#interactions . { and he spoke as if every word was a prayer }

[shorthaltsjester]

so, so many thoughts about ashton’s words and position re the gods but nothing really struck me as much as “i’d like to see them pray to us.” (or whatever the exact wording is) because yeah, that’s extremely ashton, that’s the same attitude of a person who has been hurt and broken by life in an unfair manner and tried to absorb a shard because they thought it would fix it, ignoring all warnings that it would make it worse, and then insisting it wasn’t about power, despite the fact that it explicitly was about power — the power to render their life fair. it becomes increasingly clear every time that ashton opens his mouth that, along with being an incisive translation of certain kinds of punk politics to exandria, ashton is more set on vengeance than justice, even if he insists his motivation is that the gods are a source of injustice, it seems more like what he admitted after the shard: he’s spent his life looking for someone to blame, and while he’s happy to hate himself, it took a while for them to realize they were an agent in their own story, culpable for the life they’ve lived. ashton looks at the gods and sees a metaphorical vehicle of all the harm and hurt and pain that’s befallen him due to people in positions of power and cannot (or refuses) to see that a) the gods position isn’t actually all that powerful without the mortals who choose over and over to fulfil divine will for good or evil or in between and b) the gods already have a relationship to mortals that is akin to prayer.

and this is all extremely in character, as much as a lot of ashton’s comments echo many a political stance that makes me roll my eyes, it’s always with an attitude of yes of course ashton would say that. what is mildly more irritating (or perhaps concerning) is the readiness with which aspects of the audience concur with ashton’s assessment, when we have seen countless interactions of gods with mortals that shows us that the gods, though not actual prayer, have a very similar kind of belief in mortals that they ask of those who believe in them. like, vox machina had two episodes dedicated to talking to the gods, where it was revealed that the everlight didn’t just know pike but has beholden to her as the one who brought her back into import. where vex proved herself to pelor not just through completing his challenge but by having long been an imperfect but true source of good for the family she’s chosen that they convinced pelor that vex was a suitable champion by pointing out that she has earned several of their belief, she protects the same city pelor blessed with the sun tree, she’s protective and protected, and her heart and her intelligence are equally sound when it comes to her ability to make judgements, (all things we’ve learned since c1 are important to pelor) resulting in pelor deciding he would also believe in her. where ioun pointed out that while she keeps all stories, scanlan is a storyteller, and what could she possibly cherish more than that.

each god when vox machina spoke to them was quick to correct them when vox machina suggested things like their paths being determined or their lives being beyond their control or the world being down to the will of the gods. vex apologizes to the everlight for not realizing that the gods were really beings and she tells vox machina that she doesn’t ask for the belief of all, only those who wish to give it, as the gods chose to give mortals the ability to choose as they wish upon anything, including their faith in the deities. when vox machina asks pelor to whether they should do something with vecna’s eye, he insists that they make the decision whether they’d like to destroy it or use it — he will help however they decide, but he insists it’s on them to choose the outcome. they speak with ioun, who knows their and every story, and she tells them that the gods do not choose the individual fates of mortals, it is up to every person to choose who they will and will not be, and sometimes that guides them to places the gods have predicted, but never without the choices a mortal makes to arrive there.

the concept of belief throughout the three campaigns has been an complex and ever shifting one — as it deserves. in campaign 1, it’s largely in the context of coming to understand what it means to believe in gods when they obviously do exist, but what are you believing in, and why might you choose not to. in campaign 2, jester’s presence complicated things by pointing out that it isn’t just the divinity of the gods that earns them their power but that belief itself is a kind of divinity and with yasha, caduceus and fjord we see that the role of the gods isn’t just power-granting, it comes to be an essential part of many of those who follow the gods. and in campaign 3, we’ve seen both of those explorations come up but the difficulty is we have none of the perspective of someone who actually believes — even fcg was new to worship couldn’t offer much insight on what the loss of the gods might do to people who believe in the gods not because they grant power but because like jester they were lonely and the found a friend in one, or if like yasha they were lost and were saved by one, or if like fjord the asked for help and were aided by one. to be clear i don’t think this a weakness of the story being told — i think it’s a particularly interesting aspect of bh’s position, but i do think it weakens the perspectives of thinkers like ashton who haven’t even heard what a god means to some people, let alone taken seriously the pain that losing the gods would constitute for countless people.

so, ashton might be particularly charged against the gods — even to the point of being the only one to outright make a noise of disagreement when it’s brought up that while bells hells disagree on specifics, they all agree on saving the gods — and he has plenty of reasons to have that position that can easily result in the audience going, yeah, i understand why he’s made that judgement. but that is not the same as hearing what ashton has said and going (with all the knowledge we the audience have that ashton does not) “he’s right, actually” when there are two campaigns telling you, explicitly, “he’s not.” and this isn’t me saying things can’t be revealed that complicate or recontextualize knowledge from previous campaigns, i’m just saying that, thus far, if anything, campaign 3 (especially downfall) has only cemented the degree to which the prime deities have to believe in mortals.

truly the first thought i had when i heard ashton say his line about the gods praying to mortals instead was the fact that several of his party members received a vision from the raven queen asking for help, that fcg asked the changebringer if she was scared and she said yes, that earthbreaker groon looked at imogen and saw her self-doubt And the belief that bells hells has in her anyway and kord reached through him to tell imogen that she had the potential for greatness and that the gods are counting on her. the prime deities have long been praying to mortals, they believe in the power of mortals (for good and ill) — that’s exactly what downfall was about. the power that gods still have is entirely mediated by the mortals who believe in them, who choose to believe in them. the power of mortals does not have those bounds, and while that doesn’t mean they get to sling 9th level spells at will and multiply their damage by 10, it does mean that, in this particular moment in exandria, ludinus’ power is a much more likely (and, historically and contextually proven) source of injustice than the prime deities.

beyond the magic limitations and considering the ill-fitting metaphor of the gods as being a position of power in a sociopolitical sense, the distance of the gods means that if they want to manipulate people into maintaining their position, it’s quite difficult to do. in comparison with ludinus “cult tactics” da’leth, it strikes me as odd when the parts of the cr audience react to the prime deities doing things like . allowing mortals agency (which, as every existentialist writer ever has correctly pointed, out is both a burden and gift) as if it is actually a long-con manipulation or something.

anyway, TL:DR, ashton is an a interesting character whose beliefs and ideas make sense given his placement in the story and their experiences, but an audience who has seen campaigns 1-3 and says they agree with him with their whole chest should definitely consider either a) rewatching or b) taking a critical thinking or media literacy class

[jolenes-doppelganger]

Desert Storm

Reverend Mother Jessica x Fem! Fremen Reader

NSFW 18+- MINORS WHO INTERACT CAN AND WILL BE BLOCKED.

Request: “Soooo I got this idea stuck in my mind. RM Jessica falls for the woman that her son, Paul, is also in love with. Basically, reader is like Chani, but not really 😅 So, RM Jessica will do everything in her power to steal her away from her own son (successfully coz she got me on a chokehold fr wink*). Yandere vibes or something close to that. I'll let you decide if you'll add some spice and everything nice.” from @buttercandy16

Warnings: Ritualistic groping, sweat and tear ingestion, erotic lactation and breastfeeding, Jessica and Alia telepathically beefing, Jessica is her own warning

A/N: Don't look me in the eyes, believe me, I know how the warnings sound. May my Catholic mother's prayers cleanse these sinful hands that hath created this abomination. (Sexy abomination, *wink wink*).

Word Count: 4.4k of filth

The water of life had opened her mind in unimaginable ways. What once had been a struggle to do, power that had been a struggle to wield, became light. Jessica could see things and feel things that felt almost wrong to be able to digest. Waking up in the midst of the Fremen Sayyadina as they were panting and sighing in ecstasy felt strange. They’d drank of the sweat on her forehead, and the potent spice had acted as a powerful stimulant, and in some cases an aphrodisiac. Jessica watched as a pair of the Sayyadina grasped another, the two of them passionately kissing one another. It was odd to see such open intimacy between two people, between two women.

“Reverend Mother, they wish to make (Reader) a Sayyadina with you.” a Fremen priestess murmured, drinking from her skin as a trickle of sweat came down her forehead.

“Bring… Her in.” Jessica whispered.

The dead Reverend Mother was bound, carried away as the remaining lucid Sayyadina did their part to prepare her. The soon to be Sayyadina, (Reader), was brought forward. Jessica stared up at her with newly blue-stained eyes. 

“You must drink of the sweat on her face.” the sayyadina instructed the girl.

Jessica watched as you kneeled in front of her, gently searching for a bit of sweat to ingest. Most of it had been taken already, only a patch on her upper lip remained accessible. You leaned forward, pressing your lips to the flesh just below her lip, gently licking away the sweat there. Jessica reached forward, hands grasping desperately at you.

“I see.” Jessica whispered, grabbing your face. “Oh, I see what he sees.”

Jessica promptly closed her eyes, dropping into a sleep of pure exhaustion. As she slept, as she dreamed, she dreamed of you. With one little touch, she’d been granted powerful insight into your being, your composition and your bearing. You were Fremen, desert strong. Capable of withstanding more than some of the most acclimated soldiers. And Jessica liked that.

“Stay with her. We will tell the man child.”

You were left to watch over the new Reverend Mother, the slow potency of the spice saturated sweat causing a slow smoldering heat in you. Several Sayyadina around you were in the middle of hunting down their husbands and partners, overcome by the effect of it all. You sat still, observing the slow breaths of the new religious leader in your group. 

<>

“Mother, she’s Paul’s!” Alia spoke to Jessica. 

It had been several weeks since Jessica had taken the water of life, several weeks since Alia had gained consciousness and begun speaking to her in utero. What had first been a new blessing had become another aggravation. Alia was sweet. Dedicated, loving and loyal to a fault. Every bit her father’s child. But Jessica shared a connection with her that allowed the child access to her foremost thoughts, desires and ideas.

“If you don’t hush.” Jessica whispered back.

“What did you say?” you asked, frowning.

“My child speaks.” Jessica replied, then adding, “Of nonsense.”

“Mom!!!” Alia cried.

You saw Jessica’s face contort into a steely expression as she appeared to silently reprimand the conscious fetus inside of her. It was strange, watching her interact with her daughter. Moreso, it was strange watching the other Sayyadina react to it all. You were with Paul mostly, attacking Harkonnen spice mining crews and machines, but recently Jessica had been requesting your presence on a frequent basis, requiring you more and more often. 

“She is… Fully conscious?” you asked, eyeing the soft bump warily.

“Mmm. Yes.” Jessica replied, eyeing you with indiscernible interest. “She speaks like an adult, I believe she has the intellect of an adult as well. However, she is inexperienced in the ways of the world and knows it only through ancestral memory. She must learn to listen to her mother.” Jessica finished, a deadly warning in her expression meant for an individual without eyes to see it with.

Jessica extended her hand.

“Feel.” 

You walked forward, a bit nervous. She was only ten weeks or so along, there was hardly a bump there. You placed your hand in hers, and she smiled, bringing it to rest quite low.*

“The baby will sit just above my pubic bone, you won’t feel movement, but you can feel the soft bump.” Jessica whispered, eyeing you in that strange way she was quite fond of.

“Oh. Thank you, Reverend Mother.” 

Jessica smiled again, gently toying with your blue headband.

“You’ve begun to wear this quite often. What does it mean?”

The question caused you to blush. The piece of fabric was quite irrelevant, but the color was significant for many things.

“Oh… Well. We Fremen wear blue when we’re in love.”

Jessica’s eyes grew sharp and her hand stilled.

“With who?” 

“Well, your son.” you admitted.

Jessica was quite silent for a period that was out of character for her. By the way she stared straight ahead, it was clear that she wasn’t talking to Alia. Her lips would often quirk when conversing with the child, and her eyes would dart around in thought. But she was deadly silent at this moment. No quiver of her lips, no movement of her eyes, not even the slightest twitch.

“I see.” Jessica finally said. “You make a mistake, assuming he can love you.” she whispered, leaning in predatorily. “My daughter Alia reminds him often that he must reserve his hand for the most diplomatically beneficial match.” 

You clenched your teeth, drawing away from her.

“Paul can make his own choices without you two involving yourselves.” you replied, venom boiling through your words.

Your feet moved of their own accord, drawing towards the exit and out of Jessica’s room, forgetting the code of conduct. You were to formally greet and bid goodbye to the Reverend Mother at all times, to provide respect.

“Stop.”

You froze, breath caught in your throat at the barked order. She’d never used the Voice on you before, and you’d never seen it used.

“You will respect your Reverend Mothers.” Jessica spoke, in a two-toned voice. “All of us.”

Chills ran up and down your spine as you turned, viewing Jessica in fear.

“Come here.”

You were forced to walk back towards her. She grabbed your face with both hands, eyes wild as she observed you. 

“I will be leaving to spread the news of Paul in the south. You will come with me.”

You shook your head. You were Feydakin, and a fighter. Your primary role to the tribe was not being a priestess, but being a fighter. To leave Paul to fight without you would leave him vulnerable, without relief from his dreams. Sure, he had Silgar, but the man was a fool and only fueled the Bene Gesserit delusions. Who would be the voice of reason amidst all of this?

“I am Feydakin.”

“No, you are Sayyadina. You go where I tell you to go, when I tell you to go. And as your Reverend Mother, I have the say over the matter. I want a fighter by my side, can’t you see?” Jessica whispered, eyes clouding over in soft anxiety. 

Even though Jessica was Bene Gesserit, you’d always had a six sense for when someone was playing you. This was Jessica playing.

“You defeated Stilgar.” you retorted. “You are fighter enough.

“But I am pregnant.” Jessica replied. “And that was weeks ago. I will only continue to get bigger, to become more immobile. I will need a trusted protector.” 

You eyed her with extreme skepticism, taking a moment to let her words hang. Most liars filled silence by instinct, word vomit flying out of their mouths under pressure. But Jessica knew that trick. And although her real reasons for having you close to her weren’t reasons previously given, her being pregnant was a viable excuse she could use if needed.

“It’s because you don’t want me to date Paul, isn’t it? My common Fremen blood isn’t good enough for him?” 

Jessica laughed. It sounded unkind.

“No. Paul would be lucky to have someone as headstrong and wise as you for a partner, especially someone who is both those things and young, fertile. But his future lies elsewhere. And I do care for you. I would hate to see you hurt.”

She stepped forward, placing both her hands on your shoulders. She was back on her game. You had a sense that she was telling the truth, but only partly.

“Paul will join us in the south when he is ready. Distance will fizzle out the bond or… Make it stronger.” her face twitched. “But I believe it will be solidly the former.”

It was a struggle to stay in that room. You wanted to run out of her room to find the nearest corner to lie in. Not cry. You were Fremen. You didn’t cry over broken hearts and star-crossed love affairs. Not even the dead.

“I wish to be dismissed.” you managed, voice hoarse.

“No. You will stay with me, in my sight until we leave. It is better this way. Separate yourself where you can.”

“Reverend Mother, I wish to leave.” you repeated.

You needed a quiet corner, a place to breathe out and vent your pain without crying. This was humiliation, this was hurtful, this was heartbreak. And you needed to deliver the burden outward. Not in front of this woman with words shaped more like daggers, chipping away at year’s worth of armor to prevent you from crying. 

“No.” 

“You don’t understand, I need-”

“I am well aware of what you think you need.” Jessica interrupted, “And I assure you that it would be better to stay with me. I am what you need.”

It was a battle. Both internal and external. But you weren’t the only one boiling with voices too loud.

“Mother let her go, mother let her go!” Alia repeated over and over. “She will crack, she will waste water, you cannot let her waste water.”

“Silence!” Jessica spat, clutching at her womb. “You, sit.” she pointed.

Her usage of the voice was becoming more and more frequent, and it was directly tied to how in control she felt. It wasn’t something she used lightly, but as tensions and excitement rose, her composure would wear slightly, and she’d use it less sparingly.

“I do not care for your insolence, Alia.” Jessica began to berate her daughter aloud. “It is both rude and unwelcome. These are adult matters. I.. Hold your tongue. Stop interrupting me.. No, I don’t care if you have an adult mind, it is quite literally irrelevant to your circle of control.”

The argument once again turned internal, with Jessica’s lips twitching wordlessly. The debate was intense, and evidently not meant for your ears.

“There.” Jessica sighed, massaging her temples. “Forgive the interruption, she is just so opinionated.” 

Her eyes flashed with her last statement, a hidden anger rooted there. Then she moved, sitting beside you with a sigh. You were still fighting tears. She reached a hand out, moving to fold a bit of your hair back into the bonnet.

“Don’t touch me.” you snapped.

Jessica snorted, continuing to fuss over your hair.

“Your hair is covered in sand.”

“We’re on a desert planet.” you retorted.

Jessica didn’t respond. Instead, she got up and grabbed a comb, undoing your day’s old braid and gently combing out the dust and sand. She braided it in a style that was a bit foreign, beginning the braid from the crown of your head instead of the root. Once complete, she tied a scarf over your hairline. A soft beige. Decidedly neutral. The blue bonnet was confiscated.

“So you’re deciding what I can and can’t feel now?” you said.

Your words sounded more wounded than you intended them to.

“No. I’m simply tying a fresh scarf over you. This one needs to dry.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You can’t clean things in the desert.”

“Air does wonderful things. So does the sun.”

The urge to backtalk her more was deafening. The words posed on the tip of your tongue, like a serpent waiting to strike.

“Come. It is time to rest.”

“It is midday, Reverend Mother.”

“And I am tired, and I will not allow you to escape from my watch. You will join me.”

Her words were not laced with a command of the Voice, but she probably could add it if you didn’t comply. Her hands pulled your outer robes off. She kept herself in a thin, sleeveless dress, pulling you into her. Why Jessica needed you this close was up for debate. You assumed it was because she desired control. She assumed that too, but a third voice quietly thought otherwise.

“You smell like the sun.” Jessica murmured, pressing her nose into your hair.

“And you smell like sweat.”

