#Oil Ministry | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

da-rulah · 6 months ago

Text

Rubenesque - Secondo x F! Plus Size Reader

Summary: Retirement had its perks. For Secondo, one of those was being able to spend much more time on the things he enjoyed. And there were only two things he truly enjoyed these days; art, and you. Although if you asked him, he’d insist that they were one and the same.

So how would he react when he learns that your peers are mocking your sinfully gorgeous body, and you're struggling to love yourself?

Rating: Explicit, 18+ Only

Word Count: 7.8k

Warnings: Fatphobic comments, low self esteem, sensual sex, semi-public sex, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), body worship, p in v sex, creampie

A/N: Yes, this is self-indulgent. Sue me. And whilst it is a plus size reader fic, anybody can still enjoy Artist Secondo who enjoys his women...

Disclaimer: The painting in the header has been modified using photoshop to edit out a creepy old man. It is a Rubens painting, named "The Hermit and the Sleeping Angellica". It's important to also note, Rubens never painted any scenes for the satanic church. This is fiction for this particular story.

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | TIP JAR

Retirement had its perks. For Secondo, one of those was being able to spend much more time on the things he enjoyed. And there were only two things he truly enjoyed these days; art, and you. Although if you asked him, he’d insist that they were one and the same.

Except, you were finding it harder and harder to believe him in that regard. With the whispers of harsh siblings as you passed in the hall managing to reach your ears, you were struggling more and more to understand why you were one of Secondo’s favourite things at all. He was unaware of your harsh feelings towards yourself, let alone of the whispers in the halls. But then, now he spent most of his time in his art studio on the edge of the grounds, you weren’t surprised that he was oblivious to the going’s on in the Ministry. Now that his younger brother was running the show, he didn't have to meddle quite so much in the politics of the Clergy. He’d only get involved when they tried to undermine Terzo; something he would never stand for, no matter how much he aggravated him. The burden had been passed on, and after decades of devotion and servitude, he figured he’d earned a little respite.

His studio was his sanctuary. Few were allowed to set foot inside; the exceptions being his brothers, and you, naturally. You still remember the first time he invited you in. It had been one of your first official dates, and he’d set up a quaint little dinner by candlelight surrounded by his art and tools, showing you a piece of him so heavily guarded from the outside world, lest they think he’d gone soft.

The studio itself was rather beautiful. It had once been a greenhouse, ornate green iron housing panels of thick glass from floor to ceiling. The panes considered as walls were covered in old stained-glass patterns of every colour in the shape of intricate florals. It had belonged to Papa Primo before, but in his old age, he simply didn’t have the time to run multiple greenhouses, and chose to keep the ones he did work out of closer to the Abbey itself to save him the trouble of a long walk. But for Secondo, it was perfect.

Now out of commission, the old greenhouse had been repurposed into his own studio. Shelves of pots had been replaced by blank canvases; racks of plants now saved for his supplies. He’d added a potter’s wheel and small kiln at some point too – one of his many artistic adventures that he revisited from time to time.

But his chosen medium had always been oil paints. Despite his talents in clay sculpting, pottery, sketch work, watercolour - any and all of it - oil paints were the greatest weapon in his arsenal. Many of his paintings hung in the Ministry, amongst the art commissioned centuries ago by various painters of the Renaissance and Baroque eras. Some of these painters had been commissioned to do large pieces in Catholic places of worship too, but had been swayed by the money and a promise of a life free from judgement to paint beautifully dark imagery throughout.

Secondo’s oil paintings fit right in, his style similar to the artists he’d admired for much of his life. His subject matter varied, from beautiful scenes of sin, to intricate studies of the human form, to landscapes and still life. You adored his work, finding yourself having to rotate the canvases you hung in your quarters when he’d gift you a new one every so often.

As Secondo spent the summer evening on the finer details of a scene from the Book of Revelations, the sun had begun to illuminate the colours of the stained glass with a warmth that cascaded over the stone floors. When you’d quietly entered into the studio so as not to disturb his focus, you were struck yet again by the beauty of his hideout.

The coloured rays of light cascaded over your lover, stood at his easel without any acknowledgement of your arrival. How one man could look so dreamy, as if he’d been plucked from the most romantic of novels, was beyond you. You could only see him from behind, but it didn’t go unnoticed how his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the fabric stretching over his thick arms and solid back and tucked into his slacks. His apron was tied around his waist, pulling him in and showcasing a strong torso that Pythagoras himself would theorise about.

Secondo was an artwork you wished you could paint and immortalise yourself. But you’d have to settle for committing this to memory instead as you approached where he stood, pulling a stool from a workbench and gently setting it down beside him.

“Buonasera, amore mio,” he greeted as you sat, never taking his eyes from the canvas as his fingers handled his brush so carefully.

“That’s beautiful,” you told him honestly, eyes scanning the half-finished work of the Whore of Babylon atop her beast of seven heads.

Secondo smiled, his eyes flicking to the side to look at you briefly as he muttered a “grazie.” He continued the detail he was trying to finish, the two of you settling into comfortable silence. You hadn’t come here to chat, anyway – more to escape, than anything. You had once again heard harsh whispers of cruel siblings as you’d passed them in the halls not twenty minutes before deciding to find Secondo, and you weren’t sure you could take anymore today. You simply wanted his company.

“I may need your assistance soon, mia musa (my muse),” he announced after a few moments of quiet. “I will finish this soon, and I need some... inspiration,” he paused to smirk back at you momentarily, “for my next work.”

“What could I help with?” you asked, your tone somewhat dejected. Secondo stilled, his brow creasing as his head tilted slightly in your direction enough to be able to study you. If you’d been looking at him instead of your fingers in your lap, you’d have seen the way he squinted at you, noticing everything.

“I want to paint you, mia musa,” he explained so gently, reaching towards you to tilt your chin up to him. When he met your eyes, he knew instantly something was the matter; you never avoided his gaze like that.

“I wouldn’t make a very good subject matter...” you shook your head, standing up and wandering over to the rack of finished canvases Secondo was yet to do anything with. You looked through them, your mind elsewhere unable to really take in the art itself.

Secondo studied you from his easel, watching with concerned curiosity. Something wasn’t right; that was incredibly obvious to him. He’d known you long enough and intimately enough to know that you weren’t yourself. And it didn’t sit right with him that you were putting yourself down either.

You ran your fingertips over the tops of a particular art piece of his, feeling the texture of dried paint as your thoughts raced through every comment you’d heard through the halls since your relationship with Secondo had gone public. Such hurtful things about you and how you looked...

“At least Papa Secondo is strong - he’ll need to be...”

“I know... he could have his pick of sisters, and he chose her?”

The laughter and digs at your body rattled around in your head; so much so, that you weren’t aware that Secondo had noticed at all until two strong arms were wrapping themselves around your waist from behind you, his unusually bare palms flattening against your stomach which had you recoiling instinctively. Secondo’s hold on you loosened, his hands hovering around you instead as he tried to work out what he’d done wrong.

“Amore, I-”

“I’m uh... I’m sorry, just...” you back peddled, trying to find an excuse for how you were acting that wouldn’t result in more questions, but you had nothing. Instead, you slid out from between him and the rack in front of you, back to his easel to find something to occupy your hands and avoid further conversation. You’d come here to watch him work in silence, to avoid people yet to not feel alone. You didn’t want to talk about this and make it into a bigger deal than it was.

But Secondo watched you still, feeling oddly rejected for the first time with you. You’d never refused his touch before, never run away from him before. He could only imagine he might have said or done something wrong... Perhaps he was spending too much of his attention on his art and not on you. But that had never been an issue before – he’d always made such an effort to balance his affections.

He took a few steps towards you, slowly like he was testing the waters, but you could barely even look at him, studying his half-finished painting instead as your cheeks began to ache from holding back unshed tears.

“Have... Have I upset you, amore?” he asked cautiously, keeping his distance if that’s what you wanted. You pressed your lips together hard, taking a deep breath in and shaking your head. “You can tell me, I won’t be angry. I’d like to know so I could correct it-”

“You haven’t,” you interrupted him, still focussed on the painting as one pesky little tear dripped down your cheek. With such a keen eye for detail, he noticed immediately, and his chest tightened. He was at your side in just a few quick strides.

“Amore, what is it?” he asked, frantic but being so gentle with you as if he’d break you with a simple touch. His fingertips once again guided your chin to look at him, and when you saw the concern and fear in his eyes you could hardly hold up the dam anymore.

You tried to speak, but the words got stuck in your throat. You didn’t want him to worry, and you knew if you told him everything, he’d want names. But now the tears were flowing, it made speaking all that much harder. Secondo waited patiently, wiping at the tears as they fell with the pads of his thumbs.

“I just... I’m not sure I understand why... you’re attracted to me,” you hiccupped, your shoulders shaking, eyes trained on your feet. Secondo was taken aback... Why wouldn’t he be attracted to you?

“Amore, you... you are one of the most beautiful creatures I have ever laid eyes on, what are you talking about? Have I not been making you feel so?” he panicked, immediately thinking perhaps he had been neglecting you in some way. But surely not, he told you how beautiful you were at least once a day in some shape or form. And it wasn’t as if your sex life together had been dwindling...

“N-no, I know you are attracted to me, I just... Don’t understand why,” you sniffled, meeting his eyes. “Nobody else would-”

“Why does anybody else matter?” That stumped you. You couldn’t explain yourself without informing him of what he didn’t hear himself when he spent his days in his studio, away from the whispers. You didn’t have much choice, here...

“They... they talk,” you mumbled.

“Who?”

“The siblings. They whisper, they believe you deserve better, they don’t understand why you would pick me.”

Secondo’s face darkened, the hard lines of a lifetime of stress forming deeper crevices across his brow. He was infuriated to know that members of his own congregation could be so narrow minded, despite the decades of teachings of what beauty meant and learning to accept anybody and everybody, no matter who they are or how they looked... But above that, he was enraged at the thought they were hurting you. He would find them and tear them a new asshole – but his first and only concern was you.

“There is not a single thing about you that isn’t beautiful, amore. Do you not see it?” That only made you cry harder, because no, you didn’t see it. You had struggled with your body image for so long, and while you did your best to tell yourself you were beautiful despite your hang ups about your weight, you’d never come to love yourself in the way you intended.

“I just... I struggle to see how all this,” you gestured to your body, “is beautiful. It’s not easy when the world is constantly telling you your body is wrong,” you cried. Secondo had no idea of the years of torment you’d faced at the hands of your peers, no matter where in life you found yourself. Beauty standards had plagued you for the longest time, and it constantly chipped away at the shred of self-confidence you had.

