#like in a crowd in the presence of the pope

[mollymarymarie]

Reading Dear Your Holiness in the papal audience

wait WHAT REALLY

[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

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; his back turned to them, 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.

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.

"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.

"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.

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

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

[cherry-blossom-20]

hey! i have a request for rafe x reader! i was thinking of enemies to lovers with rafe but with john b’s sister. like rafe isn’t that bad like in the show but he still has some problems, but then he’ll grow a soft spot for the reader. ofc only if you’re willing to write this.

I have always heard the rumors about Rafe Cameron – the bad boy from Outer Banks with the reputation that preceded him. Fighting, drinking, drugs, you name it. My brother John B, and my other friends, JJ, Pope, Kiara, and Rafes very own sister Sarah, all seem to have a history with him, one filled with tension, and animosity. I have never had a bad interaction with Rafe, but I chose my brother's side in the feud, listening to the rumors and avoiding Rafe at all costs. 

JJ's mischievous grin lit up his face. "Hey, guys, have you heard about the boneyard party happening tonight? It's gonna be epic!"

Pope raised an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in his voice. “I dont know guys, I have to work in the morning with my dad and if I dont show up again, I think he might actually kill me. “

Kiara, up for an adventure, leaned in eagerly. "Come on, Pope, where's your sense of fun? It's just a party! Count me in."

Sarah, usually the voice of reason in the group, bit her lip, torn between caution and curiosity. "I don't know, guys. What if something goes wrong? I know Rafe and the rest of the Kook possy are going."

John B, the leader, chimed in with a grin. "Aw, don't be such a buzzkill, Sarah. We can handle anything that comes our way. Let's make tonight legendary!"

feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension, I hesitated before finally nodding. "Okay, let's go. But we stick together, no matter what, deal?"

The group exchanged determined nods, a sense of camaraderie and adventure binding them together. And as we made our way out of the chateu, the promise of the boneyard party looming ahead.

The night air was cool and salty as we made out way through the darkened beach towards the party. The distant sound of crashing waves provided a soundtrack to our journey, adding an ambiance to the scene full of Pogues, Kooks and Tourons. 

As we approached the flickering bonfire at the heart of the party, shadows danced around the sandy clearing, casting strange shapes on the worn-out boats and debris scattered around. The glow of the fire illuminated the faces of the partygoers, their laughter mingling with the crackle of flames.

I felt a mix of excitement and trepidation as we stepped into the heart of the boneyard party, the air thick with anticipation and mystery. Sarah clutched her arm, a silent gesture of support, while Kiara and Pope exchanged curious glances, taking in the scene with a mix of awe and wariness.

JJ, always the first to dive into the unknown, let out a low whistle. "This place is wild, I love it!" His voice carried over the sounds of the party, drawing the attention of a few revelers who nodded in agreement.

John B, the protector, threw his arm over my shoulder while scanning the crowd with a watchful eye, ensuring that they stayed close together amidst the throng of people. "Let's stick together, guys. I dont want anything happening to anyone" he murmured, his voice barely audible over the din of the party.

As we weaved through the crowd at the boneyard party, my eyes scanning the faces illuminated by the flickering bonfire, a familiar figure caught my attention. Rafe Cameron stood at the edge of the firelight, his posture relaxed yet commanding, a hint of mystery in his gaze as he surveyed the party.

Kiara nudged me, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Look who decided to show up," she whispered, nodding towards Rafe. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, a mix of nerves and curiosity swirling in my chest.

As we continued to move through the party, another familiar face came into view. Kielce, Rafe's best friend, stood nearby, his easy smile contrasting with Rafe's more enigmatic presence. The dynamic duo seemed to exude an aura of confidence and danger that drew the attention of the partygoers around them.

Pope's jaw clenched at the sight of Rafe, a hint of tension in his stance as he exchanged a wary glance with JJ. "Those Kooks are always up to no good," Pope muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with unease.

And just as we were about to turn away and walk in a different direction, a voice cut through the chatter of the party. "Well, well, well, looks like some Pogues decided to crash our little shindig." Topper, Rafe's friend, swaggered towards them with a smirk, his presence casting a shadow over the group.

My heart raced as the tension in the air thickened, the unexpected reunion with Rafe, Kielce, and Topper adding a new layer of complexity to the already charged atmosphere of the boneyard party. 

I met Rafe's gaze, his piercing blue eyes looking right into mine. My voice steady despite the nervous flutter in my chest. "We're just here to have a good time, same as everyone else."

John B stepped forward pushing me behind him, his protective instincts kicking in. "We don't want any trouble. Just let us enjoy the party."

Rafe's expression softened slightly as he glanced at me. "I'm not here to cause problems either. Just trying to have a good time with my friends."

JJ eyed the Kooks warily, while blowing out a puff of smoke from the blunt he just lit, his voice cautious. "You guys have a habit of stirring up trouble wherever you go. We'd rather avoid any drama tonight."

Kiara, always one to diffuse tension with humor, flashed a grin at Topper. "Come on, Topper, can't we all just get along for one night? It's a party, after all."

Sarah, sensing the underlying tension, spoke up softly. "Let's just enjoy the night and try to stay out of each other's way. No need for things to escalate."

As we walked away from the conversation with Rafe, Kelce, and Topper, the air crackled with unspoken tension. We found a spot closer to the beach and settled down, the sound of waves a comforting backdrop.

I shifted uncomfortably, feeling Rafe's intense gaze on her. The rest of the group noticed, their expressions darkening. John B, clenched his jaw, his eyes flashing with anger.

"Rafe needs to back off," Kiara muttered, her voice low but firm.

"Yeah, whats his problem now?l," Jj added, his brows furrowed in annoyance.

Sarah sighed. "Let's just enjoy our time here. Ignore him. We won't let him ruin it for us."

We huddled closer, our laughter mingling with the sound of the ocean, a shield against the unwelcome presence of Rafe.

We lounged along the beach, the sound of crashing waves mingling with our laughter and banter. Empty cups that were full of beer on the ground and the blunt JJ lit up is passed around as we enjoyed the salty breeze and the warmth of the setting sun.

As the evening settled in, I felt a sudden thirst creeping up, I looked in my cup noticing it was empty. Standing up, brushing sand off my shorts, "I'm gonna grab a drink. I'll be right back."

John B, Kiara, Jj, Pope, and Sarah all looked up, concern flickering in their eyes.

John B offered, "I'll come with you." starting to stand up from his place in the sand.

Kiara chimed in, "Yeah, we can all go together."

I shook my head, a small smile playing on my lips. "It's okay, guys. I'll just be quick. Stay here, ill be right back."

With a chorus of "Be careful" and "Don't take too long," the group watched as I made my way towards the Keg, the fading sunlight casting a warm glow around me. They settled back into their circle, keeping an eye on my retreating figure as I disappeared into the crowd.

As I waited at the keg, a drunk guy approached me, his slurred words and wandering hands making my skin crawl.

"Hey, beautiful, why are you alone?" one of them slurred, his breath reeking of alcohol.

My discomfort grew as I tried to push him away. "I'm not interested. Please leave me alone."

But the guy persisted, his grip tightening on my arm. Panic rising, I looked over to friends, but they were engrossed in their own conversations, oblivious to my distress.

Just when I felt trapped, Rafe appeared beside me, his presence commanding. Without a word, he pushed the guy away, his expression fierce. The drunk guy stumbled back, surprised by the sudden intervention.

"Back off, man," Rafe growled, his voice low and menacing.

I felt a surge of relief as Rafe stood protectively by her side, his actions speaking louder than words. 

Drunk Man: "Hey, dude, what's your problem? She was just having some fun."

Rafe: "Fun? Putting your hands on someone without their consent is not fun. Leave her alone."

Drunk Man: *laughs* "Who do you think you are, man? She's fair game at a place like this."

Rafe: *steps closer, his jaw clenched* "No one is 'fair game.' You need to learn some respect."

Drunk Man: *backs off slightly, sensing Rafe's intensity* "Fine, man, whatever. She's not worth the trouble."

Rafe: *fixes him with a steely gaze* "Remember this. No means no. Don't let me catch you bothering anyone else tonight, or Ill escourt you off the beach myself. Youre lucky I havent done it already."

The drunk man mumbles something unintelligible and stumbles away, leaving me alone with Rafe, grateful for Rafe's intervention. As the tension dissipates, I turn to him with a mix of relief and gratitude.

Y/N: "Thank you, Rafe. I really appreciate it."

Rafe: *offers a reassuring smile* "No problem. Just looking out for you."

Y/N: “Well im gonna head back before John B starts to worry, thanks again.”

As I started to make my way back from the Keg, a familiar figure fell into step beside her. Rafe's presence was unexpected but not unwelcome, his protective aura a comforting shield against the bustling crowd.

"I can walk you back to your friends," Rafe offered, his tone gentle yet firm.

I nodded gratefully, appreciating the gesture. As we approached the Pogues, I sensed the tension radiating from John B, Kiara, Jj, Pope, and Sarah. Their expressions hardened as they watched Rafe by my side.

John B's voice was sharp with concern as he demanded, "What's going on here?"

Rafe stepped forward, his hands held up in a placating gesture. "There was a situation at the keg. I just wanted to make sure she got back safely." 

I quickly explained, "He helped me when a drunk guy wouldn't leave me alone. Rafe intervened, and I'm okay."

John B's anger softened into gratitude as he turned to Rafe, his voice sincere. "Thanks for looking out for her. We appreciate it."

The tension ebbed away as they realized Rafe's intentions were genuine. I felt a sense of relief as the Pogues thanked Rafe, without any issues. Rafe bid his goodbyes and walked back over to his group. 

As the night drew to a close, we started to gather our belongings, heading toward the twinkie ready to head home. As I was getting in the van, Rafe approached, a nervous look in his eyes.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a moment?" Rafe asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Curious, I nodded and followed Rafe a few steps away from the group. The others exchanged knowing glances, a spark of anticipation in the air.

Rafe took a deep breath before blurting out, "I was wondering if you'd like to go out on a date with me sometime?"

My surprise melted into a warm smile as I met Rafe's gaze. The night had been filled with unexpected twists, but this invitation felt like the perfect ending.

"I'd love to," I replied, my voice soft but filled with genuine interest.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed it! this is my first time writing anything like this.

and to the lovely person who requested this, I hope I meet your expectations!

[corruptedcaps]

Inner Demons

Special thanks to @lsat (discord: thedivergence, Twitter: LSAT1886) for providing the idea and the images used here.

In the quiet corridors of Saint Agnes Convent, Mother Superior Mary Catherine moved with grace, her silver hair framing a face etched with kindness and wisdom. Her gentle presence enveloped the nuns in a soothing aura of compassion. With each step, the creaking floorboards bore witness to decades of devotion.

Mother Mary Catherine's care extended beyond the spiritual realm; she knew the name and story of every sister under her watch. Her wrinkled hands crafted remedies for ailments, and her warm smile healed wounded spirits. In the convent's courtyard, where roses bloomed in vibrant hues, she often gathered the sisters for moments of shared laughter and reflection.

The tranquility of Saint Agnes Convent was soon interrupted when a bus rolled into the quiet convent, carrying a group of new sisters. Mother Mary Catherine stood at the gates ready to meet her new flock but in particular was interested to meet one new member in particular.

Kat stepped off the bus and immediately lit up a cigarette. Her purple hair and leather jacket standing out amongst the crowd of pious women ready to start their new life devoted to god. By comparison Kat looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but then again the judge had given her the choice between the convent or jail and she had picked the habit over the prison jumpsuit but she was immediately starting to regret her choice.

Mother Superior locked her eyes on the young delinquent and walked over to her with an open mind and an open heart. Kat had just taken a long drag of her cigarette when she turned and accidentally blew the exhaled smoke in the Mother Superior’s face. Rather than apologize she instead laughed.

“Grey smoke, I guess that means there’s a new pope… or does that mean there’s isn’t? Whatever, which way to my room?” Kat said with a smirk. Mother superior stood in frozen shock at the young woman’s blatant disrespect. So much so that Kat eventually rolled her eyes and walked away to find her room.

As the days unfolded at Saint Agnes Convent, Kat's rebellious spirit began to infect her fellow newcomers. The once-pious group found themselves drawn to her edgy charm and the allure of more free wheeling spirit that seemed to exude from her. Within a week Kay had a small but growing group of followers who seemed to be less interested in their religious duties by the second.

