#papa secondo x reader

[blehphegor]

Secondo is absolutely the type to furrow his brow when kissing passionately.. meanwhile tightening his grip on your chin and hip..pulling you as close as humanly possible.. just saying.

[her-satanic-wiles]

Bejewelled

Papa Emeritus II x Reader

It’s Papa Secondo’s birthday, and after spending the whole day working, he just wants to relax. But how can he when his favourite Sister of Sin is being a bad girl in front of everyone?

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by @inkstainedrat

Words: 5.6k.

Reading Time: 22 min.

Warnings: anal play, begging, breeding degradation, cock warming, creampie, dubcon, fingering, frottage, free use, groping, hair pulling, mentions of cunnilingus, mentions of fellatio, pain kink, PIV sex, positive degradation, praise, rough sex, spanking, spit as lube, underprepared, unprotected sex (Embrace safety - enjoy it greatly), vaginal sex,

Taglist: @inkstainedrat @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @socksandcr0cs @dio-niisio @duskspring @foxybouquet @likeloversentwined

Thank you to @da-rulah, @angellayercake and @tasty-ribz for workshopping some of these ideas with me and getting me on track!

🔞 MDNI 🔞

You settled into your space at the meeting table, notepad opened to the next available page and date written at the top of it in neat handwriting. You had taken on a more secretarial role for the Ministry, providing the reigning Papa with a helping hand as he went about his daily schedule. The other clergy members were already sat and settled like you, cardinal robes of black and red alternating the seats like chess pieces on a board, broken occasionally by the odd sibling of sin who’d, like you, joined to either take notes for their respective bosses, or provide insight on the general running of the Ministry where the upper clergy couldn’t assist. In short, everyone was ready and waiting, conversations slipping past your ears as certain cardinals spoke over you, not to you. But they soon silenced themselves when the door opened and Papa Emeritus II walked through the doors.

Papa Secondo, despite being a softhearted, kind man, oozed an intimidating aura that put men in their place just by his presence alone. Papa Secondo was not a man to be trifled with, played with, or undermined in any way. His word was law, even among his brothers, one of which outranked him in both age and experience. He took no shit, dished out as much as he could, and ultimately threw his weight around in a respectable, yet authoritative way. Just the mere look of his scowl would have your thighs clenching, and heat pooling between your legs - and you weren’t the only one affected by this.

Papa Secondo’s personality was much different to that of his brothers. Before he met you, he would almost never seek a woman out, he’d rarely approach her, rarely proposition her - in fear of making her uncomfortable mostly, but he also didn’t want to blend in with the other men in the Ministry, his younger brother included, who would approach and whine and beg for the ladies to spread their legs and invite him in willingly. Besides, there was something inside him that loved being chased rather than doing the chasing. The idea that a beautiful woman would want him so much, she’d run after him and coyly ask if he’d give her some company later on. That a beautiful woman would want him so much, that she’d face the fear of rejection in front of her friends and potentially embarrass herself, just to get the opportunity to hold him. He’d never approach a woman, but he’d also never reject one either. And, as he entered the room, your eyes darted to all the other sisters who were equally as squirmy as you, the mere proximity being too much for you all to handle.

It always made you feel smug knowing he had such an affect on the rest of the clergy, but would always come back to you no matter what.

Men feared him. Women wanted him. Somehow, the perfect man did exist, and he wore black, glitter paints and silenced a room just by opening a door.

“Buon pomeriggio.” He said, his deep voice quiet yet commanding. He kept his eyes straight in front of him as he entered the room, not bothering to spare a glance to his colleagues until he’d approached his seat at the head of the table and directly opposite you. You were the first person his mismatched eyes had landed on, reminding you that to him, you were the most important person in the room despite your low ranking among his peers. Once he’d registered your existence, he sat down and situated himself comfortably, gloved hands immediately opening his own folder to pull out the important documents for the meeting. Once he’d personally acknowledged everyone else in the room, he cleared his throat and began.

“Ora, we have many things on the agenda today, so I would like to start immediately, by Sathanas and the mother, Lilith, we thank and worship thee as we do ourselves. Nema.”

“Nema.” Came the chorus of the clergy.

“Cardinale Zhang,” he looked towards the man and you watched as Cardinal Zhang startled at the sudden attention. Papa Secondo noticed, and despite his face being emotionless and stoic, a flicker of amusement passed across his eyes, feeding on the Cardinal’s fear. “You have been visiting universities to de-stigmatise the Faith. Update me, how is that going?”

Cardinal Zhang swallowed and cleared his throat doing his best to hide his nerves. He failed, obviously. He began talking, detailing his efforts across the Atlantic in America and how he’d shown up for each of the universities along the East Coast, hoping to break through to the youth. But as a lot of that part of America were staunch ‘Red States’ and Christians, he was met with a lot of resistance.

Secondo, somewhat surprisingly, was understanding with his response. For once, he didn’t criticise the Cardinal’s failure, or what he deemed as such, rather the country’s unwillingness to be open to change. He quickly followed up that comment with another about Salem, and how they were always welcomed with open arms there thanks to the work of previous clergy members who’d moved to set up temples and places of worship.

He then moved on quickly to the next outreach programme, opening the Ministry doors once a month for visitors and tours of the historical building they all called home - another effort of de-stigmatisation that was under the watchful eyes of Cardinal Garcia. His tone softened when he spoke to her, his eyes never leaving hers as he listened intently to everything she had to say. “We get upwards of one thousand visitors per weekend, Papa.” She confirmed in an upbeat tone. “This is a 20% increase of last year. We’re still keeping our entrance fee at 20 Euros for now,” she handed a sheet of paper to one of the Ghouls standing behind her, who then brought it to Papa Secondo to browse at his leisure, which he did, “Last month alone we received approximately 20,080 Euros. Our finance specialists have worked closely with our social media team, and have worked out we may get roughly a further 500 guests next month, an additional 50% growth, which should tip us over the 20,500 Euro benchmark.”

“Can we quantify the impact of these tours on public perception and understanding of our beliefs and values?” Papa asked, not taking his eyes off the paper.

“I believe so, Papa. On average,” she handed another sheet of paper to a Ghoul, “30% of guests purchase a membership of the Satanic Church, and organise unholy baptisms. 10% actively apply to work and live here full time.”

“How many of these applications get accepted?”

“Recently, with all the moves and changes of our staff, around 50% got accepted last month. But usually, we only select from the most impressive, which is, as accurately as I can describe it, a handful.”

“Are any of our parishes around the world asking for more siblings?”

“I’m not sure, Papa. That’s Cardinal Smith’s jurisdiction.”

Papa’s eyes snapped to Cardinal Smith, another man who shivered beneath the weight of Papa’s gaze. “Well?” He snapped, expectantly, clearly annoyed by Cardinal Smith’s lack of initiative.

“W-we have had a few requests, Your Dark Eminence.” Cardinal Smith stammered.

“And how many siblings have been transferred?”

“Well, n-none.”

Papa’s eyebrows raised. “None? Questo è un cazzo di scherzo assoluto! Perché? Why are you not assisting our unholy siblings?”

“We couldn’t spare the people.”

“Sei stupido, Cardinale Smith?”

“N-no, Your Dark Eminence.”

“Then why do you not liaison with Cardinale Garcia and ask her to accept more applicants to send them overseas after their education?”

“I d-didn’t think.”

“Ah. Non mi sorprende, Cardinale. A brain as smooth as yours must be kept shiny and pristine, sì? Cannot be worried about trivial tasks such as thinking.” His tone softened again as he turned to - “Cardinale Garcia, work with Cardinale Stronzo in providing new applicants for our unholy siblings overseas, per favore.” He turned to another woman in the room. “Cardinale Kim, I would also like you to work on this with Cardinale Garcia and Smith to speed up our applicants education and send them out to their respective countries. When you have the time, of course.”

“Of course, Papa.” Cardinal Kim responded.

“I thank Lilith that there are two intelligent women on this job. Sathanas knows we’d fall apart if it was left only to the smooth brained of us in the room.” He cleared his throat. “Sorella ___,” he said addressing you, “are you getting all of this?”

You didn’t look up from your notebook, wrist aching from all the minutes you were taking. “It would help if you spoke slower, Papa.” You replied, insubordinately. You didn’t need to look at Papa to know he was looking at you furiously. “Either that or let me bring my laptop to these meetings.”

“Your laptop is too loud.” He protested through gritted teeth.

You finally looked at him, a small grin on your face. “Then speak slower. Please.”

He sighed and sat back in his seat, staring daggers into your soul. You were usually so sweet and polite to him - his little angioletta who respected him in front of everyone in the vicinity, who behaved so obediently behind closed doors and thanked him for all that he gave you. You were never bratty to your Papa, never rude or obnoxious. “You’re very audacious today, little one.” He commented, his tone commanding your obedience lest you face a punishment.

You persisted, the idea of dealing with your angry Papa later on too delectable to give up now. Papa would often take his frustrations out on you, an agreement between the both of you allowed him to take your consent and use you as he pleased, whenever he pleased. You would always spread your legs willingly for him, or bend yourself over and arch your back just as he liked without him uttering a single word, and depending on the kind of day he’d had, you’d either be worshipped, or bruised by his daily frustrations. You’d told him through bright red cheeks once that you thoroughly enjoyed him using you to deal with his anger, and so, he would have you whenever he felt even a little bit perturbed. But never were you the reason for his anger, not until today. And the way he looked at you now had your hole clenching around nothing, and a need to push him until he snapped and bubbled beneath your surface. You’d started now, you didn’t think you’d be able to stop until he put you back in your place.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be blamed for missing even a drop of your wisdom.”

The rest of the room shifted uncomfortably as the tension became so thick, you’d need a chainsaw to cut through it.

“I’d hold my tongue if I were you, angioletta.”

“But you’re not me, Papa.”

Papa dropped into a foul mood for the rest of the meeting, shooting you angry looks and constantly asking if he was being slow enough for you. But eventually, the meeting came to an end, and Papa pushed everyone out of the room, keeping you in your place. As soon as the door closed, in a harsh tone, he broke the silence. “Angioletta, what was that?”

“What was what, Papa?” You asked, feigning innocence.

“Don’t play dumb with me - you know what you did. Sathanas, ___. Since when do you have sass with your Papa, hm? Since when do you show your Papa such disrespect?” He sighed at your lack of answer. He stood and walked over to you, looking down on you as you remained seated in your chair. You weren’t looking up at him, instead keeping your gaze straight on the seat he was sat in before, and he didn’t appreciate this either. With his finger and his thumb, he gently pinched your chin and guided your face to look at him, forcing eye contact with you. “I expect you on your best behaviour tonight, angioletta. Capisce? No sass, no back talk. Just doting on your Papa on his birthday, sì?”

“Happy birthday, Papa.” You said, softly, a smile playing on your lips. Wholesome. Nonsuspect.

“Grazie, amore mio.” He bent down to kiss your forehead then left you alone in the room, seemingly unaware that you’d never actually agreed to anything.

That evening, you dressed in your finest for your Papa, choosing a dress gifted to you by him. It was just something simple, a body con black dress that hugged your curves in all the right ways, paired with a Satanic pentagram harness that he loved to see you in. It was really no effort at all, but your Papa would certainly enjoy you tonight. A feast for his eyes - at least you hoped.

You were one of Secondo’s earliest guests, besides his older brother Papa Primo, arriving at his quarters and knocking on the door before entering. Papa Primo greeted you warmly, and welcomed you in, placing a drink in your hand. You could already smell the dinner coming from Secondo’s private kitchen and felt your stomach growl in hunger. You were so ready for the feast to begin - and for your torture of your Papa to continue. You weren’t just ravenous for the food, especially when you saw him enter the dining room, not wearing his usual robes but still painted in his official paints. His suit was perfectly tailored, cut to each contour of his body, and made from a rich, cold, emerald green. Velvet. Accompanied by a deep green tie and his favourite black-painted fingernails. In his robes he was divine. In a suit? You were feral.

As soon he saw you, you watched as his glittery eyes darkened, and his chest reflected a deep sigh. The second he was beside you, his hands grasped onto your hips and pulled you into him, lips attaching to your neck. He didn’t care that he already had other guests - he didn’t care that he may be smudging his paints. He was too intoxicated by you to do anything other than dig his fingers into the meat of your flesh and inhale your seductive perfume, bewitching him beyond belief. He was ready to drop to his knees and worship you there and then, except you pushed him away.

“I haven’t forgotten how you spoke to me earlier, Papa.” You chided, keeping your voice as level as you could and holding back your giggles when his expression changed.

“Angioletta,” he practically whined, “you promised.”

“No,” you poked his chest, “you laid down the law. I never told you I’d follow it.”

“You want to make me suffer all night, hm? Embarrass me in front of everyone.”

“I never want to embarrass you, Papa. I’d like an apology.”

He frowned. “For what?”

You sighed. “Use that big, wrinkly brain of yours and think.” And with that, you walked away. In truth he had nothing to apologise for and you both knew it. But you enjoyed watching him stew away in his mind, greeting and welcoming guests and trying to maintain a semblance of composure. You were teetering on the line between enjoyment and cruelty, though. And you’d need to end this quickly so as not to actually spoil his birthday.

Secondo’s quarters had never been so lively, but even then, they were lively by Secondo’s standards. To celebrate his birthday, all of the people closest to him had gathered in his chambers, crowded around his long dining table (that he mostly used for work), and feasted on the delightful Italian delicacies hand crafted by the Ministry’s chefs, whom you’d paid extra to cook for everyone for the evening. Amidst the clinking of glasses filled with the Ministry’s own wine, and the aroma of garlic-infused dishes wafting through the air, the place was abuzz with laughter and conversation, but your attention was solely fixed on one man – Papa Secondo himself.

He sat beside you at the head of the table, his natural scowl creasing his glabella as he looked upon his guests and listened to their conversations, responding only when he needed to, but enjoying the atmosphere, nonetheless. His paints were perfectly worn, not a single line bent or crooked, or even smudged with the wine he’d drunk, or the food he’d so gracefully placed into his mouth as though he were the epitome of sophistication - which, to be fair, he was. His Roman nose making his profile so intoxicating, so powerful, you found yourself staring at him, drinking in the love of your life and appreciating him silently for the work of art he was.

Secondo cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping across the room as he prepared to address his guests. “My dear friends, I want to take this moment to express my gratitude for your presence here tonight,” he began, his voice carrying authority and warmth. “Your loyalty and support mean more to me than you can imagine.”

You couldn’t resist interjecting with a sassy remark. “Oh, how touching, Papa,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “I almost believe you mean it.”

The room fell into a momentary silence as everyone turned their attention to the unexpected exchange between you both. Secondo’s expression darkened, his jaw tensing as he turned to face you.

“Sorella,” he said through gritted teeth, his tone a warning.

But you refused to back down, your gaze challenging. “What, Papa? Can’t handle a little honesty?” You retorted, your voice edged with defiance. You squirmed in your seat under the heat of his gaze, the unbridled anger that oozed off him like peach juice dripping down one’s chin. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest as you watched him become more and more enraged at your attitude, and you tried so hard not to let your enjoyment show.

Secondo’s eyes narrowed, a flash of irritation crossing his features before he regained his composure. “I expect respect in my presence, Sorella,” he replied, his voice low and controlled.

You took a sip of your wine and set your glass down. “And yet, you don’t always deserve it.”

“My room. Now.” He all but hissed. His grip on his glass was choking, and you could almost see it shattering in his hand from the force. You’d done it. You got him. Now was the time to obey. You stood and made your way to his bedroom as instructed, hearing him excuse you both and urge his guests to continue without him. The part where he was announcing that he was going to scold you for your behaviour was missing, but certainly implied, and within a few seconds you heard him chase after you and the guests murmuring in the background, only to be blocked by him slamming the door shut.

“What the fuck was that, hm?” He growled, his hand coming up to your hair and pulling it at the roots, making you look into his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Papa!”

“Sorry? Amore mio, it’s a little late for that, do you not think? Embarrassing me in front of everyone.”

You laughed.

“Che cos’è questo? Laughing at your Papa?” He stopped, a realisation dawning on him. “Ah. I see how it is. My angioletta is giving into sin tonight? Becoming a whore to anger her Papa.” He released you and gestured to the bed. “Hands on the bed. Now, amore.” You obeyed him for the first time that day, resting your hands on the bed and bending at the waist, exposing your ass to him. You knew what was coming, your core clenching in anticipation of feeling his hand come down on you at full force. You arched your back as much as you could, allowing your ass to pop for him, and hearing him groan in appreciation when you did.

“You wanted to play with your Papa,” he said coming up behind you, “so let’s play, hm?”

His hand came down on your left ass cheek, the sting you enjoyed so much muffled by layer of fabric still (barely) covering your body. The first hit was gentle, barely stinging at all. As angry as Secondo was, he still took his time with you, making sure he didn’t hurt you too much and too quickly. He mirrored this on your right cheek, back to your left, back to your right. Each hit gradually landed harder and harder, and you needed to bury your face into his sheets to hide your cries lest his guests hear what was happening. With each slap, your body jumped in response, as if it was shocked to receive the hits your mind knew was coming. You knew you were getting redder with each slap, which would only egg Secondo on more when he saw it for himself.

