#I feel like I’m forgetting something though | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hereforuconnwbb · 2 days ago

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The Study of Us - CHAPTER 2

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 6.4k

warning: language, mention of injury

heres chap 2 guysss !!! im tryna follow the ideas u guys gave me, so im not 100% sure if its exactly what yall had in mind, but im gonna slowly build it up from here 🤞🏽 hopefully there’s no mistakes and it all makes sense cause i wrote the last bit of this chapter and read through this half asleep �� anywaysss hope u guys enjoy 🫶🏽

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It was still early, but the campus was already alive. The buzz of conversation, the shuffle of students walking to class, and the occasional skateboard rolling past made it feel like the world had hit play again. Paige stood by one of the low stone benches just outside the library, sunlight hitting her face while a gentle breeze played with the hem of her hoodie.

She was early, way too early, but she’d never admit she was nervous. Her phone was in her hand, thumbs scrolling through Instagram, even though she hadn’t really seen a single post. She kept checking her reflection in the dark screen anytime it dimmed. Hair was decent. Fit looked casual but intentional. Nothing screamed I’m trying, even though she absolutely was.

Calm down, she told herself for the twentieth time. It’s just tutoring. You need help. That’s all it is.

A group of students passed by laughing, and Paige looked up, spotting Caroline a few feet away walking with her coffee, headed her direction. She was with Aubrey, Ice, and KK all of them talking shit about something and laughing loudly. Paige already regretted her decision to come to this part of campus.

Caroline smirked the second she saw Paige. “So,” she said, greeting her with a little side hug. “You texted Azzi?”

Paige gave her a side-eye. “How do you already know that?”

“She told me last night,” Caroline said innocently, sipping her coffee.

Aubrey lit up. “Wait, wait, you messaged her? Already? Damn, that didn’t take long.”

KK raised her eyebrows. “What’s going on? Who’s Azzi?”

Caroline turned to her with a smile. “Azzi’s my best friend. She’s super smart. Paige needed help with some classes, so I suggested Azzi could tutor her.”

“And I said I was fine,” Paige muttered.

“And then you texted her anyway,” Aubrey said, grinning. “Knew you would. Couldn’t go under 24 hours without seeing her again.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Paige said under her breath, adjusting her bag strap to have something to do with her hands.

Ice laughed. “Hold on, is this the same Azzi girl that Aubrey said had you all flustered yesterday?”

Aubrey nodded proudly. “Yup. Paige met her once and forgot how to talk.”

“I didn’t forget how to—geez, will you all chill?”

KK leaned in toward Ice. “Now I really wanna see what this girl looks like.”

“You might get your chance,” Caroline said casually, checking her watch. “She’s got class with me in a few minutes. She’s probably walking up now.”

And almost on cue, a voice called out from behind them.

“Hey, Caroline!”

The group turned and spotted Azzi walking up to the group of girls, backpack slung over one shoulder, her braids swaying slightly as she walked. The sunlight caught on her hoops, and Paige went completely still.

Azzi looked laid-back and composed, like she hadn’t just unknowingly walked into a firing squad of nosy basketball girls. She gave Caroline a warm smile before her eyes moved naturally to Paige and paused. Her smile lingered, just a bit softer now.

“Hey, Paige,” she added.

Paige nodded quickly. “Hey.”

They made eye contact, and it was enough to set off another wave of chaos in Paige’s chest. She was hoping no one would notice, but of course, the girls clocked it instantly.

Ice nudged KK and whispered, “Yeah, I get it now.”

KK nodded slowly. “Mhm. She’s got that calm, pretty energy. No wonder Paige’s out here acting like a freshman with a crush.”

“Shut up,” Paige hissed through gritted teeth, though her ears were turning red.

Azzi looked toward the two new faces in the group, a little curious but she does recognise them. Caroline jumped in. “Azzi, this is KK and Ice our teammates. KK, Ice, this is Azzi.”

Azzi offered a polite smile. “Nice to meet you guys.”

“You too,” KK said, still smirking. “Heard a lot about you.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t start.”

Aubrey was barely holding it together. “We didn’t even say anything yet,” she said, laughing. “But sure, Paige. We’ll be on our best behavior.”

“Liar,” Paige muttered.

Azzi glanced at her, still smiling, and Paige felt the air shift again so subtle, but it was there. That unspoken thing sitting between them that no one was addressing. Paige quickly looked away before her teammates could start up again.

“Welp, I’ll catch up with you guys later,” Caroline said to the group. “Azzi and I have class.”

“Later,” Aubrey called as Caroline and Azzi started walking away. Aubrey turned towards Paige with a smirk so evil Paige felt it in her bones.

Paige groaned. “Don’t. Say. A word.”

“Oh, I’m saying everything,” Aubrey said gleefully. “The way you just shut down when she looked at you? Paige Bueckers, the ultimate rizzler herself, turned into a puppy.”

Ice laughed. “And she didn’t even do anything. She just said hi”

“Fuck off,” Paige muttered, but she couldn’t even bring herself to be mad. Not really. Because yeah, Azzi hadn’t done anything. And yet here Paige was, heart racing from a single look.

—-----------------------

Azzi settled into her usual seat beside Caroline in the lecture hall, her notebook already open, though the pen in her hand wasn’t moving. The lecture hadn’t even properly started yet, but even if it had, she knew she wouldn’t be paying attention right away.

Her thoughts kept wandering.

Specifically, to the text she’d gotten the night before. From Paige.

She hadn’t expected to actually hear from her, not after how Paige had brushed off the idea of tutoring like it was unnecessary, even laughable.

Azzi had stared at the message for a solid minute before replying.

Even now, she wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about it.

“Earth to Az” Caroline murmured, nudging her gently with her elbow. “You’ve been zoning out for the past five minutes. Thinking about someone?”

Azzi blinked and turned toward her, caught but trying to play it cool. “No. I mean—sort of. Just… thinking.”

Caroline’s smirk said she wasn’t buying it. “Thinking about how Paige Bueckers finally caved and texted you for tutoring?”

Azzi let out a soft sigh and shook her head. “I told you last night. I was just surprised she actually did it. She looked so confident yesterday like she was going to fake it till finals.”

“Well, she is confident,” Caroline said, half-amused, half-approving. “But academics? Paige only pretends she doesn’t care. Inside, she’s stressing big time when she’s behind. Girl’s too proud to admit it most of the time.”

Azzi tapped her pen against the edge of her notebook, thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t expect her to be the kind to reach out. Especially to someone she barely knows.”

“She knows who you are,” Caroline said, shooting her a look. “You’re the quiet one who actually takes notes and doesn’t worship the ground she walks on. That probably intrigued her.”

Azzi gave her a look. “I don’t worship anyone. I just… don’t care about basketball or any other sports.”

“Exactly,” Caroline grinned, tapping her nails against the desk. “That makes you different. Refreshing, even.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, unsure how to take that. “I don’t know. I just didn’t think I’d actually be tutoring her. It feels weird.”

Caroline turned more fully toward her, her expression softening. “Weird because you don’t know her, or weird because she was lowkey flustered around you?”

“I don’t think it was anything like that,” Azzi said slowly, trying to sound firmer than she felt. “She was probably just nervous about needing help. That’s all.”

Caroline tilted her head, eyebrows raised. “Sure. That’s all.”

Azzi sighed. “I don’t even know her. Like, I’ve heard of her, obviously, but we’ve never talked until yesterday. And it was barely even a conversation.”

“You don’t need to know her to notice when someone’s acting different around you,” Caroline said, her tone a little more knowing now. “I’ve seen Paige with a lot of people. She’s got this… guard. But with you? She was definitely off her game.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she was starting to feel the flutter of nerves deep in her chest. “You’re reading into this too much. I’m just going to help her study, that’s it.”

Caroline shrugged. “Alright, fine. Just tutoring. But don’t act surprised if she tries to flirt in her weird, awkward way.”

Azzi snorted, brushing her hair behind her ear. “She doesn’t even know me.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” Caroline teased with a wink.

Azzi leaned back, glancing up at the slowly-filling lecture hall. “I’m not trying to get involved in anything messy. I’ll help her study. That’s it. No weirdness, no distractions.”

Caroline raised both hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m not saying you like her. I’m just saying… keep your eyes open. Paige Bueckers may be all cool and untouchable to the rest of the world, but around you? Something’s shifting.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away, letting the words hang between them as the professor started setting up slides at the front of the room.

She wasn’t crushing on Paige. She didn’t even really know her.

But there was something about the way Paige had looked at her outside, something a little tentative, a little unsteady, that stuck in her head longer than she wanted to admit.

Azzi shook herself out of it and looked down at her notebook again, forcing her mind to focus on the lecture.

Just tutoring. That was all this was.

Right?

—-----------------------

It was 10 minutes to 3, and Paige was sitting stiffly on one of the benches just outside the library steps, her jacket zipped all the way up despite the mild afternoon warmth. She kept pulling at the zipper down halfway, back up, then down again like it was a dial for her anxiety. Her foot bounced restlessly, her fingers twitching every few seconds to check her phone, even though it hadn’t buzzed.

Aubrey was fully stretched out beside her, taking up way more space than necessary like this was a casual trip to the beach instead of her best friend’s slow descent into chaos. One arm was draped over the back of the bench, the other cradling a half-empty iced coffee that had long since lost its chill. She watched Paige out of the corner of her eye with a grin that kept creeping up every time Paige adjusted something for the hundredth time.

“You know,” Aubrey drawled, lifting her cup to her lips, “if I had a dollar for every time you checked your reflection in your phone screen, I’d be rich enough to drop out and live off vibes alone.”

Paige didn’t even look at her. “I was fixing my hair.”

“That the same ‘fix’ you did 3 minutes ago? Or the one right after you dabbed your hoodie with water to flatten that invisible wrinkle?”

Paige groaned and let her head fall back against the bench. “Why are you even here?”

“Entertainment. I live for this.” Aubrey shifted slightly, crossing one leg over the other. “Besides, watching you spiral over a girl you met yesterday is 10 times more fun than whatever I was gonna do with my afternoon.”

Paige turned her head slowly to give her the most deadpan look imaginable.

Aubrey beamed back. “Seriously though, you’re killing me. You’ve checked your lip balm, like, four times. What’s the difference between ‘subtle shimmer’ and ‘barely there glow’? They’re the same.”

“They are not the same,” Paige snapped, immediately regretting how fast she said it.

Aubrey’s laugh rang out loud enough to make a student walking by turn their head. “You hear yourself right now?”

Paige pulled the hood over her head and groaned into it. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t. You just hate that I’m right.”

There was a moment of silence as Paige exhaled slowly, pulling the hood back off and sitting upright again. Her knee was bouncing now, the nerves nowhere near subtle.

“I just… I don’t know,” she mumbled, eyes flicking toward the library entrance. “She’s really…”

Aubrey perked up. “She’s really what?”

Paige shook her head quickly. “Forget it.”

“Nooo, no, no. Don’t back out now. Say it. I need this.”

Paige sighed and looked out across the quad like the grass was gonna give her strength. Her voice dropped just above a whisper. “She’s really pretty.”

Aubrey clutched her chest like she’d been waiting her whole life to hear it. “There it is!”

Paige frowned, eyes still ahead. “And seems smart. Like, scary smart. But not in a loud way. In a ‘makes you feel dumb without even trying’ kind of way.”

Aubrey raised her brows, clearly loving this. “Damn. You’re gone.”

“Shut up,” Paige muttered, folding her arms.

“I’m just observing. You’ve had a crush for a solid twenty-four hours and you’re acting like it’s prom night.”

“She’s tutoring me. That’s it.”

“Mhmmmm. You mean she’s ‘tutoring you’ and you’re ‘definitely not falling apart at the seams’ while trying to remember what two plus two is when she looks at you?”

Paige glared. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re in denial.”

“I’m gonna throw your coffee across the quad.”

“I’ll buy another one. Worth it.”

Paige groaned again, running her hand through her hair. “God, what am I even doing? I’m acting like a middle schooler.”

“You’re acting like a college student with a gay panic problem,” Aubrey said with a shrug. “It’s fine. It’s cute. Just maybe stop adjusting your jacket every time someone walks by or they’re gonna think you’re shoplifting nerves.”

Paige looked down at herself and huffed, trying to smooth it down one more time before stopping mid-motion, catching herself. “Damn it.”

“See?” Aubrey grinned, nudging her. “You’re spiraling. It’s kinda adorable.”

Right then, Paige’s phone buzzed. She yanked it out like it was on fire.

2:57pm

Her breath hitched. She shot a glance at the entrance.

A flash of dark curls pulled into a ponytail appeared just inside the glass doors of the library.

“Oh shit,” Paige whispered, standing up too fast. She quickly brushed invisible dust off her sweatpants, glanced down at her sneakers, frowned at a smudge, then looked back up.

Aubrey watched with a lazy smirk. “You good?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Paige muttered. “How do I look?”

“Like someone who’s about to fail basic math but win the gold in gay panic.”

“Okay, seriously. Stop talking.”

“I’m done,” Aubrey said, hands up in mock surrender. “Go learn some equations and maybe flirt like a human person while you’re at it.”

Paige took a deep breath, wiped her hands on her pants, then started walking toward the library steps.

Aubrey called out one last time, “And maybe try not to stare at her!”

Paige didn’t even turn around. She just lifted her hand behind her and gave Aubrey the finger as she reached the door.

Her heart was pounding. Her palms were a little clammy. But she was walking.

Paige let out one last breath.

The second Paige stepped through the library doors, it felt like her shoes were too loud. Like every step echoed through the entire building even though the carpet was doing its best to muffle them. She tugged her hoodie sleeve down over her palm, eyes sweeping over the rows of tables until she found her.

Azzi was near the far corner, by the window. The sunlight filtered through the glass, catching the edge of her curls and lighting up the gold tones like some kinda magic effect from a movie. She had a pencil in hand, lightly tapping the eraser against the page, her other hand flipping through a worn notebook covered in neat little tabs. She looked focused. Comfortable.

Paige was very much neither of those things.

She hovered for a second, literally just stood there, trying to remember how walking worked before finally forcing her legs to move. Her palms were sweaty again. Her backpack felt too heavy. She hoped her hair wasn’t doing anything weird.

Azzi looked up right as Paige reached the table. “Hey,” she said, a casual, soft smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Paige’s brain glitched for a second. “Hey,” she said, and it came out a little too fast.

Azzi closed the notebook and motioned to the chair across from her. “You’re on time.”

“I’m always on time,” Paige said, slipping into the seat like her limbs were made of static. She regretted the joke immediately. “I mean, usually. Sometimes. Not like always always, but—”

Azzi raised a brow, amused. “You’re good. I’m just saying I expected a minute or two buffer.”

Paige laughed nervously and tugged at the sleeves of her hoodie again. “Yeah, no. I was already out here. Early. Just, you know… prepping.”

Azzi gave her a look like she was trying not to smile. “Prepping to be tutored?”

“Exactly.”

Azzi chuckled under her breath and opened a different notebook, one already half-filled with notes. “Ok. So I looked over the syllabus and the last few slides from class. Want to start with the stuff from earlier in the week?”

“Please,” Paige said, dragging out the word like it physically pained her. “That whole section might as well have been written in some foreign language.”

“Alright,” Azzi said, flipping to the page. “We’re still on systems of equations and matrix transformations. Did you get the basics?”

Paige hesitated. “Define basics.”

Azzi didn’t even blink. “Like… what a matrix is?”

“…Is that the Keanu Reeves one or the number box one?”

Azzi snorted, shaking her head. “Okay, let’s start with the number box one.”

She turned the notebook around and slid it across the table so Paige could see. Her handwriting was crazy clean. Paige immediately noticed how she circled everything in soft, pastel highlighters—blue for definitions, pink for formulas, green for notes. It was weirdly calming to look at.

“So this,” Azzi said, tapping the first example, “is a 2x2 matrix. Two rows, two columns. Easy enough?”

Paige leaned in a little, squinting at the page like it might bite her. “Yeah. I think I remember this part.”

Azzi looked up. “You’re allowed to say you don’t. No judgment.”

“I mean, I kind of remember it. It’s more like it shows up and I recognize the face, but I don’t remember the name.”

Azzi laughed again, light and genuine. “Alright, we’ll reintroduce you.”

She walked Paige through the basics, what each position meant, how they worked when you multiplied them, the reason why flipping them could screw everything up. Paige nodded, trying to focus on the numbers, the shapes, anything that wasn’t Azzi’s voice being low and patient or the way her curls bounced when she looked down to write something.

At some point, Azzi switched to a blank page and turned the notebook so Paige could try a problem herself. She watched closely as Paige worked through it slowly, brow furrowed, tongue slightly poking out the corner of her mouth.

“You’re overthinking it,” Azzi said, voice soft. “Just take it one step at a time.”

Paige huffed and leaned back, pencil pressed between her palms. “One step at a time is how I ended up failing that quiz.”

“True,” Azzi said, grinning. “But now you’ve got me. Upgrades.”

That earned a real smile out of Paige. “Yeah. This is definitely better.”

Azzi looked at her for a second, then tapped the page. “You’re actually not far off. You just missed one sign. Wanna try again?”

Paige nodded, gaze flicking back down to the numbers.

She could do this.

Well… she could try.

And maybe, just maybe if she didn’t totally embarrass herself, there’d be more study sessions like this. Not that she was hoping for anything.

—-----------------------

The soft hum of the library was like a low lullaby, comforting in its quiet, yet full of the sort of focused energy only a place of learning could have. Books, notebooks, and pens were strewn across the table between them, yet all Paige could focus on was Azzi.

Azzi was reading the textbook aloud softly, walking her through another set of equations. Her voice was calm, steady, yet there was an underlying intensity in the way she spoke, like she genuinely wanted Paige to understand. Every now and then, Azzi would pause and ask if Paige was following, looking at her over the top of her glasses, and Paige would just nod though most of the time, her attention wasn’t entirely on the lesson.

She caught herself again, staring. Azzi’s hair was pulled back into a loose bun, a few strands framing her face, and those glasses—those damn glasses. Paige had to fight the urge to look away every time Azzi adjusted them, because the way they sat on her face, giving her an effortlessly smart, put-together look, made Paige’s stomach flutter in a way she hadn’t quite figured out.

Azzi wasn’t even trying to impress anyone. She was just sitting there, leaning over the textbook, completely engrossed in helping Paige. Her calm demeanor was almost too much for Paige to handle sometimes like the sort of quiet confidence that was magnetic.

She caught herself again, looking at Azzi’s profile as she read. The way her lips moved as she pronounced the words, her fingers subtly tapping on the page as she went through the steps in the problem.

“Paige?” Azzi asked, her voice snapping Paige out of her daze. “You still with me?”

Paige blinked and tried to clear the fog in her head. “Yeah, sorry,” she said, focusing on the math in front of her. She quickly scribbled a few numbers down, even though she was far more focused on the way Azzi was looking at her now, brows furrowed in concern.

“I said we can move on to the next problem if you’re ready,” Azzi added, voice softer now.

“Yeah, I think I got this one,” Paige lied, her words more rushed than she intended. She was trying her best to concentrate, but the math seemed to fade into the background as she found herself distracted by the soft rhythm of Azzi’s voice and the quiet rustling of pages. The way Azzi’s fingers traced the lines of the book as she found the right spot. The way her eyes would flicker from the textbook to Paige every few seconds to check in on her, making sure she was following along. It was like everything Azzi did was just too perfect, too natural, and it made Paige feel something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Do you want me to slow down? I know this part can be tricky,” Azzi offered, her eyes searching Paige’s face for any sign of confusion.

But the truth was, Paige wasn’t confused about the math at all, she was distracted by Azzi’s presence, her calmness, the way her voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket. She gave a small shake of her head. “No, I’m good,” she said, though her voice came out quieter than she intended.

Azzi nodded, returning her attention to the problem at hand. She explained the next step slowly and clearly, but Paige’s mind wasn’t really processing it. Instead, she was watching the way Azzi’s lips moved as she spoke, the way her fingers tapped the paper, the way her glasses slightly slid down her nose as she read the equations. Paige couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly cool Azzi seemed. She looked so unbothered, so calm in her own skin, and it was something Paige both envied and admired.

The longer they sat there, the more the air between them seemed to thicken with unspoken things. Paige could almost feel the weight of the silence, but not in an uncomfortable way, in a way that made her want to lean forward, ask Azzi about her life, about everything that made her the person she was. And yet, every time she tried to get her words together, her thoughts scattered like smoke in the wind.

“Paige, are you sure you’re following?” Azzi asked again, this time with a small frown forming between her brows. She wasn’t accusing or frustrated; just genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, yeah,” Paige quickly said, shaking her head as if to clear the distraction. She forced herself to focus, finally pulling her eyes from Azzi’s face and onto the equation in front of her. “I think I get it now. Thanks for being patient.”

Azzi smiled softly. “No problem. You’re doing great, really. You just need to take a breath every now and then. You’re trying too hard.”

Paige bit her lip, trying to suppress the chuckle that almost slipped out. “Trying too hard?” she repeated, her voice teasing. “I’m not trying hard enough for this?”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, her eyes softening as she leaned back in her chair. “Well, maybe you should try a little harder. You’re already getting the hang of it.”

Paige felt a little flame of pride in her chest at Azzi’s praise, but at the same time, she couldn’t shake the sensation of being drawn to the way Azzi sat there, calm and composed, like she had everything under control. And Paige was… well, a mess of emotions she hadn’t quite figured out yet.

She forced herself to focus back on the book, willing her mind to follow the equations instead of her thoughts, but it was getting harder with each passing second. She glanced back at Azzi, who was quietly writing out steps on the page. Azzi’s head was tilted slightly, a sign of concentration. And it hit Paige then how deeply she was starting to care for this girl. How much more than just math sessions she was starting to crave.

“Alright, I think I’ve got it,” Paige said finally, trying to focus back in, her voice steadying now.

Azzi looked up and nodded, smiling again. “Good. See? You’re getting it.” She paused, and for a moment, Paige thought she saw a flicker of something in Azzi’s eyes—something warm and unspoken. But then it was gone, hidden behind the coolness of her usual composure.

Paige nodded, forcing her eyes to stay on the page, though her thoughts felt like they were running a mile a minute.

“Alright, let’s take a short break before we do the next one,” Azzi suggested. “You’ve been at this for a while now.”

Paige didn’t protest. Instead, she leaned back in her chair and let herself relax for a moment, her gaze slipping to Azzi again, just long enough to catch her watching her with that same quiet focus. That same soft intensity that made Paige’s heart flutter in a way she wasn’t used to.

Paige didn’t mean to do it—didn’t mean to let the curiosity slip out, but the words came before she could stop them.

“So, uh, what made you agree to tutor me?” Paige asked, her voice softer than usual, as if she was treading into unfamiliar territory. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but something about Azzi seemed different. Quiet. Like there was so much more beneath the surface.

Azzi paused, her hand hovering over her bag, and then looked up at Paige. For a brief moment, there was that same familiar flicker of something behind her calm demeanor, but Azzi quickly masked it with her usual composed smile.

“I dunno,” Azzi said after a beat, voice casual, “You seemed like you needed help. And I guess I’m a sucker for helping people out, especially if they’re willing to put in the work. You seem like you actually care about getting it right.”

Paige nodded, appreciating the honesty in Azzi’s voice. “I do. I just… get distracted sometimes.” She chuckled softly, but the sound felt more nervous than anything.

Azzi smiled again, a little warmer this time. “Yeah, I noticed.” She shrugged slightly, picking up her notebook and tucking it into her bag. “I like helping people. I used to tutor a lot when I was in high school. It just feels good, you know?”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “What else? You seem like you’ve got other stuff going on. What do you do for fun when you’re not helping people like me?”

Azzi hesitated for a moment, clearly considering whether to answer. Paige almost regretted asking, but then Azzi sighed, almost reluctantly.

“Well, it’s a bit of a random fact, but I used to play basketball. Like, competitively.” Azzi glanced up at Paige, her eyes not quite meeting hers. She continued quietly, “I stopped playing a few years ago. Tore my ACL in a game, but that’s not the reason I quit. I just… lost the love for it, I guess.”

Paige blinked, surprised. She hadn’t expected that. Azzi, with her calm confidence, so different from the athletes Paige was used to, didn't seem like the type who would’ve played a sport like basketball. “You played? For how long?”

Azzi shrugged, her fingers tapping against the desk idly. “Since I was a kid. But by the time I hit high school, I wasn’t really feeling it anymore. It wasn’t about the injury. I could’ve come back after the rehab. But after a while, I just realized it wasn’t my thing anymore.” She paused for a moment, eyes flickering to Paige, then away again. “I guess I was just… over it.”

Paige couldn’t help the slight frown that tugged at her lips. She knew how much basketball meant to her. The idea of walking away from it, losing that love—she couldn’t imagine it. “So, what did you end up doing after that?”

Azzi gave a small smile, almost wistful. “I got more into school. Focused on things I could control, you know? It’s where I found my rhythm again.”

It was almost like she was shutting that chapter down, not wanting to revisit it. But Paige didn’t press further. It was clear that basketball, once a major part of Azzi’s life, had faded into something she didn’t want to talk about too much.

“Sounds like you figured things out,” Paige said softly, leaning back in her chair, watching Azzi carefully. “I respect that.”

Azzi finally met Paige’s gaze, her expression softening a little. “Yeah, well… I guess everyone finds their own way eventually.” She gave a slight shrug, as if brushing the conversation aside, before turning her focus back to the textbook in front of them. “We should get back to it. I think we’re almost done with this chapter.”

Paige hesitated for a moment, a thousand questions swirling in her head, but she could tell Azzi wasn’t quite ready to share more. And for now, Paige was okay with that. She’d already learned something important—that Azzi was much more than the quiet, composed classmate/tutor sitting across from her. There was depth to her, layers that Paige would have to be patient to peel back.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Paige finally said, refocusing on the math in front of her. “Let’s finish this up.”