Secondo stepped closer to you, an arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer as he wiped your tears again. “There is nothing wrong about your body, mia musa. You are un'opera d'arte (a work of art), no?”

He was doing his best to comfort you, to tell you how exquisite you were but he could tell in the way you looked away from him with a small shake of your head that you didn’t believe it. All those years of being told your body wasn’t attractive had worn you down, and now you were hearing it all over again in the one place you should be able to feel truly comfortable. Secondo wouldn’t stand for it.

The arm around your waist dropped to untie his apron, lifting it from over his head and throwing it down onto the stool he’d been working from. Then he threaded his fingers through yours, with a tight and reassuring grasp. “Come with me,” he told you, giving your hand a light tug as he stepped back. You followed him, allowing him to walk you out of the studio and through the gardens towards the Abbey. Panic washed over you, thinking he was taking you to confront the siblings in question.

“Secondo, I don’t want to talk to them-”

“That’s not where we’re going,” he assured you, “but they will be dealt with.” His protectiveness of you made your chest ache. How did this man adore you this much? You may never know.

The grounds were relatively deserted. The sun was dipping below the mountainous horizon, casting a deeper orange glow over the Ministry and signalling the end of another day. The majority of Siblings were busy with their own lives, spending their downtime in the mess hall or in their dorms. A few stragglers were walking through the halls, including a couple of the siblings who’d whispered such cruel things to you.

Secondo felt your hand squeeze his momentarily, and when he looked, he saw the look of embarrassment on your face as you walked towards them. He put two and two together very quickly when the siblings in question watched on, staring at you with amused little smiles. As Secondo marched you down the hall, his glare stuck on them and the moment they looked at his face, their smiles fell to looks of fear. Even as he walked you past where they stood, he stared with a look of thunder that chilled each of them to the bone - and rightly so.

But he kept walking, until he stopped outside the large doors to the chapel. He dropped your hand only to open the heavy door and push it open.

Inside the chapel, a handful of siblings were busy replacing candles and reordering the pew cushions as were their duties after any kind of service. At the sound of the heavy door creaking at the top of the aisle, all of their heads whipped around and stared in confusion between you and Secondo. He ushered you inside and held the door open as he turned to the siblings.

“Out,” he ordered, his face stern and in no way amused by the puzzled looked the siblings shared between them. No one moved, looking around at the jobs that were yet to be done around the chapel.

“B-but, Papa... we still have to-” one of them stuttered, Secondo’s mere presence and demeanour enough to have the poor soul on edge.

“OUT!” he yelled, startling even you who jumped beside him. The siblings didn’t argue, knowing better than to stick around and hurried out of the door past the two of you. Once the last sibling had scurried out, Secondo closed the door with a heavy slam, pulling the wooden plank down that bolted it shut from inside.

He walked around the pews towards the edge of the Chapel, stopping in front of one of the murals that had been painted centuries ago. He gazed up at it, before looking back at you and holding out his hand for you to join him. You did so with caution; not because you were scared of him, more so plagued by your own insecurity than anything. But when you approached his side and placed your hand in his, he held it so gently, guiding you closer to his side. Now stood shoulder to shoulder, you followed his gaze to the beautiful artwork on the wall that Secondo himself had worked to restore and keep in perfect condition since he was a young man.

“What do you see, when you look at this?” he asked with tenderness, leaning down but never taking his eyes off the painting, “what do you notice?”

You studied the images in front of you; a large scene of the Garden of Eden that differed from the traditional depictions. In this scene, it was Adam who was eating the apple, the Devil’s serpent coiled around a branch above Eve’s head. It showed the truth of that long-standing story, falsely peddled and passed down through centuries. Adam had been the one to sin, and lied to protect himself. The apple had become stuck in Adam’s throat as he lied to his God, hence the anatomical term ‘Adam’s apple’ that only men are born with. Eve sat on the roots of the large tree, weeping at Adam’s betrayal. She had played no part in this sin, and yet, she was to be blamed for it; but even that was not the first injustice of a patriarchy.

“It’s... Adam’s betrayal. I see a woman scorned and forced to carry a burden of centuries of judgement,” you told him, feeling almost like a student being quizzed by her professor. You wanted to get the right answer, even if art was subjective.

“Eve looks beautiful, no?” he asked, waving his hand in her general direction.

“Of course,” you told him, her ethereal presence highlighted with gentle pastel colours, her body on display as she wept on the large tree roots in a way that could only be described as elegant. Eve was one of the first of many scapegoats throughout the teachings of the Bible, and yet, not the first woman to have been cast from the Garden of Eden. Another painting on the opposite side of the Chapel depicted that first woman; Lilith.

Secondo turned around, again guiding you by the hand to the other side of the large Chapel where her painting resided. Her scene showed her expulsion from the Garden of Eden long before Eve was created from Adam’s rib. Lilith was Adam’s equal, his first wife, born of the same soil as him. And yet, because she didn’t obey Adam, she was cast out.

Again, this was how the Bible would describe Lilith; rogue, disobedient and evil. But this was merely a patriarchal fantasy, her story twisted and moulded into a lie through generations. Truthfully, Adam believed Lilith should lie beneath him during the marital act – sex – but Lilith had disagreed, stating they were of the same soil, the same earth and were equal. She should not have to lie beneath him at all. That is what got her cast out of the Garden.

In her scene, she looks freed. There is no weeping, no remorse. She looks strong and independent, marching her way towards the fallen Angel known as Lucifer to begin her work with him; as his equal. Her painting is a triumph, and she looks as beautiful as you had always seen her.

“And what do you notice here?” Secondo asked, his tone still so calm and tranquil, how he always spoke of his beloved art.

“I... I see Lilith, marching towards her truth and forging her own identity.”

“And she looks beautiful too, does she not?”

“Well yes, of course,” you agreed without hesitation, but you were confused as to his point.

“These women – these two symbols of our very existence – do you notice what they have in common, amore mio?”

“Adam’s betrayal,” you scoffed. Secondo smirked.

“Well, sí, sí, but... I mean to look beyond the meaning of the scene itself, and look solely at them, their form.”

You looked behind you back at the painting on the other wall, scanning Eve before turning back to Lilith to find the similarities. But you were at a loss. Different hair colours, slightly different skin tones, different coloured eyes.

“I don’t follow?” you admitted, feeling a little silly for not understanding.

“You say they are beautiful, sí? And of course, hai ragione (you are right). But,” he stopped, stepping closer to the painting and reaching his fingertips out to trace the nude body of Lilith, having you look closer. He lowered his voice to almost a whisper, and said, “their bodies, amore... Do you not see?”

His fingertips continued to trace the artwork, every beautiful curve of Lilith’s figure, unashamedly thicker like her flesh would ripple if the painting came to life. Secondo looked back to you, a softness in his eyes as he watched it dawn on you. You’d never noticed before, never questioned it but now that you were looking around at all of the artwork in the chapel, you noticed more and more that the prominent women, the ones whose beauty and power are marvelled within your religion, looked like you...

Your eyes glossed over with emotion; how had you missed that? The very essence of beauty, and their bodies were nourished, full and spectacularly curvy. They were voluptuous and had always been revered throughout time as soft, feminine figures of power.

“These paintings, amore, were all commissioned by a painter known as Peter Paul Rubens. Do you know of him?” he asked, turning his back to the painting to stand in front of you, still holding your hand. You shook your head, pressing your lips together in the fight to keep your cheeks dry. “He is very famous for how he painted women. He enjoyed the larger women; more of them meant more beauty to paint. And people worshipped the women in his paintings, fawned over them. He became so famous for his portrayal of beauty, that there is a term for a thicker, healthy, beautiful woman such as you, mio dolce...”

He took a step closer to you, his free hand brushing strands of hair you’d let fall to conceal your face away behind your ear, so he could see you in all your beauty. The softness in his eyes he reserved only for you forced a stutter in your pulse, seeing the adoration he never tried to mask since the moment he’d met you when you joined the Ministry months ago.

And then he leaned forward, his hand slipping to the back of your neck to keep you gently in place while he brought his lips to your ear, and whispered, “Rubenesque...”

Your hand squeezed his in a visceral response, something you couldn’t control. Secondo lingered there, completely consuming your personal space as he was always so welcome to do.

“Dolcezza, you have been mia musa since the moment I laid eyes on you. If I could not have you, then I knew I at least needed to paint you – over and over again, if you would allow me.” As he spoke, the hand holding the back of your neck began to trail down your spine, making a beeline for your waist where he gripped a handful of your body and gently squeezed. “You instantly reminded me of all of my most treasured art pieces, an amalgamation of the strength, power and elegance of all the women in paintings I had studied for decades.”

He dropped his chin to press light kisses to just below your ear, still whispering his adoration of you as they travelled over what little skin was exposed.

“When you walked into this Ministry, I was so sure you had walked right out of a Rubens painting, that you could not possibly be real.” More kisses, his lips tickling your skin with every word in between. “That you had somehow been sent here for me alone. And then...” more kisses, his chest now pressing against you while your hand in his at your side tightened in arousal, “you indulged me... You sat for your first painting, so shy and timid with the most intoxicating pink blush to your cheeks. I tried to remain professionale, to focus on the art but... my mind wandered so freely.” Just like his hand was now. From your waist, it wound its way around your hip and down your thigh, pushing back to trail up the back of your thigh to the swell of your buttocks.

You cast your mind back to that first sitting, before Secondo had truly shown any interest in you. You assumed you were simply sitting for a painting, that he asked various people to do so throughout the Ministry. And whilst he had on the odd occasion, it was never for a piece as intimate as that...

He’d been so gentlemanly in his invitation, setting up part of his studio with a chaise longue and allowing you the time you needed to feel comfortable. He’d left you to undress and replace your clothes with a robe, shown you how he had pictured your pose and then allowed you your privacy again to disrobe and drape the chiffon fabric across you in a way that made you as comfortable as possible. There was no requirement to be completely on display – his only request had been that you were comfortable showing as much of your body as you chose.

“If I had thought before then that I wanted you, the way that I craved you after that moment, mia musa...” Secondo’s voice remained low and deep as he stepped around you, keeping his lips hovering by your ear as he took up his position behind you. He dropped your hand in his in favour of holding you steady by your waist, softly gripping at the flesh there. Naturally, you sank into him, pressing your back to his strong chest and extending your neck to allow his lips to ghost over the skin.

“It was truly a test of my self discipline to have you sit for me. But I had just been gifted the most beautiful art to work with and I was petrified to lose it if I had made my move then. And then...” His arms wrapped further around your body, strong, paint covered hands sliding around you like boa constrictors. One arm crossed over to grip the opposite hip, while the other, crossed your chest to knead gently at your breast. “You made me fall disperatamente innamorato di te (desperately in love with you.”

