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writingjourney · 1 day ago

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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!

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#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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tarotchariotpickyourcard · 2 days ago

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Who’s crushing on you? PAC reading

Ahh, l'amour.

Can't live with it, can't live without it. Some affection is wanted, and some of it definitely isn't. Stay away from me.

But you? Oh how i adore you. So I made this reading.

Please choose from left to right, 1 - 2 or 3.

GROUP 1

Oh my gosh this is so sad and adorable. First I’ll try and identify them. Queen of summer is queen of cups. So they could be cancer, pisces, or scorpio. It could even be their moon sign. If this person is not a girl/feminine, it might be that they are simply a very sensitive and soft person. The appearance of the queen is a light tan and lighter hair. This particular deck describes her as a trusted friend. Perhaps this is someone you’ve been friends with.

Unrequited love and separation.. There could be a few possibilities with this.

Suggestion 1. They could have already confessed to you or attempted, and was rejected or assumed as much.

Suggestion 2. You simply haven’t noticed them in that way, or not yet. It’s someone you haven’t considered.

Suggestion 3. They’ve been rejected by someone in the past and now they’re negative or pessimistic about a chance with you.

Separation can mean you also haven’t seen each other for a while, or they have broken up with someone recently.

Unfortunately if you’ve broken up with someone not too long ago this is probably the fact showing they are still into you.

I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve comforted this person, as what they like about you is ‘listening’.

They like that you give a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on, and you genuinely care about what other people have to say. Paired with the queen of summer, it’s clear that they love how sympathetic, and kind you can be. They’re probably a sensitive soul drawn to a compassionate person.

Listening says

“I activate my receptive side, and become an engaged, intuitive, professional grade listener. Super charged listening gives me the ability to not only hear the words others are saying, but also to perceive the emotions hiding between their words. Armed with this knowledge, I’ll be in a great position to give them exactly what they need.

Traits of queen of summer: loving, comforting, emotional, intuitive. Tenderhearted, charitable. A family oriented person. Can be too giving.

Some extra thoughts: They could think you’re just nice to everyone, and you wouldn’t hold a special place for a particular person right now. If this is a friend with a crush, they might be avoiding you. If you’ve rejected someone recently, it might be a bit embarrassing that you were so nice to them, instead of just being cold, somehow.

This seems like a really cute thing anyway, maybe they’re sick of people thinking they’re cute haha.

Hope it makes sense!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

GROUP 2

Oh my, these are some intense cards for a crush reading. Hahahaha. Boi/gurl whaaaatttt.

We’ve got the tower, the moon - has this person totally pretended not to like you? And you had a suspicion??? Since high priestess is there. They are keeping this under lock and key i swear. Dayuuumm. This is kinda fun.

There’s no court cards to go with to identify, so let’s see what I can take from this. High priestess is a more quiet or secretive person, but the tower can suggest that they suddenly seem to come out with something, or all of a sudden they’ve achieved something out of nowhere. From this combination I’m getting scorpio. Mars energy. Possibly aries. The moon can be cancer. Could have moon in aries. Four of summer omg they are playing it cool! Haha. Because you play it cool, I think too. Lots of water just like pile one.

I really think you’ve had suspicion, or called this person out even as a joke, or something that they like you. So i feel like you probably know who this person is.

With all this water they might be the creative type, the moon has a musical instrument (string)

What they like about you?:

Boundaries + independence

You don’t need no mans. They like how cool and collected you are, they like that you don’t get hung up on people, or that you seem to have the upper hand. You seem cool to this person, just doing your own thing, having your own interests. It looks like they enjoy vying for things that aren’t easy to obtain lol. If you also are interested in this person, watch out for their ego if this is the case. People who tend to want what they can’t seem to have because they want to prove only to themselves. I really think they like that you’re not chasing after them too.

Boundaries says: “I claim my right to set healthy boundaries and I allow others to do the same. Sometimes personal space is taken, and sometimes it’s given. And sometimes, if you’re on a subway it’s completely disregarded and shamelessly invaded. I guess it depends on the day.”

Independence: “ I embrace total independence and I see how empowering that is. Even when I’m in a relationship, I can still be independent by meeting my own needs and creating my own happiness. When I do that, I’m the fullest version of myself and i have much more me to give without needing pieces of me in return.”

This person really acts like they have no interest in you, They don’t want to let on, it’s kinda cute. In these cards there are all these people but alone, you or them must highly value independence and enjoy being single.

Characteristics from the cards to suggest who it is might be the following:

Someone with a bit of a temper

Appears one way but is another once you get to know them

Creative

Might be seen as a player (used to having people go after them, not the other way around)

Good posture

In a team or work/study setting, they can take the lead and are assertive

Don’t like to be made fun of (who does but i mean, can’t seem to engage in banter)

Hope this makes sense.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

GROUP 3

Ok group 3, run from this person lol. I joke.

Hanged man, deception, codependency and compassion.

I feel like they just like you for the wrong reasons or that you might enable them if they were to go to you for things. I don’t mean knowingly enable, i mean that you’re compassionate to the point you might not be straightforward enough for this person to grow.

If you’ve got an ex, they’re still not over you.

Hanged man might mean they’ve got pisces/neptune influence. Codependency there really might suggest a codependent habit, such as addiction or returning to the same person. Traits that they might have… They might have an alternate way of viewing things that are very interesting. The patient type. The type of person that has been taught a lesson or two in life. Things might have been harder for them than the average person. They could be a very unique person, alternative, or style themselves differently than others around them.

Physically they might like to wear reds, blues, and cream colours. I’m seeing they might have been in a love triangle in the past. This is looking like it’s been a long term crush. They’ve had it for a while more compared to the other groups. Hanged man can suggest being religious or spiritual. The person in the card has a short hair cut, or a buzz cut. Naturally curly hair stands out.

With deception it could literally be that they’re deceiving you into thinking they don’t think that way about you. They might be wearing a mask over how they really feel. Paired with hanged man it might be that they’re willing to wait for the right opportunity or chance. They secretly are very attached to you. They have very strong feelings for you, more on the side of longing. They feel grateful to you for something. They want to do the right thing for you, maybe that’s why they’re not shooting their shot right now. It’s looking like some heavy stuff is going on for one of you at least, so it’s not the right time to be thinking about this, however, the feelings are strong and they’re not going to just fade away easily. If you don’t reciprocate, it would mean they would have to be apart from you or try to replace their attention.

What they like about you?:

You make this person feel like they could be accepted for who they are (i mean, that’s nice but i’m asking what they like about you. Selfish much?)

I got the sentence ‘took the high road’

Compassion” I choose compassion over criticism. Walking a mile in other peoples shoes reminds me they might be going through something tougher than I think. Like their shoes are too tight. Or they’re the kind of shoes that are too casual to be dressy and too dressy to be casual. I have no idea what they’re dealing with privately, so I’ll cut them some slack and be thankful for the shoes i’ve been dealt.

I’ll be interested to know if this makes sense or if you know who this could be. Do let me know!

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loving-barnes · 3 days ago

Text

EVAN BUCKLEY - MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR

Author's note: I have something new for you. Because I have a crush on Evan Buckley from 911, I have decided to write a fic. And it might not be the last. Yes, I know it's easter, but I was feeling a bit more festive. So, enjoy. I hope some of you will.

Summary: Y/N was invited to the Christmas dinner with the 118.

Pairing: Evan Buckley x female reader

Warning: none

Rating: 15+

Words: 4200+

Masterlist | Evan Buckley Masterlist

EVAN BUCKLEY - MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR

This year, the Christmas celebration was held at the 118 station. The “A-shift” was working through the most wonderful day of the year. With that, or a few weeks before, came the idea of having a Christmas party at the station. Everyone was invited—everyone who was somehow related to each member of the fire station. Many people were expected, including kids.

Bobby was happy to cook the turkey and ham at the station. His wife promised to make mashed potatoes, and bring peas and baked vegetables. Other firefighters brought food to the table - some sweet, others savoury. They wanted to be sure that there was plenty of food for everyone invited.

Maddie drove with Y/N to the station. Both women wore Santa hats for the occasion and dressed casually as requested. The brunette kept eyeing her, grinning. “Are you excited?” she asked.

Y/N squinted. “What’s with that face? What’s going on behind those eyes, huh?”

Maddie parked the car at the station. “Nothing, nothing,” she shook her head, still grinning like a maniac. There was a silence for a good five seconds. “Just, thinking that you’ll be under the same roof with Buck.”

There it was, again. “Oh, that’s what’s happening,” she glared at her friend. “Listen, just because I confessed I have a tiny crush on your brother, doesn’t mean you get to have a field day with this.”

“It’s cute, actually,” she said. “And the thought of you and my brother is appealing.” The brunette turned to her friend. “Okay, I have a confession.”

“Oh no.”

“There were two reasons why I brought you that night to meet everyone,” said Maddie. Before Y/N could send her to hell, she continued. “Yes, I wanted you to meet other people. You were new in the city and had no friends. But I wanted you to meet my little brother.”

“Meddler,” Y/N glared at her. “That’s what I’m gonna call you.”

“You two have so much in common! Exercising? Video games? Cooking / baking?!” she said excitedly. “Besides, there is a spark between you two.”

They got out of the car and headed to the trunk to get the baked goods they brought. “I don’t know what you see, Mads, but I don’t see any spark. I don’t think your brother is interested in me at all. He’s just friendly. So, please, just drop it, okay?”

Once the truck was locked, they walked inside the station. Maddie held a big box with sugar cookies and regular cookies. She decided to change the topic. “This year we are so lucky to have Christmas and New Year’s off,” the brunette said, cheerfully.

Y/N carried a tray with a punch cake. It was heavy, but she was proud she could bake it on time. Everyone would get a piece or two. “You have plans for New Year’s?” she asked.

“Athena and Bobby are having a New Year’s party at their house,” she said. “Chim and I are going. Didn’t they tell you?”

Y/N looked at her friend, shaking her head. “N-no. But, that’s okay. I’ll just have a nice evening on the couch, watching TV and-”

Maddie stopped and turned to Y/N. “No, you are coming with us. Besides, they decided about three days ago. They will let you know about it, I’m sure of it.”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Y/N sighed. “So, if they don’t say anything to me tonight, I’ll know I am not invited and that’s fine. I have a rule: don’t go anywhere you are not invited.”

Maddie was about to protest, but they just landed on the last steps of the upper level. The place was nicely decorated. Ornaments hung around the bannisters and the ceiling. A Christmas tree was shining with multiple colours. And, of course, there were mistletoes. It was magical.

With the big boxes, it took both women a second to walk up the stairs. Many people were present, so they greeted everyone with a loud “Merry Christmas!”