He lifted your dress up, exposing your black panties fully and bunching the hem around your waist, and, as predicted, groaned at the sight of you. Secondo was an artist, and you were always his favourite canvas. He began to slap your bare cheeks, revelling in the deep red that was forming on your skin, relishing in the dampened moans coming from you. “This is no punishment for you at all, is it?” He commented, punctuating his sentence with more slaps, now using both of his hands. “You love it when your Papa hits you like this, don’t you?” He slapped you much harder when you didn’t answer. “Do not be rude, angioletta.”

“Yes, Papa!” You responded, your voice coming out as a moan. “I love it!”

“I bet you’ve soaked through these slutty little panties, haven’t you?” He moved his left hand to the gusset of your panties, using his four fingers to rub against your cunt and his thumb rested against your asshole as an anchor.

Usually, he’d be met with your soft flesh and twitching hole, and would tease it over your panties, too, just to drive you wild. But today, his thumb met with something hard, and him putting pressure there caused you to moan out loud. “Che cazzo?” He asked, rubbing his thumb over the ridges. His hand, damp from the juices that had soaked your panties, came up to the waistband and roughly pulled them off you, hissing at the sight of him. Buried deep inside your twitching hole, was a butt plug, with an emerald resin gem sitting atop the metal base. “Puttana.” Though his words were degrading, the tone in which he said them was appreciative. He loved this little surprise, his cock growing harder and harder beneath his velvet slacks and begging to bury itself into one of your holes. “How long have you been wearing this?”

“All da-ay!” Your voice hiccuped when you felt his fingers hook around the base and jiggle it.

“No wonder you’ve been acting like a bitch today, amore. You’ve been in heat all day, hm? Did you want me to bend you over the table in the meeting room? Is that why you’ve been provoking me all day?”

“Y-yes, Papa. Want… wanted you to f-fuck me all day! Shit.”

“Wanted your Papa to ruin your holes, hm?”

“Yesss!”

He landed another hard spank on your right cheek with his right hand, much harder than the others. That, coupled with the way he was still playing with the plug, caused a moan to escape your lips, much louder than the others.

You heard him play with his belt, unbuckling it and then the buttons of his slacks, before you finally heard the zipper undo. “Hands and knees, ass in the air.” He ordered. You climbed fully onto the mattress, feeling his hand come down on you more and more as you got situated for him. “Gonna put this fuckhole to good use.”

You felt his girth rub against your folds, getting wetter with your slick with each movement. When he stopped and pulled away, you chanced a glance behind you and watched what he was doing, cunt clenching when you saw his head bowed, a thick glob of spit falling from his mouth and landing on his cock. He pumped himself a few times, spreading the saliva over his entire length before spitting again and repeating until he deemed himself wet enough. He plunged two of his fingers inside you, pumping only a few times to get you stretched out a little more before lining himself up with your hole.

You heard him chuckle darkly behind you. “I’m gonna enjoy this - but you won’t.”

That was all the warning he gave you before he pushed inside you, his considerable thickness stretching you out beyond compare. Usually he’d prepare you more, make you cum for him all over his tongue before he even considered fucking you with his cock. But not tonight. He didn’t have the time nor the will to. This was meant to be a punishment, after all. Prepared or not, you adored the initial stretch every single time he slid into you. He always burned so deliciously, but sometimes there was a hint of pain that sent shivers down your spine and had your toes curling and fingers digging into whatever surface you were being fucked on.

Secondo took his time bottoming out, enjoying watching your body tense below him from the pain of it, and smiling at your cunt clenching down on him. “There we go.” He said, gripping onto your ass cheeks as he bottomed out inside you, fingers rubbing over your raw flesh and causing a bigger sting to wash over you. He used your body as leverage to help him slam into you, setting a rough pace right away and knocking the wind out of you. He pulled gutteral moans out of you, deep, animalistic grunts that you had no control over as he fucked into you like a madman finally getting his fix.

The sound of your cunt taking him back in over and over again was so loud, you were sure his guests could hear you from the other room. It made Secondo want to bite you, sink his teeth into you like an apple, and feel your juices coat his mouth while he licked and sucked at your core. But he was pretending that this was a punishment for you - he couldn’t consciously do something that would make you cum. Well, maybe a finger or so later on. For now, you were his to fuck around with, and he could hear and feel just how much you enjoyed it.

“You’re so fucked up for liking this, amore.” He taunted, releasing grunts and growls of his own. “A pain slut for her Papa. Cazzo!”

He pushed your hips down, making you lie flat on your stomach, legs dangling off the edge and making you feel helpless below him. He put his entire weight on your body as he railed you into the mattress, rough, quick thrusts making your body bounce and your ass ricochet off his own hips.

“I don’t like hurting you, angioletta.” A growl ripped from his throat. “But you need to learn how to respect your Papa. Apologise for making me do this to you.”

“I- I’m so…rry, Papa-ah!”

“Brava ragazza.”

Every time you made a sound, he landed another hit on your ass, making you redder and rawer. He loved it - but equally, so did you. Even on the days when he was taking his anger out on you, he wouldn’t often be this rough. He wouldn’t laugh at your cries, or push into you without taking his time with you first. Each thrust drove you more and more insane, degraded you more and more to the point where you felt like nothing but his own, personal fuck toy. His own whore who spread her legs so willingly, she became a desperate slut for her master.

He pulled at the plug again, laughing when you jumped. “So much tighter with this thing in your ass.”

“Papa - it… it’s t-too much!”

“You should have respected your Papa, then maybe he’d treat you delicately, hm?”

“Papa, please!”

“You can take it, can’t you?”

He was met with a loud moan.

“Can’t you, puttanella?”

“Y-yes!”

“Of course you can. Only sluts can take a cock this big.”

You forced your hand in between your body and the mattress and found your clit, rubbing at it while Secondo pounded into you. It was a struggle, and made Secondo laugh at you as you tried. He put more weight onto your body to make it more difficult for you, but you were able to get there eventually and furiously play with that bundle of nerves and work yourself to the edge.

“I love looking at you like this.” He said suddenly, watching your arm move as you rubbed faster and faster. You looked so desperate for him. So needy. “You gonna cum for me?” He asked as he felt you getting tighter for him, the telltale signs making themselves present. “You gonna cum all over Papa’s cock like a whore?”

“Yes, Pa-pa!”

“Merda! Beg for it.”

“I n-need to cum s-oh bad Papa! Please! Pl-please let me cum on your f-fat cock.”

“Oh, just like that, brava ragazza. It’s okay, you can let go.”

Secondo could feel you getting tighter for him, working yourself closer and closer to an orgasm as he took you for his own pleasure, and for some of yours. He should pull out soon, he knew he should, but you were so tight for him in this position, so wet and pliant. He couldn’t control himself. He couldn’t bring himself to pull out and cum on your body. One particularly rough thrust had you finally tumbling over the edge, face contorting in beautiful agony as you came over him, creaming on his cock and screaming silently into the mattress. He didn’t let up as you came, instead, he used your body tensing as an excuse to go just a little harder, making your orgasm more intense the longer it went on.

Your orgasm had Secondo teetering on the edge himself, staving off his own orgasm to ensure yours felt good. But once he was sure you’d finished, he began to pull out of you, finally working the courage to escape from your clutches. It wasn’t until he felt your heels in his ass, where your legs had bent backwards to keep him there, he realised you wanted his cum inside you just as much as he did.

“Please, Papa!” You begged quietly, lifting your head off the sheets and turning to look at him over your shoulder. “Give it to me. I want your cum inside me so fucking bad. Please!”

“Yeah, amore? You want me to knock you up, is that it? So desperate for her Papa’s cum she wants him to breed her like a bitch. Been in heat all day, still acting like a fucking animal.”

“Give it to me, Papa! Cum deep inside me, please!”

“Okay, angioletta. Papa will give you what you want.” He pushed himself deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust. “Gonna fuck a baby into you, you ready?”

“Yes! Yes, Papa, like that!”

“Cazzo!” A string of expletives followed as you talked him through it, continuing to beg him for his seed while he pumped it deep inside you. He gripped hold of you, your skin and fat pinched tightly under his strong, masculine hands as he grasped onto you to keep him grounded while he reached nirvana. He bent forward more, his forehead rubbing against your shoulder blades and paints transferring onto the fabric of your dress, but you didn’t care about that, enjoying the feeling of his erratic thrusts as he fucked his cum into your sensitive heat until he eventually rolled to a stop, laboured breaths ringing in your ear despite his mouth being so far away.

“Sathanas, ___.” He groaned, keeping his full weight on your body, too exhausted to move. “Mi farai morire.” You felt his lips kiss your shoulder blades, the dull feeling bringing warmth and comfort to your adrenaline-filled body.

“Are you okay?” You asked, equally as exhausted as him.

“No.” He replied with a giggle, which you echoed. “I can’t move anymore.”

“That’s okay, we can wait here for as long as you need.”

“The guests, amore mio.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

He groaned. “I don’t have the strength.”

You laughed at his joke.

Somewhere inside him, he found the strength to pull out of you, both of you groaning at the loss of contact. He rolled off you, and lay on his back, allowing his body to flop into any position it deemed comfortable. You didn’t know how he did that, you could barely keep your eyes open.

He looked at you before rushing to the bathroom to get a damp cloth to clean you up, gently wiping at your sensitive centre to try and help you. “I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?”

“Nothing I didn’t want, Papa.”

“Are you sure?”

“I promise.”

He placed the washcloth on the bedside table and pulled you into his arms, finally kissing your lips for the first time.

“Happy birthday, Papa.” You whispered.

Before he could respond, a knock at the door sounded gently, pulling your attention to it. “Fratello?” Cardinal Terzo’s voice sounded from the other side. “Now that you two have finished fucking, we should let you know we’re all gonna go.”

You hid your face in embarrassment despite the fact the only person who could see you was Secondo, who was laughing at your reaction.

“See you later, fratellino.”

“Later, sluts!”

There was a silence for a little while before Secondo heard the sound of your breathing mellowing out, realising then you’d fallen asleep before you both had chance to clean up properly. But that was okay, he could treat you like a queen in the morning. For now, you both needed rest.

Translations:

Buon pomeriggio - Good afternoon.

Ora - Now.

Questo è un cazzo di scherzo assoluto! - This is an absolute fucking joke!

Perché? - Why?

Sei stupido, Cardinale Smith? - Are you stupid, Cardinal Smith?

Non mi sorprende, Cardinale. - That does not surprise me, Cardinal.

Angioletta - Little angel.

Capisce? - Do you understand?

Grazie, amore mio. - Thank you, my love.

Che cos’è questo? - What’s this?

Che cazzo? - What the fuck?

Puttana. - Whore.

Brava ragazza. - Good girl.

Mi farai morire. - You’re gonna kill me.

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[emeritus-fuckers]

Any kind of Secondo fluff? Comfort maybe?

i fucking had to - rat

"The plushie" Papa Emeritus II x Reader [drabble]

"Amore, my sweet, my nightingale, what in the actual Hell is this?"

You looked up from your phone (you were, rather shamelessly, watching edits of your sugar daddy of a boyfriend) with a small hum before chuckling at what he was holding in his hand, visibly displeased (maybe even disgusted) at the object.

"That, Secondo, happens to be a plushie."

His gaze turned from slightly confused to straight up unamused. If you pushed enough of his buttons, maybe you'd even get one of his infamous glares. Although truthfully, he was a lot less scary when he wasn't wearing his paint.

"I am aware of that, my dear."

"Then why ask?"

"What is that plushie supposed to be, exactly?"

"It's you."

"It's hideous."

"Blame the model."

If you were anyone else, he'd probably scoff and throw in an insult. However, since it was you, he limited himself to just the scoff. And a few cursewords he mumbled in Italian, looking at the plushie version of himself. It was horrible, as ugly as the Copia ones. Or perhaps even uglier.

He ended up putting the plushie down on your bed, right where he found it... before swatting it away, letting it fall to the floor with a disgusted look.

"I do not want this thing in our bed, amore."

You snorted, shaking your head in amusement. You could already tell what you were about to witness for the next few days - a grown man having a one-sided conflict with a plushie replica of his.

You just had to tell Terzo about this.

~

Written by Nosferatu.

[ragequeen94]

imagine cooking/having dinner with the Papas

sfw... kissing? lots of wine.

fanon understanding that Terzo is very bad at speaking English.

Primo

It had been a nice surprise when the Papa Emeritus the First had invited you to his quarters for dinner, you hadn't assumed it would be... just you and him though. You both had been dancing around each other gently for a while now. He was older, and so where you, did that mean that romance was not something you could dream of? He opened the door to his private quarters, the smell of fresh basil and faintly nicotine rolled out passed him as he stood over you, a grin spreading over his face. "Ciao Bella...."

"Papa." You bowed you head, the air around you intoxicating. "I brought wine, Papa." You stepped into the rooms, this was when you realized it would be just you and him. You stepped further into the room, he closed the heavy doors behind you as you took in his personal space. You'd never been here before, you assumed few had. dried garlic and sun dried tomatoes hung from the windows, spices and dried herbs on the shelves, the surfaces all covered in flour from what ever he had been cooking. But it smelled amazing. "Papa...-"

"In here you may, call be Primo, it is my name." He walked passed you, jumping to turn the heat down on a boiling pot, he lifted the lid and the smelled of spiced tomatoes mixxed in the air. He reached into a drawer and without really looking at you handed you a bottle opener. you stared at it, almost confused, like the metal spiral was foreign technology. "For the wine, Bella."

"OH!" you accepted it from him and went to work uncorking the bottle, a little panicked you didn't know where the glasses were kept. You placed the popped cork on the counter top, the screw still buried inside. "Papa.... er... Primo... do you have glasses."

"Si.." He turned back to you, turning off all the stove burner. What ever he had made was done. He walked straight to you, he was close, so very close. His long fingers slowly wrapping around the neck of the bottle and and taking it from you. Instead he brought it to his lips and sipped straight from the bottle. "Very good. Red wine is best of all, is it not?"

He reached over your head, his body pressing against yours as he brought down two wine classes from a cupboard you hadn't noticed before. He put them on the counter behind you, the glasses clinking lightly on the tiles, he still held the bottle, bringing it to his lips again for another sip. Both of you were flush against the other, staring into the other eyes. The smell of wine on his breath made you brave. You tilted your head, getting closer, there was no way he didn't know what you wanted. "Primo... let me taste it then..."

He leaned his head down and his lips met yours. He tasted of the wine, but of dinner. He had been sampling as he cooked. Your stomach growled. But you both stayed still, you still stealing little kisses from him, he let you doat on him a little. "We should eat, Bella. Then, plenty of wine and plenty of this. All the time in the world."

Secondo

Dinner had been fun, you enjoyed your time as a senior member of the church. You had worked hard, been dedicated, given up everything... you had happily done so in the name of the One Below, but there were parts of you that were... sad. That felt like you had missed out of parts of what life was meant to offer. Odd, considering you were a sister of sin and there was no vice in life you were not almost duty bound to sample. It wasn't until now, now that you sat at the same table to those who always seemed so far from you, so superior, and now you were equal. You sat back, swirling the rest of your wine, your third glass, as the espresso was brought out. You sat at the table with the head clergy, with Papa and his inner circle, with his family. And his family was loud, and very Italian. You felt eyes on you, eyes that had been on your all night.

Sat besides his older brother Papa Secondo smirked at you he sipped his coffee. There was an added bonus to your newly found power and position. The attention of Papa Emeritus the Second, he grinned wide at you, his gaze sliding away from you as his rowdy younger brother stood, telling a tale with wild hand movements, the quiet cardinal sat besides him was splattered with wine from the glass Terzo had apparently forgotten he was holding. Secondo barked a laugh, his eyes sliding back to your seat, only to find you gone. He quickly sat up in his seat, trying to find you in the mostly empty canteen. His family always sat at the dinner table for hours, it was the way things were done. Usually not headed to bed until Papa Nihil had fallen asleep in his chair.

He saw you slip into the kitchens. Secondo got up to follow, not bothering to excuse himself or offer explanation to his family as they called after him. You were searching through wine fridges that lined the underside of the kitchen counters. There always had to be enough wine on hand. "Cucciola... you could not be searching for more wine..." He teased as he strolled straight for you.

"Papa..." you murmured. "Jus' making up for lost time." You grinned. He was very aware of your sudden head first dive into hedonism, and he longed to be the one to lead you to your deepest desires.

"Cucciola... perhaps it is late in the night to open a new bottle of wine." He got close to you, his hand reaching up and running a thumb over your lip, it was stained dark red already. "Are you not sated?"

"Never, Papa." You smiled, drunkenly, reaching for him, grabbing him by the front of his button up shirt. "Papa... I'm still hungry... still thirsty..." You inched close. If you had been sober you would never have been so brave. But a lot could be said for the magic found wine and fresh bread. Secondo grinned like a predator, his sharp canine teeth gleaming passed his lips. He leaned down the rest of the way and pressed a kiss to your lips, quickly pushing you up against one of the cold stainless steel fridges, what ever was inside rattled. You didn't care as you gripped onto his shoulders and let his devour you.