The Mother Superior tried her best to bite her tongue and put their changing attitudes down to nervousness. She had hoped it would all settle itself soon enough but this hopeful thought was shattered as Mother Mary Catherine stumbled upon a scene that tested the limits of her patience.

In the dim moonlight, she discovered Kat and a group of sisters stumbling back into the sacred grounds, laughter echoing in the hallowed corridors. The scent of alcohol lingered, staining the air with a discordant note of rebellion.

Mother Mary Catherine's eyes widened in disbelief as she witnessed the blatant disregard for the convent's sanctity.

“Ladies! This is simply unacceptable! This is no way future servants of god to be acting!” She said letting her anger rise for the first time in a decade.

“Oh shut up you old crone! The only person I serve is myself.” Kat giggled drunkenly, with her cohort joining in with the laughter as they stumbled off to their rooms.

Tears welled in Mother Mary Catherine's eyes as she struggled to comprehend the unraveling of the sacred haven she had devoted her life to. In the face of this final straw, she grappled with the challenge of restoring order to a sisterhood now teetering on the edge of chaos.

Determined to salvage the sanctity of her order and the souls of all the girls infected by Kat, Mother Mary Catherine knew she had to do something extreme.

With unwavering conviction, Mother Mary Catherine headed to the library and entered a room she alone had the key too. It was a room she had swore to never set in foot to but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Scanning the arcane tomes in the private room, she finally found the book she was looking for. Pulling it off the shelf she had a moment of pause as she read its cover. It’s Latin roughly translating to ‘Witches Handbook’. All the books in here were vile and evil tomes that the church had collected over the centuries.

Flipping the pages she found what she was looking for. Demonic exorcism. She knew that Kat had a poison in her that needed to be removed and while it wasn’t demonic in nature, she was sure this spell would work to exorcise Kat’s ‘inner’ demons.

As if to solidify her resolve, Mother Mary Catherine suddenly heard the cackling laughter of Kat coming from her bed chambers. It was almost taunting the Mother Superior whose gentle features grimaced at the sound and ended her conflicted mind.

After an hour of waiting for the cruel laughter to die down, Mother Mary Catherine made her way across the solemn hush of the convent to Kat’s room. Creeping in she was relieved to find that Kat was passed out.

The Mother Superior commenced the unorthodox exorcism over Kat’s unconscious form, her words resonating with an ancient power. As she uttered the sacred verses, a tangible shift occurred—the air thickened with an eerie energy, and a vibrant purple cloud materialized, swirling around Kat’s inebriated body.

Mother Mary Catherine's eyes widened in astonishment as the ethereal mist, laden with the essence of Kat's rebellious spirit, rose from her mouth. The bed chambers seemed to pulse with an otherworldly force. Yet, to her shock, the amorphous cloud didn't dissipate into the air; instead, it surged toward Mother Mary Catherine, quick as a gust of wind.

Before she could react, the purple mist enveloped her, winding its way into her mouth. A moment of eerie silence settled over the room, broken only by the distant echoes of the town. Mother Mary Catherine stood, breathless, her eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and uncertainty. Before she could wonder what had happened Kat began to stir so she made her way quickly out.

By the time the Mother Superior had made it back to her bed, she was exhausted. She barely made it to her mattress before collapsing into a deep sleep. In the stillness of the night, Mother Mary Catherine drifted into an unsettling dream. The sacred confines of the convent transformed into a surreal landscape, where she encountered a distorted version of herself. In the dream, she stood tall, her demeanor starkly different—purple hair cascading down her shoulders, clad in tight leather that whispered of unstoppable power.

The dream cast her as a strict disciplinarian, a figure she scarcely recognized. Her eyes, usually wellsprings of compassion, held an unyielding authority that seemed to clash with the gentle guidance she had embodied for decades. As the dream unfolded, she found herself enforcing rules with an iron fist, a stark departure from the nurturing spirit that had defined her tenure as Mother Superior.

Most startling however was how she punished those who stepped out of line. She would pull off their habits and flog them for the whole convent to see. She would clamp their nipples, bind their limbs, and hit them with a leather whip. However the victim would seem to enjoy it, pleading with the Mother Superior to punish them further.

Before she could continue though, the Mother Superior found herself waking to the sounds of the convent’s cock, welcoming everyone to a new day. She jolted awake to find her undergarments soaked. Embarrassed she quickly undressed and got into a fresh outfit and took a moment to compose herself in the mirror.

She scarcely used the mirror and so didn’t notice that a lot of her wrinkles had seemed to have faded. Her silver hair was darker now, her liver spots had faded and her lips plump and full. She hadn’t even noticed that she had unconsciously picked out one of her older habits, one that teased cleavage.

However Mary Catherine took little notice of the change, save for an absentminded thought of how good she looked. That thought was quickly dispelled as she left her room and spotted Kat across the courtyard. Memories of last night flooded back into Mary Catherine’s mind of the exorcism and the wicked dream she had after. She was so preoccupied with it that she didn’t watch where she was going and bumped into one of the sisters, Sister Helen.

“Oh I’m so sorry Sister Mary Catherine, I didn’t see you there.” The sister said apologetically.

“You fool! Watch where you are going! And call me by my title!” Mary Catherine said, snapping at the girl uncharacteristically.

“I-I’m very sorry Sis- I mean Mother Superior. It won’t happen again.” Sister Helen said almost trembling and Mary Catherine could feel her panties begin to get wet at the sight.

“See that it doesn’t.” She said peering down at the girl with an intense stare. The nun quickly averted her gaze and left. Mary Catherine meanwhile felt a smirk cross her lips. She had never demanded such respect before, it felt intoxicating. She felt like she could boss anyone around, as was her right, and she knew who to start with.

Strolling over to Kat surrounded by her makeshift gang, Mary Catherine took the cigarette from the leather clad brat and stamped it on the ground.

“What the hell!” Kat cried.

“You and your little cohort here are going to scrub every floor of this place starting right now, understand?” Mary Catherine said looming over the pack, the majority of which fled. Kat and a few others remained, unwavering in their defiance and yet Mary Catherine could see something in Kat’s eyes, a crack in her armor.

“As if. Come on girls.” Kat said standing up and walking away obstinately with her friends in tow. Mary Catherine was angered but knew that something had happened last night, that Kat had lost some of her power. She also knew that she absorbed that power and so it as clear what she had to do next.

This time Mary Catherine did not creep into Kat’s room, but strolled in confidently. She was certain Kat would be passed out like last night because she had seen the young hellion sneak into the chapel and take the communion wine. Mary Catherine could have stopped her but knew letting Kat take it would only be to her advantage.

Standing over Kat, the Mother superior did not hesitate as she had done before and in fact positioned herself closer to the sleeping brat to absorb her essence quicker. Speaking the words aloud, Mary Catherine opened her mouth wide after her final word and tasted the sweet purple wisps as they slid down her throat.

Where the previous changes happened over night, new changes happened instantaneously to Mary Catherine’s body, spurred on by her own want. The last of her wrinkles disappeared as her skin grew soft and taut. Her hair lost all of its grey returning to her natural black but with stops of purple too and her breasts were now close to spilling out of her habit.

Her mind meanwhile never felt better, never felt more free. Kat’s rebellious and selfish mind was overriding most of the remaining kind thoughts that the Mother Superior had left.

Licking her lips she looked down at Kat with increasing disdain. She also revelled in seeing Kat’s younger good looks fade as her own appearance started to improve. Strolling over to the mirror Mary Catherine smirked at her new appearance but also at the feeling of strength she now felt coursing through her body.

“Mmmm yessss Kat’s strong resolve is much more suited in my body. It’s clear now that I was too weak before, too much of a pushover. With Kat’s attitude flowing through me I’ll finally have the respect I deserve.” Mary Catherine mused to herself in the mirror.

But something was seeming off about her whole look. Her old habit mixed with her now more youthful body made her appearance somewhat comical. She needed something more fitting her body. That’s when she spotted Kat’s ajar suitcase.

Opening it up hungrily, Mary Catherine was delighted to see such wickedly tight outfits inside. She ran her fingers over their shiny surface, imagining her new younger body slipping inside. Underneath the clothes were an assortment of sex toys and aids, including a leather whip.

The word whip repeated in her mind and made her remember her salacious dream from the previous night. Her pussy started to get wet at the thought of it. Her eyes wandered over to Kat’s sleeping body and she couldn’t help imagining the bitch strung up with a ball gag in her mouth. The Mother Superior had to drag herself out of the room for fear she might make her dream a reality, but she felt compelled to take the bag. That’s when she ran into Sister Helen again.

“I am SO SO sorry Mother Superior, I know you said before, oh my Sister, you look so young and beaut-” the nervous nun said with a mixture of fear and curiosity in her eyes but Mary Catherine cut her off.

“You insubordinate little maggot.” Mary Catherine said with venom in her words as a voice in her head urged her to punish sister Helen.

“You will be punished for this heinous infraction.” Mary Catherine said looming down on the young nun.

“Y-yes of course, I’ll clean whatever you want, I’ll say a thousand rosaries. I’ll do anything.” Helen said pleading. Mary Catherine stayed silent however, choosing to simply smile unnervingly at Helen and beckon the young nun to follow her.

Helen walked timidly into the Mother Superior’s bed chambers after Mary Catherine who had disappeared into her connected bathroom. Helen stood nervously, not wanting to touch anything for fear she would do something to anger the Mother Superior. However her nervousness only skyrocketed as Mary Catherine walked out of the bathroom in a most unexpected outfit.

Gone was her habit, replaced with tight black latex that showed off her impressive curves. What was most shocking was the item in the Mother Superior’s hand. While having zero experience with such things, Helen was sure that Mary Catherine was holding some sort of sex toy in her hand. It was a large almost wand like item that seemed to glow purple and hand a long length of leather attached. Helen shuddered to think what she had in mind for it.

“Undress. Now.” Mary Catherine said sternly.

“Mother Superior, I don’t think this is-” Helen began before Mary Catherine snapped back.

“That’s right you don’t think. You don’t think where you are going and you don’t pay attention to those that are more important around you. But that changes tonight. Now strip!” Mary Catherine said with malice. Helen obliged by slowly undressing.

Within a few minutes Helen was standing naked in front of the Mother Superior who eyed the girl up and down. Swinging her sex you she approached the nun until their faces were mere inches apart. Helen didn’t know until it was too late, but Mary Catherine did this to distract the young nun from the sudden insertion of the sex you into her pussy.

Helen gasped as the cold phallic object pushed deep into her vagina until with a pop her lips closed tightly around it. Helen couldn’t help but shivering in pleasure. She had never allowed even herself to delve so deep but the sex you felt as comfortable as a glove.

“Come here my pet.” Mary Catherine said as she walked a few feet away. Helen however stood still, still rather shocked by what was happening. Rolling her eyes the Mother Superior tugged on the leather lead and Helen was compelled forward. Each step hitting a different erogenous zone.

“Now my pet, I have enchanted this wonderful little device to slowly instill you with subservience to me the longer you wear it. I found it in this deliciously dark book of spells. I’m starting to think witches may have had the right idea. I’m telling you all this because you will, by now, be unable to fight the growing loyalty you feel towards me, isn’t that right?” Mary Catherine said with an evil smile.

Helen looked at the Mother Superior, her face conflicted. Inside her mind, a war was raging, one that the moral and just part of her was losing. She smiled at Mary Catherine and said, “Of course Mother Superior, I will do anything you ask.”

“Excellent, now get on all fours like the dog that you are, you are going to lick my new boots clean with that wretched tongue of yours.” Mary Catherine said looking at her new leashed companion with equal parts disgust and excitement.

The next day the convent was a buzz with word that the Mother Superior had gotten some sort of makeover. Gone were her sensible habits and elderly charm replaced with outfits that showed off her new youthful voluptuous figure paired with a distinctively cold demeanour.

Over the next week she seemed to pull up nuns for the smallest of infractions and banish them to her quarters where she would enter soon after. The nuns would then emerge changed, more docile, more loyal to the new Mother Superior. Weirder still was that the Mother Superior herself seemed different too. She would exit her room looking younger, hotter, and more confident.

