#But I really like how primo turned out

[fleckjayky]

[sciderman]

well - webtoons is over, gang

[ficandkaboodle]

Papa’s Favorite Ghoul: Primo

Banner Credit Goes to @saradika-graphics! Word Count: 3281

Man, where do I even begin? I guess by stating that there’s two tropes I like: AUs where characters switch dynamics, and when characters or people go by titles that don’t traditionally align with their gender identity. Like woman kings or, in the case of Star vs the Forces of Evil, Jushtin the Boy Queen. Admittedly they’re more so applied to align with the importance placed on patriarchal and/or matriarchal power but we’re not getting into that. Nor are we getting into the kind of weird patriarchal traits of the Catholic Church the Church of Ghost keeps hold to — there are real-world explanations for them, I suppose, and this is fanfiction.

What we are getting into is my blending of the two aforementioned tropes to create this…Well, I guess it’s a series of sorts now because each character segment got too hefty to belong to one singular post. My bad. But I digress:

Somewhere out there, there is a universe where you were a part of the bloodline that has long reigned the Satanic Church as a dark papal dynasty. And now the title of Papa, for better or worse, has fallen upon you. You’ve trained your entire life for this — mephistophically, that is. But few things can prepare someone for dealing with ghouls more than actual exposure can. And now with the task of utilizing music to corrupt and recruit falling upon you, you’ll have plenty of time to become familiar with these literal hellions.

Don’t worry, though: If there’s one thing that has remained consistent throughout the millennia, it’s that a Papa almost always finds that one ghoul form whom they develop a fondness for . . .

You had not, in fact, been the one to summon the ghoul known around the Ministry as “Primo”.

He had been walking these unhallowed grounds since before you were born. A ghoul having an extended tenure topside wasn’t unheard of, but the implications set by his humanoid appearance of a very tall old man seemed to punctuate that point. Was he genuinely that old? Did he use a bit of ghoul magic to influence his appearance? You weren't going to ask.

Coupled with the way he carried himself, his presence commanded respect, something which the Clergy had been surprisingly willing to oblige despite his species.

Primo was, for all intents and purposes, the ideal ghoul: He had an intense work ethic, he was loyal, and he was tame enough to be of use while also posing a threat to anyone who did the same towards the Clergy.

Even something as simple as his horns seemed perfect for his position: The four horns of a Jacob sheep’s spiked warningly from his flesh, the perfect sort of horns for a ghoul of the Satanic Church to bear if there ever was any!

Even though his original summoner had long since passed, they never asked him if he wanted to return to the Pit. And, to their credit, Primo never expressed any desire to. It was that kind of dedication that endeared him so and kept him at the ready to be a conduit for the Old One’s message.

It was also probably the only reason why he’d involved himself in the “Ghost Project” you had recently proposed in a board meeting, even though he had made it extremely apparent that he did not see you as worthy of the title of Papa. If anything, he did so in order to keep an eye on you.

Primo had served many Papas in his time topside. Suffice it to say, you were nothing like any of them! Where your ancestors commanded their dark flock, Primo felt you merely timidly nudged them. Where the Papas of yore spat promises of the Dark One's ire and the rot of man, you seemed to more so focus on concepts of personal principle. Not entirely incorrect, but it certainly felt like a watered down method of leading.

Where was the damned soul made of brimstone and hellfire? Where was that penetrating glare that could freeze the doubters? All the old ghoul saw when you assumed the mitre was a soft-spoken slip of something or other that had fumbled their way through the bloodline. Had it not been for The Mark that paled your left eye, he might have more vehemently – more violently – questioned your ascension.

But the Clergy made no movements to dismiss or discard you, and Primo had never been one to take impulsive action. So here he began to find himself: Sitting at a drum set for rehearsals, battering away whilst his peers made fools of themselves as they writhed about, mimicking sexual proclivities or just plain goofing off.

But for as much as he would glower at them, his true poison was always fixated on you: You, who clearly just wanted the attention the Dark One was supposed to be receiving. You, who was just plain wasting his time – time that could be put to more use around the Ministry instead of spending hour upon hour listening to you warble the same cheesy lyrics, bastardizing unholy psalms passed down through millennia.

But he was nothing if not a professional, attending all rehearsal sessions, barely speaking unless it was to keep the more juvenile bandmates in line. Though more often than not, need only shoot them a sharp stare with those magma-red eyes of his and they would stop immediately.

That was all you needed when, surprised that he would pick something as raucous as the drums, you attempted to offer something not as physically demanding or requiring of too much movement.

You had meant nothing by it, of course. If anything, it was an attempt on your part to at least try and build a communication with one of the people (?) you would be working with indefinitely. Your peers and predecessors as a whole weren’t known for extending much kindness to the ghouls under their power; that was something you wanted to change during your reign. The rest of the ghouls, bandmates and Ministry-established alike, seemed to appreciate that well enough but Primo . . . Well . . .

Weren’t earth ghouls supposed to be less . . . intense? Stubborn and a twinge terse, perhaps, but usually they still had a bit of gentleness to them after a point. But then again, Primo was in a class of his own. Or maybe he’d just been a fire ghoul at some point? Might explain the eyes . . .

Really, though, the praise you’d heard regarding his dedication towards Papas past had yet to make any real appearance beyond him not taking you out. And perhaps volunteering to participate in your brain child, though you felt that was more so out of obligation to the Church rather than out of any real reverence.

Given how blatant he had made his dislike of you from the get-go, you decided to accept his (admittedly impeccable) drumming skills as the closest thing to respect you were going to ever get out of him. Much like the Clergy, you weren’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth too hard.

Your magnum opus couldn't afford it and for as confident as you were in the prospects of it, you knew you would need all the help you could get. Even if some of it came from an ancient earth ghoul who wished you would keel over so the next guy could take over.

If Primo could grit his teeth, then you sure as shit could to get the results you were looking for. Even if the results meant enduring painstakingly awkward rehearsals, right up until Ghost's very first performance.

Primo knew not to expect much in the way of venues. After all, bands that merely copied their principles never had an easy foothold in the world, never mind an actual band representing the Church. In the end, it did make the most sense to perform in lowly places, places inhabited by those most vulnerable and willing to lend an ear. Still: He had not anticipated this . . . “Whiskey a Go Go” place to be your debut. Oh well. The crowd here clearly looked susceptible enough; he could handle it.

He didn’t approve of you donning your chasuble for such an event but at that point, what did it even matter? He just needed to literally play his part and get this over with. Maybe then this tomfoolery could be put to bed and you would be reprimanded for wasting the Ministry’s time and resources, sullying their trust.

At least, that had been the idea when the first song was signaled in.

But as the setlist progressed, Primo couldn’t help but note how his expectations weren't being met. In fact, quite the opposite was beginning to take hold. Like how the words sounded different even though they were the same ones he’d heard ad nauseum.

Snippets and verses clipped from corrupt hymns made themselves right at home in the measures, something he’d internally protested the first times he’d recognized their presence.

Rhythms sounded more coordinated against the acoustics of the venue, far different from the way they resonated in the makeshift practice room back at the Abbey. This was what they were meant to sound like? Not a tangled mess of notes and words struggling and biting and fighting for dominance, but actual music stretching to the rafters? Huh. Who would’ve thought?

And all the shenanigans his peers had participated in – back at the Ministry, it seemed so juvenile, so distracting. They weren’t taking this shameful display with any kind of seriousness. But in that moment, the jumping, the showboating, even the gyrating all seemed right at home on the stage.

But above all else, it was the response to it all: Audiences loved it. They loved the words, the chords, the riffs, the "ghouligan" behavior. And, perhaps most of all, they seemed to love you. Who you were, in this moment, was far from whom Primo had been seeing – whom he thought he saw – in the pulpit and at rehearsals.

All that had been apparent child's play. Or perhaps they were simply the wrong environment for your fullest potential. Here, on the stage, you positively bloomed, transforming into something radiant, something filled with infernal fervor. A little hell flower decked in infernal regalia, your chasuble catching the stage lights like petals collecting sunlight.

During the few times you would turn your back to the audience and faced him, he could see it even from his furthermost position in the back: That fire he thought you lacked, blazing from your every pore, brightening your eyes and casting long, dark shadows upon all before you.

Primo had been right: You truly were unlike any Papa he’d ever served before . . .

From then on, Primo was to decidedly keep a closer eye on you. No more having the rug pulled from beneath him. Clearly you were like a mystery seed: He had no idea what your potential truly was, having not quite encountered something like you before. As such, you needed to be . . . studied. If at a distance, for now.

However, it's a bit difficult to go unnoticed when you're a 6'1" ghoul with large horns when out of a glamour. Never mind that you had grown so used to his stare being fixed on you that you always knew when it had reappeared. Only, you couldn't help but feel that something about it was . . . different. Somehow.

It was normal enough to feel them during black mass because everyone's eyes were on you. But to feel them when you would go to the library to request old tomes even most Clergymen did not seek; when you slipped members of the Children's Ministry candy to perk them up after a particularly boring Latin Studies class with Bishop Malicion. Even in what should have been the sanctity of your office, you swore you could feel those red-hot eyes affixed to your person!

But the heat of them was gone now, and hadn't quite been there since the Whiskey a Go Go. Instead, they felt more curious. Maybe like a cat? Ghouls were often likened to cats above all other manner of beast but Primo had only resembled one in the way he composed himself. A trait like intrigue just seemed bizarre to picture him exhibiting, let alone so obviously.

However, you were still Papa throughout all this: Best not to dwell on it and instead keep focusing on keeping your project afloat. You would deal with whatever was going on with old Primo later.

(Though you couldn't stop yourself from feeling slightly giddy at the possible improvement. Having him give you the slightest hint of a nod while passing in the hallways was leagues better than having him radiate bloodlust or disdain!)

Later, however, came quicker than you had prepared yourself for. In fact, it arrived one curtain call during the band’s slow creep towards notoriety.

In hindsight, the fact he willingly held your hand for the final bow should have been a sign that something about tonight was going to be different. Normally, if he had to join hands with anybody, he made sure to position himself at the very end so he need only spare one hand and with another ghoul. Being virtually in the middle with you would have required effort on his part.

But you were abuzz, the performance having gone splendidly with a highly receptive and interactive crowd. You were quite proud of yourself and your ghouls if you said so yourself. Maybe the energy that evening was just enough to make Primo feel less rigid than usual?

You’d only just risen up from your bow, ready to release his hand when you noticed that he himself was not letting go of your own. Odd, considering he’d done so with the other ghoul he'd been holding. You tried not to look perplexed when you spared him a glance; maybe something was wrong and he needed you to be on high alert? Though, no, that wound up not being the problem – in fact, there was no problem whatsoever.

He just needed to keep your hand in his so that he could raise the back of your hand to his mask – where his mouth would be.

It was a pantomime of a kiss, sure, but the gesture was still very evident. Screeches of delight erupted from the audience below as heterochromatic eyes widened against black paint, staring at scarlet ones peering through the eyeholes of a mask.

Suffice to say, what fans Ghost had already garnered had a field day. Soon, fanzines featuring the visage of their new favorite band's lead singer and drummer would appear in grungy coffee shops and to be swapped at both Ghost shows and shows of other bands. It wasn't Time Magazine but the marketing practically handled itself, and that was good enough for the Ministry to quietly applaud Primo's forwardness.

Clearly the Ministry's favorite ghoul knew what the people wanted and took it upon himself to stoke the flames to drum up further intrigue and popularity.

So surely it made sense to continue fostering this relationship, right? For the good of authenticity, of course.

It wasn’t long at all before you found yourself confiding in Primo, bouncing lyrics off of him. Lyrics turned into discussions, dissections of your faith’s principles and even a few misconceptions that most were too tired to correct at this point.

And he, in turn, used his many, many, many years of wisdom in his services to you.

Even divulging into his life before the Ministry, what little there was worth recounting. There was good reason he’d stayed up here so long after all: Life topside was just so different, so brightly-lit when compared to the Pit. Sure, he might’ve been built exactly for the life infernal, but that didn’t mean that a ghoul lacked a capacity for more.

The biggest example in his case was the garden he’d kept during his time here. It was almost funny: You’d walked these grounds for so long, so used to the presence of the greenhouse that sat towards the back of the garden. The brightness of the vegetation and bushes stood out from its darker, more gothic-leaning surroundings in an almost silly way.

Really, though, your only real interactions with that section of the Ministry could be boiled down to times spent in your office. The window there allowed just enough of a view of the little land below, one you couldn’t help but look at when the tensions in your poorly-postured back traveled into your skull, or when a delivery ghoul delivered more heaps of papers for you to look over and sign. (Suddenly, feeling Primo's intense gaze on you even when you thought you were alone made sense.)

Your path to the antipapacy was basically carved out for you, it ironically left very little room for extracurriculars such as gardening. But you could always count on catching a Sibling or earth ghoul or two, hauling heavy sacks of soil and carting that season’s harvest in a wheelbarrow.

Their decision to spend their time on such a long-term task that demanded constant attention and dedication was admirable to you. You could relate to focusing in on a project that would take time and focus.

And to see their efforts be rewarded with something brilliant and fortifying, something that caught the eye and could be used to nourish both the body and mind . . .

In way, perhaps seeing the hardships that produced flowers and fruit might have served as inspiration and motivation for your idea to entice the masses with music. Just a twinge.

To learn that the very things that refreshed you in your moments of exhaustion had grown under the same watch as the one that had once wished you ill initially amazed you. And amused you.

The idea of ever having been afraid of Primo seemed so silly now, you couldn’t even remember what the heat of his ire felt like. If anything, the pierce of Primo’s gaze had softened into something . . . Well, the proper words escaped you any time you tried to settle on one. "Passionate" mixed with "admiration", but still with its tenderness.

As it turned out, that warmth earth ghouls were often characterized with did exist in the old curmudgeon. It was exhibited as the years marched on and as you both grew closer.

It was there even in small moments such as this, with you kneeling in the soil, planting your umpteenth flower. You had learned under his watch years ago and no longer needed instruction, but it still felt lovely to share this type of thing together. Even after all this time.

A grunt escaped you as you wobblily stood back up from aching knees, another when you cracked your back.

“One of these days, Primo,” you sighed, “I’m gonna get down and not be able to get back up. You can just bury me here, then.”

It was a joke, of course, and you were totally prepared to not get a laugh from the old ghoul. Primo’s sense of humor, you’d long since learned, was as mysterious as it was strange. It was frankly a wild guess as to what would make him laugh on any given day. What you hadn’t prepared for, though, was the way the ghoul’s eyes stared back at you. You didn’t feel unsafe or anything, but you certainly felt . . . observed.

There was that curious cat vibe that had started it all from way back when. But, knowing Primo as you now did, you knew he was simply collecting thoughts. He would eventually reveal them to you in due time.

In the meantime, though, it served you better to shake it off. Supper would be served shortly, anyway.

“Remember to wash up,” you offered, standing as high on your toe tips as you could just to place a peck on the soft, weary flesh of his neck. To that, you received a quiet grunt typical of your partner.

As you left, though, Primo kept his eyes on you, tail thoughtfully swaying behind him. He remembered seeing you sparingly in your youth, which was impressive considering how unimportant you’d been back then. You weren’t Papa, you weren’t anything, really. You weren’t important to him.

But now, years later, here you stood: Wrinkles that weren’t there before were beginning to carve their permanence into your features, standing out even through your papal paints. Just the other month, you’d noted an increase in silver strands popping up in your hair. You sighed something about the stresses of dealing with the next projected tour or an onslaught of paperwork, but Primo knew that soon, more silver would come sprouting out at your temples. More than you’d probably bother dyeing, if he knew you. If he knew the people before you.