Neither scent was necessarily bad in the Fremen culture. No one would tell Jessica that her sweat was bad, a body was just a body, and it smelled as such. And the slightly burned scent of hair was just that. The sun roasted strange scents and colors into a person after a while. You would smell as such.

“Are your periods still regular?” she asked, the question phrased not unkindly.

“Yes.” you murmured. 

“Good, that’s good.”

It was odd that she’d fret over your fertility while simultaneously resenting your relationship with Paul. But she was an odd character. It would be natural for her to have odd questions.

“Closer, lie closer to me.” Jessica whispered.

This rest, you would not.

<->

“Closer, I need you closer.” you whispered, pressing your face into Jessica’s neck.

She hummed, sleepily pulling you in, adjusting the pillow around her swollen belly to accommodate your increased closeness.

“You’re needy this morning.” Jessica sighed.

“Hmm?” you frowned.

“Not you, Alia.” Jessica sighed. “You’re always welcome for a cuddle.”

She let out a contented hum, pulling you as close as she could with her belly protruding. Her nose rested against your forehead, you could feel the moisture of her breath. The cuddle lasted a few more moments before a Sayyadina entered, informing Jessica from behind the fabric curtain of her yali that breakfast would be served in a quarter of an hour.

“Help me up.” Jessica murmured, rubbing her eyes.

You gently helped her to sit, pulling back the thin sheet. Her feet were swollen.

“Oh.” you winced.

“The joys of pregnancy, I know.” Jessica sarcastically grimaced.

Her sighs of pain turned to those of relief as you slowly worked your hands over her feet, massaging the swollen calves and tendons. The Reverend Mother propped herself up with a pillow, drawing slow circles over her belly as you worked on her feet. Her lips were pursed, she was in deep conversation with Alia. Jessica laughed a little at whatever the child said, and then nodded. You watched in fascination as her belly began to tremble slightly.

“Morning exercise.” Jessica explained. “Feel.”

She held your hands over her large belly as Alia kicked inside. You could feel the consistent, violent movement inside.

“You let her do that?” you frowned.

“It’s good for her, she needs to move her limbs, she needs the stimulation. But she does ask before kicking, or does so when she requires touch.”

The explanation was sufficient, and fascinating.Hers and Alia’s relationship was complicated, but amusing from the eyes of an outsider. You grabbed her robes and yours, helping her dress. She preferred bare feet most days, but today you coerced her into wearing soft moccasins to support her tender feet. Her hands lingered over yours as you adjusted her outer robes. 

“Thank you.” Jessica murmured, pressing a slow kiss to your temple. 

Following breakfast, Jessica drew you towards the Fremen temple where the masses were meditating. Today was a more quiet moment. Jessica was requiring of a specific ritual of group contact today, a spring rite. She brought you forward, resting her legs around your hips, yours fitted loosely around her bottom. Another Sayyadina came behind her, resting her hands on Jessica’s abdomen and pressing her pelvis into Jessica’s bottom. Spice was passed around, and members slowly began to sway together in a throng. But something was different today. More Fremen holy men and women began to touch more freely with one another. The Sayyadina with her pelvis pressed against your back began to sway with you. Desire. Her breath was hot on your neck, and her hands fitted loosely on your stomach. Jessica leaned into the arms of the Fremen priestess behind her. The breath of the group began getting heavier, labored. You could feel the energy surrounding you, the heaviness in the air. Touching slowly became more sensual, caresses of the torso more common. 

Jessica kept your hands in hers, swaying more frequently. The Sayyadina behind her began to draw her hands over her more sensually, as did the Sayyadina behind you. Fingers pulling at the fabric of your robes, hands drawing over your abdomen, over your thighs, and eventually slipping up your collarbone. The Sayyadina behind Jessica was more brave, fingers kneading the swollen curves of her breasts. It was a spring ritual, meant to further the fertility of the Fremen, meant to inspire the energy of life around them. It was what the people needed, it was what the people required. But your role in this was confusing. Why had Jessica placed you opposite her? Were you a symbol of the Fremen’s future? The Sayyadina behind you placed both her hands over your womb, and a distant chant for fertility began in the back of the room. It bloomed until everyone aside from Jessica and yourself were chanting. It was deafening and was confusing. The sight in front of you didn’t help. The Sayyadina behind Jessica had her hands pressed firmly against Jessica’s chest, groping and pulling at her swelling breasts. It should have disgusted you, this sight. But it didn’t. A distinctly different feeling came forth. It wasn’t until you were out of the ritual, back into Jessica’s chambers, that you pieced it together.

“You ran off fast.” Jessica rasped, soft footsteps filling the yali.

“I had a lot to think about.” 

You noticed her bare feet. Feet that you distinctly remembered placing in moccasins earlier. Another stab of jealousy snuck up through your throat.

“Where are your moccasins, Reverend Mother?”

“Nabiya has them. I didn’t want them anymore.” Jessica sighed.

“Nabiya?”

“The Sayyadina behind me during the ritual.”

You clenched your jaw, looking away. They were confusing, these feelings you were having as of late. Jessica noted your closed off nature, laughing a little.

“Oh come on, now.” Jessica sighed, wrapping her arms around you, her belly pressing into your back. “It was a ritual, I am a pregnant, fertile woman, and a Reverend Mother. You are too. This will bring the Fremen much joy, to see their holy women fertile and strong.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

Jessica rolled her eyes, clicking her tongue softly.

“That ritual isn’t done every year. I distinctly remember the last Reverend Mother doing it last year.”

“Yes, but I am a new Reverend Mother, and we are in a time of great anxiety and excitement. It is important to encourage the community to reproduce.” Jessica murmured. “It is important to remind you of the beauty of your youth…”

“Paul is my chosen-”

“Hush.” Jessica cut you off. “None of that.”

There was a burning in your eyes, and you looked up at the ceiling of the yali to avoid crying.

“Shh, shh.” Jessica murmured, stroking your head. “You have such a limited idea of what your life could be.”

“I’m useless here.” you protested. “I should be beside him, I should be fighting for my people instead of sitting in rooms while people touch me and praise my unproven fertility.”

Jessica hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. Her hands hadn’t stilled their soothing caresses over your face and neck.

“Come, lie on the bed with me.”

You were weakened to her requests as it was a matter of compliance as well as comfort. Jessica’s arms encircled your body, and she hummed softly, drawing her fingers over your scalp.

“There will be another. One for you to love.”

“Reverend Mother, Paul said he loved me.”

Jessica smiled sadly, placing another kiss on your forehead. Her hands drew lower, resting on your neck.

“He has found another.”

All of the air escaped your lungs in a wheeze. Jessica’s forehead softened, and she brought you in for a deeper hug. 

“Don’t cry, I know, I know it hurts.” she murmured.

You got the sense that she did care. The months spent at her side as Alia had grown resulted in softer, more empathetic moments from the usually hardened holy leader. And besides Paul and Alia, you were one of the few people she cared for, probably the only Fremen she viewed as anything except a pawn.

“Who?” you whimpered. “Who does he love?”

Jessica shook her head. She pressed kiss after kiss over your face, fingers drawing up and down your back.

“Another from the North. I do not think it wise to tell you who.”

A dry sob came from your throat. You weren’t crying tears, but you were still vocalizing, much like the women of the tribe would do for the dead.

“I know it hurts.” she repeated. “So give it to me.”

Her hands held your face, and as the first tear slipped down your cheeks, her lips were there to catch it, drinking in the moisture. You only shed a few tears, it was all you dared spare, but what you didn’t expect was for her to give it back. Her lips brushed against yours, delivering a soft bead of saliva onto your tongue. She did this so tenderly, fingers stroking over your cheeks softly.

“You have such a limited idea of what your life could be.” Jessica whispered, repeating her earlier words with a hint of sensuality, with a hint of more care.

She leaned in again, her nose brushing against yours. You looked into her spice stained eyes, tentatively drawing a thumb over the tattoos on her cheeks. She smiled softly, and leaned in all the way, lips slowly dancing over yours. It was the reprieve for the ache in your heart. You were heartbroken over Paul, but over the months spent with Jessica, you’d slowly come to care for her too, and the infant child inside of her. You noted the unusual stillness of Alia, the dormant nature of the child. A hand on Jessica’s abdomen confirmed her sleepy state. If the child had been awake, there would have been a soft pressure on the other side as she touched back. Jessica pulled away, stroking your cheek. Her eyes were clouded over in a glow of satisfaction, and the telltale signs of her scheming lay in the intensity of her gaze.

“Do me a favor.” Jessica murmured. “My milk is coming in… Only a little right now, but it is better that it be extracted and taken into a body immediately.”

“I’ll get the pump and the straw so you can drink what it collects.” you assumed.

Jessica laughed softly, pulling you back into her arms before you could leave.

“No, no dear. If I was going to pump it, I would’ve done so this morning. I wish to share it.”

You balked at this, and Jessica laughed even more, her hands encircling your hot cheeks. 

“Sweetheart, please. It is a gift, and cannot be given to anyone else.”

Jessica gently parted her robes, exposing a swollen breast. Your first instinct was to turn away, but Jessica was quicker, firmly cupping your face, forcing you to meet her eyes.

“No, no. Do not pull away. Accept the gift.”

Jessica’s phrasing of the request was despicably deliberate. The gift of water was a holy, sacred act. A symbol of someone’s devotion to another. Usually it was done via spit, but if it came from the body, sharing it was a devotional act. To deny it was like denying the person, a sign of great disrespect. It was the tender touch of her thumbs over your cheeks that convinced you. A soft kiss was all the reassurance Jessica gave before she pushed you down.

“A soft latch. That’s all that’s required.” Jessica directed.

You nodded, leaning in and wrapping your lips around the stiff, brown nipple. It was warm, growing stiffer immediately between your lips. With a soft, experimental suck, a bead of milk landed on your tongue. Jessica let out a relieved moan, her hands tightening in your hair. Alia stirred slightly, but settled. She was unaware of this exchange.

“Again.” Jessica pleaded.

You’d never heard her use this tone of voice before. It was breathy, needy even. It inspired stirrings in you, made you more eager to please. You moved your lips slowly, imitating the suckling of babies you’d witnessed in the past. It required a bit of tongue and throat movement, but you managed to produce the correct combination, milk landing in steady streams on your tongue. Jessica let out pleasured hums of relief, her hands stroking over your head. It was a small amount of milk, and she went dry quickly.

“Other side now, beloved.” Jessica murmured. “And save a mouthful for me this time.”

The suggestion was odd, and a bit exciting. You were less unsure of yourself this time around, and you were careful to keep a decent amount of milk in your mouth at all times to fulfill her next request. It made the process a bit slower, which Jessica did appreciate. Her fingers could dance over your cheeks as they rhythmically hollowed. She could commit the sight of your lips on her breast to her private memory. You pulled away as she went dry, holding what milk remained in your mouth. A soft tap on your chin directed you upward, and Jessica opened her mouth, awaiting what you had collected. You released the liquid back to her in a steady stream, and she swallowed greedily, but she didn’t stop there. Her lips and tongue collected what was left, her tongue searching every crevice of your mouth for the sweet milk that remained. Her breasts dried in the humid air, and she leisurely swirled her tongue over yours, enjoying the remaining traces of her milk on your tongue. 

“Lovely.” Jessica murmured. “Now I’m nice and empty, and you’re full of my nutrients.”

There was a mildly deranged look in her eyes, and you wondered just how much her ego had swelled now that you’d nursed from her, now that you’d shared her own kiss. Her hands drew you back in, pressing your face to her neck, fingers tracing delicately through your scalp. The smell of her breast milk lingered, a sweetness that complimented her natural odor.

“Oh… The things we will be…”

[bratzkoo]

barely yours | mingyu (end)

Author: bratzkoo | navi Pairing: rockstar! mingyu x reader Word Count: 4.7k Genre: fluff, angst, smut-ish Rating: NC-17 Possible Warnings/ Note: Thanks for being with me all through out this fic, thank you for loving mingyu and y/n even if they're little shit sometimes. To everyone that interacted and reblogged, thank you guys so so so much, you made me very happy. Till next fic! If you're a bts army and a doctor who fan (whovian), i hope you can check out my next series it's going to be doctor who! hoseok x archaelogist! reader.

Summary: you flirt, you fuck, but when you hint that you want to be more he dismissed it as if you’re joking... and when you decide to ignore him he comes back with flowers at your doorstep.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): ​​ @ca-clover, @junniesoleilkth , @gaslysainz , @darkerrdaze , @mansaaay , @childish-fear , @lixisoul99 , @cherrylovescheol , @yuyu1024 , @tacolombe , @black-swan-blog27 , @tulipndtale , @xuimhao , @cookiearmy , @gyuguys , @brownbunnyb

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The Parisian morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains of Y/N's hotel suite, casting a soft glow over the scattered suitcases and designer bags. Y/N stood by the window, gazing out at the city she had come to love, a city that had witnessed both her professional triumphs and, most recently, a pivotal moment in her personal life.

Her fingers absently traced the outline of the Eiffel Tower in the distance, her mind replaying the events of the past week. Fashion Week had been a whirlwind of shows, parties, and business meetings. But amidst the chaos, one moment stood out above all others – her unexpected reunion with Mingyu.

Y/N closed her eyes, allowing herself to relive that night. The shock of seeing him across the crowded room, looking devastatingly handsome in his tailored suit. The electricity that had coursed through her body when their eyes met. The way her heart had raced as he made his way towards her, that familiar crooked smile playing on his lips.

She hadn't expected the rush of emotions that came with seeing him again. Five years of carefully constructed walls had crumbled in an instant, leaving her vulnerable and exhilarated all at once. And then, one drink had led to another, conversations had flowed as easily as they had in the past, and before she knew it...

Y/N's cheeks flushed at the memory of that night. The heat of Mingyu's kisses, the tenderness in his touch, the way he had whispered her name like a prayer. It had been passionate, intense, and achingly familiar. But it had also been tinged with a newfound maturity, a depth of emotion that spoke of the years that had passed and the growth they had both undergone.

The buzz of her phone on the nightstand jolted Y/N from her reverie. Probably another message from her assistant confirming the details of her upcoming skincare line launch. Y/N sighed, torn between the excitement of her career and the bittersweet ache of leaving... of leaving Mingyu.

The past week had been like living in a dream. After that initial night, she and Mingyu had spent every possible moment together. Late-night walks along the Seine, his hand warm in hers as they strolled past the twinkling lights reflected in the water. Early morning coffees at quaint cafes, sharing croissants and stolen kisses over steaming cups of café au lait. Afternoons spent exploring the Louvre, Mingyu's childlike wonder at the art bringing a smile to her face. And evenings... evenings spent tangled in hotel sheets, rediscovering each other, talking for hours about everything and nothing.

But reality was calling. Y/N had an empire to run, a new skincare line to launch, and a life waiting for her back in Seoul. And Mingyu... Mingyu had HHT, world tours, and a career that spanned the globe. They had talked about it, of course. Long, serious conversations about their feelings, their careers, the challenges they would face. They had agreed to take things slow, to see where this rekindled connection might lead. But now, with miles about to stretch between them once again, Y/N felt a familiar fear creeping in. Would distance pull them apart, as it had before?

A knock at the door startled Y/N from her thoughts. "Mademoiselle, your car is ready," came the concierge's voice.

"Thank you," Y/N called back, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'll be down in a moment."

With one last look around the room, Y/N gathered her things. As she reached for the door handle, her eyes fell on a small bottle of perfume on the dresser – a sample of "Barely Yours." She hesitated for a moment before picking it up and tucking it into her purse. A reminder of what she was leaving behind, and perhaps, of what she hoped to return to.

The ride to Charles de Gaulle Airport was quiet, the streets of Paris still sleepy in the early morning hours. Y/N's mind wandered, replaying conversations she'd had with Mingyu over the past week.

"I've missed this," Mingyu had said one night as they sat on a bench in the Tuileries Garden, the setting sun painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. "I've missed you."

Y/N had leaned her head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent that was uniquely him. "I've missed you too," she had admitted. "More than I realized."

"What are we doing, Y/N?" Mingyu had asked, his voice soft but intense. "Is this... is this just a Paris thing? A trip down memory lane?"

She had sat up then, turning to face him. In the fading light, his eyes had been full of hope and fear, mirroring her own emotions. "I don't want it to be," she had said honestly. "But Mingyu, our lives are so different now. We're not the same people we were five years ago."

"Maybe that's a good thing," he had replied, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "We've grown, Y/N. We've achieved our dreams. Maybe now... maybe now we're finally ready for this. For us."

The memory faded as the car approached the airport. Y/N's heart felt heavy, the weight of leaving pressing down on her. They had said their goodbyes last night, both agreeing it would be easier this way. A clean break, a chance to process everything that had happened and figure out their next steps.

But as the car pulled up to the departures terminal, Y/N was struck by how wrong it felt. How could she just leave, go back to her life as if this past week hadn't changed everything?

Lost in thought, Y/N almost missed the commotion at the airport's entrance. A crowd had gathered, phones out, excited chatter filling the air. And there, in the center of it all, stood Mingyu.

Y/N's heart leapt into her throat. He wasn't supposed to be here. But there he was, looking breathtakingly handsome in a simple white t-shirt and jeans, his eyes scanning the arriving cars frantically.

As Y/N's car pulled up, Mingyu's eyes locked onto hers through the window. The look on his face – a mixture of determination, hope, and unbridled love – took her breath away.

Before the driver could fully stop, Y/N was out of the car. She vaguely registered the flashing of cameras, the surprised gasps from onlookers, but all she could focus on was Mingyu.

"What are you doing here?" she asked as she reached him, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu took her hands in his, his touch sending sparks through her entire body. "I couldn't let you leave like this," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "Not again. Not without telling you how I feel."

Y/N's heart raced. "Mingyu, we talked about this. Our lives, our careers..."

But Mingyu shook his head, cutting her off. "I don't care about any of that. Y/N, these past five years without you have been... empty. I've achieved everything I thought I wanted, but none of it means anything if I can't share it with you."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes as Mingyu continued, his words coming out in a rush, as if he was afraid he'd lose his nerve if he didn't say them now.