"Papa... Papa..."

"Quiet Cucciola, be good for Papa... I will show teach you to live deliciously."

Terzo

You were nervous. It had gotten into your head to invite Papa Terzo over for dinner. You'd been getting to know one another, had gone out, slept together a few times; it hadn't gotten much deeper than that, and you couldn't really tell if he was interested in more than your company in his bed.

You looked at the meal you had prepared proud for only a moment. you were the best cook, you often got carried away with ingredients and ended up going rogue when it came to following recipes. When you had picked out what you wanted to cook your first instinct had been to go for Italian food. Terzo was Italian, so you hoped at least he would like what you pulled together. Then you remembered... he was Italian, and had probably grown up eating the best authentic Italian food on the planet. With home made spaghetti and everything! Suddenly you wanted to throw it all in the garbage... he was going to be so disappointed.

He knocked on your door, a little late but that had only given you time to clean up the kitchen and get the table set how you liked it. You hadn't really noticed his tardiness, only that he yelled it in your face when you opened the door.

"Cioccolatino! I am late! I am much sorry's!" He pranced into your dormitory apartment, flowers in his hand and two bottles of wine. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a kiss before he made a show of breathing deep. "Smells so good in here!"

He walked into your home like he belonged there, instantly pulling down a vase from a top cabinet and popping the flowers into some water before putting them on the dinner table. you dug through the kitchen utensils looking for a bottle opener (you didn't want him to know most of your wine came from a box). "they are beautiful, Papa..."

"Terzo, you knows this. I been telling you, when it me and you, it can just be Terzo." He leaned in and kissed you again. "I like how it sounds when you say it, your accent so cute."

You raised a brow, smiling at the thought that to him you were the one with the funny accent. God knows how it sounded to him when you had tried to say thing in his native language. "Then sit down, Terzo, or you'll have a cold dinner."

He pulled out your chair before opening the wine and pouring you a very full glass. "I am very hunger, I am excited to be invited for dinner." He chirped, dropping himself in his chair and you both served yourselves, though you watched closely. staring at him as he put the first bite in his mouth.

"Do you like... it?" You worried your lip watching his face as he chewed. "I know its probably not what your used to but i tried..."

"It is very good! Molto saporito! were is from? We shall order again some time!" He nodded excitedly. Your mouth dropped a little. Not really sure how to correct him, or if he was joking.

"Oh... well i made it myself." You muttered. A little shy about it for some reason. Terzo looked down at his plate and at the food still on the serving pans.

"You make for me?" Terzo reached out and grabbed his hand. "I am much sorry i not understand this earlier! What is called this dish? No one make as good as you, surely." Terzo started to shovel his dinner into his mouth, so interested in his food he hadn't even touched his wine.

"Oh... its not really anything... just kinda, a bunch of italian flavors put together. I think i was trying to make cacciatore but got a little carried away with sides and... yeah..." You smiled and sipped your wine. He obviously was very impressed and it stroked your ego to see him do so. "Just like back home, hu?"

it had meant to be a joke, nothing more but he looked a little sad and a little confused at the idea. "Back home food is not always so good, i have never had this before. Abbey kitchen cooks are not always so talented... Primo not a good cook like a mama when we are young" he put another very full fork full into his mouth, trying to laugh at the same time. "If i have this every day i'd be a round Papa."

You reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it, he leaned down and kissed your knuckles (neither caring he got sauce from his lips on your hand). He smiled at you gently, pausing his gluttony to stare at your face. he looked like he wanted to say something more, some thought danced around on his tongue but didn't make it passed his lips. he signed and seemed content to just enjoy looking at you. before he realized what he was doing.

"Sorrys i... um... lost my thinking." He let go of your hand. "i thanks you, cara. This is most best meal i shall eat."

Copia

You sat at the small kitchenette in Papa Emeritus the Fourths private quarters. You'd been officially dating for a little over a month at this point, and he had been so very sweet. Sweeter than any man you'd ever been with up to this point, being with him was kind of like being in... puppy love. He was a little awkward, a little nervous, and very unsure. He apologized a lot and stumbled over his words, when he held your hand it was always clammy and his grip a little too tight. You had guessed his awkwardness had been because of social anxiety, which he was in no short supply of. It had been your idea to have dinner in, to cook together and enjoy a meal.

Copia had had other plans, he always wanted to treat you like a princess, was determined to do so to a fault. Sometimes you didnt mind being treated like a whore. He would figure that out eventually. You hoped. You'd kissed and cuddled and there had been some more heated movements between the two of you but he had failed to make an assertive move on you. The plan was to get enough wine in him tonight to help him shed any anxiety he had.

You watched as he cursed and shook his hand, he had burned it on the hot saucepan some how. It had been like this for a while. You sat at the made table, the candles not yet lit, a once very full glass of wine now... not so full sitting by you hand. There was bread that had been taken from the kitchens (you had insisted he not try cooking and baking in the same day) with very room temp butter waiting. He had apparently had to restart everything when the pasta he had boiled had boiled for too long without his attention and had turned into a glutenous blob. Now he was trying gnocchi. You'd eat dino nuggets at this point you were so hungry.

but you waited.

and waited.

"Copia... my love. My sun and moon, stars in my sky." You stood from your spot, you ass sticking to the chair in places, you'd been in one place for so long. He was sweating, dark brown hair sticking to the back of his neck, sleaves rolled up to his elbows, flour he had no real reason to even have out was covering him in small splotches, there was a burn on the inside of his wrist you noted was getting red and angry. "Let me help you..."

"Im sorry." He muttered. He looked defeated. "Im just no good at this kind of thing. Cooking... looked easy in the movies." He grunted. He had been trying to slice up zucchini for some other dish. Looking over the pantry of ingredients he had dragged out onto the counter top you tried to make head or tails of what he had been trying to accomplish but it was a mess. You knew there was chicken in the oven, you were sure he had poured as much seasonings onto it as possible without knowing what they even were. There were raw potatoes on the counter, for some reason a bag of frozen fish he seemed to have forgotten about. all kinds of vegetables half chopped and ignored, the only thing actually cooking were the gnocchi and some very chunky pasta sauce he had made by putting a dozen tomatoes in a blender with half a bottle of wine and some garlic.

"I want to help. I get to be close to you." You kissed his cheek, he leaned into your touch. You started to clear the counter tops to try and declutter what you really needed and help his stress. "I don't need anything fancy my love. A pizza and your company is enough-"

Copia frowned and looked a little angry. He stayed silent to a while then rather aggressively threw open the oven to check the chicken. It actually looked pretty good and smelled nice. He slammed shut the oven door and crossed his arms over his chest. "I want to do this nice thing for you, vita mia. I want to be a good boyfriend and be able to make risotto. Not burn pasta."

You looked around, trying to spot any trace of risotto. He gestured to the trash can. You smiled and walked over to him. Leaning up to kiss him, gabbing is belt to pull him close to you. "You are the best boyfriend with or with out risotto."

He nodded still upset but obviously defeated.

The gnocchi caught fire,

After the fire alarms had been turned off and the destruction cleared you couldn't help but giggle. You lead him to the living room, after having moved the setting from the kitchen table to the coffee table. And with two large glasses of wine you both sat and watched a horror movie picking at a whole chicken, still in the baking pan, with your fingers.

[theunholybastard]

Kinktober: October 3rd - Angry Sex (Papa Emeritus II x Female!Reader)

Tags: Dom!Secondo, Sub!Reader, Degrading, Hair-Pulling, Light Blood Kink, Spanking, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Slut-Shaming, Dub-Con, Abuse Of Power, Face-Fucking, Overstimulation, Dacryphilia, Breeding, 3rd Person POV

Secondo has always been a cold, cruel man. At least, that's what everyone saw him as. When a new Sister of Sin arrived in the Ministry, he thought she was going to be like all of the others; terrified of him. Why wouldn't she be? But no, when she first was introduced to him, she smiled warmly, even held eye contact while she shook his hand. She didn't treat him like a beast, cowering away from his presence, nor did she even suck up to him and treat him like a higher being; she treated him like everyone else. That's what drew Secondo to her initially.

Soon after she would be assigned to be Secondos personal assistant. All of his previous assistants quit within a few weeks, unable to keep up with his strict policies, constant demands, and especially his temper. But she stayed, and did a damn good job despite his nearly impossible standards. He was impressed, and his interest in this beautiful young Sister grew more.

But when he got to know her is when he became truly doomed. The more she sweetly chatted with him as she got her work done, talking to him about her day, all while smiling and laughing comfortably around him made his heart flutter with a newfound life. By the time he recognized what he was feeling, there was no going back.

She made him soft. She made his permanent scowl melt into a bashful smile with one look. She made him feel weak, powerless, but in a strange way, he liked it. But even in his softest state, Secondo to his core is greedy, possessive. In his mind, she was his and his alone, even if she didn't know it yet.

When he saw a Brother of Sin flirting with his precious assistant, he felt a deep, bubbling rage grow within him. But what sealed her fate was when she flirted back, batting her eyelashes and pressing her body up against him. What gives her the right to parade herself to another man like some common whore? That man, no, that boy couldn't make her feel half as good as he could. Why would she want some simpleminded sibling over a Papa?

He sits in his office, his cock painfully hard as he thinks about her. His jaw is clenched so tight you could hear his teeth grinding furiously against each other. He waits for her, his mind set on teaching her a lesson. She arrives eventually, late, which only fuels his anger. He watches her intently as she clumsily shuffles into the room and sets a pile of paperwork down at his desk. He slowly gets up from where he was sat, locking the door, her too focused on her work to realize.

"I'm so sorry I was late, Papa. I was-" She begins to excuse herself before he deliberately interrupts.

"You were what? Too busy whoring yourself out for the whole Ministry?" He hisses accusingly. She's taken aback by his words and sudden hostility. Her brows furrowed in confusion as her gaze now falls on his enraged expression. A chill runs up her spine.

"Papa, what are you talking abo-" He cuts her off again.

"I saw you. I saw you with Brother Francesco after black mass. How he looked at you. How you looked at him. You want to fuck him, hm?" He interrogated.

"...Is that a crime?" She bit back, scoffing. Surely Secondo wasn't being serious, she thought. No way the Papa of a church that celebrates lust would have a problem with that. Her sass makes his fists clench tight. She notices and instantly regrets her retort.

"You think you can just walk into my office and tempt me with that sinful body of yours every day, just so you can go and give it up for some useless sibling instead?" He growled. Slowly, she starts piecing it together. Oh. Her eyes widen.

"P-Papa I didnt-" She cuts herself off this time, sucking in a sharp breath as he approaches her. She's pressed up against the desk, his body centimeters away from hers, keeping her in place. She couldn't escape from him even if she wanted to. And honestly, she really didn't. This situation she was in, while it terrified her, also sent a jolt of arousal right to her core. Her heart was beating rapidly, not taking her eyes off Secondo for a moment, tracking his every move.

"Do you think he deserves to fuck you more than I do? You want him more than you want your Papa?" His voice was low and thick with malice. He slid a gloved hand up her habit, caressing her bare thigh, while the other hand securely gripped her hip. She gasped at the touch, her knees buckling. She shook her head. He lightly slapped her thigh in warning, not satisfied with that answer.

"Speak, bitch." His words made her shiver. She gulped. "N-no, Papa. I don't- I don't want him. H-he doesn't deserve t-to..." She hesitated. "To fuck me..." She breathed shakily. His grip on her hip became bruisingly tight.

"You work for me, putanna." She could almost feel the rumbling of his voice in her own chest. "Your job is to please me, si? Keep me satisfied?" She nodded again, causing him to growl and give another firm slap to her thigh.

"Y-yes, Papa." She stuttered out. His gaze was piercing, like he could kill her with just one look. She never understood why all of the siblings were afraid of him, until now.

"Then do your job and get on your knees." In an instant, she obeyed, her brain too fogged with lust to think for herself. Swiftly, he takes out his thick, leaking cock. She gasps in shock seeing his impressive length for the first time, a wave of nervousness suddenly hitting her. Sensing her hesitation, Secondos gaze softens.

"You must tell me now if you don't want this. Once I start, I fear I won't be able to stop." His voice was low and serious. His expression tried to remain neutral to not put further pressure on her, but on the inside he was praying she wouldn't reject him, that he would get to see tears stream down her cheeks as she choked and sputtered on his cock.

"I want this, Papa. Please." She manages to whimper out, fueled by determination and desire. Secondo let's out a soft groan, pleased with her response. Not waiting any longer, he held his cock to her lips. "Suck." He commanded.

She opened wide, taking just the tip in her mouth to start, gently swirling her tongue around it. This caused him to growl frustratedly, fisting her hair in his hands and yanking her down on the rest of his length. She gags helplessly as he mercilessly thrusts into her mouth, holding her head firmly in place. "Much better." He grunts, tipping his head back in sadistic pleasure.

His pace was unrelenting, roughly hitting the back of her throat with every thrust, causing tears to form quickly in the corner of her eyes. Each retching sound made his smile grow wider, finally living out his sick fantasies. His cock pulses, a familiar feeling stirring within him. Before he can finish, he yanks her off, hissing at the sudden lack of warmth that was provided by her mouth. She coughs dryly and looks up at him, confused.

"W-why'd you sto- Oh!" She yelps in surprise as he lifts her off the ground, slamming her over his desk and flipping up the skirt of her habit. Like a wild animal, he rips off her undergarments, the sound of tearing fabric filling the room along with some primal grunts from Secondo. She mourns the loss of her stockings and panties for a brief moment, but soon forgets once she feels the tip of his cock caress her folds.

"So fucking wet already just from sucking my cock, hm? Putanna." He spits, coating his length with her arousal. She whines, trying to push back against him in a desperate attempt to get him inside of her. "Please, Pap- ah!" She lets out a borderline pornographic moan as he slides inside of her, his cock stretching her out and filling her perfectly.

He wastes no time, thrusting in and out of her at a rapid, animalistic pace. She screams in a mix of pleasure and overstimulation, the brutality of his hips slamming against hers almost too much to handle. "P-Papa, please! S-slow down, fuck!" Her pleas earn her a harsh spank, causing her to clench around him.

"Last time I checked, you weren't the one in charge." He panted heavily, completely lost in his own pleasure. "W-whos in charge here, hm? Oh, f-fuuck..." She tries to reply, but all that can come out are wanton moans and nonsensical muttering. He spanks her again. And again. Harder and harder each time, leaving bright red handprints on her ass, surely to bruise by tomorrow. "S-say it! Merda!"

"Y-you, Papa! Oh, s-shit! Gonna c-cum!" She cries, the knot in her stomach growing tighter and tighter until finally it releases, her eyes rolling back and her mouth hung open in ecstasy as she coats him with her juices. She comes down from her high, but his pace doesn't relent, moving a gloved hand down to rub her clit, further stimulating her. She desperately gasped for air and tried to wiggle away from his touch, but he holds her close, spearing her in place.

"We're not stopping till I drain every last drop of my seed inside you. Understood?" He huffs, fucking into her as if he's just using her body as a means to let out his frustrations. Tears stream down her cheeks , the pleasure so intense it's bordering on pain, but God, it feels too good to stop. He grips ahold of her hair, pulling on it painfully and lifting her body closer to his, burying his face in her neck.

"Gonna breed you like a bitch in heat. Maybe then you'll remember who you f-fucking belong to, huh?" He pants against her skin, getting close himself. She hisses in pain, her scalp burning, but she still can't help but clench tighter around him at his words. "I bet that stronzo Francesco would stay far away from you once your body starts to swell with my child. Everyone in this whole fucking Ministry will know you're Papas personal slut. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Cazzo, t-tell me you want it..."

She feels the tightness in her abdomen return once again, all logic in her mind now completely gone as she focuses solely on the pleasure she's receiving, itching to cum again. "W-want it, Papa! P-please... please cum... cum in me!" She chokes out a sob, degraded to nothing more than a pathetic, horny mess. His thrusts grow sloppy and uncoordinated, his breath hitched, as he lets out one final groan of expletives.

He bites down on her shoulder to silence himself, hard enough to draw blood, as he releases himself inside of her, thick spurts of his seed already leaking out of her hole from the obscene amount. At the feeling of his cock kicking inside of her, mixed with the sharp sting of his bite, her warm blood sliding down her shoulder, she cums almost in sync with him, wailing helplessly and shuddering against him.

She fully collapses over the desk, face hitting the hard wood, but she's entirely too exhausted to care. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he slowly pulls out, wincing at oversensitivity. Staring at her limp, heaving body, a sense of clarity washes over him, swiftly being hit with reality.

"A-are you okay, mia cara?" He asks gently, all the anger and tension from before quickly melting away seeing her in such a fragile condition. He felt a pang of guilt for doing this to her, to someone he worked with, to someone he loved. How would this affect their relationship moving forward?

"P-Papa..." Is all she can manage to whimper out, her throat raw and abused, along with the rest of her body. His gaze softens, and without another word, he carefully lifts her into his arms like a ragdoll, laying her down on the couch. He cleans her up tenderly, treating her as if she's some fragile object that could shatter at the slightest touch.

