres: Romance, humour, fluff, angst.

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

(Hello Readers, I'm a little under the weather and needed to write some tooth-rotting fluff and humour, as always).

"What are you three mumbling about?"

Straightening sharply, you shot your companions a warning look. Gale scratched his ear awkwardly while Shadowheart, bless her soul, stared down her nose at Astarion, supremely unconcerned.

You cleared your throat.

"Nothing important, Astarion. We've got everything we need for now. Let's head back to camp."

He didn't question you further, but you had definitely aroused his curiosity, if not his suspicion.

You could sense it in the way his gaze traveled rapidly between the three of you as you made your way back, as if he'd catch any stray motion or gesture that might give away your hidden purpose.

That evening, as you replenished your quiver of arrows and checked your stock of potions, Astarion approached and settled on one of your cushions, lounging casually.

He did this every so often, when the fancy took him, or when he wanted to have a conversation, but something about the wary glint in his eye told you exactly what was on his mind.

Oh dear.

As much as you'd had plenty of practice deflecting questions over time, going up against the master of deception himself was somewhat daunting.

You granted him your most disarming smile and attempted a distraction.

"Do you want to drink from me tonight?"

He cocked his head, the curve of his lips familiar, dangerous.

"Of course, darling. But you know ... "

He leaned forward, watching you intently.

"I couldn't help but notice the conversation  you had with Gale and Shadowheart earlier. Why can't you tell me what it's all about? I'm closest to you, aren't I? We've shared so many things ... nights, bedrolls, blood ... so why not this one little thing?"

You sighed and straightened.

You should have known it would play on his mind like this. It wasn't entirely fair to him either. In spite of his guarded demeanour, all shielded smiles and barbed words, he was somewhat vulnerable when it came to you and your slowly budding relationship.

"Look, I really can't tell you because ... well, it's a surprise."

He looked taken aback.

"A surprise? I don't much care for surprises."

"This one is harmless, I assure you. And it's worth waiting for. You will find out soon enough."

He hummed and tutted, still looking rather put out.

"And you trusted Gale and Shadowheart with your surprise, and not me? I'm rather hurt."

His tone was playful, but you could see that his curiosity had not been dispelled.

Over the next few days, he was far more watchful than usual. It was actually rather endearing, at times. He seemed to be on the lookout for what the elusive 'surprise' could be and grew rather moody when he kept getting it wrong.

First, there was the incident with the chocolatier. You'd come across the newly opened store in the city and the smell coming from within had been far too appetising to ignore. When you'd tugged Astarion's sleeve and gestured to the door, he'd been on instant alert.

Following you into the shop, he'd glanced around uncertainly, until the eagle-eyed chocolatier had suggested, with twirl of his magnificent mustache, that he also dealt in 'custom-made delicacies' with 'special fillings' for his 'nocturnal customers'.

You'd immediately purchased some of these for Astarion, and others for those at camp, and happily made your way out of the store.

On the road back, Astarion was staring quietly, from time to time, at the small package in his hand. You bumped his shoulder gently with yours.

"Oh, go on. Try one. They must be delicious."

He shook himself out of his reverie and offered you a slightly brittle smile, fingers curling around the chocolates as if they were something far more precious.

"Oh. Well, I thought I'd save these for later, you know. We could ... sit together in your tent and have some wine. And eat these. I ... do appreciate your little surprise, you know."

You stopped dead in the road, eyes widening.

"Wait. Astarion ... this is not the surprise I had in mind."

He froze.

"What?"

"This is... not the surprise. I just wanted to treat you to something."

His gaze slid away from yours, mouth working in what looked like embarrassment. You took mercy on him and leaned forward, kissing him lightly on the cheek, then at the corner of his lips. He turned back to you slowly, regaining some semblance of composure.

"We can still have them in your tent later?"

You grinned.

"Naturally."

The second time he'd made an incorrect guess occurred on one evening, when he'd come to your tent for replenishment.