"Be with me, please Y/N," he pleaded, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I love you. I loved you 5 years ago, I loved you 5 months ago, I loved you five minutes ago, and I'll love you every second of every day for the rest of my life. We can make this work. Whatever obstacles come our way, we'll face them together."

Y/N stood there, overwhelmed by the intensity of Mingyu's words, of her own feelings. She thought about the life she had built for herself, the success she had achieved. She was no longer the uncertain young woman she had been five years ago. She had grown, evolved into someone she was proud to be.

And it was that realization that finally allowed her to let go of her fears.

"Yes," she whispered, a smile breaking through her tears.

Mingyu blinked, as if not quite believing what he'd heard. "Yes?"

Y/N laughed, the sound full of joy and promise. "Yes, Mingyu. Yes to being with you. Yes to facing whatever comes our way together. Yes to loving you every second of every day."

With a whoop of joy, Mingyu lifted Y/N off her feet, spinning her around as onlookers cheered and cameras flashed. When he set her down, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away her tears.

"I love you, Y/N," he said softly. "Fully and completely."

"And I love you," Y/N replied, her heart feeling fuller than it ever had. "I'm yours, Mingyu. Fully yours."

As their lips met in a kiss that promised a lifetime of love and happiness, neither Y/N nor Mingyu paid any attention to the commotion around them. In that moment, it was just the two of them, finally where they were always meant to be – together.

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of activity. News of their reunion spread like wildfire, dominating entertainment headlines and social media. Y/N's phone buzzed constantly with messages from friends, family, and business associates, all curious about this sudden development in her personal life.

Mingyu faced his own challenges, fielding questions from reporters and reassuring fans that his relationship wouldn't affect HHT's future. But through it all, they stood united, facing each hurdle together.

Their first major test came when Y/N had to return to Seoul for the launch of her new skincare line. The night before her flight, she and Mingyu sat on the balcony of his Paris hotel room, the city lights twinkling below them.

"I'm scared," Y/N admitted, her voice small. "What if... what if distance changes things again?"

Mingyu pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. "It won't," he said firmly. "We're different people now, Y/N. We know what we want, and we're willing to fight for it. Plus," he added with a grin, "I have about a million airline miles saved up. I plan to put them to good use."

Y/N laughed, feeling some of her anxiety melt away. "I love you," she said, marveling at how easily the words came now.

"I love you too," Mingyu replied. "Always."

The next year was a testament to their commitment. Despite busy schedules and often being in different time zones, Mingyu and Y/N made their relationship work. Video calls became a daily ritual, no matter how late or early it might be. Mingyu surprised Y/N at product launches and important meetings, while Y/N became a fixture at HHT's concerts, cheering from backstage.

Their friends and family watched with a mixture of joy and amusement as the once-tentative couple blossomed into a powerhouse of love and support. Seungcheol often joked that he felt like a proud parent watching his children grow up.

It was during one of HHT's world tour stops in New York that Mingyu decided to take the next step. He had planned everything meticulously, with the help of the other members and Y/N's assistant.

After the concert, he led a blindfolded Y/N to the top of the Empire State Building, which he had managed to reserve for just the two of them. As Y/N removed the blindfold, she gasped at the sight before her. The observation deck was covered in rose petals and candles, the New York skyline providing a breathtaking backdrop.

"Mingyu, what is all this?" she asked, her eyes wide with wonder.

Mingyu took her hands in his, his heart pounding. "Y/N," he began, his voice trembling slightly, "five years ago, I let you go because I was too afraid to admit how I felt. I've regretted that decision every day since. But now, I'm not afraid anymore. I know exactly what I want, and it's you. It's always been you."

Dropping to one knee, Mingyu pulled out a small velvet box. Inside was a stunning ring, a large diamond surrounded by smaller stones that sparkled in the candlelight.

"Hwang Y/N," Mingyu said, looking up at her with eyes full of love, "will you marry me?"

Tears streaming down her face, Y/N nodded emphatically. "Yes," she managed to choke out. "Yes, a thousand times yes!"

As Mingyu slipped the ring onto her finger and stood to kiss her, the New York night sky erupted in a spectacular fireworks display, orchestrated by the ever-romantic Seungcheol.

The news of their engagement spread quickly, sending fans and media into a frenzy. But Mingyu and Y/N were in their own bubble of happiness, already dreaming of their future together.

The months leading up to the wedding were a blur of planning, fittings, and juggling their busy careers. They decided on a spring wedding in Seoul, wanting to celebrate their love in the city where it all began.

Finally, the big day arrived. The venue, a beautiful garden on the outskirts of Seoul, was transformed into a fairytale setting. Cherry blossoms were in full bloom, their delicate petals dancing in the gentle breeze.

In a private room, Y/N stood before a full-length mirror, hardly recognizing the woman staring back at her. Her wedding gown, a custom creation that perfectly blended traditional Korean elements with modern design, made her feel like a princess. Her hair was swept up in an elegant updo, adorned with small crystal flowers that matched her earrings – a gift from Mingyu's mother.

A knock at the door preceded the entrance of her bridal party – a mix of childhood friends and industry colleagues who had become like family over the years.

"Oh, Y/N," her maid of honor gasped, tears already forming in her eyes. "You look absolutely breathtaking."

Y/N smiled, a mix of nerves and excitement fluttering in her stomach. "Thank you. I can't believe this is really happening."

As her friends fussed over last-minute details, Y/N's mind wandered to Mingyu. Was he as nervous as she was? Was he thinking of her too?

Meanwhile, in another room, Mingyu was indeed thinking of Y/N. He stood still as Seungcheol adjusted his bowtie, the other members of HHT bustling around in various states of readiness.

"You okay, man?" Seungcheol asked, noticing Mingyu's distant expression.

Mingyu nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, I'm just... I can't wait to see her, you know? To start our life together."

Seungcheol clapped him on the shoulder, his eyes suspiciously moist. "I'm so happy for you, bro. You and Y/N... you were always meant for this."

As the guests took their seats and the soft strains of music filled the air, Mingyu took his place at the altar. His heart raced as he waited, his eyes fixed on the entrance where Y/N would soon appear.

And then, there she was. As Y/N began her walk down the aisle, a collective gasp rose from the assembled guests. She was a vision in white, her face radiant with joy and love. But Mingyu saw none of it. All he could see was Y/N's eyes, locked on his, filled with a love so pure and strong it took his breath away.

As she reached him, Mingyu took her hand, squeezing it gently. "You're beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"So are you," Y/N replied, her smile brighter than the sun.

The ceremony was a beautiful blend of traditional and modern elements, reflecting the couple's journey and their hopes for the future. As they exchanged vows and rings, there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Even the normally stoic Wonwoo was seen discretely wiping away a tear.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the officiant declared. "You may kiss the bride."

Mingyu didn't need to be told twice. He pulled Y/N close, pouring all his love and joy into a kiss that seemed to stop time itself. As they broke apart, the garden erupted in cheers and applause.

The reception that followed was a joyous celebration of love, friendship, and new beginnings. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled the air as guests mingled in the beautifully decorated hall. Soft fairy lights twinkled overhead, and the scent of flowers – carefully chosen to complement Y/N's signature perfume – wafted through the space.

At the head table, Mingyu couldn't take his eyes off his bride. Y/N was radiant, her eyes sparkling as she chatted with their friends and family. Every so often, she would catch him staring and give him a wink or a blown kiss, making his heart soar all over again.

The reception was in full swing, a perfect blend of elegance and fun that reflected the couple's personalities. In one corner, Mingyu's bandmates were engaged in an impromptu dance battle, much to the delight of the guests. Vernon, with his smooth moves, was giving Seungcheol a run for his money, while Wonwoo surprised everyone with a suddenly unleashed dance prowess that had been hiding behind his usually calm demeanor.

Y/N laughed as she watched them, leaning into Mingyu. "I see some things never change," she said fondly.

Mingyu grinned, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Once a group of goofballs, always a group of goofballs."

As the dance battle wound down, Vernon made his way to the newlyweds, a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, Y/N," he said, leaning on the table, "now that you're officially part of the HHT family, does this mean we get free skincare for life?"

Y/N pretended to consider this. "Hmm, I don't know. That depends. Do I get free concert tickets for life?"

"Deal!" Vernon exclaimed, holding out his hand for a high five, which Y/N gladly returned.

Wonwoo joined them, his usually stoic face softened by a warm smile. "I have to say," he said, his voice quiet but sincere, "seeing you two together like this... it just feels right. Like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place."

Mingyu reached out to squeeze Wonwoo's shoulder, touched by his friend's words. "Thanks, man. That means a lot."

As the evening progressed, it was time for the speeches. The tapping of a spoon against a glass drew everyone's attention. Seungcheol stood up, microphone in hand, his eyes already suspiciously moist.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice thick with emotion, "as the best man, it's my duty to give a speech. But I have to warn you, I'm a bit of a mess already."

Laughter rippled through the crowd as Seungcheol's girlfriend, Mina, pointedly raised her phone to record the moment.

"I've known Mingyu for... well, it feels like forever," Seungcheol continued. "We've been through everything together – trainee days, debut jitters, world tours. But I've never seen him as happy as he is with Y/N."

Seungcheol turned to face the newlyweds, tears now flowing freely down his cheeks. "Y/N, you were our manager, our friend, and now you're family. Thank you for loving this big goofball and for making him smile like that."

Y/N reached out to squeeze Seungcheol's hand, her own eyes glistening with tears.

"And Mingyu," Seungcheol's voice cracked, "my brother, my bandmate, my best friend. I'm so proud of you. You fought for your love, you never gave up, and now... now you're finally fully hers, and she's fully yours."

By this point, Seungcheol was full-on sobbing, much to the amusement and endearment of the guests. Mina zoomed in on his face, barely containing her own laughter.

"To Mingyu and Y/N," Seungcheol managed to choke out, raising his glass. "May your love story continue to inspire us all. And may you always remember that you're not just 'barely' each other's – you're fully, completely, and eternally each other's."

As the guests echoed the toast, Mingyu stood up and enveloped Seungcheol in a bear hug, both men now openly weeping. Y/N joined them, wrapping her arms around both. Vernon stepped up to the microphone, his easy grin in place.

"Now, I know Seungcheol already gave the best man speech," he started, "but as Mingyu's self-proclaimed 'best friend for life,' I feel like I have some things to add."

The crowd chuckled, settling in for what promised to be an entertaining speech.

"I've known Mingyu for a long time," Vernon continued, "and I've seen him go through a lot of phases. There was the 'I'm too cool to smile' phase, the 'I'm going to dye my hair a new color every week' phase, and who could forget the 'I think I can pull off leopard print' phase?"

Laughter erupted as Mingyu buried his face in his hands, groaning good-naturedly.

"But through all of that," Vernon's voice softened, "there was one constant: the way he looked at Y/N. Even when they were just friends, even when they were apart, there was always something special there. And seeing them together now, it's like... it's like watching your favorite movie with the perfect ending."

Vernon raised his glass. "To Mingyu and Y/N. May your love story continue to be the blockbuster hit of our lives."

As the applause died down, Wonwoo stepped forward. Known for his quiet nature, many guests were curious to hear what he had to say.

"I'm not usually one for many words," Wonwoo began, his deep voice carrying across the room, "but for Mingyu and Y/N, I'll make an exception."

He turned to face the couple. "Mingyu, you've been my brother in everything but blood for years. I've seen you at your highest highs and your lowest lows. But I've never seen you as happy as you are with Y/N. And Y/N," he continued, his gaze shifting to the bride, "you've been a part of our family since the day we met you. You've supported us, guided us, and now, you've made our Mingyu complete."

Wonwoo's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Love like yours is rare. It's the kind of love that inspires songs, that gives hope to others. Cherish it, nurture it, and know that you'll always have us – your HHT family – supporting you every step of the way."

There wasn't a dry eye in the house as Wonwoo finished his speech. Mingyu stood up, pulling both Vernon and Wonwoo into a tight hug. Y/N joined them, and soon all of HHT was engaged in a group hug that spoke volumes about their bond.

The night continued with more heartfelt speeches, including one from Y/N's maid of honor that had everyone in stitches with embarrassing stories from their college days. Mingyu's parents spoke of how proud they were of their son and how happy they were to welcome Y/N into the family. Y/N's father, usually stoic in public, surprised everyone with an emotional speech about watching his little girl grow into the strong, successful woman before them.

As the formal part of the evening wound down, the dance floor became the center of attention. Mingyu and Y/N shared their first dance to a beautiful ballad written and performed by the members of HHT. As they swayed to the music, lost in each other's eyes, the love between them was palpable.

"I can't believe we're here," Y/N murmured, her head resting on Mingyu's chest. "Sometimes I feel like I'm going to wake up and realize this was all a dream."

Mingyu tightened his arms around her. "If it's a dream, I never want to wake up," he replied, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

As the night wore on, filled with dancing, laughter, and joy, Y/N and Mingyu stole a quiet moment on the balcony. The spring air was cool and fragrant with cherry blossoms. Under the starlit sky, Mingyu pulled Y/N close, humming softly in her ear.

"Is that...?" Y/N asked, recognizing the melody.

Mingyu nodded, smiling. "A new version of 'Barely Yours.' I'm thinking of calling it 'Fully Ours.'"

Y/N's heart swelled with love. "It's perfect," she whispered, leaning in for a kiss.

As they stood there, the Seoul skyline twinkling behind them and their future stretching out before them, both Mingyu and Y/N reflected on the journey that had brought them to this moment.

"You know," Mingyu said softly, "five years ago, when we decided to focus on our careers, I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought success would be enough to make me happy."

Y/N nodded, understanding completely. "I felt the same way. I threw myself into building my brand, thinking that if I could just achieve my goals, everything else would fall into place."

"But it didn't, did it?" Mingyu mused, his fingers tracing patterns on Y/N's back.

"No, it didn't," Y/N agreed. "Something was always missing. I just didn't want to admit what – or who – it was."

Mingyu chuckled softly. "We were both so stubborn. It took us five years and a chance meeting in Paris to figure out what we really needed."

"Each other," Y/N finished, smiling up at him.

"Each other," Mingyu echoed, his eyes full of love. "Y/N, I promise you, I'm never letting you go again. Whatever challenges we face, whatever obstacles come our way, we'll face them together. You're not just my wife; you're my partner, my best friend, my soulmate."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes at Mingyu's words. "And you're mine," she replied, her voice thick with emotion. "Mingyu, you make me stronger, you make me better. With you by my side, I feel like I can accomplish anything."

Their lips met in a tender kiss, sealing their promises to each other. As they broke apart, the opening chords of "Shadow" drifted out from the reception hall.

"Shall we go back in?" Mingyu asked, offering his arm to Y/N. "I believe they're playing our song."

Y/N laughed, linking her arm through his. "Let's go, husband."

As they rejoined their guests on the dance floor, moving together to the song that had once represented their separation but now symbolized their reunion, both Mingyu and Y/N felt a sense of completion they had never known before. The journey hadn't been easy, but every step, every challenge had led them here.

In the years that followed, Mingyu and Y/N's love only grew stronger. They faced the challenges of their high-profile careers together, supporting each other's dreams while nurturing their relationship. Y/N's beauty empire continued to expand, with Mingyu often lending his face (and his social media influence) to her campaigns. HHT reached new heights of global stardom, with Y/N cheering them on every step of the way.

They learned to balance their public lives with private moments, cherishing quiet evenings at home just as much as glamorous red carpet events. They traveled the world together, both for work and pleasure, creating memories in every corner of the globe.

And when, a few years later, they welcomed their first child – a beautiful baby girl with Mingyu's smile and Y/N's eyes – their happiness felt complete. As they stood over the crib, watching their daughter sleep, Mingyu wrapped his arm around Y/N's waist.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Y/N looked up at him, curious. "For what?"

"For everything," Mingyu replied, his voice full of emotion. "For loving me, for never giving up on us, for giving me this beautiful family. You've made all my dreams come true, Y/N."

Y/N leaned into him, feeling overwhelmed with love for her husband and their child. "Thank you for the same," she murmured. "I love you, Mingyu. Fully and completely."

"And I love you," Mingyu replied, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Always and forever."

As they stood there, a family united by love and strengthened by the journey that had brought them together, both Mingyu and Y/N knew that this – this moment, this life, this love – was what they had always been meant for. No longer "barely" anything, they were fully, completely, and eternally each other's.

And in that knowledge, they found their happily ever after.

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 4!!

Someone mentioned a play on Divine Intervention, and I thought that would make for a short, sweet, tag-able title. So here it is - Fanatic Intervention!

This poll came really close. Gosh. Please share this around. I want anyone who would like a chance to play to have the chance to play. This isn't about followers or activity, this is about letting people know they are welcome and invited :)

Beginning || Previous || Next

*****************

The Metatron walked calmly through the halls of Heaven. Anyone who didn’t know any better would use a word more like “stalked” or “stomped.” Of course, no one in Heaven would ever use these words to describe the Metatron, even if his eyes were angry and his feet fell firmer than usual. No, the Metatron was the Voice of God – he merely walked with purpose, grace even.

At the end of a corridor that did not exist, he approached a door that opened at his touch and his touch alone, into a room that took up no space. It is in here that he stopped, the door closing behind him as it was right to do, and brought his hands together in Prayer.

“I beseech you,” he began, “Mother and Father both of All Creation, Commander of mine tongue, and through whose Grace I carry out Thine Will.” He paused, unsure exactly how to proceed with asking if someone new was supposed to be there. “In my best efforts to bring about the long-foretold Second Coming, I have come upon some trouble. A human was dropped into the path of my efforts* and has suggested that they are here at Your Will. If this is so, please instruct me so that I may step aside or aid them as appropriate. I wish only to serve You, Your Will, and Your Designs.” With this, the Metatron paused and waited. He waited for what felt like eternity, even though he kew all too well it wasn't. He was met with nothing but silence. With a sigh, he spoke now to himself (and if anyone had been around to hear, they might have – mistakenly, mind you – inferred his tone to be sad).