He'd seen this all happen before, many, many times. You may have been different from all other Papas he’d known, but all Papas were alike in this one way.

A heavy sigh broke him from his stagnation, and Primo began to trek back to your chambers to wash up. Before he even entered the building proper, his mind was made: If and when your time came, Primo would finally request to return back to the Pit.

[teaboot]

Sometimes I think a lot about my mom's cat

My mom's cat is a common domestic shorthair we found on the side of the road as a kitten

Regular cat, not a maine coon or one of those massive breeds. His mom was smaller than a loaf of bread

But in a sort of a Clifford The Big Red Dog situation, he grew super fast, and really really big, and took a super long time to stop growing

Worried that she was overfeeding him, she eased back his portions, but he stayed a massive round baby

When he started having kidney problems, she took him to the vet.

The vet took a look at him and said, "holy fuck, what are you feeding him", checked the nutritional listings on his chow, and told her "Yeah, maybe he's reacting badly to the amount of grain in this, try a meatier diet"

So my mom wound up special-ordering this specific high-protein prescription cat food made of like. Kangaroo meat or some shit that cost like sixty bucks a bag

And, as typical act two in an episode of House, he somehow got worse on the fancy specialized stuff that was supposed to be Primo Athlete Olympic Feline Blend

Like. WAY worse. His guts were inflamed and his kidneys were shutting down and he was all sore and HE WAS STILL HUGE, just miserable and sad

So shetook him back to the vet, where they had to help him pee (he was apparently close to bursting and had some kind of blockage too) and went "Yeah no this is NOT normal and we don't know what's going on, we're gonna do some tests but in the meantime you should go back to what he was eating before, at least that wasn't actively killing him" so she did

And he still wasn't great, but he also improved

And so they take his blood and do an ultrasound and a couple g's later she gets a call back like "this is gonna sound crazy, but we want you to put him on a low-meat diet. Just the least amount of protein and iron and shit. We need you to find the grainiest, filler-iest dollar tree kibble available and give him some of that bad bad shit"

And my mother is a woman of science. So she did

And he GOT BETTER

His energy picked back up, inflammation went down, he started drinking normally again, got back to pissing like a fuckin champion

And so it turns out that out of all the random ass freeway bonus cats we possibly could have scooped out of a ditch, WE got the one-in-a-million freak of nature with a SPECIFIC genetic defect that means a paleo protein free range diet is essentially poison and he THRIVES on cheap ass garbage

Like. He medically NEEDS junk food

I dont really understand how that works, but i cant argue with results.

If we had four of him, they'd outweigh my mom. And he's FINE

Also blind, but that's unrelated

Im not using him as a symbol or a metaphor or anything. I just keep catching myself thinking about my mom's Big Fucking Cat

[writingjourney]

I’m having a severe chronic illness/pain flare up today that’s kept me in bed all night and all day today- I’d love some headcanons for the Papas when it comes to caring for a sick or chronically ill partner if you have the time! Maybe even a short ficlet if you feel inspired to! ☕️😮‍💨📚

I hope you're feeling better by now! ♡ I managed to write a short snippet for each Papa, trying to keep it somewhat vague as to what type of pain reader is experiencing. Copia can be read in whichever role you fancy :)

content: 1.5k words total, each papa x gn!reader, hurt/comfort, reader with chronic pain [Ao3 link]

Primo

He's successfully shut out the rest of the world, one harsh look and the Sibling who tried to pester you scattered off like a fearful rabbit. He's tucked you under the blanket with the firm insistence of a nurse who's overseeing your strict bed rest. Primo knows one thing by now, having forced his body through decades worth of hard work – you can only push yourself so far before you shut down, before you cannot recover without sufficient rest.

"I could have just helped them quickly," you insist. "It's already getting be–"

"I will not have these idioti risk your health with tasks they can do themselves, fiore."

And that's that. He's well aware that no one is going to be brave enough to complain about him to Sister, half the Ministry too scared to bother you at all while you're with him. Primo knows you care about your work which entails that you'd never have called off unless you collapsed right in front of him. But he likes to think that you enjoy it when he's just as stubborn as you are.

"Drink some more water, amore." Perched on the edge of the bed, he hands you the glass, perpetually full as if by magic. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," you admit. "The heating pad helps."

"Good." He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Now, time to get some sleep."

"Join me? I think it's time for an old man nap."

He narrows his eyes, playful but not unserious. "I will show you who is an old man when you feel better."

You give a tired laugh and he softens up the moment you've draped yourself over his chest, long fingers stroking along your arm. With his steady heartbeat against your ear it's easier to fall asleep and for once it's comforting to know that the rest of the world can wait.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Secondo

"Ah ah, no getting up, amore."

You sink back into the pillows, caught in the act. "I just want to–"

"No." The rhythmic scratching of pen on paper, books and notepad pages scattered on the small desk he carried into the bedroom to work from home today. "Whatever you need, you just tell your Papa."

"What if I have to go pee? Will you oversee that as well?"

He glances up over the rim of his reading glasses. "Do you?"

"No."

"Then why are you trying to get up?"

"I was going to look at what you're doing."

"You are not well, amore. You need to learn how to rest."

You pull the blanket up over your head and turn to your side, your next words grumbled into the fabric. "That call is coming from inside the house."

"What was that, hm?"

Before you can reply, the mattress dips under his weight, his presence immediately taking up all air around you. A thrill runs through your whole body, clouding the pain for a short but sweet moment.

"I know I am not leading by example," he concedes, a heavy hand stroking along the shape of your arm, down to your hips and then following the trail of your spine back up to your head. He tugs at the blanket there, revealing you to him. "Do you need more medicine? A book to read? Music?"

"What I really need is you," you whisper. "And… perhaps some more ibuprofen, yeah."

Secondo lends you one of his rare smiles, thumb softly stroking along your cheekbone. As though he can't resitst he leans in for a short but soft kiss, nose brushing against yours but careful not to exhaust you. "I can do that, amore. Make some space in the bed while I get it."

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Terzo

You haven't been particularly hungry, dozing for hours, closing your eyes to drown out the world, anything to sit out the pain and discomfort for however long it takes. When the surprising smell of freshly cooked food slowly creeps into the bedroom you feel your stomach grumbling for the first time in days.

"Terz?"

He does not reply. You furrow your brow, debating whether it's worth getting up to check on whatever he's fabricating. It's less that you don't trust him in the kitchen, he's perhaps lacking the cooking practice but he more than makes up for it with his quick wit. It's more so that he's been anxious ever since you got ill, desperate to help, flinching whenever you show any signs of pain, and he's already easily distracted on the best of days.

Before you've made up your mind the door creaks open. A smile lights up his face when he finds you awake, arms occupied with a steaming bowl that he carries between two oven-gloved hands.

"I hope you have an appetite, amore," he says.

You sit up, heart swelling at the sight of him in a kitchen apron. Before he sits down on the chair by your bedside he places the tray over your lap that you've been using, unable to sit for too long, and then sets down an old porcelain bowl you know he inherited from his grandmother. The rich aroma of the hearty broth floods your nose, tiny pieces of pasta swimming alongside finely chopped vegetables.

"Pastina Soup," he explains. "My nonna made this when I was not feeling well as a little boy, she used to say it is medicine against anything. I know how to make this in my sleep, amore. The kitchen is fine."

"I didn't say anything!"

"I see it in your eyes, you don't trust me with the stove." He raises his brows and you can't help but laugh, a sound that melts the tension out of his posture. "I know I know, I have been a bit of a hectic mother hen, hm? But I do not like seeing you unwell."

"I'm grateful, my love," you whisper, taking his hand in yours for a reassuring squeeze. "I've not been taken care of like that in a long time."

He eases into the chair, proud smile stretching his lips, and watches as you try the first spoonful. Warmth spreads from your belly to your limbs, the broth rich, so full of flavor that you feel revived from the taste alone. At your delighted hum his smile grows, so much that you can see the dimples in his cheeks. It's perfect.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Copia

"Relax, amore," he whispers, pulling you firmer against his chest with an arm tightly wrapped around your front. "I can feel that you are still tense."

"I'm trying." You let your head fall back until it meets his shoulder. The steaming hot water of the bath eases your pain in a way that makes it somewhat more bearable. "It just takes some time to get used to the heat."

You inhale the scent of lavender bubbles, figure that you should be glad he finally made you use the fancy bath bomb and foam that you've been trying to keep for a special occasion. It feels too luxurious to waste, too much of an indulgence. Copia has been insisting on this, though, after you've been in agony for days and he's been fussing, heating pad, medication, all not helping enough to take away the discomfort of such persistent pain.

"Still tense," he whispers a few minutes later, voice so close to your ear that goosebumps prickle at your neck despite the heat. You can feel his hands now, slowly working into your muscles, fingers smoothing out the knots. It's… not uncomfortable, though you have to wince on occasion when he hits a particularly sore spot. "What do we do about this, my baby?"

"I wouldn't mind if you just kept going with this," you whisper.

And he does, though his lips start to trail the softest of kisses up the side of your neck now, across your shoulder, anywhere he can reach without moving you too much. Once the water cools down you'll slip back into sweats, cozying up in his bed with a movie. It's the closest you can get to finding peace while you're not feeling well, hoping the flare up will fade if you allow yourself the needed rest. It helps him, too, though he's much better about doing his stretches and staying on top of things.

"Thanks for forcing me to relax," you whisper drowsily, allowing yourself to melt into his embrace.

He chuckles, wrapping you up between his arms and legs and the sweet scent of the bath. "We both know you never would have used that bath bomb, amore."

I hope these were comforting to anyone who might need it <3

Masterlist – My Ao3

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Here I am with summoning headcanons for the first ghouls told through Chain (my beloved). I'm pretty happy about this one, actually !

"Why d'you wear it ?"

Chain blinks slowly, lazily turning their head to look at Phantom, sprawled on the worn rug next to them.

The new kid is cute, they decide, a bit of a lightweight, so they stopped smoking a while ago. His cheeks are flushed purple, big stary eyes glazed over, a sweet little smile never leaving his lips.

Chain almost forgets they were asked a question, until Phantom tugs a bit more insistantly on the heavy chain looped around their waist. They hum.

"'s a lucky charm, stickbug."

Phantom tilts his head with a confused noise, wiggling closer until he can rest his head on Chain's chest. The water ghoul runs fingers adorned with bone tattoos on the skin of the young quint's arm, raising goosebumps in their wake.

"Y'know I was the first water ghoul summoned after the mess Nihil's ghouls were, right ?"

Phantom nods, tail swaying lightly.

"Well," Chain hums, "back then, summonings were messy. And now, with how much damage Nihil's ghouls had done, the Clergy was afraid. Everytime they summoned a ghoul, they found new reasons to be afraid."

Phantom shifts, reaching up to follow the glowing stripes under Chain's jaw with the tip of his fingers.

"Like what ?"

Chain sighs, thinking back to their very first pack.

"Most of them were ancient, powerful ghouls. 'Mega was the first...I mean, you've seen him. He's big. Sure, Earth and Air are taller, but there's that thing 'bout 'Mega, y'know ? Some kind of...aura or shit. Maybe it's the quintessence, dunno. Anyway, he spooked them real good, and Alpha didn't make it better."

Phantom wrinkles his nose.

"Uh oh. Alpha's spookier than Omega."

Chain can't help snorting at that.

"He's got a shit temper and an ego the size of a planet. Fought Omega the second he slid of the altar. Got messy real quick - that's were he got the scars on his cheek and on his stomach, and 'Mega has matching ones on his thigh, burn marks on his ribs too."

With a little gasp, Phantom pushes himself up on his elbows.

"Really ? But they're....really close."

Phantom's surprise is understandable. Omega and Alpha are pratically joined at the hips now, evolving around each other with an ease speaking of intimacy. Chain hums.

"Well, yeah. Suprisingly, once Omega made Alpha eat shit, it didn't take long for them to get along. I guess they just had a rocky start."

"Understatement."

That sets Chain off, somehow, and it takes a long while before they can speak again without being interrupted by their own giggles.

"And after that, Air and Earth were summoned. You've seen them. Fucking trees, the both of them. Looming above everyone. Air traumatized the poor summoners by screeching so loudly he made some eardrums burst. And Earth, well. Spat out blood and guts everywhere - not his fault they summoned him right after a successful hunt."

Rolling on top of them, Phantom pushes his forehead against Chain's, pawing at their shoulders absent-mindedly.

"And you ?"

Closing their eyes, they can still picture it perfectly. The dim candle-lit room, the smell of incens and fear, the anxious whispers, the rough stone of the altar under their naked skin. And that familiar clinking sound.

"Well, I was the last of Primo's original ghouls to be summoned. And by that point, the Clergy was rightfully pissing their pants. So, the second I crawled out of the pit, they threatened to chain me if I showed any sign of agression. I guess they didn't expect for me to find their shiny chain really cool."

Phantom blinks at them in disblief.

"You...thought the chain looked cool."

Shrugging, Chain ruffles the quint's hair with a huff.

"Y'sound awfully judgmental. Yes, I thought it looked cool. Hopped off the altar, took it from them, sniffed it a few time and decided it was mine. Been wearing it ever since - and got my name out of it."

They stare at each other for a second before dissolving in another fit of giggles. It feels good, Chain decides, spending time with the newer ghouls, telling them stories of before they were summoned and watching their incredulous reaction.

"You," Phantom pants in between chuckles, "are the least serious ghoul I've ever met."

"Part of my charm."

Phantom laughs again, and Chain doesn't realize they're purring until the quint joins in.

[da-rulah]

Come Home to Me - Secondo x f!reader

Summary: No one ever thought to question why Papa Emeritus II was such a bitter man. People assumed it was a product of his upbringing, of the pressures being an Emeritus brought him. But they had no idea that years ago, he was a completely different man. A man that you so easily fell in love with... 

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 10.3k (can I EVER write anything short?)

Warnings: MAJOR ANGST. jealous themes, themes of abandonment, poor childhood, mentions of alcohol addiction, domestic fights, anger, hurt, mild violence, bad break-up, description of panic attack, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v sex 

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3

Secondo doesn't get anxious.  

At least, that's what people would think to look at him; the burly, scary, angry looking Papa who would practically glide through the hallways of the Ministry he headed. And to look at him now, today, people wouldn't suggest anxiety be the baseline emotion for him either. But it certainly was; masked by a particularly foul mood, but it was definitely anxiety.  

Because he'd just heard from his elder brother, that you were returning to the Ministry. 

It had been years since he'd seen you; he'd been a Cardinal then. He'd always been a hardened man, bitter from his childhood of neglect and abuse at the hands of his deadbeat father, but... you had been the softness to balance him out. Until he'd fucked that all up, as he was always destined to do. He always knew his fiery temper would fuck him over someday.  

And he'd been right.... 

8 Years Ago. 

"You can't go," he told you firmly, no hint at all that he was willing to compromise on this.  

"Secondo, please..." you tried to reason with him, "I have to! This is my job!"  

Secondo chewed on the inside of his cheek, shaking his head as he looked down at his gloved fingers picking wool bobbles from his cassock. He stood awkwardly across from you in his quarters, letting you hover near the door as if you weren't welcome in here. The atmosphere felt cold, frosty even.  

"You know, it's really rather telling that you would rather go swanning off on some tiny little tour of Europe with mio fratello than stay by my side," he rages, "This new little project of his is bound to fail, you know. It did for our father, it will for him."  