They sit in silence for a while, him soothingly rubbing all the marks he left on her body while she struggles to say awake. "I..." He clears his throat, unsure of what to say. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... I took advantage of you. It won't happen again. Let's just... pretend this never happened, si?" He says regretfully, looking down at the ground beneath him with a scowl. She frowns.

"Secondo..." She sighs, trying to hide her slight hurt from his words. "I told you I wanted it."

"I know that, but-"

"No. We were two consenting adults, there's nothing wrong with what we just did. And..." She gulps. "And there's no reason we shouldn't do this again." He blinks, looking up at her in surprise.

"You'd... you'd want to?" He asks, sounding unsure of himself, like maybe he heard her wrong. She smiles, that damned soft smile that he's come to adore so much.

"I'd like that a lot." She admits bashfully. "Only next time, can I not have to flirt with Brother Francesco to get you to sleep with me?" Secondo raises an eyebrow and smirks, a chuckle escaping his lips.

"Did you... did you flirt with him just to make me jealous?" He asks in amused disbelief. She bites her lip, avoiding eye contact. "Maybe..." She mutters, grinning mischievously. He scoffs, playfully slapping her ass. He pulls her in for a kiss, not too rough, but still firm and possessive.

"Piccola diavola." He murmurs against her sweet lips. "I'm going to have to punish you for that." She pulls away and pouts exaggeratingly. "Haven't you punished me enough? Have some mercy on me, Papa!" She jokingly complains. Secondo laughs heartily, trailing his kisses down to her neck, causing her to shiver.

"Oh, amore. If you want mercy..." His grip on her tightens. "You're going to have to beg for it."

-

[molly-ghuleh]

Ungrumpify Your Papa: Papa Emeritus II x afab!reader

Summary: It's your first holiday season with Secondo and you're determined to make him less of a grump.

Words: 6.9k (nice)

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI!!, reader is AFAB but there are no gendered words/pronouns, smut, fluff, lingerie, light dom!Secondo, teasing, brief mentions of overstimulation, holiday feelings, discussions of religion

AO3

A/N: Happy day 2 of the XXXMas at the Ministry series! Check out day 1 with Primo by @copias-sewer-rat in the links below, and stay tuned for day 3 with Terzo by @ghulehunknown and day 4 with Copia by @bupia (who also put together these incredible graphics)!!

Day 1 (Dec 20th): Naughty Presents (AO3)

Day 2 (Dec 21st): Ungrumpify Your Papa (you are here!)

Day 3 (Dec 22nd): Mistletoe'd (AO3)

Day 4 (Dec 23rd): Treasure Hunt (AO3)

Secondo is very particular about how he curates his living quarters. His taste is distinct and refined, but not to the point of tackiness. It’s obvious that he’d spent a non-trivial amount of time picking out his furniture after he became Papa, and even more time reorganizing his space to ensure you felt welcome after he’d asked you to move in with him. Every book, every pillow, every little trinket or decoration or memory has a dedicated place somewhere, and each piece is treasured and respected like it has belonged there for all of eternity. 

So, you weren’t surprised when Secondo grumbled when you pulled out a red and gold plaid throw blanket for the holidays, but he’s gracious enough to allow it to live on the couch (so long as it is neatly folded after every use, of course). And you had to stifle your laugh when he’d come home to find a little mistletoe hanging from the threshold of his bedroom and had jumped nearly ten feet in the air thinking it was a spider. 

He came to terms with the mistletoe, though, after realizing that every time he jumped when seeing it from his periphery, you’d come over and kiss him and remind him it was only temporary. He didn’t tell you that he’d let you keep the mistletoe up all year round if it gave him an excuse to kiss you more. 

The tree you want, though… that’s another battle. 

“Please?” You ask sweetly, snuggling with him under the aforementioned red and gold blanket. 

“No, amore,” Secondo says. 

You’re tracing gentle patterns into his bare chest and can feel his heartbeat under your fingertips. You watch as the soft, dark hair dusting his skin catches on your finger. “Explain to me your reasoning.” 

Secondo chuckles—a low, deep sound that you can feel more than hear. “Must I explain myself past the fact that I simply do not want a tree?” 

“But why?” You ask him. You lift yourself up onto an elbow and look down at him. The two of you had built a little nest of sorts in front of the fireplace in his sitting room. It’s the first night that the two of you, as well as the entire Abbey, are absolved from duties in a week-long observance of the solstice and Yule, and you had decided to spend it together, alone, and very naked. 

Secondo sighs but there’s still a little smile on his face. He can’t help but adore you and your insistence. It seems to him that you’re determined to uproot his entire life. He would gladly shed his roots and the soil of comfort and routine they grow in if it meant seeing you happy, but where is the fun in that? He enjoys making you ask for what you want. He enjoys seeing you work for it. And, in some (most) instances, he enjoys pushing you until you resort to begging.

“Because,” Secondo begins, drawing you back down to lay your head on his warm chest, “there is no room for one. And we have nothing to put on it.” 

You laugh. “This room alone is bigger than my old Sibling quarters. There’s plenty of space.” 

“It could catch on fire.” 

“Secondo, you don’t put a tree directly in front of the fireplace.” 

“Well. Suppose there is an ember—“ 

“And,” you playfully cut him off. “We can find things to decorate it with. Warm lights, those red, wooden beads for a garland, little glass ornaments… It can be classy. We can make it match your taste.” 

Your lover is silent for a moment, considering. “There would be pine needles everywhere.” 

You laugh again. His tone of voice tells you that you’re close to cracking him. Oh, you’re well aware of the games he plays with you and take full part in them. The push and pull, the give and take of him letting you believe you’re in control and then showing you that this was his plan all along… even with something as mundane as a holiday tree, your heart speeds up and your face heats just slightly. 

You’re still tired from the evening’s activities, after all. 

“We can get a fake one,” you offer. “Small, too. Nothing unmanageable. And I’ll string the lights on it because it’s a pain in the ass.” 

Secondo traces lines back and forth over your shoulder, tickling your skin. “You speak like the decision is already made, amore.”

“You haven’t given me a good enough reason to back down yet.”

He chuckles again. “Sto solo scherzando. Will it make you happy?” 

You prop yourself up again and press a kiss to his lips. “It will,” you say softly. “But I don’t need a tree to make me happy. If you really don’t want one, we won’t have one.” 

“You said it yourself,” Secondo says against your mouth, “that it is temporary. I will survive.” 

You feel his mouth curl into a small smile against your own when you kiss him again. You’re sure yours must feel the same. 

~~~

You and Secondo stroll leisurely through the rows of trees. The display is pretty, and nostalgic—it’s been staged to look like a small grove of real trees, with the stands cleverly hidden by piles of snow at the bases. Some of the trees are fully decorated, and some have only lights, but most are completely bare to emulate a tree farm. Somehow the staff had managed to make the display smell like pine and a hint of cinnamon, and if you close your eyes and listen to the winter breeze and the jingling of bells on the storefront door, it feels like a real tree farm. 

“You know,” you say to Secondo as you stop in front of a tree with fake snow on it, “you never told me why you didn’t want a tree.” 

Secondo regards the tree for a moment and, seeing how easily the fake snow flakes off of the limbs with just a slight breeze, gently tugs you towards the next one. “It is not necessarily the tree that I am opposed to,” he says. “But the commercialization of what is supposed to be a holiday.” 

You’re silent for a moment as you think about his words. He does have a point. There are a fair few seasonal decorations that you find to be unbearably tacky, but the ones you do enjoy carry a warm nostalgia. “I see,” you muse. “For a while after I converted, it was hard to rationalize the holiday because it’s so ingrained in our culture to be a Jesus thing.” 

“Esattamente,” Secondo nods. “Even though most of it is taken straight from Pagan traditions.” 

You stop in front of a plain tree, not any taller than Secondo, with simple, warm white lights. “That helped me rationalize it,” you tell him. “To know that modern Christmas is an amalgam of different things, and that there’s no right way to celebrate it. It doesn’t make us bad Satanists because we have a tree, or bake cookies, or wrap gifts. There doesn’t have to be any religious undertone.” 

“You are right,” Secondo says after a brief silence. “What is that term… when people use a word incorrectly enough times that the meaning changes.” 

“Colloquialism?” you offer. 

“SÌ. Christmas has become a colloquialism. Yule, Solstice, Saturnalia, Christmas, whatever you wish to call it.” 

“Is that why you never celebrated?” 

Secondo looks at you, and he nearly loses his breath. The sun is going down so the sky is a deep blue, leaving your face to be illuminated only by the warm white lights of the tree in front of you. You look so cozy in your hat and scarf and coat. And you’re trying to understand him, understand why he is not a ‘holiday’ person. How he adores you. 

“To a degree,” he says, looking away because he’s dangerously close to swooping you into his arms and kissing you silly. “The holiday has lost all its meaning beyond materialism. That is the way it seems. Why should I need a holiday to tell me when to gift things to the people who matter?” 

“You don’t, I suppose,” you shrug. “But it’s not completely about that. It’s the thought, the warmth, the togetherness. This time of year is when people want to feel cozy and comfortable and happy. To surround themselves with the people and things they love. It’s cold, and dark, and the holiday allows us to indulge in the things we might feel guilty about at any other time of year.” 

Secondo listens to your voice, and he understands. “I feel a bit like Scrooge,” he says softly. And he does—a bitter old man, learning the true meaning of Christmas… or something.

“Which ghost am I?” You ask, laughing. 

“You are Tiny Tim,” he replies without having to think. “Not a ghost, but I think the wisest character in the whole story.” 

“Satan bless us,” you say in your best impression of a small child. “Every one.” 

In the end, Secondo chooses the tree you’d been standing in front of. He tells you that it was because he likes that it’s small and simple (which is true), but he’d seen how your eyes reflected the small bulbs and decided he couldn’t let that evening be the last time he sees that. 

You also purchase simple glass bulbs, a modest tree skirt, and a silver garland to match Secondo’s green and silver color scheme in his chambers. When you arrive back at the Abbey excited to decorate, however, you remember that you’d forgotten to choose a topper. While he has his back turned to pour the two of you some hot chocolate, you sneak to the closet which houses his papal robes, and when he turns around, he finds his mitre situated crookedly atop the tree and your smug face pretending you don’t know how it got there. 

“It is lopsided,” Secondo hums, handing you your mug. 

“It has character,” you counter. You hide your smile behind the steaming hot chocolate. 

Secondo smiles, too. 

~~~

After the tree debacle, you wonder how far into the holiday spirit you can drag Secondo. You aren’t determined to make him the embodiment of Santa Claus, but you hope to ease his grumpiness. And honestly, it isn’t just the holiday that you want him to enjoy, it’s the whole season. Winter is cold and dark and oftentimes miserable, yes, but it doesn’t have to be. Not when you have someone to come home to after years of spending it alone. 

So you suggest cookies. Because I love sugar cookies, you explain when Secondo asks. And Copia has a sweet tooth. And we need something to bring to dinner with your family. 

Not at all because watching Secondo in the kitchen gets you going like nothing else. 

You sit at the small table in his kitchen, watching him move. He’d shooed you out of the way after scolding you for suggesting you use a premade mixture of Betty Crocker sugar cookies, insisting that if you must make cookies, you will at least do it right. But how can you stay away from him when he looks like that? 

He’s wearing his apron (which is, in and of itself, an incredible turn-on). The sleeves of his button-up shirt are rolled up to his elbows, showcasing his muscular forearms. And his hands, oh, his hands, are bare and flexing, kneading the dough as he mixes flour in pinch by pinch. The veins in his arms are highlighted in the overhead kitchen lights. His shoulders stretch and move, pulling the fabric of his shirt tight against his back again and again. 

Sweet Satan, give me strength, you think. And Satan, ever the purveyor of sin and temptation, strips all the strength from your mind and whispers in your ear to go to him. 

So you do. You quietly slip out of your chair and approach Secondo, taking in his perfect form. His broad shoulders, the slight pooch to his sides, his ass which is hugged so perfectly in his trousers, his hands kneading the dough ball like they knead the flesh of your thighs, your chest, your belly, your rear. Your hands slip around his middle and you press yourself against his back. You feel him pause. 

“Amore,” Secondo says softly and you’re not exactly convinced that he’s chiding you. “You are a terrible distraction. Come faccio a cuocere questi biscotti con te che mi tenta?” 

You trace your hands up his stomach to his chest, relishing in his warmth. There’s probably flour on your hands and forearms and all over his apron, but you don’t care. “Can you blame me? You know very well what watching you in the kitchen does.” 

“SÌ, I do, my dove,” Secondo hums. His hands are still now. He closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling of your palms brushing up and down his body. Yes, he knows quite well what he’s doing to you. He’d be a liar if he said his insistence to bake the cookies from scratch was entirely innocent. But he supposes you know that. “Tell me, amore. If I were to turn around and lift you up onto this counter and spread your legs, what would I find, hm?”

Instead of answering him, you trail your hands back down from his chest, over his tummy, and down to the crux between his legs and pelvis, resting your palms there and squeezing lightly. You can already feel the stretching fabric of his trousers and know that if he turned around to make good on his promise, you would find him hard and aching. He heaves a trembling breath at your movements. It’s likely that he will punish you for this later, but is it really a punishment if it’s what you desire most? 

It’s not often that Secondo allows you to take control like this. Even if it’s just a small movement, a little caress of his arousal, he’s quick to pull your hands away and make sure you find your pleasure first. But slowly, his hands begin to work into the dough once more, and he makes no further comment. Your own hands find the button of his trousers and tug it open. 

“Amore,” Secondo hums in warning when your fingers brush along the length of him over the fabric of his pants.

In a stroke of confidence (and maybe a touch of curiosity as to what might happen if you poke the sleeping bear), you reach down his front to grasp him over his briefs. It’s only for a moment before you’re withdrawing your hand and fumbling his button closed again. You press a kiss between his shoulder blades and step away. “Sorry, love. Cookies take precedence.” 

Then, you’re pressed against the kitchen table, your wrists pinned beside your head as Secondo looms over you and presses his hips to your own. His breath is hot and his voice is low in your ear as he speaks. “You know very well that I would ravish you right now,” he growls, rutting his hips forward to spread your thighs even further. You can feel just how honest he’s being and you sigh with the contact. “If it were not for this dinner… this cena maledetta…”

There’s flour all over your clothes from his apron pressing against your front. The tip of his nose traces a path up from the sensitive skin below your ear, across your cheekbone, to rest against yours. His lips brush your own as he speaks. “Do not think I do not know what you are doing.” 

“I know you know,” you say, your voice sultry. You arch your back up off the tabletop and press your chest into his. “That’s why I do it.”

“Sei una tentazione,” Secondo whispers. “Perché devi essere così allettante quando non posso averti?”

Your jaw slacks open when he presses his hips even harder against yours. He takes the opportunity to lean in and nip at your lower lip, tracing his tongue along it and tugging. “One day,” you gasp when he pulls away, “I will understand when you say such filthy things to me in Italian.” 

“You tell me that not knowing is a thrill.”

“Oh, it is. But sometimes I wish I could understand what depraved things you’ll do.” 

“Let me put it plainly, then,” Secondo says. He takes the shell of your ear between his teeth and squeezes your wrists just a bit tighter. Your thighs lift as he presses himself against you completely. “We are going to make these cookies. We are going to Terzo’s dinner party. And we are going to stay for however long is acceptable before I take you back here and punish you for teasing me.”

“Yes, Papa.”

~~~

Oh, you hate him. 

Not for last night when he’d punished you, no. You very much do not hate him for that. You’d gone to bed with trembling legs after he had to help you to the shower. He compared you to a newborn deer but held you steady as you wobbled, and then gave you one last orgasm in the warm water before the two of you retired to bed. 

Rather, you hate him because he’d been waiting for a reason to punish you last night. He’d been searching for an excuse to make you fall off the edge of the world, more than a few times over, because he’d planned to take you and your wobbly legs surprise ice skating the next morning and thought it would be funny to watch you scramble.

“I hate you,” you grumble as you cling to his hand with a vice-like grip. “I hate you and your stupid memory.” 

Secondo laughs quietly and supports your weight. You almost lose balance when he leans down to speak lowly in your ear, but he keeps you upright. “I did not hear you saying that last night when I remembered where to touch to make you–”

“Alright, alright,” you interrupt, your face heating. “But last night I didn’t think I had to tell you to take it easy so I could stand upright today.”

“That is the fun of it, amore. Seeing you wobble, knowing I did this.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “How is your ass? Sore?” 

“From you spanking it or from falling on it four times?” You ask. 

“Either way,” Secondo stands up straight again, “I suppose the answer is the same.”

You huff. “I used to be able to do spins as a kid,” you tell him. “And now I can barely stand on skates because of you and your fingers and your tongue and your little Secondino.”

“He is not very little though, is he?” Secondo asks, and you could smack him if he wasn’t completely right. You’re wobbly because he’s not little in the slightest.

You’re grateful, though. You’d mentioned how you used to go ice skating as a child, and how you haven’t in a very long time. In previous relationships, that was that. You would mention something you miss, or an activity you used to love, and that would be the end of it. But with Secondo, dear, attentive, lovely, grumpy Secondo, it’s different. You feel heard for the first time in your life. And that might be terribly cheesy, but it’s true. He does more for you than the absolute bare minimum you’d grown to expect from partners and you feel positively spoiled. If you can give him even half of the happiness he gives you, you’re happy. You would give him the world and the sun and the moon if you could. 

Secondo notices your silence and squeezes your hand, warm and cozy in the gloves Terzo had gifted you at his dinner last night. “Where did you go, dove?” 

“Sorry,” you shake yourself from your reverie and blink away the sudden tears of gratitude and affection. “I just love you. Thank you for taking me skating.”

“You’re welcome. Anch’io ti amo.”

Eventually you find your sea legs and show him the (very basic) spins you know how to do. You manage not to fall on your ass a fifth time. And then you begin to seethe because, of course, Secondo is perfectly balanced and graceful and can skate like he was born on the ice. Your poised Papa is always so composed and you feel like, as he’d said, a newborn deer perpetually falling. 

You hate him, but that doesn’t stop the heat from building in your lower belly. Again.