Your head was swimming with Secondo. All of this, you had known to some degree but to hear him truly spill confessions while his hands were all over you felt like the most erotic experience you’d ever encountered. His breath felt hot against your exposed throat, radiating through your entire body and setting it alight. All you could do was cover his hands with your own and get lost in his touch.

“I remember the first time I touched you, amore... The smallest, most innocent of touches... During your third sitting, I had to angle your chin to match the work in progress and you were so soft...” If you didn’t know any better, you would think Secondo too was lost in his imagination. And that he was, his eyes shut as he touched you, recounting those early memories with you. “Your eyes were so wide, glistening orbs of innocence and nervousness. I could stand it no more... I had to have you. I had never needed anything so much in my life, dolcezza... To taste your lips, to feel how soft you were beneath the fabric.”

You remembered the way he’d looked at you in that moment, like he was fighting for his damn life inside his head to keep away from you. He’d stared at your lips for too long, and when he’d met your eyes again and saw no hint of you backing away, he had lost his control. That was the first time Secondo had you.

The hand kneading at your breast travelled further up your chest to your neck, his thumb reaching to tilt your chin up towards him so he could look you in the eye. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, desperate to keep him close.

“Satan himself blessed me with a woman such as you, mia musa...” he breathed with hooded eyes as if he were drunk on you, and without giving you any time at all to argue or respond in any way, his lips came crashing down on yours with a lust that neither of you had ever felt for another soul in all your years.

He held you upright when he felt you melt too far into him, succumbing to his kiss with ease. You couldn’t help yourself, consumed by his very being and already so tightly wound up from his teasing touches and admission of the extent of his obsession with you. This man was as desperate for you as you were for him and it didn’t matter if you understood the reasons why or not; you simply accepted then and there that he was, that to him, you were the most beautiful creature to have graced his world.

Lips and tongues clashed together without rhyme nor reason, moans lost to each other’s mouths as you lost yourselves also. His hands roamed your body as he held you against him, his grabs a little harsher, needier now. You could feel his hard chest and soft stomach pressing tightly against your back, a bulge that had long since begun stirring nestling between the cheeks of your backside. You could feel that heat inside you building to unbearable temperatures, the need to have him doubling with each second that passed.

Using all the strength you could muster, you ripped his hands away from you just enough to spin in his arms, gripping him by his shirt and pulling him into you for another heated kiss. In an instant, his hands were back on you, fisting handfuls of your body as he pulled you tightly into him, his chest rumbling low in satisfaction.

“Secondo...” you moaned, his name coming out as a whisper against his lips.

“Sí, mia musa?” He nuzzled his nose against yours, leaving brief but frequent kisses to your lips as he waited for you to speak and tell him what you needed from him.

“Take me to bed...” you begged, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him again, “Please?”

Secondo chuckled devilishly when you asked so sweetly to dive headfirst into sin. Knowing what you were truly like when he would have his way with you, he always found it so amusing that you were so polite and demure otherwise. He revelled in the idea that it was only him who saw your untamed side.

“To bed, dolcezza?” he questioned, teasing his fingertips along the edge of your jaw until he was low enough to tilt your chin up to him. “But we worship right here, in the Chapel, no?”

The smirk that spread across his face sent a shiver of delight down your spine. Was he suggesting...?

Before you had any time to question him, he began walking backwards, gripping your hands in his to pull you along. He pulled you through the pews to the centre aisle, then began to back up towards the Sanctuary steps that lead to the Altar at the head of the Chapel. As he did, he jolted you closer, attaching his lips to yours and carefully manoeuvring you both while he stayed attached to you, keeping the burning embers of arousal stoked.

When he reached the steps he spun you around, pushing you to step up them until he sat you down on the middle step. Then he dropped to his knees on the stone as if he were about to pray at your feet. He crawled his way up the steps between your knees, forcing you to lay back as he hovered above you, his hands all over your thighs like he couldn’t bare not to touch you.

“One day, mia musa, I will paint you naked as the Dark Lord intended, laying on these steps...” he promised, his lips tickling yours as they barely grazed them, teasing you. “And I intend to draw from memory...”

With that, he pushed the hem of your habit up and over your thighs, fingertips pressing into the supple flesh as he enjoyed every inch of you. He popped the buttons that hid your chest from him, pushing the fabric from your shoulders and arms until he could drag it all from your body, helping you to shimmy from the skirt and kick it from your legs. He was wasting no time at all, attaching his lips to your collarbone and suckling marks into the skin while he worked quickly to take your underwear from you too until you were just as he’d wanted you; naked as the Dark Lord intended.

Just as his hands had roamed your skin, his lips now followed suit. Every inch of your glorious chest was being suckled at, nipped at, like a starved man. He was careful to pay close attention to your nipples, hardened not simply from arousal alone, but the slight chill in the air within the stone walls of the ancient Chapel. But with Secondo crowding you, riling your body up so, you barely noticed, heat instead continuing to burn from within.

Secondo growled into your flesh at the sound of your moans, truly worshipping you like a deity. “Tu sei fottutamente delizioso (You are fucking delicious),” he roared, ripping his lips from your body only to attach them to yours again with hunger. As he lapped his tongue into your mouth, his hand disappeared between your thighs, heading straight for your core with no hesitation. He needed more of those moans and fast, wanting to hear you sing for him. He’d take your song over the choir’s in this Chapel any day.

Just as he’d wished, you cried out into his mouth, unable to hold back as pleasure shot through your core the second his fingertips dragged over your clit. You fell back against the steps, your arms spread out either side of you onto the red carpet runner. Secondo chased you, never letting you get far away enough from him to not feel his hot mouth on you somewhere.

“Tell me, amore mio, may I indulge in the communion wine?” he asked. You had no idea what he was talking about, too lost to the pleasure his fingers were giving you to put two and two together, but you nodded anyway; you’d let him do just about anything to you, the state he’d got you in so far. “Grazie mille,” he thanked, as if you would ever truly deny him.

He pushed himself upright, only to crawl back down to the bottom step. His fingers lost contact with your core but just as quick as they had disappeared, his tongue replaced them. You couldn’t help but sing for him yet again.

He kept his eyes on you the whole time, watching as you lost yourself against the steps. At this angle, he could barely see your head thrown back over the delectable sight of your wonderful body, and it only drove him further into ferality. You would never appreciate this sight as he could, watching your body as it moved in ripples with every sensitive jolt and contraction of muscles. He could see your responses to his tongue all over, like echoes emanating from your centre.

When he inserted two of his fingers inside you to compliment the work his mouth was doing to your clit, your head jerked up, eyes meeting his. Seeing the hunger in his eyes peeking above the curve of your stomach had you clenching around his fingers, a fresh wave of arousal dripping from you. Immediately, you felt Secondo lap it up, humming at the taste while his eyes fluttered shut.

“S-Secondo... I...” You wanted to tell him how incredible you felt, how close you were to your undoing already but the words never came, stuck in your throat thanks to his fingers curling inside you to hit the spot he’d memorised that first time he’d slept with you.

His free arm wrapped its way around your thigh, pulling it over his shoulder to surround himself with you. He loved that feeling, being encased in your gorgeous body as he pleasured you; he’d easily lose himself there. As your moans grew louder, reverberating off the stone walls, Secondo seemed to muster more energy to barrel you towards your undoing. What was fuelling him, you weren’t sure, but you were more than grateful for it. Perhaps it was the anger from before at the comments of your peers. Maybe it was the thought of defiling you on the Sanctuary steps. Maybe he had riled himself up so damn much talking about how much he adored you, how attracted to you he was that he couldn’t help himself.

The only thing you knew for sure, was that he was making good on his word; he was worshipping you.

It took mere minutes for him to have you dangling on the edge of sanity, your moans so high pitched he knew you were about to snap. He watched you again, his eyes staring up at you. It wasn’t until you looked down at him again and made such exquisite eye contact that you snapped, too turned on to hold off anymore.

Your body convulsed as your orgasm hit you, back arching from the steps beneath you, body shaking. You gasped, lungs filling with too much air and stopping any sound from leaving your body. Your eyes rolled back into your head, completely overcome as Secondo didn’t let up. He knew better than to slow down now, letting you ride your orgasm out. He ground your hips into his face, using that delicious nose of his to his advantage until he was completely buried in you, smudging your inner thighs with his face paints.

As you came back down, your body twitching under him, he made sure to clean you up, lapping up every drop of your essence he could despite your whimpers of oversensitivity. You reached a point where your clit was just too sensitive, throbbing under his tongue, and you had to push him away from you. But you hated the idea of rejecting him in any way, and so you dragged him back up to you by his collar to smash your lips to his breathlessly. You didn’t miss the flavour on his tongue, knowing that was your essence only driving you to absolute distraction...

“You’re... wearing... too many... clothes...” you told him between kisses and deep breaths. He only grinned into your kisses.

“Mi dispiace, amore,” he apologised with a smirk, immediately rectifying the issue as he untucked his shirt from his slack, unbuttoning the buttons and throwing it to the side with your habit and underwear. You couldn’t help but lay back on your elbows on the steps, watching as he undressed, enjoying the view. Such strong arms, a solid chest, and a soft stomach, all deliciously covered in a layer of black and grey hair; arousal began to stir again within you...

“I am supposed to be worshipping you, amore mio...” he smirked, a cockiness glinting in his eyes.

“I'm not stopping you,” you teased, spreading your legs a little wider and arching an eyebrow at him in invitation. As he threw his slacks and underwear to the side, you caught him licking his lips as his eyes dragged over you, waiting for him on the steps...

Unholy shit, you were sublime, with your flushed cheeks and forehead glistening with sweat... With your beautiful curves and soft skin... He would never tire of you. Never.

He couldn’t help himself then, crawling over you and dipping his head down to initiate yet another moment of passion with a sordid kiss. It seems he was unable to keep his hands to himself, wanting nothing more than to feel you, but more importantly, to make sure you knew he wanted you. After today, all he wanted was to make you feel wanted, appreciated, fucking deified. He was certainly doing his part.

The longer he made out with you, the more you needed him... You could feel his length pressing against you and it was driving you mad being so close, yet so far from what you wanted. To encourage him, you reached your hand between the two of you, wrapping your fingers around his tip and paying particular attention to the frenum piercing of his you loved so damn much, sitting on the underside of his cock.

At your touch, his lips parted, a low hum vibrating in his throat. It was as if you were taunting a beast within him, the animal poised and ready to pounce. And pounce he would, grabbing both of your wrists and pinning them to the steps above your head.

“You want my cock, dolcezza?” he teased, his lips so close but just out of reach no matter how far forward you tried to lean. “So keen to be fucked on the Sanctuary steps, eh?”

