đ§Łďż˝ďż˝ďż˝ââď¸đŞ just a guy who loves being horny on main
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âswitch outfits if youâre gayâ
sangihun:
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taps mic..,,⌠is this thing on đ
will def be writing for gihun really soon to cope with s3âs conclusion ⌠just Need a bit to recoverâŚâŚâŚ.

my baby my angelâŚâŚ,,,..
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was working on a berlin fic but then i kept seeing pics of the papal inaguration & now i cant get the image of lawrence and benitez out of my headâŚ,,,
lawrence, with his hands trembling ever so slightly, sliding the fishermanâs ring onto benitezâs finger. the whole world watching innocentius, but all lawrence sees is benitez, cloaked in all whiteâso achingly radiant it almost hurts lawrence to look at himâŚâŚ.
oh lawrenitez save me ,,,,,, i gotta write a full thing on this, conclave is really a goldmine for me with all the religious imagery yearning & yaoi
#conclave#conclave fanfic#lawrence x benitez#lawrenitez#thomas lawrence#vincent benitez#Spotify#cardinal lawrence#cardinal benitez#conclave 2024
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ONLY THEN, I AM HUMAN.

word count: 1,906
pairing: thomas lawrence x vincent benĂtez
summary: following his ascension to the papacy, vincent benĂtez must choose a secretary of state. he turns to the only man he deems worthy: thomas lawrence, the man whoâs been trying to outrun the vatican becomes the one vincent cannot lead without.
c/w: general religious themes, internalized religious guilt/conflict, romantic subtext (non explicit), power dynamic if you squint (lawrence practically worships benitez)
a/n: obligatory âtake me to churchâ lyric for song title ,,, this one may be a little botched cause minimal proofreading + still doing a bit of character studies on lawrenitez but nevertheless i had a lot of fun writing this & i hope you have fun reading ^_^
â-
Lawrenceâs intent was set in stone.
To finish the Conclave, leave the Vatican. To resign.
To never look back.
He was spiritually exhausted, hollowed out by all the years of quiet disillusionment. The once sacred had become political; what was once divine, transactional. He knew it best for him to walk away, and Vincent BenĂtezâs ascension to the papacy shouldnât change that. If anything, Pope Innocentius deserved a fresh beginning, a clean slate. A Secretary of State who hadnât already made peace with leaving it all behind.
And yet, it seemed as history had a cruel affection for repetition. Because once again, as always Vincent BenĂtez saw something in Thomas Lawrence that Thomas simply could not, no matter how hard he tried.
It brought Thomas back, unbidden to one of their earliest encounters. The day BenĂtez voted for him.
âI donât want your vote,â Lawrence had said plainly.
But heâd had it anyway.
When faced with the prospect of appointing his own Secretary of State, BenĂtez had suggested Lawrenceâs nameâbriefly, almost tentatively, only to be swiftly dismissed. Now the morning after the Conclave, the new Pope had barely a moment to himself. The day had blurred, public blessings at Saint Peterâs, the Apostolic Palace meetings, confidential briefingâthe worldâs eyes bearing down from every screen and every square.
And still, as dusk gathered and the marble halls softened into quiet, he returned not to the Apostolic Palace but to his modest quarters in Casa Santa Marta, where he had made his temporary residence as a cardinal. Where Thomas Lawrence walked beside him in step, a familiar presence. A steady hand in shifting tides.
They stood in the doorway of BenĂtezâs room, shadows stretching long behind them, the weight of the day clung to their shoulders.
âIâll take my leave then, Your Holiness.â Thomas offered, voice tired but not cold. A smile flickeredâsmall, genuine and worn at the edges.
BenĂtez didnât return it at first. He looked at Lawrence in that still searching way of his, dark eyes taking him in like scripture in need of interpretation.
Finally, the pontiff returned it with something deeper. His eyes crinkled with quiet affection, something akin to reverence.
âTomĂĄs,â he said finally, with a quiet gentleness. âWould you⌠stay a moment longer? I donât mean to keep you, I justââ He faltered, something flickering in his voice. âIâm still trying to feel like myself in this⌠this skin theyâve dressed me in.â BenĂtez smoothed the cuff of his sleeve, as if retreating into habit.
