#peter celebrates fathers day

[hurtspideyparker]

Peter places an envelope on Tony's desk.

Tony looks up confused, "huh? What's that for?"

"It's for you," he points awkwardly at the plain blue envelope, held closed with a Darth Vader sticker.

"It's not my birthday kid." He snaps the protective face shield back down as he picks up his soldering iron, sparks flying as he gets back to work.

"I know that I, uh. It's from, it's for. It's yours. I gotta go, see you later Mr. Stark!" Peter hikes his backpack up tighter as he skips out of the lab.

Tony grunts in acknowledgement without looking up, eyes focused on the searing metal in front of him.

* * *

"Tony? I thought you were gonna have dinner with me after Peter left," Pepper saunters down into the workspace in a flattering pair of jeans and baby blue blouse.

"I was. I am. He left like five minutes ago," Tony waves at her without taking his eyes from the computer he's typing on.

"Happy drove him home two hours ago. Come, have a nice sit down meal with me." Pepper wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind, kissing the top of his head.

"I can have a sit down meal. I'm sitting right now, bring the carbonara down here and it'll be a proper date," Tony replies.

"Yeah, you me and your computer. How romantic. Tony, come upstairs- what's this?"

Tony glances up to see her holding a blue envelope.

"Uh, it's the kids."

Pepper flips it around, "it says To Mr. Stark From Peter on the back."

Tony just shrugs and goes back to typing on his computer.

The delicate glue of the sticker is undone under Pepper's sharp nails as she opens up the envelope and pulls something from inside.

"It's illegal to open someone else's mail y'know," Tony teases.

"Tony this- god you are such an asshole!" Pepper smacks Tony on the back of the head with the envelope.

"Ow! What the- what did I do now! I was just joking about the carbonara thing... mostly."

Tony finally meets Pepper's eyes of scorn. She tosses something in front of him with a huff.

"Tony, he even used a Darth Vader sticker. Do you know how adorably geeky and topical that is? You have got to start paying more attention to the living breathing people in front of you instead of your machines. Dinner is ready, please come upstairs."

Tony watches her leave as the clack of her heels fade away with every step. He's not sure what Darth Vader has to do with missing dinner, but he's quick to get up and start to follow.

He pauses before he makes it out the door, turning to finish the last line of code before he forgets the function. He pushes something off of his keyboard to type and press save.

Tony can't remember the last time he looked up from his work long enough to consume solid food. He's so ready to carb-load with some Italian food, turning away from the computer and blue envelope.

Tony's eyebrows furrow. Hm. Darth Vader sticker.

Tony turns back around and picks up the envelope from beside his keyboard.

This must be what the kid was yapping about earlier. Tony sticks his hand inside and finds a card, pulling it out.

"Father's Day it is," the front says in bold lettering with a picture of Yoda crudely hand-drawn with a sharpie and green highlighter. Tony flips it open, "celebrate you we must" is written in the middle of the page.

Below is a message in smaller writing; "Thank you for everything Mr. Stark, we wouldn't be here without you!" with a blob of sharpie that looks suspiciously like it's scribbled out a small heart, then signed "From Peter, Dum-E and U" each name written in their own unique handwriting.

"Friday, what day is it?"

"It is Sunday June 16th, also celebrated as Father's Day in countries such as the United States, Canada, and the UK."

Hm.

Tony stands there and stares at the card for longer than he'd ever admit before looking up at Dum-E.

"You help with this?" he asks, pointing at the card.

Dum-E chirps happily, twirling his claw around.

"Your hand writing's terrible."

* * *

Peter enters the lab slowly, an unsureness to him that's out of character.

It's Wednesday, his usual day for coming over to Tony's workshop. He hasn't heard anything from Tony since Sunday, not that he usually does. Still, the quietness has unnerved him. He's not sure what he was even expecting from his mentor; silence is probably the nicest response he could hope for after embarrassing himself like that.

"Hi Mr. Stark," he greets once he spots the older man sitting next to a complicated tangle of wires.

"Hey kid, can you go to the computer and run the command I have open for me?"

"Sure thing!" Peter says as he dumps his backpack onto the floor and jogs over.

The two get into an easy rhythm and Peter's practically forgotten why he was nervous in the first place when, "hey grab us some sodas will you," Mr. Stark asks him.

Peter walks up to the fridge in the corner of the room when he notices something new.

In the center of the silver metal lies a single piece of paper, stuck to the refrigerator with a plain magnet seemingly scrapped from some old hardware in the lab.

Tony has his Father's Day card displayed like some dorky parent whose kid got a half-decent report card, showcased on a fridge like a toddler's finger painted masterpiece.

It makes Peter so happy he can't wipe the stupid grin off his face the entire time he's grabbing sodas and delivering one to Tony.

The older hums a thanks without looking away from his project, but as Peter turns away Tony's own face contorts into a pleased smile all of his own.

The two share identical smiles all afternoon, hidden behind soda cans and computer screens.

[formulawolff]

sunbathing - t.w.

pairing: reader x dbf!toto wolff

word count: 1.3k

warnings: age gap, highly inappropriate flirting and banter, fingering (f! receiving), alcohol use, some light smut for this fine sunday evening, fyi, the reader is in her early/mid 20s in this!,

a/n: the premise of this one came to me as a request! i just want to clarify that this is a slight au, as toto is not a married man in this! i hope y’all enjoy! <3 (also that gif?? omf. i need him.)

bundles of light cast a shine on the waves, the surrounding air tinged with the salty scent of the sea. the only color in your field of vision is blue, the hues ranging from a vivid cerulean to a rich sapphire. above, seagulls glide, dotting the skyline with tiny white specks.

you bask in the warmth of the sun, your heated skin glowing from your tanning oil. situated on the sun deck, you were in the perfect spot to catch some rays, reapplying tanning oil routinely throughout the afternoon.

"everything going okay up there honey?"

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

the voice was none other than your father's.

your father happened to be peter bonnington, one of the top engineers for the mercedes-amg petronas formula one team. he just so happened to be close to lewis hamilton, eight time world champion.

yet, to your disappointment, lewis was not present today. so much for shooting your shot with the devilishly handsome driver.

when you were offered the chance to spend the day on toto wolff's yacht with your family, how could you have refused?

who else gets to spend the afternoon sunbathing on desk of a yacht as it floats along the mediterranean sea?

springing to your feet, you lean over the rail, picking out your father as he mingles with the group, "i may come down and get some water soon!"

"sounds good love!" your father responds, a wide grin plastered across his face. stifling a giggle, you notice the crimson hue tinging his cheeks, flourishing into his neck.

oh god, he was drunk.

well, you all were. at least, those old enough to drink.

for the start of the summer break in the season, mr. wolff had suggested the mercedes families gather together for a day of relaxation and celebration. to your disappointment, there were not a lot of suitors present.

of course, there were quite a few children, some teenagers.

you had met with a few girls around your age, but they were still significantly younger, approximately three or fours your junior. so, to escape from the small talk and chitchat, you had waltzed up to the sun deck, settling in one of the chairs.

luckily, you had brought a book with you, so it kept you somewhat busy.

and to your satisfaction, no one bothered you. no one at all.

an afternoon alone on the deck of a yacht, where no one would bother you but to bring you a few drinks and some snacks?

it was perfect. absolutely perfect.

you couldn't have envisioned a more perfect afternoon.

a flurry of voices catches your attention, but you ignore them. it almost sounded as if there was playful argument. of course, recognized your father's voice, as it was the loudest.

your mom was one patient woman, that was for sure.

with the sun beating down, and the buzz of the alcohol, you couldn't help but feel your lashes flutter, drowsiness beginning to take ahold.

"ms. bonnington," a voice startles you, thick with a heavy accent, "i figured i would run some water up for you."

sitting up in your chair, you clutch your chest as you make out who is standing beside you, one bottle of water in each hand.

it was none other than toto wolff.

with his significant stature and broad shoulders, he nearly towers over you, donned in a thin linen button up and khaki shorts.

with his fluffy brunette hair, and sharp, chiseled features framed by thick lashes, there was no denying that the team principal was devastatingly handsome. toned muscles rippled underneath his button-up, the wind catching the fabric every so often, exposing a trail hair leading up to his navel.

sure, you may have had a teenage crush on one of your father's best friends and coworkers, but surely you outgrew that long ago.

surely.

you felt your heart skip a beat as he eyed you, prompting you to respond.

"oh my god," you nearly stumble over your words, "i am so sorry if i didn't hear you the first time, mr. wolff. i was falling asleep and i-"

"no need for those formalities around here," a soft chuckle rumbles in his throat, "you can call me toto, you know."

"i-i'm sorry," you mumble, accepting the water bottles from his hands, "i've probably been in the sun a little too long. i'm a little scatterbrained right now."

"have you been having fun, at least?" to your surprise, the team principal sits in a chair beside you, "i apologize if you haven't been able to meet some people your age. i thought there would be more girls for you to get along with."

"i've been fine," you shrug, "i'm a big girl, i know how to occupy myself."

as you lay back down in the chair, toto can't help but drink in the sight of you.

fuck, were you absolutely gorgeous.

he relished the way your hair was pulled into a tight bun, emphasizing the bridge of your nose and the fullness of your lashes. your skin glistens under the sun, toto swallowing thickly as his mind wanders.

it was so wrong to look at you this way. absolutely sinful.

yet, he couldn't. he couldn't look away.

"everything okay, toto?" oh god, the way his name sounded so sweet from those plush lips.

"i'm fine," he waves a hand, "i'm just admiring the view. that's all."

you arch a brow, pursing your lips, "the mountains or my ass?"

ever so slightly, you wiggle your wips, cheeks jiggling in response.

"you want me to be honest or do you want me to lie?"

"hmmm," you hum, "i prefer honesty, mr. wolff."

mr. wolff.

in his shorts, he felt his cock throb. instinctively, he shifts in the seat, praying that you wouldn't notice.

however, it's hard to miss.

especially in those khaki shorts.

"see something you like?" you bat your lashes, the corners of your lips curling into a devious grin.

"yes," he leans over, face merely centimeters from yours, "you."

"not like you can do anything about it," you counter, the tough exterior crumbling as you feel a hand gliding along the back of your thigh, squeezing the curve of your ass.

perhaps you did not outgrow that teenage crush all those years ago.

"i can," he smirks ever so slightly, "no one can see up here. if i would have known you were wearing this little number, i would have ran up with that water hours ago."

"what if someone comes up here?"

"they won't," he shakes his head, "they're all eating right now."

"you don't think my father will come looking for me?"

"do you know how intoxicated your father is right now? he wouldn't even make it up the stairs," fingers hook the strap of your bikini bottoms, snapping it against your skin, "so, schatzi, what shall we do?"

"what's on your mind?"

toto cocks his head, the fingers delving between your thighs. nimbly, they lightly trace along your folds, teasing, "oh, if we were completely alone, it would be a far different story. however, i have limited time, and there's a large gathering down below."

"oh fuck," you clamp down on your tongue as a finger circles your clit, juices beginning to trickle down your soft skin.

"you like that?" toto coos, applying more pressure, "you like how wet i make you? you're a good girl, letting me touch you like this."

"toto!" a voice calls from below, "we need your assistance with the radio!"

"jesus fucking christ," the team principal rolls his eyes.

rising to his feet, fingers grasp you chin, tilting your head upwards.

"you should accompany your father to a grand prix sometime. i would love to see your beautiful face one day in the paddock."

"maybe i will," you murmur, flashing toto with a radiant grin, "would you fuck me in the paddock too?"

"oh schatzi, i would do more than fuck you in the paddock. i would make that little pussy of yours weep."

and just like that, you watch as the team principal strolls over to the stairs, shooting you one final wink before disappearing.

biting your lip, you reach for the water, twisting it open.

perhaps you would lean over that rail one more time.

after all, you were starting to get an appetite.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Disturbing the Force

It was an epic day of Harkle shenanigans after just over a month of radio silence from Harry and a week and half without Meghan.

And they both came roaring back to the public consciousness in top form. Let's wind the clock back a little bit, and dive in.

June 14, 2024

It's Trooping Eve, and Kate kicks the celebration off with an update on her health, a new portrait, and an announcement that she will attend The King's Birthday Parade the next day. The social media post goes viral and it becomes breaking news, complete with push alerts.

June 15, 2024

Trooping Saturday. Kate makes her glorious and glamorous return to the public spotlight. Charles, recovering from his own health battle, looks fab as well.

Meghan can't deal with it and orders Nacho Figueras to shill her latest products for Roop ARO, raspberry jam and dog biscuits. The backlash is swift and immediate, and Meghan issues an almost-apology saying she didn't know that Kate would be returning to work on Trooping Saturday and she didn't intend to distract from it.

(Sure, and I didn't intend to drink a whole bottle of prosecco but 🤷‍♀️ here we are, snark and all.)

June 16, 2024

Father's Day. The official BRF social media posts archival footage of Charles and Prince Philip. William posts a photo of himself with Charles. Kate posts a photo of William and the kids with the kids' first post on social media.

The Sussexes don't observe Father's Day, unless you count activating the bots and the Squad to complain about William honoring his father with a photo that doesn't include his father's other son.

June 17, 2024

It's Garter Monday. All is quiet. William looks fantastic, as always. Kate is missed, as always.

June 18, 2024

Royal Ascot begins. It's still quiet. Lady Gabriella makes a public appearance, riding in a carriage with Anne and Peter. She looks to be in high spirits.

Meghan is still smarting over the public calling her out for stealing Kate's glory. She fires up the hotmail and gives exclusive comments to British tabloid Closer (not to be confused with Kyra Sedgwick's The Closer) that:

“Both Harry and Meghan have been following Kate’s recovery with huge interest, but sadly it’s had to be more from afar because their lines of communication with the palace and The Waleses, in particular, are very limited, to say the least. They have had enough information to know that people are excited about the idea of a comeback for Kate and they’re both relieved and happy to hear that she’s on the mend and may soon be well enough to return to her duties. They’ve jointly reached out to send well wishes, but they’re still not really in a place with Kate to warrant much of a response. That hasn’t stopped them from trying to connect and do what they see as the right thing. When Kate gets back into action, their hope is that it might take some of the heat off them and possibly trigger a truce with her and William, and with the King, too.”

and

“Meghan’s desperate to come across as the bigger person and end this feud between them – appearing like some sort of royal saviour could only do her image good. And, despite all their bad blood, her heart does go out to Kate – she can only imagine how hard this situation must be for her. Meghan has made it clear she’d love nothing more than to move past all the nonsense and find a way towards healing for everyone’s sake. She’s ready and willing to let the anger and bitterness go. Of course, it’s not really up to her and Harry, all they can do is continue to reach out and offer olive branches. Meghan hopes her feelings are being communicated to Kate through their mutual friends. There’s no doubt making peace with William and Kate would be a huge relief for Meghan on many levels, not least because it would also improve her reputation and, in turn, the new brand she’s cultivating.”

Y'all, I cannot. Meghan says she has mutual friends with Kate. Ha! That's as believable as "William's friend" giving exclusives to Richard Eden about William's plan for his monarchy.

and

“Meghan would love to be accepted by the British public again and getting the seal of approval from Kate and William would go a long way towards that. It’s got to be pretty nerve-wracking for Meghan, so much is riding on making amends with Kate and William and no matter what she and Harry do, ultimately they have very little control over the outcome, all they can do is continue to reach out, and hope for the best.”

Just to remind everyone, Closer is probably the source of the Sussexes' new British PR person that they promoted pre-Nigeria.

June 19, 2024

William attends Royal Ascot with his cousins and the Middletons. Everyone loves how close he is with his parents-in-law, compared to, well, you know.