Cheerful greetings started from every side. Bobby was the first to appear, taking Maddie’s box first, then hugging her once he put it away. Athena jumped in, taking Y/N’s tray of punch cake. “Oh my god, you baked that?” she asked.

Y/N nodded with a smile. “I did. We bake it every year on Christmas - also, a non-alcoholic version. There is only a punch scent,” she explained. “Otherwise we put rum in it.”

“You have to give me a recipe and show me how to bake it,” Athena smelled the cake through a plastic wrap, her eyes rolled back. “Damn, that smells delicious. It’s gonna be hard putting off those extra holiday pounds when I see all these goods.”

Athena served the cookies and punch cake. She put half and half on plates and set each on one side of the narrow table.

Chim greeted Maddie with a deep kiss. Hen came to hug Y/N as well as Karen did. At this point, they knew Y/N well. The moment Maddie brought her to the bar that fateful night, she became part of this family. And it was nice, having this many people in her life. They looked for one another, they cared for each other. It was nice. It was special.

“Y/N!” She heard Christopher’s cheerful voice. He slowly walked to her, a big smile plastered over his face. Her arms wrapped around him in a tight hug. “Merry Christmas, Chris. Maddie and I brought sweets,” she winked at him.

“What kind?”

“Sugar cookies, regular cookies and I made a punch cake. It’s a Christmas cake I make with my family during Christmas,” she explained to him. “It’s really good.”

“Can’t wait to try it,” he said excitedly.

That kid was amazing. Even with cerebral palsy, he could do so much stuff. And he made everyone’s day better. His attitude was always positive. Y/N admired him and Eddie.

Speaking of Eddie, he approached them, sweeping his son into his arms. It made Chris laugh. “Hey, Y/N. Glad you could make it,” he smiled at the woman.

“Y/N.” Buck approached the young woman with a smile on his face. His hands spread wide. He was ready for a hug. “Merry Christmas.”

There he was. The man who made her head spin. The man who made her heartbeat speed up like a race car. Buck was her Christmas wish. Somewhere deep in her fantasies, she imagined coming up to Santa and wishing for Buck to like her back.

“Buck, Merry Christmas,” she greeted him, hugging the firefighter.

This wasn’t the first time they hugged. They did it a couple of times. It turned into a causal thing between them. And damn, he smelled nice. Those strong arms around her; his body pressed against her… No, don’t go there.

“I saw you brought a big tray,” he wiggled his brows.

“I made a punch cake,” she said. How many times did she say it already? “So, I hope you’ll take a piece and tell me what you think since you’ve dipped your fingers into the culinary world.” There was a teasing grin on her face.

“It’ll be my pleasure,” he bowed his head a little. “You accept criticism, right?”

She made a face. “I do, don’t worry. You can go all Gordon Ramsay on me. I won’t mind. But I bet you’ll say only nice things about my baking skills.”

Buck looked around, his eyes landing on a plate with sweets. He reached for a piece of punch cake and took a bite. Y/N watched him chew. He hummed, made a face and then swallowed.

“Fuck, that’s one good cake,” he cursed and shoved the rest of the piece into his mouth. More humming came out of his throat. It made Y/N giggle. “Very on theme, very well baked from a pretty, skilful baker.”

Pretty and skilful or pretty skilful, she wondered. Don’t get your hopes high.

“Is everyone here?” They heard Athena call. Buck and Y/N looked at her, wondering what this was about. “If you could all gather for a Christmas group photo on this side of the table.”

People started to move around, walking to one side of the table for the photo. “Who’s gonna take the picture?” Chim asked.

“Self-timer,” Bobby replied as he set the camera on a tripod.

Y/N wanted to stand on the very edge of the photo. That’s where she belonged even when she knew these people well. It was only fitting. But a hand reached for her, pulling her. Her eyes found Buck pulling her more to the middle. He made her stand next to him. His arm wrapped around her lower back, pushing her closer to his body. Maddie was slightly bent forward with Chim. Eddie was next to Buck with Christopher standing in front of him.

It was a simple gesture. This proved she was part of the brave family that saved lives - 911 dispatchers, Firefighters, Paramedics and Police officers. First responders.

“Everyone, say ‘Merry Christmas’!” Athena called.

“Merry Christmas!” The whole group shouted as several photos were taken thanks to a self-timer.

This was the first Christmas that felt nice. Last year, she was alone, back in her hometown, sad and depressed. She would laugh at people if someone told her that Christmas could be magical again. Look where she was now.

Y/N took a deep breath to suppress her tears. This was not the time to cry. It was time to be joyful.

“The camera will be available for anyone who wants to take a picture after dinner. Now, let’s eat before the bell rings,” Bobby ordered with a big smile.

People started to mingle around, finding a place to sit. Maddie sat down next to Chim and called Y/N to sit beside her. Eddie, Chris and Buck walked around and sat across them.

“I am starving,” Buck called.

Peas were passed around. Mashed potatoes and a bowl of other vegetables and then cut portions of turkey and ham. People put anything they wanted on their plates. Laugher echoed around the firehouse as well as the sound of clinking dishes.

The food was delicious. Y/N had to admit she had never had mashed potatoes that were this creamy and rich. The meat was juicy and perfectly marinated. Bobby did an excellent job, as she learnt from the people around her.

“I’m gonna be in a food coma,” she commented after finishing her plate. “It was delicious.”

“I told you. Bobby is like Guy Fieri,” Buck looked into her eyes.

Y/N felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She glanced at the screen. A sigh escaped her lips. It was a text from a relative who wrote to her for Christmas. The last thing she wanted was a message from them. She licked her lips and put the phone back.

Maddie’s eyes were on her. She noticed the shift of energy from her friend. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Y/N put a smile on her face. “Just got Christmas wishes.”

No more questions were asked. Good. She didn’t need people to feel sorry for her. She didn’t want to dwell on the past, no matter how hard or sad it was.

As the party continued, and without any calls, people formed groups and talked. They eat the cookies or the punch cake. They drank water, juice or other non-alcoholic beverages. Now was the perfect opportunity to find a secluded spot to think for a moment. And that’s what Y/N did.

She walked to the other side of the upper floor where no one was present. It gave her the space to be alone but not leave the party. All she needed was five minutes, maybe ten. Y/N took her phone out and looked at the text. It made her stomach twist and turn unpleasantly. No, she won’t react to the text. She won’t do anything about it.

“Hey.”

Her head snapped up from the phone. She quickly put it in her pocket again. “Hey, Buck.”

“Y-you okay?” His steps stopped by her side. He leaned against the wooden bannister. His eyes looked around the firehouse. The engines were parked, waiting to be taken on a call. Boy, he hoped they wouldn’t have to leave anytime soon.

“Uh, yeah,” she smiled at him. “I’m just checking with my relatives. That’s all.” It was a half-truth.

“Come on, we’re friends. We’ve known each other for months. You don’t have to pretend or lie. Is everything okay, Y/N?” His body turned to face her.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. How could she tell him about her life? She hated going back in the past, reliving the memories that had happened. “Uh, it’s a little complicated,” she said. “Last Christmas, I spent it alone, back in my hometown. It was a challenging year. Tragic, I dare to say.”

Buck’s hand appeared on her shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “Okay, I’m not gonna push-”

“It’s okay,” she jumped in. “My father passed away 2 years ago - prostate cancer. It happened after Christmas.”

“Oh, sorry about that,” he sighed. “You and your mom must-”

“I’m not in contact with my mother,” she said. “Or I’m not trying to be. Our relationship is bad. Let’s leave it like that for now.”

She could see in Buck’s eyes he wanted to ask. His lower lip trembled. One nod of his head, he decided to let it go. “You’ve spent last Christmas alone?”

“Yeah, I didn’t feel like celebrating. I felt lost and not festive. Now, it’s different. I feel like I belong somewhere again.” Y/N looked at the people at the table. They laughed, chatted and enjoyed the rest of the food.

“You are with us, now. You are part of this big heroic family. We get to save lives, some of us risk our own and feel like heroes for a moment,” he laughed.

“Like I said before, I like I’m doing something meaningful. No matter how mentally challenging this job is. I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you.” Y/N turned to him. Her elbow rested against the bannister. Her head tilted to the side. “You go in the field, risk your life. Hope to survive and then do it again.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Some days it’s easier than others. But, I wouldn’t change this work for anything. I love my job. I love what I’m doing.”

She nodded. “I get it. I do. I love my job, too. It was the best decision to…” Her speech faltered when her eyes noticed Maddie on the other side of the room, making weird faces at her. At first, she made kissy faces. Then she pointed with her finger up.

Y/N’s eyes lifted just as Buck turned his head to see what was happening behind his back. There was a mistletoe above them. It was one of the many that hung around the firehouse. Buck looked back at Y/N and saw her attention above them. Now, he too discovered the mistletoe.

He chuckled under his nose. “I don’t think I’ve noticed that.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “I didn’t either.” Her cheeks got warmer and she bit her lip nervously. “But I recall I’ve seen a few around the place when we arrived.”

Buck made a small step to her, a smile never leaving his face. He cleared his throat. “You know the rules, right?”

“Uh, enlighten me,” she said.

“Well,” he licked his lips. “It’s all just superstition, but it is said that if the people don’t just kiss under the mistletoe, they’ll get one year of bad luck.”

That made her laugh. “Oh, is that right?”

He took another step closer. The gap between them closing. His eyes travelled around her face - her eyes, her nose and then her lips. “You don’t want a year of bad luck, do you?”

“I don’t.”

“Good.” His hand lifted to her face and he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. He was so close now. She could feel his body heat radiating from him. “Well, now you’re gonna have to kiss me then.”

She made a face, trying to hold back her laughter. Her eyes locked on his. “Or maybe you’ll have to kiss me,” she dared back.

He was surprised by that response, by her boldness. “If that’s what you want,” he whispered. One of his hands found the back of her neck as he gently pulled her closer to his body. Slowly, their lips connected in their first, gentle kiss.

They tested the waters. At first, it was light as a feather, lips barely touching. Then, the second time their lips pressed together, it was bolder, proper. Her hands slowly crawled up his chest and wrapped around his neck as the third kiss got more heated. His tongue swiped over her lower lip, asking for entrance. She did. Their tongues collided, explored and danced together.

Y/N didn’t want the kiss to end. His arms, the hold he had on her was what she needed. His kisses were what she secretly dreamt of. However, a higher power, or in other words, his co-workers had a different plan.

Shouting and clapping echoed from the other side of the level. Their kiss broke when they heard the cheering. Y/N pressed her forehead against his uniform, blushing. With that scene, everyone was looking at them now.

Buck turned his head, glaring at everyone. “Way to ruin the moment,” he huffed.