As Azzi started explaining the next set of equations, Paige felt a little more settled. They were getting somewhere, and for the first time, Paige wasn’t just focused on the math in front of her. She was focused on Azzi, her presence, the way she spoke, the little things she hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t just about the lesson anymore. It was about being with Azzi, understanding her in ways that went far beyond equations and textbooks.

—-----------------------

They finished the last practice question with a shared sigh of relief. Azzi leaned over, checking Paige’s final answer with a quick glance, then nodded in approval.

“Yep. You got it.”

Paige blinked down at the scribbled page. “Wait… I did?”

Azzi chuckled, a genuine laugh that made Paige’s chest feel weirdly warm. “You’re improving. You just need to stop second-guessing yourself.”

“Easier said than done,” Paige muttered, setting her pencil down and rubbing at her temple. “But I’ll take the dub.”

Azzi started to neatly organize everything back into her bag. “I think that’s enough math for one day.”

“Agreed,” Paige said, stretching again. “My brain’s officially fried.”

Just as she grabbed her water bottle and leaned back in her chair, a voice cut through the quiet hum of the library.

“Yo, Azzi.”

Paige looked up and instantly regretted it.

Strutting toward them like he owned the place was Jace McCallister—tight end on the UConn football team, cocky smirk permanently etched on his face, confidence dripping off him like cologne. Paige knew him. Everyone did. He was loud, flashy, and flirted like it was a full-time job. The kind of guy who wore his jersey to class and thought everyone should thank him for showing up.

Azzi glanced up, face unreadable. “Hey.”

Jace leaned casually against the edge of their table, not even glancing at Paige. “Just wondering when our next session is? You free this week?”

Paige’s brows knit. Our session?

Azzi nodded politely, unfazed. “Yeah, I think tomorrow. Same time?”

“Perfect.” He flashed her a grin. “Can’t say no to learning from the smartest girl on campus.”

Azzi’s lips pulled into a tight, polite smile. “Well thank you.”

Jace chuckled and finally glanced at Paige, as if just noticing her. “Oh. Hey, Bueckers.”

“McCallister,” Paige replied, voice flat.

He raised a brow. “Didn’t know you needed a tutor too.”

“She doesn’t,” Azzi cut in smoothly before Paige could answer, her tone calm but firm. “We’re just going over some extra stuff.”

Paige didn’t say anything. She just watched the exchange, something unsettled building in her chest. She knew Jace. Knew his reputation. And the way he was looking at Azzi now, like she was the next thing to win over, made her stomach twist.

She shouldn’t care. It was just tutoring.

But still.

Jace winked, then tapped the table. “Catch you later, Azzi.” He turned and walked off, not a single ounce of subtlety in his swagger.

Paige stared after him, jaw tight.

“Ugh,” she muttered under her breath.

Azzi looked over. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Paige said quickly, shaking her head. “Just… don’t like that guy.”

Azzi tilted her head, curious. “Why not?”

“He’s a walking ego,” Paige said, grabbing her stuff. “And he’s a player. Like, in every sense of the word. He’s not exactly subtle about who he hits on.”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. Just zipped her bag and stood up. “He’s harmless.”

“Sure,” Paige muttered, a little sharper than she meant to. “Just be careful, okay?”

Azzi blinked, surprised at the tone. Paige ran a hand through her hair, sighing.

“Sorry. That came out weird. Just forget it.”

Azzi gave her a long look, something unreadable in her eyes. Then she nodded. “Okay.”

They walked in silence toward the library exit, Paige internally screaming at herself. ‘It’s not that deep. She’s not yours. You’re literally just studying.’ But no matter how many times she told herself that, her clenched jaw said otherwise.

As they stepped out into the afternoon sun, a small group of girls standing near the library steps caught sight of them—specifically Paige.

“Oh my god, that’s Paige Bueckers,” one of them whispered, eyes wide.

Before she could even react, one of them stepped forward, all smiles and nervous energy. “Hi! Sorry, we don’t wanna bother you, but could we maybe get a picture? We’re huge fans.”

Paige blinked, caught off guard but immediately smiled.

“Of course,” she said, already stepping toward them, voice warm and friendly. “What’s your name?”

One of them nearly melted. “I’m Sam. This is Ava and Kayla.”

“Nice to meet you guys,” Paige said, handing her phone to one of them after snapping a few selfies together. “You guys coming to the game on friday?”

“Yeah! We can’t wait! Good luck!”

“Thanks,” Paige said sincerely. “I’ll try to put on a show for y’all.”

They grinned, waved, and scurried off giggling, still whispering to each other as they walked away.

Azzi stood a few feet back, arms loosely crossed. Watching.

Paige turned toward her and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Azzi shook her head slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I just… didn’t expect that.”

“Didn’t expect what?”

Azzi’s eyes flicked up to meet hers. “You being… like that. With people.”

Paige tilted her head. “Like what?”

Azzi gave her a soft shrug. “I guess I thought you’d be more… I dunno. Big-time athlete energy. Standoffish. You’re not.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, amused. “So you thought I’d be a bitch?”

Azzi smiled. “I didn’t say that.”

“You thought it, though.”

Azzi’s smile widened just slightly. “Maybe. A little.”

Paige laughed. “Damn. That’s cold.”

Azzi’s gaze lingered on her, more thoughtful now. “You surprise me. In a good way.”

And Paige couldn’t help the flutter in her chest as they started walking again, side by side.

They walked in silence again for a bit, the quiet not uncomfortable—just filled with a weird hum Paige couldn’t place. It clung to her like static, buzzing beneath her skin every time she glanced over and saw Azzi walking next to her, face calm, unreadable as always.

When they reached the small fork in the path outside the library, Azzi finally slowed to a stop.

“This is me,” she said, shifting her bag on her shoulder.

Paige stopped too, a little slower. “Right. Yeah.”

Azzi looked up at her. “That wasn’t too painful, was it?”

Paige snorted. “I mean… there were a few moments where I considered setting my notebook on fire.”

Azzi smiled. “But you didn’t.”

“Thanks to you.”

There was a beat of quiet. Paige swallowed and scratched at the back of her neck. “So… when do you wanna do this again?”

Azzi tilted her head, thinking. “I’m free Thursday evening. If that works?”

Paige nodded too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

Azzi gave her a small nod. “Okay. I’ll text you.”

“Cool,” Paige said, trying not to sound weird. “Coolcoolcool.”

Azzi’s brows lifted just slightly. Paige looked down at the ground, internally facepalming.

Azzi smiled again, more to herself this time. “You’re kind of strange.”

Paige looked up. “Rude.”

Azzi started walking backwards slowly, smirking. “But I mean that in a good way.”

Paige watched her go, lips twitching. “Sure you do.”

Azzi turned around and gave a small wave over her shoulder. “Later, Paige.”

Paige stood there for a second too long after she was gone, staring at nothing in particular. Then she finally exhaled, rubbed her hands over her face, and mumbled under her breath.

“Fuck.”

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

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #pazzi #pazzi fics #uconn #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies #wbb #ncaa wbb #wnba basketball #wnba #dallas wings

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writingjourney · 2 days ago

Text

For Reasons Wretched & Divine

In a desperate attempt to seek out the third Papa’s counsel on an intimate matter a Sister of Sin slips into the confessional one night – only to be met by the voice of Papa Emeritus II instead. Or: Secondo teaches his favourite Sister how to pleasure the man she is infatuated with – unaware that he is exactly who she wants.

content: 19.6k words, pov third person, sexual inexperience, finger sucking, dry humping, gloves & hands, oral sex (both receiving), mild spit kink, choking/sensitive gag reflex, emotional hurt/comfort, praise, sex toys, power imbalance, dom/sub dynamic, soft dom!secondo, p in v, confessions

➽ This is by far the most self-indulgent story I have ever written, also the first one that I ever drew my own banner for. For easier reading I recommend using Ao3 where I split it into three parts of equal length! enjoy ♡

Masterlist – Ao3 link – RATED E – 18+ only

Prelude

He leaves through the list she left on his desk, wets his thumb as he makes his way over to where he hears her getting ready, a small office space he had arranged specifically for her in his basement area. A click as she closes her black leather briefcase and he leans against the doorframe, watching as she slings it over her shoulder, caving in under the heavy weight before she adjusts the painful strap.

“Are you carrying around stones, hm?” he asks.

She turns, mouth parting, her features tensing for a fraction of a second as they always do when he comes close. A static feeling, the room charged with unspoken tension. But then her eyes flicker to his bare forearms, to the open collar of his shirt, the evidence that it is not discomfort that has her body reacting like that. Amused, he focuses back on the list at hand.

“I checked out some books from the library earlier,” she says by way of explanation.

“Are you done for the day, then, sorella?”

“I’m done unless you need me, Papa. I have finished my work.”

“I always have need of you, cara, you are the only one I trust with this task.” He glances up again over the rim of his reading glasses, a mild smile tugging at his lips. “But you have earned your free evening.”

“Perhaps Sister can give me a few more hours down here,” she suggests and the thought alone seems to bring more colour to her face, her fingers shaking as they fiddle with her bag. “I would love to, anyway.”

“Would you, hm?” He cocks his head. “I admit that is not something I am used to hearing.”

No, many Siblings don’t get along with his temperament, the fact that he is rather particular about how he expects things to be done, giving up fast instead of rising to the challenge. Not her, though, no, determined as she is, eager to learn from him, eager to please. For months she’s been down here now, two days a week, cataloguing his vast collection of art, books, and relics, many long afternoons spent in idle conversation as they take notes, more at his probing than hers, though she has a habit of getting him to talk more freely than he is used to.

They are entirely too familiar with each other. He knows the names of her parents, where she grew up, how she takes her coffee and the brand of her perfume, what take out food she likes to order, the books she’s been reading. It would be easy enough to carry their conversations outside of this place, to deepen that bond over a nicely cooked meal. And yet something is holding her back, a flicker of hesitation he can see whenever he tries to go further, when his touches aren’t quite as accidental, when his flirting becomes a little more daring. Or perhaps it is fear, the heat of shame that she is attracted to him of all people. It fascinates him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Papa,” she says, the heavy bag propped against her hip.

Before she can walk by his arm reaches to block her path, a teasing smile on his lips, one he can’t resist. “Sorella, you are forgetting.”

Heat springs to her face, he thinks he can feel it when she leans in to press her soft cheek to his, a practiced ritual. He gives a quick peck but it comes with that Italian intensity, a kiss that lingers long after, the scratching of his cheek, the wet mark of eager lips, and he hopes she can feel it as he does. Her gaze darkens and for a second he expects her to drop to her knees in front of him, confess every single dirty thought she ever had. He would indulge her, naturally. Give her even more ideas.

“Good night,” she whispers, voice nothing more than an exhale.

He nods, satisfied enough with her reaction, his arm falling back down to let her pass. It takes her a moment to notice, before she can break away from his gaze, and his amused chuckle follows her out of the basement. A puzzle he will solve – in due time, and sooner than he expects.

─── ⛧ ✦ ⛧ ───

I – Confession Pt. 1

The only sound in the chapel is the slow rustle of his book as he turns the page.

A slow, solitary night. His official duties have been scarce since entering retirement – though, this is a word he would not use for himself. Retiring, the implication that he can now rest, that his life’s work is over and he gets to be idle. It is not something he wants and though he enjoys the added freedoms he hasn’t been making much use of them. Reduced to confession duty, taking over shifts for his busy younger brother, filling the vacant spots for weekday masses where only few Siblings attend, the view from the pulpit barely reminding him of who he once was. Papa, entertainer, showman, womaniser. Now, it suits him best when he is holed up in his basement all day, restoring flaky artworks, rebinding old tomes he’s been collecting over the years, old school heavy metal blasting from his speakers to drown out any thoughts that could slip into his head. Old school, yes, that is what he is as well now. Rocked down, used, waiting to be discarded.

Confession duty makes him feel useful, at least. It is an irregular night, Terzo nursing an ailment of his vocal chords, urged not to speak unless absolutely necessary. Secondo does not mind taking over. His nights have been quieter, the company he used to keep reduced to the fulfilment of basic needs, the odd overnight stay, a dinner in town here and there. Being stripped of the Papal title came with the added sting of losing the appeal to many. No more grandiose performances.

Purpose, company. It is what he is missing.

He tries not to be offended by how many Siblings show up expecting Terzo and being not quite as enthusiastic once they realise he’s not there. Secondo has his own regulars during the nights he’s on duty, it is the way of things. Discussing such private matters, it requires trust. As the night progresses, however, his breaks stretch out longer. He gets his reading done, a worn copy of The Divine Comedy, read many times over.

When he hears footsteps he pauses, listens whether they carry over or if someone came for a late night prayer. Secondo softly closes his book, pockets it in his black cassock. They approach, sit down behind the lattice on that slippery, worn-down wooden plank, and he readies himself for the well-practiced speech of encouragement he is so used to delivering at any such occasion that a Sibling seeks him out. It is late, his duties almost over, and it is not a rare thing for someone to purposely arrive at this hour, usually when the matter they seek to discuss is of an especially delicate nature. Before he can speak, however, the Sister on the other of the lattice already falls into her confession.

“Forgive me Papa, I know the hour is late and you have lent your ear to many Siblings already but I must–” A deep breath and he sits up straighter as he realises who is talking on the other side. “I must confess that your kind words a few days ago have encouraged me to ask for your counsel in a matter that has been giving me many sleepless nights as of late.”

With no small amount of confusion he realises that she too must mean his brother. He is unaware of such an incident as the one she is describing and last he saw her – this very evening when she left her office with that heavy bag slung over her shoulder – she did not give a hint at being weighed down by something else.

Before he can make himself known, she is already continuing, the words flowing out of her so fast that he can sense the nervousness in her speech. “Perhaps I should start by telling you that I know, as you said, that there is no shame in inexperience and I am aware I am far from the only one who might be insecure about these things. However, the fact of the matter is… there is someone rather experienced who I have become infatuated with. A man, to be precise.” Another deep breath. “He doesn’t know about any of this and he might not even feel the same way about me but still I fear that he might be sorely disappointed if he… if he ever did decide to be intimate with me and found out how very… lacking I am. And I am not talking about sex, per se, the issue is rather… The issue is rather that I have never performed a specific act during my past encounters and I know that I will struggle with it.”

“And what act would that be?” he asks, without thinking.

She audibly startles, though she is trying to hide her gasp. For a second she says nothing, then she stammers out, “Oh, this is– Papa– I don’t–”

“Mi dispiace, sorella, you may have expected my brother to be here tonight. I can assure you, however, that you can confide in me just the same.”

Hurried breathing, he fights off an amused smile at her reaction. “But– because we work together–”

“I assure you of my discretion,” he replies. “I have done this for many decades, sorella. None of what we speak about in here will leave the confines of the confessional.”

She takes a moment to consider, perhaps feeling trapped now which is not his intent. He gives her time, the quiet settling once again. After spending so much time together he can’t shake the hint of disappointment that she’d go to his brother of all people, that she still seems too wary to confide in him.

“It’s just–” She takes a deep breath and he fights the urge to take a look at her through the lattice. “Will you be disappointed in me that I feel ashamed of my own inexperience?”

Ah. Is that what kept her from confiding in him? The fear that his good opinion of her might change? “I will never be disappointed by something like this, sorella,” he assures her. “I am only disappointed that you still distrust me so.”

“I trust you,” she stresses. “I do trust you. I think you’re the person who knows me best in this ministry but I do not want things to change between us. You’re… you’re the closest I have to a real friend.”

He cocks his head, surprised by this admission. “I promise you this will not change. I am here, cara. Take your time.”

For a second, she does not speak, shifts around on the bench. He hears her take a few shaky breaths and while this is not out of the ordinary it is unusual for her. Secondo did not take her reluctance for insecurity before tonight, confident as she is in her work, in dealing so well with him of all people. It is endearing to him, makes his heart ache inside his hollow chest in a way he doesn’t quite understand.

“I have been with people,” she says, then, “but it wasn’t… it wasn’t ever anything special. Some… some fumbling, kisses that escalated and ultimately just a sort of disappointingly quick conclusion. I’ve not been very adventurous, it is hard for me to trust people so intimately with my body.”

“And there is nothing wrong with that,” he assures her, glued to her every word.

“Thank you for saying that.” Another pause. “It is just, now that… there is this man, I realised that I am lacking the skills that… that he might be used to. He is experienced and he knows what he wants which is something I find very attractive. And yes, this should not change his feelings for me, if he has any feelings for me, but if he does not want to take things beyond a physical nature then this might put a quick end to whatever is between us. Before I have a chance to convince him.”

“I see.” Secondo tries not to be vexed by this, the idea of helping her to please another man. “Sorella, dolce ragazza, will you tell me what it is that you are so intimidated by? Is it an usual thing this man wants from you?”

“No, that’s the thing, Papa. It is not unusual at all, it is… Satan, this is pitiful.” She groans into her hands, a pained, muffled sound. “It’s the fact that I have never pleased a man with… with my mouth.”

“Ah.”

“I know this is… it is such a basic thing,” she rambles on. “I am embarrassed, I should not be so worried about it but it’s that I… I am sort of sensitive if you understand what I mean and I’m afraid if I tried… it’d just end in a pathetic performance and he’d decide that he can do better.”

He can feel the blood draining from his face, pooling lower into his body. Only briefly is he irritated by this, being aroused by the mere fraction of the idea of feeling her gagging on his cock. But he can’t indulge this now, not when she is this upset about it. “Sorella, I do not have to tell you that he is not worth your time if this is his reaction.”

“I know and he might not– this might not happen. But with this fear, I’m sure my nerves will make it even worse. I just don’t want to get hurt.”

Secondo takes a deep breath and shifts to sit more upright, leaning towards the lattice now. “As I see it, there are two ways to soothe your worries, sorella. You must confess to him when the time arrives and you wish to please him – and you must tell him truthfully. If he is a man deserving of you he will neither laugh nor judge but guide you with patience. But you must want it, sorella. Remember that every act of sin in Lucifer’s name is one of great enthusiasm, not one of pressure or a sense of duty. If you never wish to perform this act for discomfort or any other reason then he must be understanding of this as well and respect your wishes.”

“But what if he isn’t, Papa? What if he doesn’t want to be with me when he finds out?”

“Then he is not a man that should ever be allowed to touch another person, let alone you. If this should happen, sorella, or if he forces you to do things you do not want, then you will come to me, yes? Promise me.”

She seems taken aback by his vehemence, quiet for a while, but then he sees the shadow of her nodding her head. “I promise.” He hears a sniffle, one that tears right through him. He hasn’t noticed her crying. “But… but what is the other way, Papa?”

Closing his eyes, he fights off the urge to step out of this booth and comfort her. He has ulterior motives, of course, biting at him like tiny parasites, not necessarily a bad conscience, he does mean to help her, but the urges underneath are anything but good.

“If you truly wish to learn, then they key is practice – with your hands, with a safe tool or perhaps… an experienced guide.”

He waits for her reaction now, hoping he did not overstep, that he has been reading her right and despite her feelings for another man she still harbours this attraction to him that he’s sensed when they work. He should not be toying with her in such a vulnerable moment, no, but if it would help guide her into the arms of someone he knows will keep her safe?

“A guide?” she asks.

He fights off a satisfied smile, curious as ever. “Someone you trust, sorella. Someone with experience and patience to show you how it is done.”

“I could not ask anyone of such a thing, Papa. They’d think I’ve lost my mind.”

“Would they?” he replies, then, unable to hold it back, “Who would you ask, sorella? My brother?”

“No!” Her voice rises. “It’s not like that, Papa. I did not– I just wanted reassurance from him, not to– I don’t think about him like that. And I don’t imagine anyone would voluntarily offer to be subjected to shitty blowjobs for a few weeks, least of all Papa.”

“Sorella, you trust me?”

This time, she does not hesitate. “I do, Papa.”

“Then will you come over?”

“Come ov– right now?”

“Yes.”

He hears the wood creaking when she gets up, the soft opening and closing of the door to her booth. In front of his door she hesitates and he almost thinks this is the moment she’ll run away but then, with a visibly shaking hand, she opens. Moonlight streams in, illuminating her face that is still streaked with silent tears. He holds out a hand, and although it is a tight space she fits perfectly into his lap when he drags her there. If she notices that he’s already half-hard she does not comment, secured with a hand around his shoulder.

“Sorella,” he whispers, wiping at her cheeks. “It pains me to see you like this. You should have come to me a long time ago.”

“I know, Papa.”

“Will you let me help you now?”

She glances away, tensing. “I– Would you truly want to?”

“Yes.”

“And not out of pity?”

“No pity, cara.”

She eases in his grasp, allows him to cradle her face in his warm leather gloves. He knows they feel good on the skin, smell of the woodsy oil he uses to keep them soft. It tugs at him, that she is so distressed because of a man who is most likely not even worthy of her. No one is, though, that he knows. And he’d keep her alone if he could, their days spent down in the basement, sorting through his collection between bouts of frantic sex and good food. He’d show her everything, patiently, make her feel so good she’d never think about another man’s cock ever again.

“I’m scared to disappoint,” she admits, then, unusually small.

“I know,” he says. “You want to be good at everything you do, hm? I have noticed this with your work. But we cannot be good at everything right away. I was not, I assure you.”

“You’ve done it before?”

He nods, thumbs stroking over her soft cheeks. “I have done many things, some of which I was good at some of which were just not as good as in my head, hm? It does not matter if you are the best at it, ragazza mia, it matters that you enjoy it just as much as the man who receives it. Or at the very least that you do not mind doing it for someone you like.”

She smiles and he can see her finding back to herself, her gaze stronger, her hands on him firmer, assuring him that she does want to be here, do this with him. Shifting his weight a little he leans back so that she can rest more comfortably in his lap, leaning against the wooden side of the booth. His fingers stroke along her jaw now, one hand moving to her hip while the other traces the curve below her ear, then forward to her chin, over to the other side. He does it until she’s relaxed, used to his touch.

Then he toys with her mouth. She tenses only shortly, allows him to part her lips, completely enraptured by his ministrations. It’s how he’s seen her look at him during mass, one of the few Siblings who never misses any of those he leads. A smile spreads on his lips, pride that she does indeed trust him, perhaps even longs for him, the intimacy he offers, his company. Slow movements, a finger tracing her bottom lip, feeling her teeth against the tip of it.

More daring, he pushes his thumb inside, makes her spread her mouth open wider. She shivers but allows it, her eyes never leaving his. The muscles in her jaw are tense. After a moment he removes his hand, tugs at his glove until it comes off. Perhaps tasting skin will make it more familiar and he has to admit that the thought of feeling her warm mouth on his finger makes his own heart speed up, that heat in his lower belly now simmering on a steady flame.

“Is this good?” he asks.

She nods.

“Words, my dove, I need to hear it.”

“It’s okay, Papa.”

“Brava.”

He begins by tracing her lips again. This time, he inserts his index finger, longer, pushing further inside. When he sees that she tolerates it he adds his middle finger, a little deeper once again. He does not let it deter him when she gags right away, just retreats a little before going back to where she was comfortable. His fingers are big, he is aware of it, and she has never taken anyone into her mouth, something that thrills him more than he wants to admit to her face. If it takes him a long time to get her to take all of him then it only means that whatever man she was talking about will slip further and further from her mind.

“Not everyone is comfortable taking things in their mouth,” he explains. “It is only natural for the body to fight off the intrusion when unused to it, hm? It is for survival, sorella, it wants to protect you and you cannot blame it for that. But if you wish it so then we can practice and it will be easier with time. Do you want that?”

She nods, mumbling an affirmative around his digits. He smiles, lifts his other hand to pet her jaw encouragingly. Once again he presses down a little harder, goes a little deeper, and this time she is prepared.

“Breathe through your nose,” he instructs. “Relax your muscles, it makes it easier.”

She tries, he sees it, feels her breath against his knuckles. But it only lasts for a short time before she gags again, sensitive just like she’d said, perhaps even more so than he’s expected. But it is good, he thinks, this is perfect. He can show her, the ideal excuse to be close to her like this.

“Shhh,” he coos when she struggles to breathe, removing his fingers to the tips of her lips. “We will get you there, my dove. Do not worry any longer, your Papa will help you. You only have to trust me and you do, do you not?”

Another nod. At his raised brow she speaks, “I trust you, Papa. More than anyone.”

“Good. We will not go any further now. I want you to think about it, sorella, make sure this is what you want, yes? The next time I see you we will try again and perhaps we will try more if you are ready. We can go as slow as you need, but now you need some rest. I do not want to hear about sleepless nights again, at least not if I am not the cause of it.”

She nods, smiles at his jest and shifts in his lap, the arousal sitting uncomfortable between her legs. He knows he mirrors this discomfort, unable to keep his hips completely still. It is not for tonight, however, too much for her to work through already. But she looks grateful, he thinks, her eyes stay dry and the relief is palpable as her body finally relaxes.

This time, she does not forget. “Goodnight, Papa,” she whispers and leans in, pressing her face to his to exchange those wet cheek kisses. He holds still, waits for her to kiss his first, loudly, before he reciprocates. When she breaks away a hint of mischief is laced into her smile. “And thank you.”

His hands tighten on her hips for a second, keeping her there in his lap and holding her gaze with all that he wants to promise. Satisfied that she returns it without as much as a flinch he releases her and she slides off his lap, leaving the booth without another sound.

“Goodnight, indeed,” he whispers, adjusting the bulge in his pants underneath his cassock. When he picks up his book the words swim on the page. He still has another hour.

─── ⛧ ✦ ⛧ ───

II – Lesson Plans

It won’t let go of him.

When he tries to sleep, when he prepares his breakfast, when he sits through a three hour clergy meeting, when he writes Friday’s sermon. His fingers in her mouth, his cock already hard at the mere feeling of her tongue on his skin, that shaky admission of fear and the trust that followed, a festering shame in her eyes that he desperately wants to free her from. Perhaps it is presumptuous, that he thinks it should be him who helps her.

Not that he lacks conviction.