Lawrence hesitated. The doorframe was safe, familiarâan exit. But something in BenĂtezâs expression made him nod before he could even think twice.
The room was spare. The kind of monastic plainness only a man like BenĂtez would keep, even on the eve of a papacy. They sat at the edge of the bed, a respectful distance between them. BenĂtezâs hands were clasped between his knees; Lawrenceâs remained still at his sides.
BenĂtez spoke slowly. âToday, I looked into the eyes of cardinals who think they already know who I am. Who believe theyâve won something. Who are waiting for me to be⌠one of them.â He exhaled sharply, taking a brief pause to carefully collect his next words. âBut youâyou looked at me like a man. Not a symbol.â
Lawrence didnât speak. His brows knit together, eyes shining with something unvoiced.
âI know we havenât known each other for long,â BenĂtezâs voice dips, gentler now, as if afraid to scare the moment away. âBut during the Conclave, I watched you. How you moved through the shadows of this place. Not hungry for power, not playing a game. You carried something heavier.â
Lawrence let out a dry, soft laugh. âThatâs not virtue. Itâs disillusionment.â
BenĂtez turned to him, more earnest now. âOr perhaps, itâs clarity.â
Lawrence shook his head. âYou hardly know me.â
âAnd yet,â BenĂtez replied, âI trust you.â
Thomas looked away, the words almost painful.
âIâve told you, Iâm not the man you want,â he murmured. âIâve done things. Believed in things I no longer do. Iâve served this Church so long I canât tell where duty ends and compromise begins.â He turned to Vincent then, brow furrowed. âIâm not worthy of that kind of trust. Not anymore.â
BenĂtezâs voice softened further.
âMaybe thatâs why youâre the only one I can ask.â
A silence settled between them. Almost holy, the kind of silence only felt in confessionals and empty cathedrals.
At last, BenĂtez reached outâtentatively, and rested a hand over Lawrenceâs.
âI need someone who will not be dazzled by the title. Who will tell me when I am wrong, who will not let me become what I fear.â
Lawrenceâs throat tightened.
âYou really think Iâm capable of saving you from that?â
BenĂtezâs eyes met his. Dark, tired, unwavering.
âI think youâre the only one who might try.â
Lawrence didnât pull his hand away. But he didnât answer either.
Not yet.
He couldn't help but feel the way his breath hitched, itâs something he only felt with Benitez, something that never went away since he had started speaking to him during the conclave. A connection he had to the cardinal of Kabul. And yet, part of him wanted nothing more than to run. Vanish off to some monastery in Ireland or Italy, far from the Vaticanâs gleaming illusions and bloodstained traditions.
But now, and only nowâas the moonlight slipped through the blinds in solemn bands of silver, Thomas Lawrence saw with a sense of clarity that terrified him.
The thoughts he had of Vincent were damning. They clung to his soul like unconfessed sin, unapologetic and unrepentant. Yet, impossible to let go of. He didnât understand it, this devotion to a man he barely knew. Whether it was some sacred pull or something far more human, far more dangerous, he couldnât tell. He only knew it permanently branded into him, quiet and consuming like a prayer he shouldnât dare to utter.
He had tried to bury it beneath duty, beneath silence, beneath God Himself.
As the light crept across the stone floor and onto the sheets where BenĂtez presented himself before him, Thomas didnât see the life of resignation he had once chosen, the quiet severance.
He saw a cross he hadnât meant to carry, and a man he could no longer walk away from.
Vincent BenĂtez, Pope Innocentius sat in front of him, cloaked in soft rays as if God Himself had anointed him in that light. And somehow, for the first time in years, Thomas Lawrenceâs path never looked so clear. So right.
Lawrence couldnât help the soft gasp that broke from his lips, unintended and almost prayerful.
It wasnât desire in any simple, earthly sense. It was a plea, a craving he hadnât known could be answered. A hunger etched into the hollow of his chest. Holy, aching, wordless.