“I suppose I should have expected nothing less.”

He straightened himself. Well, clearly The Almighty trusted him to sort this trouble out for himself. Oh, how he adored the trust and love the Almighty had for him. Alright, so, given that he was sort out this trouble himself, he deigned to use all the knowledge and intelligence that the Almighty had granted him. He had other resources that he could consult.

Exiting the room, he walked once more (with purpose and trust in God – not with pride), to the Room of Records which held The Book of Life. If anyone saw him, they said nothing and let him pass. If he saw anyone, he paid them no mind. The Metatron approached The Book.

The Book of Life holds all the world’s stories, whether they are true or not. Every. Single. One.

He turned the pages to the one where he had seen the passage regarding The Second Coming, and the events leading up to it. His eyes widened in surprise (he was far too important to gawk). The lines that had carefully discussed Aziraphale returning to Heaven, and the Second Coming of Jesus, had all been painted over with what appeared to be a thin white tape. And overtop of this tape, new words were appearing, detailing the arrival of the strange human and their interference. The Metatron glared (not snarled) at the way in which their interaction was being recorded. After a moment, he experimentally scratched at the tape. Much to his relief, the white tape gave way, revealing the original words still lay underneath. Well now, that was good news. The original plan, writing, story, was still there – hidden just beneath the surface. No doubt, if he took the human out of the equation, so to speak, the Plan would continue as is had been written so many thousands of years ago. He smiled, closing his eyes, and thanking God for this insight. Now, all he had to do was find a way to get rid of that human.

Suddenly, the lights in Heaven started flashing red, and a siren began blaring. The Metatron rolled his eyes. WHAT, exactly, had happened now? He went to the room that contained the large rotating figure of Earth, and noticed a large red plume of smoke trailing from it. While all of the lesser angels were fussing with it, Metatron stayed near the door that didn’t exist. He had no need to inspect it closer. He knew precisely what it was.

*(not that kind)

It didn’t take you long to tell them about the Second Coming, and convince Aziraphale and Crowley to ward the bookshop. Well, there was some slight resistance, but you pointed out that if they did a Big Joint Miracle On Purpose, then there wasn’t likely to be anything that anyone could do about it, even when they did notice. And thus, it had gone without a hitch.

Now, Aziraphale was collecting stacks of Bibles that he felt would be helpful for research, Muriel was taking notes, and Crowley had gone to get some wine (something about needing a drink to deal with all this). You look to your phone, pointedly ignore the Lives Counter, and start toward Google to help with research.

BUT

Does your Good Omens playlist still work? You can’t help but wonder, and your curiosity has you distracted and opening the app. Oh, well, there it is. Honestly it’s impressive. But then again, you suppose, Good Omens exists in this world, and the songs in your playlist exist here too, it’s just the show (specifically the Final Fifteen) that doesn’t exist here. Not anymore anyway. Any songs related to the show are gone, but otherwise your playlist is still very much intact. You smirk, crank the volume up on your phone, and start blasting Mother Mother’s Problems.

Now, dear Reader, I will take you aside to reassure you that Hozier is on the list of music they must and will hear. I have merely chosen this one because I don’t know your playlists, but I know mine, and this song fits the mood I expect you must be feeling. You are on the other side of panic, having explained everything, and secured the bookshop, you are now feeling the glee of being in Aziraphale’s bookshop with your favourite characters. You need something upbeat to dance to, wouldn’t you say? And Take Me To Church, being the most upbeat Hozier song that I know of, doesn’t quite cut it.

Crowley enters the room with a bottle of wine and two glasses (only two? How dare he. Doesn’t he know you’re...well...not going to deny a demon the temptation of a glass of red?). Aziraphale sighs the word “Bebop,” and you begin an elaborate sort of bouncing while singing the lyrics and pointing at them in turn.

“So,” Crowley says quietly to Aziraphale, “Any idea what’s actually happening here?”

You, dear Reader, are lost in your dancing. You are having the time of your life making up dance moves and trying to convince Muriel to at least bob in time with the music. You notice none of this.

Aziraphale sighs. “Honestly,” he replies to Crowley, “I can’t say I do. But given what we have to work with, I rather think that trusting them is our best option. Besides,” Aziraphale glances at you, then back to Crowley, “They don’t feel like the bad sort. I may not always be the best judge of character when it comes to angels, but I’m certain that this human is, well, rather the good sort.”

“Mm,” Crowley replies. He pauses, watching for a moment as you try to convince Muriel to stand and take your hands. “And, what about...you know, the thing that Nina and Maggie erm...talked to us about?” He notices Aziraphale’s cheeks turn pink.

“I think that we had best leave that for when the world is safe,” but the angel sounds resigned when he says it. Crowley suspects that “the world,” is actually meant to mean “we and the humans.” He doesn’t mention this, he only nods. The demon pauses.

“Wait a minute, wait, is this song about…”

You had finally convinced Muriel to walk in a twirl under your arm when Crowley finally notices that you had been trying to make it clear as bloody daylight that the song’s lyrics fit them to a T. Now that you have their attention, your smirk grows into a full mischievous smile.

“If you think this is impressive, just wait,” You say. And NOW you turn on Hozier.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning || Previous || Next

[fandomohana]

So, I'm on my period, and I've been cramping like a son of a...I think we could all use some sweet, gentle Eddie love, when the uterus is engaging in a full mutiny.

As always, unless otherwise stated, this is part of the 1986 Will Be Their Year, universe.

Literally whipped this up on my phone, all mistakes are mine.

18+ Minors do not interact!

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

Eddie's princess was on her period. His fierce warrior lay curled in on herself in his bed, groaning quietly in pain. His heart aches with every little whimper that comes from the cocoon of clothes. He hated seeing her in any kind of pain, especially pain he couldn't vanquish. What he could do, was curl in behind her, and gently rub her back.

This was the position the pair found themselves in, when Eddie had a thought. He knew orgasms released endorphins, and that that magnificent chemical could reduce pain. His only problem was her dislike of the idea of full period sex, but this was quickly remedied when he remembered how much she enjoyed riding his thighs.

With a kiss to her temple, he shifted away from her, moving to the head of the bed, leaning against the wall with his legs stretched in front of him. He brushes two fingers across the loose hair covering her face, "C'mere, baby." He murmers as he urges her up. A look of confusion crosses her face, as she looks into his doe eyes, "Gonna make you feel good."

She shuffles up the bed, Eddie stopping her short, and urging her up to her knees. He quickly popped the button of her jeans, and began to shimmy them down her thick thighs. As if reading her mind, Eddie reassures her, "Gonna give you a thigh ride, make that pain go away." He mumbles into her neck, before helping her to step out of the jeans, and onto his thigh.

She buries her face in his neck, whimpering as another cramp racks her body. Eddie's hands find her soft, full backside, taking a handful of each cheek, and slowly moving her hips to grind her pussy against him. "Take what you need, sweetheart." His voice never rises from a whisper, helping her to grind down on him, until she feels strong enough.

Soft praises fall from his lips as she begins to move on her own, his hands turning to her thick thighs. Her pleasure is his pleasure, the puffs of warm air rushing past his neck as she begins to grind faster. Moans and whimpers escape her pretty lips, he can feel them reverberate against his skin, driving him wild. But this isn't about Eddie, he won't feel good until she feels good.

His name falls from her lips like a prayer, hitting his ears like an angel chorus. He can feel her thighs clenching against him as she chases her release, lost in the pleasure he so happily gives her.

Eddie has played her body often enough to know the signs of her impending release. He snakes his hands up, and over her wide hips, past her full breasts, and urges her head up. He will never get enough of the way she looks when she is sex drunk, and fucked out. She looks like an angel, sweat breaking out on her beautiful face, hair sticking to her skin.

He presses his forehead to hers, "Eyes on me, pretty girl." Their eyes lock as Eddie urges her forward, "Come on, let go, baby, cum for me." He always knows what to say to push her over the edge. He feels her tense, sees the look of ecstasy come over her face as a long, whimpery moan rips from her lips.

"That's my good girl." He softly kisses her lips as she rides out her climax, body softly jumping as her body comes down from the rush of orgasm.

As Eddie is about to cuddle her close to him, he feels her scamper away from him, removing herself from his lap in horror. Confused, he looks into her eyes, they had done this many times before, had he done something?

Before Eddie could ask, she spoke softly, fear still tingeing her words, "oh god...did I bleed on you?" Her eyes are wide with fear, she had truly let herself go while she ground on his thighs, had she dislodged her pad? How horrifying it would be to bleed on the man you love! She searches frantically for any sign of stain.

Understanding dawns on Eddie's face, as he draws her back into him. "I don't care if you bled on me, baby. I know for a fact I bled all over you when you were pulling me through that hellhole." He rubs his thumbs against her cheeks, urging her face up. "This is part of you, it means your body is working as it's supposed to, it's not gross, or embarrassing. Shit, blood comes out, and all I care about is making you feel good. You're worth more than all my damn clothes." He smiles at her, before planting a soft kiss on the tip of her nose. "I love you, Princess. Not some sanitized, bullshit idea of you."

Her eyes swim in unshed tears, as a smile pulls the corners of her lips. "I love you too, Eddie Munson. Crazy, unfiltered, wonderful you."

A look of fake horror crosses his face, "Did you just call me crazy?!" He gently tosses her across the bed, before covering her giggling form with his own, "I'll show you crazy!" He covers her face in kisses, as her laughter fills the small room.

Eddie Munson never believed he'd find his soulmate, but she was here, and he would do anything to keep her laughing the rest of her life.

[flowerandblood]

A Winter Beauty (10)

[Aemond Targaryen x fem!Stark reader]

[warnings: smut, sex content, religious guilt, fluff]

[description: Aemond and his family arrive at Winterfell for Rickon Stark's Name Day. There, Aemond meets his daughter, who arouses his desire. I changed some names and facts for the sake of the plot. Viserys is also slightly younger in this version.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next parts: Masterlist

______

The Queen was delighted when Lady Stark announced the next day that she wished to go with Prince Aemond to the Great Sept. She expressed her joy that her son's betrothed wanted to learn about his faith and tradition.

Y/N smiled warmly at those words and glanced at Aemond, who was watching her intently from the side. He remembered what had happened between them in the night and what her motives were. His gaze was black.

Of course, Lady Stark and Prince Aemond couldn't go there alone. Ser Criston was to accompany them. They all donned long gray cloaks and wide hoods over their heads so as not to draw attention to themselves.

For the first time, Lady Stark was able to leave Red Keep and walk the usual roads of Kings Landing. She was amazed at how alive and busy the streets were. There were plenty of shops, taverns and stalls everywhere, the city was bustling with life. She watched everything with curiosity.

She knew Aemond was watching her closely. After what had happened between them that night, they hadn't spoken to each other since morning. The truth was that neither of them knew what to say. They both felt like they were cursed. The way they interacted with each other was addictive.

Lady Stark noticed Great Sept. It was a massive building with a large dome and beautiful stained glass windows with a seven-pointed star motif. To get to there, they had to climb the high stairs to the very top. Ser Criston had been telling her stories about this place.

Lady Stark asked him to explain to her the main tenets of their faith and tell her something about each of their gods. The enigmatic Stranger intrigued her the most. She knew, however, that according to the will of her future husband, she was to pray to the Maiden and Mother for forgiveness.

Inside, the temple was very impressive. The space filled with large candlesticks, on which hundreds of candles were burning, was surrounded by huge statues with representations of seven gods. They looked down on them disconcertingly, their faces illuminated by candles and stained-glass windows. Ser Criston said he would retire and wait outside the temple to let them pray in peace.

As soon as he left, Aemond and Y/N looked at each other. Lady Stark couldn't help an involuntary smile of amusement that made the prince roll his eye impatiently.

Not wanting to annoy him further, she obediently knelt on a kneeler by one of the candlesticks, clasping her hands in prayer. She closed her eyes and bowed her head.

After a moment, she heard the creaking of wood under the weight of someone, and she knew without looking that Aemond had also knelt beside her. There was absolute silence in the temple. They heard only the sound of someone's footsteps, but no one spoke.

Lady Stark tried her hardest to devote herself to fervent prayer. She begged the Mother and the Maiden not to burn her alive after death. To express understanding for her weaknesses. To not punish her future husband for her sins.

She couldn't shake the thoughts and memories of their night together. What his wonderful, royal tongue was doing to her. The very thought made her shiver. She clenched her hands into a fist, swallowing hard. She knew they were doomed.

That they would pray for forgiveness every morning and end up in bed together at night, pleasing each other. They pretended that they try their best to hold back and they both knew that wasn't true.

After a quarter of an hour, Y/N felt discomfort in her knees. She shifted on the kneeler, trying to put the emphasis on another part of her legs. She heard Aemond move and felt him looking at her.

He had hoped that she would give up. Say that everything hurts her, and that she would beg him to go back to the Red Keep. But she decided she wouldn't give him the satisfaction and did as she was told. She wanted him to feel remorse, to want to kiss her aching, red knees.

For the last few minutes, she was actually sitting on her feet, unable to hold her weight properly anymore. Her legs were shaking slightly, but she tried not to think about it. To make the time pass faster, she imagined what she had thought of back in Winterfell. That he comes to her now, picks up her dress, and then takes her in the presence of his gods.

She imagined how nice it would be to feel him all inside her, what a sense of accomplishment it would give her. She swallowed softly and smiled to herself as she felt her wetness trickle down slowly between her thighs.

She thought she had just polluted this sacred place and he didn't even know it. She opened her eyes and was surprised to find that he was watching her intensely. She wondered if her expression somehow conveyed what she was thinking.

Aemond stood up, and she took that as a sign that she might as well. She staggered, feeling her legs go numb, and grabbed the railing. Aemond approached her, concerned.

"Everything's all right?" He asked quietly. Y/N nodded without looking at him.

"Yes, my prince. It was an intense, thoughtful hour for me.” She spoke truthfully, trying to keep her face serious. Aemond pursed his lips as he looked at her and motioned for them to head for the exit. The relief she felt at finally walking normally was indescribable.

The sunlight nearly blinded her as they stepped outside. Ser Criston rose from the stone bench and started toward them.

"How did you like it, my Lady?" He asked, obviously interested in her opinion as someone who had never encountered it before.

"Very much. I want to come here every day." She said calmly, and Aemond gave her a surprised look. Clearly, he hadn't expected her to take his words so literally.

When they returned, Y/N immediately went to her chamber. He followed her in and closed the door, locking it. She looked at him, feigning surprise.

"What are you doing, my prince? We shouldn't be in the same room unsupervised." She said calmly, raising her eyebrows. Aemond approached her impatiently.

"Show me." He said dryly. Lady Stark didn't know what he meant. "Your knees." He said more clearly.

"I can't. What would your mother say?” She asked with a smile, but he, annoyed by her behavior, grabbed her hips and sat her on a soft couch.

She couldn't hide her surprise and excitement as he knelt before her and shamelessly lifted her dress, revealing her bare legs. Her knees were all red and swollen. Aemond leaned in to kiss each of them, massaging them in his hands.

"Why didn't you tell me you were suffering?" He asked, looking at her, trying not to glance at her partially exposed thighs. Y/N pursed her lips.

“I want to be worthy to wear your mother's necklace. I'll go there tomorrow too." She said calmly.

"No." Aemond said, frowning. He knew she was playing him, that everything she did was just to tease him, to upset him. Lady Stark turned over in her seat, her face expressing displeasure.

"You don't have to come with me. I'll go there alone, with Ser Criston. I am free to pray as much as I want. If you stop me, I will complain to the queen." She said and stopped as he jumped up and leaned over her abruptly, his hands on either side of her head. His jaw was clenched, his nose was twitching in warning, he was furious.

"What do you want from me, woman? For me to fuck you right here, on this bed, in broad daylight? Do you want me to do that?" He asked, his hand slid under her dress and gripped her tight.

She drew in a quick breath, embarrassed and excited at the same time. She saw that he was on the edge and he didn't know what to do with her. She swallowed hard as she looked at him.

"Yes." She said softly, not believing it really came out of her mouth. But that was the truth. She couldn't even be ashamed anymore.

She saw his lower lip quiver at her words as he shuddered. His chest heaved at an accelerated pace. She could see that there was a battle in his head now, that everything he believed was melting away in front of him.

"If I do this, will you finally calm down and behave yourself?" He asked, his voice trembling slightly. Lady Stark looked at him with wide eyes, her mouth slightly parted. She could feel it literally leaking between her thighs.

"Yes." She whispered, though she knew she couldn't promise him that. Her whole body trembled with tension and anticipation. His eye was dilated. She saw everything in him - anger, fear and dark, all-devouring desire.

Her heart started pounding like crazy and her throat went dry as she saw him undo his pants. She settled down quickly under him, breathing heavily, looking at him expectantly. Never in her life had she wanted anyone or anything as much as him right now.

Aemond lifted her dress so she couldn't quite see what was going on. She didn't need it now, she just wanted to feel him inside her at last, wanted him to take all of her and leave her nothing. She pursed her lips and threw her head back as she felt his fingers touch her wet entrance. Aemond moaned low.

"Gods, you're leaking" He whispered, looking spellbound at his fingers touching her wet entrance. He couldn't hide how turned on he was and how much he needed it. He looked at her, his gaze dark as earlier in the night, his face stony.

"Spread your thighs wide." He said in a tone that brooked no argument. Y/N did it immediately, breathing heavily. Aemond leaned over her, his hands on either side of her head, staring at her with a mixture of rage, pain and euphoria.

"If you make even one loud noise, I'll stop, do you understand?" He asked through clenched teeth. Lady Stark swallowed loudly, her heart was pounding like crazy, the space between her thighs demanded the desired fulfillment.

"Yes." She whispered softly.

Aemond leaned down and buried his face in her hair. She shivered all over and hugged him tight as she felt his manhood brush against her entrance. She didn't know how to keep quiet, so she buried her face into his shoulder, breathing heavily.