Secondo knows he can show her how to embrace the exploration of her needs better than anyone, the novelty of giving pleasure, a new world he can open up for her. Yes, he can do right by her, encouragement and patience and his guiding hand, protect her from the pain of a lesser man. That she would have him baptise her, it is a gift, or he considers it as such. A thing of beauty, that Lucifer brought her into his care.

His thoughts have been straying to her before that night, that nagging curiosity of why she’s holding back from him, the tingle of lust that has become rarer with age but that she stokes so easily with her presence. Secondo is not in the habit of overthinking, no. Instead he’s pushing uncomfortable thoughts as far away as possible, stuffed into that dark ugly corner in his mind that he has decided to black out, lest they get a chance to hurt him. This is an entirely different matter, an added layer he did not consider before, one that is harder to push away.

There is someone she likes. Someone whose cock she’s been thinking about having in her mouth.

That someone might or might not be him.

Ink drops splatter out of his fountain pen as he realises he subconsciously increased the pressure. He’s beyond cursing, sits back in his office chair instead, identifying his jealousy for what it is. It does not bode well for him, a risk he’d avert if it were anyone else, entanglement, serious feelings. Would she have gone to Terzo of all people to talk about her attraction to him? Terzo would not have known, of course, unless she’d told him, but he is too perceptive for his own good, probably knows she’s been spending hours down here. He can see his brother laughing, telling her to stay as far away from his stronzo brother as possible, semi-serious, perhaps, but Terzo has a way of caring too deeply about his flock and he knows Secondo is not in the habit of reciprocating crushes, rare as they are these days.

Almost a week passes before he sees her again. He makes a note in his calendar to ask Sister to send her here more often, already dreading that conversation. It’s quickly forgotten when he hears her coming down the stairs. She greets him the same way they say goodbye, a kiss to the cheek, a routine he established in one of his slow attempts to take things further. He notes that she is inching a little closer to his mouth, the imprint of her lips lingering in the lines of his jaw.

At first, he does not say anything. They get to work, she catalogues, he wastes some time sorting through a few boxes of books he had recently delivered from Florence where he was a resident Cardinal a few years before his Papacy. Even so, he can’t help but observe her, the diligence, the care with which she treats his belongings, no matter how sturdy or delicate. More importantly, she does not once look at her phone all day. Whoever this other man is can’t be that important.

You’re the closest I have to a real friend, she said in the confessional and he wonders if it is what drives her down here and, in the same breath, whether it is what he feels underneath as well, why he keeps her here, that need for company. Perhaps age has softened him, so much so that he suddenly thinks about a permanent companion for the decade or two that the world has left for him. He doesn’t want to be her friend, no. But is it not how many people start out? Trust, company, friendship, then more. If he can eliminate whoever else is in the equation–

“Papa, I–” She stops when he jumps, cutting his thumb on the cardboard box. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, please go on, sorella.”

Her face is tense, as if he’d startled her instead. She stops wringing her hands, steels her gaze, and he ignores that throbbing in his finger. “I was wondering when we would start our… training.”

It’s late into the afternoon, not that the artificial light in the basement would give any indication. He was waiting for her to be done, call her into his office, see how she’d feel about getting on her knees for him today, but he is too pleased with this progression, her seeking him out. “I take it you have thought about my offer and decided to accept?”

“I have,” she says, not quite so insecure anymore. “And I want to. I am eager to learn and I trust you to teach me.”

“Good,” he says, the books in the boxes long forgotten. At times, she is an enigma to him. It is hard to console the crying sister in the confessional with the woman stood before him, the woman who tolerates his moods, his outward aloofness, tugs at those strings deep inside of him that he doesn’t let anyone else touch. He feels like she is playing him as much as he’s trying to play her and it’s that thrill that makes him reckless with his feelings.

In the end, he leads her to that battered old leather sofa he’s more or less discarded in the back corner, once stood in his own quarters, now exchanged for a firmer model to help with his back pains. It does the job, envelops him when he sits down, comfortable, as relaxed as he’ll ever be at the prospect of a beautiful Sister using her mouth on him. He doesn’t bother with the paint outside of mass anymore and he’s omitted the cassock as well, like most days down here. Just in his slacks and a black button-down he knows he makes quite a compelling sight, even at his age, and she does eye him a little longer than appropriate.

“Right here?” she asks, though it does not really matter. Hardly anyone strays down here, into his domain, and he’s never been one to hide away. She knows this, and when he nods she doesn’t fight him.

“Come here,” he orders, much to her confusion. “Into my lap,” he clarifies.

“But–”

“Sorella, you are beautiful and I am eager to see you on your knees but not even I am ready on command.”

He didn’t mean it as a joke but she laughs, genuinely, and he is way too pleased with himself. Still, her body is rigid when she places her thighs on either side of him, hesitant to fully rest her weight. Secondo is not. His hands settle on her hips and he drags her over his crotch, bunching her habit up enough to feel bare skin and her panties barely hiding the outline of her cunt.

No, this was not part of the deal, not really. He doesn’t care.

“Sorella, tell me again that this is what you want.”

“I do– I,” her voice gives way to a moan, his cock twitching unasked against her core. “Papa–”

“It is not just your mouth that is sensitive, hm?”

His teasing brings heat to her cheeks, suddenly bashful again, and he feels it when he runs his thumb over her skin, making sure to lift her jaw, have her look at him when she feels his size for the first time. She’s pretty like that, aching, overwhelmed by the barest of touches.

“Tell me,” he repeats.

“I want this,” she says.

It’s good enough for him and he has her grinding a few more times, just for his own enjoyment, to see her fight against the need to have him inside of her. Which is not why they are here, no, but he wouldn’t mind getting her to think about it, to yearn for it every time they see each other.

“Now get on your knees for me,” he whispers, eyes still on her, and there is not a hint of defiance in those pupils. She does exactly as he says, slides off his lap and gets between his now spread thighs. He hands her a pillow and she pushes it under her knees, hands carefully grasping at his pants, hesitant but not uncomfortable. The sight overwhelms him. If he hadn’t been hard from her grinding alone he surely would be now.

“I don’t know–” she starts but trails off when he guides her hands to his belt. The front of his pants is already damp but not from him, no. She looks ashamed when she notices and, displeased, he presses her hand to the wet patch.

“I do not want to see this expression, sorella,” he says. “In here, there is no shame, do you understand?” She nods and he reaches for her jaw, lifting her gaze. “Words, my dove.”

“No shame,” she echos. “I understand.”

“Brava ragazza. Now open.”

Her fingers shake but she’s deft enough to be done within seconds, flinching when her hands meet the velvety skin of his dick. With a slight wriggle of his hips he’s slid his pants down far enough for more comfort and she looks up at him, wide-eyed.

He has to fight the urge to laugh. “You will not be taking it all,” he says. “Only as much as you can.”

His words do not seem to calm her, though her eyes linger and he wonders how long it’s been since those disappointing encounters she’s been speaking of. He’s prepared to form more words of reassurance, however many it takes, but then she gets over her fear and cradles him in her hand, curling her fingers around him with some fascination. For some reason, it is not what he expected, that softness, the affection in her touch. His arousal pearls from his slit and she thumbs at him, still gentle, and he tries not to bite his fist. It’s not enough, though.

“Use your spit,” he says, mesmerised by the sight of her.

She looks up, a line of worry deep in her forehead. Secondo takes her hand and, meeting her eyes, lifts it up to his mouth. His tongue works against his cheek until he’s ready to spit into her palm, just enough to help her out. A whimper and her hips shift uncomfortably, another thing he saves for later. But he can’t think about how wet she must be by now if he wants to last for more than a minute.

When her hand next wraps around his length it perfectly slides over his skin. She is not bad at this, he notes, a good soft pressure that firms when she twists towards his tip. Her eyes shift between his cock and his face, taking in every little change in his expression, attentive, already working her mind to learn and improve, not from books or his words this time, and he feels oddly exposed, the mirror suddenly held back at him.

“You are doing well,” he says. “Can you take the tip, cara? Keep your hands on the rest.”

She does, closing both of her hands around him. Then her lips wrap around his tip for the first time and he thinks perhaps he’s the one who will embarrass himself today. His hips buck and he tries to hide it by reaching for her head, fiddling with her hair to keep it out of her face. She looks up at him, mildly confused, but she keeps going without question, rotating her hands and licking at his slit, pillowy lips covering her teeth which tells him she knows the basics. It is a kiss, nothing more, and yet the pleasure in his core is undeniable.

“Very good,” he praises, revelling in the way every little compliment has her eyes sparkling, her confidence growing. “It is good, my dove, you are doing well. A little more, hm?”

She takes him so deep that he can feel his cock resting in the centre of her tongue, right where it flexes on the underside of him, his tip at the hollow of her hard palate. It will be enough for today, he thinks, for him and for her. Her gaze alone could be enough, those insecure, hopeful eyes, wide as they gaze up at him. He pets her head, strokes through the silk of her hair, allowing her to go as slow as she wants. It occurs to him, then, that he does not want this to end, that he’s perfectly content just taking her in for a while.

“Your mouth is perfect,” he whispers. “Have you been thinking about this, hm? Having a cock on your tongue?”

She nods, moving her mouth over his tip, deliciously slow, and when she pulls his foreskin back a little he’s starting to see stars.

“My cock?” he can’t help but ask and once again she nods. He fights back a growl, feels that tightness in his abdomen, all the way down to his balls. He can’t be close already, not from this, and yet– “Come up here.”

She jumps, lets go with a pop. He doesn’t care, pulls her back up into his lap and forward, her panties soaked, dripping onto his cock when he places her just so. With a startled whimper she holds onto his shoulders but he’s already dragging her across his lap, back and forth, until finally she begins grinding on her own again, only that flimsy damp layer between them. Within moments he empties himself into the mess between them and at first she doesn’t notice, not until she’s clenching and shaking and he carefully stops her, begins to ache from the friction.

They breathe for a while, that ebb and flow of pleasure slowly fading, electric pulses between their bodies. Secondo lifts her head from his shoulder to see her and she’s practically glowing, a sight that calms him, satisfied that he managed to pull her there with him.

“When will we do this again?” she asks, breathless, frowning when he laughs at her eagerness.

“Tomorrow,” he says, “and every night when we are here, if you want it.”

She nods, that excited clench of her jaw. He reaches out, wipes a sheen of sweat from her brow. This is the sight, he thinks, the sight he could get used to for years to come. But he is getting ahead of himself, not thinking with the right organ.

“Your homework is to practice by yourself whenever we do not see each other,” he says. “Can you do that?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Good.”

He bends them both forward, working his pants closed with a full view of her ruined panties. She leans in, damp cheek to damp cheek, pressing a kiss to his skin that is so soft he has to stop himself from keeping her down here until she can’t walk anymore. He can hardly reciprocate, trying to reign himself in, waits until she’s slipped from his lap before he allows himself to move again. He doesn’t remember the last time his body has betrayed him like that. Nor does he understand why he is not mad about it.

─── ⛧ ✦ ⛧ ───

III – Dried Tears

He adjusts his schedule. Over the next week Secondo’s days revolve around finding ways to see her. Twice a week is insufficient, though he still only lets her touch him in the basement, makes sure not to go much further than that first time. Security, a safe routine. He won’t let her make him come with her mouth, not quite yet. Everything else is for him, observing her during mass, finding her in the gardens where she helps out two days a week, not exactly following her around but letting his curiosity get the better of him.

There is no other man.

He is sure of it now, or as sure as he can be. She never visits anyone else, sees a handful of friends, all of which decidedly aren’t men, not to his knowledge, and that’s the word she used. There is someone rather experienced who I have become infatuated with. A man, to be precise. If there is a man like that who is not Secondo then he is not here in the abbey.

After two weeks of this sluggish routine he’s had enough. He’s toyed with the idea, surprising her in her quarters on a night she’s not with him, to see what she would do, but it takes him a week to finally follow through. He knows where they are, naturally, though he never usually steps foot inside the dorms. It is an exception, he tells himself, freshly showered, neatly shaved, an extra spritz of cologne, he even used that damned moisturiser Terzo keeps pushing into his hands, made sure his cheeks aren’t dry when she kisses them.

She opens and he thinks she’ll slam the door back into his face. He’s assertive, doesn’t let her surprise affect him, though for a moment he wonders if he did overstep, the other man suddenly not so fake anymore, that short flash of fear that he’s with her right now. But no, she recovers and lets him in, and he surveys her small bedroom with a quick glance when he leans in to press that much desired kiss to her cheek. Empty, no signs of a male presence, and she still smells like shower gel and shampoo, wearing sweats under a plain white shirt, no bra.

“I didn’t expect you, Papa,” she says, picking up items from the countertops of her kitchenette, “or I would have prepared something. A drink or–”

“No need,” he interrupts, noting that she is nervous for nothing. Her small accommodation is tidy enough, that same order she so easily brings into his collection, a logic that somehow works for them both, and he thinks it suits her, a comfortable bed with a plethora of differently textured pillows, a bookshelf that despite some overflow is neatly sorted. “It is best if we are sober. For now, at least. I am not intruding?”

“No, not at all. I was about to settle in for the evening, nothing special.” She eyes him and he knows he must look out of place in his usual black slacks and button-down, the black leather gloves, an overdressed man in her safe, comfortable space like an alien presence. “Would you like anything else? A glass of water?”

He nods, though all he wants is to stall, take a better look at her environments. A small television with a handful of old DVDs, a table she seems to use both as a desk and to eat at. The closed door to her small bathroom, a wardrobe. Then, a stack of library books on her nightstand. He remembers her shouldering that heavy briefcase a few weeks ago. The secrets to pleasure. Sexual practices and their history. The art of oral. Yes, she is eager to learn, no half-hearted efforts.

“Have you been practicing, my dove?” he asks with a smug grin, tracing the image of a man and woman nakedly intertwined on the cover of one of the books.

When she joins him she’s back to her bashful self, as though she hasn’t had his cock in her mouth multiple times by now. “I have tried.”

“That is all I ask,” he reassures. “How have you been doing it? With your fingers?”

She hands him the glass and he takes a performative sip, then sets it down, thinks that she might need it later. Her crouching down in front of her nightstand is more interesting, the drawer she opens revealing a handful of toys. Nothing he hasn’t seen before – two different size dildos, a suction vibrator, a bottle of lube, a disinfectant – but he is pleased to see that she is taking her pleasure seriously.

When she takes out a simple black silicone dildo, ergonomically shaped, he notes that it is not quite as big as his cock. “I used this.”

“Show me.”

Her eyes widen. “Papa–”

Secondo ignores it, sits down on her bed, perhaps a little impolitely leaning back, making himself comfortable amongst her pillows, shoes still on the floor. She stands there, stares at him, and her expression alone is enough to have him raise his brows, begging her to disobey. She won’t, he knows she won’t, she is so eager to please. And she doesn’t, kneels down, placing the dildo upright on the mattress, both hands around the silicone. He has to fight off an amused smile, the way she sits there, like a little girl praying to her Lord before bedtime.

When her lips finally wrap around the toy she averts her gaze, as if to get it over with. But his goal is not to humiliate her, though she might feel differently about it. He wants to reassure her once again that she does not need to be ashamed in front of him, that her trust is not misplaced.

“Look at me, cara,” he orders. “I want to see your eyes.”

She blinks, slowly bobbing her head, leaving a glistening trail on the black silicone. He doesn’t bother to observe her technique, it’s not about that. When their eyes meet he reaches for her hair, angles her head to make sure she sees him palming at his cock through his pants. He pretends not to see her hard swallow at the visible bulge already there, the way her hips move in aroused discomfort.

“You are doing well,“ he says. “I am very pleased with you. But you can take more, hm?”

She always soaks up his praise, his soft reassurances, like a flower raising her head towards the sun, unfolding in its light. It is rare, for someone to react this strongly to so little, almost innocently, though he knows she is not truly a clueless little lamb, that she is aware of their game and participates with purpose. It is enjoyable, for once doesn’t feel like he is taking on a role, no, she willingly submits to him the moment their interaction becomes sexually charged, as though it’s the nature of things. Otherwise, their relationship hasn’t changed, not when they work, not when he sees her around the abbey. He is glad of it, that she treats him like she did before.

She takes the dildo deeper into her mouth, then, cautiously, and he opens his belt, the button of his slacks, unzips them. Her eyes never leave his hand where it’s fisting his cock, getting himself ready for her, that phantom feeling of her lips around him ever present.

“Eyes on me,” he says and she blinks up at his face. “Have you been thinking about my cock when you took this into your mouth, hm? Did you want it to be me?”

She nods, a moan low in her throat. There is no room for anyone else in the way she looks at him, the way she reacts. He’s not sure why, even now, he still feels that simmering jealousy, that urge to erase anyone else from her mind, even when that someone might not even exist.

“I think it is my turn now,” he decides, aching to feel her mouth.

It is amusing how fast she discards the dildo, crawls over between his legs, resting her cheek against his thigh. He’d feel flattered but he’s too distracted by the way her breasts move underneath her flimsy shirt, the outline of her hard nipples pressing against the fabric. It is getting harder and harder to stick to their routine, to limit their lessons to this one simple thing. But he’s not sure if he can allow himself to go further yet, not when he just crossed another bridge of her safety, encroaching on her space. Her comfort sits above all else, especially above his own whims.

“Will you take off my shoes before we start?” he asks, stroking over her cheek with a gloved finger. She is all bare-faced, her hair still a little damp, beautiful and so trusting, letting him see her like this. He can allow himself to feel tender for her but only when he pretends that he is the man she spoke of in the confessional. How else would he be here, with her eyes staring at him all adoringly? Him, of all people?

And she does move down to his feet, no question. When her fingers fiddle with the laces he notices how shaky she is. So far, he blamed it on the novelty of their setting, the way she seems to crave reassurance even more than usual, but now he is not certain anymore.

Even so she is gentle when she removes his black leather shoes, sets them neatly aside. Her hands come to rest on his ankles, stroking up his socks until she meets bare skin, looking up to await further instruction. He can’t hide the shiver that runs through him at her touch, subconscious as it might be, goosebumps creeping up his whole body, and for a moment they just stare at each other while he tries to find his bearings.

“Papa?”

“You can start, cara,” he says, swallowing over a lump in his throat.

Her hands travel up his legs, over his slacks this time, and when they reach his crotch she pulls them down a little more, making space. She begins by massaging around his base, fingers running through the dark hair there, kissing him wherever she can reach before she makes her way up his length and to his tip. Perhaps she has learned that in one of her books, he thinks with some humour.

This time, she keeps anxiously glancing up at him, mouthing at him with a tight jaw. He reaches out to help her relax, stroking along that soft skin underneath her chin. Her hands still tremble, even as she uses them to stroke him, lubed with her own spit tonight.

“You feel good, my dove,” he praises. “You take me so well, no need to be nervous.”

An agitated breath. She unwraps one of her hands, takes him deeper, tongue flat against his underside, wet and hot and firm. Pulling back his hood she licks along his slit, gently sucking at the tip. He moans, unable to hide the sound, and she sucks harder in response, sinking down further. It’s good, he is about to tell her as much, but then it goes too deep and she gags, pulls back, breathing through her nose just like he showed her.

“Slow,” he says. “We are in no hurry, my dove. You were doing so well. Molto, molto bene.”

She nods, takes him back in, not quite as far this time. Her second hand returns, slow stimulation, not that he minds. She is gentle with him and it has a whole different appeal, not like the messy throaty blowjobs he is used to, no, and he does not want it to be over fast, doesn’t need it to be perfect. Not when she touches him like this, like she wants to, like he’s worthy of such softness.

“Good, brava ragazza,” he whispers. “Keep going, just like that. You can take a bit more.”

She tries again, swallows him deeper until he can feel the soft roof of her mouth, but she has to gag again, her eyes watering, sucking in air through her nose. Secondo gathers her hair, tips her head up, looking at her as he mimics how he wants her to breathe. Doing her best to follow the rhythm, she steadily calms down.

When she seems alright, he allows her to continue but she is too ambitious tonight. Her teeth grace his skin when she swallows him too fast and he winces, more in surprise than in pain. When she looks up at him with some shock she gags again, harder this time, fully pulls away to breathe, sitting back on her heels. He watches, ready to move her in case she does have to throw up, but instead she begins to tremble, thick tears rolling down her nose. A sob and she curls in on herself, crying harder.

“Come here,” he says, which she ignores, at first.

He grabs her arms, pulls her up and she doesn’t fight it. When he tucks her against his chest she wraps herself around him and then she’s buried her face against him as if to hide away.

“I told you, I’m useless,” she whispers.

“Shhh, I will hear no such thing.”

She’s quiet then, still shaking, still crying, but silently now. He has an idea of what’s going through her head, only now she won’t share it, not after he cut her off like that. With some regret, he begins to caress her, soothing, trying to convey that he is not angry with her.

“Talk to me,” he says.

She hiccups. “I won’t be able to do it.”

“You were doing it, my dove,” he assures her. “You are impatient.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He coos, presses soft kisses to her hair. She tried to prove herself to him, he realises, still worried that she’s not good enough, impatient, wanting to be perfect for him already. And he knows she is a fast learner, usually, used to improving quickly, to showing her worth, but she hasn’t understood yet that this is not about perfection, not about skill but trust, intimacy, affection and care.

He doesn’t mind, no, he will show her, teach her what he truly wants. It registers to him in that moment, how rewarding it feels to hold her, to comfort her, and not just to prove to her that he can, no, though it is important that she understands. Secondo has always been a man who enjoys providing care for others, often to the neglect of his own well-being, though not always all that selflessly. For his brothers, spiritual guidance in the ranks of the church, then to care for his lovers, emotional release through physical outlets in the way he was shown as a young man. The truth is he enjoys being needed, being admired, just like she does, and perhaps it is the one thing he misses about the Papacy, as hollow as these connections were. It is not often that someone like her seeks him out, someone who offers such tenderness in return, who seems to care for him in equal amounts, who wants him to want her, no transaction.

Someone who might choose to stay.

That is what he truly wants.

“We will stop for today,” he decides. “No more until you have recovered.”

“No,” she says, sitting up to look at him with wide eyes. “No, I can keep going.”

He wipes at her tear-streaked cheeks, cradles her head. “No more tonight. We have time.”

More tears gather at her waterline and she averts her gaze, stares at her shaking hands. “Please… I promise I can do better. Just… don’t give up on me.”

“Shhh,” he whispers, a flash of pain at her broken voice, draws her back against his chest, tightly wrapped up in his arms. He’s not sure why exactly she is so tense tonight but he can tell when the head is not in it. He should have realised it sooner but it has been a while since he had to steer against uncertain winds. “You are not in the right state of mind for this tonight, cara. I should not have overwhelmed you. It is my fault and I promise will do better.”

“It’s not your fault,” she disagrees.

He sits up a little straighter. “Ragazza mia, listen to your Papa. In this room, when we meet like this, it is my task to make sure that you are comfortable, that you feel safe and taken care of and if you are scared or unhappy, then I have failed you. So let me take this blame, hm? It will not happen again.”

Her sniffles tug at his heart and he makes sure to look at her, to convey how very serious he is. Her slow nod is as much of a concession as he’ll ever get from her stubborn little head but it is good enough for him for now. For a long time after he just holds her like that, ignoring his discomfort, how hard he still is, the buckle of his belt digging into his thigh under her weight.

“I really wanted to make you come today,” she whispers, fiddling with the button below his collar. “I’ve never managed before, I thought– if I showed you–”

He draws a deep breath both in arousal and at the realisation that this is the source of her insecurities, of her impatience. “Do you not realise that this was by design?” He lifts her chin, makes sure to meet her eyes. “I did not allow you to.”

”But– why?”

Secondo sighs, unsure what to tell her. That he did not want to give away what her mouth does to him, no matter how clumsy? That he is so fatally drawn to her that he does not want this arrangement to end? That he wants to stay in control of it, can’t hand himself over just like that? The painful vulnerability he feels when she touches him with her soft hands, soft lips, soft tongue?

“It was not about that,” he says instead. “This is not for me, my dove, it is for you. I do not have to as long as you have learned a thing or two, no? It is not always the result that matters. Tell me, why do you want to learn this? Who is he to you that you care more about his enjoyment than yourself?”

“I don’t,” she says, some defensiveness in her tone. “I just– is that not what you want?”

“What I want?”

“To come.”

He chuckles. “Yes, but it is not all of it. I could do that to myself, no? With another person, it is about trust and care, my dove. Why are you intimate with someone?”

She sighs, pondering his words, sinks back down and presses herself to his chest. His hands roam her body, making use of the unexpected closeness, and he realises how he has been aching for her. He continues on when she doesn’t show any signs of discomfort and he can’t help but toy with the hem of her shirt, goes so far as to take off his gloves just to feel her skin against his fingertips. A pleased shiver runs through her body, a tiny whimper from her lips. He goes on, traces her spine up and down.

Perhaps teaching is not so much about instruction, he thinks, perhaps he has to make her understand.

When she doesn’t protest he presses his hand flat to her ribs, following the soft curve down to her waist, to her hip, back up until he can feel the swell of her breast against his finger. She gasps when he presses against it, the softest brush of his thumb over her flesh.

“Papa,” she whispers, drawing a deep breath and shivering all over. “Please–”

“Please what?”

“Touch me.”

He smiles, palms at her breast, generously, kneading, stroking, flicking his thumb over her nipple. She is a mess within seconds, writhing, whimpering, pressing herself against him. He throbs painfully against her leg that is slung over him, fighting the urge to just fuck her into the mattress until they’re both spent for the night. Secondo is a patient man, yes, but he can feel himself reaching his limit.

“Do you want more?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“You mean yes, Papa.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Good.” He grabs her hips, adjusts her backwards until she is fully on the mattress and he can tower over her. Her face is flushed, hair a mess, her nipples straining against her shirt with every ragged breath. “You trust me, my dove?”

“I trust you, Papa.”

“Then will you let me return the favour?”

She furrows her brow. “But I didn’t even–”

“No arguing,” he decides. “Yes or no?”

“Yes, Papa.”