You'd lain back on the cushions which he'd arranged more comfortably under your head and neck, before tilting your gaze upward, ready to descend into a deep sleep after he'd had his fill of your blood.

Astarion hovered over you, taking you in. You reached up and stroked a finger down his cheek, smiling, assuring him that he could go ahead.

Truth be told, you were a little excited for him to drink from you tonight. Earlier, Jaheira had informed you of a specific exotic fruit, the unique sugars of which persisted in the bloodstream for some time after consumption. You'd tracked down that particular fruit in the market, consuming it as soon as possible under Jaheira's knowing glance.

You wondered whether Astarion would be able to distinguish the flavour. This thought was also accompanied by a healthy dose of nerves.

What if he hated it?

It was rather late to have second thoughts, however, as Astarion was already leaning over you, fangs tracing the side of your throat. He grazed over your skin gently, as was his habit, before locating your pulse point and sinking in. The delicate pressure, the icy slide of teeth into flesh, the sudden warmth of your blood exiting the wound, all familiar sensations.

Thus far, nothing out of the ordinary.

Until a few moments later, when Astarion's eyes shot open and he separated from you with a small exclamation.

Before you had a chance to question what had caused the interruption, he was at your neck again, lapping eagerly, then leaning back, tracing his tongue over his fangs. His eyes met yours, surprise and pleasure building to something far more heated.

"Darling, what have you eaten today?"

You couldn't help the laugh that burst from you.

"So you can taste it. It's a ... specific type of fruit that Jaheira mentioned to me."

You lowered your eyelids coyly at him, for once, the one playing the hook.

"So, what do you think of the flavour?"

He crawled up over you once more, peppering soft, wet kisses from your chest up to the base of your neck, moaning in delight.

"Nothing beats your natural flavour, my sweet, but this ... this adds a touch of honey that's just ... delectable."

His voice was now a full throated purr, and you struggled to contain your small huffs of amusement as he nuzzled into you, clearly very enamoured of your choice to treat him today.

Once he'd drunk his fill, he remained above you, eyeing you with ill-concealed passion.

"So this was your great surprise. I have to thank you for that. That particular fruit is ... rather hard to get hold of."

You raised an eyebrow, looping your arms around his neck.

"Astarion ... that's not my surprise for you."

"No? Are you serious?"

"As serious as I can get."

He let out a sharp breath of consternation, his mouth pulling into a decidedly sour line. He was wrong, yet again. It didn't stop him from licking the trace of sweetened blood from the corner of his lips, though.

The third time, he'd been slightly more wary, but sure of himself all the same. It all started when he'd been wounded during battle; an anomaly.

Somewhere in the rush and confusion, amidst the casting of an unwanted daylight spell, his position in the shadows had been revealed and the enemy had suddenly focused their attention on the swift, vampiric damage-dealer who'd been firing devastating bolts of poison and flame from his hiding place.

Karlach had carried him back to camp in a poor state and you'd been half out of your mind with worry, dosing him with powerful healing potions at the battle site and monitoring his wounds afterwards.

Eventually, Astarion had fallen into a fitful doze within the safety of his tent. You remained at his side for a while, watching his brows furrow at intervals, spectres pursuing him across a haunted dreamscape.

Normally, Astarion came to your tent to feed, so as not to disturb your sleep, or to ensure that you had a comfortable space to rest afterwards. You'd seldom had occasion to enter his little sanctuary.

Looking around, you felt a quiet surge of tenderness, taking in the various mismatched items of worn luxury, the cracked mirror, the bloodstained vessels, the ratty, threadbare blanket draped over his form.

Rising slowly, you made your way back to your own tent. Rooting among the items put away in your trunk, you drew out a warmer quilted throw, one you'd stitched together in preparation for cooler weather.

Right now, Astarion needed it more than you did. You had the materials to fashion another for yourself.