âInnocentiusâŚâ he breathed, not as a title, but as something closer to a name in scripture. Revered, spoken through trembling breath.
BenĂtez couldnât help but smile. That same quiet, devastating smile, so tender and calm. The kind that didnât demand, only invited and forgave. It undid Thomas in ways no other temptation ever had.
He had faced false idols. Survived the wilderness of bureaucracy and pride. But thisâ
This was a longing only Vincent could answer. A thirst only he could name. As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul longs for you, O God.
God has mercy on all His creations, Lawrence thought distantly. Even on the ones who taste fruit not theirs to touch.
Even on the ones who look back when told to walk away.
âTĂłmas⌠Mi TĂłmas,â BenĂtez whispered.
He cupped Lawrenceâs face with both hands. Weathered palms, worn by prayer and time and yet so impossibly gentle, as if Lawrence were something sacred.
As if he werenât already falling.
Thomas inhaled shakily, instinctive, as he leaned into the touch. His eyes fluttered half-shut, meeting BenĂtezâs gaze.
âIâd do anything for you,â Lawrence said before he could stop himself. The words tumbled outâunearned, unrepentant.
And then, like gravity obeying something more than science, more than sense, he leaned in.
It wasnât rushed.
It wasnât loud.
It was quiet in the way miracles often are.
Their lips metâgently, reverently, like a secret sacrament passed between them. As if this was something that had been promised long before either of them arrived at the Vatican. As if their souls had known each other in some garden older than memory.
How could this be wrong, Lawrence thought, if it felt so much like grace?
Like fire from the bush that would not burn away. Like the prodigal son, not shunned, but embraced. They were men of God, and yet in this moment they were simply men. Flesh and breath. Spirit and longing. Two aching hearts in the hollow of a city that had forgotten how to love without condition.
They pulled apart just slightly, their foreheads resting together, breath mingling in the quiet space between them. Thomas stood there, tense and still. A man poised on the edge of a life he never thought heâd reenter. Lawrence let the kiss linger, eyes shut, breath soft against BenĂtezâs. He hadnât meant for it to happen. He hadnât known it could. But now, now that it had, it felt inevitable, as if this moment had always waited for them at the end of the path they didnât know they were walking.
âI donât believe in the Church the way you do,â he said without preamble, almost breathless. âI donât believe it deserves to be saved.â
BenĂtez didnât interrupt. He simply listened, eyes clear, face unreadable.
âI am not the best man for this,â Lawrence continued. âI donât believe I ever was.â He swallowed hard. âBut I believe in you. And that has to be enough.â
âSo youâll stay?â BenĂtez couldnât help the way his voice wavered slightly, feeling more vulnerable than he ever had before.
Thomas nodded once. âI will be your Secretary of State.â
BenĂtezâs eyes glistened, just slightly, in the filtered evening light.
Then, softly, BenĂtez inched closer. âYouâre not doing this for the Church?â
âNo,â Thomas said. âIâm doing it for you.â
The words were not romanticânot overtly. And yet, they carried the weight of devotion all the same.
Silence hung between them, although not heavy by any means. Thomasâ mind ran rampant with thought. This devotion, wrong as it may beâhow can something so quiet and consuming, so certainâbe wrong?
It canât be. Not when itâs for him. Not when itâs for Vincent.
He is everything the Church should be, gentle and unshakable, burdened and still full of grace. He sees the world not as it is, but as it could be. And somehow, he sees me.
If this is a sin, then let it be mine to carry, Lawrence concluded.
When Jesus revealed himself after the resurrection, he called her by nameââMary.â
She turned to him and cried out, âRabboni!ââTeacher in Aramaic. In that single word, âMaryââshe was seen. Known. Chosen. And in speaking his name, her love was laid bare.
So too with Vincent and me. He called me back to life, and I turned toward him.
Because itâs not rotten work, not when itâs for Vincent.
Vincent, who is perfect. Perhaps not in the eyes of men, but in mine.