A smug grin. “Brava ragazza. Hold up your shirt, I want to see you.”

As he climbs off the bed she obeys, gathering the hem and bunching it up until her belly and chest are exposed to him. Pleased, he takes in the state of her, her cheeks still stained with tears but glowing all the same. He adjusts his erection, removes his belt but closes the button again, feeling her eyes on him in what he assumes is anticipation, no more fear, no pressure. He puts his gloves back on, slowly, making her watch. Then, with one swift motion, he grabs the waistband of her sweats and underwear and drags them both down, ignores her mild protest. Not that he’s surprised that she’s pressing her legs together while he folds her clothes, but he makes it a point to draw out the moment nonetheless.

“Let me see you,” he says, placing the bundle of soft fabric on a nearby chair. He can’t help but pick the still damp panties up, bring them to his face, inhale deeply through his nose. The scent of her arousal is so strong that he finds himself unable to set them back down, bunches them up and stuffs them into his pocket instead.

When he turns back around, she doesn’t say anything. Her knees are drawn up, still hiding, even though her whole chest is exposed. Secondo approaches, a pointed look. She is not much of a brat, none of this is to rile him up, but that doesn’t mean he’ll let it slide in the future. Tonight, though, it is reassurance that she needs and he wants to build up her confidence again, a confidence he knows she has, if not for this particular thing.

He changes strategy, gently sitting down on the edge of the bed with a hand on her knee. “You do not have to be shy, cara. Not now.”

“What if you don’t like it?”

A laugh he can’t hold back. “I can assure you I will.”

She allows it, his hand pushing between her thighs, spreading her open for him. For now he keeps his eyes on her face, looking for any signs of discomfort, for even the tiniest indication that she is faking her consent to please him. But he finds none, intrigue and a hint of arousal already, and when he lets his gloved fingers glide down her inner thigh he can watch the goosebumps spreading all over her body.

“You are beautiful, my dove,” he says, taking her in from head to toe.

Under his gaze she fidgets but he can see her confidence growing. He makes a show to lick his lips, to stroke her skin appreciatively, sighing with pleasure at even the subtlest of touches, show her how wanted and desired she is. For months he has been waiting to see all of her but no picture of his imagination would ever live up to her now. Soft. Pliant. Perfect. His.

“Won’t you undress?” she asks after a moment.

“No.”

She furrows her brow. He won’t explain. It is a power play, of course, and she will understand on her own once she feels it. Her discomfort is fleeting, those first encounters, getting to know what he is all about, how he enjoys playing, providing what he does so well, his method, the ins and outs of where they can go. It is about trust, it is about forgetting inhibitions or restrictions or the shame that weighs her down.

“Do you enjoy this?” he asks. “When I take charge?”

He speaks those words as he moves to lean over her, settling between her legs, his face right above hers. She holds his gaze like the perfect girl she is, as though she has already understood what it is he values, what matters to him.

“I do,” she says, allowing him to bend down, mouth at her neck to which she gasps. “It is… it is a bit new to me.”

“I know, my dove, but I can tell that you are leaning into it, that you like it,” he says. “And I am proud of you for how well you are doing. That you are allowing me to show you what I can do for you, that you trust me with your mind and body.”

He kisses her cheek, then down to her jaw, tongue out to lick a stripe up below her chin. She whimpers, her hands at his shoulders now, holding on for dear life. She is sensitive and it thrills him, so much so that he can’t stop kissing her neck and jaw, nibbling, licking, for once careful not to leave any marks on her yet. At some point one of her hands comes to cradle his head and he closes his eyes, leans into the gentle massage she presses into his scalp. When he looks at her, she leans up as if to try and kiss him, but she doesn’t dare to go high enough.

For a long moment he is tempted, feels that draw, the need to devour her so fully that his lips leave a lasting imprint on hers. But he can’t, not if he wants to keep going slow, not when he doesn’t know what his heart would do if he truly felt the tender emotions that stare up at him in her wide eyes.

He makes do with another kiss to her cheek, lingering, wet, hummed into her skin, then he finally makes his way down to her breasts. At first he only blows on them, watches her nipples contract even more, gooseflesh spread over her areola, tempting him to circle one with his thumb. Her breasts feel soft agains this lips when he finally takes one into his mouth, leisurely flicking his tongue over her nipple, sucking ever so gently. Again, her body reacts strongly to his touch, her hips bucking wildly against his belly, her hand pushing his head harder against her. But it is her sounds that affect him the most, those whimpers, breathy and higher than usual, her chest moving underneath him with urgency.

“Do you want it?” he asks. “My mouth on you?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Have you been thinking about this too?”

He looks up at her flustered face and she is so embarrassed that he has to laugh. “Yes, Papa.”

“My mouth?”

“Yes, Papa. Yours, your–” Another whimper. “Your mouth, your hands, the gloves.”

“The gloves? Do you want me to keep them on?”

“Yes, please. Please–”

Her hips buck again and he shows mercy, moving over the curve of her stomach with a few peppered kisses and then down to her mound. He blows on her pubic hair, admires how she is glistening for him, so wet so fast, as though her whole body is just waiting for a morsel of his attention.

Secondo uses his hands to spread her open further, making sure she sees the imprints of his gloved fingers in her flesh, the leather too soft to creak but moving elegantly nonetheless. He is eager to taste her, has been for weeks, perhaps even months, but now that she is laid bare before him he does not want to hurry through it. If he wants to teach her patience and care then he must demonstrate it himself.

Which is unusually hard, especially when he sees her cunt twitching for him.

“Papa–” she whines, throbbing, hands shaking as they reach for the sheets. “Please, I need it.”

“I know,” he says. “I know, my dove, but you will let me admire you.”

She bites her lips and he would not mind having her beg for him but he does not want to tease her too much tonight, those are all games for another time. Instead he kisses along her inner thigh, making his way down to her core. He blows on it again, making sure she can feel her own wetness, lose her embarrassment for her very natural reactions. A look up at her face tells him she is doing better, that she is waiting with bated breath for his tongue.

He gives in, licking a flat stripe along the wetness and parting her folds to make room for him in the process. Her taste floods his senses like the first piece of a sweet summer fruit, so uniquely her that he has to close his eyes, savour it, hum out his appreciation. Once he starts he can’t get enough, it is not something he ever bothered to hide before, but for her he tries to be slow, to ease her into every new sensation, licking and sucking and moving from side to side, sounds and vibrations.

As he goes he keeps his eyes on her, drinking in every reaction, every gasp and mewl, the way her jaw falls open, stomach caving in as her muscles contract upwards into his face. He allows her a few moments in which to close her eyes, though he would usually correct her. But it is her first time, so many impressions that she needs to process, and he thinks she would not handle criticism well tonight, even if playful. No, he wants her to feel good, wants her to get addicted to the feeling of his tongue inside of her, drunk on the pleasure he provides. The rest can come later.

She moans, her fingers cramping in the sheets, and he can tell she is getting close already. He hums once more, sucks at her clit as hard as he can. A high sob breaks from her throat and her hand shoots to her mouth, covering up any further sounds.

Now that he won’t allow.

He stops, bites into her thigh to which she gasps, and when she meets his eyes he grabs her elbow and withdraws her arm from her face, linking their hands together and pressing down on her abdomen.

“But–”

“Let them hear,” he says, thinking let everyone hear, let them know you’re mine.

She follows, the other hand still buried in the sheets. He did not plan to edge her like that but he will not deprive himself of the memory of her sounds, the way they go straight to his cock and will sustain him for a few days at least. No, he wants to see her unfiltered reaction, that raw deep and awkward honesty that will help her ease up when it is her turn again.

“Papa,” she whispers when he starts again, slowly building her back up, too slowly if the urgency in her voice is any indication.

Secondo wants to draw out these moments, every quiver of her legs, every desperate grasp and throb and jitter and whimper and gasp. He feeds on it like a starving man and if she can understand this, if she can see it in his eyes how every movement of his tongue, every press of his lips, is a way to learn about her, care for her, be close to her, then he may not have failed her after all.

When she inches close again, her fingers tightening between his, he shamelessly moans against her, moving from side to side with her clit between his lips, eating, devouring her to the very best of his abilities, and she unfurls so beautifully, her voice thinning out into a scream while her legs shake on either side of his face, her hips helplessly bucking up into his mouth. He can taste her, too, her essence on his chin, his lips, his tongue, and he greedily licks it all up, keeping his face buried deep in her cunt.

He does not plan on stopping just yet. He hasn’t even been inside of her.

When he continues she makes a confused sound that he ignores. A hand on his head, pushing without any real effort. ”Papa– I can’t–“

“You can,” he mumbles into her wetness.

She doesn’t fight him, not when she knows he’s right. This time, he pushes his tongue inside of her and the way she clenches immediately tells him that she enjoys it. In a similar fashion, he tests out different movements, different intensities, sucking, licking, fucking her as best he can with his mouth. He makes her come like that thrice more, though her sounds have become hoarse and her body is a mess of jitters and quakes. It is a sight he enjoys, when the muscles turn into jelly, when the brain forgets how to work. Once he decides that he is done with her every word out of her mouth is but a babbled mess and even though he had planned to use his hands on her as well he decides to be content for tonight. No use for the gloves when she is beyond noticing.

Even as he crawls back up to her it hardly registers, her eyes already closed and her body limp, tingling, flinching at every overstimulation. He cleans off his mouth with his tongue, watches her wrecked form relax properly for the first time since he’s known her.

“Have you eaten dinner, my dove?” he asks, a kiss to her damp forehead.

She shakes her head, turns sideways to where he came to rest by her side. He leaves her there, dozing, recovering, pulls a blanket over her exposed body and uses her bathroom to clean up. He debates, making himself come just to ease the pressure, but it doesn’t feel right. Instead he takes a whiff of her perfume, her shower gel, inspects her toiletries.

When he is all done, more in tune with himself again, he lets his gaze roam over her room once more. It is not much, small like most single apartments here. It would be easy to pack it all up, though he might need another bookshelf to house her collection. His bed is devoid of any more pillows than necessary but he can see that changing as he adjusts to her. Then the image of her body amongst his soft sheets with the high-thread count, not as rough as hers, much nicer on her sensitive skin, and his dove dozing in the warm light of his black candles as he gives thanks to his Lord.

The inhumane size of the kitchenette would frustrate him if it weren’t for her nice selection of products. Good tomatoes, a high quality olive oil, a decent pan. Though her fridge is half-empty he finds a slice of supermarket parmesan, not quite living up to what he’d choose but he can work with it. If she likes Italian food he is confident that he can feed her well. It goes hand in hand for him, sex and good food, nourishing the mind and the body, and tonight she needs both.

He cuts up half of an onion she still has in her fridge, adds a clove of garlic, roasting both in a pan with a generous amount of olive oil, then cuts the tomatoes, throws them in as well and lets it all simmer. After some rummaging he finds frozen herbs in the tiny ice compartment that seem edible enough, though it pains him to add them to the sauce. Pasta boils in a pot behind the pan, barely all fitting onto that tiny stove.

While he waits he watches her sleep, pleased with himself to have worn her out so thoroughly with just his mouth. Perhaps he can repeat this evening, an extra night a week to see her, or two, if she lets him, use the privacy to take his time with her as well, slowly stretch out their arrangement until she forgets the specifics.

She stirs right when the pasta is al dente. Secondo is happy with the tomato sugo and he adds the pasta, then some pasta water, some more salt and pepper, stirs until it is creamy, the juice of the tomatoes giving the dish a subtle red colour. Out of the corner of his eye he sees her getting dressed again, making no mention of the missing panties.

“I didn’t think you’d make dinner,” she says.

“I enjoy it,” he replies. “You like Italian food?”

“I love it, yes.”

He smiles, lets her pick the plates and then shoos her off so he can serve. The table stays abandoned and it is not how he’d prefer it, not as sensual, not as perfect, but he joins her in her bed, watches her eat more so than indulging himself. Would he let her eat in his bed? Perhaps, on occasion, if he was as pleased with her as he is now. Something about her disheveled state, cross-legged, the pleasure still visible on her face. A sliver of domesticity, the vague dream of a future.

“It’s so good,” she says, mouth wrapping around another forkful.

Yes, he thinks. He would let her. He would let her do anything.

─── ⛧ ✦ ⛧ ───

He did not plan on staying as long as he does.

They finish their meal, he has her emptying the glass of water from earlier and then he has to fight her off when she tries to wash the dishes, insists that he do it, a little selfishly prolonging their time. She starts an old black and white movie that he hasn’t heard of before and he wonders if this is her way of inviting him to stay longer. He plans on leaving either way, to give her space, but when he sits down on the bed for her goodbye kiss she slips into his laps and then he doesn’t have the heart to push her away.

They settle in her bed, though he’s sure she’s not actually watching the movie, and it’s not like he is overly comfortable in his tight clothes. But he holds her regardless, chuckling when she inhales the smell of his cologne at his neck, when her hand toys at the hem of his shirt until she’s succeeded in removing it from his pants, two fingers stroking along the newly-revealed sliver of skin. He knows she wants him, she’d let him fuck her right now if he asked, have him stay the night, and he would if she were anyone else, file this night away alongside all the other short-lived encounters he’s had in the past.

But it feels wrong to fuck her now, not just because it is decidedly not a short-lived encounter but because he enjoys her too much and if he moved ahead now it would change, would feel different, and he does not want it to end like all the other times he’s done this. She doesn’t push for anything, successfully bribed him into staying because she wanted him to, not for sex but for his company, and when has that ever happened? Secondo has touched gold, fingertips coated in her richness, and it would be foolish to stick his greedy hand in too fast and burn himself.

No, he will have her but it will be in his own bed, on his own terms, when this charade is over and he knows she’s there to stay.

“Can I ask you a question?” she says after a while.

He’s surprised to hear her voice, so quiet she’s been for the past hour. “What is it, my dove?”

“What should I do if– What should I do if I can never use my mouth like that?”

A displeased hum. “Are you still thinking about this? Did I not distract you enough?”

“I just– I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go all the way.”

“Then you won’t.”

She sits up, looking down at his face. “What do you mean?”

“There are things you can do without taking him into your throat.”

“But what if he only enjoys the real thing?”

“There is no real thing,” he says. “This is not porn, hm? It is all real.”

She rolls her eyes and he grabs her chin, eyes narrowing. Her mouth opens but she doesn’t protest.

“Some men like when you speak to them,” he explains, not letting go of her. “Tell them what you want to do, that you are enjoying it, that you want to feel them come in your mouth. You can use whatever you can reach, massage his skin, his thighs, his balls, lick them, kiss them, bite even, if he is not a coward. You stimulate him with your hand during that time, just like you do with me. You can try touching more of him as well, his back, his taint, use your nails on his ass, anywhere he reacts and when you do it right you won’t need to swallow more than his tip, hm? Everyone enjoys different things, there is not a law you have to follow.”

She stares at him during his speech, his mouth, her hand moving to cup his jaw and stroking so tenderly that he almost feels the urge to pull away. “So, what **do you enjoy?”

His brain short-circuits at her emphasis and she is faster than he recovers, crawling down his body and fiddling with his pants.

“I want to try again,” she decides and he didn’t realise how hard he is. “Will you tell me what you like, Papa?”

“You don’t have to, my dove, I told you I am perfectly content.”

“But I want to. I feel better.”

She unzips him, pulling his pants down further for better access and he is still stuck on her words, what do you enjoy? But then she palms him and he snaps back into himself, grabs her wrist, holding her in place.

“No.” She looks up, taken aback. He swallows. “Before you try we will need a signal. When it is too much you will pinch my leg three times, yes?”

“Okay.” She shows him the gesture, looks at him, still a little startled, and he tries to relax, tries to allow himself to feel what he feels. It is too much at once, this evening, and yet he is unwilling to stop.

“Go slow in the beginning,” he says. “I like to take my time. You can explore and I will let you know what is good. You do not have to speak, I prefer different sounds.”

She does as he said, stroking him wherever she can reach, his hips, his abdomen, carding through his dark hair with gentle fingertips, then grabbing harder at his sides, scratching at the curve of his ass where it meets her mattress. Her mouth follows her trail with kisses, soft, a little too soft after a while.

“More,” he says. “Suck and bite, scratch.”

Her lips press firmer, nibbling on the curve of his lower belly, biting with some hesitation until he encourages her with a hand on the back of her head and she actually bites. It is good, this is what he knows, and he finds back to his outward self, his mind less clouded by emotion. Her lips reach the base of his cock and she looks up at him when her hand closes around his balls, cradling them, slow and careful movements, licking at his length as she does. He has to hold back a moan. This is what he was talking about, the way she is not even aware of what each little touch does to him.

“Good,” he says. “Brava ragazza, just like that. Do you see? It is not about deep and intense, hm?”

Her nod makes him smile, the way she closes her eyes when she properly tastes him, mouthing at his shaft, licking and sucking from the side, one hand fisting his tip, spreading his precome all over him. Yes, he could come like that, if she kept it up. It is her growing confidence that really gets him, her moans, the way she seems to finally allow herself to enjoy the process. Despite her overwhelm she did pay attention to what he did to her earlier, using it to her advantage now.

“You learn fast, cara. Very good.” Secondo pets her head to which she opens her eyes. “Your mouth is divine, my dove. Just like that, yes.”

The flustered tensing of her jaw and she is moving her hips, subconsciously searching for him, some relief for her own needs. He lets his hand roam her back, almost wishing she’d be closer so he could feel how wet she is. But this position is more comfortable for her so he lets her continue, increasing the pressure more and more, one hand dipping lower to his taint, massaging, pressing down exactly where he enjoys, and he clenches hard, not holding back any reactions now. She notices, looks at him with some awe which seems to encourage her to finally take his tip between her lips.

“Brava ragazza, you like how my cock tastes, hm?” he asks, watching her nod, comfortably taking him deeper now that her whole jaw and mouth are more relaxed. She doesn’t gag this time, breathes well through her nose, one hand wrapped around him and the other one still fondling with further down. “You can take more but you do not have to, my dove. You look beautiful like this, an unholy sight. Just keep going like this.”

She does take more, just a little, testing her own limits. He is proud, cannot help it, the way she responds to his guidance, learns, explores, understands. Her mouth is hot, her tongue active around him, sucking, licking, bobbing her head lightly, just enough to give the impression of friction, and her hands work on him with precision.

He feels it, then, that building pleasure, the tension in his lower body, heat and want and– no, higher up in his chest, his affection for her, burning through his shirt, into the mattress, up to his face. Everything feels hot, his hands sweating, and she looks up at him so fondly that he loses all control over himself.

“My dove,” he breathes, a desperate moan breaking from his lips when she sucks on his exposed tip, her tongue pressed to his frenulum. “I’m close. If you do not– do not want me to come in your mouth you need to– to let go.”

She beams, there is no other word, and he doesn’t bother to compose himself. Her face lights up, her confidence more pronounced than ever, ambition behind those pretty eyes. But she does not let go, keeps working him up, hand twisting around his base, covered in spit and his own arousal, slick and deft. His hand, still in her hair, grabs it tighter now, holding on for dear life, trying not to shove himself in deeper. She moans so beautifully around him while she sucks him off that he can’t hold back any longer. When he comes it is with a strangled, helpless groan, his balls tightening in her gentle grasp until he empties himself in her mouth. She obediently looks up at him throughout, taking him a little deeper as if to feel him quivering inside of her. After everything he held back tonight it is more intense than expected and he fills her until his come is dripping from the corners of her mouth.

She swallows. A proud smile on her swollen lips, still stained with his come.

He lets his head fall back, spent, staring at the ceiling for a moment while stars dance in front of his eyes and the pleasure slowly fades. He’s barely noticing how she licks him clean, tucks him back into his pants, closes the button, wiping at her mouth.

“I did it,” she says and he laughs, a full body laugh, a little incredulous that he just let this all happen. “Papa?”

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, it was good, my dove. You were perfect, my perfect girl.”

She straddles him with a smile and he indulges her when her hands slip underneath his shirt, press into his soft belly. Gathering his wits he sits up until they are face to face. He’d kiss her, he wants to kiss her, but if he did he would not leave this room tonight.

“Bella, bella ragazza,” he whispers. “Do you see? It is not about taking it as deep as it goes.”

“So you liked it?”

He wipes at her lips, smoothes down her hair and huffs a laugh. “I think I did, hm? Look at you, all wrecked for me. What a sight.”

Even now she flusters and he can’t shake the smile that seems to stick to his lips. He moves his other hand to her head as well, cradling her jaw, and begins to massage her tense muscles. She moans in relief, leaning into his touch with closed eyes. Thumbs pressing below her jaw, his other fingers sweep over her cheeks and jawbone, then down her neck.

“You are not used to it yet,” he observes. “It will get better.”

“It’s okay,” she says.

“Hm, you say this now but wait until you are sore tomorrow.”

“Then you just have to come back and do this again.”

He scoffs, thinking that he would, that he will, if she asks him. She seems happy now, relieved, back to her usual self, and he enjoys it. This is how he wants her, not crying at his feet.

“Will you stay over?” she asks and he winces, lets his hands rest on her shoulders.

“No, my dove,” he says. “But I can stay until you are asleep.”

She doesn’t seem as disappointed as he’d feared and the smile she gifts him seems genuine. Once he is satisfied with the state of her jaw muscles he lets her recline, sink back into the pillows. The film has ended and he turns off the television, rests on his side with her for a while. She is tired, worn out, and though he feels a similar exhaustion his departure doesn’t feel very urgent, not even when her eyes close and she drifts off.

He waits a little longer, watching her so calm and relaxed. His belt is somewhere on the floor, as are his shoes, and he slowly gets dressed, gathers himself back together and stands on heavy legs.

“Wait,” she grumbles, not quite asleep after all, and crawls up to him on her knees. “Papa, you’re forgetting.”

He gives a rumbled laugh and sits back down, leans towards her. Her lips press to his face, not on his cheek where he expects them, no, but hitting the corners of his mouth with purpose. She lingers, kissing him slowly, his face in her hand, and when she retreats he is filled with regret that he did not turn his face after all.

─── ⛧ ✦ ⛧ ───

IV – Stay

Over the next few weeks they make a lot of progress. A lot of progress – and a lot of exceptions.

Secondo is blurring the lines between guiding and indulging and something more, allowing the tenderness between them to bloom. He is aware that he’s lying to himself, not that he really cares. Telling himself that it is all part of his promise to help her is easier, that she needs it and he is merely providing it for her. Assessing risks is something he is good at, knowing where the fun of the gamble ends, but now he is powering with his heart – and he’s gone all in.

But she is improving, getting more and more comfortable with her mouth, taking him deeper, working more confidently through her gag reflex with focused breathing and short breaks, enjoying their time together, initiating it all on her own. This is the agreement, yes, but he has been selfish, getting his mouth on her almost every time, using his fingers, seeing her response to whatever new idea he has to make her come without actually taking her. Perhaps worst, he has been staying over longer and longer, aching when he has to let her go, when she bemoans the loss of him, when he watches her fall asleep alone as he closes the door to her rooms.

Then he is gone for almost a week.

It is a trip he planned months ago to retrieve two Renaissance paintings from Urbino, a private collector who offered him first access should he want them. Secondo traverses the arcaded courtyard of the Palazzo Ducale, marvelling at the architecture, his business concluded, the paintings ready to be shipped, his last day spent taking in the city’s sights before he leaves. She will enjoy them, if her taste regarding his existing collection is any indication, and he is looking forward to showing her his newest acquisitions once they arrive. In his absence he allowed her to proceed without him, finally cataloguing the latest arrival of books, and all week he kept imagining her alone in the basement.

Secondo does not miss. He has missed people in the past, of course, he misses his late mother, his nonna, he even misses his brothers when they’re away, but the last time he missed a woman it did not end well for him. His youth was spent in such daydreams, with the experiments of love, travelling around for the clergy, emotional as well as physical distances his relationships never survived, a broken heart he stitched together so many times that the scars have left it numb.

The late evening sun shines down on him as he walks back to his hotel over cobbled streets, ready to take a light dinner and pack his belongings. His heart, not so numb anymore, cries out for one person in particular and suddenly he does miss again. He’s been thinking of calling her but discarded the idea just as often as it arrived. Secondo knows he is not an innocent man, that he made mistakes, alienated people who might have loved him had he lowered his walls. A loneliness decades in the making, now fractured by this woman who is too lovely for him, who cried at his feet, who asked him not to give up on her.

He knows he is being stubborn, doesn’t care about that either. He can get what he wants, he has done all he was willing to do, but now he doesn’t want to sway anymore, doesn’t want to impose, doesn't want to beg. She has to say it, ask him, tell him, or he will not go any further. He has shown his intentions but he won’t expose his heart. If there ever was another man he’s certain that he’s forgotten by now but she has not corrected him about that night, hasn’t told him, hasn’t made any implications, and he will not be the fool to ask for more than anyone thinks he’s worth. Not again.

Yes, he wants her in his bed, wants her in his life, but not for the arrangement.

The arrangement be damned.

After seeing her kitchen it is easy to think of a gift, a bottle of expensive olive oil, a generous wedge of real parmigiano reggiano, and he can’t help it, old romantic sap that he is, and stops for a bouquet of red roses before he arrives at home. The thought of visiting her is quickly forgotten when he enters his own apartments, feels the raging emptiness. He wants her here, for the rest of his life.

She’s knocking an hour later, one short message sent to her door, conjuring her at his will. He tries not to let it go to his head, unsuccessfully, tells himself that she must have been waiting for him. And maybe she did because then he sees her, a little dressed up, lipstick, her hair done nicely, and she hugs him like she always hugs him, only somehow tighter, a full body effort, pressing herself to him until she can go no further, her face buried in his neck and her nose inhaling his scent. Secondo cannot deny that he loves these moments. He holds her equally tight, breathing into her hair that smells like flowers. Today, she greets him with multiple kisses to his cheek, covering every inch of it, then she stills, sighs, clings to him with clenched fingers.

“I missed you,” she whispers, like she’s not sure if she’s allowed to say it.

