#brief mention of secondo emeritus

[molly-ghuleh]

Ungrumpify Your Papa: Papa Emeritus II x afab!reader

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

Words: 6.9k (nice)

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

AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, amore,” Secondo says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It could catch on fire.” 

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

“Well. Suppose there is an ember—“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Colloquialism?” you offer. 

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

“Is that why you never celebrated?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Secondo smiles, too. 

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Papa.”

~~~

Oh, you hate him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re welcome. Anch’io ti amo.”

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach growls again. 

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

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

“Please,” you nod. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guisto. You are mine and mine alone.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You, Papa! I’m yours!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Translations:

Amore - love

Sto solo scherzando - I'm only joking

Esattamente - exactly

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

cena maledetta - cursed dinner

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

Anch’io ti amo - I love you too

Giusto - Right

Tesoro - treasure, sweetheart

Già così disperato per me - Always so desperate for me

Perfezione - Perfection

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

Sempre - always

Così buono per me - So good for me

Capisci - Understood

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

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

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

[earthry]

Papas and Reader!Familiars (Familiar AU Headcanons)

Alrighty here's my little AU idea where familiars are necessary to the Emeritus bloodline because they soak up any excess demonic energy from their bonded ones; preventing madness and corruption that can happen if there's too much in the papa's body. It's a mutual symbiotic relationship between a familiar and a papa. The Emeritus bloodline naturally generates demonic energy; this tends to boil over during rituals or other specific occasions. Too much demonic energy is harmful to its host. Familiars don't generate their own demonic energy but they need it to survive outside the pit; they're similar to ghouls but have an animal form-- when weakened they cannot take human form. When each Emeritus brother becomes a papa, a familiar is summoned for them to bond to. Familiars all have a demonic form if they have enough energy stored in them that looks vaguely like an eldritch horror. This is so they can protect their papas <3

tw: sfw, brief mentions of violence and injuries/blood, lots of fluff, this is the cute fluffy animal edition. might make another headcanon post with the reader as other animals depending on the reception of this one.

Primo

When Primo first summoned you, you were just a cute little ball of fur with huge eyes. The cutest fruit bat to ever fruit bat— that’s you! You may be half blind but you knew he was going to be yours the first time you saw him. With joy, you fly to his shoulder and then smack right into it, to which he lets out a panicked cry and manages to catch you before you hit the ground. You click happily at him. Your bonded protected you! This was very good news!

His gardening actually begins with you, wanting to grow fresh fruit and veggies for you to snack on. Lazy mornings and afternoons napping on his shoulder or in his pocket while he tends to his plants and trees. He talks with you sometimes, and you give him little clicks and chirps in response.

You spend an equal amount of time in your bat form as your human form— sometimes you garden with Primo. It’s a pastime that becomes special for the two of you, time spent together growing life and watching the flowers bloom.

Unfortunately you can’t attend his rituals because the noise hurts your sensitive ears too much— which you’re very sad about because you want to hear your papa sing. He makes this up to you by singing to you sleep most nights. Your favorite sleeping position is snuggled right on top of his head, sometimes laying straight over his forehead. He thinks it’s a bit much but if it makes you happy then who is he to complain?

Secondo

Was not sure what to do with you when you were first summoned for him. You are the most unlikely familiar for this man-- you are a bunny rabbit. You are so petite, so small. You fit in his hands and have soft little ears and a cute button nose that twitches when you're annoyed. You are also in bad shape when he receives you, injured and bleeding and barely holding on. If it wasn’t for the bond that formed between the two of you, you may not have survived.

Once he bonds to you, you heal a little faster but you're still very weak during your first few months on the surface. You were very distrusting of Secondo at first, biting and gnawing on his hands and fingers each time he got close-- but he persisted, bringing you all sorts of fresh delicious veggies to snack on, wrestling with you to change your bandages and make sure you're healing correctly. Eventually you warm up to him and now you're both practically inseparable.

You wear a silky beautiful green ribbon around your neck that claims you as Secondo's; everyone knows not to touch you for fear of Papa's wrath. He has pockets with soft lining sewn into all his papal robes so he can carry you around safely in his pocket.

You stomp angrily when you're upset and Secondo finds it way too cute to actually feel threatened. You often sleep on his chest over his heart or tucked into the crook of his neck. You love nothing more than his scritches behind your ears and when he gently rubs your little bunny tummy.

You're distrustful of other humans but you get along well enough with the ghouls. You're only in your human form around Secondo or ghouls. Secondo is fiercely protective of you. You may not be human but that doesn't mean you're particularly powerful or strong either (at least not to Secondo’s knowledge). You're totally fine with that because it means you get spoiled rotten by your papa. To him, you’re just a soft squishy little dude! You can’t fend for yourself you’re baby!

It’s only when your Papa is in danger, passed out and demonic energy in him rises dangerously that you rest your little head against his chest to soak up all that energy— and once you do, you don’t let anyone near Secondo. I imagine that at your most powerful you increase to the size of a large wolf and you’re like this scary demonic rabbit with extra eyes and sharp teeth and claws and people just fear you. You curl up around your bonded and snap your jaws and snarl at anyone who tries to approach. After that they call you a demon rabbit but Secondo doesn’t believe them. Like come on, a demon rabbit? You? You’re just a little guy, you couldn’t hurt a fly if you wanted to.

Terzo

You are a little bit of a brat and you love causing trouble— which honestly makes a little sense since you are a raccoon. You’re very poofy with a clever nose and fluffy tail. The first time you are summoned you promptly chomp down hard on Terzo’s ankle as a show of affection.

Unlike the other papa’s familiars, you prefer your human form when you’re in public which makes it easier to accompany your papa anywhere he goes. You’re not exactly pocket-sized, though you’re sure if you were it’d be a whole different story.

You love baths, love nothing more than soaking in bubbles and scrubbing yourself nice and clean. Terzo spares no expenses when it comes to you, so you have endless choices of essential oils, bath bombs, salts, and fancy soaps. Anything you want, you have it. He gives you a Etsy account with his card registered to it so that you can pick out whatever you want to pamper yourself with.