When Y/N pushed her body from him and looked at the people, she noticed Maddie giving her thumbs up. “Your sister is gonna be insufferable now and I mean it affectionately.”

“Uh, what now?” Buck looked at her.

She shook her head, laughing awkwardly. Y/N waved a hand. “So, no bad luck now, huh?”

His hand moved to her warm cheek. A thumb brushed the skin under her eye. “Yeah. I guess the bad luck was avoided, thanks to me.”

Y/N snorted. “So, you are basically taking the credit, huh?”

“It was me who kissed you,” he teased.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Of course, what was I expecting?” This silliness between them was adorable.

Buck leaned in some more. He inhaled her scent, enjoying the vanilla perfume she wore. “Maybe you should thank me for saving you from a year of bad luck,” he hummed. His nose brushed against her.

A gentle nod. A whisper of “okay”. She leaned more, their lips meeting again in another kiss. One of his hands appeared on the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. The kiss deepened. A soft moan escaped her lips.

The bell began to ring again. It was another call and the firefighters had to respond. Buck pulled away. “Wait till we are back?”

“O-okay,” she nodded eagerly and watched him run downstairs with the rest of his team. Christmas or not, they were at work and were needed somewhere more.

Y/N licked her lips. Her eyes were locked on the fire engine until it was out of sight. Her mind was clouded by the feeling of Buck’s lips on her. The way he held her, how he made her feel. This was a dream, right?

“Y/N,” Athena’s voice brought her back from the cloud. There was a smirk on her lips. “I’m not gonna ask questions about what happened here, but I’m gonna do is invite you to our New Year’s party. Bobby and I decided to leave this year with a bang.” Before Y/N could reply, she added, “Buck’s gonna be there.”

Her cheeks warmed up again. “Thank you for inviting me. I guess I can change my traditional plans for a party with you all.”

Athena raised a brow. “What are your traditional plans?”

“Watching TV, eating food and falling asleep before midnight,” Y/N chuckled.

“My kind of evening,” Athena patted her shoulder.

Together they walked back to the table where the friends and family members talked. “I used to party when I was younger,” said Y/N. “That changed with age. The moment I turned 21, it was like the magic disappeared. Since then, I’m not a party girl.”

Athena handed her a phone. “Give me your number. I still want the recipe for that delicious punch cake. Plus, I want you to show me how to bake it.”

Two hours later, half of the people left. Karen took Denny home with Christopher and his aunt. Michael took May and Harry to his place. Maddie, Athena and Y/N cleaned up the place. They put the remaining food into the containers. Y/N cleaned the dishes with Maddie and Athena cleared the table.

“So,” Maddie grinned at Y/N. “Everyone saw you kissing my brother.”

“Your brother kissed me,” she fought back with a smile. “It was the mistletoe.”

Maddie rolled her eyes. “If it were just the mistletoe, you wouldn’t be making out like that. It was the push you needed.”

“Maddie, let the girl be,” Athena chimed in.

“Come on. Don’t say you don’t support this,” Maddie sighed. “It’s adorable.”

“Oh, I’m rooting for Buckoo and Y/N. But everyone saw this intimate moment between them which can be a bit embarrassing. So, let them figure things out first.”

Y/N sighed. “You are talking as if I’m not here.”

After the place was clean and all three women remained at the station alone, Y/N checked the time. “I promised Buck to wait for him, but I should get going. Will you drive me home, please?” she looked at Maddie.

The brunette nodded. They said goodbye to Athena, who was already on her way out of the station. Both women grabbed their belongings just as the firetrucks returned to the station.

Maddie smiled at Y/N. “We’ll meet in the car, okay? Take your time. I’m gonna grab Chim for a minute too.”

Y/N stood on the lower floor, watching as they parked all the vehicles. Bobby was already out, coordinating the parking. He raised his hand to signal the drivers to stop. His head turned to the woman.

“Hey, Y/N,” he smiled. “You still here?”

“We just finished cleaning the kitchen to take some work off your shoulders,” she said. “Leftovers are in the fridge, as well as the punch cake. It’s better when it is chilled. Cookies are on the counter.”

Eddie and Buck left the engine together. Smiles were plastered over their faces until they noticed Y/N and Bobby talking. Well, Buck’s smile got even bigger. “You still here?” Eddie asked.

“I was just about to leave.”

“Thank you for coming here and celebrating Christmas with us,” said Bobby. He hugged her. The gesture was sweet.

Eddie came in next, wrapping his arms around her. “Loverboy wants to talk,” he whispered. It made her laugh. “Merry Christmas.”

Once she was free, Buck approached her. His hand reached forward. Y/N grabbed it and let him take her to a secluded part of the firehouse. They didn’t need any more eyes on them.

“I guess I came just in time,” he smiled.

“Everyone already left and it’s getting late,” she replied, holding his hand. Buck never let go.

“Listen,” he pulled her closer to him. “I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me tomorrow evening if you are available?”

“I’d love that,” she nodded. The smile on her face was the brightest Buck had ever seen. God, could he get any more smitten with her? His heart wanted to escape out of his chest. “My shift ends at 6 PM. Where do we meet?”

“Your place,” he said. “I’ll be the perfect gentleman. I’ll pick you up at eight. You’ll have enough time to get ready after work. I’ll take you to a nice restaurant where we’ll wine and dine. Then, we can take a walk and after I’ll safely bring you back home.”

She bit her lower lip, trying to keep herself composed. “Sounds lovely. I can’t wait.”

“Great. Great,” he nodded.

They stood there, eyes staring into one another. For a few seconds, they didn’t do anything. It was a bit awkward. Buck decided to take the step. His right hand pressed gently against her cheek. He stepped towards her and leaned to kiss her lips. It was simple and sweet. Her hands brushed against his chest.

Buck pulled away first. “Damn, you should go. Otherwise, I won’t let you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, grinning. “Okay, firefighter Buckley. I’ll see you tomorrow at eight. I can’t wait.”

“Me too.”

Reluctantly, their touch disconnected and Y/N walked away from the station. Again, the smile that decorated her face signified nothing but pure happiness. Her head was again on cloud nine, thinking about his lips. She almost bumped into Maddie’s car.

Y/N hopped into the car, meeting Maddie’s curious eyes. “What?” she asked.

Maddie made a face. “Well? How did it go?”

“We…” Y/N took a deep breath. “We are going on a date tomorrow evening.”

“Yes!” Maddie shouted excitedly. “I’m so glad things are finally moving between you two. Ah. And I am not feeling bad that I meddled between you,” she clapped her hands.

Y/N shook her head in disbelief. “Do I wanna know what you mean by that?”

“I’ll tell you some other time,” Maddie giggled.

She started the car and drove Y/N back to her apartment. Looking back at the day, it was indeed the most wonderful time of the year.

#Evan Buckley x reader #Evan Buckley x female reader #Evan Buckley #Evan “Buck” Buckley x reader #911 LA fanfiction #911 fantiction #911 TV show fanfiction #Firefighter Evan Buckley x female dispatcher reader #Evan Buckley x reader fluff

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psformybss · 1 day ago

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drew starkey x actress!reader

series masterlist

— drew starkey who… used to think he could keep work and emotions separate. Show up, hit his marks, be chill with the cast, and move on. But then she walked into the readthrough, sharp-eyed, sarcastic, too smart for her own good and made him forget every rule he swore by.

— drew starkey who… said she was a bad fit for the show before he even gave her a chance. Told someone in passing that her character felt “forced.” Thought she’d be another spotlight-chaser with something to prove. But when she looked him dead in the eye and said, “Don’t worry, I’m not here to be your fan,” he knew he’d misjudged her. And it pissed him off.

— drew starkey who… couldn’t stop thinking about her after that first table read. Not because he liked her, he didn’t. Not then. It was the way she challenged him. Interrupted him. Matched him line for line and still made him look like the immature one. She was a problem. And for some reason, he liked problems.

— drew starkey who… tried to be distant, tried to keep it professional, but she made that impossible. She roasted him in front of the whole cast during truth or dare and somehow made it funny and accurate and brutal all at once. He laughed, sure but later he couldn’t sleep. All he could hear was her voice mimicking his. All he could see was the smirk she gave after.

— drew starkey who… started noticing the way her laugh cracked a little when she was tired. The way she stayed late to run lines even when she said she hated being around him. The way his name sounded different when she was annoyed like she could spit it or kiss it. It messed with his head. Made him wish things were different. Made him wonder if they could be.

— drew starkey who… told himself it was just chemistry. Just two good actors with natural friction. But then she cried during a scene and he felt it in his chest. Not the script. Her. And when she walked off set that day, shaken and silent, he followed. And when she finally let him kiss her, it felt like everything before that moment had just been noise.

— drew starkey who… now brings her coffee before call times, even when they’re not speaking. Sends her stupid memes just to get a reaction. Feels like he’s falling every time she calls him out, smiles at him sideways, or sits too close on purpose. She drives him insane but he doesn’t want peace if it means losing her.

— drew starkey who… doesn’t care what people say. Doesn’t care about rumors, press, or PR chaos. She’s the reason every scene feels real now. The reason his trailer feels empty without her in it. He used to think he was better off guarded. Detached. But now? Now he knows, he was just waiting for her.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

— actress!reader who… walked into Outer Banks thinking it’d just be a job. A cool opportunity, a fun cast, maybe some good scenes. She didn’t expect Drew Starkey to be cold, distant, and rude from day one. She definitely didn’t expect him to get under her skin the way he did.

— actress!reader who… heard him call her character “forced” behind her back before they’d even spoken two words to each other. Who smiled through introductions but never forgot the way his eyes skimmed over her like she was a problem, not a person. Fine, she thought. If he wanted to act like she didn’t belong, she’d make sure he felt her presence every time she walked on set.

— actress!reader who… fought with him over blocking and tone during their very first scene. Who stood her ground when the director had to step in. Who left rehearsal fuming more times than she could count but still caught herself rewinding moments between them in her head. Because the chemistry? It was there. Even when she hated him.

— actress!reader who… made a joke at his expense during a cast truth-or-dare game and had the whole table crying laughing except him. Who pretended not to notice the way he looked at her after, like she was a puzzle he suddenly couldn’t solve. Like she was fire and he’d just touched it.

— actress!reader who… started catching feelings in the worst, slowest, most inconvenient way. Not in the big, dramatic moments but in the small ones. When she caught him staring during a readthrough. When he sent her a dumb meme late at night just to get a reaction. When he defended her, quietly, to someone who doubted her. That’s when she knew she was screwed.

— actress!reader who… kissed him backstage after an emotional scene, breathless and still shaking, and told herself it didn’t mean anything. That it was adrenaline. That it was acting. But his hands didn’t feel like acting. The way he whispered her name didn’t feel like acting. Nothing between them ever really did.