Frankly, you were dumbfounded by the idea he thought you'd prefer to spend time with Primo than him. Of course you didn't, but you had no choice. Your job at Primo's side was an important one and not exactly negotiable. Secondo had never mentioned any form of jealousy before now, so why on earth would he bring that up if not just out of sheer spite? 

"Ah, your silence says all. You know what? Go. Go ahead. But do not expect me to wait for you, Sorella."  

"W-what... what do you mean?" you asked, tears welling up in your eyes.  

"You want to disappear for months on end with Primo? Fine. But I have needs, and I cannot be expected to wait for your return. I will not become some idiota with blue balls because his girlfriend is too busy fucking his fratello in another country."  

"You really think... what the fuck is wrong with you?!" you shrieked. How dare he. "Secondo, if you loved me at all you wouldn't even think of doing such a thing. And you'd trust me enough to know I would never!"  

Secondo scoffed, turning in his place and heading towards the small liquor cabinet he kept in the corner of the living space. He wrenched open the door and pulled out a bottle of whiskey along with a tumbler, and poured himself a small drink.  

You stood and watched him, tears now silently trickling from your eyes. You couldn't understand why he was reacting like this. You'd been happily in a relationship for almost ten years, celebrated so much together. But ever since he became a Cardinal, he'd been overworked, stretched thin by the clergy and reminded consistently that he was only second best to his eldest brother. Secondo by name, Secondo by nature, he had confided in you numerous times. He had a bitter side to him, you knew that. It had been present his entire life, a product of a neglectful childhood.  

But he'd never, not once, projected that side onto you. Until becoming a Cardinal, slowly imploding on himself at the weight of the pressure put on him.  

"It's one way to establish yourself, I'll give you that. Quicker than sleeping with a mere Cardinal, eh?" he chuckled, devoid of humour and instead laced with venom. Had he... really just insinuated that?  

"You don't mean that." 

"Do I not?" he asked, arching an eyebrow with a vile smirk. He quickly necked the drink in his hand, hissing at the burn of it down his throat that he'd come to relish more and more lately. He was soon pouring himself another.  

"My job requires me on this tour. It's eight weeks, Secondo. That's all. Sister Imperator said-" 

You were interrupted by a sudden smash - Secondo had thrown his half full glass against the far wall of his living space. It splintered into shards, leaving a splatter against the fading wallpaper. You felt droplets of it hit your arm, a few splinters of glass reaching too without harm. You flinched naturally anyway, both at the sudden noise and the feeling on your skin.  

"I DON'T CARE WHAT IMPERATOR SAID! IF YOU LOVED ME AS YOU SAY YOU DO, YOU WOULD STAY WITH ME. BY MY SIDE. NOT HIS!" he screamed, storming towards you and grabbing your arms by your sides. You stiffened in fear - he'd never laid a hand on you before. "You say you love me, and yet, you abandon me."  

"N-no... I'm not-" you were shaking in his grasp, your eyes wide and words failing you.  

"If you go, I will never forgive you."  

You stared at him, your reddened eyes wide with fear and desperation. You were stuck... You had to go, you had no choice. Being fired from your job would mean the end of your residency at the Ministry and you would lose everything. But go, and you lose Secondo.  

He was overreacting, and you weren't sure why. Did he truly believe you were trying to sleep your way to a top seat within the clergy? Did he really think you'd run off with Primo, given the chance?  

"I... I love you..." you whimpered, voice shaking and quiet as your lip trembled. His piercing monochrome eyes searched yours, waiting for you to tell him you'd stay. But you couldn't. The Ghost Project needed you, and Primo needed you. You had no choice, but he couldn't see it that way.  

Without a word, he shoved you backwards, letting you stumble to keep your balance as he stepped back, picking up the open bottle of whiskey from where he'd left it.  

"Just go," he snarled, taking a drink from the bottle, before storming into his bedroom and slamming the door, your body jolting from the sound as you stood and broke down on the spot.  

Not going, you would lose everything. But going... you had lost him. 

Those eight weeks on the road were hell - and not the Hell you had been promised.  

Secondo hadn't spoken a word to you after you'd told him you were going. Your relationship was over the second he slammed that bedroom door. You spent any down time you had hiding from the world, crying into the last scrap of his clothing you had snuck from his things that still smelled like him.  

You would wonder constantly what had changed in him, why suddenly he couldn't see past his bitterness and had thought so little of you. He had ignored your phone calls, your letters... He had stewed in his anger and his growing alcohol dependency, buried his sorrows in anyone who would consent, and driven himself into the ground until his younger brother, Terzo, had decided enough was enough and harshly forced him to face his reality. 

But it was too late. 

As soon as you had come back from your first tour with The Ghost Project, you had put a request in for a transfer to an Abbey across the country. You had been hurt too badly, the thought of having to see Secondo in the halls, leading sermons, hosting seminars had burned in your chest. Primo had tried to talk you out of it, but your mind was made up and solidified only by the look of dismissal Secondo gave you when he'd seen your face for the first time during Mass.  

The grief you felt was not only for your relationship, but the man you once knew and loved so deeply. He wasn't him anymore; and you couldn't watch him live in indifference while you were so incredibly heartbroken.  

Within a week of your request, you were packed up and on a bus to a much smaller, more quaint Abbey in the midwest, where you would help to lead a congregation as a Sister of elevated importance.  

Over time, your wounds healed. You dated, albeit in brief stints. You devoted yourself to the church and rose in the ranks of your own volition - not because you had opened your legs to a Papa or higher ranking clergy member, as had been predicted by your former lover. 

You were doing well, focussed on you and your congregation.  

Secondo, however, had never been the same since you left. 

As if he wasn't already an angry and bitter man, he became insufferable in the years following your departure. Sure enough, Terzo's intervention had managed to quell the alcoholism, but it had done nothing for the anger that consistently simmered at surface level at his father, his brothers, his childhood... but mostly at himself.  

He'd never been able to forgive himself for the way he had treated you; the only good thing he had ever had in his life, and he managed to torture you slowly, like a child plucking the wings from a butterfly before delivering the final blow. Even when he'd seen you for the first time after the tour, he couldn't look you in the eye.  

Then he'd never seen you again.  

Now that Primo had told him you were coming back, your latest promotion to the highest ranking sibling beneath Sister Imperator herself bringing you back to the Ministry and the headquarters of the Satanic Church, he was petrified.  

He wanted to run. He wanted to hide. Given the option, he'd abdicate from his position with immediate effect and live out the remainder of his days in a cabin in the Italian Apennines. But that wasn't an option, and he had to face this.  

He had to face you.  

Sister Imperator had called a meeting of the higher Clergy to welcome you back, and to explain your place in the Ministry to those you'd be working closely with. That included Papa Secondo.  

Papa.  

When you'd first heard that news, you couldn't help the small smile that had tugged at your lips. He'd always wanted that title, always deserved it. You were happy for him, glad to see that he was where he rightfully should be.  

But when you saw him for the first time in that meeting room, sat in his chair at the head of the table, that happiness had dissipated. Fear and dread had filled you, a pain in your chest you thought you'd got over long ago. But the scowl on his face told you the feelings he had toward you were still just anger, spite, bitterness. And no matter how much time you'd had to heal, that scar still pulsated and burned in you.  

You remained professional, hardened much like Imperator. You had to be. If you showed him how weak he still made you feel, your authority might be brought into question. You'd worked too hard for that. 

As the meeting adjourned, the table got up to leave and you along with it, until you heard his deep and commanding voice from the end of the table.  

"Sorella _______, I ask you stay for a moment."  

You froze, too frightened too look back at him, too weak to tell him no. Primo and Terzo, who had both been sat on the opposite side of the table to you, shared a look that read as 'oh, shit...' before their glares fell on their brother. Secondo ignored them, shooing the rest of the clergy out of the doors.  

Nobody said a word, simply leaving quickly and quietly until you were alone with Papa. 

A moment of silence passed between you both; Secondo had so much he wished to say to you, so many apologies and regrets he'd practised so often in the last eight years but they all vanished when your eyes fell on his. He saw the fear in them; it reminded him of that night. 

"I... It's... You look well." 

That was it? That was all he could say to you?  

You drew in a deep breath, allowing yourself a second of composure before clasping your hands together in front of you and masking your disappointment and hurt with a business-like demeanour. 

"As do you." 

"How have you been?" he asks, although it's cold and merely to fill a silence.  

"Busy. Yourself?" you mimic his tone; you'd rather be anywhere but here right now. 

"Troppo (me too)." 

You nodded. "Congratulations. 'Papa'... what you always wanted," you forced a smile, gesturing at the robes and mitre he adorned.  

"Ah, sí, sí..." he kicked at the titles at his feet, shuffling as he stared down at them awkwardly. "Sorella, I-" 

"It was good to see you, Papa," his head snapped up at the use of his title, it sounding foreign and wrong coming from you. "Now if you'll excuse me..." you dismissed yourself, bowing your head to him slightly and gathering your notebook and pen before making your way out of the meeting room. Secondo stared after you, lost with his apology he'd finally found and mustered up the courage to deliver still dangling from the tip of his tongue.  

Re-familiarising yourself with the Ministry's halls was hardly needed as you traipsed through them late into the evening. But that had just been an excuse...  

In fact, what you were truly doing was torturing yourself with the ghosts of a past life. It was as if you could see them, plain as day; the ghostly figures of a young and fresh faced Sister of Sin with a smile that beamed so bright, and of a young Bishop, his face free of deep set wrinkles and the permanent scowl the world knew today.  

They run through the halls ahead of you, hand in hand. Her laughter bounces from the stone walls as he tries to shush her, stifling his own laughs and the grin across his face. You followed them, chasing the memory through the halls.  

Rounding the corner, they stop outside of a door. The young Bishop pulls the Sister close to him, tumbling back into the doorframe with a thud and another string of stifled giggles. His palm caresses her cheek, a look of pure adoration in his mismatched eyes before he leans in, pressing his lips to hers as she melts into his embrace against the door.  

He reaches behind him, turning the doorknob and the two spectres disappear through the wood, the door remaining closed and leaving you alone in the empty corridor.  

You kept staring after them, tears heavy and building in your waterline. Your hands trembled at your sides, a nauseous feeling settling in your stomach as you remembered so clearly the night those ghosts ran through the halls together, spending their first night alone and in each other's arms in secret.  

From what you knew, he still lived in the same suite. The door you stared at still belonged to him, and the likelihood was he was in there right now. 

A part of you ached to talk to him. You wanted to know what had changed him all those years ago, still craving answers to questions long since forgotten. But part of you knew it was a conversation not worth having; after all, what good would it do now? 

Footsteps echoed from the opposite end of the end hall, stomping on the stone as they drew closer. You ducked behind the corner, barely peeking from your hiding spot as Secondo drew closer to his quarters, that scowl still etched onto his face when he pulled his keys from a pocket beneath his robes. Before unlocking the door, he hesitated, pressing his forehead to the wood and shutting his eyes to take a deep breath. 

You allowed yourself a better view, peering out from the corner to take in the look of exhaustion, of sadness on his features as he leaned against his door. Pain seared through your chest, flashbacks of that exact expression from years ago flooding your memory, from times where the world would get on top of him and threaten to crush his shoulders with the weight they added.  

You were the only thing that could comfort him then. Nothing else would work – you wondered what he did these days to ease the ache. Little did you know, nothing could.  

He’d mask it well, yes, and attempt to bury it deep down beneath layers of a personality that wasn’t totally his, but the fact remained he was still just so sad beneath it all.  

Secondo straightened himself up with a deep breath, and pushed the key into the door turning to unlock it. You sighed quietly to yourself and turned to leave out of sight, but Secondo stiffened, his head whipping around to the corner where he caught the back of your head as you turned. He’d heard that sigh, known who it belonged to instantly.  

“________?” he asked, his voice softer than you’d have expected, like anything above a whisper would have you darting down the corridor never to be seen again.  

You froze in place, aware he can now see you but unable to move. You don’t want to face him. You don’t want to run from him.  

“Wait, don’t... don’t go,” he whispered; something he wishes he’d said to you the day you’d left the Ministry instead of hiding in a pit of his own self-loathing and self-pity. He thinks you’re going to run; but you can’t. You’re just... stuck. 

He doesn’t know what to do, just staring at the back of your head as his heart rate raises and his breath quickens. He’s panicking; he knows that. He’d learned what a panic attack was in the days after you’d left the Ministry; like a heart attack.  

You heard him behind you, the sound of his panic as words failed him. Your head whipped around to see him stood there, clutching his robes over his chest as he stared wide eyed at you. You’d never seen him like this, and it frightened you.  

“S-Secondo? Are you... are you alright?” you asked, rushing to his side on instinct, yet stopping yourself just a few feet away from him with your hands outstretched. You weren’t sure if you should touch him, if you should cross the boundary that not only he, but you had put up so long ago. 

“C-can’t... can’t breathe...” he panted, leaning against the stone doorway and squeezing his eyes shut.  

Get him inside, make him comfortable, your inner voice told you. You looked to the side, seeing his keys still dangling in the lock and turned them for him, pushing open the door to an empty and cold apartment that sent such a wave of nostalgia through you it could have knocked you clean onto your ass. But you shook it off, reaching for Secondo’s shoulder and gently guiding him through the door.  

“Sit down,” you instructed softly, reaching for the light switch behind you, your arm working on muscle memory alone. You didn’t have to think about it, no time in the current predicament. Secondo stumbled to the couch, sitting down with a thump and leaning back into the pillows while you shut the door and made your way over to the kitchen.  

Reaching for the cupboard you knew had glasses in – nothing had been changed since the day you’d left – you picked one out to fill with water, then coming down to his level and kneel at his feet to remove any feel of intimidation standing before him would have brought.  

“Secondo, hey...” you caught his attention, his white eye opening to look at you through his lashes. “Can you sit up for me?”  

He took in a deep lungful of breath and sat himself upright, his forearms coming to rest on his knees as he hunched over. His breathing was erratic – some deep and long, some short and staccato. He was trying desperately to regain control, to not come across as weak in front of you but he feared you being in front of him was truly the reason he was so breathless.  

He always did used to say you took his breath away... 

“Here, drink.” You held up the glass in front of him. He stared at it for a moment, his eyes still wide and panicked. “Papa, please...” 

“Don’t... D-don't call... me that...” he told you, but he didn’t sound angry. He sounded tired, mostly, between the panicked breaths. You chose not to argue for the time being.  

“I’m sorry... Still, drink. It'll help,” you promised, raising the glass again.  

He took it from you, gulping a third of the glass down and swallowing with a loud exhale. The irregular pattern calmed considerably, the cold of the water cooling the heat that had risen to his face and chest in his panic.  

“Good... See? It helps. Now just... breathe with me, okay? Copy what I do,” you told him, taking in a deep breath and counting to four in your head as you did so. He copied you, no questions asked, no arguments; just breathing in as you did. After four, you slowly began to exhale, counting to eight this time. He copied you again, his exhale a little shaky as if his lungs were clawing at his exhale, trying desperately to hold it in.  

You repeated the pattern a few times, holding eye contact the whole time. He seemed to be searching for something in your face, any hint of hatred, anger, resentment... but nothing. His panic eased when all he found was concern, and the same softness he remembered so fondly. Able to find no negativity in your expression, he could relax and give your breathing technique the room to work and calm him down.  

“Mi dispiace. I... I don’t know what came over me,” he says, embarrassment and sadness in his tone. He wanted to hide again, staring down at the glass in his hands instead of at you, sitting quietly and awkwardly on your knees in front of him.  