Your favorite place to sleep in your animal form is under Terzo’s shirt or robe when he’s wearing it, where it’s warm and you can rub your cheek against his squishy belly. Sometimes you burrow to the other side, poking your nose out of the collar and squeezing your head out, with Terzo’s chin resting on top of you between your ears.

You are in the middle of a long prank war with his ghouls and you are currently winning. Just last week you dyed Dewdrop’s hair hot pink and he’s been PISSED. Anyone else would have been dead meat but you’re lucky enough that he likes you. Aether is begging you not get him involved but you’re being crafty and trying to drag him into it somehow.

Terzo’s bed is your burrow, your cozy little nest. You steal all sorts of shiny bits and bobs from all over the abby and they wind up here, tucked and hidden away under blankets and pillows and each time Terzo goes to bed he has to do a check to make sure you didn’t take anything that would get you in trouble and to make sure he doesn’t sleep on anything dangerous.

Your favorite nights with Terzo are curled around his shoulders in raccoon form and chittering at him as he cooks for the two of you in his kitchen. Every so often when he’s not looking you’ll stick your little paws into whatever sauce or dough or sneak a piece or two of dinner-in-process and each time he catches you, you give him the biggest, widest ‘i’m so innocent you can’t be mad at me, look at me I’m just a baby’ look and he can’t help but kiss your little nose after he scolds you. Or even better when he catches you with a morsel or pasta noodle in your paws and you make eye contact while slowly bringing it up to your mouth while he goes: ‘tesoro— no. Don’t you dare. Don’t. Do not eat that. Put that down this instant or I swear—“ and then you shove it into your mouth and continue to stare at him while chewing slowly. Yeah you’re a menace but he loves you dearly.

Copia

You are a little itty bitty rat and Copia loves you and coddles you and spoils you so much. You were literally the perfect summon for Copia and the ministry took that as a sign of luck and prosperity for Copia's run as Papa.

He has a special little pillow for you to nap on by his bed but it doesn’t get used often. If he’s also sleeping, you prefer to nestle on top of him or in his arms. If he’s not there, you often go to snuggle with his other rats. The first time this happened Copia had a panic attack because he couldn’t find you and you were buried under his other rats in their cage so he didn’t see you until you woke up from his panicked Copia noises.

Much like Secondo's familiar, you prefer your animal form. You find it easier to stay by Copia's side plus he thinks you're so cute like this! He coos and aws at you whenever you do something extremely cute (which is almost everything) and you eat that shit up! Love? Affection? Yeah, rat form is best form in your opinion.

You have a close relationship with Copia’s ghouls, often sitting in to hear them practice or snuggling with them during their cuddle piles. They’re always very careful not to squish you— though there’s been a few scares.

You get round and pudgy from all the snacks Copia gives you, not that you’re complaining because now ‘you’re even cuter’ according to Copia. But he also worries about your health so he does actually cut down your snacks a little to your disappointment. You do a lot of angry squeaking and scrabbling and gnawing at his hands for it, to which he only chuckles a little, “Ah ah, come now little one, let’s not be too upset, si? I want to make sure you’re healthy, that way you can live a very long and happy life alongside your papa.” And okay, you guess if he puts it like that you can bear it for a little while. You still pout and sulk about not getting extra snackies like usual and he gives you kissies and extra cuddles to make up for it.

You love when he holds you in the palms of his hands, your tail curled around one of his fingers as your little paws hug another. Your eyes become happy crescents and you make contented squeaks as he scratches behind your ears.

[ramblingoak]

A Gift of Bones

Chapter 2: A Papa's Touch

~~ Read Chapter 1: He Remembers. This story is a sequel to My Husband Is Now Bones although this can be read on its own ~~

Terzo with his crown of bones by the wonderful @sirlsplayland

This chapter focuses on Primo after he is resurrected although it does touch on Terzo and Secondo as well. Alpha has been put in charge of caring for him and the ghoul hopes his Papa will soon come back to himself...

Warnings: This story is dark! It addresses the death of the three Papas as well as the deaths of other main characters. While the overall theme of this story will be hopeful as it continues please take care in reading. This chapter has mentions of death and decapitation, brief mentions of gore and a heavy dose of angst. The Papas are technically zombies but Special is working on fixing it. Long live Zerzo. Nsfw, 18+ only, 2k words, thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers

None of the brothers came back as they were.

The one that hurt Alpha the most to watch was Primo.  The former Papa barely moved for the first few weeks and Alpha had found himself checking on the man far more than Omega had asked him to.  Special swore that the resurrection had worked, that Primo would just take some time to come back to himself but…something wasn’t right.  

It had taken some time to notice, Omega and Alpha had been busy going through the ranks and trying to figure out who could be trusted.  There had been more banishing spells done in the last week alone than Alpha had ever seen.  That didn’t even begin to address the Siblings of Sin.  Many of them seemed a little unsure of following Terzo as he currently was.  While his temperment seemed to have calmed down, largely in part to more spells done by Special, there was still something a little off about him.  

The severed head he kept lugging around wasn’t helping.

Secondo was another matter entirely and Alpha wasn’t ashamed to say he was glad Earth and Air were the ones dealing with him.  The three of them spent all their time in the catacombs at the moment.  The second oldest Papa had retreated down there quickly after being resurrected.  Secondo had been nearly feral when he came back, fighting off any ghoul in the room that dared to try and contain him.  

After Alpha had heard more about how the brothers had gone out of this world, Secondo's reaction made total sense.  The Papa had thought he was still trying to defend his brothers.  It was no wonder he assumed the same thing was happening when he was free from whatever dimension of Hell he’d been sent to.  Alpha could still hear his screams, guttural and painful as they clawed their way out of Secondo’s dry throat when he woke up.

He had only calmed down after Omega had brought Terzo in.  The two brothers had seemed to communicate although nothing had been spoken out loud.  Terzo had brought that damn head in with him, placing it on the ground between him and Secondo.  The smile they had exchanged was also a memory Alpha couldn’t get out of his head.  A mixture of something joyful and horrific that made his skin crawl.  Omega had looked on the entire time, beaming when they had embraced over Imperator’s head.   