“I have missed you as well, my dove,” he admits, his heart jumping. “And I brought you a gift.”

“A gift?”

He leads her over to his open kitchen, the flowers throning over the other items and her expression is everything he had hoped for, everything he ever hoped for. Smiles, a happy laugh, her nose in the roses. More kisses to his cheek, more of her, thanking him, touching him, reassuring him. Then he shows her his apartment, watching with rapt attention how she likes it, letting her explore on her own to prepare a light meal in his kitchen. As always he brought more food from Italy than he had planned to, but at least now he has someone to share.

“I own a lot of books but there is always room,” he says when he sees her eyes on his shelves.

“Room?” She scans the titles, a big chunk of his collection, as yet uncatalogued. Many volumes she has never seen before, some particularly impressive ones, and he enjoys watching her browsing with such interest.

“Room for more,” he explains. “Not necessarily mine.”

Her eyes move to him, curious but not averse. “I never thought there was much room in your life. You seem… comfortable, on your own.”

Secondo scoffs, cutting up some fresh bread. Is this how he comes across? Well, he should not be surprised, and yet it stings to hear it from her. Did he not allow her closer than anyone else?

“There is room,” he just says, if you want it.

She joins him, popping an olive into her mouth, a hand snaking around his waist. “Did your work all go to plan?”

“It did, I acquired two rare paintings for a reasonable price. You will see them as soon as they arrive.”

”Secondo–“

It is the first time she uses this name for him and he stops cutting up his tomatoes, looks at her. “Yes?”

“I really did miss you. I feel like– perhaps I should–” She stops, looking away. “I suppose I just want you to know.”

“Did something happen?” he asks, alarmed by the change in her voice. “Did that man hurt you?”

“No! No, nothing like that.”

A pause and he wills her to say it, to admit that he doesn’t exist or that he exists but does not matter anymore. The thought passes and the longer he looks at her the less he cares about anything else. She is beautiful tonight, every night, but something about her wanting to impress this upon him makes it harder to resist.

He stops his preparations, mentally postponing the meal, and pulls her out of the kitchen. His record player is over by the bookshelf she just inspected and he picks a slow tune, some soft rock compilation from the 70s. At first he simply reaches for her hands, pulls them to his chest, swaying with her. She smiles, leans into him. The music is slow enough for them to continue like this, though he needs her closer soon, reaches for her hips, and she obediently wraps her arms around his neck.

This could be their life, he thinks as he looks down at her mellow expression. This could be their future.

“I really like your apartment,” she says after a moment. “It’s not huge but– you use the space well.”

“You would not mind spending more time here?”

“I would not mind at all.”

A kiss to her forehead. “Good.”

She rests her head against his shoulder and they stop moving, listening to the rest of the song. A lot goes through his head then, how he’d take her to Italy with him the next time he goes, how her books would fit into his shelves, her pillows onto the sofa, how he’d like to hear her slow footsteps every morning before she joins him in the kitchen, how he’ll ruin the life of anyone who dares to lay a hand on her.

“You have lipstick on your cheek,” she says, reaching up to wipe at his skin.

She never finishes. He cradles her face in both hands, angling her so that he can look right into her confused eyes. Her arm limply falls away, dangling at her side. Secondo leans down, pressing his lips to her cheek, to the corner of her mouth, to her nose, to her chin, then repeats it on the other side.

“It’s not time for our goodbye kiss yet,” she whispers.

“This is not a goodbye kiss.”

When he captures her lips she falls against him, her hands grasping at his shirt. Even though he plans to go slow her eagerness is catching and he presses in firmer, his thumbs at her jaw, controlling how she moves, swallowing every little whimper. She gives up control within seconds, allowing him to kiss her as he pleases, slow, deep, opening her up for him until he can get his first taste.

A part of him gets lost, a heaviness that dissipates, an invisible hand around his neck that loosens its grasp until he can breathe again, sees his own reflection in the mirror of his mind. It is not the same bitter old man staring back at him, no hard lines, no scowl, no narrowed eyes, but a young man with hopes and dreams and a smile. Who finally has what he’s been longing for.

Secondo breaks way, not far, just enough to clear his head.

“I missed you,” she says against his lips. “I missed eating with you, I missed you in my bed. I missed your company in the basement and I missed you during mass. I missed touching you, feeling you, tasting you. I missed having you in my mouth. I missed it so much.”

He swallows, his throat suddenly tight, and he decides to steer them back into familiar territory. “Do you wish to remedy that, my dove?”

“Please.”

He leads her into his bedroom, not to the bed, not yet, no, but he lowers himself into the brown leather armchair in the corner. It feels grotesque, almost, to have her here, a place that is filled with memories of so many carnal nights that she might cry, could she see them, knowing her fear of inferiority. But looking up at her now, he realises that her confidence isn’t wavering, and perhaps this is the sign he needed that their lessons are over.

“Papa?” She motions to his shirt. “I would like to undress you, this time.”

“You may open the buttons,” he says. “Take off my shoes and slacks. Nothing else.”

She doesn’t fight him, starts with his slacks, then unbuttons the shirt, and he realises what her plan is, the journey given as much attention as the destination itself. Secondo smiles when her hands don’t seem to leave his chest, carding through thick hair like an insistent brush, back and forth, scratching just enough to leave a few red marks. She goes as slow as she has learned he enjoys, a similar path but never the same, a few surprises, like her tongue pressed to his balls or her teeth on the inside of his thigh. He relaxes, the leather soft on his skin, the world returning to normal.

“I thought you missed my cock,” he says after a while, teasing, and she laughs with her lips on his balls until his cock jumps in her hand.

“I did,” she whispers. “But I missed the rest of you, too, Papa.”

He smiles, pleased with her, gently petting her hair. “I do not have to tell you anymore, hm? You know just what I like to hear.”

He feels another laugh, at the base of his cock this time, and she sinks down on him with a long sigh, licking as if to greet his taste, taking him as deep as he knows she can comfortably do now. It is enough to make him feel how wet and tight her mouth is and there is nothing he would miss, no matter how she took him. And yet this time she swallows him deeper, ever deeper, and he wonders if she has been practicing without him.

“My dove,” he says, breathless, his whole body attuned to the heat of her.

“Hm?”

“Cazzo,” he exhales and then his hips buck and he hits the back of her throat, the sensation more than he expected, the word followed by a deep moan and the sound of her gagging. She’s not pulling away, breathing perfectly, waiting it out. His body must have missed her, betraying him once more with the intensity of each little shock that goes through him.

She has to let to go to breathe, then, tears rolling down her face from the sudden movement and mixing in with the drool around her mouth and chin. Secondo pats her cheek for a moment but once he sees she has recovered he pushes her head down again, forcing his cock back into her mouth. She immediately gags as he hits her throat once more but he won’t let her get off completely again.

“You look so pretty when you choke on your Papa’s cock,” he says. “Breathe, my dove. Very good.”

She inhales deeply through her nose, following along with his rhythm and soon she swivels her tongue around him again, doing so well tonight. His fingers are still on her head and he lets them glide over her cheek as tenderly as he can muster, aroused as he is, wiping some of the drool away. She looks up at him, batting her eyelashes, and slowly drags her mouth over him, using the few precious seconds he spends taking her in to recuperate.

“Hmm, mia brava ragazza, taking me so well, molto bene,” he mumbles and she beams at the praise, speeding up slightly as if to prove to him just how good she is. “I do not think you have anything more to learn. Una ragazza perfetta con una bocca perfetta.”

She whimpers at those words, sucking him deep until she can swallow around him, every little gag in her throat gripping him tight. Secondo doesn’t have much left, he knows it, not tonight, not with how she’s moving. And she is a mess, spit and his arousal coating her mouth, running down her hand where it works at his base.

“Stop,” he says, feeling his lower body tighten. “Stop, my dove. Come here.”

A displeased look washes over her face that he doesn’t let her finish but she obeys, as she always does, letting go of him and crawling into his lap. She is breathing heavily, wiping at her mouth, and he pulls off his gloves.

“Come here, let your Papa help you.”

He uses his thumb to clean the mess on her chin only to push it into her mouth. She obediently licks off the fluids, sucking a little longer than necessary. Secondo hums in appreciation, watching with an affectionate, blissful expression he can’t be bothered to hide. His cock is throbbing, waiting to be inside of her, but he can’t just yet.

“We are done,” he says. “I will not teach you how to use your mouth anymore.”

”But–“ Her face falls, her lips quivering. “Papa– I’m sure there’s more–”

“You know what do now,” he continues. “You do not have to worry any longer.”

“But Papa– Secondo–” Her eyes begin to water, not from overstimulation this time. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Then tell me,” he says, trying not to sound as desperate as he feels. “Tell me you do not want anyone else. Tell me you only want me.”

“I don’t want anyone else. I only want you.”

“Swear it, my dove. Swear it, right now, before Lucifer.”

“I swear it. I swear it.”

It is enough. It has to be enough. He inhales a shaky breath, his own eyes stinging as he looks up at her wet cheeks. Without hesitation his hands reach for her, holding her face between his palms, and she doesn’t once glance away. “Stay.”

“What?”

“Stay, tonight. Every night.”

Her eyes widen but she nods a moment later, leans in, and he kisses her with a bruising force that neither of them see coming. Her gasps go straight to his cock and he can feel how wet she is when she grinds down on him, her thighs shaking and tensing. With a tight grasp he holds her hips still, his tongue pushing into her mouth, feeling her, tasting himself on her. It is enough, he thinks again. This is enough.

Even though his knees are weak he manages to grab her hips and get up, dragging her over to the bed and dropping her onto the mattress. It is everything and nothing like he imagined, the image of a divine creature spread out amidst his soft sheets. He hates that he is impatient now, after months and months of waiting, praying, hoping for this, and yet his hunger is that of a starving vulture, waiting to devour.

He undresses her just enough to feel some of her skin, to be able to touch her breasts, her legs.

“Say it,” he whispers. “Say it again.”

“I want you,” she chokes out. “I only want you, Papa.”

It draws a moan from him, the absolute conviction in her voice, her gaze never straying from his, her hands on him, roaming his body, desperate, his fingers fully sheathed inside of her, his tongue on her throat, his teeth in her skin. She’s whimpering, clawing, waiting, and he’s had enough.

“I will fuck you now,” he says, a hoarse whisper against her ear. “But there is one condition.”

“Wh-what condition?”

He lines himself up, his tip pressed to her heat but going no further. She cries out in despair like he’s physically hurt her, more cries and sobs. When he looks at her she’s clenching every muscle, her face streaked with tears and ruined make-up.

“You have something to confess to me, ragazza mia,” he says, taking some pity. “Tomorrow night, you will be in the chapel and I expect you to be honest.”

She nods, feverishly grasping at him, a whimpered yes falling from her lips as he finally sinks into her. Deep, slow, perfect. Another tear rolls down her cheek and he kisses it away, holding her face in his hand.

“Promise me,” he breathes, his voice soft now, barely audible.

“I promise,” she whispers and he slowly begins to fuck her. “I promise, Papa. I would do anything.”

He nods, groans, and then the world blurs around him.

V – Confession, Pt. 2

The calming rustle of paper. Secondo turns the page of his book, a paperback copy of –– which he only recently started on her recommendation. The chapel is quiet, the last Sibling left half an hour prior and he has been waiting ever since. He can’t say that he’s nervous, not after last night, and yet a heaviness sits in his stomach like a stone sunk deep into the ocean, the weight of this commitment, equal parts a comfort and intimidating.

When he notices the steps he can tell right away that it’s her, familiar as he has become with her rhythm. The door to the booth opens to a shaky breath and she sits, as she sat all these months ago, shifting around on the worn-down wooden plank that is separated from him by nothing more than a thin latticed wall.

“Sorella,” he says in greeting.

“Good evening, Papa. There is… there is something I wish to confess to you.” The wood creaks, her face closer to the lattice when she continues. “It has been weighing on me ever since I came to you for the first time but I have been a coward. I wasn’t truthful with you and I want to remedy that tonight.”

“I see.” He closes his book, sets it aside. “And have you been repenting for your transgression?”

”To be honest, I thought perhaps you might assist me with that.”

He smiles at the hint of teasing in her voice. “Join me over here, sorella.”

He listens as she steps out of her booth, opening the door to his without hesitation this time. Secondo can’t help the pride he feels at the way she carries herself now, confident in her submission to him, not hesitating to demand what she wants and needs. He’ll take her home with him after this, worship the very essence of her.

“Come here,” he says, patting his cassocked knee.

She sits down, already losing her concentration, her eyes on his mouth, her hands fiddling with his collar. It is just as well, he wasn’t planning on having a fair conversation anyway. His hands work themselves up her legs, dragging the hem of her habit with them, the gloves she so loves toying at her stockings. As expected she whimpers at the slightest of touches, her cunt clenching.

“I know what you want to confess to me,” he says. “You are not a good liar, sorella.”

She smiles at that, biting her lower lip to hide it. “I never said I was, Papa.”

Secondo drags his hands up her body now, groping at her flesh, sighing when he feels her breasts underneath the fabric. She leans into his touch, grinding not quite so subtle on his thigh. His eyes move up to her face and he lets one of his hands follow, tracing the line of her jaw before he grabs it between two fingers, forces their gazes to meet.

“When you came to me, sorella, you told me there was someone,” he elaborates. “A man, to be precise. Now tell me, and do not lie again, did you think of me when you went to confess to my brother? Was it my cock you imagined in your mouth, when you wished to learn how to please a man? Were you shocked when you heard my voice instead? The very man you were speaking of?”

“Yes. Yes. It’s all true.”

His grasp tightens, his eyes narrowed. “Why did you not tell me that night?”

“I was so embarrassed, Papa, I– I didn’t know how.”

“And later, why did you never admit it?”

“I wanted to keep seeing you,” she says, her voice shaking a little, as though she’s not sure if he’s truly upset with her. “I was worried you’d stop if you knew– if you knew how I felt about you. I didn’t think you’d feel the same.”

He lets go of her chin, cradles her cheek instead with his thumb toying at her lips. She relaxes and he strokes her for a moment, unclenching his features, softening his gaze. “That night you called me your friend, sorella. Am I a friend to you still?”

“No,” she says, visible swallowing. “You are still a friend, in– in some ways. But also more. A lot more. I can’t imagine a life without you, Papa.”

He pushes his thumb into her mouth, then, and she greedily sucks it in deeper, her cheek safe in the curve of his palm. “There is no life without me, my dove. You swore it before Lucifer. There is no one else.”

She nods, closing her eyes when he begins to stroke her hair with his other hand, moving down her jaw, her neck, holding her there, though not squeezing, his thumb against her windpipe to feel every swallow at his fingertip.

“You are mine,” he says. “And I am yours.”

At that she lets go, bringing one hand from his neck to his face, mirroring the way he’s holding her. Her gaze is serious, her eyes staring down at him with an intensity that chills him.

“Will you swear it?” she asks. “Before Lucifer?”

“I swear it.”

She smiles, big, bright and honest, and he breaks the game, returns it, pulling her face down to his until he can feel her breath on his skin.

“This is not a goodbye kiss,” she mimics from the night before.

He scoffs, stopping just before their lips touch. “There will be no more goodbye kisses, my dove. This is forever.”

thank you for reading <3 i know this was long, if you made it hear then kudos to you! as always, likes, kudos, comments and reblogs are appreciated but most of all i hope you had fun reading this story!

Masterlist – my Ao3 – Join my tag list

#papa emeritus ii x reader #secondo x reader #papa emeritus ii fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fic #reader insert #female reader #secondo smut #papa emeritus ii smut

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lilangelbud · 3 days ago

Note

Could we get something with a breeding kink with either dad x daughter or big bro x lil sis? Like maybe they think she was made for them specifically?? Hope you’re having a good day!

She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her reflection in the dusty mirror across the room. Her father had always kept it there, a relic from some forgotten time. She wondered why he never moved it. Maybe he likes to see himself in it, she thought, though the idea made her stomach twist.

She heard his footsteps in the hallway, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring the sound of his own movement. Her heart skipped a beat, and she smoothed her hands over her thighs, trying to calm the rising tension in her chest. When the door creaked open, she didn’t turn around. She just kept staring at the mirror, watching his reflection hover in the doorway.

“You’ve been quiet today,” he said, his voice low and rough, like it was scraping against the edges of his throat.

She shrugged, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “Just thinking.”

He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. The sound of the latch clicking into place echoed in the room like a gunshot. He walked over to the bed, his shadow falling over her as he stood behind her. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, the way it always did when he was this close. It was like he had his own frequency, something that buzzed under her skin.

“About what?” he asked, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. His touch was firm, possessive, like he was reminding her who she belonged to.

She swallowed hard, her eyes flickering up to meet his in the mirror. “About… things.”

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made her toes curl. “You’ve always been bad at lying to me. Out with it.”

She hesitated, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “I was thinking about… what you said. The other day.”

His fingers tightened on her shoulder, and she felt him lean in closer, his breath warm against the side of her neck. “And what did I say?”

“That I was… made for you.” Her voice was barely a whisper, like she was afraid the words would shatter if she spoke them too loudly.

He hummed, the sound vibrating through her skin. “And what do you think about that?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse of his face in the mirror. His eyes were dark, intense, like he was already seeing something she couldn’t. It made her feel exposed, like he was peeling her layers back one by one.

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted, her voice trembling. “It’s a lot to think about.”

His hand slid down her arm, his fingers tracing the curve of her elbow before coming to rest on her wrist. He turned it over, his thumb brushing against the delicate skin there. “You don’t have to think about it,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You just have to accept it.”

Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. “What do you mean?”

He stepped around the bed, coming to stand in front of her. He crouched down, his hands resting on her knees as he looked up at her. “You were made for me,” he said, his voice firm, like he was stating a fact. “Every part of you. Your body, your mind, your soul… it’s all mine. And I’m going to claim it.”

Her legs trembled, her thighs pressing together as a shiver ran through her. “Claim it?” she echoed, her voice barely audible.

He nodded, his hands sliding up her thighs, pushing the hem of her dress higher. “Yes. Claim it. Make sure you know, deep down, that you’re mine. That you were always meant to be mine.”

Her heart was racing now, her skin tingling where his hands touched her. She could feel the heat pooling between her legs, a familiar ache that made her squirm in her seat. “How… how are you going to do that?” she asked, her voice trembling.

He smirked, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties. “By making sure you can’t forget it.”

She gasped as he pulled them down, her body arching off the bed as he tossed them aside. He stood, his hands sliding up her thighs and spreading them apart. She could feel the cool air against her bare skin, the vulnerability making her cheeks burn.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice dripping with admiration. “Perfect. Every inch of you. You were made for me. To carry my seed. To bear my children.”

Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening as his words sunk in. “You… you want me to…” she trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

He nodded, his fingers brushing against her wetness, making her gasp. “Yes. I want to fill you, to make you mine in every way possible. To see you round with my child.”

Her head fell back, a moan slipping past her lips as his fingers teased her clit. “Daddy…”

“That’s right,” he growled, his voice low and possessive. “Say it again.”

“Daddy…” she whimpered, her hips rolling against his hand. “Please…”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. “Please what? Tell me what you want.”

She hesitated, her body trembling as she tried to find the words. “I want… I want you to… claim me.”

His hand stilled, and she whined at the loss of contact. But then he was standing, his hands pulling her to the edge of the bed. “Then I will,” he said, his voice firm. “But remember, this is what you were made for. This is your purpose.”

She nodded, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched him undress. His body was strong, powerful, every inch of him demanding her attention. When he was finally naked, he stepped between her legs, his cock hard and throbbing against his stomach.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his hands gripping her thighs. “Look at me while I take what’s mine.”

Her eyes locked with his, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as he lined himself up with her entrance. He pushed in slowly, his cock stretching her in a way that made her cry out. Her nails dug into the sheets, her body arching off the bed as he filled her completely.

“Mine,” he growled, his hips snapping forward as he began to move. “All mine.”

#fauxcest #fauxc3st #1cky family #!cky thoughts #dad k!nk #dad kink #dad k1nk #dadcest #dadcon #dad x daughter #dad daughter #1cky daughter #1cky d@d #1cky d4ddy #!cky k!dd0 #!cky daddy #!cky k!ddo #!cky daughter #lilangelbud

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bruisedboys · 2 days ago

Note

girl your finnick fics are so good!! Could you maybe write something about victor!reader and the games just ending and finnick comforting her? ❤️

hii honey! this is another veryyy old request and has been in my drafts forever but I’m posting it anyway yolo

finnick odair x victor!reader

You wake with a hand in yours. It’s heavy and warm. Familiar. The name of it’s owner is on your tongue before you’ve even thought it.

“Finnick?”

Movement to your left. You blink your eyes open, sluggish. Your eyelids feel so, so heavy, like they’ve been glued down while you’ve been out. A cloud of soft white light is the first thing you see, and then Finnick’s face comes into view.

He’s smiling. It doesn’t reach his eyes. His eyes are swimming with a cloudy sort of worry. “Hey. Hi, sweetheart. Don’t move, just— take it easy, okay? You’ve been out for a while.”

He’s telling you not to move, but you desperately want to move anyway. You’re dying to hug him, to feel him just to make sure he’s real and you’re not dead or dreaming or just plain going crazy. You dig your fingers into his wrist, forgetting to be gentle.

“Finnick,” you say again. Your voice is so shaky. You’ve been out for a while, he’d said. How long is a while?

“You’re okay,” Finnick says quickly. He leans over you and takes your face in his hands, swiping at tears that you didn’t know were there. “It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re out, honey. You made it out.”

Out? You blink up at him, feeling half blinded. It takes you a moment, but finally you realise, with a bizarre mix of dread and relief, what he’s saying. You’re out of the arena. You’ve won.

You can’t quite bring yourself to be pleased, though. Not when so many awful things happened to you in the arena. They swarm you like flies suddenly, pinching at your skin, your heart, until it’s all you can do to not start hyperventilating. Your bottom lip wobbles.

“Finnick—“ you cut yourself off with a half sob. Your chest feels clogged with something sticky and hot and thick, like fresh tar has been poured down your throat. It sits and gurgles right over your heart.

Finnick doesn’t waste a second to console you.

“C’mere,” he says softly, and scoops you into the safety of his chest.

You thread your arms under his and cling to him. You feel like you might shatter into a million tiny pieces — there’s an awful sort of ringing in your ears and your heart’s going a mile a minute. You try to focus on your breathing as Finnick rubs your back, careful to avoid your left shoulder blade. It hurts, you realise very suddenly. What happened to your shoulder? You can’t remember. You don’t want to remember.

You remain in the safety of Finnick’s arms for as long as it takes you to breathe normally again. Finnick presses his mouth to your good shoulder in a long, soft kiss. You feel his warmth through the starchy fabric of your hospital gown. You think he might be shaking as badly as you. Suddenly, you’re less worried about yourself and more about him.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, barely a whisper. You’re hurting, but it’s clear that he is, too. It’s what you do, you and him. You take care of each other.

Finnick draws back. “Me? Sweetheart.” He’s almost exasperated as he pushes a strand of hair from your forehead with his thumb. He ticks it carefully behind you ear, gentle as ever. “I’m okay, I promise. I’m so proud of you. You were really brave.”

You appreciate that he doesn’t congratulate you. You don’t think you could take that. You tug at him until he’s got you in his arms again, your hands greedy where they covet the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Thank you,” you whisper. You’ll surely thank him a million times over in the coming days. It’s his doing that you’re alive right now. If it weren’t for him you’d’ve been dead within the first ten minutes.

Finnick stays silent as he kisses the side of your head. Is as much of a you’re welcome as he can manage, you think.

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 🤍

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zlut4rina · 15 hours ago

Text

Stress Reliever

Storyline: Your day was exhausting, and what better to help relax? A nice bath.

Pairings: Toxicgf!Giselle x Femreader

Warnings: smut in the tub, that's literally it.

Note: Giselle, lwk a bad gf fr (js how I like it 🥀) I had a dream abt this.

Word count: 1k short kinds to the point.

___________________________________________

It was around 6 or 7 o’clock, you don’t remember. Nor did you bother to check.

Your morning was stressful, waking up with a headache, missing your alarm, causing you to be late for work. You had to make a late call out, not wanting to go in your current state. Though it upset your boss, you couldn’t find it in you to go back and forth with her about it. You mentally accepted your future punishment.

Spilling coffee on yourself, forgetting to take the laundry out, your room being a mess, and your girlfriend hasn’t texted you back since you wished each other goodnight. You weren’t going to text her anyway.

As time passed, you felt so burned out, everything was going wrong and just stressing you out. You decided it’d be time to relax. How could that go wrong? You ran yourself a bath, occasionally checking the time, it was 8:50. All day, your patience was tested, finally having alone time and being able to relax fully. You ran yourself a bath, the room fogged up almost immediately. The heat of the atmosphere soothing your tense muscles.

It was around 9:15 when you gathered all your things to bathe. Slowly stripping yourself, loving the feel of the heat in the atmosphere and the way it hugged your skin. A sigh leaves your lips as you fully undress. You slowly stepped out from your clothes beneath you. Dipping your foot in slowly, passing the barrier of bubbles into heated water. Finally, setting your entire body, shoulder deep into the hot water, the sound of bubbles popping and sizzling echoed in your ears.

After relaxing for a few seconds, you heard your phone go off with a buzz that vibrated the tub. You reached your hand put, shaking the pink tinted soap from your palm. You saw a notification from your girlfriend.

She only liked your message from a few hours ago. You bottled up some courage to respond to her, even if you were last to text.

-Hey

You stared at the screen, waiting, hoping.

-Hi

A small smile rose and fell in the corner of your lips. So dry, as if she was forced to speak to you. Before you could complete a sentence (you were just going to delete later). She sent another message.

-I miss you, wyd?

The first three words made your heart skip a beat. It was the bare minimum, but it still made you feel loved.

-I’m in the tub rn.

You responded, she took a while to reply. Her chat bubble coming and going repeatedly.

-Oh, that sounds relaxing. How was your day?