Some of the nuns she reprimanded had become her enforcers, reporting infractions directly back to Mary Catherine. Enforcers like Sister Helen even started to dress and act like the Mother superior, copying her purple hair, wearing tight latex outfits. The convent was looking less like a place of worship for god each day and more like a cult of worship to one woman, Mary Catherine.

But despite her growing authority over the convent, Mary Catherine still felt a tug at her conscience, a little voice that nagged at her telling her what she was doing was wrong. She had only wanted to stop the spread of Kat’s influence over the other sisters and instead she had taken that influence and weaponized it for herself.

And yet she couldn’t deny the results. The sisters had never been in such revelry towards her. It was an intoxicating feeling having so many of them literally kiss her feet and praise the actions that she committed. Even when they were deplorable acts against themselves, they begged her for more. No Mary Catherine needed a change but not to her new outlook.

Walking confidently over to Kat’s bed chambers, the Mother Superior was done with hiding in the shadows and instead kicked the door down with her six inch heels waking Kat inside.

“W-what the hell are you doing?” Said an incredulous Kat but the Mother Superior just simply snapped her fingers and a swarm of her loyal supporters rushed in and held Kat down.

“You’ve been a thorn in my side since you arrived you little bitch, but if it were not for you then I wouldn’t have realized what power I was lacking. And now it’s time I take the last of that power from you.” Mary Catherine said with a disturbing smile as she produced her magical sex toy that she had used to build her growing army. Only this time there was a matching glowing plug on the other end as well.

Stilling up to Kat, she shoved one in into the rebel’s pussy and watched with joy as Kat’s eyes rolled back into her head. She had made the magic much more potent this time after all. Taking the other end she then delighted in slipping it into her own wet pussy. With a pop it found purchase nearly inside her and she grinned in satisfaction.

Happy that they were ready, Mary Catherine began chanting the Latin words she had memorized. As she did, the plugs deep inside her and Kat began to glow. Their two bodies became bright purple sources of light. So bright that the other nuns had to shield their eyes.

“Yessss! Yessss! Give me everything! Make me everything she was! Erase the last drop of good in me!” Mary Catherine yelled as the light filled the room.

Then just as quickly as the light had appeared, it disappeared with a whoosh. The nuns in the room all blinked and rubbed their eyes, trying to refocus their vision. Once they had they found only one figure remained where once there had been two.

Mary Catherine stood transformed before them. Everything about her was more emphasized than before. Her hair more purple, her tits bigger, her nails sharper, her face colder, and her power inarguabe. “Mother Superior are you ok? Are you hurt?” Helen asked concerned. Mary Catherine responded by grabbing Helen by her neck and lifting her effortlessly off of the ground.

“Never better. From this day forth you shall refer to me no longer as Mother Superior Mary Catherine, but instead as Goddess Katherine. Understood?” The new goddess commanded and the rest of the sisters all nodded and bowed in respect. Katherine looked at Helen and for a moment contemplated snapping her neck. The thought brought a wetness to her pussy that delighted her but she knew she would need Helen, at least for now and so let her down.

“Thank you Goddess for the pain, I do not deserve your touch.” Helen said sycophantically kneeling before her mistress. Katherine didn’t even pay her much attention and instead walked out of the room into the cool moonlight of the courtyard. She licked her lips as she looked at all the doors belonging to the nuns she had yet to ‘bless’.

“Come along sisters, we have much work to do.” She said with a wicked smile as she strode to the closest door, ready to convert another sister to her flock.

THE END

[cal-flakes]

Can yo do one where rafe and popes cousin have been an off and on thing and then at a party he kisses her in front of everyone because someone was flirting with her

╰┈➤ making rafe jealous

warnings: swearing, teasing, toxic relationship.

summary: y/n purposely makes rafe jealous to see if his still cares.

smoothing her dress, she stood awkwardly by the drinks table, looking around at the party-goers.

she could think of a million other places she’d rather be, but her friends had done their very best to get her out of the house. she needed to get out of the house.

the last few weeks have been hell, and the pogues felt her sadness through the atmosphere whenever she was around. but pope, her cousin, was determined to change that.

he knew he needed to do something when he found her sobbing at his uncle’s house, almost inconsolable. he didn’t have to ask, he knew already what had happened. so trying to get her to go to a party, where he would probably be, was a bit of a struggle.

eventually, she agreed, but only on jj’s promise that he’d smoke a blunt with her afterwards.

she watched the door as she filled her solo cup, sipping at it nervously. her mouth fell agape as she watched him walk through the door, laughing and joking with the others around him.

her heart dropped at the sight, he looked so happy and carefree, all while she’d been bed ridden for weeks, wondering what she did wrong.

sudden anger washed over her as she scanned the party frantically. her brows raised in relief as her eyes fell on a certain blonde, stomping towards him.

“yo! what’s with the stomps?” he joked, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “jj, i need you to do me a really big favour, like really, really big!” she beamed, putting on her sweetest smile as she looked up at him.

sighing, he frowned slightly, accustomed to said favours. “what can i do for you miss heyward?”

“come with me..” she stated, pulling him into the middle of the room. “now just talk to me..”

jj laughed obnoxiously, attempting to put on a show for those who were watching.

the second jj released such a hysterical laugh, she immediately felt his eyes burning a hole into her back.

satisfied with the attention, she and jj continued laughing together, sharing knowing looks in between laughter. “so what are we trying to do, this time?” jj smirked, leaning in to hear her better. “we’re trying to see if he still thinks i’m his..”

rafe’s jaw clenched as he drummed his fingers against the table, his racing thoughts drowning out the chatter beside him. has she moved on? how could she do that?

his thoughts only got louder when he saw jj’s hand wrap around y/n’s waist, leaning in closer to her ear. he watched, stewing, as she threw her head back in hysterics, her giggles sounding around the room.

before he could stop himself, he’d made his way across the room, stalking over to the pair.

“what the fuck are you doing y/n?” he spat, glaring between her and the tall blonde. “excuse me?”

“i’ll take that as my leave…” jj sighed, nodding towards y/n as he backed away.

the tension between her and rafe grew as jj’s presence disappeared through the crowd of people. “what the fuck are you doing with him y/n?” rafe snapped, closing in on her. “you mean my friend?” she spat back, crossing her arms in distaste.

“yeah, okay sure, your friend..” he sighed, shaking his head. “what? are you jealous?” she taunted, cocking an eyebrow.

“you’re mine y/n..” y/n scoffed, tutting at him. “what? you think i still belong to you? after you ghosted me? again!”

y/n’s heart beat furiously in her chest, this is exactly what she wanted to happen, but now it was happening, she was struggling to think on her feet.

“don’t be ridiculous y/n..i’ve been busy..” he groaned. “busy? really? too busy to let me know you were gonna dip? too busy to speak to me for three weeks?”

“look, i’m sorry..let me make it up to you?” her mouth fell open, entirely shocked at his change in demeanour. he’d never been so quick to roll over before. “i don’t know if you deserve the chance…”

“you’re right, i don’t deserve it at all, but if you give me one more chance, i’ll prove i can be better..”

tapping her foot in thought, she eyed him, searching for any hint of false promises.

she sighed heavily, almost disappointed in herself for being so weak, but she couldn’t help it. there was something about rafe cameron that she just couldn’t put a finger on, but whatever it was, it pulled her right back in.

“fine, one more chance rafe! i mean i-” before she could even finish, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in tight. she pressed a wet kiss to his lips, returning the tight squeeze.

the pogues watched from across the room, exchanging disappointment glances between them. there wasn’t any reason to be shocked, they knew this would happen, it’s a monthly occurrence at this point. but no matter what they did to burn that bridge, she’d always rebuild it if it led to rafe cameron.

[the-hole-in-terzos-shoe]

Let's Get These Heels Off...

Burlesque!Terzo x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, MDNI!, Lingerie, basically smut with a little tiny bit of plot 🤷‍♀️

Word count: 3.4k

ANYWAY, I'M BACK HI HELLO!!!!! I really did not mean to take a hiatus, but I am in grad school and that just needed my attention these past weeks. I have been writing the whole time, this just happens to be the first thing to get finished!

But! I am sooooo excited about this! @angellayercake and I have been squealing and giggling and losing our minds over burlesque Terzo for months now and she requested this special 🥰 it was an honor to write this for you, my dearest Cake, and I hope you love it as much as I love Pastimes for a Retired Papa and Banchetto!!! Enjoy 😘

Photo credit to @theshamelessghoul @vitadevoid on Instagram 🩷 please go follow both of her accounts, she's an absolutely beautiful artist.

After stalking his Instagram page every night for a week, you knew you had to see him perform in person. Not to mention that Vegas isn't too far a drive from your place. You 𝘩𝘢𝘥 to see him, you just had to.

And that's how you found yourself at the door of this club, paying the high cover charge. The venue was well worth it though, beautiful dark decor, mirrors and dim lighting making the place feel large, but intimate. You'd made it a point to dress appropriately, wanting to look fine and feel your best, but not outshine the performers. So you went with a tight black leather dress that displays your bust nicely, black lace long sleeve crop top layered over, and of course black stiletto heels to match.

Glad you came by yourself to fulfill this silly little fantasy, you take a seat in a quaint cushioned arm chair, noticing the array of vintage mismatched furniture, and order a drink. There was already a set going on, dancers gracefully moving across the stage, with the lighting offering glimpses of the room while keeping most of the viewers concealed in the shadows. You were grateful for that.

You'd never been to a place like this before and you just wanted to view the art from a distance.

Just in time too, as the one you'd been longing for took the stage, his presence larger than life, seemingly squeezing all the air from the room... And he hadn't even shown any skin yet.

His gig was definitely out of the ordinary, but there was something so alluring about watching this Anti-Pope, Papa Emeritus the Third, sashay across the stage. His dance style is slow and sensual, teasingly revealing a fishnet clad leg here or a lace covered hip there as he slowly works his way out of his papal vestments.

He certainly has the bedroom eyes down to a science as you find yourself unable to look away. Another thing that's hard to look away from is that beautifully plump ass, showcased so artfully with leather straps cupping his cheeks.

The Anti-Pope was well practiced at making his way across the floor, legs spread sinfully and hands groping various body parts. Lastly, he unhooks his corset to reveal tassels on his nipples, and he wasn't left in much more than those and a pair of panties. A few more twirls around the stage and the last few notes of the song ring out, while the lights go totally dark, leaving it pitch black in the room. The click of his heels returning backstage are the only sound until the lights slowly come back up.

Hell, he really knew how to leave a crowd wanting more. Or maybe it was just you--either way, you were happy to have seen him perform in person. It had been worth the drive and every penny.

You were pleasantly surprised to find him in the kickline of a few other performances that night, for the performers that needed back up dancers. Although you did think it was unfair for the boss to put him in the back like that, because he always stole the stage from whoever was supposed to be leading.

After the night had simmered down, a few of the dancers creeped out into the audience, mingling with the crowd to keep them happy and earn the waiters some higher tips. There were still a few performances happening, but they hardly held your attention as you felt a shift in the vibe. Papa had come out from backstage and was taking his time greeting the guests, many of them wanting to kiss his hands or cheeks.

He's so charismatic that people are drawn to him like a magnet. You feel the pull too, but you're perfectly content to watch from afar... It's not like he would know you anyway.

That is, until it seems like he's coming your way. Is he? No. Surely he's looking for someone behind you.

Tensing your fingers around the arms of the chair, you try to straighten up as best you can as he saunters right over, leaning forward and placing his hands on top of yours, effectively pinning you to the spot. His nose is only inches from yours as he looks you over, "Didn't your Mama teach you it's impolite to stare?"

"D-don't mind me... I'm just enjoying the view, um, Papa." You knew you didn't stand a chance of sounding confident in front of him, so you just did your best not to fumble your words.

He smirks, letting you know he enjoys the flattery, "Please, tesoro, call me Terzo. Papa is simply my stage name." He winks and offers his hand up to your lips.

Carefully, you take his hand in yours, appreciating his short black nails, before softly placing a kiss to his knuckles. "Terzo," you whisper, mostly to yourself.

While his hand is still in yours, he snakes his hand around your wrist before bringing it to his lips. "And you? Who are you this evening, dolce mia?"

"Just a starstruck fan," you supply before giving your name.