He wouldn’t let you answer, instead shuffling so he was lined up perfectly between your legs, rolling his hips against you to coat his shaft with your essence. You could feel the ridges of his veins and that fucking piercing at they caught on your clit, still sensitive but the stimulation bearable now.

“Worship me, Papa...” you whispered the order, catching him off guard. His eyes widened for just a moment, and there was no way he could deny you...

Trapping your wrists in one of his hands, he used his free hand to guide himself to your entrance, sinking into you in one fluid motion. Secondo breathed out a long breath through his nose, humming again as your heat consumed him. You felt everything, every ridge yet again, filling you deliciously in the way his fingers never could. They were no match for his thickness and length, reaching places you’d been unaware of before him.

When every inch had sunk deep inside you, his hips pressed flush against your own, he dove into you for a deep, hungry kiss. Like he couldn’t stop himself, his hips dragged back and slammed into you, the slapping sound echoing through the Chapel. And after that, he wouldn’t relent, repeating the same motion over and over again, slamming his hips into you as he grunted his pleasure into your mouth.

Eventually he let your wrists go in favour of grabbing at your body again, kneading it like pizza dough with love and adoration. You held his head in place, whimpering into his kisses every time his cock slid inside you. He lifted your thigh to his hip, deriving a better angle to rock up and hit where you needed him.

“Sei la mia opera d'arte preferita, una cazzo di dea che prende vita, (You are my favourite artwork, a fucking Goddess come to life,)” he spewed his words quickly, his brain unable to translate to English quick enough to spill his thoughts. You understood him just fine, his confession having you clench on his length. He roared in pleasure at the feeling, barrelling toward a climax.

“S-Secondo please...” you begged, “’m gonna cum again.”

“You’d better, dolcezza. I will not leave mia musa unsatisfied on the steps, eh?” he promised, the hand that was kneading at your breast dipping down to press flat against your stomach, fingertips digging into the softness and thumb dragging over your clit again.

It didn’t take much now that he’d added more stimulation, and you were coming undone in no time at all... Your walls clenched around him so incredibly tight, body curling up into him until his face was pressed into the crook of your neck, his chest cushioned by your voluptuous body. You spluttered out a litany of curses and his name like a chant at Black Mass, filling the Chapel’s empty hall.

Everything became too much for him too, biting down on your neck and growling into it while his rhythm faltered, and his cock shot load after load of his spend deep inside you. His grip on your body tightened, pulling him closer to you as the two of you shook and convulsed from your respective orgasms, overcome with pleasure.

“Y-You are a dream, mia musa...” Secondo panted above you, removing the hair stuck to your forehead with sweat and tucking it behind your ear. “Don’t ever forget that, eh?” You could only nod, your mind still very much hazy in post-climax bliss.

“I couldn’t give any less of a fuck what the other fottuti idioti (fucking idiots) think of our relationship, you understand? You must never forget, you are the beauty standard to the greatest artists in history,” he assured you, peppering gentle kisses to your neck, your cheeks, your lips – anywhere he could.

“Including you,” you complimented with a smirk, catching his gaze with heavy eyes, drowsiness overcoming you. Secondo chuckled, shaking his head.

“Including me,” he repeated, “If you say so...”

“I do,” you told him earnestly, “Nobody has ever made me feel as beautiful as you do when you paint me, my love.” You cradled his head in your hands, fighting the urge to curl in on yourself out of shyness.

“Ah. Then I simply have to paint you more... What a shame,” he teased with playful sarcasm, a grin spanning across his very smudged face as he leaned in to plant a slow, loving kiss to your lips.

#papa emeritus #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus ii x reader #secondo #secondo x reader #papa secondo #papa ii #papa emeritus ii smut #papa emeritus smut #secondo smut #papa secondo smut #ghost bc #the band ghost #ghost band #ghost #the band ghost fanfic #da rulah writes #plus size reader

390 notes · View notes

asexualsinner · 5 months ago

Text

Ghoul Hair Headcanons

This wouldn't leave my brain until I put it out into the world

Dewdrop/Sodo

Pin straight corn blonde that goes to his mid back

Very thin

Dry and damaged from his fire transition (Cumulus bullies him into letting her put oils and serums in it to help. He won't admit that he likes it)

Will wash his hair everyday/every time he takes a shower. This is sometimes multiple times a day. (Cumulus and Rain cry in despair)

Cowlick at the front part. Annoys the shit out of him when it dries funny

Let's his hair air dry after a shower

His hair used to be normally oily pre fire transition from the ministry's lake but noticed that if he swims for long periods of time his hair will be greasy and gross

Leaves hair EVERYWHERE. In the shower, on the furniture, clothes, you.

Uses everyone else's shampoo and conditioner bc he's too lazy to get his own

Will wear it up in a spider clip when practicing

Doesn't like people touching it, will let the other ghouls braid/style it on occasions or if they give him their best puppy dog eyes long enough

Somehow manages to not have bed head. Wakes up and his hair is fine. The pack considers this the 8th wonder of the world

Gets annoyed when his hair gets caught in his mask/balaclava bc he was too lazy to either tie it up himself or let one of the others do it for him preshow

Rain

Wavy hair that curls up just under his ears, blackish almost dark blue in certain light

Hair defies logic, will curl/wave in patterns that don't make sense

Uses 837+ products in it to make it glossy and soft after swimming (screams internally after Dew leaves barely a squirt of shampoo left in the shower and doesn't replace it)

Sleeps with a silk pillowcase

Will pin his hair back with pearl barrettes that papa gifted him

BEDHEAD. The WORST BEDHEAD out of all the ghouls. Wakes up looking like he lost a fight with a moose

Will let anyone run their fingers through it/brush it/style it. He will make you wash your hands beforehand though

Dries it using a cotton T-shirt. Usually the one he was wearing pre-shower

Washes his hair every 3-5 days

Mountain

Brown 3b curly mullet/Mohawk

Shaves the sides bc he finds the hair tickling his ears and horns annoying

Usually has leaves or flowers caught in his hair

Bangs cover his eyes

Cowlick at the crown of his head

Oil? Seums? Who is she, bc Mountain has never heard of her

His horns make headbands impossible so he will use bobby pins to keep his bangs out of the way while in the greenhouse or practicing

Bobby pins are everywhere. In the greenhouse, the practice room, living room, kitchen, EVERYWHERE

Consequently knows how to lockpick doors with said Bobby pins. No he will not tell you how he knows how to do this

Wraps his hair in silk handkerchiefs to sleep

Will wash his hair once a week if he remembers

Shakes his hair out like a dog to dry unless one of the others corner him with the Dyson hair dryer. (He won't admit that he hates the sound it makes)

Will throw in leave in conditioner overnight

Let's Phantom and Aurora put in cute clips that he forgets about

Once showed up to practice with a head full of colorful butterfly clips bc he forgot about them. Copia didn't say anything, wanted to see how long it would take Mount to notice while head banging. He didn't notice the entire practice until one flew off and hit his drum set

Swiss

Dark brownish black locs, sometimes will braid in colors if he's feeling like it. Mostly dark colors like burgundy or purple. Has been convinced to do gold before tours by the others

JEWELRY!!! LOTS of metal rings, cuffs and jewels. Loves being the shiniest thing in the room

Has as many if not more hair care products than Rain. Takes care to make sure his hair doesn't get damaged and is healthy

Sleeps with a silk bonnet to protect his hair

Has done fun style like space buns with his locs but will usually leave it down or in a top knot

Will wash it every 7-10 days or so unless it gets super dirty

Will take care of the rest of the packs hair, is the pack mom about it

Dew/Sodo frustrates the HELL out of him. What do you mean you don't use conditioner??

Will chew on the cuffs like a fidget toy

Takes great pride in his hair, will spend forever in the bathroom if you let him

If his hair isn't cooperating with him, that's it for the day you will not see him

Has injured himself/others while practicing from all the metal in his hair while headbanging/throwing himself around (was forced to wear a cone of shame during the rest of that practice)

Phantom/Aeon

Very wavy almost curly black hair with white streak on the left side

Hair thins out and curls around his shoulders with whispy bangs

Wolf cut girlie ✨

Soft and fluffy, loves to have his scalp scratched and hair played with. Will absolutely fall asleep while it's being done

Has tinted his hair with purple bc he likes the aesthetic

The others have found him in the bathroom at 3am with scissors bc he saw a trend on TikTok and wanted to try it (he was banned from scissors for 3 months)

Swiss cried when he saw it in the morning (what did you do??)

Forgets to wash his hair but is still better than Mountain about it

Washes every 5-7 days

Originally would use a towel to dry until he found the Dyson and now is a menace

Will chew on his hair until it's brought to his attention

Headbands, headbands, HEADBANDS! LOVES THEM.

Has demon horns ones, cat ear ones, regular ones, even those zig zag ones that hurt he doesn't care he loves them

Will use whatever's in the bathroom but prefers softer smelling products

Hates hairspray with a passion

Doesn't sleep with any special pillow cases, etc

Double cowlick where his bags sit and at the crown

Gets really REALLY bad knots at the base of his skull. Will cry when Swiss or Cumulus has to brush them out

Aether

Strawberry blonde short hair and shaved on the sides

Slicked back fade, likes the greaser look from the 50s

Do not touch this man's hair

Not only is it slicked back with 50lbs of product he will also bite you

Has sideburns

Somehow still uses 3-in-1 despite being picky about how his hair looks

Will sing into the hair dryer while using it

Hair is dry, not damaged but definitely not hydrated/healthy enough

Doesn't wear any accessories except for a beanie in the winter

Looks like a peacock in the morning, hair is just everywhere. Sticks up in every direction when he wakes up

Washes it everyday due to the product he puts in it

Fell asleep on the tour bus once and there was a grease spot left from his hair gel

Uses hair pomade that smells like vanilla and sandalwood

Goes through a jar of pomade every two days. The ministry's budget is crying, shaking in their boots bc of this ghouls usage of hair gel

Is a walking fire hazard from the gel

Cumulus

4b curl pattern, rocks the afro with bangs

Natural color is a dark reddish brown but dyes it fun colors like sky blue

Loves to tie it up with a cute designed handkerchief or bun, etc

Will accessorize with butterfly clips or spiral hair wyrms/Jewels

Washes it once a week but uses hair oils/serums daily

Bullies Dew/Sodo into letting her care for his hair

Is the go to for hair advice after Swiss

Uses a silk bonnet and silk pillowcase to sleep

Will use a cotton T-shirt to dry it/scrunch it and then finishes with the dyson

Second biggest hair shedder after Dew/Sodo

Will style it like Rosie the Riveter for practice

Doesn't like it when people touch her hair unless they ask first

Even then the answer may be no

Likes floral scented shampoo/conditioner

Aurora

Straight flat hair with choppy bags

THICCCC hair, goes to the bottom of her shoulder blades

Platinum blonde but dyed underneath

Enjoys the shocked gasps she gets when she pulls her hair up to show the rainbow underneath

Doesn't hold a curl for the life of her, she's tried

Usually keeps her hair down, will do a low ponytail for practice

Twin braids on sides framing her face

Likes playing with the others hair since hers doesn't hold different styles well

No cowlicks but her hair knots horrendously. After show care includes at least two other ghouls trying to help her unknot her hair from her balaclava

Washes it once a week,prefers cinnamon scented soaps

Super greasy if she uses too much product

Is in love with the Dyson hair dryer, fights with Aether on who gets to use it as a mic

Cirrus

Thin, straight dark black hair to her mid back

Twinning with Dew/Sodo except she takes care of her hair ✨

Shorted whispy hair framing her face

Her hair looks blue in certain light, almost like an oil slick

Split ends? Couldn't be her

Favorite shampoo scent is mint

Will spend hours combing her hair

Prefers combs over brushes

Doesn't get bad bed head but her hair is super static-y.