— actress!reader who… tried to stay professional, but kept finding excuses to be near him. Kept finding comfort in the soft way he said “you good?” between takes. In the silence that wasn’t awkward anymore. In the way he’d start to say something, stop himself, then say it anyway, just for her.

— actress!reader who… spent months pretending not to care, only to realize she always did. And now? Now she steals his hoodies, rolls her eyes when he brings her coffee, roasts him in group chats and still texts him good luck before every big scene. They still argue but now they argue like people who know they’ll always come back to each other.

an: sooo i changed my mind it’s not gonna be a chapter kinda fic mostly cause i dont have the attention span for that rn 😭

taglist: @happy-mushrooms

#drew starkey x actress!reader #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey obx #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey #obx #rafe cameron x oc #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n

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cruel-hiraeth · 1 day ago

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elaborating on this post. mdni.

the fics-i-masturbate-to blog begins as a joke—kind of.

your pinned simply reads:

mdni. horny adult (old enough to remember life before tumblr). send an ask off anon with a link to your smutty fic + relevant cws. if i’m into it, i’ll rub one out while reading, then rb your fic after i cum.

on your byf page, people can find what you will and won’t read, what your preferred dynamics are, and what your favorite kinks are. you’re open to nearly any fandom as long as the fic is compelling; you’re here to support writers the best way you know how: with a hard-earned orgasm as tribute.

you’re aware that the idea is…niche. not every writer wants a stranger to jerk off to a fic they poured hours of emotional labor into. on the other hand, though, some writers love it. all in all, you anticipate a few asks here and there.

what you don’t anticipate is word of your blog spreading like wildfire, your inbox inundated with authors who want you to masturbate to their fics.

it’s easy to weed out those who don’t follow the instructions: blogs with no age indicators; blogs who send fics written by someone else; fics that simply don’t interest you. but you’re still left with dozens of messages. so every day after work, you get busy.

(there isn’t much of a break in your routine, as you tended to masturbate every day before you made this blog, scrolling ao3 for hours on end. at least you’re getting off with a purpose, now…right?)

as time goes on, fics-i-masturbate-to continues to flourish, and you become pickier with the fics you choose to read. several authors regularly visit your blog, but there’s one in particular who you genuinely look forward to seeing.

without fail, each of their fics feels like it was tailor-made for you. they’re all original character x reader fics, which is rather uncommon, as you mostly receive fandom requests. but they consistently hit your favorite tropes, your favorite kinks, and your favorite pet names.

the recurring original character strikes something raw and primal within you. blinded by lust, you don’t notice how each fic grows more and more specific, the reader closer and closer resembling you each day—

until one evening when you receive a dm from the writer. they say that they’re someone you know; they’ve been keeping a secret from you.

they’re ready to come clean.

#sorry this isn’t beautifully written i’m just getting the insanity of the idea across LOL #um. the writer is [insert an unhinged fave who is def stalking you]#i hope this goes without saying but this is my fic idea so please do not take it!#i’m going back and forth as to which chara i want to insert as the writer...although one fave keeps coming to mind RIP </3 #— musings #ask to tag

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bellatrixscurls · 11 hours ago

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group activities

pairing : fem reader x slytherin gang x golden trio.

warnings : SMUT (in the next chapter), tom can read minds, female reader, reader is a virgin, they’re all infatuated with her, ron and draco are really touchy with each other, reader is a pureblood and a rosier, but no physical characteristics are included.

a/n : please let me know if you enjoyed this, it motivates me to write more and faster. also, i really wanted to include smut in this part, but i didn’t want to rush it and make it bad. love 🤍

────── ☾ ──────

“you don’t look too good” a deep, low voice said from behind you, and you immediately turned to see its owner. not that it was needed.

you hummed, incredulous. “nice to see you too, draco.”

he only laughed at your dismissive attitude and sat down next to you. his eyes scanned the paper you were almost ripping into, and he searched for your gaze, silently asking you to let him look at it. “what kind of idiot would even take muggle studies? it’s optional” he nodded slowly, making you feel even dumber. “you don’t have to take it.”

huffing, you took the paper back and tried your best to ignore him, as if that would make him go away.

“okay, sorry” he mumbled, scratching the tip of his pen against a plain piece of paper, his eyes avoiding yours. “i just. i would’ve never taken it. ever. and take that from someone who’s good at every subject.”

and that made you finally snap. “okay, you’re so good at everything! congrats on that, dimwit!” you spat at him, rolling your eyes as you felt your blood boil. “you think i’d actually take this class on my own accord?! think again.”

draco fell silent at that. you were right, you were a pureblood after all. and your family would go crazy if they found out about you taking this class. so that only left him one option - his eyes lit up. “you like a mudblood” he said with disgust, making a face that you were so familiar with already.

and you wanted to lie to him and tell him it’s not true, but your cheeks reddened and you tried to hide it with your hair, but it was no use. draco knew you like the back of his hand. “oh, merlin!” he stood up from the chair, mouth open wide, but instinctively curling into a scowl when madam pince shushed him.

“which one is it? is it riddle, please say no” “no, draco… why would i even take muggle studies for him? he despises muggle-borns. he doesn’t even like his own grandmother since she’s the reason he’s a halfblood.”

draco made a realisation sound, but his eyebrows furrowed. “you know an awful lot about this guy.”

“i only spend like half of my time with you lot. and mind you, the other half i’m sleeping.”

your words didn’t do anything to him, though. only made him fall deeper into thoughts. why was he comfortable enough with you so that he could be himself, yet you weren’t?

you looked up at him curiously, noticing his nails tugging at the thin skin on his knuckles, and you couldn’t help but place your hand over his, that causing draco to look up at you as well. “what?”

he was visibly more relaxed under your touch, but you could tell that he didn’t expect it. you were not too touchy, especially with him. “do you wanna go back to the common room? you look tired.”

but he shook his head, dragging his chair even closer to yours. “no. no, i’m just fine” he whispered whilst trying his best not to yawn.

you smiled to yourself. he was a cutie when he wanted to be. or when he wasn’t trying so hard to make other people feel bad. “i’ll go with you. i’m done here anyway. i think i’ll try to get help from an actual muggle-born.”

he didn’t really let it show, but he was grateful. either you did it because you were tired too, or for him, he was more than content when you took his hand and dragged him behind you back to the common room.

🤍

yet when you arrived to the common room, with draco basically glued to your side, you almost prayed that it would be quiet. it was anything but that.

loud chatter could be heard all the way down the hallway, and as you whispered the password, you could even distinguish the voices.

“oh, look who’s here!” lorenzo basically threw himself at you two, kissing your cheek and squeezing draco closer to him. yet, he only let go of you, keeping the younger boy wrapped around his body.

you took the opportunity and plopped down on the sofa next to a visibly tired theo. he shot you a lazy smile which you returned, your hands resting on the back of the sofa. “i’m fucking tired.”

“poor baby. you stayed late studying again?” blaise cooed at you and your brows shot up hearing his voice, not even aware of his presence until then.

you whined quietly, your eyes closing for a mere moment. “yeah. i think i might need hermione’s help though. i don’t think i’ll be able to do it on my own anytime soon.”

“granger’s help?” theo seemed more awake now, and your words made even tom put his book away. “what for? i’m sure it’s nothing draco couldn’t help you with.”

draco hummed softly from beside you, head resting against enzo’s chest as he looked just about three seconds away from falling asleep. “she’s taking muggle studies.”

you gave him a dirty look that you’re not sure he even caught, judging by his eyes being more than 80% closed by then.

though, around you, strings of questions followed. “oh, dolcezza, what for?” theo was the first one to ask, a gentle smile on his face.

to be fair, you weren’t sure why. you just found yourself wanting to know more about muggle-borns. you were concerned about their abilities. of course, other reasons ensued.

you sighed. “i’m just really curious. how can a muggle do magic? how can some of them be even better at it than us?” you paused, opening your eyes to look at them. “do you ever think about that?”

“i always thought that they’re not really muggle-borns. just adopted by clueless muggles” mattheo shrugged, taking a drag from his joint.

tom looked at his brother with something that you could only call disdain, before he looked at you, your eyes locking. “distant ancestors is my humble guess” his tone had a bite to it, but you knew it wasn’t directed at you.

maintaining eye contact, you felt as if he was eating you alive with just his eyes, gaze so intense that it made your knees give out. “that’s what the books say” you agreed, slightly startled when theo’s head dropped on your lap, your fingers almost instinctively going to play with his soft curls, the boy humming with appreciation.

you smiled down at him. “what do you say, teddy?”

“whatever you wanna do is fine by me, amorina” he replied a bit too quickly, his long, slender fingers rubbing at your knee.

that made you snicker, and you relax against the sofa, closing your eyes again. you didn’t hear much after that as you drifted off. but you surely remembered someone’s arms wrapping around you and carrying you to your prefect dorm.

🤍

you woke up with a headache the next day, and your owl delivered a letter - oh no. you wanted to postpone opening it, but you had no chance as it opened on its own, your mother’s high pitched, obnoxious voice ringing in your ears.

“y/n rosier! how dare you embarrass us this way??! taking muggle studies?! might as well put a knife in my heart. i don’t care about extra points, as long as you’re risking all of our lives - if the dark lord is made aware of this nonsense, he’ll have our throats! if you put another toe out of line, we’ll bring you STRAIGHT HOME!”

sighing, you ripped the parchment into pieces and threw your bag over your shoulder. you knew it was coming, you just didn’t know who told them.

walking down the stairs, you were met with a pair of curious eyes - they probably heard it all. how could they not?

“what was that about?” a confused blaise came to stand beside you, placing a hand at the small of your back as he walked with you out of the common room.

“my mother” you looked straight ahead as you walked, an unreadable expression on your face. “I have to drop muggle studies or the dark lord will have our throats.”

blaise chuckled lowly and squeezed you closer to his side, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “didn’t you expect that? i mean, we’re friends with his sons, of course they’d tell him.”

“you think so? i thought matt hated him” you said confusedly. mattheo did hate him, but his evil twin was a spitting image of his father.

your mouth opened in realisation. that bastard.

“listen… i love tom, but i don’t always trust him” he explained quietly, his face inching closer to yours as if he was afraid tom would actually hear him. “he’s a lot smarter than i think possible. and we all know that he’s always trying to please his father.”

that left you deep in thought. you had known tom for years, but you never thought he’d turn you in.

arriving to your first class of the day, potions, blaise left your side and went to sit at the table in front of you. funnily enough? tom was sitting just behind you.

“you’ll be paired up today as this is quite a difficult task and i’m not sure all of you can manage” professor slughorn eyed adrian pucey and you giggled quietly, blaise turning to you to shoot you a devilish grin.

dismissing you both with a hand waving in the air, slughorn continued. “alright, if miss rosier and mister zabini will allow me, i’ll start reading” he eyed you rather playfully and you gave a curt nod.