Still kissing his way up your arm, he tries your name on his tongue before nipping at your earlobe, earning a heavy breath from you.

"Would you like to take this somewhere a bit more private, bella?"

You stutter, "I-I didn't... I didn't think that was allowed here."

"Sì, sì, you are right, 'no stripping here on The Strip', eh?" he chuckles. He stands up and stares you down, looking you directly in the eyes, "I guess I'll be getting off all by myself tonight then." He fakes a pout before flashing a playful look at you.

Suddenly he's walking away, as if he'd forgotten about you all together.

"Hey, wait!"

He keeps walking, heading up the spiral staircase behind the stage. You hesitate momentarily before chasing him up the stairs. You had come all this way; why not take the fantasy as far as he would let you?

Upstairs, he sits at his vanity, illuminated beautifully by the soft light. Yet again, you stare as he fixes up his makeup. When he sees you behind him, he makes a comment about you being in his mirror.

But then he stands up and you're drawn to one another. He turns and within a second, his hands are on your jaw and yours on his waist, making out.

At some point, you were spun around and the next thing you know, you're being backed into another vanity, stumbling into it as lip glosses and tubes of mascara roll onto the floor. Grabbing roughly at your ass, Terzo lifts you onto the vanity, mouth never leaving yours. In fact, he uses it as leverage to gain access to your tongue.

Your fingers tremble in an attempt to untie the silk robe he'd covered his lingerie with, while he's working your black lace top off. As it drifts slowly to the floor, you start to hear a rumbling noise across the room.

Terzo pulls away from you, and before you can ask what the noise is, he's pulling you off the vanity. "Come with me, cara mia," he whispers, dragging you behind one of the various curtains back stage. Suddenly the room fills with chatter, and you realize the noise had been many, many sets of high heels coming up the stairs. The night must be over downstairs and the club getting ready to close.

Wrapped in a shroud of darkness behind the heavy velvet curtain, you feel Terzo's hands return to your waist and his lips at your ear, "Quiet, dolcezza, we wouldn't want to get caught, would we?"

"No," you reply, trying not to giggle. His mouth is curled into a big smile as it makes contact with your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and nips along your exposed skin. Silently you let out a shaky breath, fighting off a whimper.

"Ugh! Whose shirt is this?! They knocked over all my shit!" one of the dancers yells, receiving a low chuckle from Terzo.

Hands sliding up his body, you finally slip that robe from his shoulders, exposing more skin, but your hands are much more interested in diving into that luscious black hair, which draws another low noise from the man. "Shhhh," you breathe out.

His hot mouth is now lapping at your cleavage, until his thumb finds the scandalously placed zipper on the front of your tight leather dress. Inching the pull tab down, his nose dips down to the space between your breasts where he places a soft kiss.

Gently you hold him against you, one hand tangled in his hair, the other on his cheek. Undoubtedly, you have his face paint all over you, but Terzo is simply alluring in everything that he does. From the way he performs on stage, grasping everyone's attention in the palm of his hand to the dangerous way he romances you, kissing you like he loves you... you know you'll never get enough.

Finally, the dressing room starts to quiet down. Girls chatter about where they're going to grab dinner or who's going home with who. And eventually, you're left alone with your lover for the night.

Peaking his head out from behind the curtain, Terzo nods that the coast is clear, taking your hand and smirking, "Per favore, bella mia, follow me. I know the perfect place to have my way with you."

Cocky in an endearing way, that's how you'd describe him. A stranger who somehow knows exactly what you need... It's maddening, but comforting.

However, upon reaching some kind of office door, you are given some pause, "Hey, woah, where are we going?"

"Just through here, amore," he tugs your hand.

"I mean, is that someone's office? Are we supposed to be in here?" You question him, but the idea of getting caught has certainly done something to you.

"Sì, the owner's. Won't it be fun, dolce?"

Looking between his hand still holding yours and his playful duochromatic eyes, you can't deny him. "Yes," you grin, biting your lip as he pulls you through the doorway, nearly slamming it behind you.

Despite him not being the largest man, he has full control of your body, making quick work of shoving everything off the desk and laying you back on it. "Bellissima, cara mia, your beauty is unmatched," he mumbles, admiring your disheveled form spread out before him.

You huff, "Please... Have you seen yourself?" It was true. He looks like pure debauchery in that moment, leaning over you in nothing but heels, fishnets, and a black lace thong.

He smiles in a way that almost looks shy, "Sì, but tonight is all about you, no?" He leans over you on the desk, placing a kiss to your jaw.

"Who said that?" you sigh at his contact.

"You did, signora, with your actions," his lips start their decent down your body, again on your cleavage, your sternum, your belly, as he slowly unzips your dress and continues his explanation, "you drive all the way out here, from wherever you come from; you dress up; you spend your evening with us... I have never seen you before."

By now he's made his way to the waistband of your panties, kissing the skin just above the lace.

"Oh, and you know everyone who comes in here?" you chuckle and your hand comes up to massage his scalp.

"Mmm, sì, amore," he slides the zipper down to where it ends at your knees, allowing the dress to fall open, and he lifts one of your legs off the desk to nip at your inner thigh, "and if I do not know someone... I make it a point to introduce myself." His devious eyes flicker up to yours.

"So you do this with everyone you meet?" you sit up and raise your eyebrows, shaking the dress straps from your shoulders.

"Are you implying something about me, tesoro? Besides..." He ducks his head down, rubbing his nose perfectly across your clit, "It's not lady-like to kiss and tell."

Feeling his hot breath even through your underwear, you're met with those smoldering bedroom eyes he had on stage. When you let out an involuntary whimper, you have to stop yourself from urging his face towards your core.

Like a mind-reader though, he's pulling off your panties, "You must've been wet from the moment you saw me on stage." He grins proudly, but before you can chide him, Terzo's mouth is already on you, instead stealing the air from your lungs as his tongue circles around your sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Ah! Oh, Terzo..." you gasp as your fingers curl in his soft hair. If your eyes hadn't been screwed shut in pleasure, you would've seen the enjoyment written on your lover's face as he works his magic.

His hands grip your thighs roughly, pulling you to the edge of the desk to be able to dip his tongue between your folds, teasing your entrance. Your needy whines egg him on as he fucks you with his tongue, that perfect nose smashed up against your oh-so-sensitive clit. It's so overwhelming you actually try to push his face away, but Terzo digs his heels in, holding you firmly in place. Surely you'll have bruises where his fingertips clutch at your skin.

In an embarrassing amount of time, that familiar tension builds in your abdomen. Looking down at the man through your lashes, you feel an urge to beg for permission, but your mouth is unable to form the words. He senses it though, and gives you a gentle nod without disrupting his ministrations. Thighs squeezing against his ears and a high heel digging into his back, you cum for him, convulsing as he carries you through it.

Carefully, he stands up between your legs, allowing you to lean on him with your arms wrapped around his neck as you both catch your breath. Propping your chin up on his chest, you look up at Terzo. His face paint is totally wrecked, but you like seeing what's beneath it as well.

"Bene?" He whispers softly, "Was it good for you?"

"Yes," you let out a breathy laugh at the absurdity of that question. Eyes trailing down, you notice his painfully hard cock barely concealed by his thong. Looking up at him, you slowly reach for it, and you're met with a pleased hum when you palm at the head.

His lips find yours once again as he gently bucks into your hand, feeling just as needy for you as you'd been for him. "Per favore..." he rasps, "please."

"Please, what, baby?" you ask him.

"Fottimi," he says it so quietly you hardly hear him.

"Hm?" you look up, cupping his chin in your fingers, other hand still working his throbbing desire.

Squeezing his eyes closed, a beautiful blush blooms across his cheeks, "Fuck me. Please, fuck me..."

Seeing this once-confident performer enter such a space, you feel even more of a need to please him; it lights a fire like you hadn't experienced before. "Why don't you go lay on the couch for me then, hm?"

It's not lost on you how earlier you'd been worried to even come in the office, and now you're telling your lover to use the furniture.

He nods and takes a couple steps across the small room, heels clicking on the old hardwood floor. Pausing in front of the small piece of furniture like he has to think about it, he slowly bends at the hips, placing his hands on the soft cushion first, then following with his knees.

You follow him over, unable to resist his plump backside. Palming and squeezing at it, you chide him, "Putting your cute little ass on display for me? Just like you did on stage," you trail off. 𝘛𝘩𝘸𝘢𝘱! You earn an involuntary moan from Terzo as you spank him. He turns to look over his shoulder at you, where you then lean down and press a soft kiss to the hand mark you left on him, "I think I asked you to lay down."

He gives you that devilish grin before flopping back on the sofa, stretching and arching his back, feigning innocence.

Something about him acting this way emboldens you, so settling between his spread legs, you reach down and harshly tear open the front of his fishnet stockings, "If you want to act like a little whore, then I'm going to treat you like one!"

He reaches down to grab your wrist, placing it on his crotch and rutting against your hand again, "Sì, amore, please..."

Snatching your wrist away, you swat your fingers at his erection, making him jerk in a way that you're pretty sure means he liked it. "You're lucky you're so goddamn pretty."

"Hmm," he grins again, "Or what?"

"Or..." Roughly, you grab the waistband of his offending little panties and rip them down enough to expose him, the pretty pink tip dripping with precum. Taking his length in your hand, you stroke up and down, before continuing, "Or I wouldn't touch you like this..."

He whines at the way you handle him; he's so perfect, you know you can't resist him any longer.

Moving to straddle his hips, you grind your sex on his. This allows you to lean down and kiss him again, which he pulls you into hungrily. When you break away, you gaze into those lust blown mismatched eyes, "Or I wouldn't fuck you."

It's your turn to grin as you line him up with your entrance, and he becomes a writhing mess beneath you. Seconds later, however, the room is filled with gasps, sighs, moans as you finally become one.

With Terzo fully seated inside, you waste no time working your hips, easing you both into the motions of lovemaking. And what a picture you are: a tangle of limbs, lingerie, and stilettos.

His needy hands reach out to squeeze at your breasts, urging your bra straps off of your shoulders. Finally, you reach behind to unclasp the article of clothing and discard it. In an instant, your lover's hands return, cupping, massaging, and teasing your chest. The way his fingers roll your nipples already has them budding, but his mouth closing around one of them really does the trick.

With one hand cradling the back of his head and the other on his shoulder for support, you ride him at an energetic pace, gasping each time his teeth nibble at your sensitive skin.

"That's it..." he starts to whisper between love bites, "sì, principessa, oh, pl- per favore, take your pleasure from me."

Kissing the top of his head, you sigh into his ear, "Touch me... Touch me, please, Terzo!"

"Sì, signora," he obliges, his middle finger finding your clit easily, "Sei bella, così bella. Veini per me, cum on me, tesoro."

"I'm gonna..." You bite your lip, "Ahh, cum with me, baby."

Your second orgasm hits you like a wave, and it has you seeing stars. Feeling you clench around his cock, Terzo, blissed out, bites down on your collarbone as he follows you over the edge, spilling into your perfect velvety walls. Pain mixed with pleasure somehow heightens the sensation futher for you; it's nothing short of a miracle you were able to ride you both through your climaxes.

Terzo collapses straight back and you right on top of him, exhausted. His arms come up to wrap around you, gently tracing shapes into your back. When you give a tired groan, he offers, "Dai, we should get you upstairs, you stay the night with me."

"Upstairs? You live here?" you mumble into the crook of his neck.

"Sì, ragazza stupida," he chuckles, "I own this place."

"Hey!" you sit up and see him pointing at something... the name plate from the desk, thrown across the floor reading 'Terzo Emeritus.' Glaring back down at him, you argue, "Well, I'm not stupid, or whatever you said."

He smiles up at you, softly. "It means 'silly,' amore mio."

"Oh... Well still..." you lower your voice to a near whisper, "I would like to spend the night with you."

He reaches up to stroke your cheek, "Okie dokie, then. Let's get these heels off."

[signoraviolettavalery]

Everything I can remember about the Den Haag and Amsterdam gigs, before I forget, but also I got about as little sleep as they did because I was a)worrying about their travel b)too hyped up to sleep

Den Haag

they were so hella energetic for people who had gone through All That to get here, Bojan was hella alive, but he didn't banter much with the crowd

It was Sinterklaas so they got soooooo many gifts. Hats, lofts of candy (traditional sinterklaas gift), bracelets, flags, letters...