Will wear twin braids when practicing or pin the braids to her head with clips

Hair always looks super elegant

Like Aurora her hair can't hold a curl

Doesn't use anything special to sleep with

Will wash every 3-5 days

Uses serums as needed but her hair is super hydrated

Very soft

Prefers not to be touched but will allow certain ghouls to braid it if asked

Is the one who bought the Dyson hair dryer, is super amused by everyone's feral reactions to it.

189 notes · View notes

probablyasocialecologist · 4 months ago

Text

In November 2023, news broke that a number of Western energy companies, including British Petroleum (BP), were granted gas exploration licences in occupied Palestinian waters by the Israeli Ministry of Energy. While it will take years before these sites are converted into reliable sources of gas, activist groups in the US and Britain have protested these business deals, brokered in the shadow of an ongoing genocide. The motivation for Israel’s genocidal, Western-backed siege on Gaza cannot be reduced to the exploitation of its marine gas fields. The ongoing genocide should be understood as part of the logic of US imperialism and its proxy state which enacts its interests in the region: the Zionist settler colonial project, which seeks to ethnically cleanse all of historic Palestine, seize natural resources, and use and export its fuel supplies for the consolidation of its military and economic power. Indeed, our protests against BP’s gas licences are not in isolation. Like other activist groups in Turkey and Colombia, we campaign against energy companies partnering with Israeli businesses to supply fuel to Israel. For this reason, we situate BP’s gas licence within its larger role in fuelling Israel. BP is the operator and largest shareholder of the Baku-Tbilisi-Ceyhan (BTC) oil pipeline, which is supplying Israel with 28% of its oil during its genocide. In this investigation we explore BP’s colonial history and the supply chain of the BTC pipeline. We also delve into the social licences that facilitate BP’s operations abroad. Social licences are a commercial and metaphorical concept describing corporations' process of acquiring public approval as an added layer of legitimacy for their ongoing profit-driven, colonial business practices. Focusing on the BTC pipeline reveals how Zionist settler-colonialism is central to the continued extraction of oil in the Middle East, and global uneven accumulation, where wealth is concentrated in the Global North. The liberation of Palestine and regional anti-Zionist resistance must therefore be central to the larger struggle against capitalism and for a just transition. Organising from the imperial core against the Zionist occupation of Palestine then becomes about much more than just holding the perpetrators of genocide to account. It is part of the bigger fight against imperialism – which exterminates populations and ecologies for the continued flow of value to the Global North.

9 September 2024

#fossil fuels #bp #zionism #israel #palestine #energy

254 notes · View notes

theoneofshame · 7 months ago

Text

I had a thought.

Harry and Voldemort as parallels. Harry and Voldemort as opposites. As mirroring halves to a whole.

If Harry is a representation of death, then Voldemort is life.

Harry is Chaos incarnate - wild, untamable, and destructive. Even when building towards a better future he destroys the status quo, shakes the foundations of society until there's nothing but rubble left of what is, to make way for what can be. He's glaciers melting, volcanoes erupting, oil spilling out soil's veins; explosions of a nuclear family, in a ministry, in a school - primary successions with only the hardiest as pioneers. Bygones of all that was; the old must be killed to make way for the new. He's Death, as scorched earth flayed bare.

Voldemort is domineering Order and control; neat lines and plans strangled into perfect conformity. Reducing the sociopolitical climate to bones and reusing the carcass to better house his image - recycled from previous Lords to instill his will over a populace so pliant with the way of things. Even the unmaking of the world's fabric is done constructively and with careful considerings, to refasten the cosmos into a bow with its own entrails. He's Life, continuously cycling, with rot as the fertilizer.

#harrymort #tmrhp #tomarrymort #voldemort #tomarry #harry potter #this concept is worming a hole in my brain #just the juxtaposition of expectations is so juicy #while staying true to both characters #Harry is a gremlin and I want him to break more things #Voldemort recycles shit ideas bc it's bad for the (political) climate

259 notes · View notes

yes-ihavealwaysbeengreen · 8 months ago

Text

My Home Is You Part 2/3

A/N: Enjoy. Leave a comment, like, or reblog if you've enjoyed it. Thank you to @kingliam2019 for requesting. And @jellybeanstacey0519 & @mrsyixingunicorn10 for asking about a taglist and commenting on the last part.

Fandom: The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare

Pairing: Gus March-Phillips x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, Nazi's, canon typical violence, possible spoilers for the movie, and mentions of sexual assault.

Part One Part Three

“So are you two fucking?” Freddy sits across from you, pointing between you and Gus.

“Freddy!” Gus shouts, outraged as you spit tea across the table, staining the map.

“What?! It’s a valid question!” Freddy grins, crossing his arms over his chest. You cough, trying to catch your breath while Gus pats your back trying to clear your airway. “It’s a small boat,” he continues, despite the incredulous looks from both you and Gus. “And it’s obvious you’re sleeping together, but what I want to know is if you’re fucking?”

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Henry shakes his head and quickly grabs the back of Freddys coat to drag him up the stairs to the deck, his vocal protests growing quiet at he moves further away.

“Here,” you glance up and see Appleyard holding out a glass of water, “Freddy doesn’t have a filter.”

“It’s alright,” you sip slowly at the water, “he’s right, it is a small boat.” You glance at Gus, “filled with intelligent men that are bound to notice I’ve been sleeping in bed with you since the day I arrived.”

“But just sleeping,” Gus brushes a finger over your cheek, before a grin spreads across his cheeks like a cheshire cat. “I’m a lady, and I will not have my virtue questioned,” he holds a hand to his chest in fake modesty, “it’s a struggle, Apple, day and night I have to keep this daring rogue off me.”

“Me?” you ask, faking outrage, “virtue my ass,” you reach a hand out to Apple, “the lady doth protests but everytime I have her moaning into the pillow that protest falls on deaf ears.” Apple looks between you both with a grin shaking his head and rolling his eyes before you both fall into each other with laughter.

“I think you might have met your match,” Apple crosses his arms over his chest, “and a part of me is alarmed as well as pleased.”

“BOSS!” Henry shouts from above, and you rush to the deck, “it’s a British destroyer,” he points off through the fog.

“Do you think they’ve spotted us?” you ask, eyes going wide, “can we hide in the fog?”

“I can’t outrun that, darlin’,” Freddy frowns.

“And if we’ve seen them,” Gus lowers the spyglass, “they’ve surely seen us.”

“What do we do?” you stand beside him and he tugs off his coat, putting it around your shivering shoulders before placing his arm around your waist.

“Well,” he looks around at the other men, “we play the part. We are swedish fisherman, let’s be swedish fisherman.”

The boys work like a well-oiled machine as they quickly remove any guns, explosives, or otherwise unsavory items below deck and hide them away. The destroyer looms closer and the sway of the waves does nothing to quell the unease in your belly. “Time to move, Little Lamb,” Anders, holds his hand out for you and you grab it, sliding your hands into the sleeves of Gus’s coat as he lowers you below deck and hides you away. “Stay put,” he smiles softly, “everything will be okay.”

Gus comes down the stairs, pressing a hand to Anders's shoulder as he moves past him back up to the deck. “You all settled then?” Gus asks, coming to stand before you, you nod silently, “good,” he looks around, “good. We’re going to be fine. I promised you remember?”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he grabs your arm, tugging you closer before lowering his mouth to your ear, his mustache scratches against your cheek and his breath hot against your neck leaves you trembling.

His voice is low, deep, and etched with promise, “I don’t,” he whispers pressing his lips to your neck for a moment before quickly retreating up the stairs. You fall back against the wall, your breath coming out hard and fast as you quickly pull the wall shut, disappearing from view. The skin of your neck burns like a brand from his kiss, and you press your palm to it and close your eyes remembering every moment like a cinema reel.

The waves kick up as the ship moves alongside the small fishing vessel and you can hear snippets of the conversation. Your blood churning cold when Gus replies using his normal voice, not the accent he’d been practicing moments before. Suddenly you hear your name shouted from above and push the wall back, running up the stairs, “What’s happening?!”

“Help Freddy with the sail,” Henry shouts, everyone moving as quickly as possible, “we need to get the hell out of here.”

You don’t question, doing everything you can to get the boat moving. Finally, everyone but Henry stops, watching the destroyer set off bombs into the water. “U-boat,” Gus replies, coming to stand beside you, holding onto your waist as the ship rocks from the tumultuous waves. The sea becomes quiet, nothing but the whip of the wind as you move further and further away. “Bullseye,” Gus whispers, “I think they got him.”

“But let’s keep going Hayzy,” Freddy shouts, “don’t want to take any chances.”

The rest of the day passes in silence as you all take in the close call. And as night descends and dinner passes no one says a word when Gus climbs into his bunk behind you, pulling you close to his chest, hearing him hum a sweet song in your ear as you drift off to another nightmareless sleep.

The next few days pass without incident as you move closer and closer to the target. Each of the boys has taken to passing the time by teaching you what they do best; Freddy spending hours giving you the ins and outs of explosives, Henry teaching you everything you need to know to man the boat if need be, Apple pouring over maps and documents while discussing strategy, and Lassen, the Danish Hammer, teaching you hand to hand combat so you never have to become a victim again.

“You’ve been busy,” Gus sits down beside you, handing you his water, as you catch your breath from Anders newest lesson; how to breakout of a chokehold.

“I like it,” you smile, water splashing down your chin, “I feel like I can take on the world.”