She gripped his leather jacket tighter as she felt the tip of him pressing against her entrance. Her hand involuntarily went lower to help him, parting her skin slightly. They both shivered as they felt him enter her a little.

"Tell me if the pain becomes unbearable." He whispered in her ear and entered her deeply. They both gasped for air and let it out, stifling moans of pleasure, their hands clenching their bodies.

Despite some discomfort from the way he filled her and a slight pain, Lady Stark knew she had never known such a wonderful feeling before. She spread her thighs even wider and they both moaned softly with pleasure when they felt that he entered her to the end.

Only then did he lift himself up slightly to look at her. He thought he would see pain and terror in her eyes, but he didn't. Y/N touched his cheek, her lips slightly parted.

"My prince." She whispered softly, her eyes warm and thirsty. He shivered at the sight, feeling his cock throbbing all over her insides.

Aemond squeezed his eye shut, feeling how tight and hot she was. Their shared fluids ran down their thighs. Never in his life had he wanted so much to be inside a woman. He stroked her thigh lightly, as if to check if she was okay, if she reacted to his movements.

He pressed his forehead against hers, slowly sliding out of her. She moaned and pursed her lips, trying to hold back any sounds as he slide inside her again. He could feel their bodies quivering with excitement. That there was no salvation for them even if he wanted to. He couldn't stand it any longer. He just wanted to fuck her.

His cock began to slide in and out of her in a lazy rhythm, rubbing where his tongue and fingers had touched her before. They both opened their mouths at the sensation, panting heavily. The delight he felt was indescribable. No whore gave him as much pleasure as her hot, clenching, wet cunt gave him right now.

"You will destroy me, woman. I cannot sleep or rest because of you." He said, broken, and she moaned, covering her mouth as he sped up, thrusting her harder and harder, his cock entering her all the way.

He was filling her wonderfully and completely, waves of heat rushing through her with each thrust. She heard the wet sound of their bodies hitting each other. She had not thought that such an animal, physical sensation could be such a delight.

"Punish me, my prince. Make me regret my actions." She mumbled, and he moaned low, gripping her hips tightly and thrusting into her brutally, with all his strenght.

She knew it wasn't a sweet act of love between prince and lady right now. He fucked her, fucked her like a whore in a brothel and that's all what she wanted right now.

She arched back, grabbing the armrest with her hand, her whole body surrendering to its intense rhythm, both of them thinking only about coming, sweat pouring down their bodies.

Aemond thought he would die before marrying her. That there was no hope left for them, that he had to abduct her as soon as possible and forcefully make her his wife or he would go completely insane. The sight of her beneath him, the pleasure etched on her face, her parted lips and misty gaze made him unable to take his eye off her.

They weren't even naked, and they were doing the filthiest thing in their lives anyway. He thought with both embarrassment and delight that her tight cunt was just made for him.

He squeezed his eye shut in despair as he felt himself close to fullfilment, her hips responding eagerly to his every thrust, his tighs slapping hard against her buttocks, their juices spilling under them, creating a wet stain on the couch underneath.

They were both panting, holding on tight. He moaned low as he felt Y/N grab his buttocks and pound herself against him, her walls pressing tighter. He fucked her, panting with pleasure, his thrusts sharp, fast and wild, no longer holding back in any way.

"Gods, Aemond, yes" She mumbled and leaned back, voice froze in her throat as she pressed her cheek against the pillow. She couldn't help herself and moaned loudly as the strongest orgasm of her life flowed brutally and almost painfully through her body.

Aemond covered her mouth with his hand, leaned over her, and buried his face in her neck. He stifled his loud, low groan that way as he pulled out of her and came on her dress, massaging himself for a while longer, his cock throbbing hard and hot all over, his sticky cum dripping endlessly from him.

He collapsed on top of her, trying not to crush her. They were both panting heavily as they lay with their eyes closed. They don't even have the strength to move their hands. They knew they were cursed by the gods.

His fear that he might have hurt her melted away like morning mist. No woman had given him such pleasure, and no woman had reacted to him the way she had. He knew that now, that he had known the wonderful feeling of being inside her, he wouldn't stop at this one time. He shivered when he heard her voice.

"Thank you, my prince. I promise I'll be a good wife."

_____

If you want to be tagged in the next parts, let me know. ~

@zenka69 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @namoreno @dreamlandcreations @darkenchantress @moira-strangle-me-please @yentroucnagol @cloudroomblog @thehumanistsdiary

[koco-coko]

Sleepy Comforts | OC x Mozart

word count: 788

CW: slight meowzart

tags: fluff, pre-established relationship, sleeping in the same bed, cuddles

authors note: the voices told me to do it. Also yay my first fic with tchai!!!! :3

people: @natimiles @olivermorningstar @lorei-writes (tagging b/c oc and i know they like ocs if you want/dont want to be tagged tell me hehe i promise i'll make a tag post soon)

Some days were a bit harder than others. Almost everyone could attest to that fact, and that was his only comfort to such weakness. For Mozart, it meant days where he had to interact with those rude and uptight nobles for just a bit too long, where he was stuck on a particular verse for hours at a time, or simply having a bad, annoying day. Maybe Arthur spoke too loud or Comte asked if he would attend another ball… Whatever it was, by the evening, he was ready to collapse and sleep for days.

But he had something– someone to look forward to. A certain girl with baby pink hair in two long braids was reading on his bed, resting her legs after a long day of helping the local ballet company rehearse. Just thinking about it, Mozart felt proud. They both still had a long way to go when it came to learning what the word ‘break’ meant, or… self-care… but Tchai was far more receptive than she was before they started dating. Now, even though she'll be aching and clinging to a florally decorated cane or wheelchair, at least she wasn’t hunched over the floor, strumming a cello or viola or other. 

His feet dragged across the floor. He was thankful the rest of the mansion was asleep this late (or out drinking). He wouldn’t want to be caught dead in such a sorry state, especially in front of those teasing authors!

All thought of other men left his mind as he crossed the threshold to his bedroom and locked the door. Mozart was throwing his layers off as fast as possible, kicking off his shoes by the bedside. He was in such a hurry to disrobe he almost forget to notice the girl laying on the bed.

“Good evening, дорогая,” Tchai said, closing her novel and placing it on the bedside. She held a gentle smile as she crawled beside him, resting her head on the familiar nook between his neck and shoulder. She pecked his neck absentmindedly. 

Mozart gazed solely at his partner while he placed his coat on the bedpost beside him. “Why aren’t you asleep?” he whispered, his concern barely concealed under weak annoyance, “It’s late.” Even still, he gently tilted her chin for easier access to a romantic kiss. Tchai slowly wrapped her arms around his shoulders. It wasn’t rushed nor forced, but neither diluted any passion and lust they held for the other.

Tchai giggled between breaths. Mozart could feel her smile against his lips. “I could say the same thing, Wolfy.” Mozart huffed, only to cause Tchai to chuckle more. “And it’s hard to sleep without you. You know that…”

Mozart stilled suddenly, pulling back to look into the lavender eyes of his lover. She watched his violet ones in turn. Maybe it was cliche or lovesick, but the idea of someone waiting for him was far too appealing to a tired mind. Suddenly, the composer melted into his partner’s embrace, his weight entirely on her chest. She accepted him readily. The scent of flowers overwhelmed him in seconds, soothingly so.

“You really are like a little котенок sometimes,” she said. Delicately, she petted every hair in his head, taking extra care with the baby hairs on his neck. She even scratched him in specific spots, the ones she had learned he responded well, too. When he exhaled deeply and hummed, she knew she had done well. 

“Mein liebe,” he murmured into her. Quietly, they both fell back to the mattress and adjusted appropriately, snuggling into each other in such a manner that only experience with the other’s imperfections and curves could teach. “I love you.” Mozart spoke those words like a prayer before he kissed and nipped at her neck. The fellow composer welcomed every devoted and soft lick and pressed against her, cradling him even tighter. The only time her arms and legs untangled from his was to click off the lamp on the bedside. She returned as fast as she could.

Tchai smiled when she heard Mozart’s breathing slow even more, his lashes tickling against the nape of her neck. While she loved the overprotective, jealous, practically needy Mozart during the day, there was something oddly comforting about times like this. When all he craved was her touch and comfort, or he only got by with the idea that she was waiting. It was an ego boost, of course, but after a lifetime of underestimation, it was rewarding to have someone rely on her for once. “I love you, too.” Tchai nuzzled into him one final time, a desperate attempt to be with more of her partner, then closed her eyes while her cheek squished against the top of his head.

[lov-eable]

TELL ME  ֗ ˖ ࣪ ᩠ ༉‧₊˚ ✿ #01

━━ a filmmaker decides to follow and document the lives of the worst and best students at your school for a month, unfortunately, those students are you and chishiya, the most annoying guy on earth.

masterlist ◌*ꕤ

word count ✦ 1726

A/N: lets not question why the best student is allowed to have dyed long hair, idk either!!!! also kyuma cameo, i just needed someone as the filmmaker so hes kinda ooc take that in mind U_U hope u like it!

05/28/18 12:38

Why did the principal reach out to you to meet him at his office? Were you in trouble? Did he finally decide to expel you because of your scores? No, it couldn’t be, everyone knows that type of thing only happens in American movies, so, why were you waiting there and nervously avoiding eye contact? Also, a weird guy -he was wearing a cap indoors and that was enough for you to consider him weird-, who undoubtedly was not a teacher, even less a student was awkwardly standing in the corner of the room. You prayed for a word, just a single word, that could break the tense silence. As if your prayers had been heard for the very first time in your whole life, the awkward guy with the cap crouched down to whisper something in the director’s ear and as he vaguely nodded, the principal eventually spoke. 

“Miss Kano, I have summoned you to propose and discuss an extracurricular activity involving you and one of your classmates” classmate? Who was he talking about? You started getting more curious, letting go of your previous anxieties, maybe this proposal could be fun, right? As long as they didn't force you to study maths for two hours every day after school, it would be pleasant. You heard the strange man clear his throat and you prepared yourself to finally hear him talk, he made you more curious than creeped out. “It seems your, uh, friend may take his time to arrive yet” so your so-called classmate was a guy, your options to guess decreased, “allow me to introduce myself, I’m Kyuma Ginji, filmmaker and the director of this new project”.

Someone knocked on the door softly, so softly it could almost have been ignored if the people in the room weren’t so expectant of the arrival of the fourth member and the principal barely said a word allowing the newcomer to enter the room. Just like that, all your expectations, interest and curiosity died right there without an opportunity to meet the real world. The one classmate who could disturb your day with only his presence set foot into the office and sat in the chair next to you. “Good morning, I’m sorry about the delay, I was taking care of a homework-related matter with Mister Kuzuryu” you tried not to look at him but even his voice annoyed you.

Mr. Kyuma brushed it off and resumed his self-introduction, “now that you both are here, I will explain you my project. Basically, my crew and I want to portray the lives of the senior students with the best and worst grades respectively, and see how you interact with each other for a month” no, simply no, there was no way you would interact with Chishiya for a whole month in front of cameras, not even if a gun was pointed at your head, “if you both agree, we’ll sign a contract and start shooting the first day of June, that way we’ll end at the start of July without disrupting your midterm exams. Please let me know what you think”.

“I think I’ll pass…” “Sir, are we going to get paid?” that rude cat-face with toilet paper-coloured hair dared to cut you off. Who did he think he was? Sometimes, you said to yourself it was nonsense to dislike him with so much energy, and maybe you could start over. You wouldn’t dare to befriend him, but you could finally leave each other alone, but with moments like this, you realized that would never happen. “Yes, of course, all of that information is in more detail in the contract, would you like to see it?” Mr. Kyuma said as he quickly, and really clumsily, directed himself towards his briefcase taking out a portfolio which, you assumed, stored your contracts.

He handed you each a piece of paper which contained all the clauses and conditions, you started reading it but reminded yourself you weren’t interested, if you accepted, you would work closely with Chishiya for a whole freaking month. “Uh, sorry, as I was saying…” “It’s okay, I’ll join the documental” and again, see? This was the reason why you would never work willingly with Chishiya, also, it was odd of Chishiya to accept something like this. No matter how much you disliked him, you couldn’t deny you knew him very well, at the end of the day, you essentially watched him grow. And this wasn’t usual for him. You noticed everyone seeing you expecting an answer, Chishiya smirked at you irritating your insides, “Miss Kano, we only need you to agree and we’ll sign the contracts tomorrow, then start filming as scheduled” oh no, there it was, the pressure. 

It puzzled you why Chishiya agreed to this, the truth is, he had two big reasons; first, he would get paid and the amount was not low, and second, he heard you trying to deny the offer so he figured out that by agreeing, he would have the opportunity to bother you and see that annoyed face of yours that pleased him so much. If we are being honest, it puzzled him as much as you, if not more, why he got so much satisfaction by being around you and pushing your buttons, but the answer was something he deep inside knew he wouldn’t like to acknowledge.

Oh, you were aware there was no way out. Chishiya was already on board and the producer looked at you with puppy-like eyes, anticipating your positive answer. You knew you didn’t owe him anything, but still, he seemed young and hopeful. Even to the untrained eye, it was evident this was his first project. “Uh, why not? But I would like to mention this to my parents first” you talked with hesitation, contemplating the slightest chance your parents would disapprove of their youngest daughter appearing on a documentary showing off her awful grades.

Certainly, your parents weren’t against it, they didn’t even bat an eye, as per usual, they didn’t care about your life while you weren’t out there doing drugs -you weren’t sure about that testament either-. “Could you hand me the salad? Thanks. Yeah, your teacher, or was it your principal? Not so sure, but I got a call, they explained everything. You can participate, honey, it’s not like you’re going to get distracted from your studies or anything” your mom chuckled as if what she had said just recently was funny, but no one else at the table was laughing. Family dinners were always the same, your parents making passive-aggressive comments towards you, maybe praise your sister once or twice and silence. Not awkward, nor comfortable either, just plain silence.

“Mom, I’m not going to join the project” as you said, your parents released a “why?!” into the air in unison. You barely muttered “because I don’t want to” when your dad replied in a demanding tone, “that’s not a valid answer. You never want to do anything. If you do it, you’ll have money and at least one thing to write in your resume” of course the one time you needed your parents to mind their business as they always did was the time they decided to involve themselves into your life. “The man I spoke to earlier mentioned you and Shuntaro Chishiya, if I’m not mistaken, would be filmed. He is Dr. Chishiya’s son, right? He’s the best student, you could use some of his knowledge”.

That was it, you couldn’t stand Chishiya, you couldn’t stand your family, you were at your limit. You stuffed your mouth with the remaining food on your plate and stood up without saying a word, you heard your parents calling your name, but it did not matter to you at the moment. Taking the book you borrowed from the school library and laying in your bed, you found your desired peace, or so you believed until you heard a door knock. You didn’t answer in the case that would make whoever knocked on your door go away. 

It didn’t, instead, a rather familiar face appeared as they opened your door. “Forgot to lock it” Mira grinned at you, “what do you want?” you said while covering your face with the book you were reading at the moment -The Silent Cry by Kenzaburo Oe-. “Can I come in?” you did not use your energy to say no because your sister would ignore you and enter your room whether you like it or not.

She sat next to you in your bed, “I think you shouldn’t deny the film offer”, “are you joining them in this nonsense? Traitor…” you moved yourself to face the wall because you were actually hurt she was taking your parents’ side instead of yours. “It’s a really good opportunity, I don’t think you should miss it, also, why you don’t want to do it? Even though my parents think you are lazy, I know you’re down to try everything at least once”.

“Why are you being so nosy? It’s not like it matters to you or something” you faced her again and stood right up to be at her height. “You are right, it does not matter to me, but clearly does to you, that’s why it’s bothering you so much and you don’t want to say the reason why. Whatever, my opinion shouldn’t be important, but I do think you should do it. You’ll get paid, maybe you could show off some of your poetry, you know, and mom and dad would love to see you” Mira stood up as she talked and was about to disappear through the door that connected your room to the hall but she stopped when you called her name. 

There was a simple phrase you knew you had to say, different from what Mira would have liked to hear, but you didn’t say any of those. “You’re too good with words, you’re like a congressman” your sister laughed leaning against the door, “oh, god, I wish I was a congressman, do you know how much they get paid a year?” a sweet moment of giggles and then, a comfortable silence between you and her settled in the room, “anyways, I have to study, think about what I told you. Good luck with your book”

tag list: @surshica @enslique @httpsimmy @elernity @eshtravagent @fishisahappydog @kreishin @vernon-dursley @mhyunri

[askdeoxys]

An Alien’s Promise

Though a sight often a friend, the far touch of the morning rise was nothing short of a realization. The mellow morning air and accompanying, slowly fading dew came with a pause from work- the mind finally given a moment to chew over the last 24 hours. The Resident was fresh out of her shift, having been distracted by the operating room for the last eight hours. All she could do was sit out on the balcony, her gaze set on the far countryside, illuminated by the oblivious morning rays. She had hoped her words meant something to Deo- that she could continue her streak of helping the alien- that she could keep her promise to him. 

How long has it been, now? How long have the pair been friends, and how long did they depend on one another? The Resident had legitimately lost count, for she could not even remember a time before having met Deo. It was all but a blur. 

She sighed, a hope embedded deep within her that he would return. 

Then, as though a prayer was answered, the Resident found herself squinting, an image floating high above her- a silhouette of a man-like creature high in the air. ..One might even say alien-shaped. Her grin wide, she immediately got to her feet and called; “I’m not mad just so ya know! I’m just happy you came back! ..Are you hungry? I could call for someone to bring us your favorite- the fruit literally just came in if you want a smoothie!” 

The alien descended with a sigh of his own. The Deoxys had not looked forward to the conversation ahead of him. 

Tip-toeing towards the rail overlooking the horizon, the Clefable woman peered up with a pleading grin, assuring; “It’s okay, Deo. Come on home.”