Someone threw stroopwaffels because those are Kris' favorite

the Dutch crowd was so polite??? There was no barricade but nobody was grabbing them or their guitars, the only things that were being thrown at the stage were soft things like hats, nobody was chucking presents directly at them, any bracelets that got thrown were thrown gently onto the stage rather than at them

(fyi afterwards when the crew cleans up they go through and pick up all the gifts so as long as it gets onto the stage they'll get it)

they confirmed several times that they'll be back to the Netherlands

In Ne Bi Smel he changed "sem bil slep" to "sem kreten" again

when singing ASTP Bojan had the various parts of the venue cheer first, and the balcony that cheered the least loud got ASTP sung to them specifically; and at the end he changed the lyrics so they went "kako lepo disite me" aka "how nice you (plural) smell to me" idk was he saying the sweaty crowd filling this venue smelled nice to him (I have QUESTIONS)

there were balloons onstage, at some point, Jan decided he had a vendetta against the balloons, starting popping them with his boots by jumping around while playing the guitar and, being a clutz, got tangled in a flag/coat/something? by the drums and nearly fell over a;slkfjwe Jan why are you like this I love you

Kris got a pope hat that he put on right before NGVOT so he sang NGVOT as the pope I guess

Kris was drinking tea during the gig; every time Bojan was introducing the song he was just chilling by the drum set and sipping his tea while wearing sunglasses, iconic, gives zero fucks, I love him

Amsterdam

holy shit this gig was wild and magical. We gave them such a warm welcome and we screamed so loud I think even Bojan was impressed

the music as we were waiting for the gig was ABBA followed by Lady Gaga and Barbie Girl, and after the gig it was Avril Lavigne. We got most of those songs yesterday so Im' guessing Bojan picked that soundtrack :P

after they did Gola he asked "ok, so you know the words. How many of you hear aren't slovenian?" the entire fucking venue raises their hands. "we should get y'all on duolingo" Bojan Slovenian isn't on Duolingo!!

Bojan really, truly makes everyone feel seen. It's astounding. The opening act, Mia Nicolai, she was good, but she mostly just started in front of her, at the people in front of the stage. Bojan looks around and makes eye contact with everyone. The people on the balconies (I swear he looked straight at me, I died), the people in the front rows, the people on the sides, the people in the back. Every time, you feel seen. He's just got that something, not just stage presence, but that knack for being up there and making it a party that includes everyone

at some point, it got really hot and their crew started passing out water bottles. I think Bojan even went backstage during the Ne Bi Smel intro to ask them to give out more. He was really attentive and when one girl fainted or almost fainted during Ne Bi Smel he noticed, cut the music off immediately, the lights go up, and he made sure she was escorted by security and that she was okay before they restarted the song. Total pros.

introducing NGVOT: "I have to call a very special singer up to the stay. Kris. This song came about because of his broken heart. That heart is now healed" (important information to share I guess) and then Kris of course did NGVOT

Bojan: asks the crowd how to say umazane misli in Dutch. They tell him and he repeats it. Bojan then turns to Kris if he said it right, kris says no. "Well how would you say it then?" Bojan asks. "I don't know but what you said sounds wrong" as;lkfjwe Kris you're iconic

There were some Slovenians in the crowd! Including a girl whom Bojan went to high school with with. He dedicated Omamljeno Telo to her because "you heard it when I played it in high school"

He gave a really long intro to Plastika about how we're supposed to hate our analog minds and our analog bodies and how this is all terrible and basically just love yourself and don't judge others

Nace spent a lot of time playing across from Kris and didn't spend all that much time with his husband onstage :( :(

At the end Kris took off the Stozice outfit sleeves and threw them into the crowd so now there's two people who own that little piece of history

Anyway did I mention Amsterdam was magical, they were on fire, they were delighted to be there, the crowed was delighted to have them, and so enthusiastic, and there was just so much energy and hearing them live is truly something else. The recordings are amazing but being there, in that space with them, when they're at their best, hearing them actually perform those songs? Indescribable. Live CD when?

[presleyanswrites]

another party

pairing(s): jj maybank x fem!reader

authors note just a draft :)

warnings: language, underage drinking, light mentions of sex, puk!ng, grammar, fluff

word count 1.08k

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requests open 🤍

enjoy 🫶🏼

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you insisted on wanting to attend this party, clinging to jj’s shoulder. Despite JJ being the hardest partier you knew, he told you he didn’t think it was the best idea since you got in a fight with the kooks just yesterday, and you and jj knew the entire shore would be infested with keg drinking assholes from figure eight. It’s not that he wouldn’t protect you at all costs, he just didn’t want you to get hurt.

he finally gave into the pleading, knowing he could never say no to his girl when she did. you, jj, John B, pope, and Kie were all loading onto the Twinkie to pull up on the beach bonfire and into the loud music and very crowded event.

everyone was partying, drinking, and some kids were making out and having sex right on the floor even in some parts when you and your blonde boyfriend walked by, but it didn’t draw you and JJ’s attention since everyone was all over the place. nothing you haven’t seen before. you breathe out.

almost right into the minute you saw the beers, and all the kegs, it was downhill from there. A lot was going on with you and your mom, and school, and stress and shit and all you wanted was just a beer. over the night, One drink turned into another before JJ became concerned and asked how much you’ve had.

“it’s not important, Jay,” you say giggling and stumbled into him.

“how about we drink some water, okay?”

“no, no I feel greatt”

you start laughing and then stumble onto the sand before chugging down your 12th beer.

JJ hasen’t seen you drink this much in a while, and he had to admit that drunk you was very hilarious.

Despite that, he grew very worried about your drinking problem when you suddenly just burst into tears. everything had all been too much lately and I guess for now you haven’t been handling stress amazingly the past few days.

he quickly gathers you into his arms and coos in your ear, “what’s wrong baby? are you alright? what’s going on?”

Kie suddenly walks over with pope, jj notices their presence and tells them that you and him probably need to hit the road soon, y/n was very drunk. And Kie instantly notices tears streaming down your face as you pull away. “is y/n okay? what happened JJ?”

Before he can respond, JJ instantly regrets letting you out of his sight because you’re already into the weed you picked up and went to town on it, and very soon after you were throwing up everywhere.

“what the hell, JJ? how’d you let her get so drunk? how many drinks has she had?” Pope exclaims with a hint of annoyance in his tone.

JJ ignores the remark, too embarrassed to answer, and he runs over to you rubbing small circles on your back as you forcefully spill all of your drinks and weed and rum and vodka you’ve had. JJ had a wave of guilt wash over him letting you go un supervised like that, especially with all of the kooks around. He should have known something was wrong with you, he just assumed you wanted a beer or two.

Kie Carries your weak and shaky body into the Twinkie and the four of you drive home, leaving John B and the party with Sarah.

there was a trash can in there so you began to still spill your guts into the plastic bin pope got from his house to keep shit they found in. living in the cut wasn’t easy.

JJ, still rubbing your back, and kissing the back of your head, his heart fills of worry and he feels more ashamed with himself then he has in a while.

once your into the chateau, you plunge onto the couch and jj lays out clean pjs for you, and runs you a warm bath to help soothe your burning stomach.

you, still drunk, follow your boyfriends commands and he stays by your side all night, throwing up until midnight.

he holds you close to his body and you fall into his shoulder.

after a little while, he asks, very softly, “are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

now, a little less wasted, you let streaming tears fall into his shoulder

Jay I- I don’t know! It’s just all too much and my mom is threatening to send me off and she- and the kooks” you sob, “the kooks they wanted to- touch me- and because one of them at a party wouldn’t let go and I - I and then-and then there are SATs soon and I just I can’t take it anymore.

“shhhh baby I-“ tears start to even fill the blonde boys eyes from the pain you were describing to him. “I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry baby.”

you let your head bury into his chest, sobbing

“Im so sorry i didn’t know baby. I’m sorry I let you drink so much and I’m so sorry i wasent there. I should’ve been there.” he breathes out.

After JJ finally slows down a bit, he asks gently, “please can you tell me who was attacking you?”

“it- it was topper” you breathe out, shakily like you lifted 80 weights off of you, still crying. You’ve wanted that shit out of your system for months.

JJ is angry as hell but tried to hold it back not wanting to scare you anymore.

“please please don’t do anything, Jay.” you start crying harder. “we, i- i can’t afford to lose you, I’ve lost everything. we have lost everything, pope, Kie John b- everyone, and we can’t. we just-"

JJ pulls you into a very warm dominating and safe hug. a long and persistent loving hug. you cry hard into him for almost an hour, and he just snakes his arms all the way around you, letting you take your time.

JJ is red with anger. he felt his blood boiling all throughout his body. It took him everything he had to not go and beat him to death right now, who cares if it’s like fucking 3am? despite it, he knew he just needed to be there for you at this moment.

you eventually got off the floor and into the couch. JJ gave you cuddles and kisses all night deciding to be the one to big spoon you.

[titlemewickedwonderland]

Love Your Enemy (Dewdrop Ghoul x Male!Ghoul!Reader)

Summary: No one hated Papa's little fire ghoul more then Y/n - a newly summoned ghoul that struggled to find his place in Papa's pack. No one understands why the two ghouls hate each other so much until it comes to light their past - perhaps an intervention is needed.

Fandom: The Ghost Band (Swedish Band)

Pairing: Dewdrop Ghoul x Male!Ghoul!Reader

Triggers: Cursing, slight violence, sexual tension/dirty talk, and well Dew...Dew's his own warning label.

Auth. Note: The portrayal of Ghouls and Papa is from a fandom base and imagination alone; the personas of the band do not have anything to do with the real people behind the masks. I am a fan of their music and respect their privacy so their stage persona is separate from the real-life individuals in my works.

Workshop!

The perks of being Papa's ghoul were the accommodations and respect one got. The ability to be part of something bigger, do things you love, and at the same time find a place within a pack to form an unbreakable bond with each other. It certainly bet Hell by a long shot. Still, every coin is double-sided, and even with the good, there was always that bad side - such as how Y/n was struggling to fit into his new pack. Being a newly summoned Ghoul for Papa Emeritus the 3rd he still had things to learn. Struggling with being topside was always the worst - it had been forever since he'd been summoned by someone besides selfish little teenagers. He didn't have the best rep when it came to being summoned so when he'd crawled from the summoning circle he feared he'd see another eager but terrified face girl at a slumber party or some shit. Instead, he had been greeted by a man wearing skull paint and funny-looking pope robes alongside a few figures clad in black attire and wearing silver masks.

Y/n was a ghoul - he could sense those of his own kind right off the bat and he didn't like it. Fuck it actually had terrified him more than the teenagers. He'd even asked if he'd been thrown into another circle of hell or some shit. But no, Y/n had been topside, and after his contract had been confirmed with 'Papa' he had been carefully whisked away by the other ghouls. He would have liked his stay better if he hadn't realized a little too late who all the ghouls were. Not that it was bad. Quintessence ghoul named Aether was the most welcoming and Y/n felt at ease immediately with him as soon as they were locked behind the walls of the ghoul's quarters. Then there was the multi-ghoul Swiss who's personality was a bit flirty but he gave off a best friend vibe that Y/n digged - he imagined they'd be hanging out a lot together. There was an Earth Ghoul named Mountain who barely spoke but had a calm and kind aura. A Water ghoul named Rain was soft-spoken and a bit shy. Despite being older than Y/n he gave off the vibe that Y/n would probably do almost anything for him. The Ghoulettes were away and he couldn't meet them just then but it was the Fire ghoul of the pack that made Y/n's hair raise on his arms and make his tail twitch uncontrollably. He knew that fucking stance and those eyes even behind the silver mask. He knew his scent before he'd ever fully registered who was standing in front of him. And Y/n knew he was fucked.

It took months for him to get comfortable with the new routine. His own traumas made it hard to connect with people but at least he had music and his pack mates that were patient with him. Except when it came to Dewdrop. The pair were at it every chance they got - their presence announcing each other through hisses and low rumbling growls. No one understood why they were on edge with each other. During practice on stage, Dew would make a show of crowding Y/n as if showing a sign of dominance but Y/n would only return the favor with a headbutt that to anyone else would have looked almost brotherly or affectionate but in fact, made Dew's head vibrate with the force through his mask like two goats locking horns. It got so bad that Rain often had to take Y/n away from the fire ghoul to calm down him while Swiss and Aether distracted the firecracker.