He grins, brushing the water off your chin with his thumb before putting it in his mouth. Your mouth goes dry as he licks his lips with a wide smile. “Not fair,” you stick your tongue out at him, and he lets out a booming laugh, similar to the first time you heard him back at the Garrison.

“Do you think it’s been easy for me?” he teases, “seeing Lassen’s hands all over you.” His eyes darken, “maybe I should take over the lessons?”

“No,” you shake your head, “then I would learn nothing.”

He scoffs, “I happen to be an excellent teacher.”

“I’m sure,” you replace the top of the water, handing it back to him and standing. You stretch, reaching your hands over your head, his eyes widening as he takes in the sliver of exposed skin between your shirt and pants you borrowed from the boys. You grin, leaning over him and putting a hand on his shoulder before whispering in his ear, “I’ve been sleeping with you for ten days, Gus, and I know for a fact you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

You pull back with a grin and his mouth gaps open and closed like a fish before he grins, “tease. I’m a good girl.” Gus stays there watching through the rest of the lesson, encouraging and giving feedback. It’s a unique feeling to be around men that not only respect you but also encourage you to fight and learn when it seems the rest of society want to see you as a housewife with a home full of children and a hot meal on the table.

“Alright, Lassen, you’ve hogged her attention for long enough,” Gus stands brushing off his pants.

“Me?” Anders laughs, “I think you should look in the mirror my friend, see who is really hogging all of her attention.”

Gus ignores him holding out a hand for you, “come along, darling, it’s time you learn how to shoot.” You take his hand and he leads you to the front of the boat where he’s arranged a variety of weapons.

“Now what is your experience with guns?” Gus asks, leaning against the table with his arms crossed.

“Well,” you sigh, “I did end up a prison in a Nazi garrison, so the experience has been less than good.

His smile drops and he nods before turning back to the table and lifting a simple handgun. “Okay, we start small,” he lifts the gun, “this is a colt .45, small but deadly, it can be easily concealed. To fire, you remove the safety, set your stance, aim, and fire.”

“Sounds simple enough,” you nod, reaching a hand out for the gun. “First thing, how do I remove the safety?” He spends the next 15 minutes going every minute detail about the weapon until you feel confident you could repeat it back to him.

“Now, stance is very important when learning how to shoot. Because weapons kick back, and if you’re not standing correctly it will knock you on your butt.” He moves behind you, placing his hands on your hips, and raising them the sides of your body and out towards your arm. His mustache tickles your cheek, and he relaxes against you. “Now, steady on the target,” he gestures to the bottle sitting on the edge of the boat, “take a deep breath.” His body moves with your own, each of you taking a deep breath before he whispers in your ear, “Fire.”

The gun kicks back and he holds you steady, the bottle blasting into pieces and shattering into the sea. “Bullseye,” you can hear the smile in his voice as he lowers the gun and replaces it on the table, his body still pressed to yours. “That’s my girl,” he turns you slowly, your eyes rising to meet his.

He’s close, his lips but a breath away, “Gus,” you whisper, “I…I want.”

“What do you want, darling? Say the word and it’s yours,” he smiles softly, his thumbs tracing patterns on your hips. He leans forward, pressing his lips to your cheek, then the other before hovering over your lips, “Tell me, darling. What do you want?”

Your heart thunders in your chest, so loud you’re sure he can hear it. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife and you can feel the slick between your legs, anticipation for his kiss, his touch building till it’s a raging inferno inside. “I want-”

“BOSS! An urgent message on the wireless!” Freddy shouts and you can’t help the word that slips out of your lips.

“Fuck!” Gus lets out a laugh, pressing a kiss to your forehead before quickly turning towards the stairs.

“Don’t worry darling,” he tosses over his shoulder, “we will continue this conversation later.”

You stand there for a moment composing yourself, the sea doing little to quench the heat from his touch. Never in a million years did you think you’d crave a mans touch like this especially after what happened in that camp. There is a deep seated fear that that experience would tarnish every future encounter, but with Gus, it’s so easy. Everytime he touches you it’s like all the bad fades away, and all that’s left is him.

“I need to get my damn head on straight,” you whisper to the wind before turning to follow him below deck. The boys are standing around the wireless, clenched jaws all around. “What happened?” you ask coming to stand beside Gus and see the message on the notepad. “What does this all mean? Tin of corned beef?”

“It’s code,” he mumbles, wiping a hand on his face, “it means they moved up the sailing date by three days and the port is now filled with more soldiers than any of us were anticipating. Hayzy,” he looks up at the boy, “can you get us there in 12 days?”

“Not the way we’re going,” he shakes his head, “we’ll need to cut through German occupied sea, otherwise we’ll never make it in time.”

“Do what you must,” Gus nods, watching as he retreats upstairs to change course. “Heron says he has a contact who might be able to give us some backup. We need more men if we’re going to live through this.”

“Even then,” Apple sits down across from him, “we can’t take on an entire army.”

“Trust Heron,” Gus leans back in his chair, “he gave us coordinates to meet him. We will make our way there and see what he has to say. This mission,” he licks his lips, “is vital to the British. If we fail, then Britain will fall to German occupation.”

“What are you trying to say?” Apple asks with a groan.

“I’m saying Gentlemen, and Lady,” he nods his head at you, “failure is not an option.”

The boys sit there in silence processing the news before returning to their duties. Gus sits in his chair, his shoulders slumped like they weigh a hundred pounds each. “What can I do?” you stand behind him, massaging his shoulders. He moans, closing his eyes and leaning his head back into your waist.

“I don’t know if we’ll survive this, darling,” he says the words quietly so only you can hear. His voice is heavy with the pressure. “The odds are stacked against us and I’m not a gambling man but if I was, I’m not sure I would bet on us.”

“Don’t say that,” you push his arms out of the way and sit in his lap, his eyes snapping open as he wraps you in his arms and into his chest. “I saw the way you took down that Garrison,” you wrap your arms around his neck and rub the hair at the nape of his neck. “There is not a team alive like yours. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

“You put too much faith in me, darling,” he says with a sad smile.

“And you don’t put enough.” His forehead presses to your own and you cradle him to your chest, running your fingers through his hair. “You have to come back alive, Gus. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You’d move on,” he mumbles into your chest, “you’re beautiful, smart, and sharp as a whip. Men would be falling over their feet to marry you.”

“Well that’s just too damn bad!” he lifts his head at your outburst, you hold onto either side of his face, and smile, “because all I want is you. All I need is you, Gus March-Phillips.”

It’s like two magnets, colliding together, his lips press to yours with a hunger deep inside. His lips are warm and soft and you feel his tongue seek out your own as he deepens the kiss. He tastes like tea and those ginger biscuits he loves so much and you feel yourself getting drunk on the taste of him. “Shit,” he pulls back with a groan, pressing his forehead to your own, “I didn’t think it would feel like that.”

“Like what?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

He pulls back with a smile, “Perfection.”

The next twelve days pass in a blur. Each day is filled with training, preparation, and endless amounts of kisses. The boys tease every time you sit down for a meal and Gus pulls you into his lap and presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Don’t fuck in my bed,” Freddy shouts one night over a meal and you kick him under the table, feeling Gus chuckle behind you. “Ouch! What the hell?! Some damsel in distress she turned out to be!”

“Anders has been teaching me to fight,” you spit back, “I could easily kick your ass.”

“My little lamb has become a tiger!” Anders shouts gleefully.

“She sure is,” Gus remarks with pride, “that’s my girl.” You lean back in his arms as the others playfully spit out insults back and forth like brothers. Gus joins in occasionally and makes you laugh so hard your belly aches.

“All joking aside,” Apple wipes the tears from the corners of his eyes, “we arrive at the coordinates tomorrow. Heron should be there with his contact.”

“He’ll be there,” Gus nods, looking at the men around the room. “We have a big day ahead of us men, let’s get some sleep. Apple, you take first watch.”

“Yes, boss,” he nods, going up the stairs.

“Come on, love,” Gus moves you to stand and drags you over to his bunk. The others quietly moving around the room and cleaning up from dinner. He tucks you into his bunk before placing a quick kiss to your lips, “I’m not tired, I’m going to sit up with Apple. I’ll be back later.”

“Okay,” you tug him down for another kiss, “don’t stay up to late.”

“I haven’t married you yet and you’re already nagging me,” he teases pressing another kiss to your lips, “I promise I’ll be back soon.”

You watch his back retreat up the stairs, closing your eyes and snuggling down into his sheets. Suddenly your eyes pop open and you gasp, he said yet.

#the ministry of ungentlemanly warfare #Gus March Phillips x reader #gus march phillips #Female Reader #Autumn Writes #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill character fanfiction

262 notes · View notes

leezlelatch · 2 months ago

Text

Secondo x F!Reader - first meetings, brooding, flirting, Secondo's POV. Next in the snippet series...Secondo visits Italia for unpleasant business. Could his stay be the change he needs? @writingjourney

Dark sunglasses cover his eyes, and his expression is blank as the pallbearers walk his mother’s casket down the long aisle. It had been many, many years since Secondo had been in a Catholic Church, and this, his mother’s funeral, would be the last. A procession follows, faces he’s never seen before, and he vaguely wonders if they are cousins, or even siblings. Do they wonder who he is? The long lost son of a woman left in shame after Nihil left his wicked touch on her. Secondo hopes she lived a good life. He thinks she did, quietly watching when he was old enough to handle his own affairs, a silent benefactor. He stands when the last of them leave, his eyes staring scornfully at Jesus on the cross. Where was his grace, when all was broken?

He gets back to the abbey nestled in the hills of the Italian countryside long after dark, having spent several hours wandering the small village of his youth. With a glass of wine in hand, he steps out onto the balcony of his room, looking out over the olive grove the Siblings tend to. The Italian branch of the Ministry sells their own olive oil, a lucrative business that has kept them afloat since he was a boy. It gave him a deeper appreciation for his country, and the beauty that can be grown from the ground and used in their food.

Secondo checks his phone, his thumb scrolling past updates from Sweden, a “me me” his brother sent, deleted, and of his particular interest, the latest on the restoration of a first edition of The Discoverie of Witchcraft by Reginald Scot, a book for his personal collection. He isn’t eager to get back. Tensions are high amongst the Clergy, their dissatisfaction with his younger brother apparent. They simply do not like that Terzo doesn’t bow.

Secondo’s time as Papa is well remembered, and bitterly ended. Too many parties, too many nights trying to drink his life away. Underappreciating what he had until it was gone. He gave Terzo the papacy knowing his brother carries a vision, and he is eager to see it realized. But like a true Emeritus, tragedy is never far. Secondo looks up at the sky and finds the North Star, and he wonders if Primo is in his observatory, looking at the same star. Italy may be where he was born, but Secondo isn’t home. Not when home are three men that in equal parts infuriate him, and make him fight harder every day. He tosses the wine over the edge, setting the glass on the ledge.