“No, it’s... fine. I’m just glad you’re alright,” you smile awkwardly, shuffling back and standing, dusting the non-existent dust from your knees. “I’ll see myself out,” you said, turning around to leave, “Just rest for the eveni-”  

You stopped dead in your tracks, your eyes focussed on the wall by the front door.  

The wallpaper had never been changed in all those years, the colour of the pattern worn and yet, there were small rips in the paper, tiny grooves carved into the wall and a very distinctive faded brown stain.  

Your eyes zeroed in on it immediately. It wasn’t particularly large, or even that dark against the wallpaper but you couldn’t help but notice, and your chest tightened. 

“Ah, I uh... have been meaning to redecorate,” Secondo chuckled from the couch behind you, with no humour at all. His tone was different to earlier that day in the meeting room; that cold indifference had vanished, as if the curtain had fallen and his mask had dropped. He was too weak to put up a front, too tired of playing the resentful scary Papa character. 

You turned to look at him, a slight look of pity mixed with something akin to longing that he tried to ignore for his own sanity. It would do him no good to delude himself into thinking you might have missed him as much as he had missed you in the last eight years. 

“But then... I suppose it served as a reminder,” he shrugs, averting your gaze and taking another sip of water where he sat.  

“Of what?” you asked, fragility to your voice. Secondo sighed, meeting your eyes again.  

“The biggest mistake I ever made.” 

An uncomfortable silence settled between you, his eyes watching you closely as you shuffled in your spot.  

“Do you... get panic attacks often?” you asked, trying to divert attention away from that conversation. You weren’t sure if you were ready to have that just yet, if ever. Why cut into a healed scar? 

“Not anymore, but... I used to. After you left,” he said matter-of-fact, no hint of accusation at all. “It used to start as shortness of breath like this,” he waved his hand in the air to illustrate his point, “but eventually, I suppose, I had to learn to breathe without you.” 

Tears welled in your waterline, and you had to look down at the toes of your boots to flush them away.  

“I’m truly, so incredibly sorry, amore mio...” he whispered, willing you to look at him, to hear him finally say what he’s wanted to for years.  

“W-we don’t have to... do this...” you stuttered, holding back a sob as a tear fell to the floor where you stared at your feet. Hearing him call you that again... If you weren’t careful, it would consume you. Secondo didn’t miss your tear, his chest tightening when it hit the floor. 

“No, per favore... Let me say this, I need to get this out,” he begs, standing to move towards you, his hands outstretched like he wanted to take yours in them, to hold onto you as he apologised. You whipped your hands from in front of you and took several steps back. 

“That’s not fair,” you scolded, “you need to get this out? What, to clear your conscience? So you can feel better?” you accused. Your anger wasn’t unwarranted, he knew that. But he could see how much what he’d done had affected you – still affected you. The guilt ate him alive. It would always eat him alive, no matter how many times he apologised. 

“No, I just... I didn’t want to hurt you, I want to make it right!” he pleaded. You shook your head with a smile at his audacity. 

“Make it right? Now? After eight years?” you scoffed. 

“Well okay if I can’t make it right, just... bearable. Per favore, amore mio!” The nickname slipped from his lips without thought; it still felt natural to him. You were still his ‘love’ after all – you never stopped being that. But hearing it again for the second time that evening was like the venomous sting of a scorpion’s tail to your heart.  

“Stop calling me that, you lost that right,” you cried, having to bite your tongue from unleashing all of your anger, all of your hurt on him.  

“I... I know. Mi scusi...” he quietened his voice, looking down at his hands in shame. His shift in demeanour stunned you into silence, your chest heaving with uneven breaths as you calmed yourself from the point of near-eruption. “You should be angry at me.” 

You scoffed at his audacity. “Thank you for your permission,” you spat.  

“Where do we go from here?” he asked, looking up to meet your eyes finally. His looked strained, tired. Even disguised by the paint, he seemed weary and frail. “Can I say anything at all?” 

You mulled it over in your mind, running in circles. Was there anything he could say? Would you listen to anything right now, or were you too riled up to care about his excuses? The younger you, the you who loved him so deeply all those years ago was dying to get the answers she craved. She reached out to you from your past life, desperate for closure, just to understand no matter what those answers were. 

“You can tell me why.” 

Secondo’s brow furrowed. “W-why?”  

He seemed scared, like he hadn’t expected this but how could he not? What was the point in him apologising if neither he nor you knew why he was apologising, what his 'sorry’ was for? 

“Yes. Tell me why. Tell me why you suddenly thought so little of me, that you genuinely believed I would try to sleep my way to the top. Tell me why you were so adamant I was choosing your brother over you. Tell me why you turned into a bitter and twisted shell of the cardinal I adored. Tell me why you chose the bottle over me when you came home at night. Tell me why you ever doubted how completely, soul-destroyingly in-fucking-love with you I was!” you screamed at him, getting louder and louder with each passing syllable and pointing an accusatory finger at him as tears of rage freely flowed down your cheeks.  

“Because it was easier!” he yelled back, meeting your gaze, “It was easier than watching you leave with him! I was jealous, sí, because everybody always chose Primo. Ever since I became a Cardinal, I was told that was as far as I could go, that was it for me! Primo was the golden boy, he was Papa, he was going to find a wife, have a kid and that kid would be Papa and where would that leave me? Cast aside, again, as always! Fuck, even Terzo got more attention for his damn looks than I ever got for my hard work, my devotion!” 

You shrugged and stared at him incredulously as he yelled. “Why was any of that my fault?” you screeched. 

“B-because you... you were choosing him too!” his chest heaved, and for the first time ever you saw tears in his eyes too, glinting off the light of the room. “I needed you, ______. You were the only one who saw me for who I was, and you chose him too!” 

You tried to protest in anger, shaking your head and taking a step towards him to defend yourself but he continued before you got the chance. 

“Nihil... he always said I would never be Primo. But as Cardinal, I was expected to do everything for him. I lived in his shadow every... fucking... day. It drove me mad...” he looked up at the ceiling as he screamed through grit teeth, trying to let gravity defy the building tears, “And then Papa was to go on tour again, to bring back the Ghost project and perform for thousands of adoring followers and I was to sit here and wait for the only person I’ve ever loved to forget me and fall for him like the rest of the masses...” He was sobbing in anger now, forgetting the fight against the onslaught of waterworks and giving in to the pain he felt.  

“I never... I never thought you slept with him. Not really,” he admitted. “But I was told over and over it was only a matter of time... And I believed them. So, you ask me why? Because it was easier to believe you had already fallen under his spell and remove myself from the equation, than to watch it happen while I was still by your side.” 

You were stunned into silence, watching the man you believed for the last eight years had become void of emotion spill every single one he’d buried spill from him. He’d never told you any of this, not once expressed any resentment to his elder brother. And Nihil... you wanted to ring that old man’s neck. 

“I just... I got lost, amore. The more I drank, the worse it got. The bigger the disappointment,” he’d stopped shouting at you, his voice strained and quiet, “You started to hate me, and I took it as proof of my suspicions that you would someday leave. And then when you did...” his voice cracked, the words sticking in his throat. He sank to sit on the edge of the couch, defeated and weak. He removed his mitre and held his head in his hands, quietly sobbing with cloudy black tears from his makeup dripping to the floor. 

You stood awkwardly playing with your fingers, wiping your own tears away with the back of your hand as they fell. Your lip trembled holding back a breakdown. Now, you were beginning to understand the weight of the responsibility he’d bared back then, of the pain of his dismissal and rejection throughout his life. It still hurt you deeply that he couldn’t see past it to know you would never have chosen anyone over him – but at least you understood. 

“Terzo got me clean after you left,” he said, sniffling and raising his head but still unable to look you in the eye. Instead, his gaze focussed in on the corner of the room, at where the liquor cabinet used to sit. You followed his eyes and noticed it wasn’t there anymore, now an empty corner he’d never filled with anything else. “But it took a long time. I knew what I’d done, but... I didn’t want to face it. I’ve been so angry at myself, amore. Angry at everyone, but never at you.” He looked you in the eye then, “it was never your fault.” 

“No, non è vero, fottuto idiota, (no, it wasn’t, you fucking idiot,)” you seethed, taking a deep breath and shaking your head. Secondo chuckled humourlessly. Oh, how he’d missed you scolding him in Italian. 

“Sí, sí... fottuto idiota,” he sighed, dragging his palms down his face and smearing his tears with his paints. He looked down at his gloves, smeared with grey stains where the white mixed with the black, and he chuckled again. “Sono un disastro, no? (I am a mess, no?)” he said, holding his hands up briefly for you to see the mess before he removed both gloves, dropping them to the couch beside him. You scoffed again, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips; but you hid it from him, looking down at your feet again. “In more ways than one, I have always been a mess. But it was never your job to clean that mess up.” 

“Didn’t stop me from wanting to,” you told him. You looked up again, now that the almost-smile had faded, “I loved you more than you ever realised.” 

Secondo nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. “My biggest regret is not seeing that at the time. I’ll never know love like that again...” 

You tilted your head to the side in pity, scanning the man before you who looked and sounded so much more broken than you could have imagined. You had no idea this was affecting him still to this day, no clue that the angry persona you’d left behind hadn’t just created a bitter old man who’d forgotten what he was bitter at – he was, in fact, bitter and angry toward himself. He’d never forgiven himself.  

But how could he? How could he ever forgive himself for what he’d put you through, for treating you like he did. He was disgusted by himself, but in true Emeritus fashion, he didn’t know how to deal with his emotions, and it spiralled out of control. This was his personality now, a figurehead to be terrified and intimidated by.  

You remembered how he could be though. Those figures you followed through the halls earlier that evening, that had guided you back to Secondo’s front door just when he’d needed you; they reminded you, however painfully, that there was a time when he was happy. Both of you were so happy. 

“Do you remember the first night I spent here?” you asked him after a few moments of silence, raising your arms to hug at yourself, enveloping yourself in a protective shield in case this train of thought went terribly awry and you needed your defences up.  

Secondo looked up at you, his brow furrowing in confusion. You continued, giving yourself no time to back out of your train of thought, and no time for him to reply.  

“Sister Imperator had almost caught us in the gardens. We were making out, behind one of the bushes when we heard her heels on the cobbles...” you laughed. Your smile was so beautiful to him still, just like all those years ago when you’d met eighteen years ago. It infected him, tugging at the corners of his own lips as he smirked and let his mind wonder back to that night.  

“Sí, I had hair...” he chuckled.  

“We ran... we just, ran...” you sighed, smile widening as you took a small step towards him. “You dragged me through the halls until we stopped hearing her heels.” 

“The old bat could never have kept up with us.”  

“No...” you laughed. “You kept shushing me, as if you weren’t the one making me laugh.” 

“As much as I enjoyed your laughter, amore, you were going to blow our cover,” he teased. “I believe I had no choice but to silence you... if memory serves me.” His smile faltered as he remembered that kiss in his doorway, leading you inside his quarters for the first time, spending the night entangled in and bewitched by everything you.  

What would he give to kiss you again? What would he sacrifice for a chance to hold you in his arms one more time?  

Everything. Anything.  

“Eighteen years passed by so quickly,” you sighed. “I always thought I would spend the rest of my years with you...”  

“Sí... anche me... (yes... me too...) I took you for granted, amore mio- oh...” he caught himself, a sinking feeling in his chest, “Mi scusi... I must stop calling you that.” 

Guilt settled in your stomach for the way you’d scolded him for that earlier. Truthfully, you desperately wanted him to never stop calling you that. 

“You... you don’t have to... stop, I mean,” you stuttered, twiddling your fingers and avoiding his eyes. When you did look up at him through your lashes, you saw the look of confusion in his features, and the faint flicker of hope in his eyes.  

“But... I thought you said-?” 

“Y-yeah I did, I just... I was angry,” you shrugged, folding your arms protectively again, as if literally shielding your heart. 

“Are you not angry now?” he asked gingerly, gently ‘poking the bear’ as it were. 

“Yes... No... I am, but...” you stopped yourself, sighing and dropping your arms by your sides in exasperation. “I want to be. I want to be so angry at you. I want to hate you and scream at you. Hell, I’d punch you if I could but...” 

He stood then, taking a step forward. “But what, amore...?” You met his eyes, biting your lip as he took another small, yet significant, step towards you. Could you say it? Were you brave enough?  

“If I’m angry, it’s because I still care, isn’t it?” you asked rhetorically, “I’m angry because... because I still love you.”  

Time stood still for Secondo. His heart pounded in his ears, his chest tightening at the admission that you – sweet, wonderful you – still loved him, despite the hell he had put you through. 

He acted on impulse, no coherent thought process registering. Closing the distance between you, he pulled you to him by your waist, desperately pressing his lips to yours. As if you had expected it, you immediately melted in his hold, your eyes fading shut and lips encapsulating his in submission. You were tired of hating him, tired of being angry. Being honest with yourself, you had only ever wanted to be in his arms again since that night he told you to leave.  

Finally, here you were.  

His bare hands grasped at the fabric of your habit like he was clinging for life, dangling over a gorge only you could pull him up from. You felt much the same, your fists balled in his robes pulling him to you by his chest. Your lips fit together as they always had, moving in nostalgic synchronicity. You felt alive again, synapses in your brain firing in every which way and alighting the spark you’d let dim to nothing but an ember until now. 

Secondo pressed his forehead to yours when he parted from you, his eyes remaining shut while he coped with the racing of his heart. It wasn’t until he raised one of his hands to cup your cheek that he realised your cheeks were wet with fresh tears. 

“Amore...” he breathes, tickling your lips below his, “I have loved you every single day of the last eighteen years...” 

You don’t bother holding back the sob that jumps from your chest – you couldn’t if you tried. Secondo’s thumb swept over your cheek, wiping away the tears as he shushed you gently. Your fists, balled so tight in his robes, had started to shake as your bottom lip did.  

“I-I’m scared, Secondo... If I let you in again, I-I couldn’t... couldn’t handle losing you again,” you wept.  

“No, no no no amore mio, I wouldn’t be so foolish. Not again. Per favore, credimi... ti amo (Please, believe me... I love you,” he begged. 

“Sí, credo che tu, (yes, I believe you,)” you told him, your lips finding his once again and fists pulling him impossibly close to you. He huffed a sigh of relief into the kiss, his fingertips ghosting over your jawline gently despite the desperate nature of the act.  

You tilted your head to reach a more comfortable angle; one where you could run your tongue along his bottom lip, begging for progression. He submitted with no hesitation, allowing entry with a low hum from deep within his ribcage. The hand around your waist squeezed at your hip as your kiss deepened to desperation.  

Breathlessly you pulled apart from him. “This is where I’m supposed to be,” you told him firmly with a sob, slamming your fist to his chest, “this is home.” 

“Sí, amore,” he gripped your wrist, holding your fist tightly against him, “come home to me.” 

You crumbled then, your knees buckling as you wept into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, giving in to his own sobs as he held you upright. He pressed his lips to your forehead, peppering kisses across your face wherever he could reach until finally he found your lips once again.  

Truly, his arms did feel like home. You hadn’t felt so complete ever since the last time he’d held you, an emptiness you’d tried to fill with work and frivolous relationships but nothing and no one could ever fill the void he’d left. Now you were home, you wouldn’t dare let go again.  

You’d never kissed anybody so desperately in all your life, bruisingly desperate in fact. Your lips pressed and moulded together so hard, it was bordering on painful – yet nothing could have been more painful than the last eight years. No, you needed this. You needed him.  