Absolutely no one picks up Meghan's interview with Closer (maybe she should've tried Kyra Sedgwick) so Meghan's hotmail tips off the New York Post, who finally writes about it.

(Fun fact. I went to college with a girl who went to school with the Bacon-Sedgwick kids. She told me once that Kevin Bacon is more amazing than you think he is but Kyra is a bitch.)

(Also I'm watching the AFI Achievement Award for Nicole Kidman and she is so fabulous. Oh, man. They're parodying her AMC commercial with MORGAN FREEMAN. Sorry, guys. I really did drink that whole bottle of prosecco so please just bear with me.)

June 20, 2024

Meghan's check to her old stomping grounds, OK Magazine, clears and they write about the Closer's Olive Branch.

June 21, 2024

William's birthday. Kate posts one of the most amazing photographs she's ever taken of William and the kids, jumping off a sand cliff on the beach at Norfolk. One of the things that fascinates me the most about this photo is how William and George (the future kings) are looking at the camera while Charlotte and Louis are looking forward. I suppose someone more sober than me tonight can make an eloquent metaphor about how the kings are looking at their people while the spares are looking for their landing zone.

William takes his kids, Mike and Zara, Peter and Savannah, and some friends to see Taylor Swift. They have an absolutely chaotic time shaking it off, hanging out with Taylor, and meeting the Kelce Brothers.

Wales loyalists photoshop Harry's Friar Tuck into the birthday photo (or maybe it was the Father's Day photo? it was really well-done) and they also do a "who wore it best" of the dueling pink linen suits: Mike Tindall at the Eras Tour or Meghan Markle at the Lakers game.

June 22, 2024

Sussex Squad continue their shenanigans over William's dancing and attendance at the Eras Tour.

Thomas Markle publishes an op-ed in the Daily Mail talking about how all he wants is to talk to Meghan again and see her children.

It reminds me of ancient tea that came out in July 2018 (yes I can remember that specifically because I was riding on a very stinking hot London underground subway at the time) that Meghan and her people were shopping for PR agencies in late 2017/early 2018 and Meghan's brief to the PR agencies included that Samantha and Tom Sr. were to be used as sources and strategies for PR.

Whenever Meghan needs to reset the public narrative, she trots out dear ol' Dad to give her the victim edit. It's her MO, right there next to "throw everyone under the bus."

June 23, 2024

Richard Eden's op-ed that the Sussexes are becoming more irrelevanter than irrelevant gets picked up by American media, including the New York Post. But before you can think "someone forgot to pay them this week!", the article course-corrects, reminding us that the Sussexes had graciously offered to pick up royal duties while Charles and Kate are away but mean William won't let them.

June 24, 2024

The Mirror rubs it in Harry's face that he doesn't stand a chance at inheriting Diana's home. Apparently we're all "surprised" that Earl Spencer's son is set to inherit the estate "due to the aristocracy's system of primogeniture."

That reminds me. Earl Spencer's archaeological dig at Althorp found a roman bracelet. He posted about it on Twitter. (We're allowed to still call it Twitter, according to the Supreme Court.) (And I guess he's still boinking the archaeologist.)

June 25, 2024

The Japan State Visit to the UK begins. William looks fantastic accompanying the Emperor and his wife to the parade grounds to begin the visit. We all wonder what he's going to do because the state banquet takes place the same time as football. Is he going to smuggle his phone to the dinner? (Nope! But he must have required someone at KP to watch the match because their "congratulations" tweet went up lickety-split.)

Charles makes a comment during his toast about his grandchildren and Sussex Squad and anti-Katers seize ahold of it to mean that he's talking about Archie and Lili.

The BRF courts controversy when Sophie wears the Lotus Flower Tiara (famously loaned to Kate) and issues a press release saying that Queen Camilla loaned it to Sophie. Everyone gets mad and blog-shouts how dare she but I think it's a nothingburger. You can see that the tiara still "belongs" to Kate because the velvet wrapping on the brace is still the dark brown of Kate's hair (as opposed to being changed to yellow for Sophie's hair) so probably Kate meant to wear it but she couldn't attend, so it was given to Sophie because of what the lotus symbolizes in Japanese culture. (I have another anon that wrote in about this. I'll post it soon.)

Not to be outdone, Meghan's hotmail tells Marie Claire Magazine to promote her latest olive branch (from Closer on June 18th, but they quote OK Magazine's story from June 20th).

June 26, 2024

Scotty's Little Soldiers published a tearful video discussion their founder, Nikki Scott, had with Harry over loss and grief. Harry talked about losing his mother. Nikki talked about dealing with the loss of her husband and having to tell her then-five year old child.

Harry has supported Scotty's Little Soldiers since 2017 when he met the founder at a Buckingham Palace event. Harry later named Scotty's Little Soldiers as one of seven charities for his wedding.

The video doesn't really get much attention, largely going unnoticed by most. (There's some speculation it was filmed last week or when Harry was last in the UK (May for the Invictus anniversary) but I am one with the couch now.)

June 27, 2024

It was a busy, busy day for the Sussexes!

First, There was a ruling in one of Harry's lawsuits, which drops a bomb that Harry is being accused by News Group Newspapers (whom he's suing in one of his umpteen lawsuits in the phone hacking case that won't go away) of having destroyed evidence for the lawsuit. In a (tipsy) nutshell (I mean, let's face it, you do sorta have to be tipsy to understand the lawsuits), NGN wants Harry to disclose what information / evidence he has, or has knowledge of existing, supporting his allegations of the phone hacking. They are trying to find out if Harry knew he had a claim (aka grounds for a lawsuit) before 2013. If they can prove he did, then the case can be thrown out because it was filed too late.

The judge is concerned that Harry's lawyers hasn't addressed that issue and he doesn't like that Harry has been doing all the research himself and - reading between the lines - it's a veiled accusation of obstruction because it sounds like Harry has refused to cooperate with the lawyers by deliberately controlling and withholding his records from evidence disclosure. NGN says "We have had to drag those out of the claimant [Harry] kicking and screaming."

Additionally, the judge revealed "troubling evidence" that tons of messages between Harry and his Spare ghostwriter over emails and apps had been destroyed. (This is the destruction of evidence issue.

Ah, the neighbors have started shooting off July 4th fireworks. *eagle screech of freedom*)

The judge ruled that Harry and/or his team:

Must conduct a wider search of his laptop and WhatsApp account(s) for the missing emails, texts, and messages for exchanges from 2005 through early 2023

Must try to retrieve the messages from the Signal app he used to communciate with his Spare ghostwriter.

Must produce a witness statement to explain his exchanges with the ghostwriter (which could lead to testimony from the ghostwriter -- juicy!)

Must send letters to the royal household and their lawyers requesting copies relating to Harry's communications during this time so they could be examined for relevance and applicability. Two people from the royal household were named and y'all, I don't think they're happy about getting dragged into this.

Must make an interim payment of 60,000 pounds to NGN for their costs of the hearing. (I don't know why.)

(Reuters Link)

Second, the ESPYs announced today that Harry will be receiving their Pat Tillman Award for Service for his work with Invictus Games.

Here is what the press release says about Harry's selection:

In honor of his tireless work in making a positive impact for the veteran community through the power of sport, Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex will receive the Pat Tillman Award for Service, an award given to a person with a strong connection to sports who has served others in a way that echoes the legacy of the former NFL player and U.S. Army Ranger, Pat Tillman. After serving for 10 years in the British Armed Forces, including two tours of duty in Afghanistan as a forward air controller and Apache helicopter pilot, Prince Harry founded The Invictus Games Foundation, continuing his service by creating an international platform to support wounded, injured, and sick servicemen and women – both active-duty and veterans – who are navigating both physical and invisible injuries. Since inception, the Games have transcended borders and impacted lives across every continent, bringing together competitors from 23 nations, with continued support and programming 365 days of the year. Now celebrating its tenth year, The Invictus Games has evolved into a globally celebrated and acclaimed organization that celebrates resilience, community, and healing through the power of sport. Past recipients of the Pat Tillman Award for Service include Jake Wood (2018), Kirstie Ennis (2019), Kim Clavel (2020), Marcus Rashford (2021), Gretchen Evans (2022) and the Buffalo Bills Training Staff (2023). 

Yeah, we're all sorts of pissed off because it's clear that Harry bought the award because he certainly doesn't qualify for it. Invictus Games qualifies for the award; not their bratty founder who takes all the credit.

It was totally purchased for the 10th anniversary of Invictus and to help Harry look important, like he actually does something and is worth everything he grifts gets. Speaking of, they haven't announced the 2027 host yet. Small mercies, I suppose. I wouldn't put it past them to try and announce it during the Olympics, because one thing Harry (and Meghan too) is very good at is not being able to read the fucking room.

According to the tea that has leaked out, the ESPY announcement caught many off-guard at ESPN because it was not meant to happen today (check out the comments here), leading to theories that:

The Sussexes are trying to bury the news that Harry's lawsuit isn't going well and that he's been reamed out in court.

Harry is trying to compete with William, who is attending a conference today for Earthshot 2023 winners with Bill Gates and Hannah Waddingham.

It's a tactical PR campaign to prop Hero Harry up for the UK's observance of Armed Forces Day on Saturday, June 29th.

or

4. All of the above.

(if you guessed #4, you're right!)

Third, in the most amazing of coincidences, Meghan Markle was papped in Beverly Hills merching a tracksuit for a photo shoot. Since it was near a popular coffee shop, my theory is that she's doing something for that Clevr thing, the one she did the commercial for last year. Maybe some kind of corporate partnership with her lifestyle brand. Clevr + ARO = the tracksuit fashion no one but Sue Sylvester needs.

Anyway. That's what you missed on Glee.

[blu3n]

JASON X FREADER

Established relationship : married, fluff/loving

TW : English is not my native language, it may be first person in Jason Peter Todd's speech.

Obs : open orders (Jason todd)

@blu3n : I do not allow under any circumstances to steal my story

🪼

Jason wouldn't be the type to get down on one knee to ask you to marry him or make a declaration of love, no, he's not even romantic.

but I believe he would be the type to show how much he loves you and when he is sure he wants to marry you he would do it, in his own way but he would do it

and speaking of marriage, I believe it would be like this.

how did you meet:

Wedding was the word Jason never thought he would think of in his entire life. The day he looked at you, your hair messy in the wind, your face shining in the sun, looking like you were arguing with someone on the phone, it made him turn his neck and stare at you. It was the strangest way to meet you.

Another time was when he was returning home after a tiring night of patrol... His eyes followed to the same place where he saw you, and there you were, only more dressed up, your wavy hair that seemed to be styled with curlers, your nails beautiful and your minimal makeup, just enough to leave anyone speechless.

The other times he saw you, he would gather up the courage and ask for directions. Yes, he knew Gotham like the back of his hand, but he wouldn't waste time getting to know you by pretending to be a new guy in town.

After that night, he was fully aware that it wouldn't be the first or the last time he would meet you. Jason found himself falling for you before he even realized it, even with the paranoia and PTSD episodes that accompanied it. Deep down, he knew you were different... He knew you weren't a bad person; that conviction resonated deep within him.

So, after years of building that wonderful bond—that warmth that everyone feels when they're truly in love—he finally decided to ask for your hand in marriage. After a period of dating that brought you even closer, this was a significant step for someone like him.

There you were, dressed in a stunning white gown, walking into the ceremony next to your father. The woman of his life, the woman he adored with every step she took... the woman he would give his life for.

The wedding was reminiscent of Dick and Barbara Gordon's, held in a beautiful beachfront location, with only close friends and family in attendance. He didn't want anything extravagant and was relieved to know that you preferred a simple celebration too.

That moment was so magical that he couldn't hold back the tears of joy that streamed down his face.

"Oh God, you gave me a goddess," he muttered to himself as he fought to keep more tears from falling.

"Go ahead, man," his older brother Dick's voice echoed in the background, accompanied by a gentle slap on his shoulder.

As he approached, he took her hand gently, afraid to squeeze it too hard and hurt that wonderful hand. I was shaking so hard I was sure you could feel it. "I love you. You look beautiful," he said, his voice full of adoration as he stood in front of you. "Thank you, you look great too," you replied, smiling brightly, barely able to hold back the tears of joy that streamed down your face.

After the priest's speech about the wedding, he asks the question to which you happily answer, accepting the wedding vows, for he was the love of your life.

"And you, Jason? Do you take (your name) to be your wife?"

Jason knew he had won the lottery; a woman like you was nowhere to be found. The depth of love he had received from you had made you his home... you had become a part of his flesh, a part of himself, and he would never let you go.

"Yes... I do," Jason said, his gaze never leaving yours for a second.

"Now you may kiss the bride—" Without waiting for the priest to finish, he leaned down and captured your lips, sealing the bond of marriage and declaring it officially in front of your friends and family.

He loves you.

[flowerandblood]

The Gate of Salvation [1/3]

[ young pope • Aemond x catholic • female ]

[ warnings: sexual tension, angst, anxiety, manipulation, doubts related to faith, chauvinism ]

[ description: During the conclave, a new pope is elected, but to everyone's surprise, he does not intend to show himself to the crowds waiting for him. His ideas terrify the cardinals, and one of them convinces his niece, who is studying marketing, to talk to the new head of the Catholic Church in his presence. Main theme: sexual tension & holy touch. ]

A mini-series created as a thank you and celebration of my 2'500 followers. I initially plan that it will have about 3 chapters.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

The Song of Songs (Oneshot) Death and Ressurection (Oneshot)

Aemond as a Pope Edit Series Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

What happened after the conclave took everyone by surprise and caused complete chaos in the Catholic Church; she was one of the people who watched the live coverage from St Peter's Square.

She prayed in spirit that her uncle and her mother's brother, Cardinal Reene, would not become Pope.

Admittedly, it was thanks to him that she was living in Rome, and without his financial support she would not have been able to study, however, her uncle was a person who did nothing selflessly.

He recalculated to himself that if his niece wanted to study marketing at University then he would help her, reminding her at times that he would count on her help in the future, to create a good, sympathetic image of him.

She had the feeling that listening to him she was even losing her faith, which, despite her many internal disputes and doubts, was strong in her. She returned to the bosom of the church of her own free will when she was in high school after years of not attending Mass; she discovered that she felt attached to this tradition, as well as to God himself, whose presence she subconsciously felt all around her.

She knew that her uncle would certainly try to bribe other cardinals and she guessed what his pontificate would be like, so she begged God in her prayers not to allow such a man to become head of the church in his name, and heavens, as always, heard her prayers.

When she saw the white smoke on the screen she let out a loud breath, closing the textbook she had just been reading – she heard shouts and applause of joy coming from the television; the bells rang out, the solemn moment when the new pope comes out onto the balcony to greet his faithful was about to begin.

This went on for an astonishingly long time and she wondered if something had happened or if the votes had been miscounted, however, she heard the cheers of the crowd again as the doors opened. What stepped out was not a procession, but an ordinary priest in a black cassock; she recognised in him the secretary of the late Pope, who was certainly not a cardinal.

He seemed tense and frightened; he approached the microphone and said only two sentences.

"We have a Pope. The Holy Father, who has taken the name Pius XIII, asks you all to pray for him." He said in a trembling, uncertain voice, all pale, and then disappeared back behind the door – voices of disbelief and disappointment spread throughout the square, the gathered people, like her, were shocked.

However, all the internet portals published the name of the cardinal who had been elected; it turned out that the new pope was Cardinal Targaryen, a very little-known, withdrawn and shockingly young priest.

He was only two years older than her.

Journalists despaired that there were no official or unofficial photos of him, no statements from him, as if he had lived for years locked away in some monastery and never stepped into the light of day.