~~~

The next day is the Ministry’s observed holiday. Most of the Abbey’s residents choose to spend it honoring the Olde One in sin with loved ones—eating, drinking, laughing, fucking. You and Secondo are no different, having celebrated the holiday with family and friends at Terzo’s dinner two days prior. 

That was the intention of hosting a dinner two days before the holiday. So that one might be able to honor Satan and the unholy observance without having to worry about family coming. 

You are absolutely not complaining. You spend the morning sleeping in, held in Secondo’s strong, warm embrace. When you wake, there’s no rush to get out of bed. He apologizes for your sore (and slightly fall-bruised) ass by rubbing and kneading it with gentle hands, pressing kisses down your spine with no sense of urgency or implication of more. You want there to be more, but you have something planned for later. 

You aren’t sure how long you’ll be able to wait for later to arrive. 

In the weeks leading up to the holiday, he’d told you not to worry about finding a gift for him. He said that you are enough, that spending time with you and just seeing you is enough of a gift. That you’d somehow managed to soothe the harshness in his soul. In his Secondo way of saying those things, which is less sappy. But you know that the sap was there, so you found a gift for him anyway.

The gift, of course, is something practical and utilitarian. Fit for Secondo’s taste but not something he already has. Something you know for a fact he’ll enjoy. 

That’s the list of things you’d written in your head when debating whether or not to buy the expensive, green satin lingerie with silver buckles. And of course, you needed a robe to hide it with so he can unwrap his gift. 

Although neither of you want to get up from the cozy cocoon of bedsheets you’re tangled in, your stomach begins to growl for breakfast. 

“Hungry?” Secondo asks from where his face is nestled against your neck. 

“Very,” you say, and make no move to get up. Neither does he. 

Your stomach growls again. 

“Hush,” Secondo says softly. “I am comfortable.”

After the third growl, you laugh, and Secondo pushes himself off of you to sit upright. “Coffee?” 

“Please,” you nod. 

When Secondo stands to walk into the kitchen, shirtless and practically glowing in the morning sun coming through the windows, you decide that later can come whenever you like. He can spend all day and night unwrapping his gift over and over and over if he wishes to. You can’t bear to wait. 

You slip away with the box containing your robe and underthings and lock yourself in the bathroom. It takes you a few tries to align the straps correctly so you can slip your head and arms through where they’re supposed to go, but the lower portion is more straightforward. The set is simple once it’s situated correctly. There’s a strip of fabric leading up the middle of your chest and around your neck, clasped at the front with a silver buckle, not entirely unlike a collar. The thin straps accentuate your chest and shoulders while still leaving most of your skin exposed for Secondo to leave marks on. The bottoms are strappy as well, with an attached garter belt secured with two silver buckles matching the one on your neck. Observing yourself in the mirror, you feel powerful. You know exactly what this will do to Secondo, and do for him. You feel powerful in the knowledge that you are about to allow him to overpower you. 

You only hope the lingerie doesn’t get ripped in the process. 

You slip the robe over your shoulders and close it, offering only a peek of the fabric around your neck, and fix your bedhead before exiting the bathroom. You stride into the kitchen like absolutely nothing has changed and find Secondo, gathering ingredients for breakfast and still shirtless. If you hadn’t changed into the set you’re wearing already then you would turn tail and do it now. 

But, you steel yourself and enter the kitchen, making a beeline for your favorite mug which he’d filled with coffee. “Thank you, love,” you say softly. You lean against the counter and take a sip. It’s delicious but you couldn’t care less about the coffee right now. 

“Amore,” Secondo says lowly once he catches a glimpse of your new robe and the fabric peeking out underneath. “What is this?”

He raises his finger to trace along the strip of fabric running down your chest until it disappears under the robe. “You said not to get anything for you,” you tell him, trying to act like the simple touch isn’t burning your skin. “But, did you really expect me not to?”

“Sathanas, you are sent to me by the Devil himself,” Secondo groans. He takes your mug of coffee from you and places it on the counter. “How must I wait until we have eaten when you…” 

You gently take his other hand and intertwine your fingers. It’s not often that Secondo has no words. Your heart pounds in your chest and you’re sure he can feel it beneath his fingertips. “Don’t wait, then,” you say. 

Slowly, Secondo traces his hand down your chest, over your sternum and towards your navel where your robe is tied closed. He pulls on the end and the robe falls open, revealing the set of lingerie adorning your skin. You feel his hot, shaky breath fan across your face as he takes in the sight of you. As if in reverence, he gently pushes the robe off your shoulders. It falls at your heels and you’re left bare in front of him, skin hot yet somehow covered in goosebumps. “Sathanas,” he curses again, thanking his maker for you. 

Secondo places his hands on your waist and draws you towards him. Your own hands rise to his chest and you find that his heart is beating just as quickly as yours. Your lips meet somewhere in the middle, warm and desperate and passionate. He kisses you like it’s the last time, but also like you’re made of glass. Like he wants to ravage you and worship you at the same time but can’t decide. His tongue licks into your mouth, tracing your bottom lip. He tastes like coffee and Secondo. 

You nearly stumble when he begins to push you but you quickly understand his mission. His hands guide you out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom, walking you backwards while his lips never leave your own. “Sathanas,” he groans a third time. He can’t think of anything but you, the feel of you, the taste of you, the sight of you. The only word from his mouth is a prayer at your altar. 

Secondo guides you until the backs of your legs hit the mattress, and then he lifts you onto the bed, crawling over you like a predator taunting his prey. Your thighs part on instinct to welcome his body between them. The cool air of the room reaches your aching arousal and you realize that you’re already embarrassingly wet. 

His hands slide up and down your sides, to your hips, the tops of your thighs. He traces his fingers over the fabric of the garter belt, snapping the strap against your skin and smirking at the sound. “You are sin,” he growls as he leans down to latch his lips to your neck. “I need you.” 

“Take me,” you moan, and your voice comes out more desperate than you intend for it to, but you’re past the point of caring. You want him to know that you need him, too. “Please, Papa. I’m yours.”

Secondo’s mouth trails down your chest, leaving wet kisses and little marks as you’d predicted (and hoped). He finds the hard peak of your nipple through the thin satin and lathes his tongue over it, eliciting another moan from your lips. “Say it again for me, amore. Tell me who you belong to.” 

“You, Papa,” you breathe as his teeth gently bite down on your covered nipple. “I belong to you. Only you.” 

“Guisto. You are mine and mine alone.” 

His mouth moves to your other nipple and, as if to accentuate his statement, he gives it a harder nip. You gasp at the sensation and arch your back into his mouth. “Papa…”

“Hm?” Secondo hums, and the vibrations make you moan once more. “What is it, tesoro?”

You know very well that he knows what you want, but you also know that he wants to hear you say it. “Please, your mouth,” you gasp. Your hands clutch at his shoulders and give an almost imperceptible push downwards. “I want your mouth, Papa, please.”

Secondo licks a path down your midsection. “Già così disperato per me,” he mumbles against the skin just above the garter belt. His lips blaze a path along the strip of fabric, and for the first time you wish it was gone. You’ve had your fill, he’s seen it all, and seen you in it. It can go away now. But, he takes mercy on you, and kisses his way to your pubic mound, also covered by the cursed fabric. 

“Oh, amore, you are already dripping for me. I wonder if I can make you cum without taking these off, sì? They are already ruined, what is a little more?”

Secondo places a light kiss over your wetness through the fabric and your hips twitch upwards. Immediately his hands wrap around your thighs and grasp your hips, stilling you. “None of that,” he chides you, and repeats the kiss. You bite your lip to stifle your noises. That earns you a light slap on the outside of your thigh, and you gasp. “None of that either. I want to hear you.”

He licks a broad stripe up the entire length of your slit, humming as he does. Your hips twitch again but they can’t move in his firm grip. Your hands grip the bedsheets as you gasp. “Papa!”

You’re already so worked up that you feel your orgasm beginning to build in your lower belly. His tongue traces slow circles around your clit, sometimes dipping to press at your entrance but never straying for long. The fabric is practically plastered to the form of your core, but it’s not quite enough. It’s thin but it dampens the sensations of his mouth against your flesh just enough for your orgasm to elude you. 

“P-Papa, please,” you pant. Your hand finds the back of his head to press him harder to you, but it’s still not enough. “Please, I need more. I’m so close, please…”

“Look at me, dove,” Secondo commands, and you obey. His cheeks are flushed and you can just barely see the shine of your wetness on the tip of his nose. “Look at me as I help you cum.”

He snakes one hand back towards your entrance and lightly presses there, then slowly works his middle finger under the fabric to dip into you. It’s frustratingly shallow, just to the first knuckle, but he knows you’re most sensitive there. His tongue flicks faster on your clit, still covered by the satin yet completely drenched, and you cum. “Papa!” 

Your entrance clenches rhythmically around the tip of his finger. He growls and shoves the crotch of your panties to the side, latching his lips around your clit and sucking just as he pushes his finger deep into you. He finds the spot only he knows exists and you see stars as your first orgasm gives way to another, more powerful climax. You tumble down the side of a mountain of pleasure on his tongue and scream. 

Secondo works you through the intense pleasure until the aftershocks roll pleasantly up and down your limbs, and your hips twitch up from oversensitivity. He pulls away and licks his lips. “Perfezione,” he says softly, crawling back up your body until he can kiss you properly. “Così perfetto per me. Così forte quando mi vieni sulla lingua.” 

You can taste yourself on his tongue. His hands softly stroke up and down your thighs, easing the trembling there. You sling your arms around his shoulders and pull him down so that his chest rests against yours. “Do you like your gift?” you ask when you’ve finally caught your breath again. 

“Sempre,” Secondo hums. “Every time I touch you is a gift, amore.”

You lean up to kiss him again, because you don’t want to sully the heat and passion between you by crying at his sudden tenderness. “Let me make you feel good, too,” you whisper against his mouth. 

When your hands begin to wander downwards, Secondo rises onto his knees and grasps your wrists firmly. The position mirrors the one you’d found yourself in two days prior, after the cookie incident, and your core clenches around nothing. “All I want is to be inside you,” Secondo growls. The tenderness is replaced by a fiery passion behind his eyes, and his grip on your wrists leaves no room for debate on who is in charge now. You’ve ensnared him with your gift, now he gets to unwrap it. 

“Please,” you whimper. “Please, Papa.” 

Secondo hastily pulls his sleep pants off and his cock bounces up against his lower stomach. You wish so desperately that you could touch him, trace the trail of dark hair from his chest all the way down to the base of him, but he still has your hands beside your head. “Stay just like this for me, sì?” he asks, but you know it’s not a question and you nod. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your ruined underwear and tugs. “Up.”

You lift your hips and he slides the soaked fabric down your legs and tosses it aside. Your hands, now unrestrained, itch to touch him. “Can I touch you?” you ask, your voice breathy and desperate. You’re hoping he allows it, because if he really didn’t want you to move, there are cuffs in his bedside table that he could have easily used to hold your arms above your head. 

“Not yet, amore. You are doing so well for me.”

You whine, but stay still. Secondo parts your thighs again and slots himself between them. The tip of his cock brushes against your swollen clit and you gasp, rutting your hips upward to seek more. But he doesn’t enter you, not yet. You know what he’s waiting for. 

“Please, Papa,” you say, canting your hips upward once more to accentuate your words. “I want to feel you, please.” 

“Bene,” Secondo hums. “Così buono per me.”

Secondo positions the head of his cock at your entrance, and pushes in slowly. Your back bows off the mattress and you sigh. “Oh, thank you, thank you…”

Inch by thick, delicious inch, Secondo enters you until your hips press together and you can feel the tip of him nudging at your cervix. When he’s fully inside you, he pauses, giving you time to breathe and adjust to his size. You hold his gaze as he strokes your thighs, soothing you, urging you to relax around him. “You may touch me,” he says. 

You bring your hands to the skin below his navel to trace along the strip of hair. Usually you like to kiss your way down, leaving little love bites along his happy trail, but both of you had been so desperate for this closeness that you couldn’t prolong the process. His muscles jump and twitch under your light touches. Slowly, you slide your palms up to rest on the sides of his neck and draw him down to kiss you. The shift in angle makes his cock move inside you and he brushes against the spot his middle finger had found just minutes ago, making you clench around him. He groans into your mouth at the sensation. 

“Are we going ice skating again tomorrow?” You ask. 

Secondo huffs a laugh. “No, amore. I plan to make your legs wobble without having to worry about a sore ass.”

You laugh with him and kiss him once more, then roll your hips against his. “Good.” 

He grips you by the hips and begins to thrust shallowly in and out of you. The drag of his cock is divine inside you, and yes, your legs will very much be wobbling tomorrow because you intend to spend all day like this and it is barely breakfast. Your head falls down against the mattress and exposes your neck, yet devoid of marks, to Secondo. And who is he to pass up an opportunity like that?

His lips descend on your pulse point just as he increases his pace. This angle again makes his cock brush against the tender spot on your inner walls and it rips a moan from your throat. 

“Sì, amore, let me hear you. Let me hear how I make you feel.” 

“Ah, it’s so—so good, Papa, you feel so good inside me—”

Secondo increases his speed again. His teeth gently dig into the skin of your neck and you clench around him, making him growl into your ear. “My little devil,” he rasps. “Who do you belong to? Tell me again.”

“You, Papa! I’m yours!” 

“Yes—ah, yes, you are mine. Only mine. Only I can take you like this, capisci? O-only I can make you feel this pleasure.” 

Somewhere in the back of your mind you register that Secondo is being particularly vocal this time. His eyes never stray from yours, but his hands are everywhere—your hips, your thighs, your stomach, your chest. His fingers briefly dip into your mouth and you willingly accept them, lathing your tongue over them and tasting the remnants of your juices on his skin. His hips snap against your own, over and over and over, increasing in pace until you bounce back and forth on his cock in time with his thrusts. 

With the fingers now covered in your saliva, Secondo brings his fingers directly to your oversensitive clit. Your hands clench onto any part of him you can reach, your fingernails scratching his skin and leaving red trails raised in their wake. You aren’t sure if you’re screaming or completely silent with the overwhelming pleasure. But your eyes feel magnetized to his own, like if you were to look away, the spell would break and the pleasure that’s building between you would dissipate entirely. 

“P-Papa,” You gasp, breathless. “I–I’m—”

“Sì, amore mio. Cum around my cock. Cum for me.” 

His desperate, almost animalistic command, paired with his fingers abusing your clit and his cock splitting you open so perfectly, send you hurtling over the edge of your climax and your vision goes white. Your entire being, your entire consciousness is centered between your legs and wherever he touches. The rest of you falls away into bliss as Secondo thrusts into you through your orgasm. 

You’re still riding the tidal waves of pleasure when Secondo finds his own release, spilling inside you and slowing his thrusts until eventually he stills against you. As your awareness fades back in and your orgasm ebbs away, you realize that your legs are trembling, but so are his. Your chests heave together as you catch your breath. You relish in the warm weight of him on top of you and inside of you, tracing your fingertips up and down his spine. 

When he manages to steady himself enough to hold his weight on his arms, Secondo pushes himself up just enough so he can plant soft, tender kisses against your lips. “Amore mio,” he mumbles reverently, “Sei la luce della mia vita.” 

“I love you,” you respond just as softly. Though you don’t (yet) understand what he said, you can feel the weight of his words in your heart. He isn’t the type to deliver flowery speeches or long-winded declarations of love, but you know he feels it for you, as you do for him. The two of you don’t need words. It shines through the string lights on the tree in the living room. It wafts through the air on the scent of freshly baked sugar cookies. It follows you in the sound of skates sliding in tandem atop the frozen lake, and in the pleasured cries echoing in the walls of the bedroom. 

Your stomach growls, and you feel the rumble of Secondo’s laugh deep in your chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Translations:

Amore - love

Sto solo scherzando - I'm only joking

Esattamente - exactly

Come faccio a cuocere questi biscotti con te che mi tenta? - How am I supposed to bake these cookies with you tempting me?

cena maledetta - cursed dinner

Sei una tentazione...Perché devi essere così allettante quando non posso averti? - You are a temptation...why must you be so tempting when I cannot have you?