Returning, you took your time easing the old blanket from his slumbering form, pausing as his ears twitched and he rolled over. You pulled the quilt softly over him, tucking it in just beneath his chin. He sighed and curled up beneath it, the slight tremors that wracked his body somewhat easing.

You remained, watching his tousled mop of curls with a fond smile, before the weight of your own exhaustion  forced you back to your bedroll for the night.

The next morning, he appeared at breakfast, looking much better and rather smug. Peering over his shoulder, you noted that the new quilt had been folded neatly, displayed proudly on top of his bedroll.

A sudden thought struck you.

Oh no. Did he -

"Darling, there you are."

He sauntered over and seated himself on the log beside you, a certain stiffness to his normally fluid gait the only indicator of yesterday's injuries.

"I slept exceptionally well beneath the wonderful new blanket that somehow found its way into my tent. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

You took a sip of your tea, eyeing him carefully over the rim of your cup.

"Yes, the blanket is now yours. And it's from me."

"Ha! I knew it. Had your scent all over it."

He crossed his legs, looking rather pleased with himself.

"Well, I've got to hand it to you. That's a surprise I definitely wouldn't have seen coming."

A few paces away Gale coughed and busied himself with the porridge while Shadowheart shot you a smirk. You set down your cup of tea.

"Ah, about that - "

Astarion leapt to his feet.

"No. It can't be."

"That's not your - "

"Not even the blanket? I'm wrong again?"

"No, not the blanket either. It's ... not your surprise."

He was opening and closing his mouth, at a loss for words, hands flapping outward in pure bewilderment.

"Hells, are you just ... doing nice things for me all the time? Why? What's the surprise? How can it not be any of those things? Not the chocolates? Not the fruit? And not the blanket either?"

Heat coursed up your neck as you gazed at him defensively.

"Well, of course I do nice things for no good reason! I just ... want to do them. Because I care about you!"

Astarion's hands found their way to his hips and he sputtered.

"Well, all right, fine! I ... I love when you do those things, but - "

"Gods, this is almost nauseatingly sweet," came Shadowheart's mutter from across the campfire.

Gale cut in, voice measured.

"The actual surprise will be here tomorrow, if that helps put you out of your state of suspense."

You groaned.

"Gale - "

"This is Astarion we're talking about. He doesn't much like surprises anyway. So, just hold onto that thought. Along with every scrap of patience you possess."

Astarion was frowning across as Gale, arms folded.

"Oh, stuff your condescending tone in the goblin latrine, Gale. I was simply curious. It's my nature. It isn't a crime, you know."

Shadowheart's eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline.

You sighed and waved a hand.

"Well, what's done is done. I've got to ... go into town to see to a few matters. I'll be back later."

"Then I'll tag along, darling."

"No, you won't," came the firm rejoinder from Gale. "Just stay put or I'll cast a binding spell on you."

As you left the camp, you were fully aware of Astarion's eyes tracking you. You knew that he wanted to apologise in his own fashion, but that could wait for later. You had a delivery to attend to.

Astarion feigned nonchalance the next morning, but he wasn't fooling anyone. He lounged, of course, taking his time brushing out his hair, sharpening his numerous knives and checking his stock of poisons.

Amusement filtered into your thoughts. He was really trying to be on his best behaviour, considering that the real surprise was arriving today. From the amount of time needed to prepare, he had obviously deduced that your gift to him had taken some effort to procure.

The distant trundle of a wagon's wheels reached your ears and you put down the pack you were arranging. Astarion sprang to his feet, expression alert, while the rest of the camp gathered round.

When the covered wagon arrived, the yellow-clad driver, a boy barely out of his teens, hopped down and offered a smart greeting.

"Greetings, saer. I have here your delivery from merchant Boney, situated at the Circus of the Last Days. Please inspect the item to see that it is all intact."

You could sense Astarion's confusion growing by the minute. Stepping forward, you lifted the flap over the precious cargo before nodding to the driver.

"All seems to be in order."

"Then may I have your mark here, on this paper, to confirm delivery?"