“You speak so tenderly, yet you are a part of the very problem that brought us to this point,” the Deoxys spoke pointedly, plainly, and coldly as he descended closer and closer to the balcony of the hospital. 

Stomach turning, the Resident’s realization was as if a pin had just dropped. A step taken back, she knew not how to respond- a sickness beginning to wash over her. 

“Do you not understand how you aid Deo naught?” The yellow Deoxys questioned as he came close enough for the Resident to see who she knew had finally arrived. “This make-believe fantasy you’ve constructed for him has only hurt him further. He’s lost in it. You’ve taken the last chain from the beast, and he’s loose with confusion.” 

Something had snapped, and the sickness- the fear- had swiftly washed over, replaced only by ire. Pushing her exhaustion aside and steeling both her nerves and legs, the Resident mustered every facet of her power while the honey morning bent around her. As if the glow of the morning rays glistened and illuminated towards her, firecrackers of energy bubbled around her in a shock of a second before a destructive Solar Beam bared its way towards Dioxys.

Without having to even extend a hand out, Dioxys released a simple burst of his psionic prowess, though she had to have expected her showing to be for nothing- he thought. The Solar Beam dissipated like it was a stream of water evaporating in an instant- taking the power right out of the Resident-, and the wave of psychic energy carried forward. Buckling over, the woman was flown off of her feet, tumbling and skidding away from Dioxys as he stepped onto the balcony. And, as if a warning, he left her pinned against the ground with his psychic energy for a long moment to show her how simply powerless she truly was against him. “Are you done?” 

“I told you if you EVER showed your face to me again, I would rip you apart,” the Clefable hissed, having clawed herself up to her feet using the wall next to her. 

Dioxys snickered in response, “Well, that didn’t work out for you on either occasion, did it?”

“What do you want, D’?” 

“...” He had to pause. It was a valid question. What did he truly want out of this interaction? What propelled him to come here? Was it as simple as his anger drove him here?.. No. “You were the last one to see him- Deo-, and I wanted you to know that you won’t be getting the chance to see him again. I wanted you to be aware he’s not running away- that he didn’t just.. leave you, as he is ought to do. ..This time, he didn’t leave. He is going to rest.” He paused once more, realizing that the hospital was mobilizing. Not wanting any more of a headache than he already had, Dioxys simply applied his psychic mind to any onlooker observing from inside the hospital, scrubbing their minds of what they were seeing and convincing them to stay away from the area- to give the pair privacy. “He needs to rest,” Dioxys clarified. 

“And, that’s your decision to make?” The Clefable asked through gritted teeth. Dragging a limping leg along, she slowly made her way in Dioxys’ direction, clarifying her question, “What gives YOU the right to determine that? How do YOU know what’s right or wrong for Deo? Do you not hear how literally INSANE you sound?!” Ignoring the plight of her situation, she jabbed his chest with her finger for emphasis. “D’, you can’t genuinely believe that- that you’re HELPING him.”

Dioxys looked down, staring with disdain at the finger touching him. “And, you think you’re helping him?” He asked, his gaze having turned back to her disgusted expression. 

“YES, ACTUALLY,” she barked back with shock at how ridiculous of a question she was given, “I DO?! Deo has SO MUCH to give back, and he’s just started! He’s learnt so much, and he just needs a little guidance! He DESERVES that!” 

With a scoff, Dioxys took a step forward. Despite all her strength, he easily pushed her from her feet and down to the ground, looming over her. “What do you know about helping him? No, let ME tell you something, you louse. Deo is DONE. There is nothing left of him. There is NOTHING left inside of him, do you understand? Ttk- how could you- you.. simple creature. You make me sick.”

“I understand plenty, actually,” the Clefable replied defiantly, glaring up from the ground towards Dioxys, “You’re so filled with rage and hate that you’re blind. You’re the one that doesn’t understand, D’. Deo has never been closer to being saved than now-” Without even being able to finish her sentence, crushing psychic energy was applied to her body so suddenly and with so much force that the stone floor collapsed under her. Having plummeted through the roof of the balcony, the Clefable found herself with no air in her chest and body erupting in pain, lying in a bed of rubble in the middle of a hospital corridor. However, not a single soul noticed or paid any mind, for Dioxys had already fixed their minds to be unaware. 

“You disgust me,” the Deoxys muttered under his breath, descending down towards the Clefable, “You know nothing of what you’ve done, but as you lie in a puddle of your own mistakes, I’ll explain it to you.” His feet having landed atop the ground next to the woman, he knelt down so that she could get a better look at him while she wheezed in pain- unable to speak back. “He’s not one of you. He’s not a part of your people- he has nothing for him on this planet. These people don’t know him, and they never will. They just don’t get it. And, you?.. You’ve tricked him, and you gave him hope, but he’s unconvinced because deep down he knows the truth. You’ve confused him is what you’ve done. ..Do you understand now?” He scoffed, standing back up to his full height. “I left Deo to wallow in the sins of his past, but it’s people like you that’ve ruined him. He knew what he was- garbage. Garbage that deserved its life circumstance, but you’ve gone and given him the idea that maybe, someday, somehow, he can be redeemed. Well, him and I both know that’s not true, and I want YOU to know something. This current circumstance he finds himself in- it is your fault. That, I promise you. Think of that when you visit his grave,” he adds wryly before blasting away from the hospital- the minds of those in the hospital resuming function as normal to allow the Clefable to be treated with haste. 

[aphtwitterau]

(10) Pining and jealousy

"How you holding up?" Dante asked Travis, not looking at him while he spoke and instead looked ahead while they walked side by side.

The two best friends were walking on campus grounds, meeting up with Garroth and Laurance around one of the campus cafeterias. Dante, of course, was asking Travis how he was doing because currently, the white haired man was staring at his phone, looking at the tweet interactions between Zane and Blaze.

Travis groaned, continuing to stare at his screen, "what the hell is a douche-jar?" Travis furrowed his brows slightly, ".. I wish I could kiss his papercut better.."

With that, Dante grabbed his friends phone and shoved it in his own pocket, all the while rolling his eyes. Travis, in return, gasped at the sudden robbery of his device and looked at the blue eyed man with his mouth agape and an expression feigning offense.

Dante raised a brow at Travis, "just because Blaze and Zane are close, doesn't mean you have to be jealous of him."

"I'm not jealous, I just wish I had the same bond with my beloved husband too," Travis said, crossing his arms, pouting slightly.

"First, stop calling him your beloved or your husband or whatever," Dante narrowed his eyes at him before sighing, "second, that is what jealousy is."

Travis groaned loudly in annoyance before shoving his hands in his pockets. Dante shook his head, grabbed the other by the arm and they continued to walk towards the campus cafeteria. While nearing the entrance, Dante spotted a red head of hair while Travis kept his head down in exasperation.

"Oh, hey, Blaze," Dante greeted him with a cool smile, all the while giving Travis a 'warning' that the one stealing Zane's heart, as he would word it, is here. Travis looked up and widened his eyes slightly before smiling and waving at the werewolf.

Blaze, who was leaning against a wall on his phone, looked up and turned his attention towards the blue-haired and white-haired guys. "Bluey, Taco bell!— What's up, dudes," Blaze responded, loudly presenting the nicknames, oblivious to how Travis was speaking so enviously about him before.

Travis took the time to check out Blaze, taking in every physical detail on the red head. Is he Zane's type? Did Zane like guys who were more buff? Did he like werewolves? Travis was not ashamed to admit that Blaze is attractive, he would even go as far to call him hot; with the deep red hair and the different colored eyes and tanned skin. But would Zane go as far to call him hot? And side from physically, would Zane romantically like him in other aspects? Zane liked the quiet and he was more reserved; Blaze liked to be loud and went out frequently. Zane, although he denies it like no tomorrow, liked sweets and desserts; Blaze liked more protein and savory foods. Zane was snappy and witty; Blaze had his moments where he could playfully insult others, but he's more nice than Zane.

Could he, himself, even be Zane's type? Travis was confident enough to say that he was attractive; handsome, hot. Travis could even call himself a pretty boy. But could Zane think that too? If he did, that would make Travis' confidence skyrocket and send him to cloud nine. Internally, Travis groaned. Zane, Zane, Zane. His name just repeats in his head over and over. His brain practically chants the emo's name like a prayer.

"—waiting for him," Travis' thoughts were cut short, interrupted by Blaze's voice. Were they talking? Who is Blaze waiting for? He quickly glanced at Dante, sending an inaudible message through his eyes that he was not paying attention.

Dante glanced back before clearing his throat and awkwardly saying, ".. well, tell Daniel that Travis and I say hi, because like I said, we are meeting up with Garroth and Laurance," Dante said in a stiff voice while keeping a smile, "and you are waiting for Daniel.. because Zane is cooped up in his room, like always."

Travis had half a nerve to hit Dante upside the head for sounding so robotic and uncoordinated. Blaze, on the other hand, did not notice the gracelessness of his speech and nodded along, seemingly just happy to be there.

"Yeah, scarfy said something about not wanting to be outside because of the sun and then he told me to piss off." That made sense to Travis; the raven-haired man does wear all black layers and a mask. The sun would cook him alive. Besides, he remembers Garroth mentioning that Zane sunburns easily, which he personally thinks is adorable.

"But now when I get back to the dorm, I have to put a dollar in the douche-jar," Blaze said before rubbing his neck.

Before Dante could reply, assuming Travis did not want to do the talking, the white haired man quickly chimed in, "what's a douche-jar?" Blaze and Dante blinked at Travis' immediate reaction. Dante shook his head slightly while Blaze laughed before responding.

"It's a thing scarfy came up with," the werewolf explained, "whenever I say something stupid or inappropriate that he deems as 'douchey', I have to put a dollar in a jar! It's totally bogus!" The werewolf huffed.

Dante laughed at the explanation, "maybe I should get a douche-jar for Travis— Ow!" Dante exclaimed in pain after Travis punched his shoulder.

Travis scoffed playfully, "I do not need a douche-jar! if anyone needs one, it's you! Don't think I forgot about your 'Subway' tweet," he reminds the other in quotation marks.

"It was about Subway!"

Blaze watched the two best friends bicker, seemingly amused by the show. Smiling and laughing at their banter, observing as the two hit each other and shared petty insults. It went on for about another minute or two before Blaze interrupted the childish argument.

"Okay, well I think Danny is going to be here soon so I'm going to go, dudes," the red head stated before saying his goodbyes and waving them off.

Dante and Travis waved goodbye back and once Blaze was out of earshot, the green eyed man loudly groaned, catching Dante off guard. Dante furrowed his brows in concern and confusion as he looked at the other.

"Blaze is cool, am I lame?" Travis asked pitifully, "will my beloved ever like me back?" He shoved his face into his palms dramatically.

Dante rolled his eyes, a habit he had gotten into ever since Travis went on sprees about the emo cyclops. He lightly smacked Travis upside the head, "maybe try harder."

Travis raised his head, looking at Dante with a pout and furrowed brows. Dante sighed loudly and shook his head while smiling, "keep that head up high, champ," Dante said mockingly in his charismatic manner, "I'm sure Zane is dreaming about you right now, huh?"

"You don't get me!" Travis exclaimed before biting his tongue, "let's go, I'm hungry when I think about Zane."

"You always think about Zane."

"I'm always hungry."

[midwestmade29]

CHAPTER 2 is here!!! 🥳

I’m on a roll guys! Let’s hope this momentum continues 🤞🏻 This chapter is written from Christian’s POV and has a *certain best friend* of his in it too! I’m excited to see where my brain takes this story, and I hope you are too. Enjoy! 🤩

If you are not 18+ years old, please KEEP SCROLLING. Do not interact with any parts/chapters of this story.

Due to the explicit nature, this story is NSFW or minors.

This chapter is written from the POV of Christian Cage and has dialogue between him and Adam Copeland. It features references to the female character of the story too.

Some topics/actions/theme(s) of this story may not be suitable and/or triggering for some readers. Foul language, alcohol consumption/use, drunkenness, arguments, self doubt, and self sabotage are a few examples.

Word count for Chapter 2: 1,365

CHRISTIAN’S POV

“What the fuck am I doing?” I asked myself as I still sat at the table. My head was swimming, and I wasn’t thinking straight. I just let the best damn thing in my life walk right out the door and didn’t even try to stop her. Instead, I asked her “what about dinner?” as if that even mattered anymore in that moment. Once again, I did what I do best; fuck things up. When our waiter walked up to the table, he spoke to me, but his words fell upon deaf ears. I was too much in my head to give a shit about what he had to say. “I have to go after her!” I announced. I threw enough cash on the table to cover what had been ordered and to give the waiter a decent tip and ran to the door as fast as my drunk legs would let me. I could feel the alcohol slosh around in my stomach with every step I took, causing a wave of queasiness to overtake me. The night air hit me like a ton of bricks and threatened to sober me up as I looked from side to side and all around for my beautiful girl. When she was nowhere to be found, I raked my fingers through my hair and ripped my phone out of my pocket to call her. “Come on baby, please pick up.” I repeated like a prayer. After 5 more calls and a handful of text messages, she still wouldn’t answer. I paced back in forth in front of the restaurant in the pouring rain, cursing under my breath and talking to myself, causing everyone who walked by to stare and look at me like I was crazy.

I had a chauffeur drive me from the airport to the restaurant earlier, so I didn’t have any transportation currently. I wasn’t even sure where I would go if I did anyway. Should I go home and own up to my mistake for the millionth time and see the hurt and sadness in my girl’s eyes? Maybe stumble my way to a random bar and continue to drink myself stupid? I got halfway down the sidewalk when a car started driving slowly along the curb, following me. I didn’t recognize it from the darkness of the night, so I ignored it and continued walking wherever my feet wanted to take me. The passenger’s side window rolled down a few inches, and someone began to speak but I couldn’t make anything out through the rain. Who knew what this creep wanted, and I really didn’t want to find out, so I picked up my pace. When the driver rolled the window the rest of the way down and yelled “Hey dumbass!” in my direction, I stopped in my tracks. “Get in the car, now!” I bent down and squinted my eyes to try and make out the driver, and a sense of relief and a surge of annoyance washed over me when I recognized them. “Adam?”

“Get in the car you idiot before I have to make you!” Adam threatened. I was still a little stunned that he was here, but I didn’t protest and slid myself into the passenger’s seat. “Damnit man, you’re soaked! You wreak of whiskey too. What the hell happened Christian?!” I dodged his question by asking some of my own. “What are you doing here? How did you know where I was?” My head was still foggy and a little slow to react, but Adam’s silence answered my questions for him. “She sent you, didn’t she?” I asked sheepishly. Adam nodded as he pulled the car away from the curb and into traffic. “Yeah, she did. She called about a half hour ago and told me that you were shitfaced and that you should still be at the restaurant. She didn’t want you to be on your own since she had to leave.” He explained. “Is that all she told you?” I replied. “And that she was worried about you and asked me if I would come get you. What happened, man? She sounded pretty upset.”

I groaned into my hands before trying to explain myself. Adam continued to drive us out of the downtown area while waiting for my response. “I fucked up.” Was all I offered him, earning a disgruntled look from Adam. “Well thanks Captain Obvious. I kinda pieced that together already.” He spoke sarcastically. “How did you fuck up?” “On the plane earlier, some of the guys were busting my balls and I guess I let it get to me. They mentioned the stuff that’s been plastered all over social media about me being “washed up” and “a burden to AEW.” Everyone has been relentless lately and it messes with my head.” My hands balled up into fists the more I carried on. “For the last 12 days it’s felt like it's been me against the world and I was sick of feeling like that, so on the plane I helped myself to the free drinks to drown the bullshit out, but one drink led to two and then three and I lost count of how many I had after stopping at the bar in the airport. I was 40 minutes late getting to the restaurant because of my stupidity, and things just continued to go downhill from there.”

“Dude, how long have you been in this business? You know how the journalists, and everyone can be. Why do you let it get to you like that? You didn’t mention any of this before I left to come home the other day.” Adam put the car in park inside his garage and opened his door to get out. “Why are we here?” I asked. “Because you need to sober up and I’ve been given the task to make sure you do. You also need to give that poor girl of yours some space and time to work through her own thoughts before trying to patch things up. You can stay in the guest bedroom, but so help me God if you hurl anywhere besides in the toilet, I’ll unleash Beth on you. There are some dry clothes on the bed and a couple ibuprofen and bottles of water waiting on you inside. We can continue this conversation once you change.” “Thanks, man.” Was all I could say without getting too emotional as we walked inside the house. If it wasn’t for my sweet, beautiful girl, my best friend, and his wife, who knows where I would’ve ended up tonight.

After getting myself changed and settled, I figured it was time to come out of the guest bedroom and pick up where Adam and I had left off. Beth and the girls were already in bed, so I was thankful they didn’t have to see me like this. I started feeling worse and worse the more I sobered up and I could already tell that the morning was going to be rough. I plopped myself down on the couch and Adam begrudgingly turned off the hockey game recap he was watching on tv. I was the first one to speak this time. “Being in this business for as long as we have doesn’t mean that it gets easier hearing such harsh and cruel criticism. You know I’ve been told my entire life and my entire career that I’m second best. That I’m a nobody and that I’m riding on the coattails of you and every other successful wrestler I’ve worked with. No one has ever seen me as a star in my own right and I carry that around with me every day. It’s exhausting.” “I get that man, but is sabotaging yourself and the great relationship you have with your girl the best way to deal with it? Will that prove them right or wrong? The assholes who say that shit about you don’t know anything. They only write that garbage for the tiny paycheck that comes from it. I know how good you are as a wrestler and as a man. I just wish you would see it too.”

…CHAPTER 3 WILL BE POSTED SOON! 🖤

[vast-fics]

Late Night Confession

Link in case you would rather read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46612144

[A/N: Here we go, first ever posted fanfiction. I’ve been a Danonation lurker ever since The Batman came out, and I thought it was time I made an addition to my most favourite fandom. And what better way to do that than by posting good old fashion Eli Sunday PWP.]