Anch’io ti amo - I love you too

Giusto - Right

Tesoro - treasure, sweetheart

Già così disperato per me - Always so desperate for me

Perfezione - Perfection

Così perfetto per me. Così forte quando mi vieni sulla lingua - So perfect for me. So loud when you cum on my tongue

Sempre - always

Così buono per me - So good for me

Capisci - Understood

Sei la luce della mia vita - You are the light of my life

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist (from my Camellia fic, I hope that's okay!): @bonelessghoul @gbatesx @the-did-i-ask @leah-halliwell92 @archive-obsess @rosacrose @sodoswitchimage @portaltothevoid @lightbluuestars @thesoundresoundsecho @stephnthangss @enchantedbunny @jackson5611-blog @copiasprincipessa @kadedoesthings @justheretoreadleavemealone @tiedyedghoulette @honimello @deetz-ghuleh @da-rulah @nijiru

[0ctoberust]

yall seemed to like the last one, so i’m sharing more <3 happy october, by the way. added some halloween elements toward the end.

Secondo Emeritus Relationship Headcanons — Pt. 2

his primary love languages are acts of service and physical touch— he loves to do little things for his partner, stuff that they may not even realize they need help with. he just does them without being asked, but definitely grumbled a little afterward, saying how he “always has to help you” with things, despite being the one that volunteers to do so. he’s just joking tho.

the physical touch aspect comes from intimacy-related things, bcuz we know this guy fucks. bro realizes quickly that it feels so much better with someone he’s actually in love with, and not some rando from a bar.

gets frustrated when his partner tries to dote on him or spoil him, or return his little acts of service. he keeps telling you that you’re “not his servant,” that he’s got plenty of clergy members to do his bidding. he secretly finds it really endearing and will eventually show that. he won’t ever stop you from showing love the way you naturally do. he’ll just make it a competition, a little game.

he literally gets made fun of so much because of how soft he is around his partner. he’s usually the biggest asshole in the clergy; menacing, emotionless, grumpy. but not with you. never with you. you’ve softened his heart, and it’s plain for everyone to see.

he doesn’t shy away from PDA, despite his emotionally cold attitude. kisses you wherever, whenever. his excuse is that he’s the damn papa. if anyone has an issue with it, they can approach him personally. he knows that no one would ever do that.

princess treatment for you. spoils you. when he’s retired from being the papa, spoils you even more with all of the things money can buy and his extra time can provide. spends a lot of time with you doing little domestic tasks. you cook together. watch movies together. it’s really adorable, and you’re the only one who gets to see that side of him, which makes it even more endearing.

he thinks halloween is stupid and cheesy, but if you convince him enough, he will dress up with you for the spooky season.

will try to get you to dress as a “sexy nun” for halloween so he can live out his fantasy of converting a sweet religious lady into devil worship. if you humor this, you’re in for a wild ride. like all night.

looks like the biggest grouch to literally everyone else, but you get to see his smile, you get to see him without the paints, the robe, etc. and damn, is it a nice sight.

tells you stories about the crazy shit he used to do, the parties he went to, the stupid things he and the ghouls got up to when he was papa. it’s really endearing. he assures you many times that he’s no longer this way, that those random bar chicks meant nothing, because it’s easy to feel undermined when he seems so goddamn experienced.

it’s all good, though, because he takes you out almost as often as he used to go out himself. he enjoys his solitude as he gets older, but he still takes you to nice restaurants and little dates, should you yearn for it. he’s also got no problem with having “dates” and movie nights at home. it just means you can cuddle more, after all.

no one is ever rude toward you again, if they were in the first place. bro is the ultimate “scary dog” that walks behind you when you go out. even as he ages, he’s still got this demanding presence that makes people stay out of his way, and he uses it to his advantage when with you.

[ficandkaboodle]

Vaginismus: Secondo x Fem!Reader

Author's Note: So . . . I'm already really bad at these types of things. But I think writing one of these on this type of subject matter is still important. Fanfiction is kind of a very rough place when it comes to acknowledging or writing for sexual disorders. On one hand, I am to assume this is because fanfic, by its very nature, is meant to be like wish fulfillment. Reader inserts are often meant to be the representations of the best versions of ourselves. But . . . I dunno, I feel like that can only go so far when you see representations of all kinds of disorders or issues or even complete non-issues. And yet virtually nothing is ever made with people who have conditions like vaginismus or whatever in mind. I love a good smut but sometimes, reading stuff makes me flinch inward and all I can focus on is the pain I would be in from even a pinky tip trying anything. I just think it's important to try and remind people that PiV isn't the only way to "get stuff done" and that it should be okay if that's a struggle for you. Some people can work their way out of the condition, and some people never do. And I think it should be okay to write about it because all too often it's easy to forget that or feel like you've lost out on being loved or understood over something that, in the grand scheme, is so silly. And since I have the condition and there's a chance I may never get out of it thanks to my fucked up noggin, I think this should be an opportunity to write about it. Hope I did okay. There might be more to follow . . .

Word Count: 2394 CW: Vaginismus and all the lovely self-loathing it entails, reader has a vagina, references to aspects of BDSM ig, MDNI

In your defense, you didn't think it would go this far. Certainly, one could argue that Secondo was a serious man: He wasn't prone to playing with food that wasn't absolutely his to consume. But you supposed you had forgotten that, or maybe you were just high on the the arrogant assumption that you might be a special case. Or maybe it just slipped your mind to intervene when the teasing glances, subtle and overt flirtations, and little talks between you kept going and going and going until --

Now look where it had gotten you: Sat in the office of the most intimidating Emeritus brother, a packet of documents lying on the desk before you, along with an elaborate green and silver fountain pen.

Secondo preferred to use contracts when it came to his potential bedmates he had a particular eye for. Ones he had an especial intention of keeping closer. Longer.

To many, this was an absolute honor. You knew plenty of siblings that would probably kill to be in your place. And as you sat wordlessly before both Papa and his documents, you contemplated throwing yourself onto those swords.

It would certainly be quicker and less painful than ducking out after coming this far.

You could picture it: St. Andrew's crosses, leather, hot wax searing deliciously into your skin, his sharp voice directing wicked degradation before salving you with praises. All the scrumptious things Papa II had gained a notoriety for indulging. You would gladly eat it all up and beg for seconds and thirds.

But you couldn't stop it there; it had to go further. Nobody just. Stops there. Nobody normal, anyway.

The problem was that you didn't consider yourself normal. Which was what made imagining him getting into position all the more mortifying even if in concept. You could picture yourself trying to convert the anticipation you were meant to feel from one of nerves into one of bliss but it doesn't matter. You try so hard to relax and be in the moment but it's a terrible moment!

You'd heard Secondo was blessed. The idea sat in your stomach while its surroundings shriveled in fear and constricted to an uncomfortable degree. Hell, it wouldn't even matter if he were the opposite of blessed: It would all hurt the same. It would still feel as though a needle were shanking its way into your most intimate parts, piercing onward until it struck your lungs and took the oxygen right out of you. And that would only be the beginning of it.

And just thinking that was enough to make the mask slip.

You prayed to Lucifer that the sound of you wordlessly nudging the papers and pen closer to Secondo would somehow be enough to disguise the whimper paining your throat. Unfortunately, it was not.

Your already throbbing stomach somehow made enough room to swallow your heart when you saw the older man's brow quirk.

"Something the matter, Sorella?" His voice, the one you'd grown to swoon into after all these passing weeks, made you want to flinch now. Fuck. You could feel your resolve slipping through your fingers like sand and creating further mess. You just needed to keep it together --

"N-no," you forced out. You tried not to dwell on how tight your voice sounded or how it even hurt just to utter that. A complete opposite to how smooth and natural it had been when you answered his invitation to his office earlier. You weren't even sure why you hadn't expected this to be the reason for such a request. You were so naive then . . .

You tried to push through the pain, tried add on, "I'm just --" but stopped almost immediately. You had no idea what to continue with. Fuck, you were fucking this up so badly! You seriously began to contemplate just standing up and leaving, but then where would that get you?

You still lived here, in the Abbey. Avoiding a Papa was virtually impossible at the end of the day. There was no way you two could carry on as though nothing had ever happened -- the flirting, the gazes, all that junk . . . Oh, Satanas, would you need to relocate? Uproot the life you'd finally managed to create for yourself here, sent off somewhere else just to hide the humiliation of what you were and what you had or hadn't done?

Satan, why did it feel so hot in here? Was that why the air suddenly feel like it was only oozing into your lungs with difficulty?

Clearly, Secondo did not take the silence well. His lips pressed into a thin line. "If I have insulted you, Sorella, I deeply apologize." No . . . "I thought you were aware of my practices." No!! He reached a large, ringed hand out to pull the items back towards him. And somehow, that was the final straw, the final snap before the dam collapsed.

It was like watching your last chance for something being taken away from you, even of your own accord! In fact, it was exactly that: Something you knew was necessary but it didn't have to be that way but fuck, your body and mind were at odds with each other and making it your problem and --

You hadn't even noticed that you'd turned into a crying, hiccuping mess, much less one that talked. It was only when you could see through your tears an actually surprised-looking Secondo (he was capable of shock?!) that you comprehended just what sort of state you were in.

And if it was enough to make the most emotionally constipated man in the Church look disquieted, then you must've been in a sorry state. The room only felt more hot as the burn of embarrassment enveloped you. You hoped it might even consume you in a full-throttle case of spontaneous human combustion as you struggled to swallow back up everything you'd just done.

"I-I-" you hiccuped wetly. It was so hard to formulate words underneath his gaze, which he never took off of you even as he reached for a box of tissues to offer you. You knew it was one of concern, searching for traces that maybe you needed help he couldn't offer you. But for the state your mind was currently in, it twisted it into one of disgust; like maybe all those affections he might've held for you an hour ago were being replaced with ones where all he saw was a madwoman.

It was almost too much. But it was also too late to go back now, wasn't it?

"I . . . My body doesn't work right," you finally admitted in a croaked murmur. Your eyes flew down to your lap in shame, watching your hands twist and tear at the wet tissues you'd just used. "It's a condition. Like my body clenches up down there at the mere thought of penetration. So . . . So sex is off the table, basically. I'm s-sorry . . ."

God, it sounded all so lame when you said it like that. But what else could you really do? How could you communicate to him the physical and mental pain it all caused you? How could you get across to him the embarrassment that came with pap smears, the shame you felt when recognizing how behind your peers you were? Would he sympathize or pity you if he learned that on a good day, you could get the very tip of a well-lubricated q-tip in and have to consider that a victory?

You weren't able to even formulate such thoughts, let alone predict how he might feel besides, perhaps, disappointment. Maybe even disgust.

Secondo liked the finer things in life, after all: How must he feel, knowing he'd wasted so much time and energy on something that was actually broken the whole time?

"I . . . I'm so sorry." At this, your fidgeting froze, your mind beckoning for you to glance up even the slightest. In doing so, even from such an awkward angle, you could see your Papa's expression remain nearly unchanged from before. It was still worried for you, though now with a touch of something more. "I can't imagine how difficult a spot you must've felt you were in . . . And for that, I apologize."

You gave a wobbly expression born of appreciation but also acknowledging the silliness of the sentiment. You gently huffed at the absurdity, "Don't apologize, you couldn't have known." A soft shrug allowed you to upright your position better. "If anything, I'm the one that should apologize. I should've said something in the beginning . . ."

At this, the older man shrugged back. "Perhaps, but I also can understand how uncomfortable that might've made you feel. Telling someone something so intimate can be difficult. Especially if it is like . . . Well." He gestured between the both of you.

You gave the smallest of chuckles (albeit, out of a desperate need to tenderize the mood) as you twisted the shredded pieces of napkin in your lap once more. Yet again, your eyes diverted from their connection with his. "Yeah, well, at least you would've known whether or not to waste time on me."

At that, the mood seemed to slightly change. You didn't feel threatened, but you knew that the breed of seriousness had shifted somewhat. Almost reprimanding. The eyes of Papa Emeritus II were just as intimidating out of the papal paints as they were in them, it seemed.

"I can assure you, Sorella," his normal nature of calmness returned, all traces of hesitancy from moments ago completely evaporated. "I don't see any of the time or what we've done together as a waste. If you have had any partners in the past that might've felt the opposite, then I sympathize greatly with you. But I also know that means you have no experience with anyone worth your time. That is, perhaps, the most disappointing thing of all here."

Damn. What do you even say to something like that? What could you say to something like that? Under normal circumstances, you might've argued in unfortunate defense of past failed connections, pinning the blame on you. After all, that's what made the most sense. or at least, it had. Until now, with the metaphorical mirror being propped up before you by one insistent Papa.

The room fell into silence as you searched for a response -- if you even needed to make one.

"Do you still want me?"

You almost jolted. You hadn't been expecting that to be what broke the silence.

"I . . . Well, yes. Of course I do, Papa." And you did. But . . . "But I don't know if --"

"I didn't ask for specifics, piccolina. I asked you: Do you still want to be with me?"

You struggled with a punctuated inhale. "Yes."

He hummed single low note before taking back the documents and pen. You watched curiously (and perplexedly) as he began to scribble and draw lines at seemingly random places. After what had felt like an eternity, he finally slid the packet back to you.

"Take a look. It's the roughest of drafts, of course, but we can properly revitalize it as needed. If you wish to make further retractions or additions, I give you the freedom to apply them."

Your brow furrowed as you picked up the papers for inspection. Of course, your eyes were immediately drawn to the instances of green ink that now freckled the paragraphs but you took especial time dialing it back and reading in full what these adjustments were meant to even mean.

Acts concerning penetration had been removed or adjusted as necessary, acts concerning outercourse or fondling had been either emphasized or added and asterisked.

"But . . . But Papa, I can't ask you to take away from your own pleasure," you objected. It was bad enough you'd strung him along, even if he argued that you hadn't. This was still quite a lot to grapple with in under ten minutes.

At this, Secondo cracked the first hint of amusement he'd had this entire session. He smirked as he reclined back in his hair. "And what, pray tell, makes you think I wouldn't derive pleasure from doing any of these things, piccolina?"

Porn, smut, the stories kiss-and-tell Siblings would often share in the cafeteria or in the hallways or the quad. Reddit posts.

"Well, I mean," you tried to argue. "They were there for a reason, weren't they? You enjoy those things." You ignored how the smirk on his face only seemed to grow. Hm. Maybe your words didn't have as much umph to them as you'd thought? Still, you continued. "A-and besides: I can't imagine you'd get off as easily from --" You glanced down at a word he'd scribbled in. " -- thigh jobs."

The low chuckle that rumbled from his chest settled your failure of a one-sided debated.

"Oh, Sorellina: You have much to learn about my proclivities," he sighed. "I understand that what the others might talk about may paint a certain picture of me. But I can assure you, any lover worth his salt should know that just shoving their dick into something is far from the end all, be all."

"And besides." The chair squeaked as he leaned in, hands folded on the dark wood of the desk. "It takes a true lover to relish in pleasure's many forms. I am more than happy to show you this, if you will let me."

It didn't matter that you had heard him say and gesture far cruder things: Just the words coming from his lips -- lips you had craved the taste of ever since your first sampling mere days ago -- coupled with the sincerity of his unbreaking eye contact. Your face was once again awash with a heat, a pleasant one born from blush.

You wanted to let him. You'd let him do whatever he could with you. You just needed to . . . let him.

Your body made picking up the pen feel weightier than it could've possibly been. But in a way, you were used to it: You were used to fighting your body and mind, always losing the battle so that they and their anxieties could be pacified while the other parts of you remained barren. Unsatisfied, with the conviction that it was only your burden to bear.

You didn't want a story to tell or even a milestone to complete so that you could better fit in with your peers: You just wanted to be understood. Or at least, like you wouldn't get left behind, chained by your own body and mind's complications.

As you stared at the green ink that formed your name on the pristine white paper, you felt a tightness in your throat. Never before had you felt so liberated . . .

[ghostchems]

the devil's damsel - cardinal secondo x female!reader - part 4

after one mistake, you end up in the belly of the beast.

warnings/tags: it's been a thousand years. i'm so sorry it took so long! anyway, nothing too crazy in this chapter except for some confusing conversations and alcohol consumption! this is a DARK FIC. MDNI! 18+! I MEAN IT! 2.3k words. ao3 link :3 (read part one here/part two here)/part three here)

You swallow the brown liquid hastily, wincing as it burns down your throat. Someone who looks to be wearing a clerical collar  is trying to speak to you, but you are too afraid to look them in the eye. He is watching, you know he must be; he wouldn’t leave you alone without keeping a careful watch over you. You fiddle with your drink, staring down into it as you feel a rush of warmth flood your cheeks. You bring the cup back to your lips and finish off the whiskey.

“Agnellino.” His voice is harsh and full of venom, causing you to quickly choke down your drink as his hand snaps to grab you by the chin. Whoever had been beside you has now vacated their spot, off to mingle with the rest of the party probably out of fear of dealing with Secondo. “The second I leave, you flirt with another, eh? Perhaps I shouldn’t have given you this freedom.” His grip on your chin only tightens and you give a panicked squeal.