Giselle never really acted like your girlfriend, even though she asked you out in the beginning. She was like this even before you dated. Something about her was keeping you attached. Even if she doesn’t speak to you for days, you can move on.

-Hard

Was all you replied with. She hearted the message a few seconds later. This might’ve been your longest chat all week.

-Wanna show me?

This confused you, show you? Show her what? You stared at the screen for a while, guessing she sensed your confusion through the screen she spoke again.

-What you look like rn. I wanna see.

You should be mad right now. You really should. Her dismissing your stress and only focusing on her needs right now, disgusting. But then again, who knows the next time she’ll speak to you like this, you don’t even remember the last time you kissed each other. After a while, and the silence mixed with the sound of bubbles from your bath, you complied. You opened the camera and stared at yourself for a while, then panned it low and angled at your chest. Your breast covered in soap, silk and shiny, you placed your arm under the two of them, perking them up. You snapped a few, sending them all to her immediately after. She opened them, and she didn’t respond for about three minutes.

-You look good, baby

You smiled, that feeling of validation corrupting you. Hearting her message, you replied with a thank you. She then hearted your message again. Her chat bubbled went and came at its own pace.

-Can I join you?

This message came as a surprise. She hasn’t been over to your apartment in so long.

-I’ll be a raisin by the time you get here, silly.

Chuckling at your own response, the water moving around your legs, still hot.

-Sounds like I’ll need to plump you back up huh.

The time was 9:43. You weren’t in there for long, but you still felt the need to add more hot water, maybe to please her, most likely. She was coming. You couldn’t talk her out of it even if you tried. You wanted her to come, you really did, it’s been so long.

She arrived at 9:57, her she lived almost an hour away, made you think she was waiting for this opportunity, or she was out somewhere she shouldn’t be, who knows. She knocked on the door before entering with the key you landed her. She didn’t text you that she was here, not cause she wanted to surprise you. She just didn’t do it. She didn’t knock on the bathroom door, she opened it slowly, peaking her head through, she smiled at you, that same smile you missed.

You sunk beneath the bubbles, you wet hair sticking to your shoulders and face. You looked at her with rosy cheeks. From the heat of the bath or her? You don’t even know. You never knew with her. “Room for another?” she asked, fully stepping into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. You nodded, your face flushed with a sheepish toothy smile.

She found you so cute in that moment, so vulnerable, so needy. She began to strip herself, slow, sensually locking eyes with you. You couldn’t look away, no matter how embarrassed you were. She drove you crazy, and she knew it. In the worst way, sometimes, in the best. Times like that were now. Fully stripping, she walked to you, pushing you by your shoulders as you scooted up to give her room. She placed herself behind you, pulling your back against her warm naked breast. You sat in between her legs, her arms wrapped around you waist under the water.

Giselle’s fingers dances across your skin, slow and skillfully. Exploring your curves and sensitive spots. She leaned closer to you, her breath warm against your ear, adding to the heat of the atmosphere. Kissing your ear and down to your cheek, her grip on you tightens, pulling you as close as possible. “I missed you.” You admitted. You didn’t mean to say that, out loud. You could feel the grin on her the side of your cheek. “Yeah?” she asked in a slow, husky tone. Her hands squeeze your hips, then slowly rise to your breast, pinching and twisting your nipples. You lean back into her embrace, and the back of your head rests on her shoulder. She took the opportunity to kiss and attack your neck, leaving marks and hickeys from your jawline to tour Adam’s apple.

She squeezes your soapy breast, fondling them in her hands, igniting a flame in your core. You closed your legs together, holding onto her thighs. “You like that, don’t you?” she whispered against your wet skin. Her tongue was trailing a line from your Adam’s apple to your jawline till she reached your warm plump lips. Overtaking you into a dominating wet kiss. Her hands squeezed and pinched your breast harder, making you moan into her kiss. “I wish could keep you like this forever” her tone teasing yet sincere, revealing her possessive affection she has for you. You open your eyes, locking with her. Wet and pleading, you spoke with your eyes, spit stuck to your bottom lip from her kiss. Your look drove her mad, she missed this, she knew it was her fault, that’s just how she is.

She slides her hand up you’re your neck, holding you in place as her other went down to your core. She leans in and whispers in your ear, “Your mine now.” Her voice laced with the drug of possession. Giselle let’s go of you, rising from the water and stepping out. “I’ll be right back” she said to you before leaving the bathroom. You stated at her figure for a split second, that’s all the time she gave you anyway. With a playfully glint in her eyes, she returns, her arm wrapped behind her back. Setting back down behind you, aligning you between her legs perfectly. She lifted your legs up to your chest and lifted them over hers. “What are you-“ Your words were cut off when she used one of her hands to spread your folds and push a vibrator in. Your mouth hung open as you gasped, the vibrator begins it’s work inside you.

Her hands rise back up to your breast, playing with them like a child would toys. Giselle ensured the pleasure on you builds with every passing moment. The combination of Giselle's skillful hands and the vibrations of the toy pushing you closer to the edge. Giselle’s small low chuckles as she watches your body’s cute reaction to her echoed through the room. A mix of joy and mischief as she leans in and kisses your neck, whispering sweet nothings to heighten your pleasure.

The toy intensifies inside you, Giselle kissing and marking you, she slowly dragged her hand from your breast to your clit, circling it slowly. You held onto her arm, and your other hand dug into her thigh. Your moans and whines mixing into the heat of the moment. “That’s it baby.” She kisses and bites your somehow empty unmarked spaces on your neck. “I wanna hear you scream for me.” You gasp softly, your body trembling with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. You turn your head slightly, your breath hitching in your throat as you lean and sink into Giselle’s warm and possessive embrace. You pull her into a kiss, whispering against her warm sweet lips how close you were to your climax. She smiled, her fingers moved faster in your clit, her other hand pinching and tugging at your nipple. You moaned against her jawline, panting heavily as you clenched around the toy, feeling the knot in your stomach fight back.

“Cum for me baby” Her voice soft and reassuring. You did, on command, so good for her. You came hard, but It felt so relaxing, so free, you needed this, you needed her. You pants and gasp filled the room. She planted soft kisses on your forehead and temple. “Your amazing, you know that?” her speech was genuine, sorry, and caring. You smiled weakly at her, pulling her into a kiss. “I love you, you know that?” she spoke against your lips. You nodded, stating her in the eyes. “I know.” Kissing her again, her hands roamed your sides again, slow and loving. “I love you too”

___________________________________________

#aespa #aespa smut #aespa x fem #aespa x fem reader #smut #giselle smut #giselle x fem reader #giselle aespa #giselle #aeri x reader #aeri uchinaga smut #aeri uchinaga #aespa x reader #kpop smut #kpop #gxg

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solemnvelvetangel · 3 days ago

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"Everybody wants a piece of you..." - Jealousy head cannons pt. 2

Characters Included: Osamu Dazai, Michizo Tachihara, Nikolai Gogol

Content warning: Mention of a gun in Nikolai's section

When you forget to post on tumblr for almost a year lmao.

___

“It just isn’t fair, what you put in the air. I don’t wanna’ share…”

Osamu Dazai

This man is into you.

Like… really into you.

I strongly believe that once Dazai truly falls for someone, that person will be the only one for him.

He’s had plenty of fleeting romances and flings, but you’re his first serious relationship. His first love. The first person he has ever let in. The first person to still love him despite all of his faults.

Because of that, you’re the light of his life, and he will do anything to keep you.

Despite his goofy and nonchalant demeanor, Dazai is very much a jealous man.

He doesn’t mind someone touching you, as long as it is completely platonic.

He doesn’t mind people being attracted to you. After all, you’re beautiful, of course there would be people who appreciate your looks and personality. Little crushes never hurt anyone, anyway…

However, it’s if they choose to act upon their crush and make advances on you that strikes a nerve with him.

Naturally, Dazai craves closeness with you. If anyone openly threatens the bond that you share, he gets protective.

In other words: he is deeply offended by the sheer audacity of someone coming on to his lover knowing that you’re with him.

Most would tend to think he’s whiny and loud with his jealousy, but he’s the opposite.

He shows his feelings of jealousy so subtly, you almost wouldn’t notice a difference in his demeanor.

Almost…

He’ll purse his lips, crack his knuckles and neck (a nervous habit of his), he’ll shift closer to you, he might interject into the conversation and try to change the subject.

He’ll only say something if you’re clearly uncomfortable or the person is upsetting you somehow.

As much as he’s jealous, he doesn’t want to make it seem like he’s trying to take away your autonomy.

He values your good opinion, and he wants nothing more than for you to feel safe and comfortable.

“I’m sorry if I get protective, need these boys to get the message…”

Michizo Tachihara

Tachihara is naturally protective of people he cares for, but he’s most protective of you.

He’s seen a lot of messed up stuff during his time as a Hunting Dog and being undercover in the Port Mafia, so he has always felt unsafe one way or another.

You were the first person he felt truly safe around.

Because both of his jobs are so demanding, he often fears that you’re unsatisfied with what little time you can spend together.

You best believe that he tries his damn hardest though. He puts a lot of effort into your relationship.

A lot of times he feels that your bond is delicate like a fraying thread, it could snap at any minute.

So when he feels someone is trying to get in between the two of you, they’re immediately on his radar.

Honestly, Tachihara will only notice if someone is interested in you when they’re being upfront and very flirtatious towards you.

Tachihara becomes a guard dog when anyone tries to get too close for his liking.

Typically he will just give dirty looks or throw in a few sassy remarks if someone hits on you in front of him.

If it goes on for a while, Tachihara can and will be aggressive.

His mindset is: “If you keep hitting on my partner, I’ll just take it as an invitation to beat your ass.”

He can and will fight people who disrespect you or your relationship.

“I get reckless, I’m obsessive. I’m pathetic and possessive…”

Nikolai Gogol

Oh, good lord…

This man is obsessed.

How can he not be? You allow him to be himself and let him have his fun.

You’re also the first person he has formed a genuine bond with, so he treasures you like a lost man in a desert treasures an oasis.

He’s very, very attached to you.

He always wants your attention, so anyone who takes up your time is often met with some hostility.

Depending on his mood, he will be passive-aggressive or he will be straight aggressive

He knows that you love him and would never cheat, he just doesn’t trust other people.

He also just doesn't like when your attention is on someone else for long periods of time (he's kind of an attention whore).

He can and will force himself between you and whoever you're talking to that's making him jealous.

“Why, hello! I'm Nikolai, their partner. And who might you be? What's your name?”

He will ask them a lot of questions and have a very unsettling smile on his face while doing so.

This is in hopes that they will get really uncomfortable and walk away.

When it comes to situations like this, he will use his mischief-making tendencies to his advantage.

He will find many ways to inconvenience them.

There's nothing stopping him from opening a portal above their head and dumping a bottle of ginger ale on their head.

Or, depending on how fiercely and shamelessly they were flirting with you, pointing a gun at them.

He's a little trigger happy when it comes to you.

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs #delulu #armed detective agency #decay of angels #port mafia #hunting dogs bsd #dazai osamu #michizo tachihara #nikolai gogol #bsd dazai #bsd tachihara #bsd nikolai #bsd dazai x reader #dazai x reader #tachihara x reader #nikolai gogol x reader #bsd headcanons

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yeoslattes · 2 days ago

Text

Whatever You Need

Genre: Smut

wc: 1.2k

Pairings: needy boyfriend!Yeosang x needy!girlfriend reader

Warnings: smut, minor plot, both are so needy, unprotected sex, riding, creampie, pretty mild

Summary: you're needy for your boyfriend and it shows

A/N: Ever since I saw these pics of Yeo at the Aniteez pop-up, I’ve literally been yearning for this man, he looks so freaking good I’m going insane

Yeosang’s eyes are trained on the TV displaying the latest Call of Duty game. His fingers work fast on remote, he’s dead silent, only groaning in annoyance when his character drops dead. He sighs, setting the remote down and rotating his neck to relieve the tension. He pays no mind to the weight lying on his abdomen, in fact, he almost forgets that you’re laying there until he looks down. Your body is slotted between his outstretched legs, you’re tummy down, arms encircled around his hips and your head resting on his stomach. You sleep soundly, only stirring when Yeosang’s body jerks suddenly as he aggressively presses on the remote to the PS5.

He smiles down at you, a large hand coming to brush a couple of loose strands of hair off your face. The loading screen brings him to another round and he quickly picks up the remote to start the match again.

You bask in your deep sleep until the body you’re laying on starts moving. Yeosang’s arms shake and jerk as he almost breaks the controller in his grip. Grumbling at the fact that you’d been woken up yet again, you sigh and accept the fact that as long as your boyfriend was on a game you’d never be able to nap comfortably. You could lay on the couch but given today was a high anxiety day for you, Yeosang’s warmth calms you down. You lift your head and just as you do he jerks again knocking the edge of the controller into your head.

“Ow!” You mumble dipping your head down again.

“S-sorry baby.” His eyes still zoned in on the TV. Finally the match ends and he drops the abused remote and his hands go straight to your head.

He giggles, “are you okay baby?” He massages the spot and you giggle with him.

“Yeah, I’m okay but you don’t let me sleep with all this jostling.” Your pretty lips drop into a frown and he pouts at you, pressing a kiss on your head.

“I’m sorry love, the match was intense. I’ll switch games, just for you.” You nod and lay back on him, though despite him being still this time, you couldn’t fall asleep for the life of you so you just watched him play. As he’s between matches you decide to climb up on him, one leg on either side of his hips and your face nestled into his neck. His arms come around you and you stay like this for what felt like 20 rounds of whatever game he had on now.

Yeosang decides to take a little break, he sets the controller down and wraps his arms around you squeezing you tight, laughing at the way you'd huff out little breaths when he’d squeeze you too hard.

Absent-mindedly, you bring your lips to his. His hands cup your face as he deepens the kiss, you can feel him stir under you, hips adjusting so he lays comfortably on the L shaped couch. You gasp when you press down on him, your panties rubbing against your clit deliciously. Its pure fervor, something you always experienced whenever you were with him. His body radiates heat, and his arms feel heavy around you, leaving you in a dreamlike state. You craved him by the second. Yeosang matches your energy, he begins to pant as the makeout escalates, his cock hardening in his shorts, straining uncomfortably against his briefs. Your added weight on top crushing him just right. With every drag of your hips he feels himself getting closer, as you speed up. His hands grip your hips hard, halting you.

“No no no stop.” He mumbles, wincing at the fading high. “Yeosangie.” His eyes meet yours, your tone sickeningly sweet. He can tell you were desperate for him, but he preferred to drag this out for as long as he could, there’s no rush.

“Do whatever you need to do baby.” Yeosang whispers, a glazed look in his eyes, you jump to action, pulling his shorts and briefs just enough to let his cock spring free. The flimsy shorts you wore now laid discarded to the side as you pulled them off. With a free hand wrapping around his thickness you guide him towards your sopping entrance, gliding the head up and down your slit until it gets caught in your hole and you sink down on him. Yeosang groans at the feeling, your hands pull at the black shirt he wore until he pulls it off leaving his chest bare. His skin turns pink under your fingertips, as you cling onto him. You move your hips up and down a few times until you’re too tired so you grind down on him.

“U-use me baby, I’m here for whatever you need. Use me however you like.” He pants between words. Hand coming to run down your back and rest on your hips. You speed up, riding yourself into completion. Your body shudders above him, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You moan loudly, walls spasming around his thick cock. The air is filled with loud breathing, Yeosang sits nestled inside you, hands coming to your hips to help you ride him.

“I wanna come please.” He whispers, hands digging harshly into your hips, so he makes you move again, your body twitching from the sensitivity. At this point you’re so far gone that your upper half rests against him, your arms wrapped around his neck as he helps you move on him. His cock hits the soft spot inside you and your clit keeps rubbing against his pelvis and then you feel it again. That build up, so intense it leaves no room to think about anything else but this moment. Yeosang uses his strength to pull you down heavily on him, he can feel himself getting closer, with every up and down he’s nearer until he’s teetering on the edge. He tries to hold off as much as he can, something he always did because he felt his orgasms always hit him harder. Then he can’t hold on any longer and so he pulls you down on him, arms locking tightly around your frame as you wiggled against his grip. His eyes press shut and he groans and pants, shooting his load deep in you and hips jerking at every wave of stimulation that coursed through him. He’s left limp on the couch, cock softening. You whine into his neck, feeling the discomfort of your high fading away. You lift up slightly, letting his flaccid cock rest on his pelvis. Globs of cum seep out of you coating him in a translucent sheen and then you start moving your hips against him, catching the right amount of friction that propels you to your own final orgasm rather quickly. He holds on to you as you tremble over him, wincing slightly as you sit on him, trying to catch your breath.

The pair of you sit in silence, slowly gathering your bearings until you’ve calmed down. “Shower time.” You say, popping up and walking bare ass towards the bathroom. Yeosang can’t help but follow suit, very aware that round 2 was about to go down.

#ateez smut #smut #hongjoong smut #seonghwa smut #mingi smut #jongho smut #san smut #wooyoung smut #yeosang smut #yunho smut #ateez writing

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meazalykov · 3 days ago

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love letters

sydney lohmann x f!reader

writing loving letters to your girlfriend always warms a part of her soul

warnings: one letter is suggestive

august 3rd, 2023

dear sydney,

I hope you find this somewhere in the pit of the clothes in your locker ha. i'm sorry the world cup didn’t end the way you wanted, and i know that’s weighing on you in some way.

yes, I was with my own national team but I watched you out there, giving everything, your heart stitched into every sprint, every tackle. it hurts to see you break down like that.

sydney.. you’re still a great player. you lift up your teammates with a smile, making everyone feel like it’ll be okay.

I am just your bayern teammate, not your national one. however, it hurts to move on in this world cup tournament while you go back to munich. I am someone who sees you from a distance, but i needed to write this.

you’re not defined by one tournament. your fire, your kindness, the way you make people feel alive just by being near you...that’s what matters. you’ll rise again, syd. i know it.

your teammate <3

october 15th, 2023

dear sydney,

training’s been intense lately, hasn’t it? I felt it, and you did too. we've been together for a month at this point, but one thing I've noticed is how you make football look like a dance.

i saw you today, laughing with klara after a drill, your hair catching the sunlight, and i couldn’t stop smiling while listening to the both of you in our small triangle while sitting.

you have this way of making my hard days feel lighter, like you’re carrying a secret spark that spreads to everyone.

i’m still too shy to say this to your face, so here i am, hiding behind paper again even though you are my girlfriend now.

you’re beautiful, not just because of how you look (though, wow, you really do glow you beautiful girl). it’s how you listen when someone’s struggling, how you fight for every ball like it’s the last.

i admire you so much, more than you’ll ever guess. keep shining, okay?

you can guess who <3

december 20th, 2023

dear sydney,

it’s almost christmas, and the team’s all festive, but i keep thinking about you. we have been officially together now for the last few months... can you believe it?

i was so nervous when i finally told you it was me writing those letters, but the way you smiled… syd, i’ll never forget it.

you’re my girlfriend!

you’re beautiful in ways i’m still discovering like how you get this little crease in your brow when you’re planning something sweet for me, or how you cheer louder than anyone when a teammate scores.

i’m falling for you harder every day, and i just needed you to know that.

happy holidays, my love.

your love, y/n <3

january 15th, 2024

dear sydney,

my heart’s been aching since you got hurt. as I stood down beside tuva, it hurt watching you go down in the middle. it felt like the world stopped.

you’re always so unstoppable out there, and now you’re stuck healing, and i know it’s driving you crazy. injuries have happened to you a lot but you’re still you...still cracking jokes, still making me laugh even when you’re in pain.

that’s what i love most about you, syd. your spirit never dims.

you’re beautiful, even now, with your crutches and your stubborn determination. it’s how you care so fiercely, how you’re already talking about coming back stronger.

i’m here for every step, holding your hand, loving you through it all. rest, heal, let me be your strength for a bit.

your love, y/n <3

march 10th, 2024

dear sydney,

you’re back on the pitch, and i swear the whole team feels brighter for it. being back with me, even if it’s just for light drills, makes my chest ache in the best way.

you’ve been so strong through this recovery, syd. i know it wasn’t easy, but you faced it with that same fire you always have...the one that makes you chase every ball, every dream, like nothing can stop you.

i love how you light up when you talk about the game, how your laugh echoes across the field.

you’re beautiful in your passion and for this club, in the way you make me believe in impossible things.

i’m so proud of you, and so lucky you’re mine.

y/n <3

may 25th, 2024

dear sydney,

the season’s winding down, and i keep thinking about how far we’ve come.

you’re back to your old self by flying down the wing, making defenders look silly, and god, it’s a sight.

the thing is that you're more than just a footballer, it’s you off the pitch that steals my heart. the way you check in on me after a long day, the way you hum when we’re cooking dinner together.

you make everything feel like home.

your beauty’s in those quiet moments, syd. it’s how your eyes soften when you look at me, how you always know what to say when i’m doubting myself.

i love you more than i can ever write down, but i’ll keep trying.

your love, y/n <3

august 6th, 2024

dear sydney,

today was heavy, and i’m sorry. scoring those goals, especially that second one which curled it past you into the top right, felt so strange.

you were right there along with the other defenders like feli and midge trying to block me, and i saw the fight in your eyes. you were aggressive, I'm happy you didn't let our relationship stop you from trying to stop me.

i didn’t celebrate much as trinity and mallory jumped on my back like I'm some sort of train ride...you probably noticed.

i can get wild with my cellys, but not today, not with you and so many of our bayern teammates out there, giving everything.

it’s weird, isn’t it? how we’re family at club, but out here, it’s country against country.

i know germany’s headed to the bronze match now, and i hate that i had a part in that.

the thing is that you’re so strong, syd with your heart and your fire, it’s why i fell for you.

you’ll face spain, and yeah, they’re world champs, but they’ve got holes now. don’t let their press or the famous ones like alexia scare you.

I am not your coach, but it is clear that you can break their lines if you stay sharp and capitalize on their overcommits.

i believe in you, always.

go get that bronze medal.

i love you.

y/n <3

[sydney's pov for the next letter]

august 10th, 2024

dear y/n,

its me writing you letters now, haha. I hope my handwriting is not too bad.

i’m sitting here with this bronze medal around my neck, and it feels good, really good, but nothing compares to the way my heart swelled watching you today.

you won gold, and god, you deserve it.

the way you lit up out there, the pure joy on your face when they called your name… i don’t think i’ve ever seen anything more beautiful.

the olympic committee draped that medal over you, and the crowd lost it, screaming louder than they did for anyone else. i was right there with them, cheering from the stands with my german teammates, my voice hoarse from shouting for you.

even in our colors, i was yours first.

that navy blue tracksuit of yours, the way it hugged you with that gold gleaming against it...it was like the whole stadium faded away, and all i could see was you.

your skin was glowing, love, like the medal was made to sit against it. i kept thinking about that header you scored against brazil, in the last minute, sealing that 2-0 win after your other teammate scored the first earlier.

the way you leapt, so sure, so alive, and sent the ball screaming into the net, it was perfect. you were perfect.

i must’ve replayed it in my head a hundred times already, grinning like an idiot every time.

i’m so happy for you, y/n. you worked so hard, fought through every moment, and now you’re standing at the top of the world. i know how much this means to you, how you’ve carried your country’s hopes and turned them into something real.

it’s one of the reasons i love you...your heart, your creativity and your fire, the way you give everything and still have so much left to share with me.

i’m proud of my bronze, too. we fought for it, scratched and clawed against spain like you said we could.

just standing here, knowing we both get to go home with something shining around our necks, it t feels right, doesn’t it? like we’re in this together, even when we’re on opposite sides of the pitch.

you looked so happy up there today, and that’s what i’ll carry with me most. your smile, your laugh, the way you waved to the crowd like you couldn’t believe it was real.

i could watch you shine like that forever.

i love you, my gold medal girl.

i’m counting down the minutes until i can wrap you up in my arms and celebrate you properly. you’re my everything.

your bronze medalist, sydney <3

[back to your pov]

september 1st, 2024

dear sydney,

happy one year, my love.

a whole year since you said you loved me too, since i stopped being just a secret admirer and got to hold you instead. i still get butterflies thinking about it...how you took my hand that day, how you make every day since feel like a gift.

you’re beautiful, syd, in ways that stop me in my tracks.

it’s your heart and how you pour it into everything, from a perfect cross to a silly joke just to see me smile.

it’s your courage, your warmth, the way you make me want to be better. i’m so grateful for you, for us.

here’s to forever.

your love, y/n <3

[sydney's pov once again]

august 27th, 2024

dear y/n,

god, y/n, you’re making it impossible to focus today, and i’m not even mad about it. i caught you watching me at training, your eyes lingering a little too long, and it set something off in me.

i’m writing this with my pulse racing, my skin tingling, because all i can think about is you. the way you moved out there, your confidence in every stride, the way your shirt clung to you when you were drenched in sweat... i had to look away to keep from losing it.

your aura, love, it’s dangerous, so bright and teasing, like you know exactly how you’re unraveling me.

you’re beautiful, and it’s driving me wild. it’s how you light up the pitch, throwing yourself into every play with this fire that makes my heart skip. it is the way your hair catches the light when you tie it back, making me want to tug it loose just to see you glare at me.

it’s deeper than that, y/n. it is how you lean into me when we’re alone, making me feel like i’m the only thing that matters.

you’re this mix of fierce and tender, and i’m addicted to every second of it.

i keep picturing us tonight, slipping away somewhere quiet, just you and me. i want to touch you, y/n. my hands on your waist, sliding up your back, feeling you shiver under my fingers.

i want to pull you close, my lips grazing your neck, hearing you sigh my name like it’s all you can say. i want to press myself against you, slow and deliberate, until you’re melting, begging for more.

i’m dying to take my time, to explore every inch of you again even if we do this almost every night already, just to make you feel how much i want you until you’re breathless and clinging to me.

you’ve got me so worked up, love...i can’t think of anything but you, your taste, your heat.

i’m yours, y/n, every part of me burning for you.

you’ve turned me into a mess, and i need to show you what you’re doing to me.

i love you, always, but tonight, i want to make you feel every single thing i’m feeling right now.

your love, sydney <3

[back to your pov]

october 30, 2024

dear sydney,

the new season is in full swing, and you’re killing it out there. every time you step on the pitch, it’s like you’re reminding the world who you are.

to me, you’re so much more than goals and assists. you’re the one who makes my mornings better with your sleepy smiles, the one who listens when i’m overthinking everything.

your beauty is in how you love everyone syd. you do it so fiercely and openly without holding back. it’s how you celebrate the little things, like when we nailed that recipe last week.

you make my life brighter every day, and i’ll never stop being amazed by you.

your love, y/n <3

january 20, 2025

dear sydney,

it’s cold out, but you’re still my warmth. we’ve been together through so much now, and yet every day with you feels new. i was thinking about those early letters today...how nervous i was, hoping you’d notice me.

now, i get to wake up next to you, and it’s more than i ever dreamed.

this letter is short since we have to go get ready for training soon but i love you, syd, today and always.

y/n <3

february 25, 2025

dear sydney,

i miss you so much, syd.

being here in california with the national team feels so far from you in germany, and my heart’s aching for you. the days are busy, but every quiet moment, i’m thinking of your laugh, your warmth, how you make everything better.

i can’t wait to be back with you in munich, just four days from now.

today was full, at least.

we had a light training session this morning.

there was a funny moment at lunch that made me think of you. cat or catarina, you know how she gets... was teasing alyssa about her coffee order, something about how she’s “too predictable” with her oat milk latte.

alyssa, deadpan as ever, just goes, “at least my coffee order doesn’t taste like shit,” and points at cat’s triple espresso.

i laughed so hard i nearly choked on my water.

the out-of-pocket joke was crazy! you’d have loved it, syd.

oh, and get this... there is the homophobe on the team, the one who’s acted fake around me this whole time. I've told you all at bayern about her when you guys asked.

well, she finallyyyyy mumbled some apology too all of us on the team yesterday after her scandal happened LAST YEAR???? i guess she felt guilty after all this time.

i just nodded and walked away. i don’t have the energy for her drama, so i keep my distance at these camps. it’s better that way, and honestly, i’d rather focus on the teammates who’ve got my back, like literally anyone else.

california’s sunny, but it’s not the same without you. i went for a walk by the beach after training, just to clear my head, and i kept wishing you were here, holding my hand, making fun of how i always trip over the sand.

i’m counting down the hours until i’m back with you, syd. four days, and i’ll be in your arms again, where i belong. i love you so much.

your love, y/n <3

march 26, 2025

dear sydney,

i’m sitting here, syd, and i feel like i’ve been run over.

bayern’s out of the champions league, 4-1 to lyon in that second leg, and it’s eating me alive. i’m so burnt out, so sad, and honestly, pissed...but not at the team, not at you. it’s me.

i keep replaying every moment, every goal we let in, and i can’t shake the thought that i should’ve done more.

i should’ve stopped them. diani’s goal. that is all on me. if i’d passed down to tuva instead of pernille, that whole play wouldn’t have fallen apart.

i see it over and over, my mistake, and it’s like a knife twisting.

i let us down.

you, though...you were brilliant out there. you fought like hell, every sprint, every tackle, pouring your heart into it like you always do. i’m sorry if my frustration’s spilling over, love. you don’t deserve that.

you never stop amazing me, even when i’m drowning in my own head. i just wish i could’ve matched you today, could’ve been the player we needed.

i love you, syd, and i’m trying to pull myself together for the team, and for you.

y/n <3

april 16th, 2025

dear sydney,

spring’s here, and the world feels alive, but you’re still the brightest part of it. you’re still the same sydney who stole my heart. you are brave, warm, always finding a way to make even the toughest days feel okay.