“mister zabini and mister pucey,” you could see blaise’s fall even from the side, as he gathered his things and went to sit with adrian, but not before shaking his head at you. “mister weasley and mister malfoy,” and your head snapped, your eyes widening when you finally heard your name, “mister riddle and miss rosier.”

you froze on the spot, unable to move as you heard shuffling from behind you, and soon after, tom was neatly placing his cauldrons on your table. “morning” his voice was soft but firm.

“morning” unlike your own, which was rather shaky. “did you hear what kind of potion we have to make? i-i wasn’t paying attention.”

he could see the blush creeping up your neck, his eyes observing every little detail - as always. “I didn’t tell father about you.”

you choked on air, tom having to pat you on the back, a foreign glint in his eyes. and once you finally relaxed, your throat rough, you asked. “how do you know that?”

“i read blaise’s mind” he shrugged as if it was nothing.

mouth agape, you stared at him like he’d grown two heads. and when you didn’t speak, he continued. “see weasley and malfoy there” he pointed to them and you nodded. “he’s thinking about screwing him. malfoy.”

“draco?!” you almost yelled and half of the class turned to look at you, which earned you a disappointing head shake from tom.

“yes, draco” he whispered nonchalantly, and his face fell. “they’re screwing more than any of us. they even do it in broom closets and if you catch draco drinking more than two butterbeers, he’ll tell you all about it.”

you nodded once, twice… and your brows furrowed. “any of you? who are you screwing?”

“our group. plus the golden trio, but i’m not big on that. it’s casual, not to them apparently” he nodded toward ron and draco again, and you sighed, still very much confused.

“why… why am i not a part of that?”

tom looked down and you could swear it was the first time he actually hesitated. “draco started all of this. i’m not… i’m not sure why.”

“bullshit” you spat, turning your face away from him. it actually made you feel bad. why did they not include you?

just as tom was about to speak again, probably come up with some lame excuse, you raised your hand, feigning stomach ache. “may i please be excused, professor? i don’t feel so good.”

and obviously, crazy scared about these things, slughorn let you go, and you felt tom’s burning gaze on your back as you left.

you decided that you didn’t want to see any of them that day. maybe the next day too. and the days after that.

you felt deeply hurt. not just because of the physical things you were missing on, but because they were your friends, and you were the only one being excluded from their activities.

sitting alone on the great hall, your mind started to wander. it wandered to all those times theo would disappear right before dinner and come back disheveled, when hermione would leave your study sessions early, when enzo and mattheo would feign being sick whilst the rest of you went to hogsmeade.

and your conclusion? none of them found you attractive. not a single person. you had had problems with the way you looked, as one does, but they were never this serious.

never to the point that you could physically feel the hole in your heart.

putting an end to your thoughts, the bell rang and students started making their way to the great hall. it was already lunch time.

you contemplated leaving, as you could already hear some of your friends nearby, but instead, you sat a few seats down from your usual spot, adrian pucey claiming the sit next to you.

“i must say i didn’t expect this, but i’m not mad” he chuckled as he started cutting into his meat, eyeing you curiously.

you tried to put on a smile, as insincere as it was due to your state. “i could use a change of scenery… what about your match against gryffindor on saturday? tell me about that.”

his eyes lit up instantly, and you thanked merlin for it. he would blabber and never shut up about it, so he couldn’t ask any more questions about your unusual behaviour. “so, we’re gonna beat those dimwits up. i don’t care what it takes-”

“yeah, shut up, pucey” you were startled and pulled out of your daydreaming by mattheo’s rough voice. looking up at him, you could see his eyes turning red with anger, and he took your hand in his.

he was so gentle even though he looked about ready to jump adrian. you stood up and held him close to you. without another word, he shot adrian a dirty look and led you out of the great hall and back to the slytherin common room.

the walk there was quiet, yet you could feel how tense he was. his hand on yours, even if gentle, was stiff. his shoulders were tense and it almost looked like he refused to blink.

you didn’t dare speak a word to him as he led you inside, the common room much too crowded at this time - dinner time, more specifically.

but the people there were not just random people.

“what is this?” you asked meekly, feeling too exposed as all of their eyes were on you.

they all looked at you with different kinds of expressions. draco looked angry, whilst ron, leaning back against his chest, was more excited than ever. blaise had a stern look on his face, and theo, enzo, tom, hermione and harry just looked thrilled to be there.

when none of them answered, mattheo spoke up. “my brother here is an idiot.”

“say something new” draco scoffed and blaise elbowed him in the ribs, the blond looking down as mattheo glared at him.

he turned back to you, his thumbs rubbing your knuckles as he looked down at you. “sweetheart, we didn’t include you because…” he sighed and you gulped, not feeling ready for the refusal. “because we know that you’re a virgin.”

you gasped, trying to push him away with your hands, but he tugged you closer to him, his hands wrapping around your smaller frame. “this is bullshit, i don’t care-!”

“okay, okay!” theo interrupted you and all of you looked at him, your brows rising. “we thought that even if you agreed to it… we didn’t- fuck! we couldn’t accept that, when you had to pick one of us to be your first, the others would just have to- live with it.”

you froze for what felt like the hundredth time today - they didn’t find you unattractive. they wanted you more than you could begin to think of.

────── ☾ ──────

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gaywineauntsstuff · 24 hours ago

Note

saw someone said dick should apologize to jason in the comics for having putting him in arkham

i am sorry i think the f*ck not 😭 like i love jason as much as the next guy dmw but come on guys

“Jason was in Arkham”

“Dick wanted to put Tim in Arkham”

I sincerely apologize to my whump friends but I fear yall don’t know Jason Todd’s game

First let’s not talk about the fact the only person Dick put in Arkham who was miserable was himself. We aren’t gonna talk about it. Or the Arkham reform thing he was doing a the time or the other 600 things that were going on

Hell I won’t even talk about what Jason did in blackgate (WHWRE HE WAS INITIALLY) b4 he killed a hundred people to end up in Arkham we don’t need to talk about it

I won’t talk about the menace that is the hottest version of red head Jason Todd okay we have, as a society moved past that.

But genuinely for a second can you imagine that conversation

Dick guilt ridden: Jason, I- I owe and apology

Jason cleaning his crowbar: ….

Dick: I never should’ve put you in Arkham I’m so sorry being near the joker-

Jason: was literally part of the whole plan? Why the hell do you think I TRIED to get into it

Dick: exactly! I shouldn’t have indulged your worst impulses, fuck I should’ve brought you home or kept you with a league member

Jason: I would’ve killed Tim and kidnapped Damian to use as a barter tool with Ra’s Al Ghul. You know this. I need you to tell me that you know this

Dick: fuck Jay you were nineteen! That’s basically a fucking child

Jason: I’m so sorry weren’t you ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED AT 19? Didn’t you run the league for a couple months at 18? Do you think you could do more than I could at 19 dickface.

Dick: No Jason you don’t understand-

Jason: oh perfect Grayson just because I chose to become a crime lord and YOU decided to do the cringe fail hero gig. Which was really. Cringe and fail since it’s so obvious you either wanted to be dead or a supervillain

Dick: wha-that’s not true!

Jason: sure sure go say hi to Donna Troy’s grave for me

Dick:…..

Jason: ANYWAY just because I spent my teenage years outside of spandex building a criminal empire DOESNT MAKE IT LESS IMPRESSIVE THAN YOUR STUPID TITANS GROUP R I C H A R D

Dick quietly: I’mstillsorry

Jason: well im not sorry for the fact i strung you and damain up nude to reveal your identities, im also not sorry for stealing your suit and killing people in it, while we’re on that topic im also not sorry for STEALING BRUCES SUIT, im not sorry for beating tim up that shit was funny as fuck and I’m also not sorry for laughing when bludhaven blew up.

Dick: ….

Jason: so shut your fucking ass up talking about ‘oh I’m so sorry Jason’ like we didn’t spend the past decade trying to ruin each others lives

Dick: I NEVER TRIED TO RUIN YOUR LIFE

Jason: MY LIFES DREAM WAS MURDER ERGO YOU NOT LETTING ME DO THAT RUINED IT.

Jason: we WERE assholes to each other past tense and I will 100% be taking advantage of your raging guilt complex to pretend those things are equivalent to each other and now that we are all happy family bygones will be bygones whatever I can fully abuse you to get out of league level shit.

Jason: anyway what are you gonna do next? apologize to Tim for Red Robin

Dick guiltily: he’s the next stop

Jason: omg your actually doing an apology tour

Dick: I FEEL BAD OKAY

Jason: dude you know what I’ll indulge you, go try and apologize to Tim but when he LAUGHS you out of the room for being a fucking dumbass I’ll be there with popcorn

Dick grumbling: Steph accepted my apology to HER

Jason: yeah because everyone in this family was a dick to Steph and she deserved better.

Dick: yeah she was a phenomenal batgirl i wish we worked together more now that she’s spoiler

Jason: did she really hit Tim in the face with a brick

Dick: yep

#dick grayson #nightwing #batman #jason todd #batfam #tim drake #BRUCE WAYNE apologize to Jason Todd sure #I am all in support of Bruce awkwardly apologizing for the way he handled Jay #but be so fr Jay Jay was a menace #he’d be so offended if we were turning him into a cringe fail whumpy meow meow #I mean he’s not Tim?#let Jason Todd stay cool 2k25 #DICK GRAYSON NEEDS TO APOLOGIZE TO DUKE THOMAS AND THATS IT #EVEN HIM ANS STEPH HASHED SHIT OUT WHEN HE WAS BATMAN #stop making bad blood #fucking use Helena or Duke or something #the gaggle of robin themed children have issues around birdy one but it’s really not what you think #I love bullying Tim in the tags #but canon Tim is my son #very normal he loops back around to supremely abnormal #as opposed to his big brother who is so weird he loops around to normal upstanding citizen #and Jason

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sukumna · 9 hours ago

Text

@DominantSirRyo has sent you a message . . .

triggers. ryomen sukuna x fem!reader. cnc. bdsm. kidnapping. asphyxiation. drowning. rough sex. degradation. fear play. d/s dynamics. MDNI

word count. 2.7k

authors note. i never thought i would finish this fic yall,,its been sitting in my docs collecting dust. i lowkey hate it but whateves. NOT PROOFREAD!

“See, your account’s been verified. Now, just select the kinks you’re interested in, and within a few weeks, someone will match with you. If no one’s available, the app will notify you.” Your friend hands you back your phone, where the list of kinks is laid out.

“And what if I match with some creep? This whole thing feels sketchy.”