“Satan Christ on a stick!” A voice shouts from below. Secondo leans over the balcony railing, looking down in shock at the Sister of Sin now covered in his spilled red wine. She shakes her hands, droplets flying from her fingertips and she looks up, her brow furrowing as she spots him. “Papa,” she says. “I’m wet.”

Well, that’s not the first time he’s heard those words, but not necessarily in this context. Secondo’s mind works a mile a minute to catch up with everything that’s happened in the last few seconds, and he huffs out a small laugh. “Satan Christ?” He asks.

“It’s a creative way to swear, but I think appropriate,” she answers, looking down at her light sweater now stained red. “I hope this was cheap.”

Amusement is quickly replaced by regret, and Secondo glances around as if a rag would appear out of thin air. “A moment, Suora. I will be down,” he calls, hurrying into his room and wrenching open the linen closet. He pulls out a towel, grimacing at the light shade. That will be two things he will have to get a burgundy stain out of. He grunts, putting a hand on his back on his way to the front door. Far too much running around for his age, especially so late into the night.

Secondo steps outside into the night time air, his eyes scanning the place near his balcony where the wine covered sister had been standing. “Suora?”

“Here,” she says, coming around the corner, her sweater removed and in her hands. Secondo pauses, his eyes quickly taking in the sight of her cream colored camisole. He clears his throat, offering her the towel, and he watches with a small frown as she squeezes the sweater between it.

“Do you have something to say, Papa?” She asks, watching him with an amused quirk of her eyebrow.

Secondo straightens, his frown deepening, and he tilts his head in atonement. “Forgive me, Suora. I should not be so careless in disposing of my beverages.” He glances away, an uncomfortable itch climbing up his spine. Today has not improved, and here he is, middle-aged man, and her superior, making a fool of himself.

“I didn’t mean that, although the apology is appreciated. You were looking at me like I was doing something wrong.” She clenches the fabric of her sweater between the edges of the towel, and he waves his hands, reaching for it.

“You are doing something wrong,” he says gruffly. “Do not squeeze. Blot. We will have to get this under a cold tap.” She laughs, and he glances at her, blowing a breath between his teeth as he begs Lucifer for patience.

“You seem familiar with…stains,” she says, circling around him, her arms crossed over her chest. Her hair is rustled by the evening breeze, and Secondo pauses, staring at it fluttering and catching between her lips. She blows it away, and he swallows.

“Red stains in particular,” he murmurs, returning to the task at hand.

“That’s something a murderer would say,” she responds, her lips curled at the corners, her smile mysterious. It reminds him of the Mona Lisa.

“There are plenty of rumors about my family, Suora. Choose one,” he says with a flash of teeth. She tilts her head in response, and they stare at each other for a moment. Secondo is used to intimidating people. He doesn’t want to intimidate people. His looks, his demeanor, something somewhere went wrong, and he is paying for it. He gets to watch his brothers be treated like gold by the Siblings where he is dulled copper, dented and used. Secondo garners more fear than respect, and that is acceptable. Or so he tells himself.

“I like the one where you’re all vampires,” she says.

He laughs. A real, genuine laugh, and it makes her smile. He’s caught in that smile, so sweet and full of joy, and it makes him warm. She isn’t intimidated, she’s silly, she cusses in the strangest ways. Is it childish to think this woman is a gift from his mother? Someone real, someone who isn’t afraid.

“Come inside,” he says, holding her wrinkled sweater with a long-suffering sigh. “We shall see if we can save it. I am sorry for drenching you. And tell me about this vampire rumor, will you?”

She follows after him, passing through the open double doors into a hallway lit by old, metal chandeliers that cast a soft yellow glow. “I’ll tell you plenty if you tell me what compelled you to throw your wine off the balcony,” she says.

Secondo leads her up a flight of stairs, his hand gripping the railing, his knees aching from all the walking he did earlier that day. “It displeased me,” he says, unwilling to unload his inner turmoil on a woman he just met.

“Remind me to stay in your good graces then,” she says, snickering a laugh. He joins her. It feels good to laugh.

“Ah, do not worry,” he says. “My knees cannot take another trip down the stairs.”

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

80 notes · View notes

lumi-klovstad-games · 9 months ago

Text

Why are the Helldivers 2 loading screens so good

This is a verr advanced tip. Not sure you rookies have the experience needed to really get this one.

I had no idea!

THOSE GIANT BONES CLEARLY CAME FROM A CREATURE THAT HATED FREEDOM AND THE UNIVERSE IS BETTER OFF WITHOUT IT, CADET

Really this is just solid advice for all of life's problems.

I AIN'T NO COWARD SARGE

The tenth turned out to be a goddamn COMMUNIST so we had him executed in the town square.

Heavy is the burden of Democracy Distribution.

'Nuff said!

Any man, woman, or child over 7 who panics will be shot so that the children under 6 will learn appropriate Super Earth-approved levels of courage.

Super Earth cares deeply for the mental well-being of ALL our citizens. Now back to the land of fire tornadoes filled with bugs the size of skyscrapers that spit metal and flesh eating acid.

Don't drink and dive, either.

I reported the ship's cook just this morning for not using enough cooking oil. He claimed it was because we were low on supply, but clearly he was an Automaton Sympathizer.

It can't be addictive if you don't live long enough to become an addict, right?

Would the Ministry of Truth lie to you? Of course not! Truth is literally in their name!

Gotta stay strong trooper. DEMOCRACY NEEDS YOU.

No permits needed for swallowing though.

Or as we vets in the service like to call it, "Colonial Diplomacy".

This tip written by Death Captain Steve "Three Fingers" Jameson.

#helldivers #helldivers 2 #super earth #automatons #terminids

173 notes · View notes

buffetlicious · 4 months ago

Text

The Mid-Autumn Festival (中秋节), a Chinese celebratory season observed by many East and Southeast Asians, has begun. Held on the 15th day of the eighth lunar month, which is in the middle of autumn, the festival marks the end of the season’s harvest and is a time to appreciate the moon at its fullest and brightest. Besides feasting eyes on the moon and lanterns of different shapes and sizes, Mooncakes (月饼), a rich pastry with all sorts of fillings, are undoubtedly the main highlight of the festival and are traditionally shared among family and friends.

The Cantonese Mooncake (广式月饼) is the most commonly found traditional mooncake in Singapore. Its fillings consist of lotus seed or red bean paste and usually include one, two or four salted duck egg yolks. Many would also be familiar with the snow skin variant that was created in Hong Kong in the 1960s as a healthier alternative to traditional baked mooncakes. The fillings and a ball of dough are traditionally pressed into a wooden mould, which embosses intricate wordings of the pastry shop’s name or stuffing on top of the pastry.

A mooncake with various flavours such as rich, savoury-sweet and peppery, the Hainanese Mooncake (海南月饼), also known as Su Yan Bing (酥盐饼) is traditionally filled with ingredients such as fried shallots, lard, salt, white pepper, rose-flavoured white sugar, sesame seeds, melon seeds and dried wild tangerine skin peel. The filling is encased in a thin crust made with flour, salt and lard.

The Hakka Mooncake (客家月饼) is also called Yu Gao (月糕) and is a flat, snow-white disc that is typically made with cooked glutinous rice flour and sugar, giving it a crumbly and powdery texture. It is usually embellished with more intricate designs, often with animals and flowers. Although it doesn’t usually contain any fillings, some come with candied winter melon, desiccated coconut and sesame seeds mixed with glutinous rice flour, sugar, margarine and water.

Easily distinguishable by the red stamp of Chinese characters on the top of the crust and its white disc-shaped pastry which resembles a bright moon, the Hokkien Mooncake (福建月饼) consists of a dry and sweet filling that is made of candied winter melon, tangerine peel, melon seeds, sugar, and cooked with lard or peanut oil. A less common type is a savoury version with minced meat filling. Once known as Scholar Cakes (状元糕), they were given to those who took part in the Imperial examinations. Today, it is given as a symbol of good luck to those who are about to sit for their exams.

Many would be familiar with the Teochew Mooncakes (潮州月饼). It has a crispy, spiral-layered crust that crumbles easily. It originated from the Chaoshan (潮汕) area in Guangdong Province and typically consists of yam paste and a salted duck egg yolk. Other traditional versions of the Teochew mooncake are still made by old school bakeries in Singapore. For example, La Bia (朥饼 or lard biscuit), where ‘La’ refers to pork oil, has a thinner, flaky crust with a thick mung bean or red bean filling. There are also alternative fillings including red bean, mung bean or lotus seed paste. There is also a steamed version of the typically baked Teochew mooncake, called La Gao (朥糕). It can either be served plain or with a mung bean filling.

A Snow Skin Mooncake (冰皮月饼) variant was created in Hong Kong in the 1960s as a healthier alternative to traditional baked mooncakes. Similar to mochi, its crust is made of glutinous rice flour and varies in colour, based on the flavours used. And unlike traditional mooncakes, these are best served cold!

youtube

Mooncake information and drawings courtesy of Ministry of Culture, Community and Youth.

130 notes · View notes

demiurgeua · 1 year ago

Text

Україна повернула контроль над буровими платформами у Чорному морі

У березні 2014 року, під час російської інтервенції до Криму, підрозділами збройних сил рф було захоплено українські бурові платформи «Петро Годованець» і «Україна» (відомі як «вишки Бойка»), що належать державному акціонерному товариству «Чорноморнафтогаз». Вишки на той час знаходилися у територіальних водах України на Одеському газовому родовищі. Були захоплені також самопідіймальні бурові…

View On WordPress

#Black Sea #Drilling platform #Бурова платформа #ГУР #ГУР МО #Головне управління розвідки #ЗСУ #Збройні Сили України #Міністерство оборони України #Російське вторгнення в Україну #Російсько-українська війна #Чорне море #Gas #Main Directorate of Intelligence #Ministry of Defense of Ukraine #Oil #Russo-Ukrainian War

1 note · View note

smoke-and-silver · 11 months ago

Text

Summer Solstice

Ghouls / NSFW / Outdoors

Minors DNI.

The ghouls herding you outside on the night of the summer solstice to a clearing they decorated just for you.

It's a warm lovely night and the grass is soft and there's fires lit to see by, courtesy of Dewdrop.

Mountain brushes out your hair as they lead you to a smooth stone slab in the middle of the clearing. Aurora is rubbing a scented oil over your skin, her claws tickling your arms as she runs her hands down them.

You've barely sat down, the stone cool against your skin, before a drink is pressed to your lips. It's sweet like berries with a bit of spices. You gulp it down greedily.