I can't wait for our trip to mallorca in the summer. I have been to ibiza, but never mallorca. i cannot wait to spend time on the beach with you <3

you’re my home, my future, my everything. i hope you know i’ll love you forever.

you know who by now <3

masterlist

authors note: I kinda hate this but I spent too much time on it

#sydney lohmann #sydney lohmann x reader #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #bayern frauen #gerwnt #fc bayern women #fc bayern munich #klara bühl

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melwnst · 22 hours ago

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────── ⋆⋅☆ DATING SAM WINCHESTER HEADCANONS

⭑.ᐟI’m finally back! Here’s dean’s version:) we’re like 10 followers away from being 200 on this blog, it means the world to me. Thanks for being so supportive, I’m preparing something for the 200 x pls interact and send requests! :)

word count. 840

Supernatural masterlist/my full masterlist/support my work!

──────────୨ৎ──────────

⭑.ᐟHe loves getting you flowers any occasion he has. Because you live such an abnormal life, he likes to be normal with you from time to time. He’ll even take you on dates to see whatever movie looks good just so he can have one normal evening pretending you lead normal lives and aren’t hunters.

⭑.ᐟhe reads to you when you can’t fall asleep. He’s so precious because even if he’s exhausted he won’t go to bed until he knows that you’re asleep safe and sound next to him. So if you’re having a bad night and can’t fall asleep, he’ll tell you to lay on his chest and read to you whatever book he picks first, it doesn’t really matter because they’re all books that both of you love.

⭑.ᐟhe gets so distracted when you’re in the same room researching, whether it’s in a motel, the bunker, or even a library, usually he can’t stop looking up and staring at you which makes researching very hard because he can’t concentrate.

⭑.ᐟhe loves rough sex but he needs sweet and slow love making from time to time. If he’s too tired but he wants you, or on days where you’re both sore from the hunt but need each other in desperate ways.

⭑.ᐟon the other hand, when it’s rough, the aftercare is so awesome it’s almost just as good as the sex. You won’t have to lift a finger. Need water? Sam’s got it. Need a hot shower? He’ll even wash your body, you only have to stand there. The cuddling is great, he hates not holding you.

⭑.ᐟcar sex🤭 he loves that. He’d be capable of renting a car just so he can take you right in the backseat.

⭑.ᐟokay.. so counter sex? Like on a kitchen counter? On the table? If he wants you? He’ll take you right then and there. SHOWER SEX? Now that’s something Sam craves almost everyday.

⭑.ᐟhe’ll never miss a chance to tell you he loves you and how important you are to him. Like it’s almost annoying in ways that he ALWAYS tells you as if you don’t know. You think it’s cute though. He needs you to know that he desires you, and wants you. He finds A LOT of different ways to make you feel special, he’s great at it.

⭑.ᐟhe loves cooking with you. Even baking. Doesn’t matter what it is, as long as he can throw some flour on you and make fun of you, or as long as he’s just with you in this moment he doesn’t mind doing literally anything because he enjoys your company too much and he hates being away from you.

⭑.ᐟhe’s so clingy… it’s very cute but when I say clingy I mean CLINGY AF!!!!!!!!

⭑.ᐟhe loves long mornings by your side laying in bed. Exhibit A. He gets to kiss you, hold you without a single worry in the world. He gets to enjoy that time before you both get into dangerous situations while hunting.

⭑.ᐟhe won’t admit it but he loves watching horror movies. Even the bad, stupid ones. Like I think he’s genuinely a horror fan. Maybe not so much of a gore fan, but ghosts and slashers. Ghosts specifically so he can nitpick and point out everything they do wrong because he obviously knows how to take care of them. It’s so funny.

⭑.ᐟif you’re small, he’ll take pride in his height and tease you about it all the time because he’s just so much taller.

⭑.ᐟhe loves holding your hand. Doesn’t matter if it’s just under the table at dinner, across the table when researching, in bed even while sleeping, he has to hold your hand. It brings him comfort and eases his stress and nerves for some reason.

⭑.ᐟthere’s not a single thing you’ve told him that he forgot. Whether it’s things you like or dislike, habits, embarrassing stories from when you were a child… he has it all kept in a drive in his head. He never wants to forget.

⭑.ᐟhe adores stargazing with you. Like he’ll be looking at the stars, then look down on you. You’ll be so concentrated on the sky, he’ll take his time to really stare at you, take in your features and realize how much he loves you. If you happen to catch him staring, you’ll laugh, say ‘what?’ And he’ll get super flustered and embarrassed. He’ll be like ‘nothing, you’re just beautiful.’ blush and look away AHHHHHHH

⭑.ᐟif you happen to be sick… he’ll be very happy. He hates that you’re sick- but taking care of you might be his favorite thing ever and sometimes you don’t let him. Now that you’re sick- you can’t refuse his care, so he’ll do every single little thing he knows you like. He’ll buy you tons of things to make you feel better, he’ll hold you even when you protest because you don’t want him to get sick. You being sick might just be his favorite time with you. He’s a weird guy. EXHIBIT B!!

#imagine #fanfic #sam winchester #dean winchester #supernatural #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #sam winchester fic #sam winchester fanfiction #headcanon #sam winchester headcanon #headcanons

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izzih22 · 2 days ago

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Chapter 7: The Space Between

Notes: 7/10…

Paige woke up first.

She didn’t always when she was here. Usally it was Azzi but maybe it was the shift in time zones, or maybe it was because sleeping next to Azzi made her too aware of her own heartbeat to sleep in. She didn’t mind though. Not when Azzi looked like this—face soft in the early morning light, her hand still resting over Paige’s chest like she belonged there.

Maybe she did.

Paige studied her quietly. The way Azzi’s lashes brushed her cheeks. The way she murmured in her sleep sometimes—nothing clear, just small sounds, like her brain wasn’t quite done talking.

She stayed still until Azzi stirred, stretching with a quiet sigh and then blinking up at her.

“You’re staring.”

“Maybe.”

Azzi smiled sleepily and didn’t move her hand.

The morning passed slowly, in the way only summer mornings can. Azzi’s dad, Tim, was already in the backyard by the time they made it downstairs, grilling breakfast sausage on the deck for no reason other than he felt like it.

Paige stepped out into the morning sun with bare feet and a plate of watermelon, and Tim greeted her with a warm, familiar smile.

“There she is. Minnesota royalty.”

Paige laughed. “You’re still on that?”

“You think I forget you dropping forty points at Nationals two summers ago?”

“You bring it up every time I visit.”

“Because I’m proud. You’re practically my kid.”

Paige flushed at that, just a little. She liked that Azzi’s family said things like that so easily.

Behind her, Katie called from the kitchen window. “That’s because you are our kid, Paige. Now bring me some of that fruit!”

The day was spent at home.

Azzi braided her hair on the porch while Paige helped John fix the chain on his bike. Jose played music from a speaker too loudly, and when Paige told him to turn it down, he said, “You’re not the boss of me.” Then handed her the aux cord anyway.

The house was warm with noise and movement, but there was always space for them. For Paige and Azzi. They carved it out like it was instinct.

They spent an hour sprawled on the floor in Azzi’s room, sharing earbuds and laughing over a playlist they made together years ago. Half the songs were awful. Half were perfect.

“This is such a weird mix,” Azzi said, eyes closed, smiling. “It’s like… early 2010s heartbreak, Disney Channel nostalgia, and one random Drake track you snuck in.”

Paige grinned. “You’re welcome.”

That evening, they took a walk around the neighborhood, something quiet and familiar. The sun was setting, and the air was thick with that golden hour haze that made everything feel dreamlike.

They didn’t talk much at first. Just walked.

But eventually, Azzi nudged her. “Do you ever think about the future?”

Paige looked over. “Like college?”

“Like… everything.”

Paige hesitated. “Yeah. Lately more than ever.”

Azzi nodded. “Me too.”

They kept walking.

“I think I’m scared,” Azzi admitted. “Of everything changing.”

“It already is,” Paige said quietly. “But maybe not all of it has to.”

Azzi looked up at her. “You think we’ll stay like this?”

“I don’t know,” Paige said honestly. “But I want to.”

They sat on the swings at the park down the street, feet barely brushing the ground, just rocking gently. Paige could feel the time ticking in her chest.

“You leave in four days,” Azzi said, not looking at her.

“I know.”

“It feels like you just got here.”

“We always say that.”

“Yeah.” Azzi was quiet. Then, “This time feels different.”

Paige didn’t answer right away.

Azzi glanced over at her. “It’s because of prom, isn’t it?”

Paige nodded. “That changed something.”

“Yeah,” Azzi whispered. “I think it did too.”

That night, they lay in bed again, neither quite ready to sleep.

Azzi was curled on her side, facing Paige. The lamp was still on, casting soft shadows on the walls.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Azzi asked suddenly.

Paige smiled. “USA trials. You dropped sixteen points on me in the scrimmage and didn’t even look tired.”

“You stole the ball from me twice.”

“You fouled me both times.”

Azzi laughed softly. “You remember everything.”

“I remember you,” Paige said, and the words came out softer than she meant.

Azzi didn’t reply.

Instead, she shifted slightly, like she wanted to say something but wasn’t ready. Paige waited.

Finally, Azzi whispered, “I think I’m in love with you.”

Paige froze.

But Azzi didn’t say it like a confession.

She said it like a thought that slipped out, something fragile, half-formed, unsure.

She immediately followed it with, “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Paige reached out, brushing her fingers against Azzi’s hand.

“You don’t have to take it back.”

Azzi looked up at her, eyes wide.

“I just don’t want to mess this up,” she whispered.

“You’re not.”

“But I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Neither do I,” Paige said. “But I want to figure it out—with you.”

They didn’t kiss. Again.

But their fingers laced together under the sheets. And they didn’t let go.

That night, long after Azzi had fallen asleep, Paige lay awake staring at the ceiling, heart racing with everything they hadn’t said out loud.

She turned her head slowly and looked at Azzi.

Then, so quietly it barely counted as a whisper, she said, “Im in love with you too.”

She thought Azzi was asleep.

But Azzi’s hand tightened just a little around hers.

And neither of them said anything more.

Not yet.

But soon.

#pazzi fics #paige bueckers #paige x azzi #uconn wbb #azzi fudd #paige and azzi #pazzi

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miiyoshi · 2 days ago

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iwaizumi x reader -- cw: drinking, bar environment, iwa is quite drunk wc: 695// an: feeling cutsey today! wrote another fluff :)

iwaizumi takes another sip out of his drink as the atmosphere around him is the most vibrant it’s been all night. in the cracks of the city there sits a bar, not too big and not too small. it’s more of a shared secret between you and the seijoh four, a common meet up location when all five schedules finally align once in a full moon.

the lights are dim enough that you have to turn your screen brightness lower than before you entered, a general buzz of sound due to the ongoing conversations, and a very sweet tight knit staff who know you and your friends by name at this point.

oikawa’s taking photos with makki in the shared booth you’re all situated in, mattsun at the bar chatting with the bartender as he prepares your group with a new round of drinks, and you sitting at the edge with iwaizumi to your left.

“you doing okay?” you turn to iwa as you see him swish his beer in the bottle with his right hand

“mhm” he hums back “feelin’ good, s’a good time. you?” you know he’s far gone when he slurs his words like this

“i’m good as well! think i’m done drinking for the night though, i have an early day tomorrow”

“s’okay!” iwa insists loudly, throwing his arm over your shoulder and pulling you close. his voice little too loud that oikawa and makki turn to him for a moment and you miss a sly grin creeping up on oikawa’s face when he sees the scene in front of him

“let’s do one more round of drinks together,” iwazumi continues

“maybe another time iwa,” you return with a smile

you can see the gears turning in his head just by looking at his face deep in thought and you give iwaizumi a few moments to formulate his words.

he mumbles your name quiet enough so that the others don’t hear. “need to say something..need to tell you something but you can’t tell anyone, ok?” his face is so close to yours, you can’t help but hold your breath in anticipation. he’s close enough that you smell his refreshing cologne, you’re able to see the way his muscles stretch the sleeves of his shirt (he needs to size up), and the way his hair looks spikier than usual now that he’s been sweating throughout the evening.

“of course iwa, what is it?”

“but you cant tell, you promise? you have to promise”

“yes, i promise!” you giggle

“m’gonna make you mine one day.”

now the gears are turning in your head as you try to process his words

“i’m sorry? what was that?”

“shhh but don’t tell okay???” iwaizumi brings his index finger to your mouth, gesturing a shushing motion.

“i told oikawa this already, and i told him to not tell. he says i need to confess to you first, like obviously that dumbass, but yeah m’ gonna make you mine”

you try your best to hold back a laugh from oikawa’s name being brought up, “did oikawa encourage you to tell me this?” you tease him, but iwaizumi doesn’t quite pick up your tone in this state.

“exactly!” iwaizumi nods, once again dragging out his words, “how’d you know?”

of course he did. and you knew it had something to do with oikawa’s antics because that’s what he’s been telling you this entire time as well. oikawa was always one to tease you about your crush on iwaizumi, always encouraging you to just confess already! and it’s evident now that he’s been telling iwaizumi the exact same thing this entire time.

except for iwaizumi in his buzzed state, he actually does end up listening to his friend’s advice and exposes himself.

“lucky guess,” you tease iwa with a wink.

in the morning, you know iwaizumi will forget everything that he said to you, you know that the two of you will go back to friends who keep teetering the edge of friends and lovers, but what you don’t know is iwaizumi has already thought of a way to ask you out soon; sober, this time.

#bun is writing #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu iwaizumi #hq iwaizumi #haikyuu

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gwenyn28 · 3 days ago

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Since some people seem to struggle to understand the difference between facts and what is speculation or interpretation, here are a few things I think we should talk about concerning season 8b, especially episode 11.

What is a fact? What happened on the episode? What does this mean? What is commonly used in media and what is just interpretation or an assumption about it?

Fact: Eddie said it once and Buck twice that “Eddie is straight.”

From a screenwriting perspective, unfortunately “straight” is the default sexual orientation. It is always assumed that characters are straight unless it is stated otherwise.

Hen is shown as a lesbian from the beginning due to her marriage to Karen. Michael came out to Athena and also to the audience in season 1. Buck started to date a guy so he is at least seen as queer since his sexuality has not been explicitly addressed on the show yet. There was just a hint about the “in which pool he should dip into”. That he is bisexual is stated solely off screen in interviews; if it will ever be said on screen is unclear.

Now, let’s focus on Eddie and the statement that he is straight. The question is: Why would you need to say that? Nobody announced that Bobby, Athena, Chim or Maddie are straight in the show. Why is it said three times in such a short time span about Eddie? The explanation is very simple and can be circled back to a common narrative device - mention something that stands out as weird or different to come back to it later and to prove it to be wrong.

For example: In a crime movie let someone talk unprompted about the crime, asking questions about it just to show in the end that this person was the one who did it. Why would they talk about it otherwise? Normally a culprit would try to lay low and to not get any attention. So, that person mentioning the crime on their own unprompted leaves the viewer with the question “Wait a minute, that is weird… Maybe they have something to do with it.”

The same goes for the “Eddie is straight” phrase. Why would you mention it explicitly more than once if that was not something you need to circle back to? Like a narrator saying “In fact, he was not straight.”

Fact: Buck and Tommy spent the night together. Buck woke up alone but Tommy was already up and in the kitchen to make breakfast for them, suggesting that they might give their relationship another try.

Buck: Don’t worry. I know it doesn’t change anything. Tommy: Why not? Buck: What are you saying? Tommy: I’m saying… what are you doing on Saturday? Buck: You want to try again? Tommy: I mean I’m not ready to move in or anything. It kind of seems like you aren’t either. Buck: And you’re not scared I’m gonna break your heart anymore? Tommy: Not as much. Now that the competition’s out of the way.

Why would he use the word “competition”? That was intentional because we know writing in a tv show is always intentional. They don’t put up random words just to fill spaces. There is not enough time for that. And even though Tommy didn’t say the name, Buck knew that he was talking about Eddie after a moment of thinking. Which led him to the conclusion that Tommy saw Eddie as a competition.

Yes, I admit that you don’t have to read this in a romantic way. You can also see it purely platonically. But in the end it comes down to one fact. Eddie and Buck are friends first. Best friends. Your ex-boyfriend you just hooked up with thinks that this man is his competition. That he can just be in a relationship with you when said man is gone. So he is no competition anymore for your attention or something else.

We know how important Eddie is for Buck. So suggesting “hey, I feel threatened by your best friend and I am happy that he is gone” (not to forget that Tommy bought Champagne to probably celebrate the night they spent together, as well maybe them getting back together) is a very shitty move. No matter if Buck has feelings for Eddie or not in a romantic way… but they are friends. And his ex wanting his best friend gone, even celebrating it? How can Buck accept that and get back together with a person who will probably always feel threatened by Eddie? Buck is living in his house and they talk regularly even though they are apart for now. (And we know that Eddie will be back later in the season.) What does Tommy expect to happen even if he thinks that Eddie stays in Texas for good? He would probably want Buck to choose between him and Eddie, that Buck should distance himself from his best friend. And that is never a good foundation for a working and healthy relationship.

We get it even explicitly told later on in the conversation with Maddie when Buck said that “I understand him feeling threatened by what me and Eddie have…”

Fact: Tommy scoffs when Buck told him that Eddie is straight.

You usually scoff when you don’t believe what the other person is telling you. When you think they are wrong, on purpose or not. And exactly that is what is happening here. Buck might be convinced in that moment that Eddie is straight but Tommy is not. Therefore he can’t hold back and scoffs at Buck saying it, insisting on it, even slightly rolling his eyes.

To read a bit deeper into it, even though that is pure interpretation now, you could say that Tommy might see himself in Eddie in that particular situation. We know that he came out later in life, being engaged to Abby before. Tommy and Eddie have spent some time together in the beginning. So he might have seen Eddie acting in ways that looked familiar. Like how Tommy behaved and talked when he was still in the closet, still denying his true sexuality. Therefore his assumption that Eddie might not be as straight as Buck thinks he is.

Fact: Buck said “I don’t have to want to sleep with everyone I have feelings for. And I don’t have to have feelings for everyone I sleep with.”

Let’s focus on the second part first. This is about Tommy who also understands that this is about him because of his immediate reaction. He takes a step back and he closes himself off. He acknowledges that Buck says that just because they slept together last night it doesn’t mean that he has any feelings for Tommy. Because he can sleep with someone without having them. And we know that he definitely can do that when we remember how Buck slept around a lot in the beginning of the show (even though he might have done that because he was looking for something meaningful). So, Buck made it clear that the night was nice but it doesn’t have to mean a thing and… actually, it doesn’t. It was just them sleeping together. Later in the conversation with Maddie he even admits that he was just using him as a distraction (see more about that down below).

Now, the first part of that sentence is more up for interpretation. Buck says that just because he has feelings for someone doesn’t mean that he has to automatically sleep with them. If we remember season 1 and his time with Abby… it took a while for them to sleep with each other. First they got to know each other over the phone and Buck developed feelings for her. So, this can be read as “sex is just a means to get some relief and because he likes doing it. But if he has feelings for someone, the focus on sex is shifting. It becomes more meaningful and not just something he jumps into carelessly.”

Fact: In 8x06 Tommy broke up with Buck, using the words “I’m your first, not your last.”

Before getting to the conversation with Maddie this is worth mentioning here. Because this fits into the whole narrative that was written around Tommy. He calls Eddie his competition and only without him being there he can be in a relationship with Buck. Which means that he probably also saw Eddie as the competition during the six months he and Buck were together. This sheds a certain light onto the first/last comment. Tommy made it very clear in the conversation with Buck the morning after their hook up that he felt threatened by Eddie’s presence in Buck’s life. Which can be read as that his comment during the break up was about Eddie. That Tommy might have been Buck’s first, but that Eddie would be his last in Tommy’s opinion. Because he thinks that there is something going on between them (otherwise he would not feel threatened by Eddie and wouldn’t have scoffed at the straight comment) and this might be what leads to Buck breaking his heart. Therefore, he ended it before that could happen.

Fact: In that kitchen scene Buck and Maddie talked about the possibility of Buck having feelings for Eddie.

Buck: I mean what’s that even supposed to mean? I’m living in Eddie’s old house, therefore I must be in love with him? Maddie: Are you? Buck: In love with Eddie? Maddie: It wouldn’t be so crazy. Buck: Except I’m not. As much as everyone seems to want me to be hopelessly pining for my straight best friend, it isn’t just like that. I mean does not having him in my life - and in the field - leave a big hole? Yes, it does. Sure.

It is a fact that Buck said that he is not in love with Eddie and that it is not like he is pining for him.

Now, let’s interpret or better explain that.

Why did they talk about this in the first place? Why mention the thing that Tommy brought up the morning after Buck and him hooked up? Why not just talk about Tommy? If the goal was to make these two get back together, the whole conversation would have been solely about Tommy and what they did and what and how Buck feels about it. And how to move on, considering Tommy’s “offer” for a second try. To get back together somehow or at least to dive deeper into Buck’s feelings for his ex. But instead, for the first time in the show, the question was brought up if Buck was in love with Eddie and that it wouldn’t be that crazy.

There are three things worth mentioning here.

1. Nobody, neither Maddie nor Tommy, has used the word “love” before. This came from Buck who used that word, who drew the conclusion subconsciously about the whole exchange with Tommy that this was about him being in love with Eddie. Not “having feelings for him”, “having a crush on him” or “seeing him as more than a friend”. No, it was the word “love” that was used. And that is a very meaningful word. It doesn’t even stop there because he talks about pining for his “straight” (see the importance above) best friend who left a big hole in his life because of his move to Texas. He didn’t even give a clear answer to Maddie’s question. He could easily have said “No, I am not. I see him as a friend/brother.” And that would have been the end of it. But instead his reply was more a deflection. “Are you in love? - He is straight.” Leaves one thinking about this.

2. And about the pining part… Buck says “as much as everyone seems to want me to be hopelessly pining for my straight best friend, it just isn’t like that.” Who is everyone? Nobody has said anything about him and Eddie before. Tommy is the first who brings up potential feelings for Eddie, nobody has ever voiced anything that comes close to these “accusations”. So, again. This is a connection made up in Buck’s mind, similar with the “love”. Nobody has mentioned either of these things before. This might be just an assumption but maybe he talks about “everyone” because deep down he has feelings and thinks that it is obvious for everyone. So that is why he refers to everyone in his statement.