When Terzo wasn’t around Secondo was tense and prone to violence.  Special reassured everyone that the behavior would fade as he familiarized himself with the world again but Alpha wasn’t so sure.  After the first few days (and a few missing Siblings) Secondo had gone into the catacombs and hadn’t reamerged.  Alpha didn’t see how spending all his time down there would help him become human again, or at least more human.  But if Omega and Special weren’t worried he wasn’t going to spend a lot of time on that thought either.

Primo absorbed most of his thoughts right now.

The resurrection of the eldest Emeritus brother was much different than Secondo’s.  He was quiet, barely moving as Special helped him sit up straight.  It seemed like he had aged decades while he was gone and for all Alpha knew that was certainly possible.  Special had no idea what dimension they all had been sent to and time worked differently in each one.  They might have been able to get answers from Imperator or some of the other ghouls involved but that was unfortunately not an option.  Not after what Terzo and Omega had done to them.

Alpha rounded the corner to reach Primo’s quarters but stopped when he saw the door wide open.  His tail swished irritably behind him as he crept closer, not really sure what he’d see when he reached the doorway.  If a few disloyal ghouls had somehow survived the initial purge and gotten ahold of Primo…well.  Alpha wasn’t sure there’d be anyone left after Terzo found out.  

“Papa?”

He wasn’t expecting an answer, Primo still hadn’t spoken a word.  But Alpha didn’t let that stop him.  While he was never the most talkative ghoul he made sure to fill the space with whatever stories or thoughts popped into his head.  Special had encouraged it and Alpha didn’t see any harm.  He wanted Primo back more than probably anyone else did.  Primo had always had a calming, commanding energy and that was something the church needed right now.  A grounding force to help keep everyone calm.

Alpha dejectedly looked around the room, seeing no sign of Primo.  No one had taken the time to clear out the space after his death so most everything was thankfully still in place.  Books and clothes laid out where they’d been the night of the attack.  It was neat and tidy just like it always had been.  The only things that were off were the plants Primo had kept, all of them quickly dying without his meticulous care.  Alpha had attempted to clear them out after getting Primo settled back in his room but Papa had made a small, wounded noise in his chest so the ghoul had left them.  

It was a rather morbid atmosphere for Primo, a man that took great pride in the gardens around the abbey.  In the large glass greenhouse that sat on the grounds nearby.  Alpha hated to see it but maybe the familiarity of all his things being in the same spot would help him.  He took a last look around and exited the room, trying not to look panicked as he strode through the hallways.  It was late and most of the Siblings and ghouls would be in their rooms but he still didn’t want anyone to see him looking nervous.  He definitely didn’t want to run into Omega who knew where he was supposed to be.

“Alpha.”

Well, fuck.  He bit back his groan and turned to greet the ghoul, his blood running a little cold when he noticed Terzo at his side.  They were arm in arm, Terzo even had his crown of bones atop his head.  Regal and macabre were the words that always drifted into Alpha’s head at the sight.  He resisted the urge to bow, deciding that it wasn’t an action he wanted to get used to.  

At least until they made him do it.

“Omega.  Papa.”  He gave them both a nod and tried to keep a relaxed posture.  “Everything ok?”

“Yeah, yeah we’re just leaving dinner.”  Alpha didn’t bother asking what dinner was, they were right next to one of the secret catacomb entrances and by the mess smeared all over Terzo’s chin Alpha knew Terzo was the one that had eaten.  “Aren’t you supposed to be with Primo?”

Alpha ignored Terzo’s low growl and nodded again,  “I just wanted to grab a book from the library.  Thought I’d try reading to him.”

“Oh, hey that’s a good idea.”  Omega wrapped an arm around Terzo’s shoulders when the man continued to growl.  “Stop that.”

“Well I’m gonna go.  You kids have a nice night.”

He did his best not to run away from the pair.  Running from Terzo was strongly discouraged.  Alpha continued down the hall trying to decide where to look for Primo first when he stopped as he walked past a bank of windows.  The sun had set an hour ago but with the full moon he could still see the grounds.  He could see the dead trees, the dried out flower beds.  Alpha could also see the old greenhouse, the glass walls sparkling in the moonlight.  It took a moment before he finally saw something out of place...

The doors to the greenhouse were wide open.

Leaves and twigs crunched loudly under his shoes as he quickly made his way to the building.  Being surrounded by the desiccated remains of his years and years of labor was not going to help Primo come back to himself, he didn’t need Special around to know that.  He tried to remain calm as he approached the door.  While Primo hadn’t exhibited any violent tendencies like his brothers he didn’t want to be the one to make those come out.

“Papa?”  He placed a hand on the cold glass as he stepped through the doorway, his eyes quickly falling upon the missing man.  “Primo?”

Not surprisingly he received no answer so Alpha kept moving closer.  Primo was standing absolutely still as he stared at the remains of a flower.  He wasn’t sure what type it had been, it was impossible to tell.  All that was left were a handful of dried petals and leaves barely hanging on to what remained of the stem.  Alpha reached out to take Primo’s elbow to try to lead him out but a sudden movement by Papa had the ghoul freezing in place.

A steady hand rose from his side, the familiar leather glove missing.  Alpha winced as he looked over Primo’s hand.  While his skin looked far better than it had, it still didn’t look right.  The color was wrong, pale and almost blue in places.  Primo straightened his pointer finger out and gently touched one of the old petals.  Alpha held his breath, expecting the petal to break off at the contact but it held strong.  Neither of them moved a muscle as the seconds ticked by until Primo abruptly dropped his hand, his breath leaving him in a rush.  Alpha had to step up to him quickly to help him stay standing.

“Easy Papa, easy.  I’ve got you.”

Primo’s eyes stayed on the dead flower as Alpha began to lead him away, like he was waiting for something.  Alpha continued to murmur soft words to the man as they left the greenhouse.  Talking about how they’d start working on cleaning the gardens up soon.  Doing his best to reassure him that they’d bring life to his work again.