Today was of no difference as Y/n effortlessly ducked as a cup went soaring over his head to smash into glass shards on the kitchen floor. "Fuck you swing like a girl." Y/n snorted with a feral grin behind his mask as he placed the kitchen island between him and the pissed fire ghoul.

"Oh look I think I actually see flames coming out of your mouth there, Dewdrop! And here I was thinking you were just a imp." this caused Dew to snarl and launch himself across the island but before Y/n could meet him across to deck him an arm wrapped around his middle yanking him back just as another grabbed Dew's tail to jerk him backward.

"For fucks sake, it's only 7 in the morning! What's this about now?!" Aether's tired voice growled as he got a struggling Dew into a headlock.

"Fucker ate my last yogurt." Dew spat gripping with claws at his packmate's forearm.

"Yogurt?" Swiss snorted from behind Y/n as he idly rested his chin on top of the smaller ghoul's head. "You're fighting over a fucking tub of yogurt Dew? Really?"

Y/n smirked leaning back into his bandmate and stuck his tongue out at the other who only struggled against Aether's hold like a wet cat ready to claw someone's eyes out.

"Okay, that's enough! What the fuck is this all about?!" Aether boomed shoving Dew down to pin him like a thrashing bull. "You've been at this since the moment Y/n was summoned! It's been months!" he huffed just as Rain and Mountain came in seemingly woken up from the shouting and commotion from the kitchen.

"What's going on?" Rain asked blinking sleepily

"Y/n and Dew are at it again." Swiss huffed taking a playful chunk of Y/n's pointed ear like a nip of disapproval but the action was caught by Dew and the fire ghoul snarled.

"Fucking hell Aether get off!"

"Not until you tell us what the hell is going on! this is ridiculous, you're packmates now!"

"I don't claim that....thing." Dew sneered at Y/n and the latter flashed a cheeky smile in return

"Alright, that's it." Mountain rumbled in frustration as he walked over and grabbed Dew by his scruff as if he weight nothing and then hauled Y/n over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes before stalking out of the room with the others trailing behind curiously.

The large ghoul went down to the basement of the Ghoul's chambers were usually their equipment was kept when not in their rooms - a place where they usually just hung out watching movies and playing games together. It was isolated and a large circular room with one door that led in and out. The Earth ghoul dropped the pair onto the carpeted floor before pointing a finger at them in warning.

"You will not leave this room until you sort out your problems!"

"You're locking us in a room together? That's not the smartest choice big guy." Y/n crossed his arms looking away from Dew

Mountain stalked forward until he was looming over the smaller male causing the other to look up but shrink at the look on his face. Mountain hardly ever got mad but that look in his eyes right then made him want to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. He swallowed thickly as he forced down a whine as the other reached up a hand to tip his chin up to look at his eyes.

"You will stay in this room until I see fit that you won't kill each other outside of these walls. Fuck it out, fight it out, I don't give a rats ass but you two are not leaving this room until you are not at each other's throats anymore. Fix whatever shit this is, okay honey?"

Y/n nodded dumbly and watched as the others silently filed out - the sound of the door locking from the outside was loud in the quiet space but neither he nor Dew moved for the longest time until Dew got agitated and shifted further into the room.

"Out of all the fucking ghouls to summon Papa had to summon you didn't he?"

Y/n's head snapped over towards him and his lip curled. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean? It's not like I wanted to be summoned, asshole!"

"You took the contract. He would have easily sent you back if you didn't want to join us, dipshit." Dew fired back and Y/n's mouth clamped shut with a click.

It was true, he could have said no to the contract and Papa would have sent him back. But the truth was, Hell was far worse than what his life top side was right now; it wasn't a place he wanted to remember or go back to anytime soon. Sighing Y/n made his way to the couch and sunk down into the cushion staring up at the ceiling with dull eyes.

"Was it really that bad?" Dew finally spoke up and Y/n could feel the burn of his stare on his face.

The ghoul snorted and lowered his gaze to meet the familiar color of Dew's irises he actually once fell for. He shrugged and licked his lips thoughtfully. "Fucking sucked ass, dude....especially after you left."

A heavy silence fell in the room and Dew shifted on the couch he sat on until he was near Y/n. "I didn't want to leave you there alone, Y/n..."

"But you did. You chose your freedom over your mate...and I supposed I shouldn't have blamed you as much as I did all those years. If I had been given the choice...I probably would have taken my freedom too."

Dewdrop's face twisted slightly and Y/n was reminded as he scanned the familiar features why he'd fallen for the spitfire in the first place. He had been so beautiful when they first met - feral and wild like the flames of hell themselves. He was still so beautiful now but there was more ease about him after being on top side for so long. The fire was there still sure...but it wasn't as if either of them were a mindless demon anymore. Still, fuck had it hurt when Dewdrop left Hell to stay in the real world.

"So, you uh...found yourself a family up here then that kept you tethered huh? I mean....I get it. They're great. I probably wouldn't have the heart to leave them either. Or Papa. That eccentric doofus." Y/n's lip curled slightly in an attempt at a friendly smile but Dew's intense stare made it drop.

"I didn't take another mate...Y/n..."

"And what if I did?" Y/n's challenge caused that perfect jawline he remembered nipping at clench as Dew launched himself at the other.

Strong thighs bracketed Y/n's frame as Dew gripped the back of the sofa to lean closer; his nose almost touching Y/n's as their eyes stared at each other. A snarl flashed his white fangs and a long-fingered hand slid up the column of ashen flesh to grip his jaw.

"Then I will have Papa summon that motherfucker, I will force you down until you're gagging on my dick and after I blow my load down your throat I'm going to fuck you in front of them." he snarled lowly feeling the way Y/n's throat constricted in a hard swallow and getting lost in the colors of his irises.

"A-and if that's not what I want?" Y/n panted out against Dew's lips that hovered above his.

"Oh baby boy...you won't have a fucking choice. You're mine. I had you first. my mark...." The guitarist's fingers tugged down the shirt collar to stare at the patch of skin between shoulder and neck before a curse escaped him.

"Fuck~ You still have my mark..."

Y/n whined and arched up into the ghoul straddling him; gripping his slender waist to pull him closer. "Of course I still have it. I'm a demon with morals, you asshole... You honestly think I found dick better than yours?" he let out a shaky laugh but Dew merely pressed his lips to the fading scarred mark on his skin making another whimper escape Y/n lips.

"Dew....Please..."

"Fucking hell, firebug." Dew's fingers sank into the soft hair and yanked Y/n's head back until his mouth parted in a gasp which he took full control of.

Dewdrop's tongue slipped into his mouth to tangle with his mate's and he groaned at the familiar taste of him; pressing down until Y/n felt nothing but the fire ghoul above him. When lungs screamed they parted for air - a string of saliva connecting their panting breaths.

"Fuck all that shit...turn around I'm about to fuck you until you can't remember anything but my name and after that I'm renewing that bloody mark - your mine Y/n!"

~

Rain tapped his foot on the step as he chewed on his fingernail glancing at the others in the stairway. He cleared his throat before speaking his voice at a little higher pitch than usual.

"Did anybody know about...." he trailed off. " I mean should we..."

Swiss bit his lip as he looked towards the locked door when another cry of pleasure sounded from behind it between the snarls. The scent of sex and arousal seeping from beneath the door caused his pants to tighten a bit.

"Know that our Dewdrop had a mate all this time in hell that he abandoned? Fuck no."

"A-ah." Rain nodded and looked helplessly at Mountain who merely shrugged and bent down to pick Rain up bridal style.

"Come on Raindrop." he walked up the stairs leaving Aether and Swiss staring at each other.

"Fuck it!" Aether threw Swiss over his shoulder and bolted up the stairs to his room with a giggling Swiss behind him.

Now it's safe to say the fights didn't end up with any more glass shattering during the mornings or shouting matches over the stupidest stuff. But the Sister who took care of their laundry sure did have to stop by a lot more often than usual.

Taglist: @kattreffic

If anyone else wishes to be on a taglist for future Ghost oneshots or fictions please let me know!

[obxone]

Marmoris (Chapter Five)

Edited-ish. ~1.8k words.

Master Page

It feels good, and freeing after you ride your third wave in. The water feels cold still, but good as you kick to the surface and tug your board back to you. Cheers erupt from the shore pulling your attention, and you see Sarah, Topper, Kelce, and Rafe standing at the shoreline. A few other kooks behind them jump up and down while screaming in excitement.

“Sarah?!”

“That was amazing!” She hops in excitement once you are almost to the shore. Your hands push your dripping hair back over your shoulder while she rushes to you and nearly knocks you down. She squeezes you in a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks,” you giggle before turning to your brother and his friends. “This is a secret, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kelce smirks, dragging his gaze over you, but you ignore him and turn your attention to your bother. 

He is smiling, wider than you have seen in a long time. “Not bad, Little Sister.”

You roll your eyes at him before Topper grabs you in a hug next. “Heck yeah! That was awesome.”

“It’s all Kie’s doing,” you say, gesturing to her. You spy her moving into the shore, an irritated look on her face. A large part of you feels bad knowing how much she is not comfortable with this crowd, but another part of you is determined to sing her praises. The first feeling of freedom vibrates deep in your bones. “She gave me some pointers.”

“Yo, Kie!” Topper grins at her once she is back on shore and comes to a stop next to you. 

“Yo, Top,” she responds, and you can tell she is not happy with their presence. Her tone mocks him, but he does not notice. His smile never slipped despite her mockery.

“Everything okay, Kie?”

All of you turn to see John B, Pope, and JJ move through the small cluster to be beside their best friend. JJ’s gaze drags over you, his eyebrows raising when he sees the familiar board tucked under your arm. 

“Fine, we were surfing, and they showed up.”

Pope smirks at you. “Surfing, huh?”

“Only a little,” you supply. 

“Are you any good?” JJ asks while throwing his arm over Pope’s shoulders. 

“What’s it to you, Maybank?” Rafe snaps, glaring at the blond, aware of how his blue eyes keep running the length of you and you are completely oblivious to it. 

JJ smirks, rolling his tongue across his bottom lip. “Rafe…”

“Don’t,” Kiara warns, taking a step forward. 

“Freaking pogues, man,” Kelce mutters with a shake of his head.

“What was that?” JJ asks. 

You tense, aware of how quickly this can turn into something more than huffing and puffing from them. 

“I thought you guys were at a party?” You ask, redirecting the conversation. 

“We are, down the beach,” Kelce points, stepping too close. You step back, angling it so Kiara is between you. She notices and shifts the board to block him further. And she is not the only one that notices. JJ’s arm falls from Pope’s shoulder as Pope steps closer to Kiara. His dark eyes focused on you, but you ignore him, not wanting to draw attention to it. “Thought you were coming?”

“Never said I was going.”

He frowns. “You could come now.”

“No, thank you.”

“Why not?” He asks, his jaw ticking. “Too busy with these pogues?”

“Dude,” John B sighs.

“What?” Kelce snaps, but Rafe stops him. His hand presses to Kelce’s chest as he glares at the pogues. “Do you really think a kook wants to slum it with you losers?”

“Kelce!” You glare at him. 

“What, Princess?” JJ starts then. His cold blue eyes are on you. “What would the kook princess be doing with dirty pogues like us?”

Kiara warns. “JJ.”

“No, Kie,” JJ snaps. “She needs to realize; they don’t want her with us, and we don’t either.”

“Asshole,” you snap back at him. The feelings from your argument a few days ago flare back to life. He rolls his eyes. “And for the record, I was hanging out with Kiara, not you. No one special enough wants to hang out with you, Maybank.”

Kelce and Topper bump fists and laugh at your response.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Kiara says, her gaze on you. “Ready to go? Or do you want to surf some more?” She glances at her friends. “Isn’t that why you are here?”

“Yeah,” John B and Pope agree. 

“I’m not surfing with her,” JJ responds, his jaw clenched as he continues to glare at you. 

Rafe takes a step towards JJ. “Maybe she doesn’t want to surf with you, Pogue.”

“Rafe!” You and Sarah, both warn him. 

“No, Princess, let him talk,” JJ says, stepping closer to Rafe. You groan, aware that Rafe will take the bait and lash out if JJ keeps pushing. “This is our side of the island after all.”