The world was confused and anxious – the young pope had not stepped out onto the balcony of St Peter's Basilica even once despite the crowds gathered in the square below chanting his name day and night.

She wondered if, in this way, he wanted to focus the world's attention even more on himself by standing in the absolute centre of it, and thought that if so, it was not a good beginning to his pontificate.

Two days later, her uncle paid her an unannounced visit at the flat he was renting to her, dressed so that no one would recognise him, just like the other cardinals still hounded by journalists and paparazzi.

"I need your help. The matter is very delicate." He said quickly, handing her his coat, which she hung on one of the hangers, looking at him over her shoulder in surprise.

"Me?" She asked with her eyes wide open, wondering what was going on there that required the help of someone from outside the Vatican.

"Pius XIII is a cripple. He lost his left eye as a child. He insists that if he is to show himself to a crowd, it should only be with his artificial eye, but not an ordinary one, one that resembles the real one, but a completely white one. He thinks this suits his attire and position better, but we think it will create additional confusion about him. Additionally, he wants to keep the Pope's public appearances to a complete minimum. He has fired all the Vatican marketing people with years of experience. This is some madness. Can I have a coffee?" He finally asked after his verbosity, sitting down in a chair at the living room table, placing his black wide-brimmed hat on the tabletop, sighing heavily.

She nodded, snapped out of her reverie and the shock of his words, pulling a mug and black coffee from her cupboard. Her uncle drank coffee made from three heaped teaspoons without milk, and although she didn't know how he could swallow something so disgusting and not have a heart attack in the process, she made it the way he liked it.

She swallowed loudly, pouring water into the kettle, putting it on the burner and turning the fire on under it, analysing everything he had told her.

"It sounds like he has a very low and a very high opinion of himself at the same time. How could I help here, uncle? I'm just a student." She said in dismay, shrugging her shoulders; her uncle nodded his head as if convinced that this would be her answer.

"You are young, you have a fresh outlook. He doesn't want to listen to us old people, he thinks we're out of step with the world and what it needs, whatever that means." He said with a sneer, looking out of the window, spreading himself comfortably in his chair with a creak of wood.

"I'd like you to try to talk to him, to understand what he means, what his vision is. Guide him to the idea that young people too want peace and predictability, not perpetual rebellion. I told him I could introduce you, that you are very talented and he agreed." He said finally and scratched the back of his neck – she heard the kettle whistle and turned off the fire under it, feeling that she had simply run out of words.

"− what? − I − oh God, uncle, I don't know − what if I make things worse and you lose in his eyes because of me? −" She muttered, feeling adrenaline start to bubble throughout her body; she poured hot water over the coffee in her mug, grabbed it and set it in front of him, then started walking back and forth across the room, panicking in some kind of way.

"This would just be a consultation − two young people want to change the image of the church to, let's say, a more welcoming one − this could be your big chance." He said, lifting the mug to his lips, taking a sip from it and murmuring contentedly, apparently finding that his coffee was exactly the way he liked it.

He persuaded her for so long that she finally agreed, but she regretted it as soon as he walked out.

She was inexperienced in discussions with this world, with such people, and was afraid she would make a mistake, do something against protocol and embarrass herself.

Her uncle sent her a message on the day of the meeting saying that she must dress modestly, preferably in white or black, her dress must end at least past her knees, her toes must not stick out of her shoes, her shoulders must be covered. Sharp, defiant make-up was not acceptable.

She was to address the Pope as Holy Father or Your Holiness, keep the proper distance, not sit with her legs crossed, not put her elbows on the armrests, not lean or crouch in front of him, approach him only if he wanted her to kiss his ring.

The amount of information she received overwhelmed her; she took a quick look in her wardrobe and found that her simple black dress with white embroidered collar and cuffs was the perfect length – it had no cleavage, it looked elegant, innocent and girly at the same time.

She decided to wear flesh-coloured tights with it and sleek black shoes, which she had previously polished. She styled her long dark hair in a braid around her head, keeping it in place with pins, short, unruly strands on the sides of her face.

She used only mattifying powder and mascara as her make-up, deciding that this was enough, around her neck a necklace with a small gold cross that she had been given once by her grandfather.

At the appointed hour, a black car pulled up in front of her townhouse; she got into the back seat and greeted the driver, who, however, did not answer her, driving off without a word.

After several minutes they were already in the Vatican itself; she looked through the car window at the crowds of people spilling out of St Peter's Square, saw a group of men and women holding cardboard sheets in their hands with the handwritten words:

Our Pope does not love us.

She lowered her gaze, silently contemplating all that was happening, and shuddered as they stopped in front of the gate – a Swiss Guard officer dressed in colourful historical attire with red, yellow and navy blue stripes stopped their car.

Her driver showed him his ID and the man nodded – the gate opened and they drove inside into a small courtyard that she saw for the first time in her life.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the figure of her uncle waiting for her in his full, opulent cardinal's robe, a cross on his chest of pure gold, adorned with rubies and diamonds.

He greeted her with a broad smile and joy, with a gesture of his hand inviting her inside – they ascended the baroque staircase to the corridor, the view of the interior of the entire complex took her breath away.

She was surrounded on all sides by paintings and sculptures by the great Italian masters of the Renaissance, Baroque and Classicism; she felt a solemn mood, though she did not know why, as if she had in fact entered the truest home of God himself on earth.

The guards as well as other men passing her looked at her intently – she thought with horror and shame that women, with the exception of nuns, were a rare visitor to this sanctuary and aroused curiosity mixed with distrust.

Here, what Eve did in paradise according to the Bible, because of whom sin possessed man, was never forgotten.

They climbed the stairs to the upper floor and then stood in front of a large white door, high up to the ceiling, with two men in the same colourful garments standing in front of them. Her uncle sighed heavily, as if stressed himself, and looked at her comfortingly.

"I'll do the talking, you keep quiet for now." He said lightly, surprising her completely – she had no time to reply as he nodded and one of the guards opened the door for him.

Her uncle moved ahead, so she moved behind him, entering a spacious, bright room with six windows overlooking St Peter's Square – to their right stood bookcases filled to the brim with books, and to their left a huge wooden desk.

Only after a moment did she notice someone standing by one of the windows; he was turned to them with his back, looking out at the crowds knowing they couldn't see him, a white cassock on his body, his short hair looking elegant and carefully styled, pulled back, almost white, glistening in the sunlight.

"Holy Father. As promised, I bring before you my niece, who I hope will allow us to come to an agreement." He said in a light, cheerful tone, as if addressing a friend, but they were answered by an uncomfortable silence.

She swallowed loudly when he finally turned to face them, her heart stopped for a moment when she saw how sharply shaped his face was – his cheeks and jaw were clearly outlined as if someone had carved them with a chisel, his mouth full, a pale scar running across the left side of his forehead to his cheek, his artificial eye completely white.

She felt that she was looking at him with her lips slightly parted and some sort of concern, so she lowered her gaze, reminding herself that she shouldn't do that.

"Hm." She heard him hum under his breath, as if he was thinking hard about something.

"Leave us alone, Cardinal." He said finally, turning his face towards the window again – she and her uncle looked at each other horrified, for this was not their plan.

She was only going to be an accessory, he was going to be the one doing all the talking.

"Your Holiness, I…"

"Get out."

Her uncle pressed his lips together and grunted, bowed his head and left, not even bestowing a glance on her despite the despair written on her face, leaving her to her fate.

She swallowed loudly as the door closed behind him and intertwined her hands in front of her, not knowing what to do, where to look, a cold sweat on her back.

"Do not be afraid, child. I know your uncle's nature. If I didn't let him bring you here he wouldn't let me alone." He began reluctantly, as if the very fact that he had to talk to her made him very tired; he moved with his hands entwined behind him ahead, walking along the windows, his profile illuminated by the sun.

She lowered her gaze, feeling a wave of shame surge through her, understanding that he knew perfectly well what her uncle wanted.

That it wasn't just about his image, but that he, as a cardinal, wanted his favour and the high position, money and comfort he could give him.

"What do you think of my decision not to show myself in public?" He asked finally; she raised her eyes at him, surprised, horrified that she had to answer. She swallowed loudly and licked her lips, dry of stress, thinking intensely about what she should say.

"Go on. You're supposed to know it, after all, it's an image issue." He growled and looked at her with an anger that sent a shiver through her; she stared at him in disbelief and fear trying to decide what kind of man he was.

She wasn't sure this was how a pope should behave.

"Driving here I saw people holding cardboard sheets saying: Our Pope does not love us. I felt sadness at the thought that many people feel rejected by your decision, Holy Father." She said at last, feeling that involuntarily her voice trembled and broke; she saw him tighten his lips, his nostrils moved nervously in accelerated breathing.

"Is love a perpetual vying for attention, standing in the centre? Is love only the deeds that can be shown, that anyone can see and name?" He asked frustrated, and she felt a squeeze in her throat, her lower lip quivered. She shook her head.

"People are afraid of what they do not know. You don't let them meet you, Holy Father." She whispered, and he snorted, turning back, going the other way, as if thinking over her words.

"So you think I should speak? Go out on the balcony and give them what they want?" He asked dryly. She let the air quietly out of her lungs, feeling her body tense all over – she had the feeling that she had adopted a defensive posture, as if ready for him to hit her.

"No. But I think it is necessary to find a way in which they can see you, Holy Father. To feel that you are in their lives physically as well. They need a guide, not another invisible God." She said finally and fell silent, lowering her gaze, feeling that her last sentence might have been too far-fetched.

She noticed with horror that he stopped hearing what she had said.

"You think I'm doing this out of vanity?" He asked in disbelief. She lifted her gaze to him, for some reason feeling that she was on the verge of crying.

"I don't know, Holy Father. I do not know you, nor do any of your faithful. We are sheeps who do not know where to go and where is their shepherd. Do you think we are too sinful? That we don't deserve to see you?" She asked finally in a trembling voice, his healthy eye fixed on her.

Our Pope does not love us.

She shuddered, feeling the rapid pounding of her heart as he moved towards her with a slow, lazy step, not taking his eyes off her, towering over her. She didn't know what she saw in his gaze, proud and cool; she felt heat in her lower abdomen as the pleasant scent of his masculine perfume filled her nostrils.

She thought he had approached her far too closely.

She froze and swallowed loudly as he lifted his hand; she thought for a moment in horror and disbelief that he would touch her breasts, however, he grasped her golden cross in his hand and turned it between his fingers, looking at it thoughtfully.

"I am not a hypocrite. There is no greater sinner in this world than me. I am vain. I am proud. I am cold. I am eternally, eternally thirsty." He murmured softly and looked into her eyes, her lips slightly parted in disbelief.

She felt panic begin to overtake her body as her insides throbbed wonderfully hard at his ambiguous, unsettling words.

Something about him she found disturbing, even though she was surrounded by whiteness and daylight it seemed to her that the room had gone dark.

She was only able to breathe and look at him, nothing more.

"Do you believe in God?" He asked, still playing with her necklace, however, he did so in such a way that once in a while his fingers rubbed against the material of her dress lying between her breasts, each time a wonderful shiver ran through her spine.

There was something evil, menacing, lewd in the way he asked the question, in the way he acted and the way he looked at her and she knew it, she was horrified by how strongly her body reacted to it.

"Yes." She whispered, as if she was admitting something she was ashamed of, something that was her secret.

He hummed again under his breath, as if accepting her words – his hand let go of her necklace and returned to the other, placed behind his back.

"I'm hiring you. You will be my image specialist. I expect you here tomorrow at 8am. That's all. You may go." He said indifferently, turning away as if nothing had happened; she sighed quietly, terrified, and nodded with a rapidly pounding heart.

"Holy Father." She mumbled, then turned and walked out.

Her uncle ran after her asking her what they were talking about and what had happened – he made the sign of the cross with some kind of relief on his face when she told him in horror that he had hired her.

"What did you say to him about me? I'm only in my second year of university, I don't have the right experience yet." She muttered in a trembling voice; her uncle sighed, correcting his glasses on his nose with his pointing finger.

"He doesn't care about your experience." He said amused, and she looked at him in disbelief.

It suddenly dawned on her what her uncle had been planning all along, and what she had gotten herself into because of her foolishness and naivety.

There is no greater sinner in this world than me.

I am eternally, eternally thirsty.

She felt a squeeze in her throat, tears filling her eyes again as she moved forward, covering her mouth with her hand, distraught, humiliated.

Her uncle didn't want her to be his worker.

Her uncle wanted her to be his lover.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla

[imtryingbuck]

Vows

~ gif not mine credit goes to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky and you are married- that is all.

Word count: 1,165

Warnings: fluff. that is all.

A/N: I’ve never been to a wedding before so if anything’s wrong take it up with my lawyer.

Masterlist

You remember the day when Bucky proposed like it was yesterday.

The bright fluffy clouds littering the clear blue sky, birds flying freely. Your hand was in Bucky’s as he leads you further into the clearing of the field, you were about to say something when he stopped.

“Y/n I love you, I love everything about you. You save me every day, and every day of being with you is like a dream coming true. And I know we’ve only been dating for a year but when you know you know right?”

Tears welled up in your eyes at the sight of him dropping to one knee-

“Y/n L/n will you make me the happiest man in the universe by marrying me?”

You didn’t even answer. You launched yourself at him making both of you fall to the ground. Placing as many kisses as you possibly could all over his beautiful face, you nodded.

The cheers and applauses sounded from somewhere and when you looked you saw the whole team together with huge smiles on their faces.

You celebrated all throughout the night - at Tony’s expense - with your friends making speeches.

Your wedding day was perfect. Just like the day he proposed the sky was blue and the sun was shining, and just like that day, you got married on that field.

You were nervous and excited. You were marrying the man of your dreams and everything was running smoothly. Your dress fit perfectly and was gorgeous, Pepper told you that you looked like a princess and you had to admit, you kind of did.

Pepper was your maid of honour. Nat, Wanda, Maria and Carol were your bridesmaids- who all looked so beautiful in their dresses.

Steve was Bucky’s best man (obviously) Sam, Bruce, Thor and Vision were his groomsmen - all looking very handsome and dapper in their suits.

Clint was the one to give you away, it was a no brainier as he was like the father you never had.

Morgan bless her heart was the flower girl who was walked down by Peter.

And Tony was the one to marry you two. He was way to smug about that - you later found out that every time you two disagreed with him he would always say “don’t forget who married you two”.

Slowly walking down the makeshift isle, Clint clinging on to you like a lifeline your heart broke at seeing Bucky standing there with tears rolling down his cheeks. Clint hands you over to Bucky with a kiss to your cheek and whispered ‘I love you and I’m so proud of you’ in your ear, you whispered ‘I love you’ back. As Bucky was about to take both hands you wiped away the tears and smiled.

“First, I’d like to begin by welcoming everyone and thanking each and every one of you for being here on this most happy of days. We are here to celebrate the perfect couple - other than myself and Pepper- that we all know and love, James and Y/n.” Everyone laughs at Tony’s comment and how serious his voice sounds.

“Sorry you two but I’m going off script. My sweet darling Y/n I have never seen you more happier since you’ve been with Bucky, and to you Bucky I have to say thank you, you’ve shown her what true love is.” Leaning closer towards Bucky he tries to whisper “You break her heart I won’t hesitate to kill you” Of course Bucky would get threaten on his wedding day, and of course everyone hears what Tony says as he’s holding a microphone. “Anyways, Y/n you helped get Bucky out of his shell and even though we didn’t get along at first it’s been nice seeing him find his footing, a pleasure to meet the man Steve knew a trillion years ago” Again, Tony makes everyone laugh including you and Bucky. 