Just like they had done for him.

Later, after Papa was settled back into his room, and after Alpha had bribed Zephyr to keep watch by his door, Alpha found himself back in the gardens.  He let himself remember how things were before everything had happened.  Before him and his friends, his family, had been either killed or banished back to Hell.  It bothered him that no one had taken care of the gardens in their absence.  He would have to speak with Omega soon about rebuilding and making sure that didn’t happen again.

The greenhouse was as silent as it was earlier but he still walked as quietly as possible.  He wished he knew enough about plants to be able to recognize what he was looking at.  Small trees lined the walls, maybe some sort of fruit tree judging by some of the debris he was walking over.  Further in were the smaller plants, delicate flowers and succulents that required the exact environment the greenhouse could maintain.  He stopped and sighed, letting his shoulders sag as the weight of everything piled on him for a moment.

This place deserved better.  The Papas had deserved better.  Alpha took a deep breath, turning to head back out and towards the abbey.  A flash of color gave him pause as he walked by where Primo had stopped earlier, at the dead flower he had focused on.  At the flower he had touched as gently as a man might touch a loved one.

A flower that was now alive.

Alpha knelt down, his tail swishing the leaves on the ground back and forth as he stared at the small thing.  At the stem that was now stronger and the leaves that were now warm and green.  The dead petals had dropped but there were already new ones growing in their place.  They were bright red, a strong flash of color that made Alpha’s heart ache.  

He carefully stood up, afraid to disturb even the air around it.  His Papa did this, his Papa had brought this small thing back.  A small symbol of hope that everything would be ok.  That things would be made whole again, back to how they were before.  He lowered his head for a moment and said a quiet prayer to Lucifer, a quiet thanks for whatever help he was giving them.  When he was done he turned and made his way outside, his steps more sure than they’d been for weeks.

Tomorrow he would help Papa get to work.

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

[onedaughterofman]

You, forever (Chapter VII: Zenith interlude)

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x g/n reader

Summary: The Clergy takes something from Copia, but he refuses to let go.

Warnings/tags: Mostly fluff, some angst here and there. Mentions of blood, some sexual innuendos. I put my whole heart and pussy into this. It was supposed so be "short and sweet". It's more than 6K words, I think.

PREV CHAPTER HERE

“Cardinal? Care for a dance?”

Draped in ceremonial robes and surrounded by a faint, golden glow, a Sibling of Sin stands right in front of him. The Cardinal lifts up his head, focuses for a brief moment on their face before looking away again.

The music coming from the ballroom is distant, barely above an echo in the air. This party is supposed to be for him, Imperator said. A celebration of his arrival at the Ministry and a welcoming to his recent role as the head of the Ghost project. They are celebrating the release of Prequelle, the general favorable reception it caused on the public.

Despite that, the Cardinal is hidden away from the rest of the clergy and Siblings. He’s on a bench, and the halls continue for a long way to his right and left following a labyrinthine path. A part of Copia wishes he could mingle with the rest of the guests and celebrate, but he’s positively not in the proper mood. Even if Prequelle is a work born from his blood and sweat, he can’t help feeling that there’s something missing. He tried hard, so hard to make something good, but people are still clinging to the past.

During tedious days and interminable nights, he paid attention to the critics and reception. It didn’t matter how hard Imperator tried to shelter him from the negative reviews, focusing exclusively on the praises and applause. Copia read everything, listened to each complaint.

At last, there’s no way to escape the truth. He’s not Terzo. Not Primo or Secondo, either. He’s not the mastermind behind Infestissumam, the rebel innovator behind Meliora or the messiah that brought Opus Eponymus to life, relaunching Ghost.

No. He’s only Cardinal Copia, creator of nothing but a mild disco-flirtatious album that lacks the raw power or lyrical profundity of his predecessors.

What a disappointment. He doesn’t deserve this stupid party or even his appointment as the new frontman. A brief noise forces his head to shift again. Next, he notes you are still standing there, staring at him with dark pupils and piercing eyes. The strength behind your gaze makes his shoulders tense, and he struggles to summon the right words as he swallows. You follow the movement of his throat, the way his muscles contract and relax.

Fuck. What did you say to him?

“I’m sorry,” Copia stutters, after a beat. “I’m not… I’m not good at dancing.”

The phantom of a smug smile appears on your lips, vanishing almost as rapidly. You nod slowly, taking a few steps forward until you take a seat right next to him. The Cardinal instinctively scoots away, putting as much distance as he can without standing up.

Without mercy, you move a bit closer. There’s that small, tight smile in your lips again, and your stare is heavy on his skin.

“Is that so? Because I saw you in the Rats video and that looked a lot like knowing how to dance.”

Oh, Satan. What do you expect from him? Are you here to laugh, to mock him? Is this part of some cruel joke, or a bet?

He’s too old for this.

You are too, but some people never grow over their mean phase. He’s about to excuse himself and sprint away when you finally look away, eyes locking into the paintings on the wall. Copia does the same, analyzing the minor details in the frame before observing the painting.

The infinity is built in front of his gaze. A red snake, swallowing its own tail, symbolizing the never-ending circle of life, death and rebirth. Just like the snake, Copia feels terribly trapped in an eternal cyclic path that will just lead to his own demise. The recent, tragic and sudden passing of the Emeritus lineage has struck hard in the Abbey, causing all kinds of speculations

If he’s not cautious, Copia will end up just like them, he fears.

In the distance, the music changes. The piano is a bit softer, carrying the melody with grace. Your head follows the rhythm, foot tapping on the stone floor. “I must admit I didn’t know what to expect when I first watched the video,” you continue, whispering. The tone of your voice is soft, hushed, as if this was a secret no one else should discover. “I never saw any Papa doing something like that before.”

That’s it, then. You’re here to remind him how different he’s from the rest, how he doesn’t fit along the Emeritus’ heirs. The Cardinal gathers a deep breath, feeling the air burn in his lungs before exhaling. It’s useless for you to come here to taunt him, when he already knows anything you may say and more. He knows he’s extremely different, too unusual or particular. It doesn’t matter how hard Imperator insists he’s suitable for this job, Copia knows she’s wrong.