“Barely.”

JJ chuckles. “Go back to your side then, Kook. We all know you only come to this side of the island for co-.”

JJ does not get to finish his sentence as Rafe lands a right hook against his jaw. 

“Rafe!” You yell again, but he lands another punch against JJ’s face when he shoves Rafe with a maniacal laugh. “Stop!” 

JJ hits the sand, and you wince, seeing a busted lip and bruising jaw. Rafe reaches for him, his long fingers fist the front of JJ’s shirt. He lifts him up before swinging again, another hit against the left side of his face. Sarah yells at him to stop and begs Topper to intervene, but Topper is busy staring at Pope and John B, daring them to jump in. 

You exhale and push past Kiara and Kelce after discarding your board in the sand.

“Stop it!” You glare at your brother. “He is baiting you.”

“Get out of the way.”

“No! Go back to your party. I’m sure your date is looking for you.”

Rafe glares at you before shoving JJ back down into the sand so hard you hear the air expel from his lungs. 

“Rafe,” you warn again, your hardened gaze directed at your older brother. He glares back at you, his hand reaching for you, but you step back already knowing what he is going to attempt. “No. You go.”

“You are coming with us. I’m not leaving you here.”

Kiara is behind you, helping JJ to his feet and asking if he is okay. You hear his clipped assurance. 

“The only way I’m going with you is if you drag me kicking and screaming.” You spit out. “And we both know if you even lay a hand on me that Dad would send you to The Cut for it.”

Rafe glares, his eyes darkening with rage as his jaw sets. But you know that is his only response. Ward’s overprotectiveness of you coming as your saving grace for once. Topper and Kelce, both turn and leave with him after Sarah tells Topper she wants to stay with you. 

You turn to JJ and reach to check his injuries, but he brushes your hand to the side. Annoyance is clear on his face that you had to be the one to stop him from getting his ass handed to him. 

“I have a first aid kit in the car,” you offer. He rolls his eyes. “JJ, don’t be a stubborn asshole.”

He smirks, glancing at Pope as he tries to check out JJ’s injuries after seeing JJ would not let you near him. 

“Jay, let her patch you up,” Kie says, encouraging him. Her gaze is on the still bleeding cut on his swelling bottom lip. 

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” John B argues. But you notice he is not looking at JJ. Instead, he is looking at your sister and she is staring back at him. An unspoken communication between the two.

“Come on, I promise not to bite too hard,” you joke, and he rolls his eyes, but caves. You lead the way to the parking lot. JJ follows with Sarah and John B close behind. Pope and Kiara stay on the beach, collecting the surfboards and your stuff. You pop the trunk and grab the first aid kit that Ward made sure you all carried in your vehicles. “Sit,” you direct him to the lip of the trunk space. He sighs and drops onto it. 

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t say you’re fine. You are bleeding.” You point to his lip, and his tongue flicks out to drag the tip over his busted lip. “You know the best way to keep this from happening again?”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t provoke my brother and his friends.”

JJ scoffs, running a hand through his hair as you tear open an alcohol wipe. 

“This will sting.” You warn him before gently dabbing at the cut on his lip. He hisses but stays still as you lean into him. “Look at you, tough guy.”

He chuckles, his gaze sliding past you to the pair in the background. “What do you think they are talking about?”

You glance to see Sarah and John B lingering by Kiara’s truck. 

“Probably about you getting put on your ass,” you joke. JJ scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You know, I never understood this whole kook against pogue bullshit.” 

He shrugs. “It’s the way of life.”

“It’s dumb,” you mutter, pressing the emergency icepack to his jaw. He winces but replaces your hand with yours. You shiver and he notices even as you try to play it off. 

“Cold?”

“Yes, still kind of wet from surfing,” you whisper, ignoring the other reason.

“Where is your coverup?”

“Beach. Kie should bring it soon.”

“Probably not,” he mutters. “Pope is flirting with her, and she is probably watching to make sure your brother does not come back to finish the job.”

“You just broke the bro code,” you gasp. 

JJ laughs, and you smile at him. “Here,” he says after putting the ice pack down and reaching to pull his sleeveless shirt off. “Keep it on until they get back. Can’t have you getting sick and Rafe trying to punch me for it.”

“Such a gentleman,” you tease, but take it and pull it on. The smell of the ocean and his cologne clinging to it. “Thanks, Jay.”

“Anytime.”

You sit beside him, legs curled under you while you wait for the others. “Keep the ice pack on your jaw.” You instruct him while handing it back to him. “Hopefully the bruise will not be as bad.”

He mutters something about Rafe under his breath, but you ignore it. Instead, your attention fixates on Sarah and John B. 

(Chapter Six)

[idolatrybarbie]

pairing: past francisco "frankie" morales/reader

word count: 544

rating & summary: mature. it's been a long time since you've seen frankie morales.

warnings: discussion of addiction, mentions of cocaine and casual alcohol consumption, bowling, this is super unedited—i have class in an hour.

notes: first wednesday of my horrible september weezer thingamajig. short and sweet for you today. if you listen to the song, this would be the subject's perspective to rival that of rivers cuomo. enjoy!

It’s been a billion years. Or at least, that’s what your brain tells you when you spot him from across the room. His presence pulls at something—some knot within you, tightly wound and long forgotten by now. Maybe annoyance. Probably something else.

You don’t say hi first. If this is going to happen at all, he’ll be the one to come over and do the greeting. Not that he owes you that, or anything. You’re giving him space. Space, the thing that you’d so desperately begged for nearing the end of your relationship with him. The thing that ultimately tore the two of you apart.

You’ve lived your life what felt like a million miles away from Frankie Morales for a couple of years now. And yet here he is, once again in your orbit.

No one called dibs on friend groups or social gatherings when the two of you split. Firstly, because that was ridiculous. Secondly, because there wasn’t a practical reason to. Work took you all over the place—all across the States, down to South America, across the globe. No point in veto’ing his presence at a party  in an entirely different timezone from you.

Now, you’re back. Out celebrating. Bowling, because that’s what your now very tipsy friends had out-voted you on. Apparently dinner and a movie was too boring. Bowling is a distinctly Frankie activity, which might have been what contributed to your hesitance. Texas is big, but it’s not that big.

You glance over at Frankie’s table again, seeing the regular crowd. Pope’s at his elbow, straw pinched between his teeth as he and Francisco listen to Will and whatever he’s saying. Benny reappears at the table with a goofy-looking pair of bowling shoes, spurring laughs from the whole lot of them. Frankie’s laugh throws you into a time warp. You used to be able to pull that from him, whole and hearty in its hiccuping bark. Once upon a time that was your favourite sound.

There’d been bad times, too, that are easier to forget now. For all of his goodness, Frankie had downsides. Secrets, late nights, nightmares he would never tell you about. A resentment that turned palpable in the end, all sharp edges and cutting words. Going through his phone at night to find text messages from a dealer; going through his car to find a small stash of coke in the glove box.

You know how he talked about you after the breakup—that you’d tossed him aside, sliced into him like a piece of cake and turned away when you hadn’t liked you what found. He’s not entirely wrong. You hadn’t liked what you found, once you’d forced your way past the man’s surface. But you tried.

For six months, after almost a year together, you tried to adjust. Tried to get him some help, or urge him to get help himself. It wasn’t like you’d found out about the addiction and up and left. Have a nice life! No, you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

You loved him.

None of that matters now. He doesn’t come over, and after another couple of turns, the game with your friends is over. Your name sits at the top of the digital scoreboard, the winner. Somehow, it doesn’t feel that way.

[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

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.

"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 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.

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.

______

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 @echos-muses

[hiraethhh-h]

healing process

a familiar face comes to escort you backstage before the ritual. you assume it’d be another normal performance, so you spend a bit of time with terzo. unfortunately, it was a fleeting moment.

warnings: spoilers for ghost lore

pairings: papa III x gn!reader, platonic!oc x gn!reader

notes: angst w/o comfort bc im in a silly goofy mood :)

wc: 1.4k

you sat at your wooden vanity, adjusting your outfit and brushing out any visible wrinkles. it was another ritual night, one you were particularly excited to attend because terzo said he’d be playing one of your favorites. you could only wonder which one.

giving yourself another once over, you turned to add any accessories to your outfit, only to hear a knock come from your door. “papa has requested your presence.” a muffled voice called. you frowned slightly, glancing at the clock on your wall. had you really lost track of time? clearing your throat, you called out, “give me a minute!” before standing and grabbing your shoes and slipping them on. 

upon opening the door, you were met with a familiar masked-face, one that had two patches on both sides. “you look ravenous.” snare cooed, her tail idly swinging. you rolled your eyes with a small smile, “shouldn’t you put that away?” you gestured to snare’s appendage, the ghoulette lightly smacking your arm with it in return. “yeah, but i like to have a bit of a breather before rituals. staying in my glamored form for too long makes me antsy.” snare shrugged. you shut the door behind you, beginning to walk side by side down the hallway. “even after all this time?” you tilted your head, glancing at your taller companion. “hell yeah! i’d explain it but we’re kinda pressed for time.” she chuckled.

together you passed through hall after hall making small talk. Eventually you heard the chatter of people beyond a door. snare led you to a backdoor, waving at the guards. you gave the man and woman a small smile, the two letting you pass once they recognized snare. “well, this is where we part ways my friend.” snare turned to you. despite not being able to see her face, you could feel her smile beneath her mask. you shook your head, letting snare pull you into a bear hug. you wrapped your arms around her waist, feeling that her body temperature was on par with a normal human’s. “have fun shredding up there.” you murmured. a soft chuckle left your lips upon feeling snare give you a small squeeze, “you know i will.” she replied.

the sound of a clearing throat drew you two apart, snare glancing over your shoulder. “amore.” you turned around at the familiar voice, eyes brimming with excitement. “terzo!” with rushed steps, you slung your arms around his neck and pulled him down to press a kiss to the shell of his ear. terzo gave a low chuckle, snaking his arms around your waist. “you seem eager.” he hummed, pulling away to look at you. “well, you did promise to play one of my favorite songs.” you smiled. the satanic pope gave a soft laugh, “i did, didn’t i?” he smiled. terzo gently ghosted his knuckle over your cheek, the two of you holding each other’s gazes.

“papa, two minutes till showtime!” snare called from down the hall. she tapped her tail against one of the metal beams on stage, producing a ringing sound. terzo let out a soft sigh, slowly pulling away from you. “i look forward to seeing you in the crowd tonight, 

il mio fiore.” terzo gently brushed past you, striding towards the curtain at the far end of the hall.

you were quick to make your way from backstage, mingling with the crowd. laughter left your lips as you greeted a few familiar faces, the chatter lively and uplifting. soon enough, the lights began to dim, people cheering once fog began to roll over the stage. you turned and watched with hopeful eyes, the room blacking out completely before flashing back on. terzo and the ghouls now stood on stage, the room filling with loud cheering once more as they began to play the opening song. as always, the ritual never made you feel so alive. “alright, alright,” terzo called, stepping forward on the stage. the spotlights zeroed in on him, the satanic pope raising his free hand before shouting, “everyone feeling good tonight?” the crowd roared in agreement, you giving your own cheer at the question. terzo laughed and nodded in approval, “good, good. now, this next song is for a… special someone here tonight.” he looked out into the sea of people, his eyes zeroing in on you. terzo flashed you a smile before backing away to allow snare to take his spot. the ghoulette strummed away at her guitar, shaking her hips from side to side. she nodded her head at you in greeting, dewdrop sauntering up beside her and beginning to synchronize with snare.

your eyes widened in realization. it was cirice… your head snapped to terzo, who simply shot you a quick wink and turned to begin singing the first verse. warmth blossomed in your chest, heat rushing to your face. terzo took long strides across the stage, slowly coming to a stop in front of you. he crouched down, leaning forward and beginning to reach out towards you. your arm shot out at lightning speed, your body pressing against the railing that separated you and the crowd from the stage. the two of you held each other’s gaze, the sound of the others playing and people singing along turned muffled. all that mattered in that moment to you was terzo. your brows furrowed once you saw two figures approach him from behind. “terzo!” two more guards went on-stage, escorting an elderly man dressed in white robes and a matching mitre. one of the guards wheeled an oxygen tank along, the other passing an oxygen mask to the male. he shakily took it, placing it on his face and inhaling deeply before handing it back. he turned to the crowd, spreading his arms out with his palms facing upwards. “the party is over. the middle ages have begun.” he announced.

a loud ringing filled your ears, drowning out the roaring of the people around you. your eyes drifted over to where terzo had been dragged off stage. what did that papa mean? was terzo gone for good now? your chest heaved rapidly, someone placing a hand on your shoulder and giving you a gentle shake. they were attempting to speak to you, but it sounded as if they were underwater. the world around you began to fade to black, your consciousness slipping away from you before you could realize it.