“Bucky you may read your vows”

“Y/n you’re my happiness, my best friend, my love. You’ve been by my side since day one, not once did you leave my side when I was in Wakanda, you help me sleep through the night just because you’re by my side. I love you more than you’ll ever know. I promise in front of everyone here today, to cherish you always, to honour and sustain you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and to be true to you in all things until death alone shall part us”

Tony tries and subtly wipe his tears, clearing his throat he looks to you “Y-Yn you may read your vows now”

“Bucky you’re my happiness, my best friend, my love. I admire your courage, your strength and your determination. I have never felt alone when you’re not by my side because you’re in my heart always. I love you more than you’ll ever know. I promise in front of everyone here today, to cherish you always, to honour and sustain you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and to be true to you in all things until death alone shall part us.”

This time Tony doesn’t bother to wipe the stream of tears away. “No one best try and object to this marriage or I’ll set the big guy on you” Nodding towards to Bruce who waves at everyone “Pepper and Steve please hand over the rings, James repeat after me- With this ring I, James, take you, Y/n, to be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know, I will respect your integrity and have faith in your abiding love for me, through all our years, and in all that life may bring us.” Watching his lips repeat the words back your heart stills.

“Y/n repeat after me- With this ring I, Y/n, take you, James, to be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know, I will respect your integrity and have faith in your abiding love for me, through all our years, and in all that life may bring us.”

“Do you James take Y/n to be your lawfully wedded wife?

“I do”

“Do you Y/n take James to be your lawfully wedded husband?

“I do”

“By the authority vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss th-“ Bucky’s already pulling you in and kissing you before Tony’s even finished his sentence.

Everyone cheers and there’s not a dry eye around.

The rest of the night was beautiful, everyone taking it in turns to make speech’s. The first dance you two shared as husband and wife was to Stand By Me by Ben E. King.

Now two years later after that magical day your sat on the bathroom floor with Bucky by your side, staring down at the white pregnancy test.

“T-that says…”

“I’m pregnant Buck”.

~ banner credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

[tarjapearce]

I wonder what mama would be like when she was pregnant with benji? Was she more active?? Anyways, have a good day/night!

💗💗💗

Benjamin's Pregnancy

Suggestive, fluff and little angst. No proofread ~ c:

After the little stunt in the lookout spot and the police officers calling out your hornytis, you returned home.

But that only had you climbing Miguel like a tree as soon as he closed the door behind you. Not that he complained in the slightest.

"W-Wait" He was mumbling through kisses as you struggled to get his damned shirt out. Hormones running in a brazen flurry all over your body. A single purpose engraved in your grey matter. Make a baby.

"Te juro que si no me haces un bebé-" (I swear that if you don't make me a baby right now)

Miguel only carried your hormone crazed body over his shoulder and gave a low whistle.

"Espérate tantito, mi reina."(Wait a minute).

He tittered as his ears turned pink, like his cheeks, "Let me get the water first."

Cause in truth, you wouldn't give him a rest. Not until your body knew that it was enough. It both amazed yet low key terrified him. He'd awake sore and stiff, spent and completely drained while the overall glow oozed from every pore of your body. Both sex's drive were high, but when ovulating, he had to acknowledge your stamina undoubtedly outmatched him. But the goofy and spent smile you'd awake with later was the perfect reward.

With a roll of his shoulders and a water pitcher on hand and some glasses, he closed the master bedroom's door and begun his work.

----

Your grip only tightened on his waist as tears flowed down your cheeks. He showered your face in soft kisses and loving praises upon watching the positive outcome in the pregnancy test.

"We're having a baby!"

God, he loved the excitement in your voice, the way your tears were out of joy, and the fact you were gonna make him a father, again. It was impossible to not feel the same amount of excitement you were experiencing.

His big hands wiped your eyes and cupped your cheeks while kissing your forehead.

"Can't wait to tell Gabi. She'll be over the moon!"

Now that the first step on his husband duty was completed, the second was just starting. Spoiling you until you were ready to pop his child.

To your surprise MJ gave her own news on the girl's chat group. It was a good distraction for a freshly broken hearted Jessica. A celebration ensued.

Peter was asking Miguel for guidance as you gushed with MJ the future changes her body would take.

Miguel's lips turned into a fond smile upon watching you. Your married ring fit perfectly in your hand, and shone brighter, like your smile whenever you rubbed your belly.

Never once the doubt of you being a bad mother crossed his mind, despite your inexperience and both being young, you had done a pretty good job with Gabriella. And this new stage in your lives would only polish some skills that needed a bit more refining.

----

His heart nearly stopped when the doctor said it was a boy. So far, as long as his kid was healthy, the rest was just a bonus. But now that he'd have a boy it both worried and excited him.

It worried him cause he had no paternal figure to grow with, but like you had told him once.

"You're not your father. You're way much better than him. Look at the wonderful child you've raised, without his help. Be proud of yourself, Mi amor."

He adored your reassurance, and now he'd teach his baby boy everything he had to learn on his own. He'd be a good father.

----

The tidal craving waves made you scourge the fridge at random times thorough the night.

The first crave was simple, jalapeños smeared in peanut butter. You didn't know how, but the flavor was way too good for you to just eat one.

Miguel would find you guzzling his own can of jalapeños while scooping up a spoonful of peanut butter.

"You'll get sick if you eat that much spiciness"

"No, Miguel, wait!"

"Uh-uh. You'll get cramps and-"

Oh shit.

Your eyes turned glossy as he placed the can above the fridge. A spot you certainly didn't reach.

Shit.

"You're so mean."

A hiccup echoed between you two, followed by a sniff.

"Mi reina" His tinge amazed and full of disbelief, "I don't want you to get an upset belly, that's all."

"But I am hungry! They're not even that spicy!"

You sobbed and half yelled. Miguel could only sigh and take the can back

"Here."

"I don't want it anymore."

You took another spoonful of the butter and walked back to your room.

Great.

He rubbed his face in defeat. Now he felt like an idiot for not giving you the canned spicy goods. And definitely that night you didn't cuddle him.

Hormones were surely making a mess out of your emotions, and it took him a bit to adapt at the quickening pace they often changed. Exercise and long walks helped you to keep relaxed and active.

The next day you were crying while apologizing, only for him to hold you and offer you a couple of jalapeños in return. He even tried the odd mix with you to try and understand why you loved that specific combo. Neither good, neither bad, like something he tried before. But glad you were no longer at odds with him.

But soon they stopped being your obsession, instead strawberries and tuna came up. And just like Gabi, you'd wake him up in the middle of the night at the devil's hours to get him to fetch you strawberries cause you had ran out of them. Or called him when he was a few blocks away from your home to let him know and God forbid if he returned with empty hands.

The dangerous months had been long gone, and seeing your baby bump growing with each passing day, made his phone to be filled with a daily picture of you, holding it. Gabi occasionally appearing it them with a goofy grin.

One particular rough day at work, had his energies and emotional reserves drained. But changed immediately when he saw you laughing as Gabi painted over your belly.

"Papa! The baby is kicking!!"

Gabriella gasped and pulled him to place his hand over the clean parts devoid of paint in your belly to feel his baby boy kick.

"Look at that." Miguel huffed in child like wonder as he felt every powerful little kick. He then kissed your belly and your forehead with new energies.

You and Gabi were the reason he'd wake up and work. You'd help him with paperwork at home whenever he needed it.

----

Hormones kicked in harder in the last trimester, everything was a trigger for tears to fall down.

You couldn't reach your toes? You'd cry. The cream cheese was too perfect for digging a spoon in it? You'd cry. Gabriella existing around you and being a happy kid? You'd definitely cry. And if Miguel couldn't find his sock in the washing machine, you'd cry harder.

It was low key funny for him, even had some compilations of you crying over the littlest things in his phone. He'd watch them over and over whenever stress was rampant on his office.

But also, would stare both in awe and hungry when he saw your body bouncing ontop of an exercise ball.

"It brings back memories." He muttered while your cheeks flushed. It was the exact way you rode him while making your baby boy.

When hormones hit between your legs, you wouldn't let him go until he came out of the room, drenched in sweat and breathless. That's where he discovered his lactation kink.

But all horny and sexual thoughts were sapped out his body when he saw you curled in bed, crying and wiping your eyes with tissues. A couple of them used and gathered before you.

"'Tas bien?" (You alright?)

Another muffled sob.

This wasn't the usual hormone craze that made you cry over dappy things, but true and unadulterated sadness. His brows creased as he sat before you.

"Wanna share what's wrong?"

"I feel so useless, Miguel."

"Useless?"

You nodded while sobbing a couple of fresh tears and covered your face with your hands, ashamed.

"I can't even put my shoes on my own. And-" A sniffle, "I feel like I'm leaving all the load to you. It's not fair."

Even in your condition, you still worried about him and his stress. It humbled him.

"Mi reina." With a gentle, yet firm voice he sat next to you and wiped your eyes with utmost care, "You're growing my child. Do you know how important that is?"

You hiccuped and shook your head.

"I wanna do more. Help you around. Not just being a housewife that leeches off-"

"No, no. Stop. Stop." the last word said with a warning tone.

How could you think of yourself such way?

"Pinguinita, mi amor, look." His shoulders slumped with a deep sigh, "For how long have we been together? Ten, twelve years now?"

You refused to look his way, but his hands gently pulled your chin towards him. Makin your gaze meet his.

"In all those years, I've worked for us cause I wanted to. And I don't want you to work because you already do more than enough here."

His lips were warm, conveying all his love in another kiss.

"You're growing my child, Mi reina. Pregnancies are hard. And look at you, doing your best. Cause that's all I could ask from you."

He cradled your shoulders and kissed the side of your head with a gentle smile.

"You've taught me how to be a good parent, even now, you are teaching me things I didn't believe myself capable of doing. I'm a better man thanks to you."

His hands rubbed your lower back in soothing yet shapeless patterns.

"And now, I'll be an even better father. All thanks to you."

His words were like a soothing balm from your doubtful and insecure heart.

"You'd still love me if I was another ten pounds heavier, right?"

"The question is offensive in itself. But yes, I would. Come here."

You basked in his affection, all you could do was let him love and pamper you.

The footrubs and backrubs were a staple on your pregnancy, like the hammock in the porch. The cotton nightgown he gave you while pregnant with Gabi had been such a wonderful gift that came in handy when the last trimester's hot flashes appeared.

You'd sit in the tub with him, Miguel rubbed and caressed your shoulders, eased the tenderness in your breasts and helped with the sore points in your. lower back.

"What about Miguel Junior?"

He snorted while lathering your back in the lavender scented shower gel.

"No. I don't want a traditional name for my boy."

"Me neither, I mean, Max doesn't sound bad-"

"That's a dog's name, mi amor"

Your laugh was like music to his ears. He rinsed off your back with the tepid temperature water.

"Short for Maximilian."

"Junior doesn't sound that bad now that I think-"

"Wait! I know! I know. Benjamin."

"Benjamin" He tried as the name rolled off his tongue, "I like it."

He kissed your neck. Fresh lavender scent etched to your skin.

"Benjamin it is."

-----

Little Benjamin "Benji" O'Hara was born at 3 pm. Nearly putting you under a c section. Miguel had been there, cheering you on as soon as complications arrived. But thanks to yours and the doctor's efforts, his baby boy wailed healthily as soon as he came out of your womb and the touch of the nurses alarmed him. They weren't you. Benjamin needed his mama.

Miguel showered you in kisses and praises while the nurses cleansed him and dressed him up with the clothes you had provided them.

And finally, you could hold your baby boy in your arms, immediately feeding him and silencing his acute cries.

"Míralo nomas. Mi campeón. No parece que casi lo hicimos en el auto." (Look at him, my champ. He doesn't look like we almost made him in the car)

Miguel fixed the tiny hat ontop of his head, some lovely and dark chocolates curls twisted ontop and around his forehead as you tittered, exhausted.

" Stop, oh my god."

"He's definitely have your curls."

Gabi was allowed to enter a bit later and her lips pursed

"I wanted a sister."

"I know, Solecito. But we did our best"

"Still... I was prettier, right?"

Jesus. Like Father, like daughter.

"Of course you were, Gabibi."

Miguel was ready to start his lessons as a father. With a baby boy on hands, he'd be the dad he never had.

[postazkabansiriussupremacy]

Surprise. Pt. 3 Post Azkaban!Sirius x Mom!Reader

You and Sirius have a chat.

Part One. Part Two.

Taglist: @box-of-kinderjoy @projectdreamwalker @goldenharrysworld @navs-bhat @sagestack

You aren’t sure what you expected Sirius to look like after more than a decade in Azkaban, but this is much worse than you pictured. The dirty, malnourished, manic-looking man standing in front of you is a far cry from the healthy, handsome Sirius you once knew. The sight of him in this horrid state is enough to grow a lump in your throat.

You always had complex feelings about Sirius after he was sent to Azkaban. It was easy to be angry at him for betraying everyone and causing the death of James and Lily, but you were more than angry. You were devastated, to say the least. It’s impossible to say how many nights you cried yourself to sleep. Even knowing what he’d done, it was hard to imagine the one you loved rotting away in Azkaban.

The first few years without him were hell on earth. It wasn’t long after he was incarcerated you found out you were pregnant, and whilst everyone in the wizarding world was partying and celebrating the downfall of You-Know-Who, you were curled up in a ball sobbing and wondering how in the world you were going to do this all on your own.

It was difficult, but you managed. As the years went by and Estelle grew bigger, things got easier. You were able to push Sirius out of your mind and go on without him, but not without continuous effort. With every life change and new milestone reached, you couldn’t help but wonder how differently things would be if Sirius were there too.

For Estelle, you tried your very best to make sure she never wanted for anything, but your heart ached at the thought of her never knowing the love of a father. Estelle used to ask about him (“Why don’t I have a dad?” “Where is he?” “Is he dead?”), and you were never sure what to tell her.

You aren’t proud of it, but as her questions persisted, you lied to her. You lied and told Estelle you don’t know who her father is. She stopped asking about him after that.

You don’t know why you lied. It would’ve been much simpler to tell the truth, but maybe a small part of you wanted Estelle to blame you rather than blame Sirius for her lack of a father. It felt a little stupid, but you didn’t want Estelle to hate the idea of her father. You supposed it would be easier for her to accept her father doesn’t know she exists, rather than to accept her father is a mass murderer in prison for life.

Then you got an owl from Remus Lupin—someone you hadn’t heard from in over a decade—asking to have lunch and talk. You were surprised but receptive. You assumed he met Estelle at Hogwarts and he wanted to know of her lineage under the guise of catching up, and you were half right.

After having Estelle in class and putting two and two together, Remus decided to get in touch with you to tell you the truth about Sirius.

After taking in all of the new information, you felt numb. It’s a lot to take in—learning that Sirius is innocent, and Peter Pettigrew of all people was the one to cause all of this pain.

You came home, politely asked Estelle how her day was, and barely heard her as she told you about the stray dog she found today. Too lost in your thoughts, you ‘listened’ to Estelle’s rambling for about ten minutes before realizing she was talking about Sirius’s animagus.

It had to be Sirius. Why else would there be a giant, wolf-like black dog hanging around your house?

You pretended to Estelle that you’d never seen the dog before, and maybe he belongs to some of the muggles that live further up the road. You carry on your evening as normal, quickly changing the subject anytime she began to talk about the dog, and had her go to bed at a reasonable time.

Only when you were sure Estelle was asleep did you come outside.

You suppose you’ve been staring too long as Sirius speaks up first. It’s hard to read his expression, and his voice is deeper than you remember. “I’d ask how have you been, but clearly you’ve been busy.”

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, urging yourself not to cry. After meeting with Remus and immediately coming home to Estelle, you haven’t had any time to process the information you’ve been given.

There were so many times you’d asked yourself “What if Sirius were still here?” and then immediately pushed the thought away, reminding yourself he’s a horrible man. A traitor and a murderer.