And here you are, to solidify his theory. No one in the Clergy agrees with his designation. He’s…

A failure.

“I like it.”

The music stops for a moment. The echo travels through the air, following the interminable corridors until it disappears down the hall. Copia studies your face, searching for any clue of sarcasm or a lie, but not a single trace appears. Your mouth is stretched in a smile, and your eyes are sincere, shining with the reflection of the faint golden light.

“You left me speechless for a while, Cardinal.” You continue, averting your gaze. An air of familiarity clings to your body and hair, slowly tearing at his walls. You’re not the frightening, intimidating person he initially thought you were. No, you’re calmer, way kinder. “That’s why I was hoping you might dance with me. Everybody's having fun tonight. It’s a shame you’re here all alone.”

“We can try it, if you want?”

The words leave his mouth before his brain can process them. Copia's mouth is agape while he's fighting to produce a coherent thought. The way your face lights up at his proposal doesn’t make things easier for him, but he achieves the strength to continue. “I mean, I still remember some of my dancing lessons.”

“I knew it!” Your hand lands on his arm, a fleeting and yet burning touch, marking his skin with your emotion. “You looked so professional in that video! You took lessons?”

“A long time ago. Sister thought it would help me become a bit less… shy? I don’t know, truly.”

“I assume it didn’t work.” The mischief coats your words, and he smiles in return.

“No, but it was a good workout. I still work-out, you know. Lots of walking inside the Ministry.”

“You do have a nice, toned body.”

The confession seizes him by surprise. Being raised inside the Ministry has made him almost immune to all sorts of lascivious, hedonist behavior. He has heard and seen things that will be forever branded in his memory, no matter how hard he tries to forget them. However, he’s not used to that being directed at him.

He should get used to it, probably. He’s read the comments some people make about his clothing and moves. They are... creative, to say at least. Tremendously interesting.

“Ah, si. I also… run a bit,” Copia says, when the silence becomes excessively oppressive on his back. “And I do some thrusting, here and there.”

You chuckle.

He has made you laugh, and it’s a breathtaking sight to behold. “Not that I need the training,” the Cardinal continues, moving a bit closer. “My junk works just fine. More than fine. Uh…No complaints.”

When you laugh once more, Copia fears the entire world has come to a stop. He sees you in slow motion, notes the way your lips stretch and your hair sways following the movement of your head. He swallows, but his mouth is incredibly dry.

You’re beautiful.

“Do I know you? No, sorry. I mean, can you tell me your name?”

You do. “I’ve been serving the Ministry for a while, but I’m mostly cleaning and cooking. I’m afraid Sister Imperator doesn’t trust me in clerical duties.”

“Why not?”

“Apparently I speak awful Latin and get lots of herbs and incense confused. I need to study more diligently, she said.”

“Well, if you need any extra help, you can ask me. I know some stuff.”

“I’d be honored, your Dark Eminence.”

“No need for that. Cardinal it’s okay. Or just Copia.”

“Copia.” The way you mention his name, pronouncing each sound with a slow, clear intonation is music to his ears. The Cardinal fears he might become addicted to it. He knows he has just met you, but he’s passionate at the core of his heart. He can’t help but to yearn for love, for someone to adore during days and nights.

It might be a fantasy, but he keeps his hopes high. Maybe, you can become the one he’s been searching for.

“So, dancing lessons?”

Holding onto your hand, Copia follows you through the corridors.

Your hand is warm between his fingers. Copia holds onto it, following you through the empty corridors.

“Thank you for helping me hide from Imperator.”

“You’re welcome,” Copia says, breathless from all the running. “But I don’t see why we are running. I thought you did well in your Latin lessons.”

“I did, that’s the problem! She thinks I cheated!”

He laughs, absentmindedly leaning closer to you.“I’m sorry for being such a good teacher.”

“Then I’m sorry for being such a good student.”

Steps resonate in the distance. You flinch, drawing a short breath before your hand jolts to grip his forearm. The Cardinal hurries behind you, rapidly hiding from whoever is wandering the Ministry. It’s only when the noise fades he realizes how close he is, how your fingers are still closed on his flesh and your bodies are almost pressed together.

The air is not enough to allow him to breathe. Copia opens his mouth to let out a slight gasp, fighting to calm the frantic beating of his heart. He can’t move. In the enclosed space, he doesn’t know where he wants to go, if he wants to put more distance between the two of you or to lean closer. His hands hoovers over your body, fingers twitching in an effort not to touch you. He wants to, but doesn’t dare.

To resist his desire becomes harder when you look at him through your lashes. From this distance, you can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the way his perfume mixes with the minty scent of his aftershave. The Cardinal averts his gaze, staring at the stone wall. He’s extremely nervous, timid.

“Copia?” You whisper. That sultry, half lidded stare burns on his face like fire. “Thank you.”

Without saying anything else, you lean to place a kiss on his cheek. It’s a soft gesture, a chaste one, full of innocence and tenderness he never experienced before. You begin to walk away, turning around to call for him when he remains in place.

“Are you coming?”

Dumbfounded, he follows.

“Come on! Faster!”

“Come on! You can go faster!”

The wheels on the tricycle don’t agree. They creak and whine, almost as if they were about to fall off the frame and roll into nothingness. It's natural. The frame is not meant to support the weight of not only one, but two adults. 

Yet, your nails dig in the Cardinal’s shoulders, as you cling to him for dear life. You laugh loud and the sound echoes on the walls and before disappearing into the hallways. Copia’s voice alerts you shortly before he turns on a corner, hoping not to crash and wreck anything. He can’t explain to Papa Nihil why more and more vases and decorations keep getting broken in the vestibules.

Oblivious to his worry, you merely chuckle louder, gripping onto him with more strength. “Faster!”

“I’m the only one pedaling here!” He yells, breathless. The muscles on his legs burn and ache, but not as much as they will tomorrow in the morning.