“Take me to bed, Secondo...” you mumbled into his lips. Secondo stilled, his hands coming to sit at your waist and pushing you back; not even half a step away from him, yet you already missed the warmth of his chest along with the rhythmic thumping of his heart.  

“Amore, I don’t wish to rush you...” he spoke cautiously, his eyes scanning your face. “We don’t have to go there tonight...” 

There he was; for a split second, you could have sworn you saw a glimmer of the man you’d fallen in love with eighteen years ago... His paints vanished, his deep-set wrinkles smoothing out, his hair tucked and poking out from beneath his Bishop’s biretta. That same kindness, that care and cautiousness of the night he first brought you to his quarters...  

He’d said the same to you then, ever so chivalrous at all times but you knew then as you knew now – you were ready. You needed him. 

Slowly, you raised your palm to his cheek, noting the strange feeling of his paint-covered skin on your fingertips. You traced the lines where the white met the black, smudged together in places where his tears had streaked down his face. It amazed you how much the years had aged him, what the stress had done to him and yet, he was just as handsome to you as the day you’d met. 

“I think we’ve both waited long enough, caro,” you smiled, relishing in the way his brow softened, and his eyes glinted with happiness. He brought his hand to yours, holding it in place as he turned his head to press kisses to your palm. He laced his fingers with yours turning to the direction of his bedroom and leading the way. Once inside, Secondo took a step away from you.  

“Un momento, amore. There is something I must do...” he lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, letting go before he stepped into the bathroom to the left. You could hear the faucet squeaking as he turned it, the unmistakable rush of water hitting the porcelain sink below. 

In his absence, you couldn’t help the way your gaze wondered as you remembered the details around you. The furniture remained unchanged but worn slightly with age, the shine of the dark wood not as prevalent as it had been. The bookshelf in the corner was still covered in tiny knick-knacks and ornaments, some of which you had bought him. One still sat on his nightstand; a small statue of Baphomet depicted as he traditionally was. On the other nightstand – the side that used to be yours – sat the same deep green glass vase you remembered, all the shine gone as it sat empty and covered in a layer of dust.  

That vase used to never sit empty, fresh flowers in it constantly. Secondo made a point of it, always replacing the flowers before they could wilt too much with different varieties all the time. He loved how it would make you smile, how you would bury your nose in the petals to smell the latest additions. Seeing it sat so sad and empty stung a little, but you understood.  

So enthralled in your journey down memory lane, you didn’t notice the end to the running water next door, nor the footsteps of the man coming to stand with his chest to your back as one arm snaked around your waist, the other tilting your chin up to look back at him so he could press his lips back to yours again.  

You turned in his arms, sinking into another slow and passionate kiss. When you raised your palms to his cheeks, you distinctly felt the smooth skin now void of the greasy and smeared paints. This was how you remembered him; not with the full skull paint and certainly not smeared with tears and despair. He removed his paints for that very reason. 

Secondo removed your veil from your head, letting your hair fall around your face in that beautiful way he always loved. Within seconds his fingers were threading their way through your roots while his other hand held you tightly to him by your hips. It was all too easy to lose yourself to his kiss, quickly becoming more needy as time ticked by.  

He made sure to move at your pace, though. It wasn’t until you started to undo his shirt buttons – his robe removed and folded in the bathroom moments ago already – that he even attempted to undo the zipper at the back of your habit. It wasn’t until you kicked off your boots that he did the same to his loafers. It wasn’t until your hands scrambled for the belt around his hips that he let it slip from your shoulders and pool at your feet. It wasn’t until he was stripped bare by your frantic hands that he allowed himself to unclasp your bra and drag it down your arms, followed by your panties that hit the floor with the rest of the hastily removed garments.  

He was too frightened you would startle easily, realise what you were doing and suddenly slap yourself with the reality that you still hadn’t forgiven him, and run off feeling embarrassed and angry. He needed to give you the space to run safely, if you needed to.  

But as you had already told him – you were going nowhere. He was certain of that now.  

Now completely exposed to each other, there was nowhere to hide. The warmth of his bare skin under your palms sent a thrill through your body, already responding to the way his fingertips dug into the meat of your hips as he kissed you with a new fervour.  

With your hands cradling his jawline, you stepped backwards, bringing him with you until you were able to sit on the edge of his bed, shuffling back while he crawled over you. It was too easy not to separate your kiss from each other, in tune with one another enough that you could move as one. You felt the pillows behind you, laying back and bringing him with you as he settled between your thighs.  

Already, you could feel him pressing against your core. You ached for him, desperate to have him. It was as if there were pulses of arousal flowing through your body and accumulating at your core, where heat had begun to pool.  

As much as Secondo wanted to dive in, to take you as he once had so many times, he knew this was not a moment to rush. Instead, he focussed his efforts on trailing his lips down your jawline, following the curves down your neck and collarbone as his palm kneaded at your breast opposite his mouth. Slowly, he savoured the velvet smoothness of your skin on his tongue, taking your nipple into his mouth while your back arched up into him in pleasure and anticipation.  

Secondo had missed these little noises you would make. The mewls and whimpers as he brought you to the brink of desperation; he adored them. If he himself hadn’t missed you the way he did, he could spend hours working you up to release. Another time though, perhaps. If you would want another... 

The hand that kneaded at your other breast snaked its way down between the two of you where his length was resting against you at the inner junction of your leg and hip. He allowed his fingertips to brush over himself only for a moment, before he dragged his middle finger through your glistening folds and circled your clit once, twice...  

You gasped under him, hips chasing the high and in turn grinding into his hardness which earned a deep moan from him against your breast. He could feel you were ready for more, drifting his finger to your entrance and starting with just one as he pushed inside, feeling your warmth envelope his digit. His cock twitched against you at the feel, like a silent plea to be buried inside you. All you could do was hold him against you, an arm around his waist and one around the back of his head forcing him flush against your body.  

From the way you rolled your hips against his finger that slowly but surely curled over and over inside you, Secondo knew you needed more, and so alongside his middle finger, he slid his ring finger too. The way he curled them both inside you had your eyes rolling back in your head – he always was good with his hands, and just as he could then, he could read you like an open book, reciting verses of pleasure and passion from your pages. 

He began to move them inside you, readying you for him. As the seconds ticked on, his need to sheath himself inside you grew increasingly hard to ignore, his hips grinding into you from above. His lips found yours again, abandoning your breast in his frenzy to be close to you.  

He overtook your senses; all you could do was see him, hear him, smell him, feel him, taste him. You decided in an instant that was all you wanted for the rest of eternity. Just him. 

You needed more of him, all of him, and so you lifted your legs from the mattress, spreading your thighs wider in a way of presenting yourself to him to hopefully, finally, fill you with more than just his fingers. Secondo growled against your lips, his resolve crumbling. His hand slipped from inside you and instead came to grip the back of your thigh, pressing it back to give him the room to easily slide his member through your folds, effortlessly catching his tip on your entrance so that slowly, maddeningly, he could push himself into you.  

For a moment, neither of you could focus on anything other than that feeling; of filling you, of being filled. Both of your jaws went slack, moans spilling from your lips and mingling in the millimetres between you. When Secondo was fully enveloped in your heat, his forehead met yours while he gathered some form of composure. He could feel his chest tightening, the wounds of the last eight years stitching themselves back up. He let out a sob through gritted teeth, and whilst you too were completely enthralled in the overwhelm of emotions, it was all you could do to console him in that moment. 

“I-I’m here, caro. I’m right here,” you reassured him, your fingers tracing patterns across the nape of his neck. He had to take several heavy, deep breaths that puffed his cheeks up on the exhale each time before he could even bare to look you in the eye. When he did, he found nothing but love in them, your irises swimming with it.  

“Ti amo, amore mio...” he repeated, his voice cracking with emotion. You smiled at him, such softness in your features as a prickle of tears glistened in your eyes.  

“I love you too, caro.” You always had. You pulled him to you for another kiss, quickly falling under his spell once again. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding him as his hips started to sluggishly roll against yours, dragging his length through your heat achingly slow. Both of you needed to savour that feeling, one you had missed out on for so long.  

As your tongues danced together, so too did your hips, meeting in the middle as the two of you picked up a comfortable pace, effortlessly working together to drag the groans and whimpers from the other.  

Neither of you were under any illusion that this would last particularly long, despite dragging it out to relish it at first. But the longer you stayed banded together, the harder it was not to give in to the pleasure, to that familiar heat coiling in both of your abdomens.  

Secondo squeezed the underside of your thigh as his cock twitched and kicked inside you, begging for a release he was trying too hard to stave off. Your walls fluttered around him, rippling and sending jolts of electricity through you. Your bodies worked together, keying into a frequency you had only ever been able to register together. Nothing and nobody else had ever come close to understanding either of you. It was the two of you; it was always supposed to be.  

“A-ah!” you cried against his lips, squeezing your eyes shut while your body dangled over the edge of a sensational orgasm. “S-Secondo...”  

“Ooh, say that again, amore. Let me hear you...” you asked, ready to let go at the sound of his name from your lips once more. 

With a few more thrusts you gathered the strength you needed, opening your eyes to meet his beautifully mismatched ones and holding his cheek as you moaned his name one more time for him. 

“Secondo...”   

That was it for him. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried, his cock spilling inside you and his thrusts becoming erratic. You could feel him inside you, length pulsing and warmth spreading that triggered an almighty break in your body, orgasm ripping its way through you. The shouts of pleasure the two of you made together sounded like a symphony to your ears, and the both of you gripped onto each other for dear life as if this were a dream, and you might wake up at any moment.  

But neither of you disappeared; no puffs of smoke, no fading into the darkness. You stayed in each other's arms, coming down form your highs and catching your breaths while the weight of the world seemed to drift from your shoulders. That baggage you’d been carrying for years, the pain and hurt... it didn’t exist in that moment.  

You weren’t kidding yourself into thinking that everything was perfect, and you could instantly go back to playing happy families with Secondo; not at all. But that moment? That was perfect. It offered you a relief of your woes that you’d needed for so long. And now, instead of bottling up your emotions, the two of you could begin to heal. Really heal.  

It would take a lot of work, probably some shaky moments; hell, maybe even some therapy for the both of you but for the first time in eight years, you felt peace.  

Home. This was home.  

A sliver of golden sunlight shifted slowly down the wall as the sun rose outside, pouring in between the curtains that hadn’t been drawn completely closed the night before. Eventually, it hit your eyes like a blindfold, waking you with a squint and a grumble as you flipped onto your other side to avoid it.  

The white spots in your vision cleared after a few moments, and you found yourself staring at a bed that wasn’t yours. At least, not anymore. It once had been, shared with the love of your life.  

And yet, he was nowhere to be seen, the sheets on his side wrinkled and haphazardly strewn aside. You sat up slowly, wiping the sleep from your eyes and holding the deep green sheets against your bare body. Even the bathroom door was wide open, no sign of him at all.  

For a moment you almost convinced yourself last night had never happened, but even you couldn’t deny the evidence of being sat completely nude in Secondo’s bedroom. Perhaps he’d had second thoughts about what had transpired. Maybe it was too much too soon.  

It wasn’t until you looked around at the room and your tired eyes fell upon your nightstand – or at least, the nightstand that was once yours – that you relaxed, a warmth spilling through your chest and raising goosebumps on your skin.  

Your vase shined in the sunlight, newly polished and casting a green imprint on the wall behind it. Inside it, a fresh bouquet of queen of the night tulips with splashes of white jasmine offsetting the deep purple. You could smell the jasmine from where you sat, a favourite scent of yours.  

Secondo regretted nothing of last night. He, much like you, saw that as your fresh start – as fresh as the bouquet before you. He felt the same relief as you did, the same hope for some kind of future together. 

Staring at the flowers, a smile spread over your lips you couldn’t contain. Part of you knew why that vase had sat untouched and empty since your departure. Secondo bringing it back to life again the moment you came back to him was all the reassurance you needed that you were welcomed home with open arms.  

“Primo will be angry when he sees the stalks in his garden,” Secondo chuckled, breaking the silence as he leaned against the doorframe looking devilishly handsome with his skull paint fresh and crisp, his black shirt tucked into his slacks and cinched with a belt. His arms were folded over his chest, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. A smirk played on his face, enjoying the look of shock in your features when your head whipped around at his sudden voice. 

“You didn’t...” you scolded playfully.  

“Oh, I did amore...” he smiled, pushing off from the doorframe and coming to sit on the end of the bed in front of you. “Let him be mad. He will understand in time.” 

A comfortable silence settled over you as he lifted his hand to brush your bed hair from your cheek.  

“You were always most beautiful like this, dolcezza,” he spoke dreamily, taking you in in the morning sun, wrapped in his sheets with messed hair and a bare face. Your eyes fluttered shut, chasing the feeling of his fingertips. You let yourself enjoy the blissful silence for a moment, but one of you had to break it eventually. 

“We’ll need to work on this, Secondo. All that time... we can’t erase it in one night,” you told him, bringing your knees up to rest your arms and chin on shyly. 

“Sí, sí, quite right. It’s only a start, amore. I will prove things are different, te lo prometto (I promise).” 

“I don’t doubt you, my love,” you smiled, reaching out for his shirt collar and pulling him gently to meet your lips in a soft, gentle kiss to seal his promise.  

A promise you knew he would fight both heaven and hell to keep.  

Major thanks to @her-satanic-wiles for beta reading once again! There's no tag list for this one since this is a request from two people that got out of hand... I hope, dear anons, you enjoyed this!

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Ruggie Bucchi - Tsumsitter Voice Line

Tsumsitter Ruggie has no vignette

Summon Line: They're sayin' this tsum's just like me, but don't listen to that. Unlike me, this little thing'll absolutely rip you off!

Groooovy!!: Geez, why's this tsum so hung up on madol? Who could it've gotten that obsession from…?

Home: Hey, tsum, what're you writ... A resume?

Home Idle 1: Those job postings the tsum is lookin' through all look like primo positions! Maaan, if I didn't have school, I'd totally apply!

Home Idle 2: Suuuper glad these tsums don't eat nothin'. If I had to pay for its food expenses on toppa everything else, I'd've rioted!

Home Idle 3: D'ya think that Idia-san's tsum is also good at buildin' contraptions or whatever? It'd be great if it could make somethin' so I could sell it an make a ton of moolah... Juuust kiddin'.

Home Idle - Login: Maaan, takin' care of a tsum's a drag… Guess I'll just pretend it's one of 'em lil' brats from back home followin' me 'round.

Home Idle - Groovy: Fine, I get it already! Here ya go, tsum, your half of the pay. Geez, cheeky lil' thing…

Home Tap 1: I can't really tell what the tsum is thinkin', but somehow I can kinda figure out what it's tryin' to say. I wonder why?

Home Tap 2: I was offerin' to look after Ace-kun's tsum, but he turned me down flat. Maybe I was pushin' a little too hard.

Home Tap 3: Apparently, Trey-san's tsum knows how to make cakes. I wanna cake baked by a tsum! I'll eat the whole thing myself, too!

Home Tap 4: The tsum is completely covered in chocolate!? Is there a chocolate fountain somewhere!? I wanna go so you better tell me where it is!!

Home Tap 5: If you got a present or somethin' for my tsum, I can take 'em off your hands. Don't woooorry. I'll totally make sure it gets it.

Home Tap - Groovy: Don'tcha feel like givin' me and my tsum some odd jobs to do? Our fee varies based on the type of ask, though… But hey, I can give you a friend's discount!

Requested by @ghostydancer.