Only he’s not. He’s none of those things.

He’s suffered terrible consequences that he’s done nothing to deserve, and that’s heartbreaking. The last thirteen years of his life were ripped away from him and he was sent to live in horrid conditions, just because he and James chose to trust Peter with something they shouldn’t have.

A heavy weight of guilt drops into your stomach. Sirius had done nothing wrong and yet everyone—including yourself—thought he got what he deserved by being locked away. You hardly even thought to question whether he was truly guilty or not.

Your throat tightens and your lip quivers, and you step forward to wrap your arms around his waist. You can feel the bones underneath his skin, and you sniffle, feeling a couple of tears escape from your eyes.

Sirius takes a moment to respond, a little shocked by your sudden hug and crying. He supposes it’s not unwarranted though.

He reciprocates your hug, one dirty hand cradling the back of your head and the other wrapped around your torso. It’s almost strange how natural it feels. He rests his chin on the top of your head and faintly smiles. You smell good, and it’s wonderful to get such an unexpectedly warm welcome.

Although he has Remus to thank for that. If Remus hadn’t reached out to you first, Sirius imagines this meeting would be going a lot differently.

After a few moments of letting yourself cry into his chest, you finally speak, your voice cracking a bit as you do so. “You smell like shit.”

Sirius gives you a tight squeeze and chuckles quietly, “You live in a cave for a year and we’ll see how you fare.”

You purse your lips and feel more tears forming. He’s been living in a cave? Your throat feels tight as you breathe, “I’m so sorry, Sirius… For everything.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done.” He responds immediately. There was no way for you to know the truth, and even if you did, it probably wouldn’t have changed anything. “…Did you know you were expecting when it happened?”

You shake your head. “No. Didn’t figure it out until a few weeks after you’d been gone.”

“I-… I can’t find the words to tell you how sorry I am.” Sirius whispers. His adam’s apple bobs. “I can’t say when, but I promise I’ll come back to the both of you.”

“I know you will.” You say quietly, nodding. You knew from the beginning he wouldn’t be able to stay, but it still hurts nonetheless. New tears fall onto your cheeks and Sirius’s prisoner robes.

You cry less for yourself and more for him. Even though he’s successfully crawled his way out of Hell, he still can’t rest. Sirius hasn’t known peace in over a decade, and there’s no telling if he ever will again.

Sirius is the first to pull away. Trying to remain strong for your sake, he clenches his jaw as he looks down at your tearful face. He uses his thumbs to wipe the tears off your cheeks, then he pulls your face forward for a kiss. You waste no time reciprocating, your hands moving to the back of his head and tangling in his greasy hair.

Once again Sirius is the first to pull away, ending the kiss too soon for his liking, but knowing he needs to go. He’s been here far too long. He kisses your forehead. “I love you, and I love Estelle.”

“I love you, Sirius.” You reply, looking into his eyes. They’re the same eyes you see every time you look at your daughter.

“This isn’t goodbye.” He says kissing your forehead once more. He steps off your property and out of the confines of the anti-apparation wards. He gives you one last look, then winks. “You look absolutely stunning, by the way.”

You scoff, a stupid grin forming on your face as he disapperates.

You stare at the spot he left from, wiping your tears away.

Realistically, you don’t know if Sirius will be able to keep his promise. You may never see him again. There’s no telling if his name will ever be cleared, but you hold onto hope, and you will wait for him.

[napoleonic-sexyman-tournament]

All the propaganda is under the cut. It's long for both of them:

Alexander I Pavlovich:

a. “Maybe not the most handsome or charismatic man in this tournament, but he has ample chaotic neutral energy that both baffles and fascinates contemporaries. In short, if you're into mysterious men, you won't find a sexier enigma than our imperator.”

b. “Look. Is this or is this not the monsterfucking website.”

c. There are lots of monuments dedicated to him. There's one in Moscow in the Alexander Garden right by the Red Square. While nowhere near as grand as the Alexander Column, I think it's still worth showcasing!

The monument is meant to celebrate his victory in the 1812 Russian invasion. He's holding a sword, proudly standing on top of his enemies' weapon.

The sculptors, however, have never seen the man in their life - all the people involved in the making are still alive and well (i think), so that should tell how new it is. The monument was opened for the public just a decade ago in 2014.

d. quote about this bust from the memoirs of Sophie de Choiseul-Gouffier: “No painter was able to properly capture the features of his face and especially his soft expression. Alexander didn’t like to pose for portraits and they were mostly done with some stealth. In this case sculpture have produced a better likeness. The famed Thorvaldsen made a bust of this sovereign worthy of a hand of such a remarkable artist.”

e. His family nickname might have been ‘our angel’ and the medal commemorating his death bears the inscription “Our angel is in heaven”, but did you know that to this day Alexander looks down on Sankt Petersburg as an actual angel, wings, cross, trampled snake and all? Alas, you cannot see it from the ground, the Alexander Column being so very tall, but the statue of the angel on top certainly seems to take after our sexy thrice-angel Emperor.

f. Apotheosis of Alexander! An eminently universal image, perfectly serviceable for his rise to the throne… of Napoleonic Sexyman Tournament.

It really looks like Peter and Catherine are instructing the Electorate. Gentlevoters, surely you wouldn’t dream of disappointing Sasha’s Grandmother and his scantily clothed giant of a Great-great-grandfather?

g. What is sexier than a man in a dress???

Thomas-Alexandre Dumas

a. “mustache”

b. “Tall! Daring! Swashbuckling! A devoted husband and father! Had a personal conflict with Napoleon! Also it was said he could, while holding onto a bar above his head, LIFT A HORSE WITH HIS THIGHS. How is he not on this list ten times already! Vote for General Dumas!”

c. “He was so hot that he inspired The Three Musketeers, The Count of Monte Cristo, and many more books that his son, Alexandre Dumas, wrote. He definitely looked the part of a sexyman, as he son recounts in his memoirs: "My father, as already stated, was twenty-four, and as handsome a young fellow as could be found anywhere. His complexion was dark, his eyes of a rich chestnut colour […]. His teeth were white, his lips mobile, his neck well set on his powerful shoulders, and, in spite of his height of five feet nine inches, he had the hands and feet of a woman. These feet were the envy of his mistresses, whose shoes he was very rarely able to put on." He could crush you between his thighs: "His free colonial life had developed his strength and prowess to an extraordinary degree; he was a veritable American horse-lad, a cowboy. His skill with gun or pistol was the envy of St. Georges and Junot. And his muscular strength became a proverb in the army. More than once he amused himself in the riding-school by passing under a beam, and lifting his horse between his legs." He was so badass he could beat 13 men with 4 and take all the enemy prisoner, and defend against hundreds of men on a bridge by himself. He performed these acts of valour numerous times in Italy. He was so formidable that the Austrians named him the "Schwartz Teufel", or the Black Devil, and his feat at the bridge earned him the moniker of "Horatius Cocles of Tyrol". He wasn't afraid to stand up to his morals and protest against unfair treatment. When unjust executions by the guillotine were happening outside his quarters, he closed the blinds of his curtains, earning him the nickname "Mr. Humanity". When in the Vendée, he complained about the wanton indiscipline in his troops. When in Italy, Berthier wrongly reported his actions as one of "observation" in St. Antonio. Dumas wrote to General Bonaparte that if Berthier was in the same position, he would have shit his pants. Dumas abhorred plunder, never exhorted the locals, and ordered the Directory agent who had come to persuade him otherwise be shot if he dared present himself to Dumas again. Integrity and a sense of moral justice is sexy, mark my words. For Dumas' final qualifier as a sexyman, look no further than this Tumblr heritage post (https://www.tumblr.com/petermorwood/133803437020/hortensevanuppity-elodieunderglass), with 300,000 notes and counting. And I quote: "- daddy general dumas was an immense fierce french warrior who was a 6 foot plus, stunningly gorgeous and charismatic Black gentleman - he invaded egypt - the native egyptians said “is this napoleon? this must be napoleon. we for one welcome our majestic new overlord” - then napoleon showed up - napoleon has all the presence of yesterday’s plain Tesco hummus - the native egyptians were like “… no… no, we’ve thought very hard and we’ll have General Dumas actually” - this did not make napoleon happy - in fact it made him jealous - napoleon felt so emasculated that he launched a campaign of revenge against General Dumas, including taking away his pension, that probably inspired a lot of Alexandre’s rather satisfying scenes in which fathers are nobly avenged and the money-grubbing villains are rubbed in the mud" I rest my case. Tl;dr: He was so hot he inspired multiple books, he was a stronk man who could crush you between his thighs or carry you like a sack of potatoes, and he was so badass that he could take on odds of 1 to 3. He had a foul mouth but a heart of gold and his actions were never self-serving. Posts relating to him on Tumblr have had 300,000 notes and counting. He is qualitatively and quantitatively qualified to be a sexyman.”

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

DC

midnight sun by merils

Who would win: four men with guns who just happened to get Red Robin to walk into a trap, or one royally-pissed Kryptonian juggernaut?

Yeah, it's not even a contest.

reasons are better than rules by destiny919

"No one will actually explain Father's rules to me," Damian blurts out. "They tell me we don't kill, and killing is wrong, and Father would never do it, but no one ever actually says why! As if repeating the rule is the same as explaining it! As if I am supposed to just know, when I do not!"

Drake is quiet, eyes on something in the distance that Damian cannot see. "Damian, may I tell you a secret?"

Marvel

Thirty Hours by polaroid15

The sun sets. Peter breaks three toes and hits his head hard against concrete. There’s a steadily bleeding wound in his side that he’s staunched with his webbing and tries not to acknowledge it when it burns. He can still walk in a straight line, which is good. He’s starving and tired and cold. It’s been fifteen hours.

Or, Peter doesn't take any breaks during a lengthy fight with the Avengers. The mind-melting fever that follows really should have been expected.

Clone Wars

An Hourglass In Hand by ecarian

“I thought daemons didn’t eat,” Rex noted once, during a celebration feast, as he and Cody watched Boga devour her meal with some fascination. Varactyl she may be, but she was a tiny one. There wasn't much interior space for the truly momentous amount of meat she was ripping into.

Boga daintily rubbed her beak against a folded serviette that looked kind of like a bird, and said, prim, “I can do anything a human can do.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan said mildly, from where he’d been tapping at a datapad. “Shall I save you a portion of these reports then?”

Set My Mind at Ease by Eightbitpale

Marshal Commander Cody - clone commanding officer of the 7th Sky Corps, second in command of the 212th attack battalion and, currently, the proud caretaker of one still-warm lightsaber - was having a very long day.

Actually, fuck that. It had been more than a long day. Long days were Cody’s bread and butter, practically his comfort zone. Marshall Commander Cody ate stim shots for breakfast and every shiny this side of Coruscant knew it. Long days were his bitch.

No, this had been more than a long day. Today had been a bad day.

———

The one where Cody and his general try their best to tell each other that they care. At least they’re trying.

Your Smile In Stone by ecarian

Wooley: can we arrest people for yelling this early?

There were two figures standing at the foot of General Kenobi's statue with their backs to Wooley, an adult with a hood, and a child with light hair. The child was pointing at a puddle of Temple tookas who were curled up in General Kenobi’s lap, lounging in the stone folds of his robes, the bend of his knee.

Wooley: belay that. Child nuisance.

The Goblin Emperor

Sweet Hope by baladric

Maia Drazhar arranges a festival, meets his gay aunt, falls in love with his secretary, and misses his mom through it all.

"In the way of true stories, there was no discernible beginning. Perhaps it had begun that first day, in the shabby receiving room at Edonomee; in the cockpit of the Radiance of Cairado; at the mooring mast of the Untheileneise Court, with that first smile.

The pith of the matter was that Maia Drazhar was wildly, tremulously in love, and love had made fools of much wiser men than he."

In All Its Forms by Anonymous

Before his father ruined everything, Nurevis Chavar only thought to introduce the new emperor to all the most beautiful things life could offer.

When he found himself free from relegation again after his father's death, would the emperor whose friendship he had sought so long ago wish his presence at court? And, if he could return to court, would his emperor wish his friendship again?

[imnothulk]

The Odinson-Banner Ceremony.

(I wanted to begin by apologizing, I'm sorry it took me so long to write this. @thir-0dinson )

It was a beautiful day in Iceland, it wasn't too cold, thanks to the invisible dome Tony fabricated, The northern lights were bright and colourful. The gold decorations accentuated with purple flowers (thanks too Iyla) made it quite a sight to see.

Bruce was nervous, but excited. His best men, Pietro, Peter and of course Tony, stood behind him. Thor's best woman Valkyrie and groomspeople Fenrir and Darcy stood on the other side of the altar. Everyone was still waiting on (the other) groom to appear.

The crowd was big, they really went all out on the invitations. He could see his kids in the first few rows. He could see his friends and family, everyone gathered for the special occasion.

Suddenly the crowd quietened, the piano started playing the wonderful wedding melody. Bruce turned to see his beautiful fiance at the end of the isle, his sister Hela by his side and walking him down the isle as they approach him.

When Thor stood before him, Loki began to speak.

"We are gathered here today to witness the sacred union of Bruce and my brother Thor. We stand here to honor and celebrate the love shared between these two people, as they come together to start their new life with a solemn vow, surrounded by their closest family and friends."

Pietro stepped forward and handed each groom their respective ring.

"Now as we begin, please face each other and declare your vows, Brother you may go first"

Thor smiled and began to speak

"Bruce.

I am- very old, i have seen galaxies rise and fall and thousands of empires play their course. I have seen the most beautiful of collapsing stars and gods and temples and buildings that would blow a mortals mind. I have seen the beauty of the edges of space.

And yet, none of that compares to what i see when i look into your eyes. They are like a thousand stars, as large and comforting as my fathers castle and yet as small amd comfortable as being in your arms.

I thought the day you said yes to marrying me would be the happiest day of my life. I was wrong. It dosent even hold a candle to this day, this day that we will be joined together forever. I may outlive you, but i will ensure your memory outlives time. I will ensure i leave a monument to our love for future species to find and think "Oh. Those men were in love. Those men loved each other with a love that survived the ruins of galaxies.

I wish nothing more than for you to be my eternity."

Bruce was crying by the end of it, Loki wiped a tear from his cheek and cleared his throat "Wow okay, Bruce you may declare your vow"

He took a deep breath before speaking.

"Thor,

When I was young I always dreamed of one day finding someone and falling in love, it was one of my greatest dreams. Then the gamma thing happened, and I thought that dream was no more.

That was until you came into my life once more, not only as a friend and work collegue but as more.

You changed my life and showed me how to love again and for that I owe you everything, you make me happy like no one has before, I'm smitten for you.

I spend hours everyday researching and learning and studying different areas of science, lately it's mostly astrology. I've seen countless pictures of stars and suns and countless wonders, but none of it compares to the beauty I see when I gaze at you.

I am the luckiest man alive, and I will continue to be as long as I have you."

Thor smiled brightly and wiped the tears from his eyes. Loki gave the pair a second before continuing.

"Beautiful vows, wonderful. Now, Brother you shall take your ring and place it on his finger as you repeat after me, 'I Thor Odinson, take thee Bruce to be my husband' ".

Thor places the gold ring on Bruce's finger uttering the words "I Thor Odinson, take thee Bruce to be my husband".

"Now you Bruce, take your ring and place it in his finger and repeat the words "I Robert Bruce Banner, take thee Thor to be my husband".

Bruce holds Thor's hand and places the ring on his finger "I Robert Bruce Banner, take thee Thor to be my husband".