Oh, well. A bit of pain is nothing when he can enjoy the comfort of your body pressed against his back or hear the sound of your chuckles. You look so cheerful, gull of joy. It makes his heart race and sing.

“I thought you said you worked out!”

Upon hearing your words, Copia continues. A dead end halts him on his tracks. The wheels produce a sonorous screech on the floors, leaving behind marks. You climb down from the tricycle, and a sad, disappointed expression manifests on your face. Copia doesn’t like seeing it. He despises it.

Even if your feet make contact with the ground, your hands remain on his shoulders, toying with the collar of his cassock. The gesture sends shivers down his spine, electrifying his body. “We’ll have more space to ride outside,” he says, hoping you’ll accept his invitation.

“A race, then?”

You run without waiting for him to signal the beginning of the competition. He grants you some advantage before following at full speed.

On the patio, you run. Copia’s voice is carried by the wind, no more than a faint counting sound in the distance.

You're extremely thrilled he’s taking some time to indulge in a foolish game with you. He’s been exceptionally busy lately, so full of stress with all the tours and his clerical obligations. Sadly, you almost don’t have time to spend with him, even if he tries to dedicate a few minutes of his days to you.

Crouching behind a big statue, you cover your mouth with your palms in an effort to muffle the noise of your panting. All your efforts are fruitless, because Copia takes no time to find you.

His fingers tickle at your skin, over the ribs, and you jump in place both from the sudden contact and the surprise. “This is unfair! You always win.”

“Si, certo. I used to play here all the time when I was a child, there’s no corner I don’t know. Most orphans preferred the playground near the west entrance and not this one because it’s close to the Chapel of Rituals, so nobody bothered me.”

In a swift movement, your fingers close over his wrists, pulling him closer. Copia falls on the soft ground, green grass staining the white material of his suit. Despite that, you don’t stop tugging until his head is set on your lap. Even if he attempts sitting up, you don’t let go. You merely move your hands from his arm to his face, ghosting over his cheekbones and nose before setting down on his hair.

Gradually, your nails lightly scratch at his scalp. Copia’s eyes go from wide open in surprise to half lidded, all fluttering eyelashes. “You need some rest, Copia,” you mumble, making him nod.

“I know, I know. There’s so much to do.”

He’s right. The clerical duties are never ending, so heavy on his shoulders. More than once you have discovered him passed out in the library or in his office, head against the hard wood of the desk and hand clutching a pen. The Cardinal’s shoulders are always so tense and high on his body, from carrying both Nihil’s and Imperator’s expectations.

If only you could do anything to relieve him from some of that pressure, you would. You have been gaining more and more responsibilities, but it’s never enough to grant him respite. “I’ll tell you what,” you offer, when you think he might start snoring softly at any moment. “When this is all over, we’ll go to the beach. I heard the Ministry owned a beach house not too far away from here.”

Eyes batting open, he furrows his brows. “Where did you hear that?”

“Imperator mentioned something when she was talking with Papa Nihil the other day. I might have eavesdropped.”

A deep, slow sigh it’s the sole answer you get. “It doesn’t matter” you cut him before he can complain.“Promise it. When you have time, we’ll go to the beach.”

“I don’t like the beach.”

“Because you have never been there with me.”

The glint in your eyes, he clearly sees it. There’s so much hope and excitement within your pupils, it’s impossible to deny you. Hell, he’d accept anything you propose, asking only for you to gaze at him in return. “Okay, okay,” Copia whispers, looking elsewhere. His lips stretch in a timid smile. “When this is over, I’ll take you to the beach. But then, we’ll have to go somewhere I want.”

“Where?”

“Let’s go get rigatoni affumicati al pecorino, from that nice Italian restaurant near here,” he declares after a beat. “ Do you want to?”

“Deal. But first, the beach.”

“Vabbè. The beach.” Your palm is warm and soft when his fingers make contact with your hand. He takes it gently, placing his lips on the back of it. The black makeup leaves behind the faint mark of a kiss. “I promise it.”

There’s so much echo around. Step after step, your shoes make a loud noise  that breaks the heavy silence of this place. Almost as if he was sensing your uneasiness, Copia’s fingers caress the back of your hand, moving to graze over the palm. “Only a bit more,” he murmurs. “Watch your steps, my dear.”

“It’d be easier if I wasn't blindfolded.”

“You didn't complain about it last night.”

Copia abruptly stops before you can reply. His hands move to your head, deft fingers swiftly removing the blindfold. Nothing prepares you for what you see.

The space is large and broad around you. Illuminated by candle light and a few faint lamps, there’s a fountain in the middle of the room. From right to left, you note some tunnels extend for meters and meters before disappearing in the dark distance.

Where's this place?

Has it always been here, hidden under the main building?

“I know this is not like the beach.” Copia speaks up from behind you. His fingers bend around your shoulders, pulling you lightly until your back meets his chest. As always, he’s gentle and tender, an incredibly comforting presence. He makes you feel giddy inside, so at ease. “But I thought it was a nice sight anyway.”

“Are we under the Abbey?”

“Si, ecco. A whole system of tunnels goes even beyond the fences. It’s supposed to be an escape route, used during the old times in case of an attack. Nowadays it’s mostly abandoned and closed, unless you have permission to be here.”

“Do we have permission?”

“I do. Don’t worry. I’m the only one who comes here.”

“That’s selfish of you. Maybe I want to come too.”

“I can help you with that, very well.”

His arms are strong when he surrounds you in a hug, tilting your head until his lips find yours. Copia lets out a few chuckles against your skin, closing his eyes to thoroughly enjoy the coziness of your body next to his. In front of your eyes, the water of the fountain dances to its own song. The statue of the Fallen Angel stands watchfully in the middle of it, beautiful and magnificent.

Just like Lucifer fell from the heavens to the ground, searching for freedom and truth, you feel yourself falling for Copia. If he’s your damnation or the promised land, you don’t care. As long as you can have him close, worship him and walk by his side, then nothing else matters.