[honeyynymphh]

| A Lesson in Heroinism |

Cardinal Copia x Fem!Reader rating: E word count: 4.8k tags: dom copia, vampires, teacher/student (sort of), light dom/sub, p in v, copia is a dick

They say Cardinal Copia is a vampire but you don't believe that...do you? Sequel to Freshly Squeezed but can be read independently.

read on ao3 18+ MDNI

Three paces, turn, one step—mind the crack—two more paces, stare at the clock. Sigh. Turn, three paces. One step—

“Sister.”

You stop, foot hovering in the air and stare at the ghoul across from you that’s waiting outside Sister Imperator’s office. The ghoul narrows its eyes at you. “Stop pacing, you are making me feel anxious. And I am a demon. Demons do not get anxious.”

“Sorry!” You drop your foot and stumble on the hem of your habit, hitting your shoulder on the stone wall. You hear the ghoul snicker before Imperator’s office door opens and it slinks inside.

Rubbing your arm, you flop down on the small bench outside the door you’ve been pacing in front of. You’ve already been sitting there for thirty minutes and you’re restless. You’d woken up to a note from Cardinal Copia requesting you come see him and here you damn well were. Standing again, you stare up at the intricate pattern on the abbey’s cathedral ceiling.

You were nervous. The last time you’d been alone with the Cardinal, only last night, his cock had been buried in your cunt and he’d given you the best orgasm you’d ever had. It felt like it had been some sort of wild dream and if it wasn’t for the bruises on your hips and the way your body still aches, you might have believed it had been.

You hope it will happen again. Why else would he ask you to come to his office this morning?

Squeezing your thighs together you continue pacing a moment before you lean against the door. Perhaps you should just leave. This was ridiculous waiting so long for that horrible old man.

And he was horrible. Horrible, horrible, horrible. Cantankerous. Unfair. Very good with his hands—wait, no! You huff out in frustration and your breath catches when the door you are leaning on suddenly snaps open.

You stumble backwards and feel two hands grab you firmly by the shoulders so you don’t fall over.

“Do you make it a habit of stumbling into places, Sister?” whispers a taunting voice by your ear.

You right yourself and spin around to glare at Cardinal Copia. He’s standing there, looking all neat in his black cassock as he flicks non-existent lint off one shoulder.

“I have been waiting for nearly an hour!” you say angrily. “And you’ve been in here the whole time?”

“It’s been twenty minutes.” The man shrugs. “I thought you’d be late.”

“I can tell the time, Cardinal.”

“Mmm.” You could tell he doubted that very much.

He was such an arse! You couldn’t believe he’d touched you—fucked you! Your whole body flushes at the memory. Maybe it had been a truly delirious dream. His strange eyes slowly take you in from head to toe and again you feel the flush.

You swallow your nerves and lift your chin. “Well? Why did you wish to see me?”

The man just tilts his head and clicks his tongue, still staring at you. You shift on your feet awkwardly. Hells, you wish he would stop staring at you.

Finally he sighs and says, “Papa Primo says you’ve been doing exemplary work in the greenhouses.” He says the words with a high amount of scepticism and you briefly wonder if you could poison Copia and get away with it. Something to think about. “And he has requested that your shifts in the archives with Cardinal Giorgio be swapped for assisting him.”

You perk up at that. The archives are interesting but Cardinal Giorgio and dusty, dark rooms were awfully monotonous. And Copia spent too much time in the library, before last night you would have done anything to get away from him. But now…? There is a look in his eyes you still don’t like, no matter how good his cock had been, it still didn’t make up for his terrible and downright rude personality. Besides all that, you did really like working in the greenhouses, plants were one thing you understood and loved.

“Well, that would be wonderful!” you say, seeming to forget with whom you are speaking with.

Cardinal Copia smiles, and it's a wretched evil little smile that makes your stomach feel uneasy.

“I told Papa no,” he says airily as your brow furrows. “Cardinal Giorgio needs your assistance more than Papa Primo and you already know the ins and outs of the archives, it would take too much time to train another sibling.”

You shake your head. “So why did you call me in here?”

“Just to keep you informed, Sister.” He gives another one of his terrifyingly gleeful smiles. “Now I must get to the chapel and so should you.”

He pats you on the shoulder before breezing past you and you dumbly watch him stalk down the hall, siblings scattering away like frightened mice. Maybe it had really been a dream. You just cannot believe that last night had happened.

You glance at the Cardinal’s desk and you roll your eyes at the overly neat way it is laid out—it’s pathological. You just know if you got a ruler out that his pencils would be the same width apart. In a fit of mischief, you move everything to the left a centimetre, twist his books so they’re slightly off and turn his idol of Lucifer a couple of degrees to the right. You even, with a lot of exertion, managed to drag his desk on one side so it’s ever so slightly off. Satisfied, you wipe the sweat from your brown and smile to yourself before hurrying out of his office.

Later that afternoon, you sit in the lecture hall, listening to Copia droning on about some demon or rather. You weren’t paying attention—you rarely did. Today it was more out of spite than not caring about whatever it was the evil old bastard was blathering about. What was his problem, you wonder? You shift in your seat and poke at a bruise on your thigh, again to reassure you that, yes, last night he had fucked you to hell and back.

Was this some sort of payment for pleasure? Did you now have to suffer for the absolute high you had experienced? That seemed like something too Catholic for this unholy institution. And, it was bad enough that it had been at the hands of Cardinal Copia, was that not punishment enough? You told yourself it didn’t matter, you didn’t care. You would just think about it for the rest of your life. You sigh and settle into the chair further.

Sitting at the back of the room was the best place, the afternoon sun was streaming through the high glass windows. It was warm on your face, and the sound of Copia talking at the front of the class was easy to tune out. Besides, the book you had stashed in your bag was calling your name. One of the perks of working in the library meant seeing a whole catalogue of different books. Some of them happened to include trashy romances with lots of monsters and a whole lot of satanic debauchery. Most were truly awful but they were a lot of fun—much more fun than whatever the Cardinal was talking about.

Glancing at him, you saw he was scribbling some diagram on the large chalkboard and grabbed the worn novel out of your bag, slipping it in front of the large demonology textbook and propping it slightly up so the paperback wasn’t visible.

You sink a little further into your chair and lose yourself in the story.

The dress ripped as his rough hands tore at the fabric, making Marianna gasp. She could feel his hard length against her thigh. How she wanted him! But it was too risky here on the terrace—anyone from the ballroom could come outside and find them. But Marianna could not help the burning fire in her belly and the look in Lord Cross’s dark eyes.

Were the rumours true? Would he feast on her virgin flesh? Marianna could not bring herself to care, for his hot mouth upon her soft skin was making her come undone. He—

“Sorella.”

You flinch, twisting around in your chair to find Copia towering over you. All eyes of the class are on you as a leather clad hand reaches over and plucks the book out from within its hiding spot.

Oh fuck.

You swallow and stare up at him. Maybe he won’t mind. Maybe…maybe he will make you stay after class. You press your legs together, suddenly somewhat hopeful. Copia smiles at you, and that hope is extinguished immediately.

He glances at the cover. “This is not the required reading, Sister.” He dangles the offending paperback like a proud housewife holding a dead mouse. “I do not want this in my lectures.”

“Yes, Your Eminence.” God the last time you had said that you’d been riding his cock. Your face flushes, his face barely betrays a thing except for dilated pupils and the twitch of his moustache.

An eyebrow quirks in question and he opens the book again, the only sound in the room is the bated breath of every other sibling as Copia’s leather gloves flick over the pages.

He pauses, eyes darting over the pages. “What is this ‘velvet-wrapped steel penetrating the precious valley between her legs’? Why do they not just say cock, sister?” He snaps the book shut, lips now twisting into a gleeful smirk. “Don’t you prefer cock in your wet cunt, eh?”

Everyone else laughs, grateful for the release of tension. The colour drains from your face as you watch him walk away and hear the loud thud of the book hitting his desk. You slink lower into your chair. But you aren’t free yet. Copia calls out to you from the front of the room and all eyes snap back to you.

“You will stay after the lecture has ended, Sister.” He taps the chalkboard. “Do try to pay attention.”

You glare at him, crossing your arms and keeping your eyes on him for the rest of the lecture. You don’t hear a word, too busy wondering about how that stupidly large nose of his would feel between your legs. Maybe you could suffocate him with your thighs.

When the lesson finally ends, you slowly make your way down to the front and you stand at the desk and wait. His eyes land on you and he stares a moment before he speaks.

“You are here to learn, Sorella,” he says. “Not to read badly written pornography.”

It wasn’t that bad, you think. “Yes, Your Eminence.”

“Good girl.” Oh hells, you think, don’t say that. “Now, tomorrow I want your full attention. You will sit right here.”

He points at the row of desks at the front. You just nod.

“Bene.” He waves a dismissive hand. “You can leave now.”

“But my book!” you say, any pretence of politeness forgotten. “And you said you would give me my knickers back!” you add in a harsh whisper. An eyebrow is arched but you aren’t cowed. It’s hard to be afraid of a man when you’ve ridden his cock and then tottered back to your room with his cum dripping down your thighs. Well, maybe he is still a little intimidating. “Your Eminence,” you add politely.

“You can survive without this brain rotting vulgarity for a day,” he says. “And your…panties?”

Your brow wrinkles. ‘Panties’ is not a word Cardinal Copia should say.

“Yes,” you say, trying to remain polite. “You said you would give them back to me.”

“Hmm?” He reaches into a pocket somewhere within his black cassock and you see him pull your knickers out. You go to grab them but he snatches his hand away. “Did I? I can’t say I recall that.”

You watch him bring them to his face, that stupid nose of his pressing against the fabric and inhaling deep. It shouldn’t make you cunt ache but it does. Your body feels caught between arousal and anger so you simply storm off, hearing the sound of his chuckle behind you.

It was midnight. It was freezing. It was a stupid idea.

However!

You were so restless. And that evil man had taken your book. You were not brave enough to spy on him again, not after his utter dismissal of you. The other night had definitely happened. You could barely stop thinking about it. Yet he had made no effort to try and get you into his bed again—well, not that you had been in his bed but that wasn’t the point. It had been crazy enough that you wanted Copia and now? You’d had him and your ridiculous body only wanted more. Maybe you should just go and find some relief with someone else—Terzo was always more than amiable. You sighed. You didn’t want to spend the night with Papa.

You wanted something exhilarating. The Cardinal was a little frightening—more than a little—and fuck. The way he had touched you had been downright sinful. You wanted more of him.

It was a shame that he was such an ass. Maybe you could shove your panties in his mouth. Hmm. Though, he did have a lovely voice and some of the things he had said…you shuddered. However, you did not want to embarrass yourself any further in front of him. It was clear he thought you stupid, and perhaps you weren’t the most clever sibling but you were not an idiot.

All these thoughts run through your head as you sneak down the empty halls. Cardinal Georgio still had yet to notice the key was missing and you weren’t going to be too hasty in returning it. It meant you could access not only the archives but the entire library! You would just duck in, grab another book and get out.

You’d grabbed an oil lamp when leaving your room and now you let its soft light guide you through the many shelves. There were so many books to choose from and the smell of the library was so comforting. The books slumbered in their shelves as you walked past, fingers idly dragging over the titles.

When you hear a noise you freeze, turning the lamp off and ducking behind a shelf. You peer through a gap and see a small figure dart down the shelves, coming closer to you. They also have an oil lamp in their hands. The room is silent as they scurry along, their head bobbing as they scan the books before them.

It’s another Sister, though you cannot tell who in the darkness. You watch her and hear her muttering under breath. She’s too busy reading the spines of the books with the light of the lamp to notice the figure in the shadows slowly approaching her. You want to tell her to run but she’s too far away, and you don’t want the figure to notice you.

As even in the murky darkness there is no mistaking the shape and walk of Cardinal Copia. He’s slowly creeping towards her and when he is a foot away, he stops and leans forward to whisper in her ear.

She shrieks.

“You’ll wake the entire abbey,” you hear him snap. “Why are you out of bed at this hour?”

“Cardinal!” The poor girl sounded panicked. “I have an exam tomorrow and I needed—“

“You should have thought of that earlier,” he says as he shoos her out the large doors, “get back to the west wing now, Sorella.”

You watch a moment, seeing the Cardinal shut the large doors behind him. After a moment, when there are no sounds but your own breathing, you light the lamp again. Slowly creep towards the door and take the key from your pocket, locking it. No more distractions.

Feeling like you can breathe again, you head back to the shelves and flick through the dusty books until you find something that catches your interest—vampires. You read the blurb at the back, something about a dashing count living in the Italian countryside who has gone mad over his lost love and turned to Satan, changing him into a blood sucking devil. You briefly flick through the pages and decide that it will do for the night. You go to leave but you yelp at the sight of Cardinal Copia standing right in front of you and drop the book. Horrified, you watch as he slowly bends and picks it up.

In the low light of the oil lamp, he looked even more frightening than usual. You had become so used to the clergy members and their painted faces that sometimes you really never noticed how sinister they were. Mostly because they were all so welcoming and kind but the Cardinal did not look welcoming and he certainly never looked kind.

“Missing the velvet-wrapped steel that much are we, dolce?” he purred as you back up, hitting the shelf. He looks at the book in his hands and then gives you a look you can't quite discern. “Vampires?” He grins then.

“Yes, well, someone stole my other book,” you say, trying to keep your voice even. “It’s not a crime to read a book.”

“It’s not,” he agrees. “Perhaps if you paid attention in class you might find something more exciting than these trashy novels.”

"Like what?”

“A real vampire.”

You scoff. “There are no vampires.”

“You sound so certain, Sorella,” he says with a mocking tone.

You scoff again. “There aren’t. You told us months ago there weren’t any. There hadn’t been in years.”

“Ah, so you do occasionally pay attention,” he says.

You roll your eyes. Vampires were interesting. Demons that stole your livestock were not.

“But I do think you should stop scurrying around at night, Sister, you might find yourself in more danger than you expect.” He glances at your rosary, a hand lifting to tap it. “And the lord below won’t be able to help you.”

He is standing very close now and the shadows cast by the lamp makes his face look absolutely terrifying. He smiles and the light catches on his teeth. Fuck did his teeth look sharper or was your mind just playing tricks?

You take a step back but he follows, your heartbeat picking up and thundering. It’s just late and he’s trying to scare you, that’s all this is. You pat the little pocket within your habit to reassure yourself of the key but freeze.

The key.

You locked that door. Maybe he came through the archives hidden passage? But he hadn’t come from that direction, you would have seen him if he did.

“I locked the door,” you say dumbly.

Copia tilts his head to the side and watches you a moment, his body far too still before he nods slowly. “You did.” He smiles at you but it offers no comfort at all. “Scared you’re going to be eaten, little mouse?”

“No!” you say, hating that you do indeed sound like a squeaking little mouse. “No. I’m not, because you’re not a vampire.”

“Are you so sure?”

Was he really telling you he was a vampire? Surely not. But how did he get in here? Had he turned into a bat? No! A rat? You’d surely read that somewhere before. Also you had seen him talking to his rats…maybe they did really understand him! And there were the rumours that he was a vampire, but it was just something that the siblings talked about behind his back. It wasn’t real.

But the ghouls were real. Demons were real. Was it so far-fetched? You weren’t a silly heroine in one of your books. You knew about these things! You tried to think about what you had learned about vampires.

“All the things you’ve taught us,” you begin to say, gaining more confidence as the information resurfaces in your mind, “sunlight, garlic—I’ve seen you eat garlic bread on pizza night, Cardinal!”