***

“Get dressed.” Secondo snaps and tosses the habit onto your mattress. You’re already sitting up, your back against the wall with your knees folded underneath you and a blanket around your shoulders. He already seems to be in a bad mood and typically you don’t push your luck with him when he’s like this but… you have to ask.

“What is this for?” You whisper hoarsely and poke your hand out of your blanket to lay on the outfit. It feels soft beneath your palm. You lift your head to look up at Secondo, sleepy eyes meeting his piercing gaze. He stalks closer to you as he clasps his hands behind his back, his large figure looming over you. His expression looks stern but the longer you watch him the more his lips quirk into a barely perceivable grin.

“I’m setting you free — for the evening. There is a celebration tonight at the Abbey and I thought as a treat you would accompany me.” His lips stretch into a more noticeable smile but there is still that glint of danger in his eyes. Secondo has given you several treats since he took you but all have taken place in the basement. “I want to expose you to the clergy — my piccolo esperimento.” His voice is a throaty growl, deep and commanding as he sinks to his knees in front of you. 

You start to feel the familiar ache between your legs, heat rising up from your chest to your cheeks. Secondo’s gloved hands push aside the covers and rests them on your knees as he moves in closer. You shrug off the rest of the covers, your eyes locked with his whole letting him part your legs with ease. He slips between them, one hand drifting to stroke your inner thigh while the other takes your hand. You give a soft breath, relaxing into his touch. 

Secondo has been far more tender with you these last few days and you are basking in it, enjoying it while you can for fear of him ripping it from you at any moment. He’s done far worse already. For now, he brushes his lips against your knuckles.

“As long as you promise to behave, agnellino.” He huffs against your hand, bringing it up to his face to press against his cheek. You chew on your bottom lip, feeling his smooth skin beneath your fingers. “And if you break that promise, well — must I even go into detail?” Secondo moves your hand to his lips, kissing at your fingertips. Of course, there’s fear welling up inside of you. You’re not sure how long you’ve spent in the basement but the idea of leaving it now and interacting with others… you’re not even sure if you remember how to be a person anymore. 

“I promise.” You voice quivers but Secondo quickly kisses your palm, soothing you.

“You will be fine, agnellino, so long as you keep your promise and stick with me.”

***

“I ignored him, Secondo. I did, I promise — I don’t even know what he was saying to me.” You ramble on, your eyes wide as you stare into his eyes. His grip loosens, a content grin on his face while his thumb starts to brush over your lips. You feel a hazy excitement replace your panic, half-lidded eyes drifting up to meet his. Secondo purrs and presses his thumb into your mouth. Your gaze flits around the room, your face flushing in embarrassment but it doesn’t look like anyone is watching.

“Aww, look at you blushing.” You’ve never seen him smile so wide, so genuine but you’re sure it has something to do with the  His thumb presses down on your tongue and you whimper, your mouth dropping open. “I have someone I would like for you to meet, agnellino.” Secondo moves in closer to you as his other hand grasps your waist roughly, forcing you up against him. You feel his breath against your face, his thumb still firm in your mouth as his gaze suddenly becomes threatening and pointed. “Be sure to behave in his presence, pet.” 

He pulls his thumb from your mouth and takes you by the hand. You follow close behind him, smiling dumbly as your eyes scan over the crowd. There are no summoning circles, no orgies, and only a few wearing hellish masks — a stark difference from the grim stories you were told by your parents growing up. Everyone is having a good time and everyone is nice. The few people you’ve interacted with so far (with Secondo by your side, of course) have been nothing but welcoming and sweet, despite where you come from. You’re too drunk to think too hard about it but somewhere, deep in your mind, you wonder why Secondo is so much different than them. 

“Ah, Papa. Questo è il mio agnellino.” Secondo shakes the man’s hand and then gestured towards you. You don’t realize that you are already there being introduced to this man and your eyes grow bright once you get a good look at him. He had the same eyes as Secondo, one deep green and one bright white, but they look softer and kinder, a contrast to the dramatic paint that covers his face. You reach out to timidly shake his hand and he warmly takes it in his, giving it a soft squeeze as he smiles at you.

“A true pleasure, tesoro. Come, let us chat.” His voice is raspy and low but there is a warmth to it that you can’t explain. You give one last look to Secondo who seems less than pleased that you are being stolen away from him. “How could I forget my manners? Perhaps I was too taken with your delicate beauty, eh?” He squeezes your hand and comes to a stop in a large room lined with stained glass windows, his friendly gaze falling to you. You find yourself blushing at his words and his gaze, something you’re sure would piss off Secondo. “Io sono Papa Emeritus il Primo.”

“Papa?” You quirk a brow at him but that’s all you’re able to manage, your thoughts far away from you as the alcohol clouds your mind.

“Si, si. Like the Pope. I am the leader of this congregation — and Secondo is il mio fratellino, eh, my little brother.” 

Your eyes practically bug out of your head. Secondo and Primo? Their father named them first and second? Also the idea that Secondo has a whole ass family has never crossed your mind. He seems like the kind of loner who wouldn’t have any kind of family, or at least, decided to go out on his own and leave his family behind. It’s difficult to think about the two of them being related given how different they come off. Still, there is much you don’t know about the congregation. 

“He’s not very little, is he?” Primo muses as he gently lets go of your hand. “Though, he does have very big shoes to fill.” He gestures towards the stained glass in front of them: a large portrait of the devil, complete with blackened wings and horns that look almost like a crown. Satan’s body is chiseled to perfection, strong thighs and a large, thick cock between your legs. You feel your temperature rise, your habit suddenly feeling too hot for your body. 

“I know it is very difficult to leave behind what you know, what you’ve been exposed to all your life.” Primo clasps his hands in front of him and he catches your gaze, a serious look in his eyes. “We’ve all had to do it, in some way. Very few of us are born into the church. We all find our way here — to bask in Lucifer’s loving, warm embrace. A place where we can be ourselves and love one another and be kind.” You feel your chest start to tighten at the sincerity of his words, the way he speaks about the church is a stark contrast to what you’ve gone through since “arriving” here. “If you have any questions or need any guidance, per favore, I am here to help you through this difficult transition. I am sure, eh, Secondo is providing much support but I know he can be a tad…rough.” 

“That is enough, Primo.”

The hair stands on the back of your neck upon hearing his booming voice, interrupting what was the lone peaceful moment you’ve spent since meeting Secondo. He is quick to grab you by the arm and tug him close to him, his back pressing possessively into your back.

“I am not lying, fratellino. We all know you can be somewhat extreme with your lovers.” Primo smirks and offers you a wink. Does he know? You chew the inside of your lip before being tugged away by Secondo.

“Thank you, Papa!” You blurt out as you’re dragged away, Secondo’s grip on your impossibly tight. You’re unsure if he even responds to you, trying to catch a glimpse but you are already out the door and into a courtyard. The cold air hits your flushed face and you feel like you can breathe again. It’s nighttime. You realize that this is the first time you’ve been outside since coming here. The smell of the cool air makes you feel like a person again, it reminds you of what else there is in the world — what else you’ve been missing. 

Anger wells up inside you.

“Everything I have seen of this church suggests that it’s a nice place to be so how come you’ve had me locked in the basement? Maybe if you had tried talking to me first — “ Secondo’s hands are on you in an instant, forcing you against a nearby stonewall. You are jostled, your back being pressed against the wall as you squirm in his grasp. When you look into his face you are even more confused because there is a hint of amusement in his scowl. His hand rests on the base of your neck, holding you in place but he offers a bit of space between the two of you.

“Do you already forget, agnellino? I tore you apart and put you back together, I’ve shown you pleasures you would have never experienced, I’ve liberated you.” His voice is low and gravelly, his eyes boring into yours but he is not threatening you. Secondo sucks in a deep breath before chewing on his lower lip as his eyes start to roam your face. Do you believe him? Are you even in a good state of mind to be talking about this with him right now? Your head feels heavy from the alcohol and all you can bring yourself to focus on how plump his lips look. He hovers in front of you and then rests his other hand against the wall beside your head. The distance closes between you and he slowly dips his head down, his nose brushing lightly against yours.

Warm shuddering breaths graze your lips and you tilt your head up ever so slightly, moving your head in closer. Secondo’s hand drifts up your neck to slip his fingers into your habit, tangling them into your hair. His eyes flicker up to yours once last time before they shut slowly, his lips meeting yours in a simple kiss.

Your first kiss.

He takes his time, planting kiss after kiss, allowing you to get used to the feeling. You rest your hand on his broad chest, standing on your tippy-toes so that you can be as close to him as possible. Secondo starts to ease your mouth open with his lips and tongue, tasting the now familiar taste of alcohol. His tongue pushes along yours, giving a soft groan as you let him guide you. You are desperately trying not to think too hard about what you’re doing or if this is how kissing is supposed to feel and also worrying about accidentally biting him but you find comfort in his arms and against his lips. You’re surprised it took this long for him to kiss you, given everywhere else his mouth and fingers had been and yet this feels far more intimate than all of that.

Secondo angles his chin against yours, forcing your mouth open more so that he can slip his tongue further down your throat. A moan rumbles up from his chest, feeling it against your hands and swallowing it in the kiss. Your legs start to wobble, your fingers digging into his shirt urging him closer. Instead, he pulls away but stays hovering just over your lips, his hands dropping from your hair to place it over your hand on his chest. Your lips quiver, a whimper pushing from them while you try to catch your breath. Secondo wordlessly steps away from you, squeezing your hand while your eyes meet. 

You follow him as he leads you away. 

[copias-fluffy-asscheeks]

Daddy Secondo HCs

But literally

Dad!Secondo

*𖤐*

He's never been too sure about having children, but once you, his prime mover, and him had visited the ministry's nursery often enough you had managed to change his mid and he had agreed, but the one thing he was not going to give in until you had a little rascal of your own, is that he secretly had the BIGGEST soft spot for them.

He was so supportive during your entire pregnancy, massaging you, smearing you beautifully plump belly with oils to avoid access skin and stretch marks, even though he had assured you he'd love you and think you're hot even if you did have them.

He WORSHIPED your tummy. He held it for you while resting his head on your shoulder so you could have a moment free from the strain in your back, he loved talking to his baby even though they weren't born yet, he'd play his new songs through headphones that he'd place against your belly for the baby to listen to.

One time, he even played Jigolo Har Megiddo to them, and you only realized when you recognized it half way, hearing it ever so faintly coming from your belly where the headphones were. You had smacked the headphones away wit ha laugh, shaking your head in mock disapproval and hissing some half-hearted words in a scolding tone. ''Ah, but Cuore, they will have to learn some day.'' He hummed, giving a lazy grin.

You had smacked him with a pillow, but, of course he flicked that again, and It happened many more times.

He pampered you so much during your entire pregnancy, even when you told him not too, but you both knew how much you enjoyed it. He massaged you, bought you sweets, cooked you pasta, helped you wash and treated you like a goddess.

Whenever you told him not to pamper you, he merely shushed you with a kiss. Really, all he had to do was pump his seedlings into you a few times, and here you were creating an entire human in the safety of your belly? He could handle the rest, trust me.

During the actual delivery, he was a sweetheart, not asking too many questions and not bothering the nurses and doctors, letting you squeeze his hand for support.

He had tears in his eyes. Actual tears. He did't know if they were from the hidden emotion of the joy that his baby was finally almost here, of because you were squeezing his hand so tight.

He's a big strong one, but DAMN you had a grip. He swore he felt his bones being rearranged at that.

When he finally got to hold his baby, the tears were actively flowing, and he had no desire to try and stop them for once.

He let it all flow, and after a good fifteen minutes he finally calmed down,stroking your hair and non-stop prepping kisses to your temple as the little bundle rested on your chest.

His voice hoarse with adoration, he had murmured ''La mia regina e la mia (principessa/principe).''

He was the best father, desperate to prove himself and give his child the life with their actual father that he and his brothers hadn't had. He was so gentle, and it was beautiful seeing him with his guard down whenever he was with them, so at ease and so himself.

He was so gentle and patient, more than you had ever seen him be, and even though he had always been way more sweet to you he seemed to love and adore you even more, his affection for the both of you only blooming.

He was ecstatic when the baby's first words were ''Papa.'' He literally shrieked and took them into he biggest hug ever, rocking them back and forth and asking them to try and say it again, glancing up at you where you sat with a camera, with tears of pure joy in his eyes. He was a vision.

As soon as the baby learned to talk a few words and got more vocal, he started to try and learn them Italian.

At some point he had cornered you in the kitchen, you baby fast asleep in their crib. He placed kisses all over your face before placing one on your lips, murmuring there ''ne voglio un altro.''<3

*𖤐*

Taglist: @papasmicstand @sweatandwoe @lightbluuestars @ghoulettka @copias-girl @random-bl-fan

[onedaughterofman]

Writing Sessions #10 (Papa Emeritus II)

Summary: A curse has fallen on Secondo, and Primo does his best to help. Well, maybe it's not exactly a curse. No. For the first time in forever, Secondo is in love.

A/N: This was inspired by @dearlymrme headcanon. I thought it was amazing and so fitting! Hope you don't mind a little ficlet! Around 800 words.

I love how confused he looks in the gif.

“Remind me why you want this…”

In the candle lit room, Primo’s voice is a tired rasp. There is incense in his hands, an herbal conjunction simmering in a teapot. He is tired, of course, after a long day of tending to his clerical duties. Yet, he can’t deny the way his heart jumped in his chest upon seeing Secondo’s panicked gaze, the quick pace of his breathing.

“I told you, ” Secondo chokes out, still heaving for air. “I need urgent cleansing.”

Urgent. Primo surely hopes this is urgent. It’s three A.M, they both should be sleeping, but Secondo is panting and sweating, so something must be terribly wrong. Maybe he had a bad vision? Perhaps a gruesome epiphany?

Well, for waking him up in a frenzy, Primo hopes Secondo just witnessed the falling of the Ministry in flames and despair. “Don’t worry,” he replies, under his breath. His hands tremble with age, but his fingers manage to deftly move to organize all the necessary ingredients. “This will clean everything.”

“Do the egg thing too.”

Primo gathers another deep breath, cold air filling his lungs and burning in the way in. His brother is too demanding, extremely annoying at this time of the night. “Is there something worrying you in particular? I though you wanted a lighter cleansing, not a whole ritual.”

For long seconds, Secondo merely remains silent. His gaze is obscured by the shadows, head tilted towards the floor. Sitting on an old wooden chair, he looks small, almost like a child about to be scolded. “Someone put a spell on me.”

Now, that’s something to worry about. Primo’s hands halt, half way from reaching the tea pot. Without muttering a word, he reaches for the cups and pour some of the liquid in it, handing it to his brother. Secondo gulps it in one go, face scrunching at the taste. It’s not a surprise. That conjunction is incredibly bitter.

“Do you know who?”

“A Sibling,” Secondo replies, at last. His voice is harsh, words choked in his throat.

“A Sibling?” Primo repeats, gaze immediately falling on the other. He’s surprised, practically speechless. For a Sibling of Sin to ever think about cursing their own Papa… That’s something no one dared before. “Are you sure?”

“I am! That’s why I’m here, asking for your help. I think they put a spell on me. A strong one.”

“What are your symptoms? Tell me all you know.”

The old wall clock ticks slowly. Secondo talks, fast, words falling like a cascade. He can’t stop talking, and the more he tells, the more confused Primo feels. He blindly reaches behind his back, grabbing another chair and pulling it towards himself.

“I see them, I feel them… The sun falling on their hair, the fire in their gaze, the sound of their voice. It haunts me, day and night.”

“Their… voice? Do they speak?”

“They laugh! And it sounds… like a siren’s song. Alluring, charming.”

This time, Primo simply lets his brother continue on his own. Most of the words become a muffled mess at the back of his mind. Oh, how tired he is. Primo has become too old for this.

“Their eyes scorch my soul, I’m telling you! Am I… loosing my mind?”

Muttering a few curses in Italian, Primo lets his head fall into his hands. At least in this position, he doesn’t have to face his stupid brother. “Have you considered you might be in love with them?” He asks, finally. Secondo gasps, dramatically, almost falling from the chair.

“Me, in love? You know me, I'm not that type. Leave that shit to Terzo!”

“What you describe sounds like a crush, stronzo.”

“I sounds like a fucking hex!”

“Why would this Sibling hex you, anyway?”

“Don’t they take witchcraft classes here? Why wouldn’t they?”

Breathe.

Primo inhales again, retaining the air in his lungs before exhaling slowly through his mouth. “Che stai dicendo?” he mutters, again. The headache grows stronger. “Non rompere il cazzo”

This time, at least Secondo has enough survival instinct not to insists. He stays sat on the chair, arms tightly crossed on his chest. Again, Primo thinks he looks like nothing but a child, a confused and even scared one. A part of his heart, a very small one, feels sorry for him.

“I’ll do the egg cleansing too. Only this time, you hear me?” He warns, standing up. His joints creak, and complain. “If there is no hex on you, then you’ll have to accept this might be love.”

“I’d rather have the hex.”

Nodding, Primo lights up the incense and a white candle. “Yes, that’s probably better,” he says, palming the egg and walking the short distance that separates him from Secondo. “Love is a great curse, after all.”

ps: yeah i don't know. This brought back memories of being a child and going to my neighborhood's bruja for cleansings lol.