Cumulus is giddy to get you undressed as she pulls at your nightclothes. If you notice her impatience and give her permission, she'll tear them off of you with ease.

She reassures you in a breathy voice that she'll buy you something even nicer as she looks over your bare body in wonder.

They lay you down and you see Cirrus approach with a bottle in hand. You recognize it as a special drink that the ghouls love and make themselves.

The ghoulette uncorks the dark glass and begins to trickle the liquid over your sternum, slowly moving down the length of your torso to your navel.

You feel it running across your skin and dripping onto the stone below and you watch it pool in the middle of your belly. One by one the ghouls lean down to drink off of your body and they each press grateful kisses to your stomach and chest afterwards.

Swiss tilts your chin up gently from where he stands near your head and kisses you softly. His warm calloused hands rub over your shoulders and slide down to massage your chest.

You feel other hands join his, the other ghouls beginning to feel you and rub any aches or soreness from your body.

Someone massages your legs, someone else kneads your hands. Rain gently removes your shoes and kisses the tops of your feet before beginning to rub those too.

You're loose and receptive from the full body massage when Phantom shyly nudges his head between your legs, offering to please you with his mouth. He wants to be the first to taste you and he's thrilled when you accept him.

You are staggered by the new summon's performance. He has you seeing stars, your toes curling.

(Phantom is very proud of himself, excitedly telling the other ghouls to "look!" at your flushed face as you catch your breath afterwards. They laugh warmly at his eagerness and praise his work. Aether pulls him off the altar and gives him a pat on the head.)

Dewdrop approaches the altar next. He playfully "shoos" the other ghouls back with his flicking tail and climbs up onto the altar. He spreads your legs open again and you watch him wink at you as he wets two fingers with his tongue.

His hands are strong and hot and dexterous as he easily works you through two more orgasms. He makes sure you're stretched out and ready for when the real fun starts.

It's Aurora who has her turn first, crawling up onto the slab and prowling towards you with wild giggles escaping her lips.

Each ghoul takes their turns pleasing you. They sit you up when you need to recover or rest for a few moments and they use that time to feed you, pressing small cakes and fruit and bread and more drink to your mouth.

Aether only offers himself when you assure him that you're ready to take him. He's the biggest ghoul and doesn't want to hurt you.

He's gentle, but he's so big that each thrust rocks your entire body. You're a mess when he's done no matter how careful he tries to be. He's wonderful at taking care of you afterwards, though. He kisses your teary eyes and thanks you for taking him.

When the night is done they drape a blanket over your shoulders to cover your body and lead you back to the ministry. A hot bath is waiting for you.

You almost nod off to the soothing noise of their chatter and laughter as they help you scrub up and wash themselves too. It's a little party in the bathroom.

Your favorite ghoul carries you to bed in the den, and the rest follow to curl up with you. You finally fall asleep in a warm, peaceful haze surrounded by snuggly demons.

#the band ghost #nameless ghouls #ghost the band #ghost band #swiss ghoul #aurora ghoulette #mountain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #aether ghoul #rain ghoul #phantom ghoul #cirrus ghoulette #cumulus ghoulette

234 notes · View notes

sunnynwanda · 4 months ago

Text

Trouble of Mind: Part 2

Part 1

Warnings: failed brainwashing, mental exhaustion, tormented Villain (and Hero)

When the door creaks open in front of them, Hero is still deep in thought, frantically searching for whatever to say, which Villain seems to understand because they nod, gesturing for them to come inside. Without a word, they walk down the corridor, leading Hero to their bedroom.

It's dark inside, heavy curtains blocking any remnants of light outside - another thing physically painful to them in the current state. It takes a few moments for Hero's vision to adjust, but once it does, they notice a couch across from Villain's bed, already prepared for them. "How did you..?"

"Know you'd come?" Villain finishes for them, rubbing a hand over their eyebrows with a sympathetic sigh. "I know how it feels when it's your first time dealing with this."

"Is it bad again?" Hero asks carefully. There's another question lingering on the tip of their tongue; Villain can sense it. "It's because of me, isn't it? My interference?" Hero finally gathers the courage, their heart and mind racing as if in a competition as they wait for Villain's answer.

Villain nods shortly, turning away to search for the essential oils, to keep their hands busy and mind occupied. They don't blame Hero, not really. In fact, they are grateful that Hero hadn't read their mind in all their years of battling. That's more respect for their privacy than they received in the dungeons of the ministry.

"I'm sorry," Hero mutters, their voice dripping with guilt. They fail to come up with words after everything they have witnessed in Villain's twisted mind. All Hero knows is that they are relieved a large part of it has been suppressed by Villain's defense mechanisms.

Villain sighs, fully aware of their nemesis' regret over the situation. They allow their gaze to linger on Hero's troubled expression before speaking. "I don't blame you."

"You should," Hero states simply, leaning back against the back of the sofa. Their head drops against the headrest, eyes falling shut. No wonder Villain prefers to attack at night, they think. Who would have thought, light could be a vicious type of torture?

For several moments, they remain silent, heavy breathing being the only noise in the room. Villain moves to sit on their bed, contemplating whether they want to know the answer to the question that has formed in their ragged mind.

"How deep did you get?" They finally whisper, not wanting to startle Hero. They wonder if their phrasing made sense and are about to clarify when Hero's faint voice cuts the air.

"Unconscious."

Villain almost smiles, leaning back against the mattress and allowing their eyes to fall shut. "I know. How deep?"

"All of it," Hero lifts their head, glancing in the general direction of the bed. They can barely make out Villain's shape on it.

"Tell me," Villain interrupts their thoughts again. When Hero hums in apparent confusion, they clarify. "Tell me what you saw."

Hero almost chokes on the air, sitting upright despite the heavy pounding in their temples. "W-why?" They stutter out, already regretting their visit.

"I want to know what's in there." It's a simple sentence, but it claws at Villain's throat, unwilling to be uttered. They force the words out, turning their head to look at Hero's form on their sofa.

Hero's voice is guarded when they finally respond. "You had repressed it for a reason, Villain."

"Hero, you, of all people, know it's going to haunt me forever unless I deal with it," Villain counters, earning a quiet grunt from their nemesis.

"You can't deal with what's in there," they mutter, rubbing a hand over their face. A part of them knows Villain is right - the same one that is spurring them to try and undo some of the damage, to give Villain a chance of a clear mind. But there is another one. One that is scared of making it worse, both for Villain and themself. One that is terrified of even the thought of going through the darkness behind Villain's gaze again. One that cannot bear the pain that comes with it.

"Please," Villain speaks again, causing Hero to flinch at their selfishness as they are dragged out of their mind. How dare they be scared for their own well-being when Villain is... "Please," Villain whispers, the pleading tone cutting through Hero's chest.

"Villain, I-" They cut off, springing to their feet in a rush of anxiety. "Okay, if you want to do it, I can, um... try to unearth those things and undo some of the damage, but.."

"But what?" Villain asks, getting up as well. They are acting equal parts excited and reckless, and they know it.

"Some things might be too much," Hero starts, pacing through the bedroom in broad strides. "It might not work, or go wrong, or..."

Villain reaches out, stopping their panicked race from the door to the window and back, "I don't care."

They try to reassure Hero with a slight curve of their lips. But that only makes Hero explode. "I do! I don't want to cause more damage than there already is!"

It's a fair concern, Villain admits to themself. But they are far past the point of no return. "Hero, I was brainwashed, but it failed. The things done to my head are much worse than you taking a peak or even a walk."

"It's not- Christ, you don't understand!" Hero exclaims in utter frustration. They are scared, Villain understands. With a soft exhale, they place a hand on Hero's forearm, drawing them closer.

"You've seen what the nightmares are like," Villain's voice is low and pained; their fingers cold against Hero's skin. "That's every day for me. Every damn day. For six years now. I can't take it anymore, so if there's a way for you to fix it, I'll take the risk."

"I could damage you permanently," Hero protests, but it's weak. They know the hell that Villain lives in - they've seen it firsthand.

"I don't care," Villain shrugs with annoying nonchalance. "I'd rather lose my mind than keep going through this."

"Fine," Hero growls, sure that they will come to regret this decision. "Alright, fine."

As soon as they agree, Villain's demeanour changes. "What do you want me to do?"

"Lie down," Hero mutters, solemn. They wait for them to get onto the bed before sitting by their side and cradling their face with both hands.

"I want you to look into my eyes and think of the last thing you remember before the, um... experiment on you," they instruct, the internal battle still raging within them. But there is no way back now. Not after they gave Villain hope.

"Okay," Villain nods, meeting Hero's gaze with their tormented one.

"I'll get you through this," Hero continues to hold their head, and, as tender as they can, they delve into Villain's mind, only this time it's more intentional and slow. Layer by layer, they go deeper, diving into Villain's mind with gentle determination. They live through every day Villain spent in the dungeons, watching the light bulb spin around, circling them until they are reduced into hypnosis. Then come the sedatives, the withdrawal delirium, electricity, waterboarding, the light bulb again, sedatives, water...

Villain blacks out by the time Hero reaches the end of their torment - the day they escaped from the ground floor of the ministry six years ago, with a broken mind and unabashed rage against everything that place represented. Hero falls against the mattress, their entire being pierced by a phantom ache. They bury their face into the pillow, muffling the shuddering sobs ripping out from their throat.

Villain knows something is off the moment they gain some sort of awareness in the morning. They aren't entirely awake yet, but they can tell. They can feel it. Something feels off. Or better yet, it feels right. Right, and light, and clear... Gods, their head feels clear. Their blood stills at the thought, eyes flying open like they've been burnt. They glance around in agitated disbelief, only to freeze again, this time from the sight of Hero by their side. On their bed, curled into a ball. In any other situation, Villain would raise a brow and possibly tease Hero for the fetal position, but not today. They shift, leaning over their nemesis and cupping Hero's cheek. There are wet patches on their pillow - from crying themselves to sleep, Villain deduces, letting out a shaky exhale before pulling the covers up. They tuck Hero in, then lower themself back onto the bed, allowing their fingers to gently trace Hero's features.

They know their mind is not fully dealt with. They know there will be lingering nightmares for both them and Hero. They know it's far from over. But they also know that they won't be going through it alone. Not anymore.

Part 1

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy@alltimelowing@lateuplight@surplus-of-sarcasm@betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode @villain-life @villainsblood @whumpifi @glassthedumbass @silviathebard @misskowe @ayeshaturnedtoashes4444 @m4iloblu3 @silky-worm @doctorsawyer @philosophershroomie

Special tags: @m4iloblu3 @silky-worm @doctorsawyer @philosophershroomie

60 notes · View notes