“No, you’ll only meet professionals. The app was created by a BDSM club owner, and he makes sure the professionals match up with people who don’t know what they’re doing,” your friend says with a roll of her eyes. “So, it’s not like you’re meeting just some random guy who likes choking women. These are people who are well-versed in kink.”

“I don’t know…” you mumble hesitantly.

“Why do you think this app hasn’t blown up on social media or any kink sites? It’s invite-only. My sister’s boyfriend helps run it, so he slipped me the invite code. Trust me, you won’t get murdered, and you don’t even have to meet up if you don’t want to. You were the one who told me none of your past doms did it for you.”

She raises an eyebrow. She’s got a point. You can rarely get off during safe sex anymore. You’ve only ever reached climax while reading taboo smut or on the rare occasions you’ve had kinky encounters.

“I just want you to be satisfied. You’ve been kind of a bitch without sex.”

“Oh, wow!” You feign offense, clutching your chest.

“Hey,” she laughs. “I’m just being honest! Try it out! Let me know when you match with someone.”

“If I do it.”

“When you do it!” she insists.

—

You scroll through the app, clicking the kinks you’re open to.

Piss kink – No | depends | if forced | yes

Necrophilia – No | depends | if forced | yes

You click ‘No’ for both and scroll further down the list. Yes, you’re doing this. You’re tired of being sexually frustrated. Like your friend said, you’re a bitch when you’re not getting satisfied.

Primal Kink – Yes, please

CNC – Yes…

Unprotected Sex – No, not with a stranger

Kidnapping – Yes, no explanation needed

Dom/Sub – Yes, obviously

Coercion – Yes

Pregnancy kink – Yes, don’t judge

Waterboarding – Yes…

Asphyxiation – Yes!

Fear Play – Yes…

Rough Sex – Yes, a must

You continue scrolling through the lengthy list, considering whether or not you want to try these with strangers. After finishing, you’re led to the next page.

‘Please describe your ideal roleplay scenario. Be thorough, leave nothing to the imagination.’

You bite your lip, thinking of the fanfics you’ve saved. You type your fantasies out, each detail more intense than the last. After clicking ‘next,’ you’re taken to a final page.

‘Click submit to put your profile live. Once you do, you’ll be matched with one or several kinksters. You can decline any offers you don’t find appealing. All profiles are verified, and you’ll only be matched with professionals. Be patient and have fun!’

You hesitate for a moment before clicking ‘Submit’ and hurriedly tossing your phone to the other side of the bed.

—

Two weeks later, you receive a match.

Lying on the couch after a long day at work, you’re reading a smutty fanfic when a notification pops up. It’s from the app. You forgot about it for the last few days, thinking no one would be interested in fulfilling your deepest, darkest fantasies. You sit up, heart racing as you click on the notification.

It’s from @DominantSirRyo.

‘Hello, Y/N. We matched 100% in kinks and interests. I’d like to know if you’re interested in meeting, or if you’d prefer to chat first.’

100%? That means every single one of your wildest fantasies. You click on his profile, scrolling through his photos. This has to be fake. There’s no way someone this attractive matched with you. He’s tall, muscular, with a strong jawline and a dangerous vibe. He looks like he could crush you with one hand—but also like he could hold you close, protect you from anyone who dared touch you.

You click on his “About Me.”

‘Hello, I’m Ryomen Sukuna. I’m 42. You will address me as ‘Sir’ during playtime. My kinks include but aren’t limited to: D/s dynamics, CNC, rough fucking, asphyxiation, primal play, and master-slave relationships. You can learn more about me if I deem you worthy. Goodbye.’

Okay, he’s got an ego. But you can work with that. You shamelessly like that in a man. You type out your response, hesitant but intrigued.

‘Hey, I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you… i guess?’

‘I know your name, silly girl.’

‘Oh… right.’

‘Sorry, didn’t mean to come off as rude. You have a beautiful name.’

‘Thanks… I don’t really know what to say…’

‘Do you want to get to know me or would you rather jump straight into building a scene?’

You hesitate, thinking about the choices. Do you want to get to know him better, or just dive straight in? You already know the basics. If this was an app like Tinder, you’d be planning a hookup by now.

‘I think we should build a scene and maybe get to know each other while we’re doing that?’

‘That works for me. I read your fantasies, and I’m thinking of building on that by…’

—

You sit in your car outside a secluded bar on the outskirts of town. Only two other cars are parked in the lot. It’s pitch black outside, and you haven’t seen anyone since you arrived. You’ve been texting Sukuna, or as he prefers, ‘Ro,’ for the past few days, fine-tuning your scene. You’re restless, your panties damp from the anticipation of everything he promised.

‘Stand outside your car and face the wall. Leave everything except your keys. I’ll hold on to them for you,’ Ro texts.

You squeeze your legs together, breath hitching. ‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Don’t play with me, little girl. Do as you’re told.’

You get out of the car and walk towards the bar, keys in hand. You look around, but see no sign of him. You think he’s in one of the other cars, but the place feels deserted. You turn around and stare at the wall. You can feel your pussy getting wetter by the second. The scene you’ve fantasized of since forever is about to come true.

After a few minutes, you start to feel ridiculous. No sounds, no movement. Maybe he stood you up. You scoff. Of course, a guy this perfect would be too good to be true.

You turn to walk back to your car when someone grabs you from behind. Your breath catches as a large, rough hand covers your face. You scream, but it’s muffled as you’re dragged toward a car. The trunk pops open, and before you can react, you’re thrown inside. The trunk slams shut, and you hear a car engine start.

You gasp for breath, your mind racing. What if this isn’t Sukuna? What if it’s someone else? But you don’t have time to question it—your body is humming with arousal from the sheer intensity of the moment.

The car lurches forward, and you feel heat spreading between your thighs. It’s really happening.

By the time the car stops, you’ve stopped trying to track time. What if he’s not the man you thought he was? What if he doesn’t treat you like he said he would? The worry gnaws at you, but it’s swallowed up by the overwhelming desire that’s been building since he first grabbed you.

The trunk opens and blinding light floods your vision, forcing you to squint as you take in the towering figure above you. Sukuna. Your breath catches in your throat. The pictures didn’t do him justice—tall, broad, built like a man who could break you in half and enjoy every second of it. His sharp eyes rake over you, lingering on your trembling thighs.

He’s looking at you like he can see how horny and worked up you are beneath the trembles.

“Out.” His voice is firm, leaving no room for hesitation.

Your legs feel weak as you climb out of the trunk, body buzzing with adrenaline. The moment your feet hit the ground, he grabs you by the chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“Dripping already?” His thumb brushes your lower lip, and you can’t stop the way your thighs press together. He smirks. “You’re a nasty girl. Perfect.”

You swallow hard, waiting for instructions.

He steps back, rolling his shoulders, the moonlight catching the ink on his arms. Beyond him, an empty field stretches out, the tree line dark and endless in the distance. The wind rustles the tall grass. It’s eerily silent—just you, him, and the stars.

“Here are the rules.” He crosses his arms, watching you like prey. “You get five minutes to run. If I catch you in twenty, I fuck you right here in the dirt.” His eyes darken. “Fight me, scream, beg—I don’t care. But if I catch you, you’re mine. Your safe word is banana. Understood?”

Your stomach flips, nerves and arousal tangled together. You nod.

“Words.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” He checks his watch. “Run.”

Your heart leaps as you spin on your heels, sprinting toward the trees. The field stretches on forever, your lungs burning as you push forward. The night air is cool, but your skin is burning with anticipation. You don’t hear him following yet, but you know he will.

You duck behind a thick tree, chest heaving, ears straining for sound. A minute passes. Another. You peek around the trunk, and…

Nothing.

Maybe you ran faster than he expected. Maybe he really won’t find you. Your pulse pounds in your ears as you step carefully along the riverbank, watching the moonlight glint off the water. If you can just cross—

“Thought you could hide from me, little girl?”

A scream rips from your throat as you’re tackled to the ground, Sukuna’s heavy weight pressing your chest into the dirt. Your hands claw at the grass, nails digging into the earth.

“Let me go!” you snarl, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

He chuckles, the sound dark and indulgent. “Oh, you’re adorable.” His hand clamps around your wrists, pinning them above your head as his other grips the back of your neck. “Say all the right things while your cunt tells me otherwise.”

Your leggings are yanked down in one rough motion, cool air licking at your soaked panties. He pauses just long enough to slide his fingers along the damp fabric, feeling the proof of your arousal.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. His fingers press harder, rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clit through the fabric. “So fucking wet. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

You shake your head, but your body betrays you, thighs trembling, hips arching into his touch. He laughs, voice thick with satisfaction.

“Liar.”

The sound of fabric tearing makes your stomach flip—he didn’t even bother pulling your panties down, just rips them clean off before shoving two fingers inside you. A gasp catches in your throat, your walls clenching around the sudden intrusion.

“Yeah,” he groans, curling his fingers, dragging them along the soft spot inside you. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

Your body tightens, instinct warring with pleasure as he pumps his fingers in and out, slow but relentless, pushing you toward the edge. Just when your breath starts coming in broken little pants, he pulls away.

“No—”

You don’t get to finish you plea before the thick head of his cock presses against your entrance, and then—fuck. He drives into you in one harsh thrust, forcing your walls to stretch around his size.

A strangled cry tears from your throat. Your fingers curl around the hand that’s still holding your wrists. It hurts, it’s too much, you can’t handle it—

“Stop struggling slut,” The hand holding your wrists go to your hair as he pushes your face into the shallow riverbank. Cold water and dirt fills your mouth, a cruel contrast to the heat between your legs. He holds your face in the water so long that you start to feel he might actually kill you right here. your hands claw at him and he yanks you up. “Fuck, this cunt is squeezin’ me so tight.”

His hips roll, dragging his cock out until just the thick tip remains inside before slamming back in. The force of it jolts you forward, your breath leaving you in sharp gasps. You can’t catch your breath, you feel like you’re dying on his cock.

“Fuck, that’s right,” he growls, his grip on your hips bruising as he sets a brutal rhythm. He fucks you like he owns you, like he’s waited his whole life to ruin you, each thrust forcing a choked whimper from your lips.

“I-i, it’s—”

You writhe beneath him unable to form a single coherent thought, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. His free hand slides between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing in tight, punishing circles. Your thighs shake. The pressure builds—sharp and unbearable.

“That’s it,” he breathes, feeling you tighten around him. “Come for me, you fucking slut.”

A sob rips from your throat as you shatter, pleasure hitting you like a violent wave. Your body spasms, walls clamping down around his cock, dragging him deeper. He curses, his rhythm stuttering, and then—

Heat floods you as he buries himself to the hilt, groaning as he spills inside the condom. His hips twitch, riding out the aftershocks as your body trembles beneath him.