~

the gentle rush of the water did little to calm your nerves, not after the letter you received from snare. it had been three weeks ever since terzo’s dethroning. it had taken snare another week to reach out to you and ask you to meet her at the gardens. ‘east garden. 3am.’ was all the message said. you supposed it was better than being left in the dark, if snare told you anything at all. approaching footsteps snapped you out of your thoughts, a warm body situating itself next to you on the fountain’s edge. “hey, how’re you holding up?” snare questioned, her voice strained and hesitant. a soft sigh left your lips, “not well…” snare’s shoulders sagged at your words, “sorry, bad question.” she murmured.

the rushing water and nightlife filled in for the silence, the moon’s gentle blue glow basking the garden in a soft light. snare cleared her throat, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a black cloth. her masked face turned to you, your eyes glancing at the tinted eye-holes before flitting down to the cloth in her palm. you could faintly make out some sort of rectangular shape, you squinted in an attempt to get a better look. “papa would’ve wanted you to have this.” snare held the item out to you. you hesitantly took it, grasping the item hidden beneath the cloth. your heart began to race as you peeled the cloth off. there sat the yellow kazoo of destiny, right in the palm of your hand.

you sniffled loudly, tears blurring your vision. you shut your eyes tightly, your fist closing around the kazoo as you brought it to your chest. it was all you had left of terzo… snare’s arm wrapped around your waist, gently pulling you into her arms. your body shook with silent sobs, the ghoulette’s other hand reaching to gently massage your shoulder. together the two of you sat in the garden beneath the moon, you crying your heart out at the loss of your lover, and snare keeping her head low as silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

11th December >> Mass Readings (USA)

Monday, Second Week of Advent 

or

Pope Saint Damasus I.

 

Monday, Second Week of Advent 

(Liturgical Colour: Violet: B (2))

First Reading Isaiah 35:1-10 God himself will come and save you.

The desert and the parched land will exult; the steppe will rejoice and bloom. They will bloom with abundant flowers, and rejoice with joyful song. The glory of Lebanon will be given to them, the splendor of Carmel and Sharon; They will see the glory of the LORD, the splendor of our God. Strengthen the hands that are feeble, make firm the knees that are weak, Say to those whose hearts are frightened: Be strong, fear not! Here is your God, he comes with vindication; With divine recompense he comes to save you. Then will the eyes of the blind be opened, the ears of the deaf be cleared; Then will the lame leap like a stag, then the tongue of the mute will sing.

Streams will burst forth in the desert, and rivers in the steppe. The burning sands will become pools, and the thirsty ground, springs of water; The abode where jackals lurk will be a marsh for the reed and papyrus. A highway will be there, called the holy way; No one unclean may pass over it, nor fools go astray on it. No lion will be there, nor beast of prey go up to be met upon it. It is for those with a journey to make, and on it the redeemed will walk. Those whom the LORD has ransomed will return and enter Zion singing, crowned with everlasting joy; They will meet with joy and gladness, sorrow and mourning will flee.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 85:9ab and 10, 11-12, 13-14

R/ Our God will come to save us!

I will hear what God proclaims; the LORD–for he proclaims peace to his people. Near indeed is his salvation to those who fear him, glory dwelling in our land.

R/ Our God will come to save us!

Kindness and truth shall meet; justice and peace shall kiss. Truth shall spring out of the earth, and justice shall look down from heaven.

R/ Our God will come to save us!

The LORD himself will give his benefits; our land shall yield its increase. Justice shall walk before him, and salvation, along the way of his steps.

R/ Our God will come to save us!

Gospel Acclamation cf. Habakkuk 2:3; 1 Cor 4:5

Alleluia, alleluia. Behold the king will come, the Lord of the earth, and he himself will lift the yoke of our captivity. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel Luke 5:17-26 We have seen incredible things today.

One day as Jesus was teaching, Pharisees and teachers of the law, who had come from every village of Galilee and Judea and Jerusalem, were sitting there, and the power of the Lord was with him for healing. And some men brought on a stretcher a man who was paralyzed; they were trying to bring him in and set him in his presence. But not finding a way to bring him in because of the crowd, they went up on the roof and lowered him on the stretcher through the tiles into the middle in front of Jesus. When Jesus saw their faith, he said, “As for you, your sins are forgiven.”

Then the scribes and Pharisees began to ask themselves, “Who is this who speaks blasphemies? Who but God alone can forgive sins?” Jesus knew their thoughts and said to them in reply, “What are you thinking in your hearts? Which is easier, to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Rise and walk’? But that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins”– he said to the one who was paralyzed, “I say to you, rise, pick up your stretcher, and go home.”

He stood up immediately before them, picked up what he had been lying on, and went home, glorifying God. Then astonishment seized them all and they glorified God, and, struck with awe, they said, “We have seen incredible things today.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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

Pope Saint Damasus I 

(Liturgical Colour: White: B (2))

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Monday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading Acts of the Apostles 20:17-18a, 28-32, 36 Keep watch over yourselves and over the whole flock of which the Holy Spirit has appointed you overseers, in which you tend the Church of God.

From Miletus Paul had the presbyters of the Church at Ephesus summoned. When they came to him, he addressed them, “Keep watch over yourselves and over the whole flock of which the Holy Spirit has appointed you overseers, in which you tend the Church of God that he acquired with his own Blood. I know that after my departure savage wolves will come among you, and they will not spare the flock. And from your own group, men will come forward perverting the truth to draw the disciples away after them. So be vigilant and remember that for three years, night and day, I unceasingly admonished each of you with tears. And now I commend you to God and to that gracious word of his that can build you up and give you the inheritance among all who are consecrated.” When he had finished speaking he knelt down and prayed with them all.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 110:1, 2, 3, 4

R/ You are a priest for ever, in the line of Melchizedek.

The LORD said to my Lord: “Sit at my right hand till I make your enemies your footstool.”

R/ You are a priest for ever, in the line of Melchizedek.

The scepter of your power the LORD will stretch forth from Zion: “Rule in the midst of your enemies.”

R/ You are a priest for ever, in the line of Melchizedek.

“Yours is princely power in the day of your birth, in holy splendor; before the daystar, like the dew, I have begotten you.”

R/ You are a priest for ever, in the line of Melchizedek.

The LORD has sworn, and he will not repent: “You are a priest forever, according to the order of Melchizedek.”

R/ You are a priest for ever, in the line of Melchizedek.

Gospel Acclamation John 15:15b

Alleluia, alleluia. I call you my friends, says the Lord, for I have made known to you all that the Father has told me. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel John 15:9-17 I no longer call you slaves. I have called you friends.

Jesus said to his disciples: “As the Father loves me, so I also love you. Remain in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and remain in his love.

“I have told you this so that my joy might be in you and your joy might be complete. This is my commandment: love one another as I love you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I no longer call you slaves, because a slave does not know what his master is doing. I have called you friends, because I have told you everything I have heard from my Father. It was not you who chose me, but I who chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit that will remain, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name he may give you. This I command you: love one another.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[cindermetalheadgw2]

have 8, 9, 11, and 13 from the gw2 asks for whoever you most feel like talking about at the moment! :) @kerra-and-company

Ok I'll answer for the new characters Blaze and Boxx :)

8. How willing are they to bend/break the rules for their cause (be it selfless or otherwise)?

Blaze- VERY willing to break rules. Blaze doesn't respect any authority but their own moral code. Unless the rules are in place for a damn good reason like keeping people safe. But they're ONLY cooperating this time because it's the right thing to do. Otherwise they do what they want. Okay FINE they'll also listen to gunhilde when it's ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY... sometimes.... maybe...

Boxx- boxx is the complete opposite of Blaze. He LOVES rules and formality and etiquette and hierarchy so much. He enjoys systems to manipulate in his favor, social and intellectual traps to lure enemies into. That being said, he has no attachment to following the rules when bending or breaking them would benefit him. And when he does, he doesn't leave any witnesses

9. What's an au for them you think could be fun to explore?

Blaze- COMMANDER AU!!! Blaze was originally meant to be my canon commander before I came up with Cyll, but I felt like I didn't want to have the commander be someone in the metal warband. I still think of them as the commander sometimes out of habit though. Also they and trahearne would be so cute together 💕

Boxx- catholic pope au lmao

11. How accurate is their reputation/image compared to how they really are?

Blaze- about 50% accurate maybe? Their vocals and stage presence are so powerful and intense it's like they can control the very air pressure in a room with body language alone. Warriors who have faced powerful foes say Blaze was the first person to ever make them feel genuinely intimidated. A lot of people know them from seeing the band and think they're badass and kinda scary. But anyone who's met them or heard their normal speaking voice at all knows they're 100% so quiet and gentle and nice. An absolute sweetheart. (The part about the intimidation is based on an actual concert experience i had seeing beartooth once. Caleb stared down the crowd and then stomped, i don't want to say threateningly, but definitely powerfully, and I felt like all the breath was punched out of me from across the room. I was in awe. How did he do that)

Boxx- usually very inaccurate. This guy is straight up a cult leader, very good at maintaining a certain public image and controlling how other people see him. He promotes himself as a brilliant, if charmingly eccentric, scientist leading an innovative team of researchers to unlock the secrets of cubes. In reality he's manipulative, obsessive, and the experiments he runs are less actual science than just doing fucked up shit in a lab with no real hypothesis and interpreting the results through vague and broadly applicable yet profound-sounding language, similar to astrology

13. What is the worst/funniest/dumbest article that could be written about them in tyria's trashiest gossip mag?

Blaze- Metal Warband's Fire Breathing Vocalist Secret Revealed? Steal Their Trick In One Easy Step!

Boxx- College of the Cube Councillor's Top Ten Sexiest Experiments Gone Wrong! How He Looks So Good While Being So Bad (featuring personally quiz to see if you're compatible!) *photoshopped image of boxx posing seductively in front of krewe members being killed horrifically by tortured mists cube entity escaping containment*

[komnenid]

@gvlsahs​

The hot June sun pulsed in the air, rubbing the French queen’s skin into a rosy, olive glow. Smooth, dexterous hands extend to the children gamboling past – brandishing ribbons woven in the blue-and-gold of the Capetian crown – or to accept golden deniers, melted and embossed with King Charles’s mighty profile. His bull-necked confidence, such that Caesar could only hope to possess; the Aquiline slope of his nose, such that poxed Antony’s valorous visage. Anna ushers the people toward the castle for benediction, to replenish their cups at the King’s fountains of wine, her keen, dark eyes trained on the magnificent stone fortresses and cathedral spires that rise up into the Parisian skyline, the sun so bright as to appear whitish, the hue of whipped yolks, hung by heavenly clouds.

The day’s festivities –– and the overwhelming heat –– meld seamlessly in Anna’s Byzantine blood, though the Pope’s lingering presence, in the city, and at her husband’s side, hardly bottled any warm promise within her. Indeed, she had been anointed a Catholic consort, dabbed with holy oil at the scalp and breast by the realm’s finest archbishop, but among the low-voiced conferences shared with her ladies and bishops, Queen Anges’ prayers pealed out for the Orthodox church, and in the transcendental Greek tongue. Heaven help her, thought she, if any among Innocence’s extravagant farce peered through her crenelated resolve. 

Spying a familiar face in the crowd, Anna drops a generous coin purse into the slick palms of her ladies and rushes to join Gülsah at her side, her skirts crushing over a train of rose-petals and herbs scattered about the concubine. ‘Sultana,’ Anna purred with an ostentatious sweep of her arm, linen and silk embroidered with the fleur-de-lis of her adopted, schismatic kingdom latching onto the breeze like an eagle in flight. ‘Will you bow to me as a Queen, or may we continue our tradition of sisterly barbs?’