Nothing can offer you absolution or console, if it’s not him.

“Thank you for showing me this.” Your voice is scratchy, coarse from the lack of use.

“Prego,” Copia replies, holding closer. “This place was always a shelter for me, to hide when things became too bad. I want you to have it too.”

The murmur of the water travels through the air, lulling you into a sense of peace and safety. In your lover’s arms, you cling to these private moments you get to expend together, away from the rest of the Clergy. Now and forever, the light from memory will conduct you through the shadows.

In moments like these, away from the world and outside expectations, you feel incredibly free.

Over the muffled music, the water is a constant buzzing in your ears. It’s dusky in the tunnels, more than usual, and a part of you wonders if Copia dimmed the lights on purpose to allow himself to camouflage into the shadows.

The entrance to the main room stands in front of you. Written in stone, an ancient warning lays carved in somber color for your eyes to see.

“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate.”

You take a step forward. The distant ticking of the clock it’s the only sign of time passing. Under the Abbey, everything seems to be put on a stop. “Copia?” You call, and for a long moment there’s no reply. “I know you are here.”

“Si, uh. I was just…”

“Hiding?” Your chuckle is full of air. “You need to stop hiding during celebrations prepared in your honor. Everybody is up there wanting to congratulate the new Papa Emeritus the IV.”

“Lo so, believe me. I just need some air.”

Distorted, the melody of the piano keys hardly manages to resonate in the underground. You don’t recognize it, only acknowledging it’s a slow ballad. Your hand extends in Copia’s direction, floats in front of his face until his eyes look up to meet yours. There’s sadness clinging to his factions, drenching him in a unique kind of sorrow you fear you’ll never completely understand.

This man, as much as you love him, remains mostly a mystery. He has shared a few details, scarce information about his childhood and teenage years. How someone who has been through much can remain kind and cheerful it’s something you can’t comprehend.Every so often, you feel as if the world’s weight was balancing on his tense shoulders, oppressing his true nature into dust.

The Clergy clearly searches to transform Copia into the perfect frontman, a well curated marionette they can maneuver round and round. There’s a bitter glint behind your irises, a misery you hope he can’t discern in the shadows.

If your love could guard him, then not a god or Satan would be able to touch a single hair of his head.

Then, you’re just a human. Another Sibling of Sin, someone who performed their vows not too long ago and who comes from nowhere.

“We met on a night like this. Do you remember?”

Copia’s hair follows the movement of his head when he nods leisurely. He holds onto your hand, tenderly cradling the palm to his cheek. His eyelids are pressed together when he snuggles closer, lessening the deep crease of his brows.

“How could I forget it?”

“Was I the first person you danced with? After you were ordained as the new leader?”

“Yes.”

“Can I be the first person to dance with you, now that you have become a Papa?”

As if your words had struck him right on the face, Copia’s eyes flutter open. “Please,” he whispers, through gritted teeth and quivering lips. He’s scared, terrified even, and now he’s clinging to you as a life line.

It’s okay. You can be his anchor, his sheltered place. Everything will be alright, for as long as you are together.

Even if the music is muffled by the sturdy stone walls, you begin to escort him through the vast room. Your voice rises in a melody you heard him singing, nights and nights ago. Copia seems surprised that you recall it, but how could you forget the way that song draped around your aching heart and eager soul, touching every nerve of your sensitive core?

If he composed it for you or not, you don’t care. That’s the song you love, the one you’d sing forever and ever if you were ever granted life eternal. The humming travels up your chest, throat and mouth, exiting your lips and filling the silence before getting lost into a distant echo.

Clinging to your body tight and circling around the room, you dance. 

Copia’s body is squeezed tight against you. Laying in bed, limbs tangled and hair tousled, the two of you struggle to regain a regular breathing rhythm.

For a long moment, you stay silent. There’s a thick veil of worry covering your skin. He realizes, sensitive as he always is to your emotions. Copia clutches your hand between his, caresses the back of it without breaking eye contact. “What’s wrong, my dear?” He asks gently.

There are no words in your mouth, nothing logical that can explain why your throat is filled with anguish. It’s most likely nothing, you know it, but your heart beats rapidly and heavy inside your chest.

“I think it’s going to rain soon.”

“Why do you say that? There’s not a cloud in the sky tonight.”

“The wind has changed,” you murmur, averting your gaze. “And I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“Your trip. How long will you be gone?”

This time, his facial expression is the one that denotes concern. “Not too long, and there’s no need to worry,” he comments, squeezing your hand. His fingers curl around your wrist, pulling you closer. “Sister will be there with me. It’s just a dumb meeting with some members of the Clergy, to plan the next tour and album.”

“Let me go with you, then. No one should object to a Sibling of Sin accompanying their Papa.”

“You’ll get bored.”

The same conversation, time after time, is what bores you the most. Why can’t Copia allow you to travel with him? That is something you don’t fathom. A part of you suspects it has to do with Imperator’s presence always following him like a shadow.

“I mean it, Copia,” you stand firm, sitting up. “ I miss you so much when you are gone. Why can’t I go instead of Imperator?”

“She’s the one behind the whole project, I can’t ask her not to go.”

“Then why does she despise me so much?”

As usual, he remains silent. “She doesn't,” Copia states, but there’s an undeniable doubt in his voice.“She has an old vision of how things should be.”

“She has a vision of me dead, I’m telling you.”

“Come on, don’t say that.I’ll be okay and will take care of you. Do you trust me?”

Yes.

“Of course I do, Papa.” The mention of his title, the one he holds in the highest regards, causes him to feel as if he’s about to burn and melt into the silky sheets. His heart is about to explode in a whirlwind of emotions and excitement. Copia is happy, so moved and sensitive every time you call him that.

“Then believe me when I say this. Everything is going to be alright. I’ll be back from my trip soon, and then we might even have some time before the tour. You know what that means?”

“Our beach trip?”

“Yes, why not.”

“It’s winter, Papa.”

“That won't stop me. If it’s not the beach, I’ll take you somewhere else.”