Loki smiles at both of them "Now by the powers vested in me by myself, I now declare you both husband and husband, you may kiss the groom"

Bruce moves forward, kissing Thor sweetly. The room erupts in cheers for the newly married couple.

It was truly a day to be remembered.

//Everyone @theironcan @official-pietro-maximoff @reallyreallyspiderman @iyla-difransisco @bisexualswordlady @fenrir-lokison @yeahimdarcy @agent-maria-hill @agent-maria-hill-ofshield-blog @blackwidow-nat-official2 @buckybarnesoffical @clintbarton-thearrowguy @capt-carter-mostly-official @capn-america @deadpool-wade-wilson @daredevil-isnt-catholic-or-blind @friday-the-ai @harleykeener69 @hawkeye-jr @i-am-not-a-toaster @iyla-difransisco @king-ofwakanda @kamala-msmarvel-khan @littlemsbumblebee @midtown-news-official @mysister-isstillaposer @midtown-news-official @natasha-rogersbarnes @nothawkeyeofficial @okoye-general-official @official-buckybarnes @officialscottlang @reallyreallyspiderman @stephenstrange-md-phd @starlordofficial @spidey-official @that-punk-from-brooklyn @therealbuckybarnes @unofficial-non-poser @vpotts-official @virginia-pepper-potts01 @moongirlwidow @midtown-news-official @definitelynot-peterp4rker @mini-green-goblin @goddessof-death @loki-laufeychild

[esmedelacroix]

"And the way you read my mind,"

husband!miguel x f!reader ♡

10 Things I Hate About You ← mini-series masterlist

"I hate your big dumb combat boots," ← previous part

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Your relationship with your father was not exactly the best. It definitely got better as you aged, but it's always awful whenever you and your father have a disagreement.

You had been on edge all day and Miguel got called into work all day. You felt like you couldn't lean on him when he was so busy. On top of that, he was feeling a bit stressed because of the recent influx of anomalies.

The cherry on top was that the two of you had Mayday's birthday party today. You love Mayday but this was probably the worst time for you to have a gathering to go to and pretend to be okay at.

The party was being held on the rooftop of the Spider Society. Like most of the other birthday parties. Miguel was already there so you drive over yourself. You played happy songs in the car trying to lift your spirits. Going up the elevator you took deep breaths and tried to calm yourself down so you wouldn’t cry during a birthday party.

Once you made it to the top floor you were greeted by Peter B who gave you an enthusiastic welcome hug. "Thanks so much for coming to celebrate our little angel," he said as he took your gift off your hands.

You caught sight of Miguel and gave him a little wave and smile before being bombarded by 20 different people saying hello. After you conversed with almost every single Spider person imaginable you pushed past crowds of people looking for Miguel.

You suddenly felt a familiar large hand wrap around your wrist from behind and pull you into a corner. "I didn't even know this place existed," you chuckled.

He didn't respond. He simply placed his index finger under your chin and tilted your head up so you would look into his eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked softly.

How?! How could he already tell just by seeing me interact with other people? No one ever knows when I'm struggling, except for him. You thought to yourself as your fake smile faded into a frown.

"¿Está todo bien, mi amor?[Is everything okay, my love?]" he asked as he cupped your cheeks with his hands.

That's what set off the waterworks. You know those moments when you are so upset that just a simple "Are you okay?" sets you off? This was one of those moments. Tears trickled down your cheeks and you hugged Miguel crying into his chest.

He simply patted your hair silently and allowed you to let go and let your feelings out. He held you close rubbing small comforting circles into your back. This was one of the signs that Miguel was your person. He knew exactly what to do to make you feel better. Like he knew what was on your mind.

The two of you ended up excusing yourselves from the celebration. He took you home so you could talk about what was going on. Miguel wasn't a huge fan of your father so when you revealed that you crying because of him, he was enraged. How could he not be when the first thing you had ever told him about your father was, "He was the first man to ever break my heart,"

That night your father may or may not have received a seething phone call from Miguel after you fell asleep. Which may or may not have been the reason as to why he called you apologizing profusely the next morning.

. . .

next part → "I hate you so much it makes me sick,"

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taglist: @lilscast @lazyjellyfish300 @safixiovi @saaaaaaaaaaaamiiiiiiiiiiira

[starboye]

Could you update this? Like, did you get new requests afterwards?

https://www.tumblr.com/starboye/758197508073832448/hi-i-noticed-you-mentioned-having-a-lot-of-fic?source=share

these are really the only new ones

1.

pairing: tyler owens x male reader

summary: riding tyler after a hard day of chasing storms

2.

pairing: clark kent x male reader

request: Could you write a tom welling/clark kent fic from smallville where you give him a blow job and edge him til he cums in your mouth and then he fucks you

3.

pairing: jude bellingham x male reader

request: jude is the star of real madrid (duh) and maybe male reader for barca and readers team wins against madrid and reader starts acting like he’s better than jude so jude puts him in his place and fucks him so rough and degrading until reader knows that he’s his bitch

4.

pairing: prince ben x male reader x harry hook

request: hey can you do a ben x harry hook x male reader where they Both fuck you but harry is really rough while ben is gentle. and harry is very kinky with pet names and stuff

5.

pairing: armie hammer x male reader

request: Reader is filming call me by your name with armie… they get horny while rehearsing their lines and armie fucks reader in their hotel room, reader rides armie

6.

pairing: tom welling x male reader

request: i was wondering if U can write young!tom welling x male reader where reader is a famous actor as well and him and tom are hooking up secretly. in an interview, reader makes a joke about brad pitt being his celeb crush and tom gets super mad and when reader goes to see him tom punishes him very rough and degrading until he can’t even walk

7.

pairing: bill skarsgård x male reader

request: If you’re taking request, can you please make a top Bill Skarsgård x bttm reader smut where Bill has an affair with the reader and he performs oral sex which leads to them fucking in the suspended congress position

8.

pairing: thomas doherty x male reader

request: thomas doherty telling his tired black!reader bf to ride him while he takes an important phone call and whenever he stopped thomas mutes the phone to spank him

9.

pairing: chace crawford x male reader

request: Chace crawford and reader have sex in a dressing room during a break in the filming of a movie they are going to make together

10.

pairing: thomas doherty x male reader x milo manheim

request: Could I request a dom top Thomas Doherty threesome with bottom male reader and Dom top whatever male celebrity you choose reader and Thomas are married and it's Thomas's birthday and reader wakes him up with a b****** in bed and Thomas using the Readers mouth until he cums and then Reader dressed in a sexy outfit they talked about having a threesome reader invites male celebrity friend of Thomas and then Thomas watches as the reader start to worshiping and giving a blowjob to the male celebrity you choose and both just f****** reader filling him up all day into the night taking turns double penetration spit roasting cum kink daddy kink calling reader a good little slut with fluff at the end with them all just cuddling in bed if that's okay

11.

pairing: montgomery de la cruz x male reader x winston williams

request: Hello was wondering if you could write a Monty x winston x male reader smut threesome with Monty resting out a cabin in the woods for his boyfriends they are both from 13 reasons why btw

12.

pairing: jake and rich x male reader x malik delgaty

request: I would love to see these characters in combination with Body Worshipping, Armpit, Scent, Dom/Sub, Double Penetration, and Spit; in addition to those, you can add whatever you Like.

13.

pairing: steve rogers x bucky barnes x male reader x thor odinson x peter parker

request: Steve rogers,Bucky Barnes, Thor, and Peter Parker tag teaming magical fem boy male reader avenger until he gets filled up with all their cum all night long; which leads to reader being knock up with quadruples through magic with each one being the father for a different child.😂😂😂

14.

pairing: harry potter x male reader

request: Harry Potter (Daniel radicliffe with his current buff self) ditching Ginny and marrying the hot American fem boy reader wizard with the big booty, which he meets at the ministry of magic; due to the male reader working as a foreign correspondent for the magical government in America. Which leads to Harry pounding his tight fat butt till the reader gets pregnant through magic for their honeymoon. Harry never returns to magical britian or talks to past friends because he is enjoying his time with his sexy fem boy and growing family.

15.

pairing: megumi fushiguro x male reader x gojo satoru

request: cuck!Megumi (+18, obviously) who loves watching his twink boyfriend get fucked by other men. This time it's his teacher's turn, Satoru (again). could you make it mention that y/n was previously fucked by toji, nanami, yuji, toge and even naoya? Megumi is happy to have another video for his collection.

16.

pairing: xolo maridueña x male reader

request: could you write a fic with them being boyfriends and xolo and reader find a secret spot near a waterfall and it lead to them having g teh whole day swimming and and later in the afternoon noon they are having sex:)

17.

pairing: noah centineo x male reader

request: Can I request a dom top Noah centineo and a big booty bottom male reader reader and Noah are dating and comes back from filming a movie catches the reader walking around naked and shows him down onto the kitchen table and just starts eating the reader out and reader cums without touching himself then they go to the bedroom and the reader just starts worshiping Noah's delicious muscular hairy body and Noah grabs reader by the hair and just starts face fucking him till he comes and then flips the reader on his hands and knees and just starts fucking him rough and hard with the reader screaming Daddy until Noah breaks the bed and cums fills the reader up and then them cuddling after and joking about how they have to buy another bed again if that's okay please and thank you

18.

pairing: jacob elordi x male reader x tom holland

request: I'm a manwhore for Jacob Elordi and Tom Holland being possessive over male reader whenever he talks to another guy whether he's just being friendly in general and the two of them just fuck and tease male reader whenever they get a chance and male reader calling them daddy(btw love your work!)

19.

pairing: winx club guys x male reader

request: Hey! I have an idea! Could you write scenarios with the Winx Club guys (animated) using the weekdays? You as their whore.

20.

pairing: terry mcginnis x male reader

request: Write something with Terry McGinnis (Batman Beyond)? I think he is sooo hot. He comes home late after fighting crime and finds his boyfriend sleeping naked, so he eats his ass until he wakes up and then fucks him. With aftercare, please!!

21.

pairing: hyo-jong x male reader

request: e'dawn where they make their first sextape. reader is very shy and he's not very sure about this, but hyo-jong (dawn's real name), who is very excited about this, comforts him and tells him that everything will be fine. since reader is still nervous, hyo-jong comes to the conclusion that he should fuck him until he is completely dumb.

22.

pairing: joe burrow x male reader

request: Heyyy! I love the stuff you write!! Could you write a Joe burrow x male reader smut?? I’ve been obsessed with this man. I don’t have a plot, but maybe after a game?? Thank you so much!!

23.

pairing: robby keene x male reader

request: maybe reader beats him in like a fight or something idk and robby has to remind him his place and whos really in control cus reader gets tooo cocky

[gerec]

dofp fics that have a happy ending for cherik?

Most of these fics take place post-DOFP or they are DOFP fix-its / AUs. They are all excellent and I hope you enjoy them as much as I did, Anon!

fathers and sons by M_Leigh

“I have an – interest – in Peter Maximoff,” Erik said, somewhat grudgingly, glaring. “A – familial – interest –”

Everybody stared at him.

“In that – mutantkind is one – large – family –” Erik said valiantly, if pathetically. 

“Oh, shit,” Alex said. “No way. No way.”

This far but no further by niniblack

“Lorna, this is Erik. Can you say hi?”

Lorna peeks out at him and mumbles, “Hi.”

“She’s cute,” Erik comments.

I know, Charles thinks. She looks like you.

Or: the one where Charles doesn’t tell Erik that joining the mile high club resulted in a baby.

Jail Break by blarfkey (Come Together series)

It's totally normal in Suburban America for the dad to pick up his rebellious teenager from jail, right? Even when it's the Pentagon instead of the local police station, and your dad is a Mutant Supremacist Assassin and America's Most Wanted who didn't post bail so much as murdered all the guards?

Whatever. Peter will take what he can get at this point, even if it means the most painfully awkward road trip in the history of the universe.

Thou Shalt Not Eat Stones by valancysnaith

Two months after Washington, Raven found Erik in a skeevy motel off the Florida interstate.

“They have Charles, Erik,” she said.

The bedframe shrieked. In the bathroom, the showerhead snapped in half and clattered into the tub.

Through the Barricades by starandrea (Through the Barricades series)

Erik and Charles learned to live without each other once. It's harder the second time--so before they even discuss it, they've decided not to try. (Erik accidentally moves into the mansion without anyone but Charles noticing for days. He may be the first to return, but he won't be the last.)

Hope by daymarket

A near-decade of hatred can't be wiped out with a single summer, no matter how eventful that summer might be. When Erik shows up uninvited at the mansion, Charles is just barely civil enough to not throw him out, but that doesn't mean he'll let him stay.

All our past times by aesc

In 1976, three years after D.C. and Trask, Erik returns to Charles's estate for the first time. What he's looking for, he doesn't entirely know, and doesn't know if he wants to find it.

Shalom Malakh by ZairaA

When death catches up with Erik a year after the Sentinel disaster, he only has one regret: never having found a way to bridge the gap and reconcile with Charles. But death is not the end of the journey, and Erik is put right in the path of his old friend once more.

  “Okay. Let’s say I bite. Who is the hapless idiot then? The one I'm supposed to look after?”

The woman smirked. “Oh, I’m certain you'll know it once you see him.”

Always Pass on Good Advice by cygnaut

Charles realizes there’s only one person who can talk Erik out of his terrible plans: himself.

Other Futures Than These by midrashic (A Timeline of the Impossible series)

In which Cuba doesn't break them apart, but that doesn't mean that their futures are tied together. (Except that it does.)

A Days of Future Past AU where only one person can defeat the Sentinels and save the future: the man whose imprisonment and torture created them, and Charles Xavier's ex.

The Spaces Between by mainecoon76

Almost a year after Washington, Erik is working on his own to find out what became of the Sentinel research. He keeps to himself and likes it that way. But when a mutant assassin tries to murder Charles, he finds himself reluctantly drawn into an adventure that involves a dangerous plot, Charles' own agenda, a complicated relationship, and holiday celebrations at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

the pain will remind us of each other by borninsideatornado

It’s always felt alien, the way he feels about Erik. Too big for his body, too much to hold in his heart. But finally, finally, it makes sense.

Because at the end of the world, it’s him. It’s always going to be him. —

when logan lets charles see his future in days of future past, he talks to erik instead.

From Yesterday by AzarDarkstar

He stands on the edge of tomorrow but always lives today.

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

What’s your take on Vincent’s personal life? From what I’ve gathered he wasn’t greatest husband and father - cheated on wives, neglected children like crazy. I like him as an actor but kinda wish I’ve never dived into research of his personal affairs lol.

He's a human. Humans make mistakes. Of course he had done things in his life that he probably wished he could take back. From what I've heard, he didn't neglect children. I've heard he was a wonderful father. His first wife took his son Barrett to live with her, so he only got visitation. But he loved him. The letters to Mary early in their marriage shows how much he cared about his son.

He did have sexual trysts with men throughout his marriages. It was a day and age when gay, bi, etc., had to sneak around and do that. Doesn't mean he's a bad person. He was finding who he was. I'm sure he loved his wives. I'm positive he did. But he had to do what he had to do. He was bisexual, after all. Which makes him even sexier in my book.

Victoria, his daughter, has said on MANY MANY MANY occasions that she loved her parents and she is so thankful that she had the two parents she had (Vincent and Mary). The many pictures I've seen, and from all I've heard, Vincent loved his daughter with everything in him. He sent postcards, money, etc.

Also, his job called on him to go here, there, everywhere to film movies, TV shows, etc. of course, you can't always take your kid to work. Not on a movie set, anyway.

She did get to see him live as Peter Pan though. She was two years old and her mom took her to see him as captain hook. She became scared. Seeing her father with a hook as a hand, and scaring little kids on stage was too much for her, bless her, and she began to cry.