“Si, si,” he grins and your mounting confidence flags at the sight. “These are things that I've taught you.”

Your mind halts a moment, frozen by his words. He comes closer then, his cassock brushing against you as he moves. The way he towers over you, lit by the lamp makes his strange eyes look even creepier. You swallow thickly and take another small step back but the Cardinal follows.

“Frightened, dolce?” the words come out in a drawn out purr, he sounds excited as those eyes watch you unblinking. A gloved hand reaches out and takes the lamp from your unresisting hands.

You shake your head. “No…”

“Hmm, you don’t sound so sure,” he says, voice dropping low. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

You shake your head again, “No…”

“What a pity.”

The light in the lamp is extinguished and suddenly it's pitch black in the library. It will take too long for your eyes to adjust and even then, the Cardinal doesn’t give you a moment to breathe let alone orientate yourself.

He strikes fast, enveloping you in his embrace and pinning you against the bookshelf, causing a few books to clatter to the floor. His mouth is upon your neck, lips hungrily searching for your thundering pulse. When he finds it, he latches into your skin and sucks, tongue laving and teeth nipping at the skin. You don’t know if he’s broken skin or not but you’re not really thinking straight. The sudden adrenaline rush has your head spinning and those kisses on your neck have your pussy throbbing.

“Ah, my little mouse, how delicious you taste.” He chuckles against your skin before his mouth slides across your jaw and captures your lips.

There is the taste of his paint but it’s nothing compared to the taste of him. Did vampires have some addictive saliva? You wonder idly. Pinned against the bookshelf, there is little room for much though as he presses into you. You can feel the hardness of him through his cassock and you desperately try to press against it, craving friction as his mouth devours yours.

You feel him laugh against your mouth. “Sempre così bisognoso…”

You hum with pleasure when he slides a leg between you so you can press your aching cunt against it, gaining some relief. His mouth continues to ravage yours until his lips are back against your neck, making you shiver every time his teeth graze against the skin. A leather clad hand has snaked up into your hair, pulling you closer to him. You continue to grind against his leg but it isn’t enough, you need more.

You manage to pant out a desperate sounding plea for more which is quickly answered. The burning desire within you is insistent and wanton, you feel slightly mad with lust. Before you know it, he’s pulled your knickers down and your habit is bunched around your waist, his cock there, nudging at your slick cunt before he slides into you with one quick thrust. You moan as fills you, the stretch feeling far too good and his answering growl has your gripping at his shoulders as he thrusts up into you quickly, causing even more books to topple over and clatter on the floor. Head spinning, you feel like you’re on the edge of passing out in the most delicious way. Was it the blood loss?

You don’t even care, your body is singing with carnal delight even as books dig into your back. You know you’re going to come soon and you moan out insensible nonsense as you feel your walls tighten around him. The deep coiling tension with your belly snaps as the rolling waves of pleasure wash over you. It’s an effort to stay upright but you needn’t have bothered to try as you feel his cock pull out so he can pick you up and quickly move you to one of the many wooden tables that fill the library.

Back against the cold wood, through heavy eyes you manage to see his outline in the darkness. There is only the light from the moon outside that filters down the high windows and into the library. It’s not enough to see him clearly but you can make out that eerie white eye. You shudder in anticipation.

“Will you be good for your Cardinal again, dolce?” you hear him ask, the low tone of his voice making your pussy throb.

“Yes, Your Eminence,” the words are soft and come to you too easily, you are too blissed out to care what he does next and your body is still craving more.

Again he is upon you, cock nudging between your soaked thighs until he is thrusting deep. Your back arches off the table as he fills you again, causing another fire to build deep within you. You want to reach for him, to grip and hold, but before you can even move, his hands are pressing yours against the wood, almost painfully so. But it’s nothing compared to the way his cock feels.

He moves fast and deep, and your stomach clenches in anticipation of your next release. It’s building far too quickly. The Cardinal leans over you then, his body covering yours so his mouth is once more against your neck. You don’t catch the words he mutters before his teeth bite into the soft flesh. The pain feels so good in conjunction with the way he continues to fuck into you roughly and you tilt your hips to meet him as you shatter.

Clenching hard around him and not caring if anyone in the abbey is woken by your screams, you let the pleasure take you. The Cardinal is still within, buried deep and you feel his cock within you kick and you know he is filling you, the growling noise he makes vibrating through your spent body.

It feels like an age before the heady rush has cleared. You gingerly sit up when removes himself from you. When the oil lamp is lit your eyes squint to look at Copia, whose face is smeared in paint, you know yours must be too. Eyes widening in recollection, you quickly touch your neck and look at your hand. But there is no blood on it. You touch it again, prodding at the skin with your fingertips. It feels tender and there are indents, but the skin is not broken.

Huh?

Copia smooths down the front of his cassock and raises an eyebrow as you look at him in bewilderment. “Get up, Sorella.”

“But—” you stop talking when you see him pull a small key out from within his cassock.

“You have a key.” You stare at it as you carefully stand. Where are your knickers?

"How do you think I got in here if I didn't have a key, Sorella?” He scoffs. “Fly in as a bat?"

"No…” You offer him a sheepish look. “I thought a rat."

“A rat.” His expression is blank as you try to tidy yourself up. You look around for your knickers but can’t see them. You shake your head, it wouldn’t be the first time there had been a tryst in the library.

You pull your attention back to the Cardinal. “You like rats. And they’re cute.”

Perhaps that wasn’t the best thing to say to Cardinal Copia but it’s hard to care right now. God that man fucked good. It was not fair, you think.

“Do I look ‘cute’ to you, Sorella?” he asks.

No, he did not. He looked a little insane with his painted lips smeared and his hair a mess.

“You said there were vampires,” you say petulantly, aware that he had just played you for a fool.

He starts to move for the large library doors and you follow, aware that his seed is dripping down your thighs. You need to shower. And to rethink your life choices.

“It’s called a lie," says Copia. He thinks for a moment as he pauses at the door and unlocks it. “Though you’ve had a conversation with Cardinal Georgio. He is like a vampire, the most boring man I’ve ever met. Sucks the fun out of everything.”

You nod emphatically as you lull into this strange comfortable silence with the Cardinal. Cardinal Georgio was so incredibly boring it was honestly impressive. When you’re through the door and it is once more locked, Copia grabs your arm and you turn to face him again, startled by the move. Hells, his paint really is a mess.

“Sorella,” he says.

“Yes?”

He steps close again and your heart picks up. “While I cannot drain you dry, I can do something far worse.”

“What?” you ask, horrified.

“Fail you. Do not read that trash in my lectures again.”

Sempre così bisognoso… - Always so needy…

[yuan4i]

01. what did i walk in on?

“hey, pretty boy…i’d like 2 more shots of pink whitey and then i’ll close my tab.” you mumbled to the bartender. your eyes were teary and wet, eyes glistening under the light at the bar table. “you sure? you look pretty drunk, miss…” the bartender asked you with a worried expression. “what do you mean! i’m the soberest person here at this very moment!" you exclaimed. “alright alright, whatever you say… your total comes to 300 primos. shall i put that on your card?” “... yeah sure, whatever. see you next time, pretty boy.” 

you stumbled out of the bar, walking to the dormitory of your school thinking about the money you’ve spent on drinks. 300 primos? all you drank was a glass of raspberry vodka, pineapple tequila and 3 shots of pink whitey… you didn’t want to return to your dorm, you didn’t want your roommate, lumine, to be concerned and ask why you were drinking so much again. you didn’t want to tell her about your argument with your boyfriend nor did you want her to worry so much about you. instead, you made your way to your friend, lynette’s dorm room. 

soon enough, you arrived at the dorm building and went up the stairs to lynette’s room. you knocked on her door, hoping she’d be awake this late during a school night. “please please please open the door-” “uh, hi? i’m sorry but, do i know you?” a person with short ash blonde hair that looks similar to your friend, lynette, opens the door. tears welled in your eyes again as you looked away from the man. “oh… hi, sorry to disturb you but is lynette here?” you asked him, trying your best not to cry in front of a guy you just met. “i’m sorry but no… she went out for a quick errand.” he replied, sympathetically. “ah… okay. could you please tell her to call me once she comes back? sorry again for bothering you at such a late time at night.” 

you turn around with tears starting to dribble down your eyes until- “wait! don’t go yet. here, come in. you can stay here and wait for her if you’d like.” stay and wait for her? you were willing to do that but you didn’t want to bother a stranger you just met, especially on a school night. “i’m lyney… lynette’s older brother. please, come in.” your ears perked up. lynette has an elder brother? you’ve known her for at least 3 years and she has never mentioned a single word about her brother… or her family. “thank you…” 

now you’re crying on their couch, with lyney sitting beside you. “if you don’t mind me asking, what happened?” he asked you, trying his best to comfort you. you looked over to him, frowning. “oh! uh, i mean- if you don’t want to tell me then you obviously don’t need to! it’s just that i can’t have someone with a pretty face like yours crying!” he nervously rambled out. your face flushed at his words, “really…?” “yes, of course!” after that, you gave in. 

“my boyfriend and i had an argument…i expressed to him how i didn’t like how he acts towards me and other people when he’s upset.” you began.  ��i told him that i didn’t like how he takes his anger out on others, including me… then he proceeded to call me annoying and needy! i was so upset to the point where i immediately retorted and called him so not so nice stuff. it ended with him walking out my dorm… i never intended on having a huge argument with him!” now you were crying even more than before, trying your hardest to wipe away all your tears. 

“oh my dear… you’re quite in a pickle! i’m sorry you're going through that. but may i ask if he still brings you joy? do you feel like you have to walk on eggshells around him just to not make him mad or upset? partners should be able to communicate with each other. he shouldn’t be getting pissed at you communicating with him how you feel. he should listen and talk it out with you to find a solution. if he isn’t willing to listen without getting angry how are you gonna discuss anything else?” lyney said, opening a new box of tissues. 

“sometimes people have their own things to sort out before they are ready to date and it sounds like he isn’t ready to be dedicated to someone else if he lets his anger out on you or gets mad when you try and tell him what he does wrong.” he pulls out a tissue from the box and wiped your eyes. “i’ll brew you some tea, though i doubt it’ll be as good as what lynette would make! feel free to rest on the couch, i'll be with you shortly.” 

ANGEL EYES ✿ prev ❀ masterlist ❀ next

lyney x reader SYNOPSIS you’re at a bar, drinking your heart out after another having a feud with your boyfriend of 2 years. you later stop at your friend’s house to stay the night but… the one who opens the door isn’t her but instead, her brother…?

notes : dudeee i'm soso sorry that the first chapter was written so long :c i know this is a smau but i just HAD to write this chapter for it to make sense... lmk if there are any grammar/spelling mistakes!

[queenofbaws]

I’d like to offer up one ☝️ prompt for six sentence Saturday… Sam’s reaction to the iconic bathroom couch the first time she ever saw it (with the Washington(s) of your choosing 💛)

She'd been quiet for such a long time that there really wasn't any question what was going on in that precious little head of hers, but Josh wasn't the sort of guy who interrupted someone when they were having themselves a good, long rumination; nah, he was happy enough to stand there, waiting, one of his hands resting on an upholstered arm as he pretended to scope out his own bathroom with a guest's appreciative eyes.

"So, it's...hmm," and that's how it began, her posture shifting so her head tilted to one side and the hip opposite jutted out, her eyes slowly tracing the couch's sight-lines, "...it's...what's it for, exactly?"

"Depends on who you ask." He lifted his other hand (the one not supporting his weight), ticking them off one by one, "According to Pops, you can use it for just about anything - clothes, towels, sitting and doing needlework like a chaste Victorian lady as you wait for the suds to really hit - Mom says it's good for getting black lung, Beth claims it's the primo spot for perverts - and who am I to correct her? - and dear, dear sweet Hannah likes to pretend it's full of a studio audience listening to her being interviewed on the world's first bathtub-based talk show."

Sam let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh before shaking her head, coyly turning her eyes to him as if she already knew the answer to the question she was about to ask; "And, uh, you think...?" she teased, her eyebrows arching high.

"Oh, I like to think of it as the Titanic special," he answered, smirking but not laughing as he patted the couch's arm, really making her guess at whether he was being serious or not, "by which I mean, play your cards right and who knows - maybe I get all nice and cozy on this bad boy, draw you like one of my French girls, see where the rest of the night goes, huh?"

six sentence sat(or)sunday!!!

[saruman-the-silly]

Oh hello... I wanted to make a request, I wanted to know how the Papas would react to seeing that y/n is a little chubby. Because I was looking in the mirror and I was so sad about what I saw, and now I'm lying in bed scrolling through Tumblr thinking about making this request... You don't have to do it if you don't want to, It's just that I love the way you write that I kept thinking about it.

I very much want to, thank you very much :D there is nothing, and I repeat, nothing wrong with being a little chubby, or being a lot more chubby! Whatever size you are, you are beautiful, remember that <3

This also gives me a reason to finally write something for Primo and Secondo so thank you hehe

soooooo I present to you, headcanons about the papas with a chubby reader! (gender neutral ofc hehe)

(I wrote this kind of quickly so if there are horrible grammatical errors, I will try and fix them as I find them lol)

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

Headcanons: Papas with a chubby reader

Primo:

He's very old, and a bit old-fashioned, so he just instantly thought you were an angel when he saw you. Back in his days, the curvier you were, the more attractive you were.

When he got to know you as a person, he grew to love you very quickly.

All of your curves and imperfections were a work of art for him.

Primo is also such a gentle person, and would notice the instant you were feeling down/insecure. He doesn't pressure you to talk about it though, but he still makes sure you know that he's there for you.

If you wanna talk tho? He would listen really well, and after you had poured your insecurities out on the table, he would assure you that your curves just made you more, well, you. And you were his amore, the most beautiful thing in the world.

Secondo:

He's a serious guy who does not like to talk about emotions and stuff. (I don't think he even knows how but lmao anyway)

Secondo's usually serious and no-bullshit charade was quickly torn away by you and your delightful presence. (He was freaking out like crazy when he first met you, Terzo would not let him forget how he stumbled over his words when he was first introduced to you)

Also, fuck, he couldn't keep his eyes from you. Every time you are in a same room with him, his gaze almost involuntarily shifts back to you.

He loves you. So much. So when you came to him, telling how you didn't think you looked good, he was a little confused. How could you see yourself in such a light, when you had made such an impact on him?

He reassures you that yes, he wants to be with you and nobody else.

He doesn't really know say anything else. But he doesn't need to, his actions prove the endless love he harbours for you.

Terzo:

Ah, Terzo, our hopeless romantic.

Terzo has seen many different types of bodies up close and personal during his life, but not one of them could match your beauty.

Needless to say, when he first met you he fell. Hard. Like, head over heels. Out the door went his playboy days, he only had eyes for you.

He literally worships the ground you walk on.

You had trouble believing him, when he confessed his undying love for you. (Don't blame him he just likes to be theatrical but he really did mean it)

You confessed to Terzo about your insecurities, and he proved himself to be a great listener. After talking, he reassured you that yes, he meant what he said, yes, he wants to be with you.

He would then bring you in front of a mirror, and gently kiss and caress all the parts of your body you are insecure about.

Copia:

He would understand your struggles very well. Having a history with insecurities himself, Copia isn't a stranger to body dysmorphia.

Copia loves you. So much. You helped him get through a lot of his insecurities, so, now was his turn.

He let you vent, while making you a cup of tea, and wrapped you in a tight hug afterwards. You cried in his arms and he just held you and comforted you.