"Of course."

Karlach rubbed her hands together with anticipation and stepped forward, beckoning to Lae'zel.

"Come on. This one's going to need some heavy lifting, know what I mean?"

Together, they brought the large object down, still in its hide covering, and set it in a fairly central area of the camp, in full view of Astarion's tent.

As you all crowded around, he planted himself front and centre, his anticipation now palpable even as he remained silent amongst the chatter of the others. You made your way over to him, gently winding your fingers through his. He turned to you and you gave a playful grimace.

"I suppose it isn't much of a surprise any longer, but it's here, and that's what matters."

Astarion's hand clenched around yours. You knew his tells well enough by now to see that the size of the 'gift' had filled him with a sense of trepidation.

"Darling, you've always had a flair for the ridiculous."

Offering the steady warmth of your knowing smile, you nodded to Gale who conjured the workings of a mage hand to draw away the covering.

It was a statue of Astarion, posed in all his rakish glory, hands slightly raised, a dashing smile on his face, the elegance of Facemaker's finest clothing carved in remarkable likeness over his form. His twin blades jutted over each shoulder, the scabbards etched out in beautiful tracery. Everything down to the delicate points of his ears had been lovingly fashioned under your careful direction.

There was a momentary silence over the camp, before Karlach whistled, Wyll whooped and Halsin's large hand came down hard on Astarion's back.

"Would you look at that! A most amazing likeness. As nature intended."

"Three cheers for Fangs!"

"Well, he certainly has more presence when he's carved in stone."

"For once, I agree. A lot less ... runty."

"Boo would like to sit on the immense shoulders of puny Astarion! The best perch in the camp!"

Through all this, Astarion had remained silent. He stood stock still, eyes drinking in the sight of his own countenance, rendered through your own vision of him, through dozens of hours when you'd sat beside the slowly forming sculpture, correcting, guiding, providing your own input in the form of hastily drawn sketches of all the parts of him you knew so well.

You watched him, his earlier nerves now transferring to you.

Had you done well enough? Was the likeness anywhere near enough to capture everything he was?

Some powerful emotion, barely held in check was burning its way through, coiling under his skin, palpable in the now convulsive clench of his hand around yours. He turned to you again, and his eyes glistened, yet held their unshed burden in check.

The sounds of the camp, and your companions, receded somewhat as he spoke, ever so softly.

"I asked you, once, what you saw when you looked at me. You told me ... back then, but I didn't really understand. How could I? I haven't seen this face in over a hundred years."

He paused and tugged you closer, burying his face in the side of your neck. You knew what the words cost him, the underlying truth to their spoken power, as bright as flame conjured on an icy mountaintop.

"I ... do see it now. Everything you wanted to show me. I see it."

You rested your head on top of his, the tangle of curls brushing your cheek softly. 

It wasn't a surprise then, not in nature, but in execution, oh yes.

From that day on, Astarion the Sensuous stood proud in your camp, surrounded by light, merriment, comfort through days of darkness, the ebb and flow of friendly banter, the scamper of Scratch around his plinth and the occasional hat or cape draped around him for the sake of jest.

Through his stony eyes, the life of his counterpart unfolded, delicate as a night orchid, embroidered with all the golden threads of new possibility.

[toxycodone]

hey so what if. curly thought that his favourite crewmate was at least a little experienced and then found out that they actually haven't even kissed before. like maybe if he overheard daisuke making fun of them for it. what then 👁️

ship. captain grant mccurley x reader

content. power imbalance, curly calls you kiddo but you aren’t his kid

“You’ve really never kissed anyone before?”

This was not the type of late night conversation you expected to be having with your fucking boss, but alas, the stars aligned and hexed you stupid, it seems. Curly’s blue eyes practically glow despite the dim lighting in the common room, peering at you with gentle amusement.

You shift in your seat. Suddenly the couch isn’t comfortable anymore.