You were an avid visitor of the Church of the Third Revelation. There was something so charismatic, so electrifying about the sermons given by pastor Eli that they had slowly turned into something you spent all week impatiently awaiting. Your family were also strong religious zealots so there was nothing strange to them about your insistence on never missing a sermon or in spending any spare moment you could helping with the various church activities that went on around town. If anything, they admired your devotion to the Lord and His word. How could you have possibly predicted what would occur.

 It happened on a day like any other. You were sitting at the very back of the pews to get the best view of the pastor as Eli tended to wander around and interact with the church goers. He had approached one of the elders sitting in the middle of the pews and grasped her hands as he knelt before her. “My dear Mrs. Hunter, you have arthritis, don’t you? The devil is in your hands, and I will suck it out. Now I will not cast this ghost out with a fever, for the new spirit inside me has shown me I have a new way to communicate.” You were absolutely enthralled. Hanging on every word he spoke as if they were directly from God Himself, as was the entirety of the congregation.

 “It is a gentle whisper.” And he held Mrs. Hunters hands to his face as he began to chant ‘Get out of here ghost’. You and the rest of the congregation slowly began to join in, spouting prayers and mumbling the words he spoke along with him. As the intensity of his chanting grew, so too did the pressure you felt between your legs. It moved through your whole body, much like the holy spirit would. You could not quite explain what it was, but you knew it was wrong. Sinful. And you knew that you had to do something about it to make it go away.

 As the sermon came to a climax you resolved to speak with pastor Eli before you left for home. You had felt like this at every sermon you had attended in the Church of the Third Revelation, and you simply could not continue as you had been. Every week the feelings grew stronger in intensity and it became harder to ignore how wrong they were. You hoped that maybe if you confessed to pastor Eli and begged him to help you attain God’s forgiveness then you could leave the sinful feelings behind.

 You patiently waited for Eli to finish the business he had with Mr. Plainview. You twiddled your thumbs restlessly while you waited off to the side. Something about Mr. Plainview’s presence here in Little Boston made you feel uneasy, like you couldn’t possibly feel relaxed with him present. Like there was something waiting just beneath the surface, ready to burst forth at the slightest provocation. Thankfully their conversation was short, and Mr. Plainview was gone soon enough.

 Eli had spotted you waiting and walked to you with a soft smile playing on his lips. “Hello Miss. (y/l/n), is there anything I can help you with on such a pleasant day like today?” He said to you. “Oh, Mr. Sunday, if it’s possible I wish to have a confession with you. Something has happened that has made me want to seek counsel.” You stated with slight desperation “Well, confessions are always welcome here in the Church of the Third Revelation, it is Gods will that we be led into temptation, and should we fail such trials that are presented to us then it is our responsibility to beg the Lord for forgiveness.”

 “Mr. Sunday, I don’t quite understand it myself. All I know is that I have been having certain feelings lately that can only be described as sinful, and I need to confess these feelings to the Lord and beg for his forgiveness.” “Well, it would help me understand the true nature of these feelings if you could explain to me when they occur and be more exact about what they are.” He said, his interest quite piqued.

 “Well, it has happened at all of the sermons I’ve attended that you’ve performed. It has also been growing in intensity lately which it what prompted me to speak to you. I feel a lightness in my head and a flushing to my cheeks. A strong tingling deep in my stomach and between my thighs, spreading through my whole body. I must also admit that I feel a wetness between my legs, yet there is no cause for this feeling that I could possibly understand.”

 While listening to your explanation Eli’s eyebrows shot up and a slow smirk began playing on his lips at your apparent innocence. Here you were standing in front of him, telling all about your attractions to him and you had no idea the extent of what it was you were admitting. Eli listened to you as you continued on for a time about the feelings you were experiencing and asking what you could do to absolve yourself of your misdeeds. As he listened an idea slowly began to form.

 “Well, Miss. (y/l/n), I will tell you that there is a word to explain these feelings you’re experiencing, and that word is lust. Feelings of lust can be regarded by Him as sinful in nature and if you wish to atone for these sins that you have been engaging in, I have the perfect idea of how you can. I still have some business to conduct, so it would be best if you come back to the church tonight after suppertime when I will have more time to properly help you receive the Lord’s forgiveness.”

 As you listened to Eli explain you felt relief pour over you. So, you were right in assuming your feelings were sinful, yet there was a way to be absolved. “Thank you so much Mr. Sunday, you will be doing me a great service. I will happily come to the church later tonight. I can’t begin to explain the relief I feel.” “Oh well, do not thank me yet my child, you have yet to be absolved. I will see you again shortly Miss (y/l/n).” And with that he walked away leaving you with the promise of tonight.

   It was already starting to get dark out, despite it not being too late at night. Still a respectable time for a young lady such as yourself to be about the town alone, and yet not too early to be meeting with Eli. You had barely touched your supper, slightly giddy with the knowledge that your late-night rendezvous was growing near. You excused yourself to your parents as you walked out the door, having already explained your appointment at the Church without going too much into the details.

 Your pace was brisk as you made your way to the Church of the Third Revelation. Simply knowing that your meeting was getting closer made it that much harder to remain patient, and the walk from your house to the Church had never seemed to take as long before. As you arrived at the front door, you knocked rather sharpy to alert pastor Eli to your presence. In an instant, the door was opening, and Eli was drawing you in with a welcoming smile. “Ah, Miss (y/l/n), I was wondering when you might show up. I know I never gave a specific time. Please step into my office with me.”

 You followed Eli into his office and once he was situated behind his desk, he gestured for you to sit in the chair facing it. “I just wanted to thank you again, Mr. Sunday.” You began “I would not know who else to turn to with such matters. I feel very lucky to be a member of this church and to be able to have the opportunity to earn God’s forgiveness.”

 “Yes well, there is no simple way to say this, but I will try Miss (y/l/n). The sinful feelings you describe yourself as having. You said that you feel it spreading throughout your whole body. I am afraid that this sensation you are feeling, this lust, is the devil filling you up and attempting to turn you away from God. Now Miss (y/l/n) you needn’t explain to me how devout you are to this church and to God, it is obvious in your everyday conduct. In the time we spent apart since our conversation after the sermon I think I may have devised a way that you can receive the Lord’s forgiveness, but I can’t be certain that it will stop your lustful feelings altogether.”

 As pastor Eli explained your eyes grew in horror. You felt regret that you hadn’t come to him sooner. You had let the devil take control of you and had done nothing to stop it all this time. You rose out of your seat, dropped to your knees, and held your hands up to the air, clasped together in penance. “Please Mr. Sunday, I will do anything. I renounce the hold the devil has taken over me and I beg the Lord to forgive me.” Tears began to prick at the corner of your eyes.

 Eli’s own eyes glaze over in desire at the sight of you kneeling before him, begging the Lord’s forgiveness. “Well, Miss (y/l/n) it is quite simple actually. As a man so close to God I can cast the devil out from you and fill you up with the power of the Lord myself.” “Yes Mr. Sunday, whatever you need to do to me I will accept. Only you can help me banish the devil.” You start feeling tears prick the corners or your eyes.

 Pastor Eli rises from his seat and walks around the desk so that he is stood before your kneeling form. He slowly unzips his trousers and pulls out his member. You look on in surprise as this was just about the last thing that you expected to happen. He had a self-satisfied expression on his face, shaft in hand, as he began to explain “This here is the tool I shall use to fill you up with the spirit of the good Lord. You needn’t be frightened, shocked, or appalled. There is but one way to banish the devil from you and I will need you to trust me and allow me to do my work.”

 As shocked as you were you trusted pastor Eli to help you with your problem. You came to him for his help and this was the solution that he was willing to provide for you. “Yes, Mr. Sunday. I trust you. Do whatever it is that you must.” Smiling once more, pastor Eli places his free hand on your cheek. “Such a good girl, so willing to accept the Lord…” His hand began to slowly caress your face and trail down towards your neck. “Now my dear, I need you to open your mouth and close your eyes.” You do as your told.

 Something enters your mouth and your eyes shoot open in surprise. The sight before you was one to behold. Eli’s face is filled with passion, cheeks flushed, eyes lidded, his mouth hanging open and panting. The pressure from his hand around your neck tightens and the feeling is positively dizzying. Your own expression morphs into one of desire and you feel that feeling spreading throughout your body once more, a wetness forming in between your thighs as you notice that it was Eli’s member that breached your lips. “Now, now…” he chides ever so gently “I do believe I told you to keep your eyes closed. But your expression right now is so beautiful I’m willing to forgive you.”

 He slowly starts to move his hips and you feel your eyes begin to water as the head brushes against the back of your throat. Instinctively you begin to bob your head, cover your teeth with your lips and suck. Your actions cause him to softly moan and speed up the pace of his hips. The noise is music to your ears and the more he moans the more enthusiastic you are. His pace continues to quicken and the feeling within you changes. It was like a great pressure or a spring coiling up, getting more and more wound up with every thrust.

 It's sloppy and messy, drool starts to fall from the corners of your mouth. You start to hum and Eli’s eyes shoot open as he thrusts in to the hilt. Your own eyes widen as you gag harshly. Eli pulls out and you cough and sputter from the assault on your throat. “I apologise (y/n), but you took me by surprise. For now, we shall move on. The Lord has begun to fill you by my ministrations and yet there is more work to do. Arise, dear (y/n).”

 You did as you were told. Pastor Eli took your hand and led you to his desk. “Now, this next part is crucial, Miss (y/l/n). There is a better access point by which I can fill you with the spirit of the good Lord. You may find this painful at first but I will have to ask you once again to trust me. There is no better method for casting the sins and lust from your body than the one I am about to administer. I am going to have to ask you to face my desk and firmly place your hands upon it.” Much like you had been all night, you once again did as you were told to by Mr. Sunday.

 You felt a cool breeze rising up your legs as your skirt was slowly pulled up by Eli. You immediately felt your cheeks turned crimson as embarrassment burned deep in your heart. No man had ever seen you in your underclothes. It was something reserved for married couples only, and you and Mr. Sunday were certainly not married. You began to open your mouth in protest but before you could object, Eli began to speak.

 “I know it is unbecoming of me to undress you in this way but it is necessary for what I am about to do to you. You needn’t worry. As I said, I need you to trust me. Was it not you who came to me in search of the Lord’s forgiveness?” and here he paused. You took a deep breath and spoke “Yes, Mr. Sunday, I did.” “Then you need to have faith that what I am doing is only what is necessary to provide you with the solution you seek and deliver to you the Lord’s forgiveness.” And with that said you felt him pull down your bloomers, exposing your behind to the cool evening breeze.

 All you could do was swallow your pride and allow pastor Eli to do what was necessary to absolve you of your sins and your lust. You felt fingers begin to gently caress the lips of your nether region. Eli pulls his fingers away then and the smirk on his face is evident in his voice when he states “You’re already so wet.” Curiosity gets the better of you and you find yourself asking what it means.

 “This is how I am going to banish the devil from your body, my dear. This wetness is the sinful feeling you’ve been filled with leaving you. As one of the most devout members of my church, your body is naturally attempting to fight off the devil’s hold and it is commendable. The only thing lacking is the Lord filling you up in it’s place and that is why the devil can continue to take hold. It is also where I come in. I am going to fill you up with the power of the Lord to stave off the devil.”

 When Eli finishes his explanation, you feel his hands return to your body. You gasp in shock as you feel something slowly enter you. Slowly it moves in and out of your body. You feel that coiling feeling again begin, as well as even more wetness leaking out. Another digit joins the first one entering your body, and the paces quickens as yet another one joins. You hear moaning and it takes you a second to realise you are the one making the noise in question. Your cheeks flair up in embarrassment and you raise one hand from the table to cover your mouth and stifle your moans.

 “Oh no, (y/n)…” Eli gently chides, taking the hand covering your mouth in his and placing it back on the desk “You needn’t cover up those sounds. They are nothing to be ashamed of. They are simply your body praising Him and encouraging the devil to leave you.” His movements with his hands grow rougher, and more forceful as your moans and pants increase in volume.

  All too soon, his hand is removed and your disappointment is quickly quelled when you feel the head of something much bigger prodding against your entrance. Eli slowly pushes all the way in to the hilt and you groan in discomfort. He wastes no time in starting to move, one hand covering yours and other with a firm grip on your shoulder, panting all the while. His thrusts are shallow and given some time your discomfort morphs into what can only be described as the most pleasure you have ever felt as your moans resume.

 Once Eli hears that you are enjoying yourself his thrusting changes. The speed increases as he pulls all the way out to the head before sharply thrusting in to the hilt. The coiling feeling within you starts to tighten exponentially and the noises you and Mr. Sunday are making continue to grow in volume.

 You start to move yourself back onto Eli, pleasure taking hold of you. You find yourself speaking “Please Mr. Sunday, please. I am so eager to be filled with the Lord. Please cast the devil out from me.” Eli’s thrusting grows erratic and he responds to you in kind. “Such a good girl. So eager to please. Are you ready for me to cast away the devil and fill you up with the Lord’s power?” “Yes Mr. Sunday, please. I feel it. I feel it coming.”

 Your words prove to be too much and with one final deep thrust and a shout you feel something filling you up. The only conclusion you can come is that this must be the Lord’s power. At this the coil within you bursts and you feel waves of indescribable pleasure roll over you. You feel it radiate out from deep within you. You feel your toes curl and your finger tingle. The wetness within you gushes forth. The devil has finally left you. You both stand panting, trying to catch your breath and Eli removes a cloth from his shirt pocket, wiping his sweat soaked brow. Elli gently removes his manhood and fixes himself into some manner of presentable.

 He takes a deep breath before speaking. “Excellent work my dear. The devil has truly left you and I have filled you with the Lord’s forgiveness. Your sins are absolved and you are free to come to the church with a clean conscious.” While Eli speaks you redress yourself and turn to face him. “Thank you, Mr. Sunday. I am truly grateful for what you have done to me. I feel one with Him again and no longer feel the pull of the devil.” You say with a smile on your face.

 Pastor Eli walks you to door and speaks once more “Anything for one of the most devout members of my church. And remember my dear. If you feel these feelings growing within you once more do not hesitate to seek council with me again. It was nothing short of a pleasure to conduct this confession and I would be happy to help you if the situation arises once more.” At the door now, he takes your hand in his and bows his head to place a gentle kiss on your knuckles. You smile, thank him once more, and take your leave.

[jerome-pondering]

Knowing Ways

Knowing God and Knowing Others: Reflection on Ministry

Dave* called me to schedule Confession. He knew his health was declining. He did not want to move into a nursing home, but also knew that that was also inevitable. Others told me what I could confirm from his words with me: Dave was a difficult person.

I continued to hear his Confessions after he entered the nursing home. At the time, he was the only person I visited there, but he would call me every few weeks asking for the Sacraments, and I could hear his Confession and bring him Communion. Holy Anointing at the beginning of his time in the nursing home, and again near the end.

At the beginning of me seeing him, and at the beginning of each time we met, Dave would complain. Nothing was good, nothing was good enough. He was angry and on edge.

Eventually, Dave fell asleep in the Lord. Before that happened, I noticed that there had been a gradual change in his Confessions. Along with the change in how he spoke with me, I noticed a change in the way that the nurses spoke of him. Fewer complaints, fewer demands. More appreciation. Confession was a real reconciliation for him, not only with God but with the world and people around him as well.

I recall one of the nurses getting misty eyed when I asked about Dave after he had gone home to God. That would not have happened when he had first arrived.

Coming to know God

I can simultaneously hold both pessimism and optimism about a person (even myself) in my heart. But confronted with a person who is stubborn and appears to be stubborn even about prayer, it is enheartening to see the advice I give have such an effect on someone other than myself. I don’t remember a parishioner having any significant change like Dave did. And I don’t remember noticing a parishioner in the kind of stubborn prayer Dave seemed to engage in. Usually we give up.

Knowing God in and through speaking and praying with Dave—this is a complex set of interactions, over time, involving prayer and therefore God’s direct presence with these two human persons. Sometimes I was not personally interested or more to the point, I felt it somewhat hopeless whatever I might say to Dave. I went because Christ came to dwell among us, not because I thought it would help anyone. Simply imitation of Christ.

This is a very basic kind of trust, that there is some purpose to imitating Christ, even if it yields no efficient or productive result. And when that trust bore fruit for Dave, I felt like God was trying to send me a signal. This was a time when I was sorely tried and many relationships in the friary were odd at best. God was giving me a sign that there is some positive fruit, even in the short term, for my presence, my ministry. One of the friars who knew Dave seemed to think this was God’s work, a miracle of sorts. God does actually wait for us to turn to him.

This same method I have used in other ways, not only in Confession. The simple reminder of the turning to prayer and gratitude is not only helpful for the other person, but it also helps me to be patient in dealing with someone who finds it difficult to deal with life or even to remember such direct advice.

Conversion of Heart

(Three lessons or principles: (1) memory, understanding, desire as three aspects of how we know another; (2) a habit of gratitude or prayer can break through the overwhelming quality of strong anger or stress; (3) even small habits can shape our hearts and have a profound long-term effect.)

While I used different words, the basic method I advocate is rooted in the importance of memory, understanding (perception and intellect), and desire (will and choice that is part of will). Bonaventure (Into God) would recognize this.

First, we have to remember more than just the emotion and reaction of the moment. Remember to be grateful for something. I asked Dave to remember to tell the aides thank you for basic things. In Dave’s situation, I would probably be stressed and even angry just for having to be in a nursing home. But there are other emotions and values we have to remember when the fire burns in our heart.

When we are in the habit of being grateful and we experience stress or anger, the habitual nature of our gratitude can draw us to perceive more than our immediate distress. The adrenaline rush, whether we are used to lashing out or raging in our heart, need not be repressed but simply accompanied by other values which can help us to train our hearts to direct that energy in a different path, away from the sin of rage.

Those who study habits suggest that we are made for this. Small habits shape our hearts and make significant changes and adaptations in the long run.

When we learn to remember a broader set of values, allowing us to perceive a human person in front of us, we can choose to love. We are able to desire something better than merely venting rage. We can allow God to shape our heart to be Christ-like, as we are created to live.