Copia is very direct about his feelings toward you. He lists all the things he loves about you, and tells you how you size just makes you all the more perfect. (the man loves thick thighs)

He would do his best to make you see yourself in the same light he sees you. Copia gently traces over your stretchmarks with his finger, then kisses them and whispers to you how beautiful you are.

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

Thanks for the request annnd enjoy :D

Remember, you are beautiful no matter your size <3

[bubblegumbarbie33]

The Lost Boys Using Slang From When I Headcanon They Got Turned

David, 1910's: This hunt is gonna be duck soup, don't worry about it. Marko's just being a goldbrick cause he doesn't want to deal with dumping the bodies. Yes- we DO have to dump the bodies Marko, remember that time in the 40's you ended up in the hoosegow because you ripped those honey-mooner's throats out and left the evidence behind? Oh, you wanna go, ya bimbo? Yeah, that's what I thought. You gotta quit letting me get on yer nerves ya crackpot.

Michael, leaning over whisper to Dwayne: What the fuck is he saying?

-

Marko, 1930's: Ackamarackus! It's gonna be aces! Quite talking that booshwash and gimme a five-spot so I can nab us some rotgut from the convenience store. Don't be a tightwad, Paul, I know you've got some dough in your pockets. I can't just filch it from 'em, last time I did that the coppers got on my ass and I had to rip their throats out.

Michael, whispering softly to himself: What the fuck?

-

Dwayne, 1950's: Well, half of the time Marko and Paul act like little ankle-biters. Somehow they always manage to feed girls on the boardwalk some smooth apple butter though. Although last time Paul got a little too excited and flashed his teeth- had those girls beating feet pretty quick. They had a bitchin' ride, really burned rubber on the way out, but we caught 'em. It should be easy for you to draw in the ladies Michael, you're a bit of dreamboat. Oh, don't have a cow David, no one's stealing him from you. Besides, Michael's a bit too nerdy to impress me. I mean it! Word from the bird!

Michael, mouthing silently: Word from the bird?

-

Paul, 1970's: You're not gonna get all flower power on us, are you? I'm gonna be honest Michael, sometimes when we're rapping it gets a little too peace and lovey for my taste. Wait, hang on, I wanna listen to the lick in this song. There it is. You know, these guys are doing a gig up in L.A. later this year- I'm stoked. David thinks they're a little off the wall, but I just think they've got a certain X-Factor, y'know?

Michael, nodding: I can actually understand the words that are coming out of your mouth right now.

-

Bonus, Star and Michael, 1980's:

Star: Ugh, bag your face Michael, you look like you just got hit by a truck.

Michael: I had to book it back here, alright, I didn't have time to clean up.

Star: That's cause you're turning into a total couch potato. You just lie on the ground after you eat- y'know it's just like a man-

Michael: Star, don't be a hoser alright, it's not because I'm a MAN-

Star: No, I'm being legit, like, I've been reading a lot of interesting literature about feminism and how woman are socialized-

Michael: Where are you getting books from?

Star: Dwayne has a library card. Y'know Santa Carla's got a primo library.

Michael: What- Oh, shit, some of that skater didn't go down right, I think I'm gonna ralph.

Star: Smooth move, Travolta. Ugh- dude, you puked on my shoes, what's your damage?

David and the boys, watching from the corner: Kids these days sound so weird.

[ficandkaboodle]

Headcanon I Don’t Really Believe But Wow is it Fun to Imagine #669

The vision in the left eye is always a crapshoot and it can fuck with a Papa’s mind if he lets it. Sometimes both eyes have 20/20 vision. Other times, it’s far-sighted but like. Hawk levels. It can get very overwhelming seeing that amount of detail in only one eye. Sometimes the vision levels are the same, but the left eye can see things not visible to regular humans (spirits, tiny imps, etc). Sometimes, though, it’s just-plain normal.

Primo’s left eye was very near-sighted, warped to see the composition of the spirits of people in his vision. Unfortunately, being that he was mostly surrounded by the Clergy, he became convinced of peoples’ rottenness. It wasn’t until he went on tours and began to see more variety in the composition of peoples’ souls that he began to question if maybe there are perhaps some people who aren’t entirely vermin. He keeps this to himself.

Secondo had 20/20 vision but was able to see auras. Wore shades to combat how overwhelming seeing all those colors could be. Large rituals requiring him to go without would mess with his mood due to overstimulation, but that’s only a part of why he became seen as so moody.

Terzo could see visions of possible futures play out in his left eye sometimes, while his right eye just worked like a regular one: It made him see things as they unfortunately were. Being able to see the possibilities while being forced to also see their realities took a toll on him, contributing to his simultaneous disappointment in everything around him while also chasing beauty. Meliora always exists in his left eye.

I think Copia thinks his eyes are pretty normal, as he doesn’t seem to see too far or too close or bizarre things. After all, Ma and Psaltarian can see Old Man Nihil. But here’s my headcanon within a headcanon: He probably can see more ghosts and spirits that live in the Abbey — if he became more willing to see them. Say what you will, but Copia is pretty self-focused while also being bad at focusing. I think maybe it’s possible that there’s also room for residual trauma or ignorance that also keeps him from fully realizing just how much exists around him. Maybe seeing Sister, Nihil, and the Twins is easier because he at least knows them. But maybe by opening himself up to the actual history of those that came before him, that, too, once existed, would allow him to one day blink and see that there’s ghosts in the Abbey. And they’ve always been there…

Bonus:

Nihil’s eye kind of screwed him over: Similar to Terzo, it causes him to visualize and focus on pretty things. Though in Nihil’s case, it’s hedonistic. He sees the beautiful potential something or someone can have in playing a part in a chase of delights. It’s part of why he can’t look at Sister without looking at who she once was; why he can’t look at his reflection without seeing who he was, what he could’ve been. Granted, I think his obsessive tendencies and homegrown inability to be here in the now definitely made it worse by making him cling to the past. What was meant to be a tool to visualize delights got morphed by his own humanness and turned into a crutch for him to rely on instead of growing.

[ramblingoak]

Shooting His Shot

Terzo x Omega ~ This takes place in the Butt Sparkle Verse along with Copia on ICE! It's the Winter Olympics and Omega gets distracted hearing his favorite ABBA song playing nearby...

This was directly inspired by this amazing work by @ghuleh-recs!

Warnings: everyone is younger than canon in this verse, love struck Omega, grumpy older brother Secondo and a Terzo that knows exactly what (and who) he wants, nsfw due to a brief daydream by Omega, 870 words

It was the ABBA blaring over the speakers that got his attention. 

There’s probably a joke there about ABBA and being Swedish but whatever.  Omega’s heard them all.  It helped that “Voulez-Vous” was his favorite song.  Well technically his mom’s favorite song but after hearing it so many times as a kid growing up it had wormed its way into his heart.  He always thought of dancing around the kitchen with her whenever he heard it.  So initially he was just curious why it was being played, although he wasn’t surprised to see it was due to a figure skater. 

He was surprised by the skull paint though.  

Of course that was only the first thing that caught his eye.  His outfit was next, an elaborate costume that was sheer enough to see nipples and dark hair.  It had to be borderline regulation and knowing how the officials at the Olympics could be he bet they still bitched about it.  The man’s entire body seemed to sparkle as he sped around the rink.  Countless spins and jumps being executed at a speed that made even Omega tired.  

“Can I help you?”

All the blood in Omega’s body froze at the sound of the voice at his back.  Omega would know that voice anywhere.  Deep and accented, he had heard it many times in his life and each time it always managed to strike a note of fear into him.  You couldn't be a hockey player anywhere without knowing who that voice belonged to. Slowly, like he was a creature trying not to upset a predator, he turned around to face another man in skull paint.

“Secondo.  Hey.”

Jesus, great first impression.  Secondo raised an eyebrow and impatiently crossed his arms.

“I’m waiting.”

“Uh, I don’t need any help.”  He winced at the raised eyebrow that got.  “Was just watching.”

“Watching my brother.”

“Yeah.  I like this song.”  Of course that was when the song stopped and Omega turned to see the man out on the ice striking a pose and breathing heavily. 

“Well the song is done so it’s time to go.”

Omega sighed, dragging his eyes from the ice right as the man relaxed and looked his way.  He took a few steps towards Secondo before stopping and taking a quick breath. 

“It’s Terzo right?  Your brother.”

“Sì!”  Omega turned back towards the rink and was immediately met with a shining set of eyes, one green and one as white as the ice he was standing on.  “It’s Terzo.  And what’s your name, bello?”

“He’s leaving, it doesn’t matter.”  Secondo brushed past him as he addressed his younger brother.  “Get dressed so we can meet Copia and Primo.”

“It’s Omega.”  Fuck it, he wouldn’t be a good hockey player if he didn’t know when to shoot his shot.  “Nice to meet you.”

He chose to focus on Terzo’s amazing smile rather than Secondo’s glare.  

“Omega.”  Terzo dragged out the ‘a’ sound far longer than necessary.  He had a brief vision in his head of Terzo also doing that while Omega pounded into him and holy fuck he was in so much trouble.  “Judging by my fratello’s hostility I’m assuming you play hockey, sì?”

“Yep.”  He dared to walk closer to the ice, really not sure where all this bravery was coming from but also knowing it had everything to do with how Terzo was looking at him.  “Sweden.”

“Ah, well that’s a pity.”  Terzo set his elbows on the short wall around the rink and rested his chin in his hands.  “Here I was hoping you were Italian and I’d see you more.”

“You can see me whenever you like.”  He hazarded a glance at Secondo and immediately regretted it.  The glare enough to tamp down the brief moment of suave bravery he was feeling.  “I mean, if you want?”

“Oh I definitely want, in fact why don’t we do lun—“

A burst of Italian from Secondo had Omega flinching and Terzo glaring at his brother.  He straightened up from his lean and spat something back at him.  The two went back and forth for a moment before Secondo threw his hands up in the air with an irritated shout.  He directed one last glare Omega’s way before storming off.  

“He ok?” 

“Sì, he’s just tense.  Lots of pressure.  You know how it is.” 

Omega nodded because he did know how it was.  And with this being the Winter Olympics all that pressure was amplified exponentially.  He had no doubt there would be an even larger target on his back if Sweden and Italy met on the ice this year.  But with Secondo gone he felt the spark of bravery returning and knew this was as good a chance as he’d get.  

“So.  Lunch?”  

Terzo smirked and started skating backwards along the wall.  Omega followed him like a duckling, watching as his muscles moved under his costume.  

“Lunch to start with.”  Terzo exited the rink, grabbing his blade covers and easily slipping them on.  “I’m sure we can find something to do after.”  

Omega grinned, ducking his head for a moment to hide his blush.  When he looked up Terzo had moved closer and Omega was definitely in trouble here.  Talk about love at first sight.  

Although the ABBA definitely helped too.

And thus the Butt Sparkle Verse begins...

Read Copia on ICE! part one

My Masterlist ~ My Archive of our Own ~ My Ko-Fi Tip Jar

[writingjourney]

don't ask me about secondo ever or you will hear me rambling out a whole character analysis for two hours because I am DEDICATED to this man, he is my wife.

EDIT – Okay you did it.

Some SFW Secondo HCs:

had to deal with the highest expectations out of the brothers, being older than Terzo and a lot younger than Primo it was clear that his Papacy would be of importance and Nihil expected him to excel while not necessarily providing the necessary guidance (especially when Terzo turned out to be more rebellious in nature)

being Nihil’s “favorite” did not come with all the benefits one might suspect, no more attention, no more love or care, only more work and pressure within the clergy

outside of the family many people never realised how he suffered from this neglect and exploitation and therefore do not perceive his trauma as that, often mistake his character for being cold/aloof when really he is just masking extremely hard and trying to appear unaffected and professional

while he was prepared for his future role, he quickly realised that his needs weren’t of importance, only his work and his rise within the clergy and so he learned that it is better not to ask and appear weak (so they don’t consider him unfitting)

while Primo did the best he could to replace their absent father, the clergy’s demands on the future Papa never allowed him to be quite the father figure that he wished he could be for his younger brothers – Secondo had to learn fast how to take care of himself and how to protect his younger brother from the clergy’s influences

despite detesting the clergy’s inner mechanisms, Secondo is a man of duty and has accepted that he was put on this path in Lucifer’s name

just before and after becoming Papa he quickly learned that bringing in own ideas just leads to dismissal and that being Papa made him a vessel for the ideals of the clergy which he grew to detest (“I’m a marionette”), also quickly learned that it is wiser not to rebel against them

this made him worried for Terzo who already had a lot of plans for his own Papacy that weren’t in line with the clergy’s agenda

through it all he found a lot of solace in his faith, is the most spiritual out of all the Papas with a special fondness for the modern symbolism of Baphomet that represents balance and wholeness (“And he's as macho as he is connected to the softer, more feminine part of himself” X), something that means a lot to him who is caught in a lot of turbulent emotions, this spirituality and also his high level of literacy is pretty evident in his music

therefore: best spiritual guide/advisor out of all the Papas, knows the right quotes and the right words to provide comfort and reassurance to bring you back on your path, way more empathetic than people give him credit for based on his cool demeanour, even though he is someone who quietly reassures you and uses a more reason based approach

because of all of this he has grown to be a very measured man who will always weigh reason and emotions against each other, rarely will you see him lose his temper on the outside, being in control of his emotions is important to him because that way he can have a sense of power he lacked when he was younger (also means he cannot let loose and relax easily, this man is TENSE and his shoulders hate him for it)

if someone wrongs him that person will get the cold shoulder and honestly, being the object of his scorn is worse, disappointing him is worse than his anger and he never forgets anything, this man has a whole drawer of receipts

doesn’t hate anyone as much as himself, the top spot is however taken by his neglectful, uncaring father who never knew how to act like a parent

if he does lose his temper it will usually not be on behalf of himself but someone else he truly cares about (his brothers, his lover, his protégés etc) and even so his anger is not the loud, yelling or violent kind but the kind that sends chills down your spine (his looks alone can kill and he finds the perfect sharp words to hurt you)

soft-spoken (not quite as much as Primo though), very calculated and minimalist in what he shows on the outside but his words usually hit where and how they’re supposed to (just listen to his voice on Infest and some of his speeches on stage, it’s quiet and haunting)

very much a quality over quantity sort of person – good food, good drinks, nice clothes he can wear for a long time, simple luxuries that go a long way and add to his comfort

big earth sign energy when it comes to his habits, works hard, has high expectations, good with money, particular about how he does things but generous with those he loves

good luck trying to get this man to open to up to you, he will not overshare and you have to pry every bit of more intimate personal information out of him, especially about his childhood

however, he is a very willing and patient teacher if you want to learn about his special interests or happen to sit in one of his classes, especially if you show potential and interest

self-sabotages a lot, especially when it comes to romantic relationships, for flings he avoids anything too intimate which extends to his preferred sex positions as well as kissing, when he notices he could really like someone he will find reasons why it doesn’t work (commitment issues), scared to be hurt and also scared to inflict pain and false hopes on someone else

when he does fall for someone and overcomes his fears he is the most loyal and supportive partner, you will be surprised by how loving and gentle he is with you, by how romantic he is (not in the cheesy way but in that soft, caring way who wants to love forever), pays close attention to your needs and preferences and never forgets anything

love languages: shows love with acts of service, gift giving and also quality time, likes to receive physical touch (loves to cuddle but is hesitant to initiate, would never admit how much he loves kisses to his face and hand holding but you can tell after some time), quality time and words of affirmation (so many times until he finally believes them)