“No…being on hauls back to back doesn’t give me much time to date and stuff…”

You answer, scrambling for any sort of excuse. It’s genuinely embarrassing. Why has someone your age never kissed anyone yet? Ridiculous. Now Curly probably really thinks you’re some fucking kid.

“I know, it’s weird. Daisuke already made fun of me enough, so please…just drop it.”

The blonde chuckles—deep and gravely as it rolls in his chest. He’s an insomniac, but he still gets that sexy ‘just woke up’ tone this late in the evening.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed. It’s cute, really. Someone your age still being so pure…that’s rare.”

That familiar feeling of heat starts to burn your cheeks. Oh God. It’s not just from embarrassment anymore. Curly finding it cute…it makes you wanna explode.

“Seriously? You don’t think I’m, like, weird?”

Of course he wouldn’t. Curly’s your captain. Confidant. Friend. At least that’s what he’s made himself out to be. This pseudo-fatherly figure that you can always rely on. The one that’s there for you. Takes care of you.

He shakes his head.

“Not at all.”

His hand’s on your knee.

“Were you waiting for someone special? I mean, a first kiss is a big milestone,”

It’s moving up your thigh. You don’t question it. It’s Curly. He can touch you like this. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s comforting you.

You consider his question. Were you waiting for someone special? Or had you been so consumed in work you just never had the time to grow outside of pursuing your career? It’s probably a mix of both. Curly’s been at this job for over a decade, yet he’s definitely managed to kiss a plethora of people. And with a body like that, you bet he even has quite a few notches on his bedpost too.

Would he want to add another?

That thought’s admonished when he gives the fat of your thigh a squeeze. You swallow, but your throat’s dry.

“I mean…I guess.” His gaze pierces through you, causing a shiver to run down your spine. The boring screen full of stars is now quite interesting.

“I just, I don’t know, I—“

“I can show you how to kiss.” It’s offered as casually as a handshake. “So you know what to do when you find the right one.”

This isn’t something a captain should offer his subordinate. Nevertheless, one that affectionately refers to you as kiddo. You’ve called him dad before, either on accident or on purpose—that you aren’t sure. There’s layers of nuance to this situation that makes it inherently wrong. But it’s dangled in front of you like a treat.

“Really…?”

Obedient as ever, you take it despite the risks.

Aren’t you well trained?

But what else is he for? If not to teach you, his favorite crewmate, his sweet little kiddo, everything they need to know to succeed?

“Of course.” The hint of Southern drawl in his sultry tone is enough to rid your inhibitions. You’re drawn to the soft, pink curve of his lip as he leans forward. Your chin’s gently cradled by his index finger and thumb, the callouses on them now hyperaware to your senses.

“It’s easy.” His eyes lock on yours. “You just close your eyes, then pucker your lips.”

You try to follow these instructions, prompting a laugh from Curly.

“Cute. But try to relax, okay?”

It’s hard. You feel his breath on your lips, and it makes you shake like a leaf. He’s so close to you that you can feel the heat radiating off his body.

Curly’s lips touch yours. It’s soft. For such a large, imposing man, the kiss is chaste and sweet. There’s so much care put into the gesture, a testament to Curly’s personality. A shock runs through you, but you find yourself easing into the kiss and relaxing.

His other hand, the one not perched on your thigh and kneading the flesh, moves to cradle the back of your head. This feels like a fantasy. How you’d imagine a leading man would kiss the object of his desire. So much passion exists in such a tiny gesture, your heart feels like it’s going to pop in your chest.

And then, it’s over. When his body moves from yours, you still feel in a daze. Your heavy eyelids open slowly to be met with Curly’s half-lidded ones. He’s close enough you could count his golden lashes if you wanted.

“See? Nothin’ to it, right?”

Curly’s beaming. And even more obnoxiously, the simulated moonlight is highlighting his masculine features in all the right areas. You’re starting to feel dizzy.

Curly’s thumb graces your bottom lip.

“With a little more practice, you’re sure to be a natural.”

How could you say no?