#lawrenitez#thomas lawrence#vincent benitez#conclave#conclave fanfic#conclave 2024#lawrence x benitez#religious imagery
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Finally got a comm done and its Lawrenitez <3
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in sleep, he sang to me.
idea from @grimeshound
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Oh boy, do you know who really have sangihun vibes?? This boys


Sangihun not doomed and married universe
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pinoy sangihun nation please tell me you see the vision of sangihun to this songâŚ
i feel like there are so many love songs that are so sangihun (beer, ligaya, harana etc etc)

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do you have a little corner on your shelf dedicated to your favorite ship too or are you an employed member of society
#negick/regan is still also my top ship i swear#but god⌠i miss sangihun#sangihun#sangwoo x gihun#seong gi hun#cho sangwoo#squid game#player 218#player 456
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SNEAKING AROUND.

word count: 1,289
pairing: in-ho x you.
summary: you canât seem to leave your fatherâs friend alone, thoughts of him filling your mind with nothing but sick fantasies. luckily for you, in-hoâs got you in his sights too, and heâs more than happy to make those thoughts come true.
c/w: 18+, huge age gap (reader is 18+ and in-ho is 54), dbf!au, sneaking around, creampie, pervert in-ho
a/n: gosh âŚâŚâŚ writing inho is like a drug to me, once i start i just cant stop
was gonna post this sooner but had to proofread, so letâs just say i waited to post this on inhoâs bday ^_^ happy bday to this old geezer
â-
âI like your watch,â you said, smiling up at In-ho.
âThis old thing?â he chuckled, shaking his head as he glanced down at it. âThis watch is older than you are, sweetheart.â His tone was light, but the implication beneath his words sent a shiver through you.
You tilted your head, pretending to be surprised, your curiosity laced with something darker. âOh, really? That old?â
He laughed softly, his gaze lingering on you a second longer than it shouldâve. âHad it since I was in my twenties. NowâŚâ He sighed, running a hand through his hair, a faint smirk tugging on his lips. âIâm fifty-four. You do the math.â
You did, and instead of feeling any discomfort, you felt the oppositeâan attraction that made your stomach flip. God, this was so wrong, but you couldnât help yourself. The way he carried himself, the confidence, the way his voice dipped just slightly when he spoke to youâIn-ho had you absolutely hooked.
Before you could respond, your dad called him over, pulling him back into the fold of conversation with the other men. You couldnât hide the pout on your lips, the frustration at being left alone again.
In-ho noticed. Of course, he did. Before he moved to join the group, he leaned in close, his hand brushing against yours for the briefest moment. âIâll be back soon, princess,â he whispered, his voice low enough for only you to hear. Then, before you could even process his words, he glanced around and placed a quick kiss on your lips, causing your breath to hitch.
Before you could even blink he slipped away, leaving you standing there, cheeks flushed and heart racing. You couldnât help but giggle softly to yourself, already counting the seconds until he returned.
Amidst the crowd and bustle of your fatherâs work party, your attention kept wandering back to In-ho. The way his eyes followed you, dark and hungry left you feeling weak in the knees. He couldnât seem to take his eyes off of you, the intensity in his gaze burned into your every move.
In-ho wasnât subtle, either. Every chance he got, he let his hands find youâfingers brushing along your waist, sneaking lower to rest dangerously close to the round curve of your ass. His touch lingered, just enough to send shivers down your spine and leave you craving more.
And then there was the way he âaccidentallyâ pressed himself against you as he squeezed past in the crowd. His body was firm, his touch purposeful, and it left you reeling. You couldnât breathe, the heat in your core pooling unbearably, forcing you to excuse yourself. You rushed to the bathroom, desperate to find some sort of relief from the ache he had been building with every teasing touch, every searing look.
Naturally, In-ho had his sights on you the entire time. His sharp gaze tracked your hurried steps, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched you disappear into the bathroom. He didnât wait long before following, slipping inside and locking the door behind him.
It was all a blur after that. One moment, you were alone, and the next, his hands were hooked beneath your thighs, pulling you flush against him. Your mind went blank while his voice, low and dripping with filthâspilled against your ear. The words barely registered, lost to the sensation of him grinding behind you, each syllable a ghost of sin against your skin.