For a long moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the distant rustle of the wind through the trees. Then, Sukuna chuckles, low and satisfied.

“Told you I’d catch you.”

He pulls out slowly, savoring the way your body clenches around nothing. His fingers trail down your spine before he’s rolling you onto your back, his gaze drinking in your wrecked state.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, brushing damp hair from your face. “All fucked out already?” You try to open your mouth but you can’t.

Sukuna hoists you up like you weigh nothing, one arm locked beneath your knees, the other supporting your back. Your head lolls against his chest, too spent to do anything but cling to the fabric of his shirt, fingers curling weakly into the material. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, strong, unbothered, like he didn’t just fuck the fight out of you by the river.

“You alright?” His voice is rough, but there’s something almost amused beneath it.

You hum, too dazed to form words. Your body feels boneless, tingling from the aftershocks, your thighs still slick where he’d ruined you.

He chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest. “That good, huh?”

The night air is cool against your sweat-damp skin as he carries you toward the car. With each step, you feel the effortless strength in his arms—the way his muscles shift, the easy control in his grip. He’s not even winded.

“You went limp so fast,” he muses, squeezing your thigh. “Thought I fucked you unconscious for a second.”

You manage a breathless laugh. “Almost.”

His smirk is audible. “Cute.”

By the time he reaches the car, you’ve half-melted into him, your body pliant in his hold. He nudges the passenger seat open.

“In you go.”

He sets you down gently—surprisingly so, given how ruthless he was moments ago. The contrast sends a strange heat through you. Your legs are still shaky, barely able to support your weight, and he notices.

“Tch.” He grips your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “Still floaty?”

You nod, licking your lips.

Sukuna hums, eyes dark with something unreadable before he leans down, pressing a kiss to your jaw—slow, deliberate, entirely different from the way he’d just handled you. It makes your breath hitch.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against your skin. “You did perfect.”

Your chest tightens. Before you can respond, he pulls back, shutting the door and sliding into the driver’s seat.

The car hums to life, the vibration sinking into your spent body as you stare up at the night sky through the open window. Your body still throbs with the memory of him, your heartbeat syncing with the rhythm of the road as he drives you back—back to where it all started, already knowing this won’t be the last time.

Not even close.

#sukumna.#tw.cnc #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #sukuna x y/n

102 notes · View notes

kathlare · 2 days ago

Note

Same anon here lol, I was also wondering if you could write a part where Lando and Amelie get drunk and they’re all over each other just super cheesy and fluffy and cute, I need the love in my heart rn :) also I love ur writing it’s absolutely amazing 💖 I’m so happy every time a new part is posted

Ahh hii again!! 🥹💖 Thank you so much for your sweet words, they seriously mean the world to me!! I’m so happy you’re enjoying the story 🫶 And here it is—what you asked for: a drunk, cheesy, fluffy, love-filled moment between Lando and Amelie 💕 I hope it gives you all the warm feelings you were craving!! Let me know what you think, and if you ever have more ideas, my inbox is always open! 💌

lay all your love on me

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie and Lando take a well-earned break from the chaos of their worlds, basking in sun, wine, and affection by the sparkling shores of Lake Como.

Wordcount: 3.2 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

March 28th, 2025 - Lake Como, Italy

liked by lanmielieforever, f1babe_who, and others

lanmelieupdates: Lando & Amelie having lunch in beautiful Lake Como today with Amelie’s sister and other members of her tour crew.

View all 37,912 comments

f1couplegoalsx: Lake Como looks good on them, but not as good as they look on each other 😏 → lanmielieforever: @f1couplegoalsx LITERALLY. They’re the cutest duo.

racingfan69: okay but imagine being that food tho 😭🍴

f1loverz: Amelie’s sister is probably wondering why they’re so obsessed with each other 😆 → f1babe_who: @f1loverz she’s probably just used to it by now 😂

amiesupporter: No but seriously, when are they going to just adopt me into their friend group??? → lanmielove_: @amiesupporter I’m first in line 😤

beepbeepf1: The way they both glow when they’re together 😍

rachelslovef1: Who’s their waiter tho?? Like… can I apply for that job? → lucaslamlovers: @rachelslovef1 I’ll take the shift if you’re not available 👀

lanmielie_4life: I’m just here for the soft vibes.

danielricciardofan: Can we just take a moment to appreciate the fact that they're living their best lives while people are busy hating? Legends. → f1beautyqueen: @danielricciardofan facts, they’re just vibing, let them be happy! ✌️

hateralert: We get it, they’re cute, but can someone explain why they always look so perfect?

f1faves: Y’all know that when they're together, it’s like a whole different level of cute. Not fair, honestly. 😭 → lanmielieforever: @f1faves we don’t make the rules, we just follow them 😂

xxclairexx: Amelie’s glow up from the winter is EVERYTHING ✨

nobrofan: So when are we getting the Lake Como wedding? 💍💘 → lanmielove4life: @nobrofan bet they’d be the cutest couple to marry in Italy. 😍

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

The sun hung lazily over Lake Como, casting a warm golden sheen over the water, glittering like a thousand tiny mirrors. A soft breeze rustled through the olive trees as Amelie leaned back in her chair, sunglasses slipping down her nose, a grin spread wide across her face. Her curls were tied up in a loose bun, a few strands falling against her cheeks, sun-kissed and flushed from laughter — and wine. So much wine.

—No, no, listen— she said, half-slurring, pointing her glass at Elysia —I’m just saying, if we all moved here and lived in a giant villa like The White Lotus, we’d either be dead or married within a month. No in-between.—

Elysia burst out laughing, leaning into Joe, who looked content just sipping his Aperol and letting the chaos unfold. Callum rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, shaking his head like a dad trying not to smile, while Lando sat beside Amelie, arm draped lazily over the back of her chair. His hand occasionally wandered into her hair or brushed against her bare shoulder, casual and unconscious, like he couldn’t not touch her.

He was just as tipsy, if not worse, his accent getting stronger by the minute.

—Babe— he said, his voice low and boyish, —you’re literally glowing. I swear to God, I’m gonna combust.—

Amelie turned to face him, squinting against the sun, nose scrunching in a way that made Lando feel like his heart was doing cartwheels.

—That’s just the wine, Lan. Or heatstroke. Or your stupid compliments.—

—No, it’s you— he leaned in, pressing a soft, exaggerated kiss to her cheek —it's all you, sunshine. Can’t help it if I’m madly, pathetically obsessed with you.—

—Ew— Jack called out from across the table, tossing a piece of bread at them. —You two are fucking gross.—

—Thank you, Jacky— Amelie said sweetly, catching the bread and taking a bite. —That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.—

They were in a quiet, tucked-away restaurant right by the water, all rough stone walls and hanging flowers, the kind of place you’d never find unless someone local told you about it. Plates of pasta, grilled fish, and colorful salads littered the table, along with half-drunk bottles of wine and empty Negroni glasses.

The afternoon sun had made everyone lazy and loose, and the wine had made them affectionate and reckless.

Lando, who had been tracing lazy circles on Amelie’s knee, leaned over to whisper something in her ear. She snorted immediately.

—You’re such a pervert,— she whispered back, laughing as she pushed his face away, but her cheeks were already pink.

—You love it— he grinned, eyes sparkling. —Admit it.—

—Yeah, okay, maybe a little— she leaned in, eyes heavy-lidded —but you’re gonna regret that when I post your drunk karaoke video later.—

—You wouldn’t.—

—Try me.—

And then, because she was tipsy and chaotic and very much herself, an idea sparked in her head. A brilliant, evil, hilarious idea.

She pulled her phone out of her little Dior purse and nudged Lando’s shoulder.

—Lan, can I borrow your phone real quick? Gonna AirDrop you something.—

—Yeah, of course— he handed it over without thinking, too busy flirting and wiping crumbs off her lip with his thumb.

While he turned to ask Joe something about the wine, Amelie unlocked his phone and navigated straight to his settings. Giggling under her breath, she scrolled through her hidden album — the one marked with a little 🔐 emoji — and picked the one.

It was a tasteful one, or at least tasteful by her standards. She was naked, yes, but lying on her stomach on the bed, her legs bent at the knees and crossed in the air, head turned toward the camera with a mischievous grin. The sheet was barely covering her backside, sunlight pouring through the window, catching the warm glow of her skin and the mess of curls around her shoulders.

She looked like summer and sin.

A chef’s kiss of thirst trap art.

She set it as Lando’s lock screen with a devilish grin, locked the phone, and handed it back to him with the casual cool of someone who had absolutely not just committed digital war.

—Here you go, love,— she said, sweet as gelato, taking another sip of wine.

Lando blinked at her, suspicious.

—What’d you do?— he asked, narrowing his eyes.

—What makes you think I did anything?— Amelie batted her lashes.

—Because I know that face. That’s your “I’m about to ruin your life but look adorable while doing it” face.—

She only grinned wider.

But before he could press further, Elysia started telling some long-winded story about how Jack once got kicked out of a club in Ibiza for dancing too hard, and the attention shifted.

Lando forgot, for a minute. Or rather, he was too distracted by the way Amelie’s bare leg was pressed against his under the table, or how she kept leaning into him every time she laughed, like gravity had a personal agenda.

Until he picked up his phone.

He was trying to check the time — innocent, simple, unassuming.

And then boom.

There she was.

Naked.

On his fucking lock screen.

He choked.

Actually choked.

A splutter of air, a wheeze, and then the sound of him slamming the phone face-down on the table like it had personally attacked him.

—Jesus fucking Christ, Amelie,— he hissed under his breath, wide-eyed.

—Oops,— she said, sipping her wine with the most fake-innocent smile imaginable. —Must’ve been airdropped by accident.—

—You are such a menace.—

—You love me.—

—Not when my lock screen is your ass in front of your entire family, no.—

—Mmm, well maybe if you’re good, I’ll change it to something more appropriate later.—

He gave her a look. The kind that was equal parts exasperated, horny, and completely whipped.

Callum, seated across from them, glanced up suspiciously.

—You alright, Lando? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.—

—Nope!— Lando said, voice a pitch too high. —Just uh, got a... notification. Work stuff.—

Amelie stifled a laugh, covering her mouth as she reached for another breadstick.

He leaned in, whispering through gritted teeth.

—You’re a little shit. You know that? I’m gonna get you back for this.—

—Promises, promises,— she whispered back, brushing her lips over the corner of his jaw, slow and teasing.

He groaned.

—Fuckin’ hell.—

Meanwhile, Jack was busy flicking olives at Joe, and Elysia had somehow managed to convince Callum to order a limoncello round, so the chaos remained blissfully undisturbed.