I had this on my drafts for a while and decided to post it for once. I've been busy lately so I don't think i'll be able to write anything new for a bit.

[anonymouslymadebydesign]

Ahhh because im such a sucker for reader inserts I've been thinking about this one AU (soulmate's obviously because im a basic bitch)

But fuckinnnnn

Soulmate AU where you can only hear your soulmate when their singing and visa versa

Anyways, soulmates AU with reader x Papa Secondo

[emeritus-fuckers]

Gonna need that massage from secondo real bad after he uses his monstrance cock..

— ♠️ anon

A "massage" from Secondo...

Secondo Emeritus was a filthy, filthy liar.

He promised you a massage and well, that much wasn't a lie. Everything else, however, was.

"Just a massage, my sweet."

That was what he whispered in your ear, promising to soothe the pain after taking him for the first time. He'd just use his fingers to massage you, to soothe your pain.

Filthy fucking liar.

Yes, it started out as massage, sure. And you were tired, fucked out and overstimulated, so you didn't question him.

In his defense, he planned to keep it a massage, he really did.

But then... he heard that cute little whimper of yours. You knew he was crazy for all your noises, they always pulled on his heart, his mind begging to hear more of you.

And you just couldn't resist him. His touch would be the death of you, quite possibly.

And yet, you'd both stay like his, the movement of his fingers getting more and more of those adorable little moans and whimpers, which just made him crave more and more.

Yes, Secondo Emeritus was a filthy liar.

And you were addicted to him, just like he was addicted to you.

~

Written by Nosferatu.

[ragequeen94]

Having to use your safe word with Secondo and Primo

Dead Dove

Warnings for Sexual Violence/Blood/etc

Primo

He was older. Obviously. You knew this. He was older than a lot of people and it sometimes got in his head. Made him kinda… authoritative. Like everyone else was stupid and he knew better. So he had this really annoying habit of pressuring you out of your comfort zone. And usually he was right and was really supportive and comforting. He praised you for doing a good job often, rarely hes he wrong or did he go to far. But it had happened…

He had wanted to explore sensory deprivation with you. Specially… depriving you of your senses. It had taken a while to get all the toys and costume pieces he had picked out, and you had approved all of it… but this was a big step for both of you. He hadn't done anything quite this… Advanced and you were still clinging to his robes wide eyed as he guided you through the darker paths to pleasure. 

The gloves were silly, the ropes a familiar feeling. But then he plugs your ears with cotton and covered your eyes with a blindfold… Every touch to your skin was ice… It burned… you jumped in surprise every time his hand grips, squeezed or slapped you you cried out, it wasn't that it hurt… but you couldn't ground yourself… you felt lost and… 

Then his hand closed around your throat while long fingers pressed inside you. You gasped and struggled… it was like you were submerged… buried… Primo was taking his time and being gentle but… it was too much… you cried and choked and sobbed… confused and scared… you gargled out the safe word… scared he might not even hear it or understand. But his hands were off you in a split second. Slowly one at a time he gave you back your senses… he held you in his lap as you sobbed while he untied the knots in the rope. 

“it was… too… too much… I don't…like it”

“Another time then baby girl…”

Secondo

He got rough, that was who he was. A rough man. He loved rough, spoke rough, even slept rough. Comfort seemed to make him… well uncomfortable. Though once he had mentioned that ‘pleasure without pain made men soft’... what ever the fuck that meant. He could get like that… all the time… hypermasculine. It wasn't necessarily toxic or cruel, more than he just put extra pressure on himself to be something that… he probably wasn't as often as he pretended. Secondos' own worst enemy and judge was himself. So when he's with you, he always wants to be harder than he was the day before… rougher. He's lucky you liked it so much, to a certain point. Usually he worked you up to things, your play scene lasting for hours on special days. And Usually things started gentle, loving kisses or squeezes that slowly snowballed into other things…

That's not what happened though. Something was wrong with Secondo… that you could already tell. He was angry… or more likely since he was always angry… he was hurt, a sad Secondo was dangerous. It wouldn't do you any good to get him to talk… he needed to work it out. You and he had done this before, rough sex followed by a bubble bath and slow kisses, it was perfect. Then Usually Secondo would be able to talk about what had hurt him so… 

He hadn't even tried to be gentle, he hadn't even given you warning or warmed you up or… he had just gone for it. And it had hurt, and not in the fun way. Secondo had hit you in the face, harder than the normal palmed smacks you enjoyed, he had grabbed your throat and not let go, even when you had given him the malocchio hand symbol to stop… you hoped he had just missed it. He had ripped out your hair and threw you across the hard stone flooring, he had tried to penetrate you, no prep… No lube… And he didn't seem to care what hole he was pressing against…You tried, you really did, but then you got scared. Once the fear started seeping in… it was over. 

 Finally you were able to let out a cry that shattered his rage and he jumped away from you, letting you collapse on the floor in a mess as you croaked out your safe word, pushing yourself to the bed and cowering away from him as you tried to stop shaking. He stood there, blood on his knuckles from the bloody nose you hadn't noticed you had and blood on his cock…

You screamed and swore at him, shaking on your feet. You weren't the kind of woman to lick your wounds for long… You smacked his chest and cursed him, not stopping until he started crying. 

Then the talking started. You took him into the bath, he ran the water and stirred in the bubbles as he pressed a cool cloth to your nose, tears running down his face, and probably yours. He would have to seek absolution somehow… he swore up and down and Secondo kept his promises. He was a good man, but a broken one. It would be a while before you would know what had made him so…

[theunholybastard]

Kinktober: October 14th - Pregnancy (Papa Emeritus II x Female!Reader)

Tags: Established Relationship, Pregnancy, Body Worship, Praise, Nipple Pinching/Sucking, Gentle Sex, Creampie, Fluff And Smut, 2nd Person POV

It feels as if you've been bedridden your entire pregnancy. You really were doing relatively fine despite your delicate condition, save for the semi-frequent morning sickness and your sore, swollen ankles. Other than that, a fairly easy pregnancy was blessed upon you, but that didn't stop Secondo from hovering over you constantly, as if a small gust of wind would cause you to shatter into a million pieces.

Secondo was always intensely protective, even before you got pregnant, but now? It was amplified a hundred times stronger. When he wasn't doing a concert or attending some useless meeting, he would be by your side, tending to his beloved wife, no exceptions. Rubbing your lower back and swollen stomach, brewing you herbal remedies picked straight from the ministry gardens, hand preparing every meal that comes your way, mindful of your nausea. It was perfect. Nearly perfect. There is one need he has not tended to in quite some time.

He complimented you about a thousand times a day, swearing up and down every second he was around that you were the most beautiful, radiant creature he ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes upon, that he was so lucky you were his. But despite how much he said you were beautiful, you didn't feel beautiful. He hadn't touched you since you started to show, despite the countless times you tried to initiate. He would always find an excuse, how you need your rest, or he needs to work, or some other bullshit. At first you believed him, but after 6 months of nothing but rejection, you couldn't help but feel that he simply doesn't want you.

You would have to hold back tears every time he would gently nudge you off of him, feeling unwanted and defeated. Did your appearance really change that much to the point he was this repulsed by you? You could tell he was trying so hard to be a good husband, and you knew when the baby was here he would be an amazing father, but was the physical attraction he had for you really gone? Before the pregnancy, he couldn't get enough of you, practically rabid the second he got his hands on you, and you loved it. Would he ever touch you with such intensity again?

As you lay in bed that night, completely nude, (as that was when you were most comfortable) Secondo sat beside you, looking absolutely delectable. Shirtless and devoid of his Papal paints, reading a book, not so much as glancing at your nude body sprawled out against the sheets. Your hand came up to his chest, fingers running through his thick, greying chest hair. "Secondo...?" You purr, attempting to seduce him once more. "Si, cara mia?" He responds, not even looking up from his book to acknowledge you. You can feel the humiliation start to brim already. Still, you persist.

"It's been a while..." Is all you say, and all that was needed for him to get the message. He chuckles. "It's late, amore. You need your rest." He excuses. You feel all the blood drain from your face, tears brimming in your eyes once again. You're angry, heartbroken, and sexually frustrated, your hormones only amplifying your emotions. This time, you cannot blink back your tears, falling from your eyes and streaming hotly down your face.

Secondo finally looks up when he hears you sniffle, his relaxed expression swiftly shifting to one of pure concern when he sees you, immediately setting down his book to assess the problem. "Amore?" He asks softly, his hand coming up to wipe away your tears. You wish you could just stop crying, but the dam had already broken. "Why don't you want me?" You sob brokenly. His brows furrow in confusion.

"What do you mean? Of course I want you, my dear." He assures, hands cradling your face, thumbs swiping at your tears as they flow like a windshield wiper. His words only make you cry harder. "You won't touch me anymore! It's been months. I have needs, you know. You can stop lying to me, Secondo, I know you find me repulsive..." You shudder, taking shaky little breaths in between every sentence.

"Hey." He asserts firmly, his gaze on you now dangerously serious and unwaivering, not even blinking as he speaks. "Don't you dare call me a liar. You know I would never. After everything we've been through together, you have to know this." He practically pleads with you to hear him out. You collapse in his arms, bawling inconsolably. It's true, he has never lied to you before, never once given you a reason to distrust him. He has always been a man of his word. But then why do you feel like this?

Secondo sighs, stroking you back soothingly. "I have been neglecting my husbandly duties, haven't I? I've made you feel like this, my poor girl..." He coos apologetically, kissing the top of your head, lingering longer than usual. "My magnificent, perfect wife. I haven't been taking care of you the way you need. But you must know, it's not because I don't want you. Far from that."

"T-then why?" You sniffle, sounding small and pathetic. He frowns, smacking his lips as he begins to speak. "I... I worry for you, amore. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt the baby." He admits. Your crying slows down, hiccuping softly. "You know how rough I am. I'm afraid I won't be able to make the switch into gentility, that I won't be able to control myself. You're so beautiful like this... Hell, if I had it my way, I would keep you like this all the time. I never thought you could become more irresistible to me than you already were. You're so fucking... It has taken every ounce of restraint in me to keep my hands off of you, little dove."

You listen to his words intently, and for the first time in months, he has an excuse that makes a lick of sense. You believe him. "Why didn't you just say so?" You laugh in between tears, now reaching up to caress his face in return. "Secondo, I'm fine."

"I know you say that, but-"

"No. I listened to you, now you listen to me." You scold lightly. "I am doing good. The doctor says so. The baby is healthy and safe. You aren't going to hurt us. You and I both want this. Please, stop denying me pleasure. Stop denying yourself. If it's ever too much for me, I would tell you. You know I would." He nods, looking down, deep in thought for a moment.

"You promise you will warn me?" He asks, his voice gravely, his worry still evident, but it's clear he's trying to loosen up. You nod, a hopeful smile developing. He gulps, his eyes fogging with a barely concealed desire. His hands trail to your breasts, which have grown significantly larger since the beginning of your pregnancy, heavy with milk. "I've been neglecting you." He says plainly, his breathing labored. "I won't ever again."

In an instant, he is on you, kissing passionately and hovering over you, mindful of the large baby bump in the way. His touches are feverish, yet cautious, gentle as he can be. His fingers pinch at your sensitive nipples, earning a sharp gasp from you. You can see where he's coming from now; if he were to use half as much force as he usually uses, he would break you in this state, shattering like fine porcelain.

"Look at these beautiful tits." He rasps, dipping his head down to take one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking softly, while the other hand continues to pinch my other one. He pops his mouth off temporarily. "So tender and full for our child, hm? I do hope you'll give me a taste when the time comes." His words make your head swirl, drunk with lust.

He takes his cock out of his pajama bottoms, spitting in his hand and rubbing the slick up and down his shaft. He lines himself up with your eager cunt, the extra lubricant unnecessary from how dripping wet you already were. "Are you ready?" He asks. "Just fuck me!" You basically scream, a little too enthusiastic, pulling a hearty chuckle from Secondo, slowly starting to push the head in.

The stretch was incredible, your mouth hung open in a silent scream. Your body seemed to welcome it greedily, too long did you wait for this moment. He bottoms out with a strained groan, clearly it has been way too long for him, too. "I might not last too long, my dear. Y-youre so fucking tight..." He warns, grasping at the supple fat of your thighs. You smile, hips wiggling against his, desperate for him to move.

"T-that's okay. Please take me." You say breathlessly. And take you he does, rocking his hips in and out gently, setting a slow and delicate pace for the two of you. Despite the fragility of his shallow thrusts, you're borderline howling at the feeling, hypersensitive to every movement, your condition only heightens the pleasure you were experiencing, the overstimulation teetering on pain. Secondo takes his time to fondle every inch of your body, everything noticeably bigger and fuller since last time he had you. It drove him crazy.

"Cazzo, if you weren't already filled with my seed, I'd fuck a baby into you right now." He growls, reveling in the sound of your loud, whorish moans. It spurs him to rock a little faster, still deeply careful with his thrusts, his body seeming to already know what would be too much for you. "You're fucking irresistible, amore mio. Possiedi il mio cuore..."

It's all too much, and soon enough, one particular rut of his hips has you cumming around his length, shaking and crying from the exceptionally all consuming force of it all. He follows soon after, flooding your pussy with his white hot load. He stills inside, heaving over you, struggling to catch his breath. After a minute or two, his brows furrow in discomfort as he pulls out, missing the warmth your pussy provided, his spend leaking onto the silk sheets. Leaning over, he kisses your rounded stomach, humming in satisfaction.

"How do you feel?" He asks, concerned. You smile dazily. "Fucking... wonderful." You reply. Truth be told, wonderful doesn't even compare. You feel like you're floating, like your soul has accented out of your body and is resting upon the clouds above, truly blissed out from the mind numbing orgasm that was long overdue. And for the first time in a long time, you feel beautiful.

-

[molly-ghuleh]

It's-a-me, bael, and I WANT TO ASK FOR ANOTHER HEADCANON!

May I ask for a Secondo one? Because I would like to hear from you how Secondo would be in bed with a reader who is insecure of her body and would be trying to hide herself from his eyes, like, asking for less light and etc.

My dear @baelzbu, you may ALWAYS ask for Secondo because I am ALWAYS soft for him <3 This is f!reader since you mentioned pronouns hehe. NSFW under the cut, 18+ only please!

Secondo

First of all, the moment Secondo sees you he thinks you're the most beautiful creature in the room. In the world, even.

He knows he has to have you.

Also. I have to say. He will NOT take you to bed only once. He will be so infatuated with you it's not even funny

Anyways

Takes his time seducing you. Halfway through charming you into his bed he realizes he actually enjoys your company

You grow into more than a lay for him (sorry I'm so soft for Secondo accidentally falling in love, shoot me)

He's always complimenting your beauty because he can tell by your body language that you're insecure about it

"Bellissima, cara" "Sei più che bella per me" "Sembri una dea uscita da un dipinto"

The first time he invites you to his chambers, you're so nervous that you almost say no

But how can you say no, when he's so sweet and expressing genuine interest?

If you're into it, he'll send you a box containing lingerie that he'd think you'll look amazing in, with a note instructing you to wear it that night

If it's more of a spontaneous thing, he'll be so eager to discover what's under your clothes, what you feel comfortable and pretty in

"Lascia che ti scarti, il mio piccolo dono di Satana"

He's expecting you to be a little shy, he'd picked up on that aspect of you from watching you and getting to know you

So when that first expanse of skin is exposed and you try to cover yourself up, he gently coaxes your hands and arms away so he can see your beauty

Kisses every inch of your skin. And I mean every inch

Leaves little bite marks and hickeys in places you feel particularly insecure about, so you know he loves those parts enough for both of you

I feel like he'd like dim light anyways, because it's more sensual and romantic. But when you ask for complete darkness, he's a bit taken aback

Teases you by saying, "I can blindfold you if you'd like, dolce. That will make things very dark, no?"

But then will reassure you that he wants to see you, that he thinks you're a goddess walking the Earth and that's half the reason he wanted to pursue you in the first place

(The other half is because he's a THIGH MAN)

Reallyyyyyy takes his time making sure you know he finds you more than attractive

Runs his hands over your thighs, your belly, your chest, your ass. Worships you like the goddess you are in his eyes

Makes you cum at least twice before he even thinks about taking pleasure for himself

If you have the urge to cover yourself up still, he'll gently take your hands and pin them above your head with one hand while touching you, caressing you, pleasuring you with the other

Eye contact king. Wants you to KNOW who's making you feel this good. But also wants to see it when he brings you the most pleasure you've ever felt

Goes above and beyond for you. Really pulls out all the stops because you're the most attractive person he's ever seen

If he thinks he can walk away from having you in his bed and not think twice, he's very wrong.

Can't stop thinking about how you looked under him

Wonders how you might look on top of him? Needs to find out.

Pretty soon he's addicted, and every encounter you have makes you more and more comfortable because he's always telling you how sexy you are

Secondo likes being in control but if you ever initiate and want to lead, he might come in his pants before you even touch him there

In short. He is the most generous lover in the world and will make sure you know he wants all of you.