3. Since wording stuff in a particular way is so important and is always intentional it has a deeper meaning that the question about “being in love with Eddie” is brought up in such an explicit way. Doing this is exactly the same that happens when Eddie’s straightness is mentioned so many times. It is for the casual viewer outside of any fandom. The seed is planted and the viewer starts to question “Wait a minute… could he be in love with Eddie? Is that an option?” For the first time, the thought is out there for them to consider it. About Buck and Eddie maybe becoming a thing, being in love with each other. They are clued in and start to think about the possibility, maybe they even start to look out for further clues in any upcoming episodes.

Worth mentioning here is also the fact that Buck said “I understand him feeling threatened by what me and Eddie have but… he seemed so relieved he was gone. It pissed me off. It felt like he was accusing me. Is this what he’s been thinking the whole time we were together?” That is a fact that this was said on the show.

This is directly circling back to the words Tommy used in that prior scene the morning after when he talked about Eddie being a competition and which makes the conversation with Maddie more about Eddie than about Tommy. And how much Tommy is convinced that Eddie could be and probably has been a threat to his relationship with Buck.

Also, let’s not forget another important thing here. The common romcom tropes. People might say “But Buck said that he has no feelings. So the possibility is definitely shut down.” This is not how these tropes work. Two people can be friends for years and then they start developing feelings for each other. Or realize they have had these already without being aware of them. They always are in denial at first because they are convinced that starting a relationship could ruin their friendship. So, they try not to dive into this, to deny that there are feelings involved.

Take Jess and Nick from New Girl for example. Happened with them as well. And there are many other tv couples that started as friends and before they got together they denied their feelings until something happened and they finally took the risk.

Fact: Buck suggested that maybe he should call Tommy to apologize.

Buck: I should call him. Maddie: Yeah, that’s what I’ve been saying. It’s not like he moved to Mars. Buck: No, not Eddie. I mean I will call him but… Tommy. I should apologize. He’s probably right. I was using him as a distraction so I didn’t have to feel alone. Maddie: Not the best reason to get back together with someone. Buck: No.

Buck thought about calling Tommy, yes. But not to make up with him, to apologize and to tell Tommy that he was wrong. That there was nothing going on with him and Eddie. That he wanted to try it again with him. To give them a second chance. Nothing was said that could lead to the assumption that he wanted to call him for any of that.

No, he just felt bad about using him as a rebound. Because he felt lonely. That Eddie’s absence had a huge impact on him. (Let’s not forget that he said Eddie’s name 15 times alone in that episode. That is an all time high, the only episode Buck said Eddie’s name almost as much was in 7x04). Buck even admitted that Tommy was probably right even though he did not explain about what exactly. One could read into this that Buck agreed with Tommy about having feelings for Eddie though this is definitely just an assumption. But even this assumption aside, that part of the conversation Buck had with Maddie is only about him feeling guilty of using Tommy. That is how to read that exchange. Nothing else.

In the next episodes it is not even mentioned if he did call him to apologize (or rekindle). On the contrary. We see Buck in these next two episodes having meaningful facetime calls with Eddie instead to support him and to be there for him. While Tommy or calling him isn’t even mentioned at all.

_____

Let’s sum it all up then. After Eddie left Buck misses him and he feels lonely that he can’t stop talking and thinking about him. Then he runs into Tommy and sees him as a nice way to distract himself from that. So that he doesn’t have to think about the hole Eddie left in his life. There are no real feelings towards Tommy involved anymore. He just feels sorry that he was using him the next day.

Meanwhile Tommy is ready to jump back into bed with Buck and to even go further towards restarting their relationship because Eddie is gone and he doesn’t have to feel threatened anymore. Because Eddie was seen as a threat during their relationship, that he would probably be the reason for Buck to break up with him.

There is not much room left for interpretation. This is what happened on screen. I tried to put up as few as possible assumptions, mostly trying to base the explanations on facts and common screenwriting means and storytelling tropes.

_____

Honorable mention:

I know we should not put too much weight into interviews because they are just partly reliable since a. the people can lie with what they say and b. they don’t know the full story yet or the story changes between the interview and episode. But still there are certain quotes that support what I explained above. So that it is not far fetched to either draw these conclusion or explain it in a certain way.

“Yeah, I mean, he’s going to be moving to what’s in his future. And look, Tommy is in Buck’s romantic past for sure.” Tim Minear, November 14th, TV Fanatic

“But series creator Tim Minear said Episode 11 is not meant to shut down the shippers once and for all — no matter how insistent they are on making Buddie happen.” Tim Minear, March 20th, The Wrap

“It makes sense for his boyfriend to notice, you moved into the guy’s house and really he takes up a lot of space in your world and I think you might be in love with him, and Buck protests and kind of knocks that down. And also when Maddie asks him flat out, he says, it’s not like that. So you can either believe Buck or you don’t have to. It’s up to you.” Tim Minear, March 20th, TV Insider

“He’s telling his truth in the moment, for sure. I don’t think he’s trying to lie and hide anything from [Maddie],” he says. “He’s never even considered this before. He’s telling his truth, for sure in that moment. This is something that’s been brought to him from Tommy and something that he was not, as I say, having any kind of prior thoughts about.” Oliver Stark, March 20th, TV Insider

“is this really about the fact that do I really want to be back with Tommy or am I trying to fill a void in my heart because my best friend just left and moved away?” Aisha Hinds, March 20th, TV Insider

“You run into an ex, and you're in a place where you could just use some company and some distraction, and sort of one thing leads to another.” Tim Minear, March 22nd, Entertainment Weekly

“And it was also important for me to have Buck say, "Look, I don't have to sleep with everyone I have feelings for, and I don't have to have feelings for everyone I sleep with," which is a direct reference to who Buck was in the first season or so.” Tim Minear, March 22nd, Entertainment Weekly

“The truth of the matter is, Buck is using Tommy as a distraction for the turmoil he's going through.” Tim Minear, March 22nd, Entertainment Weekly

“Tommy has a function in this universe that isn't just to be Buck's bed buddy” Tim Minear, March 22nd, Entertainment Weekly

“And I think in that episode, Buck even realizes, "Maybe I'm not interacting with Tommy here for the right reasons." And then obviously he's kind of a d*ck to Tommy in the way that he handles that conversation, and it's obviously because he's so taken aback, but he's kind of rude in what he says to Tommy. So I think for the most part, he probably has gone some way to shutting that door regardless of what he would want.” Oliver Stark, March 24, Screenrant

#911 abc #911 on abc #anti tommy kinard #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #anti bucktommy #episode analysis #post episode 11 #season 8 analysis

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betterinvienna · 15 hours ago

Text

ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ, ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ, ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ

caleb x gen!reader

masterlist ao3 requests

synopsis:

Caleb is sick. So very sick. He loves you so much.

The gunshot, this time, still doesn’t wake the neighbors.

He loves you too much.

How could anyone deserve you? Will you stay? Please?

Say yes.

[ 3.8k words — dark(?) romance — warnings: murder, drugging, kidnapping ]

author's note:

it's my first time writing something like this, but i love caleb so i'm trying my hand at it and hoping that i get better at it. oh. and im a lore skipper so please forgive me if anything is ooc here. please listen to angel by massive attack while reading. thank you for reading!!! i hope u like

It’s Tuesday, and it’s your only day off.

Four years in an esteemed university, a marketing degree, and top-notch grades, and you’re working at the same firm as your high school ex-friends. You’d berate yourself for the pathetic nature in which you’ve ended up, but you’re much too tired often days to think much past what you’re having for dinner. Spoiler: it’s pizza, again.

On your days—sorry, day—off, you enjoy hanging out with friends or simply staying home. Something as simple as a spaghetti dinner with an extremely corny Netflix Original is enough to satisfy you. This Tuesday, your friend Caleb has offered to take you out to the pier down south. You declined, though, because you’re going on a date with your boyfriend today. Caleb isn’t trapped in the same whirlpool you are—after high school, he went to pilot school and now flies commercial airplanes for a living. You bite your lip in envy, wishing you had taken the same path. Alas, you didn’t, and your company laptop bings with an email. You decide not to check it, instead opting to lazily dip your hand into a party-sized bag of Doritos.

You met Caleb one day in the library, studying for your seemingly useless marketing degree. You spoke, exchanged your then high opinions on your paths of study and interests, and waved each other goodbye. From then on, he found you each time you were at that library, offering to study with you but instead, each time inevitably going into an unrelated conversation. This continued until you exchanged numbers and graduated—you figured you wouldn’t see Caleb after that, but he persisted in maintaining your friendship.

In a way, you’re thankful for him. You’re thankful, even though you don’t tell him, that he’s stuck around so long.

You pop your fingers into your mouth to clean the Dorito dust off of them as your boyfriend, Nate, texts you. Nate is a good guy, sure. But your relationship feels more like a friendship nowadays. You love him; you really do, and you’ve tried to mend the bond. Over-the-top Valentine’s day gifts, excessive PDA, constant love declarations—needless to say, the deterioration of this relationship simply cannot be accredited to your laziness, but rather, his. You know this, yes, but you also hope the date today will fix everything. Will make him love you again. You reluctantly check your phone, fearing an apology rather than an “are you ready?” message. Instead, it’s a simple two word message: “call me.”

So you do.

Nate picks up after two dials. “Hello?”

“Nate?”

“Oh. Yeah.” He says, as if he forgets his own name. “Look…”

You sigh. “No,” you deny hearing whatever he’s going to say, “I already made the reservations.”

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he says the baby hesitantly, as if it's a curse word, “something came up. I just can’t make it.”

You shake your head and rub your temple from beyond the screen. “It’s fine.” You mumble and respond in a tone much softer than the last. “Call me when you’re free, okay?”

Nate does not respond. He hums an illegitimate answer and hangs up, leaving you to your own devices and sticky Dorito fingers.

As if it was second nature, you take those Dorito fingers and use them to dial Caleb instead, not wanting your reservation to be completely wasted. Like he was waiting for your call on the other end of the phone, he picks up immediately.

“Hey, pip-squeak,” he chirps, “what’s up?”

You mournfully groan. “Are you busy today?”

Caleb takes a pregnant pause, as if he’s doing something right now. Something clanks in the background, confirming your suspicions. “No.”

“You’re lying.”

“Not. Whaddya wanna do?”

Selfishly, you offer the schedule anyway. “My boyfriend cancelled on me.” On the other end of the line, Caleb makes a sympathetic noise. You continue. “Had a reservation at that restaurant down at the pier today. Are you coming?”

“Abso—yeah, I am. When?”

You sigh, preparing to be met with further pities. “Three hours. I know it’s short notice, I don’t expe—”

“I’ll pick you up?”

You scoff. “Yeah. Thank you, Caleb, really.”

“Anytime, pip-squeak.”

—

Beggars can’t be choosers is the mantra you repeat when Caleb picks you up on his motorcycle again. The helmet forces your hair into an ugly shape, the speed of the bike shifts your insides, and the perilous nature of it all is an extreme deterrent.

Unfortunately, Caleb just ruffles your hair as you pout at your mode of transportation.

“It’ll be just 5 minutes,” Caleb assures you, “hop on.” He pushes a helmet onto you and flips the glass part of it down, giving you a stomach-churning smirk as he does the same for himself and pats the area behind him. You reluctantly get on, wrapping your arms around his waist as he revs the motorcycle.

“Hang on, pip-squeak!”

You yell over the engine. “I’ll try!”

He punctuates your words by letting his foot off of the brake, finally sending you two down the street. “You okay?”

You rest your jaw in the crook of his neck, closing your eyes and trying not to throw up. You hum a response, but you don’t know if he hears you. A motorcycle isn’t exactly prime time for in-depth conversation, so instead, he begins to cruise and cautiously rubs your knee to soothe you. “Almost there.”

You groan, unconsciously pinching his shirt rather than holding around his waist. He corrects your form, taking the hand that was on your knee and flattening it against your hand on his stomach.

“Hold,” Caleb concisely assulerts, guiding your hand to the edge of his waist, “nearly there.”

The movement borders on hand-holding, but he doesn’t interlock your fingers together. Your face begins to feel hot—or maybe it’s the humid weather—and you pull back slightly from Caleb, silently hoping your heart isn’t beating hard enough to be felt against his back.

The excruciating ride comes to an end with Caleb parking the motorcycle near the entrance of the pier. He dusts himself off, then adjusts his shirt sleeves and takes your helmet off, ruffling your hair up. You mumble a grievance, but he brings his finger up to his lip to hush you and he pokes your cheek.

He points to the time on his phone as you two walk the remaining distance to the restaurant. “Look at that. We’re early.” He chuckles at your annoyed expression and promises a car ride next time.

“No—it’s fine,” you quickly respond, “we can still take the bike.”

Caleb gives you an inquisitive look. “Oh?” He pushes open the door to the restaurant with his shoulder, still looking at you. “Coming around to it?” You give him a look, and he puts his hands up in faux surrender.

The restaurant’s hostess waits at the turn on a podium and cheerfully greets you two. “Hi! We’re a bit full. Do you have a reservation?”

Caleb puts his hands in his pockets and lets you do the talking. You give the waitress a warm smile, telling her your name and your reservation time.

The hostess beams with another round of performative, customer service joy. “Right! And this,” she gestures to Caleb,” is the boyfriend you mentioned?” You expect Caleb to deny the assumption, but he just glances at you.

“No, he, um, cancelled. This is just my friend.” You look away from Caleb, but out of the corner of your eye, you can see his breath begin to shallow. The hostess doesn’t notice the shift in his demeanor and offers you two a high-pitched, realizing “oh!” and ushers you to your designated table.

When Caleb slides into the seat across from you, he improperly puts his elbows on the table, flipping through the menu and looking up at you through his lashes every now and then. The waiter comes around to take your drink orders, and you awkwardly order a water. Caleb follows suit in the ordering with some tastier sounding drink, and the air is even stuffier than the preceding hour.

Why is the air stuffy?

“Water?” Caleb leans back a bit in his chair, letting out a laugh. “Are you onna diet, pip-squeak?”

You silently thank and bless him for breaking the tension, because you certainly wouldn’t. You shrug and sigh heavily, although it comes out a bit shakier than you’d like. “My stomach’s a bit flippy,” you lie, toying with the edge of the table, “I probably shouldn’t have invited you—I know you’re busy.”

Caleb leans forward and tugs at his sleeves. “I’m free now, aren’t I?”

The waiter, a tall, skinny redhead, returns with your two drinks. “Are you ready to order?” He prompts.

You look towards Caleb, who is already pointing out obscured menu items to the waiter and mumbling something you can’t hear from the other side of the table. The waiter scribbles them down, looks at you expectantly, and leaves when you tell him you’re having what Caleb is having.

You scratch your forehead, checking your phone every couple minutes to see if Nate had texted. Of course, you opened your phone each time to an empty lockscreen apart from your phone’s Settings begging you to free up space.

You decide to make conversation. “How’s flying?”

Caleb looks up from his phone, shaking his head from side to side, as if to say so-so. “Pretty boring. What do you think about me being in the air force instead?” He fiddles with the napkin. “Feelin’ like commercial really isn’t my thing.”

Images of Caleb in a well-fitted air force uniform flicker like a dull light in your head, and you close your eyes and laugh it off. He thinks you’re laughing at him, though, so he grumbles playfully and mumbles something about him being destined to do aerial tricks in the sky.

“I think you’d do great, Caleb.”

He chuckles. “Knew you’d say that, pip-squeak.”

The frail waiter comes back, balancing your two plates on one even thinner black platter. He lets out a sigh of relief when the plates find their way to their owners and tells you both to enjoy.

The dish in front of you is nothing like Caleb’s—but it’s everything like yours. You make a hmm? sound, and Caleb parts from slicing away at his way-too-well-done steak to point at your plate of pasta. “Also knew you’d say, ‘whatever he’s having,’ so I took care of that. Is that alright?” He scans your face for discontent, but you give him a smile and a heavy sigh, finally putting your phone away.

“Yeah, it is. Thanks, Caleb. How’d you know what I’d like, though?”

He simply laughs and nods, stuffing steak into his cheek as if winter is going to come and take it from him, leaving the answer ambiguous.

—

Your time at the restaurant with Caleb dragged into the late hours, and the chill of the night hits your face as you ding your way back out of the restaurant. Your phone buzzes again, for what seems like the twentieth time tonight, and again, you ignore it, rubbing your hands up and down your arms to produce some illusion of heat.

Caleb shrugs his jacket off of his shoulders, draping them over yours. You open your mouth to protest, but he promptly interrupts you. “Uber or the motorcycle?”

Your face contorts in confusion. “How’re you going to get your motorcycle back then?”

He glances at you and gestures for you to follow him to another side of the curb. “Uber back later.” He says it matter-of-factly, as if it was a given.

You breathe out an oh, the puff of air visible in the cold. “Motorcycle is fine.”

“You sure, pip? You just ate and you hate it as is.” Caleb’s face turns to one of concern.

“I’ll be okay.” You shrug, walking over to where his motorcycle is parked.

He pushes his lip up in an okay then motion, helmets the two of you, and brings your jacketed arms around his waist when he straddles the front. Your phone buzzes against your leg again, and you ignore it. “Don’t throw up on me, pip-squeak.”

You give him an incoherent sound, and he revs up the motorcycle, yelling something you don’t care for over the engine. You clench your ab muscles in pure anti-projectile-vomiting will as he swerves through the streets, navigating to your house, and your nails dig into Caleb’s side, even as he slows down near your house.

Under the helmet, Caleb’s eyes narrow at the car next to yours in your driveway. “Bought a second car, pip?”

No.

You didn’t.

You recognize that car. Your heart drops and you, at last, check your phone. Thirteen missed calls and a flurry of text messages, all from Nate.

where are you? Need to talk

i’m coming to your house

open the door. I’ll sit in your driveway all night.

You tap Caleb’s side wordlessly, and he looks back at you in concern, his lips parted.

“Go,” you mutter, “let’s go to your house instead. My, um, power’s out. Forgot.”

Caleb eyes the light that shines from the left side of your house, but he hums and revs the engine back to life again, swerving down an unfamiliar set of roads until you two reach his apartment complex. You tug your helmet off, refusing to meet Caleb’s eyes as you approach the door of the complex.

“Everything alright?”

You drone an mhm, scratching your nape.

As you ascend the stairs and open the door to Caleb’s apartment, you notice how blandly decorated the place is, and can’t help but to tease him for it. “Do you even live here?”

He chuckles, opening the fridge and pouring some cold water for you. “I’m usually in a plane.”

You purse your lips and draw images out of the condensation on the side of the cup. That makes sense.

“You staying over for tonight?”

The question catches you mid-sip, and you shrug. “I mean, if you’ll let me.”

Something in Caleb’s eye glints. “No, yeah, ‘course, pip-squeak.”

You shrug his jacket off of your body, draping it over the couch as you flop down on it.

“Is the power really out at your place, or did’ya just want to spend more time with Caleb?” Caleb leans on the back of the couch, looking down at you. You cover your eyes with your forearm, letting out an exasperated sigh but offering him at least a snort, as one would do to a terrible dad joke.

The couch sinks as your feet lift up, and when you prop yourself up on your forearms, Caleb’s lap is their new location as he clicks through irrelevant Netflix shows. He looks at you and points to the screen with the remote, asking what you’d like to watch.

You shake your head no and relax back down on the couch as he rubs your ankles. “I’m tired. Do you have another bed?”

He clicks his tongue. “You can just take my bed. My couch is big enough for me to sleep on.”

You give him a look, but he just puts a finger up to his lips and rises from the couch, offering a hand to get you up. “I’ve just gotta make the bed, though. Just took the bedding outta the washer this morning. Wanna help?”

You stretch after you get up, nodding a yes in between a yawn.

The two of you enter his room, and it is just as grimly decorated as the rest of his house is. A boring desk fills up the right space of his bedroom and an even more monotonous snake plant acts as a sore excuse for decoration in the other corner.

“Do you even know how to decorate?”

“Nope.”

The two of you work to put the silk cases back on the pillows and relocate the other bedding items so that they don’t get in your way.

When you lift his mattress to put the first sheet on, something—no, many things, fall out from under the mattress—like polaroids, or other glossy pictures. You think of calling out to Caleb, but your mouth clamps shut when you catch a glimpse of what looks like your face in one. In another, a fog-blurred photo of you drying your hair after a bath, taken from a high angle. Caleb’s eyes follow yours, and he drops the mattress calmly, meeting your newly fully-awake eyes.

“Caleb—is that—”

He hushes you, walking over to your side of the bed with a slow stride. You back up, wordlessly pointing to where the pictures still lie.

“That’s not you.”

You begin to blubber incredulously, your head starting to feel heavy. He takes your hands in his gently, as if asking for forgiveness.

“That’s not you,” he repeats, “they’re just… it’s just a project I’m doing.”

Your eyes flutter with a fatigue heavier than before. You try to say something, to call him out on such a blatant lie, but all that is left of your voice is a mere squawk.

Caleb holds you in his arms as your body begins to feel limp, muttering the same lines over and over again. In a dream-like state, you hear him say, “Promise I’ll take care of all of this. Just been waiting… It’ll be so good. For both of us.”

—

Caleb drives a sleek, black car to your address, tilting his head in mild pity when he still sees the same car in your driveway. He murmurs irritated curse words under his breath, exiting the car and tugging his cap down as he approaches the car.

He’d rather be sleeping right now, but he loves you too much.

The man in it is sound asleep, so he taps the drivers’ side and shines a rude flashlight into the man’s eyes. The man, Nate, jumps up in shock and immediately begins to back out of the driveway.

Unfortunately, he only hits Caleb’s perfectly parked car. Caleb tuts in disappointment and flexes a gloved hand, using his shirt and fist to bash Nate’s car window in. Nate yells, but the neighborhood is much too dead asleep to care.

Caleb grabs Nate by the shirt, pulling him up close to his face. “I told you last time, didn’t I?”

Nate stutters something, and Caleb uses the blunt of the flashlight to rear back and knock some verbiage into him.

Nate curses, holding his face. “I’m so sorry, man, I just—”

“You just what?”

Nate begins his useless rambling again and Caleb sighs, as if this is a waste of his time, slamming Nate’s head into his steering wheel. The honk is loud, but too clipped and still not loud enough to wake anyone up.

Caleb laughs bitterly.

“Do you think cheating on someone—” he punches Nate, holding his breath.

“So needy,” he finally opens the car door and drags him out onto your lawn.

“So kind,” he serves him a foot to the stomach.

“So forgiving,” he kicks Nate around until he’s on his stomach, bloody and beaten.

“So perfect,” Caleb tugs Nate up by his hair, straddling his back and forcing him to look up at him.

“Is something that a man of God would do?” Caleb eyes the beaded cross hanging from Nate’s mirror, then mockingly looks back at him with a faux-sympathetic look.

Nate begins to blubber a string of apologies. “I’m sorry, man, seriously. I came here just to break up, promise, but you’d do the same, you know, two beautifu—”

The gunshot, this time, still doesn’t wake the neighbors. Caleb tosses it to the side, thanking earlier him for purchasing a silencer. He drops Nate’s limp head onto the grass, dusting himself off as he looks at the pitiful body seeping blood into your freshly-trimmed lawn.

“Like hell I would.”

—

Your head bangs with an anger like never before. You try to bring your hands up to cradle your thumping head, but you’re met with the resistance of zip ties.

“What?” You mumble.

As you come to, you squint and notice Caleb in the far distance, cooking something. You’re laying on the same bed you were asked to make, and Caleb is flipping pancakes like a sitcom father. Sun attacks your eyes and you screw them shut, feeling your headache worsening. Caleb looks behind him, notices your movements, and immediately turns off the stove, jogging towards you and shutting the curtains.

“Hey, pip-squeak,” he soothes, “you’re awake.”

You furrow your brows at him, trying to move your ankle, but that too is zip tied, this time to the foot of his bed. “What?” You repeat, struggling to sit up.

He hushes you, gently pushing you back down onto the bed. “I’ll let you go in a minute, okay? Can’t just let a wounded animal free.”

The haze is finally beginning to clear up a bit more, and Caleb is double-checking if the black-out curtains are fully closed. “I saw the photos of me that you have and then you—you drugged me.”

Caleb snaps his head towards you with a look of tenderness, but also of hurt. “No, pip—well, yes—but I was planning on you just being able to hear me. Just not being able to be hurt. What I put in your water won’t harm you. I promise.”

You look around the room, and Caleb occupies the area next to you on the bed. He softly takes your face, tracing his hands down to your own hands. “Do these hurt?”

You reluctantly nod, so he cuts them off with scissors he produced from his back pocket. You flex your wrists, looking at him cautiously.

“Just calm down, okay?” Caleb takes your hands in his, facing you with his full body. The zip tie on your ankle digs into your skin, so you wince. Caleb gets up, flips the cover over, and switches the restraint with something much more comfortable. He apologizes the whole way through, then returns to his spot beside you.

“Want you to stay with me forever, pip-squeak,” Caleb mumbles, bringing his hand up to soothe, or at least try to soothe, your frenzied face. He brings his forehead to meet yours. “God… it’s like you were sent for me.”

Your mouth drops. The unnamed drug still clouds your thoughts, so you breathe something along the lines of “I have a boyfriend… you’re crazy.”

Caleb clips and his face darkens. “No. I took care—um, he was cheating on you. He broke up with you last night. Check your messages.”

He gently ushers your cold phone into your hands, and you scroll through the messages of Nate saying that you’re over and that he “never really loved you anyway.”

Tears begin to stream down your face, and you cannot pinpoint their exact, singular cause. Caleb hushes you, taking your sobbing frame into his arms as he lets you cry into his shoulder.

“I love you,” he hums, “I love you.”

He runs a hand through your hair, rubbing your back and pulling you closer.

“I love you,” he repeats.

#lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x mc #caleb x you #love and deepspace #not beta read

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