The drinks kept flowing, and the sun began its slow descent over the lake, casting golden light across the table. At some point, Amelie ended up fully in Lando’s lap, her wine glass in one hand and her other arm slung around his neck like it was the most natural place in the world.

—You know— she said, slurring slightly, eyes sleepy with affection —I like this. Like, all of it. You, me, this lake, this pasta... your stupid hair.—

He laughed, curling his arms tighter around her waist.

—My hair’s great. You’ve said so yourself. In fact, didn’t you say it was “hot enough to ruin lives”?—

—That was one time, and I was drunk.—

—You’re drunk now.—

—Shhh,— she whispered, nuzzling his cheek. —You ruin lives. It’s the combo. Hair plus accent. Plus you being... you.—

—God, I love you when you’re like this,— he murmured against her skin. —All soft and clingy and wine-soaked.—

—You love me all the time.—

—True.—

He kissed her temple, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. She turned her face to meet him halfway, lips brushing his in a kiss that was more smile than anything else. Warm and a little messy. Familiar.

—You’re disgusting,— Callum muttered, taking a bite of his tiramisu. —Do that after lunch.—

—Let them be— Elysia giggled, clearly tipsy now too —It’s nice seeing her this happy.—

Amelie leaned her head on Lando’s shoulder, her curls brushing his cheek. The sun dipped lower, the light turning golden-pink, and somewhere in the distance, music floated in from a passing boat.

She sighed contentedly.

—Lan?—

—Yeah, sunshine?—

—Promise me we’ll always do stupid shit like this. Just... sneak away and drink wine and be in love and annoy the shit out of everyone we know.—

He kissed the top of her head.

—Deal. As long as you promise not to traumatize me with naked pictures in front of your entire bloodline ever again.—

—No promises,— she whispered, already giggling again.

And Lando, completely and hopelessly in love, just held her tighter and let it go.

Because honestly?

She was worth every ounce of the chaos.

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

liked by f1fangirlz, wheelyfastwitch, and others

ln4updates: Lando was spotted enjoying a boat ride around Lake Como today with Amelie and her family 🛥️☀️

View all 42,217 comments

lanmelieslay: not Lando on the boat like he's already the son-in-law 😭 → formulaloverxoxo: @lanmelieslay he probs calls her mom "mami" already I’m screaming

wheelyfastwitch: he passed the vibes check with the fam fr → mclarenmutual: @wheelyfastwitch confirmation they adopted him

daymangf: this man living a romcom life in Lake Como like okay go off

f1fangirlz: i’d literally cry if a man took me on a boat with my family → softlaunchdetective: @f1fangirlz girl that’s wife behavior

charlescarlover: y’all romanticize anything they do, he’s just in italy

mclarenmami: this is Lando’s Roman Holiday and I’m here for it

lanmeliehater420: bet they called the paparazzi themselves 💀

lanmelie4life: this is soooo couplecore i can’t breathe → tiresandtenderness: @lanmelie4life she’s in her lake como era and i’m just in my broke era

maximumbaguette: imagine third-wheeling them rn. the PDA must be INTENSE

sunsetsonsoftlaunches: i hope ppl give them a lil privacy tho 🥲 → kindkartingkid: @sunsetsonsoflaunches fr they’re not zoo animals, let them vibe in peace

f1gogogo: they’re like "just a normal couple" except one’s an f1 driver and the other’s a global pop star lol

speedyspaghetti: why does he look like he’s about to propose in every pic?? → loveontrack: @speedyspaghetti if he doesn’t by summer i’m starting a petition

mclarenmaddie: okay but let them BREATHE for once

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

The sun was warm against Amelie's skin as she leaned her head against Lando’s shoulder, the soft hum of the boat engine mixing with her light laughter and the gentle ripple of Lake Como’s glittering waters. The wine from lunch still buzzed in her veins, making everything feel slow and silly and golden. They were a little tipsy—well, she was more than a little—and Lando hadn’t let go of her since they stepped on the boat.

She had a ridiculous straw hat on, one she had snatched from Elysia’s bag on the way out, far too big for her face but so undeniably her. And Lando? He was obsessed. Couldn’t stop looking at her like she was some dream he was still shocked had come true.

—You’re literally the most annoying person I’ve ever met,— she murmured, her words slurred with fondness, as he snapped yet another photo of her, his phone practically glued to his hand.

—Don’t care,— he grinned, angling the phone again. —You’re gonna thank me when you’re old and wrinkly and wish you looked this fit.—

—Fit? That’s what you’re going with?—

—Well, sexy sounds inappropriate when you’re wearing that,— he gestured at the floppy hat with a smug little smirk. —But for the record, yes. Very sexy. Stupid levels of sexy.—

Amelie groaned dramatically, hiding her face in his chest. He laughed, soft and low, the sound vibrating against her cheek. She could feel his fingers on the bare skin of her back, just under the hem of her linen top, tracing idle shapes with the care of someone who had the whole world in their arms and didn’t want to mess it up.

—You good, mi amor?— he asked after a quiet moment, kissing her temple. —You’re not dizzy or anything?—

She shook her head, eyes fluttering shut. —Just a little sun-drunk. And wine-drunk. And Lando-drunk.—

He chuckled. —That’s not even clever.—

—Shut up, Lan, I’m poetic when I want to be.—

—You’re poetic when you’re drunk.—

—Facts.—

Lando adjusted the position of the wide beach towel they were lounging on, pulling her further into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her legs stretched across the bench seat, her bare toes brushing the boat’s edge. Every so often, he’d glance down to make sure she was drinking enough water, occasionally nudging the bottle to her lips himself.

—You’re staring again, Norris,— she said, peeking one eye open.

He didn’t deny it. Just smirked. —I like looking at you. I’m allowed. Boyfriend privileges.—

—Ew. Who let you be my boyfriend?—

—You did, dumbass. After making me wait literal years.—

She laughed, rolling her eyes but clearly melting into his hold. —You were such a little fanboy. I should’ve known.—

—You had no idea,— he said, tightening his arms around her. —I was obsessed. You ruined my standards for all other girls.—

—Good,— she smiled smugly, poking his chest. —You’re stuck with me now.

—Thank fuck.—

He kissed her then, slow and lazy, like they had all the time in the world. Her fingers curled around his jaw as she leaned into it, lips parted, sigh escaping against his mouth. The kiss turned a little giggly halfway through, because she tasted like wine and strawberries and sunscreen, and he tasted like her favorite kind of trouble.

—Mmm, you taste like summer,— she whispered.

—You taste like chaos,— he countered, brushing her hair off her cheek. —But like... good chaos. Like a hurricane I want to drown in.—

—That was dramatic, even for you.—

—You love it.—

—I really do.—

They sat there in the silence of their own little bubble, the soft slap of water against the boat, distant laughter from the shore, and the occasional bird call the only interruptions. Lando kept taking photos—her profile in the sun, the way her fingers dangled lazily over the edge, her half-lidded eyes as she sipped water. He’d pretend he wasn’t doing anything and then smile proudly when she caught him.

—Are you gonna make a secret album or something?— she teased.

—Already did. You’re the only thing in it.—

Her breath caught just a little. —Lan...—

He shrugged, but his ears went pink. —Just... I dunno. I like remembering things. Especially you. When you’re like this. Happy. Calm. Not worrying about the world.—

She reached up, cupping his face. Her thumb brushed just beneath his eye, and her voice dropped to a whisper. —You make me feel safe. That’s why I’m like this.—

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Instead, he pulled her close again, his hand slipping beneath her shirt to feel her heartbeat against his palm. He wasn’t even trying to be sneaky about it—just needing the reassurance that she was okay. That she was really there.

—You’ve been eating well?— he asked quietly, careful not to sound pushy.

She nodded, nuzzling into his neck. —Callum made me a plate earlier. You saw. I ate most of it.—

—I know. Just checking.—

She pulled back enough to look into his eyes. —I promise. I’m doing better.—

He nodded, brushing a kiss to her nose. —I just worry. You know that.—

—You don’t have to all the time.—

—Can’t help it. You’re my girl.—

She melted. Again. Every time he said that—my girl—it did something to her chest she couldn’t explain. Like something old and cracked was being carefully glued back together.

—I love you,— she said softly.

His eyes widened just a bit—like every time she said it, it hit him fresh.

—I love you more, Ames.—

—Not possible.—

—Very possible. You’re literally ridiculous.—

—And yet, you’re obsessed.—

—Hopelessly.—

She giggled again and pulled him down for another kiss, tasting laughter and sun and safety. They stayed wrapped in each other like that for a long time, the boat slowly coasting along the edge of the lake. No rush. No noise. Just them. Lando didn’t stop touching her—not in a possessive way, just like he needed constant confirmation that she was real. He’d tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, adjust the hem of her shirt so her skin wouldn’t burn, kiss her forehead when she looked too quiet for too long.

And she let him.

Because being loved like this—so thoroughly, so openly, so stupidly—was something she never thought she’d get. Not like this. Not with someone who knew her shadow sides and still chose her every single day.

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

liked by jackdayman, emiliamernes, and others

ameliedayman: olive oil

View all 82,312 comments

jackdayman: not you catching me mid-haunting 😭 → ameliedayman: @jackdayman you said “boo” and he didn’t even flinch 💀

lanmelieuniverse: THEY'RE LITERALLY THE ROMCOM → slowburnsoftie: @lanmelieuniverse like ugh give me this energy now

lando: delete slide 15 i look deceased → ameliedayman: @lando ur cutest when unconscious 💋 → lando: @ameliedayman what about when i’m driving us through tuscan hills?? → ameliedayman: @lando ok yeah u win 🚗💨❤️

maxfewtrell: you let him operate a motorbike??? → ameliedayman: @maxfewtrell i had 3 olives and no fear

oliveyouamelie: this caption is so unserious i love her → daymangirlie: @oliveyouamelie i love that she just lives her little whimsical life

gigihadid: you’re living inside a 90s italian movie and i’m obsessed → ameliedayman: @gigihadid ok but WHERE is my gigi cameo 😤

latteandlando: how is she cute and funny and in love like ??? → peachyf1energy: @latteandlando god gives his prettiest girls everything i fear

ameliestan444: the way haters stay mad and she stays posting her bf like it’s a full-time job 💅 → gridteaqueen: @gridteaqueen as she should 😌 get ur lil gelato and ignore the noise

girliesforgossip: ik people say “relationship goals” but THIS. this is it.

florencepugh: the olive oil of it all… poetic. → ameliedayman: @florencepugh i write my captions like it’s 2013 tumblr, thank u

charles_leclerc: you let him drive?? brave → ameliedayman: @charles_leclerc i said “live fast” and closed my eyes 🫠 → lando: @charles_leclerc don’t act like you’re not the most chaotic driver i know

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