He had you like that for a while, before lifting you easily, pinning you against the cool tile wall as he snapped forward, filling you to the hilt in one rough thrust of his hips. You gasped at the intrusion, your head falling back against the wall as he wasted no time pounding you.
The sensation was overwhelming. His pace was relentless, each thrust hitting spots that had you dizzy, the world spinning around you. Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he buried himself deeper into your heat. You bit down on your lip, desperate to stay quiet despite the overwhelming pleasure ripping through you.
âIn-hoâ! Feels so goodââ you moaned breathlessly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.
He groaned in response, his breath hot against your skin. The low, guttural sounds he made sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through your cunt. He inhaled deeply, taking in your scent like a man starved. âSo sweet,â he murmured against your neck, his voice thick with lust. âThis cunt was made to take my cock. So fucking good, baby.â
Your walls clenched around him as he hit a particularly sensitive spot, and you couldnât help the high-pitched whimper that escaped. Your nails dug into his sleeve as you fought to keep yourself steady, the heat pooling low in your belly threatening to consume you entirely. âMmfâDaddy!â you cried out suddenly, the word slipping past your lips before you could stop it.
Clearly, that did something to him. Because you felt his cock throb inside you, his rhythm faltering for a moment just for his hips to snap forward, even rougher than before. His breath came out in a low, almost ragged rasp as he processed what youâd just called him.
âDaddy, huh?â he teased, pulling back just enough to look at you. His dark eyes were blown wide, the usual cold stoicism replaced by something primal and unhinged. âThatâs what gets my little angel off? Dirty girl,â he chuckled, the sound dripping with mockery and lust. âDoes my sweet little girl get off on the thought of daddy taking care of her? Like getting fucked by someone old enough to be her father?â
The filthy words sent a shiver down your spine, your head falling back against the wall as a loud moan escaped you. His hand darted up, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging harshly, forcing you to meet his gaze again.
âAnswer me,â he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
âYes, yes!â you cried, your voice trembling as he pounded into you harder, each thrust pulling another gasp from your lips.
âYes, what?â he pressed, his grip on your hair tightening as his teeth grazed against your neck.
âAh!âLove it, need daddy to take care of me,â you whined, your words tumbling out in a desperate rush.
A dark, satisfied grin spread across his face as he pressed a kiss to your temple. His hips slammed into you with renewed fervor, each thrust hitting that perfect spot deep inside you. âThatâs my girl,â he murmured, his voice dripping with possessiveness. âTakinâ daddyâs cock so well. Fuckâwhat would your father think if he saw you like this? His precious little girl, getting her needy pussy stretched out by his old friend.â
The thought alone had you unraveling, your walls clenching around him as your orgasm tore through you. Your entire body was trembling as he fucked you through it, the overstimulation sending shockwaves through your core.
In-ho wasnât far behind, his thrusts turning sloppy and more erratic. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you down onto him while he buried himself to the hilt, groaning loudly as he came.
By the time you rejoined the party, your cheeks still flushed and your legs weak, In-ho was already back in the crowd. He stood by your father, laughing and chatting like nothing had happened. Sharp eyes flicking to you for just a moment, a smirk tugging at his lips. the bastard. Acting like he hadnât just fucked his friendâs daughter senseless in the bathroom, and acting like he doesnât have her dirty panties tucked in the back pocket of his slacks to serve as his personal little trophy.
#hwang inho#inho x reader#inho smut#player 001#squid game 2#inho squid game#smut#oh young il#the frontman#fanfic
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âiâve never related to a character this muchâ i say and heâs a broke, 47-year-old divorced father. this is very telling .., should i be worried ,,,,âŚâŚ..,,,

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Gi-hunâs number being 456, out of the 456 players total, representing ALL of the players - him being the voice of the people, fighting for EVERYONE like he did on his strike -
Versus In-ho and Il-nam being 001. Representing only themselves. Ultimately choosing only themselves. Alone.
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