Her mom took her backstage to see that her dad was still her dad. He kissed her boo boo away and she went from tears to smiling. That doesn't sound like neglect. To me, anyway.

As far as cheating, he did cheat. But then again, the number or people who cheat on a daily basis, are a dime a dozen. Is it right? No. But do people make mistakes? Yes. He did end up divorcing Mary after he met coral, but I did hear from his daughter that he and Mary were still close friends. He sent her post cards, called her, and even bought her her favorite perfume (Joy) every single year until shortly before his death when he could no longer do so. According to his daughter, Victoria, it wasn't always easy for them to remain friends, because of Coral.

He's a celebrity. A human being. So, his personal life sounds like any personal life to me. Shit happens. Even to celebrities of his calibre. And he's still alright with me. :)

PS. Here's some of my favorite photos of he and his daughter. Doesn't look like neglect to me...

[flowerandblood]

The Gate of Salvation [2/3]

[ young pope • Aemond x catholic • female ]

[ warnings: fingering, smut, sexual tension, angst, religious guilt, doubts related to faith, chauvinism ]

[ description: During the conclave, a new pope is elected, but to everyone's surprise, he does not intend to show himself to the crowds waiting for him. His ideas terrify the cardinals, and one of them convinces his niece, who is studying marketing, to talk to the new head of the Catholic Church in his presence. Main theme: sexual tension & holy touch. ]

A mini-series created as a thank you and celebration of my 2'500 followers. I initially plan that it will have about 3 chapters.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

The Song of Songs (Oneshot) Death and Ressurection (Oneshot)

Aemond as a Pope Edit Series Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

After her meeting with the Pope, she had been writhing around all night, terrified and humiliated, unable to sleep. She couldn't forgive herself for her stupidity, for not seeing in time that it was obvious her uncle was trying to slip her over to the head of the Catholic Church like a snack he might be tempted to focus on.

The worst part was that he had hired her and she didn't know how she could take it back, defy the Pope himself, communicate that she was rejecting his proposal.

She got up before dawn, recognising that she would not get any rest anyway, and decided to take a warm shower. She thought while standing under the stream of hot water that she would try to distance herself, be professional and not give satisfaction to either her uncle or the Pope himself.

She hoped that when he finally decided to give any sort of interview the commotion around him would quiet down and she could quickly offer her resignation.

She sighed heavily, running her hand over her wet face, wondering how she was supposed to reconcile this madness with her classes at the University.

A car with the same driver as the day before arrived outside her townhouse again and took her straight to the Vatican; driving through its streets, she noticed that many people had pitched tents in and around St Peter's Square, waiting for any new information about their Pope.

She sighed quietly, resignedly thinking about how unnecessary his stubbornness actually was.

This time it was not her uncle waiting for her in the square, but a middle-aged priest who could have been her father, dressed in a plain black cassock. He smiled at her in a way that seemed genuine to her and she reciprocated the gesture when he indicated with a movement of his hand that she should move to follow him.

"The Pope is just having breakfast in the garden and he will receive you there." He said as they walked along the marble corridors filled with works of art; she looked at him surprised and sighed quietly, glancing out of the window, finding that it was indeed pleasant warm weather, the sky was cloudless.

They walked out one of the back exits to the cloisters into a small garden consisting of a maze formed of walls of shrubbery, which, however, easily led them to its centre, on which stood a large arbour styled in antique manner, with a dome and Corinthian-style columns.

She grinned with some kind of disbelief when she spotted his figure seated at an ornate small white table, his cassock also white, he held in his hands a newspaper he had just been looking through.

She thought with amusement that he was reading about himself.

Only when they got closer did she notice that other gazettes from different countries lay folded on the table top; the front pages of each asking who the new pope was, why he wasn't showing himself, why he was silent.

"Your Holiness." Said the priest standing next to her and nodded; the young pope, however, did not even bestow a single glance on them.

She pressed her lips together as she saw his thumb go to his mouth, he licked it and then used it to flip the page of the newspaper.

The priest who had brought her left them alone, as if he had already become accustomed to the lack of reaction and any culture on his part. She stared at him in silence for a moment, standing in front of him in the same dress as the day before, not having time to buy anything else.

"Holy Father." She said softly, wanting to get it over with, standing a few steps beside him.

He did not look at her, instead lifting his hand and extending it towards her, a signet ring of pure gold on his heart finger.

She looked at him for a moment in disbelief, then swallowed hard and walked towards him, grasping his warm hand in hers.

She leaned in, placing a quick, brief kiss on his ring and let him go immediately; he took his hand without even giving her a glance and went back to reading the newspaper.

She pressed her lips together feeling his intense, pleasant-smelling male perfume again.

"What do you think of what they write about me?" He asked, carelessly tossing the newspaper he had just read onto a pile of others, the discouragement on his face bordering on disgust, as if what he had read made him sick. "They are already reaching my family. Day and night they chat outside my mother's house."

She felt a tightness in her throat at his words and some kind of sympathy, because although he must have known what his decision entailed and what the consequences would be, some journalists crossed all possible boundaries, recognising no sanctity.

She shifted from foot to foot, looking at the French croissants that lay on one of the porcelain plates and a jar of strawberry jam, and reminded herself that she hadn't eaten breakfast. She grunted quietly, looking away, staring at the field flowers that grew around them – she spotted a gardener in the distance who was cutting the shrubs with his big steel shears.

"They won't stop until you give them something, Holy Father." She replied truthfully, hearing him snort under his breath.

"They will always want more." He replied dryly and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye – he was staring at her sitting with his legs crossed.

She shuddered and looked at him in disbelief as he pushed the other chair in front of her with his foot clad in white elegant shoes, moving it away.

"Sit down, child. You are pale. Did you eat breakfast today?" He asked disapprovingly, like a parent expressing their discontent. She shook her head and he sighed heavily, indicating with his hand gesture to the seat next to him.

She thought that this certainly had nothing to do with behaving according to protocol, but decided that it probably didn't matter much to him. She sat down next to him, smelling the intense scent of his perfume again, adjusting her dress, remembering not to sit with her legs crossed.

"Eat." He said dispassionately; she wasn't going to argue, figuring that since she was being forced to be at his every beck and call now, she could get something in return.

Therefore, she reached for the croissant and jam, which immediately drew the attention of her stomach – she casted him a wordless surprised glance as she heard the sound of the lighter being lit and the hiss of the cigarette he held in his mouth.

He took a deep drag and spread out comfortably in his chair, looking at her thoughtfully, letting the smoke out through his nose. He smirked, as if something in her gaze amused him.

"My chancellery contacted your University. They were happy to hear that you will be doing a sort of…internship here. You don't have to worry about your exams or classes." He hummed as if he was talking about something trivial and uninteresting, an irrelevant piece of information he had to convey to her, and took another drag, the tip of his cigarette igniting red.

"− what − but −" She started, but decided it made no sense; whoever he was, this man had clearly already planned everything for himself and had no intention of changing anything, much less asking her opinion.

"I thought you'd be pleased. Your uncle arranges for you accommodation and studies, the Pope makes sure you pass your exams without your personal involvement. Isn't that beautiful?" He asked with a sneer, and she felt a tightening in her throat, a cold sweat on her back; she stared wide-eyed at the half-cut croissant on which she had just spread jam, but lost the urge to eat.

He knew everything about her and thought she and her uncle were the same.

She pressed her lips together and leaned back against the backrest, placing her hands on the armrests even though she shouldn't be doing so and crossed her legs. She saw his gaze drop involuntarily to her bare knees, his cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.

"My uncle wants you to take me to your bed, Holy Father." She said quietly, recognising that she didn't have the strength for this, for their games, their hookups, the secrets they obviously adored, of which the entire Vatican was made.

She blinked when he chuckled, his pointing finger hitting his cigarette so that the ash from it fell to the stone floor beneath him.

"Tell me something I don't know. Eat. We have a lot of work ahead of us." He muttered, taking one last drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke out through his nose, extinguishing the remnants of it on his plate.

She stared at him with her heart pounding fast, thinking in disbelief that he really was a few steps ahead of everyone else.

He was perfectly informed, and although his words and actions seemed chaotic, there was purpose in them.

"What do you want, Holy Father?" She asked lightly, taking a piece of croissant into her mouth. He threw her an amused look and raised an eyebrow.

She had the impression that he took satisfaction in teasing her, his gaze fixed on her lips, which she involuntarily licked.

"Many things. Above all, holy peace and quiet, but I am not afforded it. Get up, let's take a walk." He said matter-of-factly and rose abruptly, putting his hands behind him, moving ahead without looking at her towards the corridors made of tall, evenly trimmed bushes.

She quickly swallowed the piece she just had in her mouth and stood up, following him, levelling her step with his, sunshine and birdsong all around them.

"We're being watched. It's harder for them to eavesdrop on me as I walk." He said coolly; she turned behind her and saw the gardener she noticed before, who was apparently just pretending to water the flowers around the arbour.

She looked at him in horror, realising that he must have been spied on all the time.

That they all wanted to know what he was going to do, surely he must have kept them in an iron grip since no picture of him had leaked to the press yet.

"What's going to make the atmosphere calm down and the journalists back off?" He asked discouraged, and she sighed quietly, looking up at the cloudless sky.

"Your private invitation."

She was surprised that her idea that he would hold a press conference where he would be invisible and only his voice could be heard appealed to him. He felt that, in fact, his faithful should hear his words and what he has to share with them, and this did not require his image to be revealed at all.

He decided to receive the TV and newspaper envoys in the Sistine Chapel, recognising that this was some kind of milestone moment that required a special place, a black veil was placed in front of his papal throne.

Although on the one hand it looked comical, on the other it added a sort of solemnity and impression of holiness, something tangible and yet inaccessible.

The cardinals and his office workers had prepared a script for him, which he tore in front of her eyes before the speech itself, handing her the shreds that remained of the pages, staring blankly at the black fabric in front of him. She took it from him, not knowing what else she could do; he demanded she be by his side in case someone asked an uncomfortable question.

Her heart was pounding like mad, she could feel the cold sweat on her back and wondered if he felt a similar anxiety.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and although his face was stony, he seemed even paler to her than usual, his large hands on which she could clearly see the outline of his veins clenched on his armrests – he sat comfortably on his throne with his legs crossed.

"Holy Father, why don't you want to show your face to your faithful? Is this some new kind of Vatican policy, a way of getting the whole world's attention?" They heard the question echoed by the first journalist on the other side of the curtain; she saw him press his lips together and swallow loudly before his cold, matter-of-fact, dispassionate voice began to spread around them.

"My face is not useful to my faithful for anything. They need my action. My causality. They need my intervention in matters of urgency, in the problems of paedophilia in the church, in the embezzlement and misuse of church assets, in the restoration of law and order, in the opening up of the church to young people who feel forgotten and unwanted. My face, my history, my personal views will distract them from all these things."

He said without stammering. She looked at him in disbelief, realising that he couldn't have prepared this answer beforehand.

He was saying straight from his heart what he was thinking and there was something touching about it.

Somehow she understood what he meant.

"What about the pilgrimages, what about the Sunday masses celebrated by the Pope?" Asked another journalist. She heard him sigh heavily, noticed that his hand trembled as he raised it to his face, tightening his fingers on the base of his nose.

"The Pope is not alone, he has his cardinals who can assist him in his missions around the world. As for the masses, I will attend them as a guest, but I will not be visible. The Pope is not unique. The Pope is chosen as first among equals. As Pope, I still remain a cardinal, one of the apostles. I am not Christ. I am not God."

She looked at him in pain, breathing unevenly through slightly parted lips, remembering what she had told him a few days earlier.

They need a guide, not another invisible God.

She couldn't believe that after what she had heard she had begun to feel sympathy for him – his answers seemed thoughtful and sensible, and she wondered if she had just seen his true nature, or if he was as perfect a manipulator as any of the cardinals.

She wondered how he had convinced them.

How he became Pope.

When it was all over he left without a word; the journalists were led away, and she prayed that it would help, that public opinion would calm down a little.

She watched all the news editions that evening with bated breath – the whole world quoted his statements and his decision, to her relief, most of the experts spoke warmly of him. The newspaper headlines also left her under no illusions.

The Pope has spoken. He doesn't want to show his face, only his actions.

The Pope who chooses the fight against paedophilia over the glamour of glory.

The Pope without a face − a new beginning.

The end of splendour − the Pope retreats to work like any of us.

The end of the church as we know it. The Pope at last again the voice of the weakest.

The next day she arrived in the Vatican with a stack of newspapers, eager to show him the result of their work, hoping it would satisfy him and allow her to return to normality.

"The Pope is exercising, but he said he would receive you." Said the priest, who was called Father Lenz, and who was apparently his private secretary, always waiting for her to lead her wherever he just happened to be.

"He's exercising?" She asked with amusement, and he just raised his eyebrows, himself clearly not knowing what he thought about it.

He opened the door for her and she stepped into a large room, with a beautiful baroque vaulted ceiling and hundreds of paintings on one side, rows of tall windows on the other, illuminating an exercise machine consisting of a small bench with a mattress on which he placed his back as he pulled on the railing at the end of which the weights hung, his legs braced on either side of the machine for balance.

He was dressed in white tracksuits.

She stared at the sight in disbelief, waiting for him to notice her; it only happened after a while when he took a break and sat down, reaching for a bottle of water standing on the old wooden floor. She lifted up a bundle of newspapers and he nodded, running his fingers through his hair, trying to calm his breathing after his exertion.

She walked over to him and handed him the magazines she held in her hand; she felt a pleasant throbbing between her thighs feeling the smell of his sweat mixed with the scent of his perfume, his lips slightly swollen and pink from the blood that pulsed faster through his body.

He flipped through the front pages of the papers one by one and sighed quietly; she thought with surprise that there was a sort of expression of relief painted on his face, as if what was happening frightened him somewhere deep inside and filled him with anxiety.

He put them down at last, looking ahead, grabbing the white towel that hung over the railing at the other end of the machine.

"I prayed to God after I was elected. I prayed that he would show me the way, and although he usually answered me in some way, that evening he was silent. It was a silence full of rejection, as if the heavens did not agree with the decision of the conclave. How was I to go out to the crowds in such a situation, to convince them that Our Father in the heavens was sending me to them?"

He asked, rising with a quiet creak from the metal bench, surprising her completely with his words; because of his clothes and the way he spoke she had cognitive dissonance and had to remind herself that he was the Pope and not just a young man close to her age.

His confession touched her in some way – she was able to imagine his despair on the evening he was elected as people chanted his name, but it was the voice of God that he wanted to hear.

He stood a few steps away from her, drinking the contents of his small water bottle to the end, and stared ahead, as if he had returned with his mind to that time, as if he needed to get it out of himself.

"That's why I asked my faithful to pray from me. And what did they do? They despaired. They despaired that they could not see my face, that they could not touch me, tear me apart, dissect my private life and my past. I have never felt so lonely." He said with a regret from which she felt a squeeze in her throat and lowered her gaze, not knowing what to say, reminding herself with shame that she had thought the same thing about him as all those people.

"Perhaps it was also the will of the heavens. In the end, when the time comes everyone will face God alone. Maybe it was his words: don't follow the crowd, don't conform, that's not why I sent you." She said softly, but immediately regretted her words, recognising that she had no right to interpret anyone's spiritual experiences, much less those of the Head of the Church.

She heard him snort with amusement; he pulled a lighter and cigarettes from his pocket and for a moment she thought he would want to smoke in this beautiful baroque chamber, however, he moved ahead towards a small door other than the one she had entered through.

"Come." He hummed, so she moved after him, knowing that it was pointless to resist.

For the rest, the more she got to know him, the more she liked him.