The specific advice to Dave was more tailored to his situation, but I find this approach helpful in my own life. Understanding how the human person functions, spiritually, mentally, physically, all help me to know myself better. Seeing the advice work in another person gives me the confidence that I actually grew to know Dave, and that both of us grew in our knowledge of God.

*obviously identifying information has been changed and obscured, since this is a story about Confession

[lindajenni]

oct 28

an unruly tongue

"let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart Be acceptable in Your sight, o Lord, my strength and my Redeemer."psa 19:14

that scripture is usually always a part of my morning prayers. but even going beyond that, the Lord has been dealing with me about the power we all hold in the words we speak. indeed, "death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruit." pro 18:21

words can kill as swiftly as any sword and likewise, they can bring life giving healing. are you someone who says whatever comes to mind? i’ve heard people say this about themselves like it’s a good thing! they say “i have no filter, i say whatever comes to mind”.

the bible says you are held in bondage and caught in a snare by the words you are speaking! you should not be saying everything that comes to mind. far from it. not only should you have a filter between your mind and tongue, but you should set a guard over your mouth!

the tongue is what makes humans different from all other created species. we are speaking spirits, just like God. this is one of the ways we are made in His image. we have the ability to create and change the physical world with our tongue. the tongue is so powerful, it can bridle your entire body and tame your human faults and weaknesses.

for example, if you are somebody who has been known to not have patience with people, begin to use your tongue to tame this behavior. begin to speak out loud “i am a patient person. i have the patience of God within me. i am patient with all”. as you stay faithful to consistently speak this, you will see your body and soul come under this authority and begin to display patience in your interactions with people.

the tongue can also create and change circumstances. this is a huge part of "walking by faith." when God’s Word is planted in your heart and spoken out of your mouth, it becomes a creative force. this is the way God operates, and the way we are designed to operate. it becomes a spiritual force that is able to change the natural realm. everything in the physical realm was created with words and everything in the physical realm responds to words.

Jesus modeled this for us. he spoke to diseases, spoke to trees, spoke to demons, spoke to storms, and even spoke to dead bodies. Jesus understood the power of words. "for assuredly, I say to you, whoever says to this mountain, 'be removed and be cast into the sea,’ and does not doubt in his heart, but believes that those things he says will be done, he will have whatever he says." Mark 11:23

the bible defines corrupt, evil, and perverted words as words that are in opposition to what God has said. so just “stating the obvious” of what is in the natural realm are perverted words if they are not sourced from God. we should always be speaking words of faith and grace, always in agreement with the Word of God. take a look through the book of proverbs at how many times the tongue or your words are mentioned. it will amaze you!

our thoughts can come from God, from the devil, or from our own flesh. we must take every thought captive and only choose to speak what is in agreement with God. you don’t have to speak everything that comes to mind! in fact, when you have a thought that is contrary to truth, you should cast it down by speaking what God says about it.

for example, if you have a thought that says “this sickness is going to kill me," you can immediately recognize that thought as a lie. it is not in agreement with what God says in His written word, and therefore does not come from God. God will never contradict His written word. cast that thought down by saying out loud “i will live and not die and declare the works of the Lord.” psa 118:17 and “by His stripes i was healed.” 1 pet 2:24

when demonic spirits speak to us by giving us evil thoughts, we choose not to speak those things out loud. Jesus said that His sheep would flee from the voice of a stranger. we cast these thoughts down by rejecting them and speaking truth in their place.

thoughts of doubt and unbelief can come from our natural reasoning and carnal mind. the Bible says that our carnal mind is at enmity with God! these thoughts too need to be rejected by speaking what God says. this is how you win spiritual warfare. the battle is in your mind. what you choose to agree with and declare with your tongue is what you will see happen in your life. you have the power in your agreement and in your tongue!

and i have a final positive confession to make with my tongue. our Lord is coming soon and His reward is with Him. will everyone please join me in that confession?

[paytonfischer]

{ sms } 📲 all royals.

Payton: Carson called a meeting at Ace, everyone get there within the next two hours.

Payton: And any information you have, spit it out now.

[heartcluez]

☆ the cathedral. | mark lee (m)

synopsis. you just wish to get rid of these sinful thoughts in your head. father lee is more than happy to help you.

warnings. religion, sacrilege, blasphemy, religion kink, fingering, pussy eating, corruption kink

👼🏻 priest mark is just… ♡ ive been thinking abt writing him as a priest with a corruption kink and here it is 🫶🏻

you were the one who sat in his pews with your arms crossed and disinterested. you always refused to participate as father lee led the congregation through prayers and announcements.

his gentle voice would reverberate through the room, captivating the sunday morning goers with his words of worship, preaching about the divinity of love and of god.

you could see just how much he touched the hearts of the believers just by looking around the church.

their eyes would follow father lee’s every move, sighing whenever he flashed a charming smile, laughing when he made a light joke or two.

if you didn’t know any better, you’d think that the people who went to church were there just to see father lee. he practically had the whole town falling in love with him.

the charming, sweet-hearted priest who was a symbol of the town’s devotion, and was a warm, shining light to those who sought out his providence.

father lee spoke and everyone listened. well, everyone except you. his sermons seemed to pass through one of your ears and out the other. instead, you opted to daydream.

your eyes never focused on one thing around the interior of the church, always wandering to anything and everything else except for the gentle, lingering gaze of father lee.

this never went unnoticed by him, of course. you were the girl who attended his masses every sunday but was only ever just there. sitting in amongst the crowd, taking the same seat every morning, interacting with as few people as possible, always the last in and the first out.

you had caught his attention, and now he was vying for yours.

communion was your favorite part of the mass. It meant that it was nearly time to go. you lined up to receive the host. while waiting, you couldn’t help but stare up at the beautiful art painted on the ceiling of the church. you kept moving forward in line until you were finally face to face with father lee.

he smiled warmly at you, looking down at you with tenderness in his eyes. he waited patiently for you to look at him. shy under his gaze, you blinked up at him through your eyelashes.

his towering statue made you feel as though you were staring up at god himself.

“the body of christ.” he announced, his voice soft and gentle as he offered you the host.

your lips closed around the bread, brushing warm and soft against his fingertips. he tilted his head to the side ever so slightly in amusement, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

it was a small, unnoticeable action that should’ve been the first red flag that father lee wasn’t at all who he seemed. you were too naive to notice.

“amen.” you managed to reply with a small smile.

as you turned to walk back to your seat, the feeling of your lips lingered on the tips of father lee’s fingers. it felt as though he had been kissed by an angel.

the thought of you never left his head throughout the remainder of the mass. perhaps, you were a divine temptation. deliberately put in the priest's way as a challenge. a curious, innocent little thing that father lee was now so desperate to understand and claim.

to him, you were like a trembling lamb, completely oblivious of the wolf that stalked her. perhaps today was the perfect time to strike. maybe the prey was already ripe for the taking.

“not yet.” father lee thought to himself.

he decided that he would take his time to get to know you first. he would continue to observe you from afar like he always had. he'd play along with your disinterest in the church and of him. after all, how could you act like you didn't care if you kept coming back? it had to be some sort of an act that you put on every sunday.

surely something was drawing you to the church, to him. how silly of you. for someone so supposedly irreverent, you were displaying a great amount of devotion to the act that you were playing. but not to worry, father lee would sort you out. It was only a matter ofー

“father?” your voice interrupted his thoughts. “oh? you’re still here, my dove?” he asked, looking around to see that the church was now empty.

“i wanted to ask you a question, father.” you said, voice small as you distanced yourself from him.

“well of course you can ask me questions.” father lee took careful steps towards you. “come, sit down. what’s troubling you, dove?”

he gestured for you to sit. you bit down on your bottom lip, turning away from father lee, avoiding his eyes, unsure of how to start.

“it's alright.” his voice was calm and steady. "you're safe with me, flower. you can trust me."

he moved to sit in the aisle behind you, figuring that it was better to give you space given that he could sense how intimidated you felt around him.

“i fear that i'm being corrupted, father.” You started. “it's eating at me from the inside. spreading like hellfire.”

father lee’s heart filled with concern. “corruption? oh, my sweet dove. is this why you’ve been so distant recently? because you’ve been keeping all this to yourself?”

you stiffened like a deer caught in headlights. slowly, you nodded your head.

“my dove, this is a burden you needn't carry by yourself. i'm here for you.” you could hear his smile. "there's no reason for you to feel as though you have to distance yourself when you feel troubled.”

“i'm sorry, father.” you hung your head low.

“there's no need to apologize.” from his seat behind you, he placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed it gently to comfort you. “please, drop the formalities, flower. we're friends. you can call me mark.”

“mark.” his name graced your lips, and it sent a warmth spreading through the father’s chest.

“so,” he cleared his throat. “tell me more about this… corruption.”

“you would condemn me, faー” you caught yourself before you could continue. “mark.”

“what kind of priest would i be to condemn such purity?” he reassured you.

he stood up from his seat, and slowly made his way to stand in front of you. you trained your eyes to the ground, too ashamed to even look at him. there was a deathly silence. the tension in the church suddenly made itself known.

he moved to stand closer to you so that the front of his shoes just barely touched yours. his shadow fell on you and yet, you started to feel hotter than the heat of the morning sun.

he spoke in a voice lower than you've ever heard it. “have you lost touch with your faith?”

you fidgeted with your hands in your lap. squirming under his gaze. you didn't answer. yoo stunned by the question asked of you, unsure of how to reply.

“tell me, dove.” he used two of his fingers to tilt your chin so that you looked up at him. “do you seek a new religion?”

you let out a small gasp. surely father ee hadn't just asked you that question? your lips began to tremble and you could feel yourself start to shake under his touch.

“n-no! i’ve not lost my faith.” you squealed. "this corruption is… different.”

“different?” he bent down to see you eye to eye. “how?”

“i-” the way he looked at you made you feel small. “i have these desires. sinful urges that come to me late at night. father, i want to rid myself of them.”

the corner of his lips tugged up into an amused grin. “sinful urges? desires? my dear, you aren't speaking of what I think you are… are you?”

you gulped. “it's shameful, father, i know.” small tears started to well up in your eyes.

“now, now, my dove. you've started to call me father again and i will have none of that.” he chuckled, wiping the tears away from your face. “shhh, there's no need to be ashamed.”

you blinked away your tears, focusing on the tender eyes of father lee.

“carnal needs are human, my dear. it’s in our nature to want to give in to that temptation.” he held your cheek in his hand. “tell me more of how this corruption consumes you.”

through hiccups and tears, you managed to tell him your confession. “the thoughts keep me up at night. when it's dark and i’m lonely. they make me dizzy and hot, and i get so wet and needy. it's hard not to give in, and i try! i really do!”

you melted into his touch, staring up at him with puppy dog eyes as you press your cheek further into his palm.

“it hurts when it happens, mark. i get so desperate sometimes my body moves on its own and i find myself grinding on my pillows, thinking of how it would feel if it was someone else. i feel empty and unsatisfied, and I don't want it anymore. i don't want to hurt anymore.”

you pouted up at him, hot tears rolling down your cheeks. father lee hummed as a prompt to keep going.

“please, father. please help me get rid of these desires.”

father lee ran the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip. “my, my, dove. that's a big confession.”

“m-mark, please.” you begged, pressing your thighs together. “i-i can feel it starting to corrupt me again.”

his eyes lit up with desire. “right now?”

you nod your head furiously. “the thoughts are coming back, mark.”

“they are?” he leaned in closer to you. “tell me what they're about, dove.”

“you!” you said breathlessly. “they're always of you!” a wicked sort of warmth passed through his chest, almost like a feeling of pride. it brought a smile to his face.

“me?” he chuckled as he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear. “you resist the urge to indulge in me?”

like a bitch in heat, you’ve started panting, chest heaving as you stared wide-eyed at father lee. you felt your pussy pool with wetness, the sinful thoughts of father lee only adding more fuel to the fire.

“you wish to rid yourself of these desires, my dove?” he asked, voice still as gentle as ever.

“please, mark.” you pleaded. “forgive me for my sins.”

and who was he to deny his pretty little angel when she asks him to rid her of her carnal desires? after all, that is his duty as a priest, is it not? to cleanse sinners of their sins? you were such a clever little girl.

what better way to reconcile than to fuck those sinful thoughts out of your pretty little head and restore you back to purity?

“my dove, you've been corrupted with a sin that only I can absolve.” he stood up at full height and reached his hand out to you. “let me rid you of those sinful desires.”

hesitantly, you took his hand, and in an instant he pulled you towards him, capturing you in a searing kiss. he held you in his embrace, his arms snaking around your waist to hold you closer to him. his lips felt like heaven with every kiss, stealing your breath away until he had you gasping for air.

“up,” he commanded.

you jumped into his arms, and he caught you. your legs wrapped around his middle as you continued to kiss him. his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth to let him in. his kisses were wet and clumsy, his tongue lazily made out with your own. it was perfect.

with you still, in his arms, he led you to the altar. he laid you down on the surface, spreading you out on the altar, situating himself in between your thighs as he kissed his way down your neck.

“my pretty girl.” he whispered into your skin. “god took his time when he made you for me.”

his hands traveled down to rest on your hips, and he pulled away to look at you.

“oh, sweet thing.” he sighed in content. “you're like an angel laid out before me.”

heat rose to your cheeks at the comment and a sudden wave of shyness ran over you.

“don't you worry, my dear.” he said, rubbing small circles into the side of your hips. “i'll rid you of your sin.”

he played with the hem of your skirt. “can i?”

you gave him a small nod, and he slowly lifted up your skirt. underneath, he could see your wetness stain the fabric of your panties. he could practically smell the slick. he got down on his knees at the edge of the altar, adjusting you so that your pussy was just in front of his face.

“you're this wet for me?” he asked, his breath fanning over your clothed cunt.

“only for you,” you whimpered. he hummed in his throat. “i bet you can feel the desire in your pretty little pussy. you can feel yourself gushing, can't you?”

you whined pathetically, rolling your hips to get closer to him. he pulled your panties down and threw it to the side leaving you bare and exposed in front of him. he practically started to drool. he ran a finger up and down your folds, collecting your wetness, and you let out a moan.

“is this your first time being touched by another, my love?” he asked, teasing your entrance. your voice was small. “i’ve neverー”

“i see.” he cut you off, saving you from having to explain. “you truly are pure.”

his lips hovered over your pussy as he hooked his arms around your thighs, spreading them further apart. “stay still for me now, baby, your penance starts here.”

he licked a stripe up your folds and you melted. his tongue was hot and heavy against your cunt as he started to lick and suck. every time he moaned against your clit it would send shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. your hand came to tangle in his hair, guiding him up and down as you bucked your hips up to meet his tongue.

drool and spit started to dribble down his chin, but he didn't care. he was focused on tasting you, on drinking you in. he savored your flavor, addicted to your taste, hungry for me. he lapped at your cunt feverishly, head shaking violently from side to side as he fucked you with his tongue.

“mark! f-feels so good!” you moaned, throwing your head back in pure bliss. he pulled away to catch his breath, panting with his tongue out like a dog. a string of saliva connected his tongue to your pussy like a rosary. your glistening hole was truly a sight to behold.

he plunged two fingers inside you, and your back arched off the altar as you squealed. “oh no, angel. we can't have this." he tutted at your tight cunt. “m’ gonna need to stretch you out before you take me, alright?”

“o-okay.” you managed to let out. “that's my girl.” he praised.

his fingers were long and hit all the right places with each thrust. he scissored his middle and ring fingers inside you, stretching you out inch by inch to prep you. your thighs trembled with each thrust.

he slipped in another finger, curling and angling it deeper and harder each time. his digits were now coated in your wetness, squelching lewdly with every trust.

he could feel his cock twitch and ache at your moans. he brought his fingers to his lips to taste you, licking his fingers clean. he stood up and quickly rid himself of his clothes and your breath hitched at how pretty he was. he moved back to you, his calloused hands gripping your hips as he rested his cock against your cunt.

he slid his cock up and down against your folds, coating it with your wetness, letting you know just how big he is and how deep he'll be inside you.

“are you ready, my angel?”

“yes, mark,” you smiled at him. “i’m ready.”

the head of his cock pushes through your entrance and you shudder in delight. he eases himself in, feeling your velvet walls close around him as he slowly thrusts deeper inside you.

“f-fuuck.” he hissed. “you feel amazing, baby.”

when he bottomed out, you were already delirious. he bowed his head, starting to set a pace as he fucked into you. you reached out to hold something, anything, and your hand grabbed at the rosary hanging around his neck. you tugged on it like a leash, pulling him closer to you to kiss him as he fucked your puffy, leaking cunt.

you feel like you could split in half. his thrusts are deep and hard, his cock heavy in your pussy, filling it up to the brim. he moaned into your kisses, feeling dizzier by the second, intoxicated by you.

the lewd slaps of his hips slamming into yours, and the wet sounds of his cock slamming into your pussy were enough to make him come.

“m-mark, i’m close,” you whimpered against him. “me too, baby.” he groaned out breathlessly.

your walls tightened around him and it makes him fuck into you more. his thrusts got sloppy and erratic, less calculated as he focused on making you come. your hips bucked up to meet his, desperate to chase your high.

“m-mark! m’ gonna cum!” your eyes screwed shut as you feel a knot in your stomach.

“go on, angel.” he held your cheek in his hand. “cum for me.”

your orgasm ripped through you, sending you shaking in his arms. he whispered your name, as reverent as a prayer when he comes undone. his cock is buried deep into your pussy as he floods your insides with his cum. It starts to fill you up, heavy and sticky in your womb. you sighed in content, finally feeling full and satisfied.

he kissed your forehead, your cheek, and then your lips, smiling to himself.

“i believe, your sins are now forgiven.” he said gently. you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “but father, even after my sins have been reconciled, why do i still think of you?”

he chuckled and rested his cheek against your chest, cuddling against you.

© heartcluez. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any site