They passed through a narrow corridor and began to climb up a stone staircase that spiraled around a large pillar – it seemed to her that they were in some older part of this great complex. They reached a small wooden door, and when he opened it they emerged onto the roof of one of the buildings located to the right of St Peter's Square.

The view in front of her struck her –the sun was rising over the Vatican, lazily leaning out from above the church standing in the centre of the square like a nimbus, the air around them pleasantly cool and crisp.

She watched as he moved ahead and walked closer to the stone wall, firing up his lighter and leaning forward with a cigarette in his mouth – there was something so obscene about the sight that she smiled involuntarily.

He looked at her over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow, taking a drag, then slid his cigarette out of his mouth with a motion of his hand and let the smoke out silently through his nose, shaking the ash to the ground with a flick of his finger.

"It has been reported to me that journalists are slowly making their way into my past. Don't worry, I don't think it's your fault. I knew it would happen, but I thought I had more time." He murmured lowly seeing her surprised, horrified face, suddenly as if tired and discouraged, taking another drag with a quiet hiss of fire.

She thought looking at his silhouette illuminated by the first rays of the sun, that he looked like a saint.

"I want you to hear it from me. Will you listen to what I have to say?" He asked calmly and she nodded, feeling her heart pounding fast, looking at him with her lips slightly parted, terrified of what he wanted to tell her.

"My mother I told you about is a nun. She adopted me a few years after I was placed in a convent orphanage." He said calmly, looking away, staring at the crowds of people walking around St Peter's Square.

"They took me from the woman who gave birth to me because she liked to inject various stimulants into her veins. She was asleep when one of her men decided he didn't like the way I looked at him, that I was complaining about being hungry. He decided that he would gouge my eyes out, but he only succeeded with one, my screaming would wake even the dead."

He muttered, not looking at her but somewhere in the distance, letting out a puff of smoke with a deep breath; she looked at him with her eyebrows arched in pain feeling the squeeze in her throat, her cheeks red with emotion.

She wanted to say something but was afraid to interrupt him, she knew that what he was telling her was of the utmost importance and she wondered if anyone else knew about all this, if he had confided in anyone.

"Sister Alicent after I was brought in wouldn't let me call her my mother. So I called every woman I saw that, cooks, cleaners, teachers. She adopted me in the end, unable to look at it anymore. She got a dispensation from the Pope." He said lowly, throwing the cigarette butt on the ground, crushing it with his completely white Adidas.

"Some trashy, cheap magazines are already writing about the fact that I am the son of a nun and the Pope, others with mockery recognise that I am certainly her immaculate conception. That they mock me doesn't bother me, but it fills me with sadness that journalists stand outside her house all day. She can't even go out shopping or gardening. I guess you think the only way out of this situation would be an interview where I would tell my story?"

He asked disapprovingly, looking at her finally; she was shocked and horrified that he was asking her opinion on such an important matter. She shook her head helplessly, shrugging her shoulders.

"You cannot allow them to make your mother a hostage, Holy Father. You must show strength. Call press conferences where you talk about what decisions you make, but don't answer questions about your family. In the Vatican, you are Pius XIII, not Aemond Targaryen. When they see that they cannot blackmail you, they will let go. In my opinion, you both have to bear it." She said what she thought, thinking in the back of her mind that journalists would always want more and the matter would only get worse.

He looked at her silently as if analysing her words and sighed finally, kicking a stone that lay under his feet with his shoe.

"Have you ever kissed?" He asked lightly and she looked at him with shock written all over her face, feeling her heart pounding like crazy, her cheeks burning with heat.

She couldn't believe such a question had come out of his mouth.

"You don't have to answer. I'm just curious. I've never kissed anyone." He replied after a moment, seeing her embarrassed reaction, as if he wanted to clarify and elaborate that his interest was purely scientific and theoretical.

She swallowed loudly, pressing her lips together, thinking that he had told her about himself, about the most private aspects of his life, and decided that nothing bad would happen if she answered him.

"Once, in high school." She muttered, stroking her arm in a gesture of uncertainty and embarrassment, looking away. She heard him hum under his breath, intrigued.

"Did it feel good?" He asked softly, standing a few steps away from her with his hands tucked into his snow-white tracksuit bottoms, cocking his head.

She looked up at him in disbelief, breathing erratically, clasping her hands tighter, involuntarily her gaze escaped to his full, glistening lips.

"It was a very moist, soft and warm sensation." She muttered feeling a tightness in her throat, her gaze fleeing from his eyes to his lips, unable to stop herself from imagining how wonderful it would be to feel how they tasted.

"Hm." He murmured, looking away thoughtfully.

They stood like that for a moment in silence – she could feel the wordless tension around them, as if electricity flowed through the air with their every word and movement.

"Did you confess this deed?"

She blinked and felt her heart stop. She shook her head, looking at him with slightly parted lips.

"Pardon?" She asked in disbelief, feeling discomfort in her lower abdomen and a cold sweat on her back, not believing that he was suggesting such a thing.

"Failure to maintain chastity before marriage is a sin." He replied indifferently; she pressed her lips together, feeling tears of shame and humiliation under her eyelids, her eyebrows arched in pain.

"So I am a sinner, Holy Father." She said coldly, and turned away, leaving without any pleasantries or even a simple goodbye.

She burst out sobbing as she ran down the narrow stairs.

It was only a kiss.

She just wanted to see what it was like.

In fact, she felt bad afterwards, but not because she thought it was a sin, but because she was not in love with this boy.

She asked Father Lenz for any of the drivers to take her home; seeing her face red from tears he asked what had happened, but she did not answer him.

She opened up to him, spoke about an intimate part of her life, and he could only judge her, make her another Eve, a fallen woman.

It was only a kiss.

She returned to her flat filled with regret and disappointment – she angrily pulled off her long dress she had bought and chosen specially to be able to present herself as expected, to keep herself humble, but for what?

She decided that she would never appear there again.

There was no kind of real contract between the two of them, she had only signed documents regarding her collaboration with the Pope's secretaries and a confidentiality clause.

She changed into her pyjamas, undid her hair, took the box of leftover cakes from the cupboard and lay in bed, browsing social media platforms on her phone, trying not to think about what had happened.

She tilted her head back and groaned in frustration when she saw that her uncle had started to call her. She muted her phone and flipped the screen down, sighing.

She lay back on her bedding, staring blankly at the window, and thought with pain that the man who should be giving her the strength to be a better person had made her doubt herself, made her feel sinful and dirty.

She started to think that maybe she should go to confession after all, that maybe he was right, that she was only making excuses for herself without wanting to admit that she was wrong, but she felt even worse at that thought and just burst out crying.

Exhausted by sobbing and remorse, she finally fell asleep, seeing only through her closed eyelids that the phone display lying next to her glowed again and again.

She shuddered, rising quickly to sit up in complete darkness when she heard someone's loud knock on her door; she looked around with a pounding heart, not knowing where she was, whether it was evening or morning.

She glanced at her phone and saw that she had slept for several long hours and the sun had set, on her screen 20 missed calls from her uncle and a plethora of text messages that she didn't have the energy to read.

She sighed heavily and got up, walking reluctantly to the door, knowing her uncle would now make a litany for her; she turned on the night light on the way so she wouldn't trip over anything and she turned the lock, opening it.

"Oh God."

She muttered, seeing the figure of the young Pope in front of her, still in the same white tracksuit and sneakers.

He had his hood up over his head.

He pulled the white earphones out of his ears with a soft flick of his hand – she could hear the heavy metal music playing from them.

"Will you let me in?" He asked indifferently; she looked at him in disbelief, thinking he was risking a lot by going outside just to see her.

She sighed quietly and stepped back, allowing him to go inside. She leaned out wanting to check if anyone had seen him and closed the door quickly.

She glanced at him over her shoulder and saw that he had turned off the music on his player and put it back in his pocket.

They stood for a moment in silence, his gaze focused on her naked thighs; she swallowed loudly with shame at the thought that she was standing before the Head of the Catholic Church in nothing but pyjamas consisting of cream shorts and a shirt buttoned up the front, under which she didn't even have a bra.

She turned her head, running her trembling hand over her face, her heart pounding like mad.

"I made a mistake." She heard his voice full of regret. "I wanted your uncle to pass it on to you, but you didn't answer."

"I didn't and don't feel like talking to anyone, Holy Father." She muttered, feeling a tightening in her chest, fiddling restlessly with the cross hanging on her neck.

She heard him swallow loudly and look to the side, pulling the hood off his head.

"I made you doubt in yourself. In your purity and your value in the eyes of God." He said lowly, and she felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyes for the umpteenth time that day. She closed her eyelids and tilted her head back, trying to control herself, not letting them flow out.

She did not reply.

"My words arise from my depravity, which I fight unsuccessfully. From my vanity and jealousy. I would rather have you locked up in a convent. You could then be by my side and no one would ever touch you again. You could be mine." He said softly, thoughtfully, looking at some point on the floor, as if he had drifted off completely in his musings – she felt her lips part in disbelief, her brow arching in pain.

I would rather have you locked up in a convent.

You could be mine.

What was she to reply to such a shocking confession?

She shuddered when he finally turned his attention to her, the gaze of his healthy eye sharp and piercing, while his artificial one was empty, white, lifeless.

"Though never before have my members reacted to the sight and thought of a woman, when I see you, I long to touch you, to taste you, to smell you. I have become addicted to your scent and try to recall it after evening prayer before I fall asleep." He spoke calmly, as if it was not an emotionally driven statement but something thought out, something that had been going on in his head for a very long time.

She felt with fear how her body reacted to his words with a greedy throbbing between her thighs and a moisture from which the material of her underwear was getting wet, her nipples hardened, more clearly visible from under her shirt.

She froze when she saw his gaze flee to her breasts, seeing exactly what she feared, his full lips parted slightly; she could hear his breathing clearly, fingers of his hands rubbing against each other in an anxious, nervous gesture.

"What do you feel now?" He whispered and she drew in the air loudly, feeling a tightness in her throat. She licked her lips dry from stress, taking a step backwards, hitting her back against the wall, feeling that she had nowhere to run. She helplessly clenched her thighs together, wanting to stop what was happening, seeing that his pupil widened at the sight.

"I'm wet." She confessed in shame, recognising that there was no point in pretending that there was something innocent in what was happening – her body was twitching with desire, begging for his touch and relief, her heart pounding like mad.

She heard him draw in a loud breath at her words while looking straight into her eyes, she saw fire in them, heavenly or hellish.

"Does it feel good?" He asked softly, gazing shamelessly at the spot between her thighs – she felt a wonderful heat in her lower abdomen and a tickling inside her, her walls were clenching around nothing at his question.

She thought helplessly that she had never felt anything like this before in her life.

"Yes." She whispered in a trembling voice, feeling her whole body quiver and pulsate, feeling desire in her fingertips, in her lips and down there, deep, deep inside her.

She shuddered as he approached her with a slow step and lifted her terrified gaze to him. His lips were parted in an anxious, hitched breath, in his eyes heat and darkness from which she felt a squeeze in her throat and between her thighs.

He stood over her, for a moment just looking at her – his trembling hands finally raised, reaching for the buttons of her shirt. They looked at each other with some kind of pain and suffering from which she felt a sting in her heart as a coldness enveloped her naked skin.

It seemed to her that it lasted an eternity – he took his time, his gaze fixed on the line of her bare body as he unbuttoned her shirt fully; he didn't expose her breasts, he just looked at her.

She gasped when he lifted his hand and ran his fingertips slowly over her sternum down to her stomach – she closed her eyes and sighed quietly, feeling her lips pulsate with desire, swollen and thirsty.

"− so soft − so warm −" He whispered; her quivering palm rose and touched his fingers, his hand larger and more massive than hers, she could feel the outline of his veins clearly under her skin.

She pressed his hand to her heart, heard him draw in the air hard as he felt it beat beneath his fingertips.

He looked at her, remaining still, as if frozen, knowing that one word from him, one expression of hesitation and they would be left with only shame, only regret, only disappointment.

She felt the tears under her eyelids, which involuntarily one by one ran down her face; he noticed it and shook his head, his breathing shaky, uneven, despairing.

"− you're so pure −" He whispered, nuzzling the tip of his nose into her cheek as if seeking refuge. She clenched her eyelids in shock at how intimate and desired this closeness was, his scent filled her entire lungs, his warm breath enveloped her cheek.

"− looking at you I feel terror because I regret − I regret that I will never feel you − that I will never give you what I want −" He muttered in a trembling voice; she felt his warm tears running down her skin.

They both gasped when his shaking hand tentatively began to slide lower and sobbed in pleasure as his fingers slipped hesitantly under the material of her shorts, deep between her thighs.

They were panting and quivering with desire, her trembling hands clenched on his arms as his fingertips pushed the material of her underwear aside with a shy gesture full of shame, she heard his low, helpless groan as he felt how wet she was.

"− God, help me −" He mumbled in a broken voice full of guilt – she tried but was unable to stop the moans of pleasure that left her mouth with each tentative movement of his fingers that brushed her swollen, throbbing womanhood, her body was so tense she felt she was on the edge.

"− please −" She whimpered pleadingly, placing her hand on his with a gesture full of desperation, wanting to feel him harder, deeper.

She tilted her head back as she finally felt him the way she wanted to, his fingertips digging into her fleshy, hot, moist folds with intense, circular strokes – she could feel his hot, ragged breath on her skin, his face pressed against her cheek, her hands clenched in a helpless gesture on the material of his sweatshirt.

Tears of despair and delight streamed down their faces, tired of pretending and fleeing, shivers ran down her spine every time the tips of his fingers teased again that tender bud from which her sobriety of mind was taken away; it seemed to her that their bodies were moving on their own, something hard and throbbing under his trousers rubbing against her thigh with desperate strokes.

"− forgive me − say you forgive me −" He mumbled pleadingly in a breaking voice.

She felt him trembling all over just like her, unable to stop now, knowing there was no way back, her face wet with her and his tears.

She reached her palm into his hair and combed through it with her fingers, letting out her breath with a loud sob, moving involuntarily to the rhythm of his hand as it pressed harder and harder against her fleshy skin with the lewd click of her moisture.

"− I forgive you − I forgive you and ask for forgiveness −" She gasped as she felt something approaching, moaning louder and louder.

She thought that despite the fact that he was touching her in this forbidden, sinful place, some incomprehensible kind of intimacy and innocence was added to what was happening by the fact that he hadn't exposed her naked body, that he hadn't wanted to possess her, only to experience something with her and in her presence.

"− good God, you're leaking − so sticky − I'll lick it off my fingers −" He whispered with a kind of awe, as if he were talking about something sacred and mysterious.

She felt that his words had done something to her – she cried out loudly, parting her lips in disbelief when suddenly a wave of warm pleasure surged through her body like a lightning bolt.

She felt wonderful tickling in her lips, in the tips of her fingers, in her breasts, in her chest, her inside's clenching greedily around nothing, her moisture trickled down onto his hand, she heard his low, surprised groan.

Her body suddenly became numb; she would have fallen if he hadn't put his arm around her in time, his hand ran over her cheek heated from the exertion.

"− you look like Bernini's Saint Teresa − so beautiful −" He mumbled in a trembling voice, panting hard along with her, looking at her dreamily. She sighed sweetly, laying her head on his chest, letting him embrace her tightly.

She could feel his manhood throbbing under the damp material of his sweatpants.

He came.

She stayed in his embrace not daring to look at him, not daring to think about what they had done, wanting to push back the moment when they would feel remorse, pain and regret, sinking only into this wonderful relief.

You look like Bernini's Saint Teresa.

A sculpture in which a holy woman curves in ecstasy after an angel pierces her with an arrow of Divine Love.

God's Delight.

______

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