“Okay. Maybe somewhere warm. I really think it’s going to rain soon.”

The next morning, the clouds are distant in the blue horizon when Copia takes one last look at the Ministry before stepping into the car.

Dark clouds float above his head. It’s going to rain soon and the drops of dew that cling to the air are almost frigid cold, dampening his clothes and hair.

“They are looking for you.”

The ghoul maintains his distance. The sturdy boots barely produce any noise against the moist ground, due to the carefulness of his walking. He advances slowly, step by step, as if he’s dealing with a hurt and scared animal that might bolt away at the first sign of danger.

Maybe the ghoul is right. Copia feels like a wounded and terrified creature, about to dissolve into dust. His body is closed tight, holding him together by threads that may break and disintegrate with the slightest wrong movement.

Still, he breathes.

“Saltarian and the rest are wondering where you are.”

“How… How did you find me?”

Without hurrying, the ghoul outstretches one hand. He’s not wearing any gloves, and his silver jewelry shines under the pale glow coming from the lamps. One finger points to himself, right at the chest, over the place where the Emeritus’ sigil has been branded on his skin. “We’re bound together by our deal,” he says. “I’ll always know where you are. That way I can come when you call me.”

“Then the others know where I am too.”

Under the black night sky, the ghoul stands still. Through the dark glass of his mask, his pupils emit a dull light that can barely be discerned. Copia focuses on that glow, on the way the ghoul’s head tilts in his direction as he lowers his body to the ground. Sitting on the dirt, the creature only stares at him.

Next, his fingers toy with the long sleeves of his uniform, rolling them up his arms. Copia follows the action, silently. “Do you remember when you summoned us?” The ghoul questions. His body irradiates heat, reaching a temperature that would be too hot for any normal human. Copia feels half tempted to lean into him, because he’s freezing to his bones.

“Sí, I do. I was terrified,” he admits, narrowing his eyes and breathing through his mouth. It’s a bad habit. He knows it, but he can’t help himself. The oxygen isn’t enough. It’s never enough,

“Then you remember our deal, right?”

“You serve me, and in exchange I let you inhabit a human vessel to roam through the earth.”

This time, the ghoul moves his head slowly. His tongue clicks. “Not exactly. We are summoned here to look after the Ministry’s best interest and ensure the safety of Papa Emeritus. In exchange we are provided with a body to possess and energy to feed off. It’s simple, but the contract is up to interpretation, as it always is.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because the Clergy has issued a command in your absence. They told us to stop you from leaving the Abbey’s ground, no matter what," the creature confesses. “And right now, you’re very close to abandoning our profane land.”

Copia stiffens, skin pale. He’s struggling to inhale and exhale, almost shaking.

“Where is Sister? Has she arrived?” Copia whispers through his teeth. Each syllable is hard to pronounce, because his jaw is almost as tense as the rest of his body. The cold stone causes his teeth to clatter and stomach to shiver, but he doesn’t want to step out of his hiding spot and go back inside the building.

No. His shelter is safe, while the abbey is dangerous. Copia doesn’t know who he can trust in anymore, who might be waiting for him in the shadows. The ghoul shakes his head, solemnly.

“Something horrible happened,” Copia adds, and his companion only nods. “I know something happened.”

Word by word, his shoulders rise as his head drops. The dirt is wet, wetting his clothes. “I can’t find them anywhere,” he mutters, quivering. He wants to disappear, to curl up in a hole and die from anguish and pain.

You can’t abandon him, you can’t simply go and never come back. Copia needs you, more than anything in this world, more than anyone else.

Love me, his soul screams. Love me and never leave me. Never cast me aside, never ignore me.

Love me

Love me

Love me.

“I smell blood on the dirt.”

No.

“Not too old. It’s recent. A few kilometers from here, down the south.”

Copia stands up, but the demon grabs him by the sleeve of his jacket before he can move. The sharp nails leave behind marks, slicing through the cloth. “I have to go,” he pleads.

“You can’t leave the Ministry grounds. That’s the order.”

“Let me go.”

“Even if I do, the others will follow you. And I’m not going to lie, most of them don’t care if they have to drag you back by force.”

The reasoning falls into deaf ears. Copia struggles with all his might, but it's useless in the face of an eternal, inhuman being. “I’m the one in charge here. It’s an order!", he yells, desperate. "I command you to let me go!”

“No, you don't. You can’t even use the binding magic right. It’s a sad attempt.” There’s a glimpse of something in his voice, a bitten emotion that doesn’t quite match the ferocity of his nature. He’s not aggressive, or indifferent. He’s almost sorrowful. 

“I don’t understand! You are my ghoul. You serve me!”

A deep sigh is the only reply he gets. “My loyalty is to you, but contractually I serve the Ministry's interests. The pact doesn’t mind who’s in charge of it, if it’s you, another Papa or some old human behind the shadows.”

“Then come with me. That way you’ll be certain I’m safe. No harm done to anybody in the Ministry.”

“You don’t get it, right? To ensure Papa Emeritus’ safety is not the same as to obey you. If you ask most of us, an easy way to keep Papa safe is to lock him inside the Abbey and forbid him from doing something crazy, like going outside in the middle of the night when it’s about to rain.”

Like a marionette with no strings, Copia's arms fall to his side. The creature's grip on his flesh lessens, but the sting of sharp claws remains. “If something happens to Papa Emeritus, if you get sick or injured and can’t perform, then the Old One’s message won’t be spread. There is a tour coming soon. It would be a problem to lose you.”

In the wind, the top of the trees dances in a serpent-like manner. Copia focuses on it, trying hard to match the movement with the rhythm of his air intake.

It's useless. Nothing can bring him peace if you are not around. “But I have to find my beloved.”

“That’s the problem here. You’re not only Papa Emeritus IV. That’s merely a title you endorse. Sadly, right now my duty is to stop you from leaving, not to care about Copia’s feelings and wishes. They don’t serve the Clergy or Satan.”

“I have to find them, please. You said you smelled blood. They need help.”

“I smell blood under the dirt, permeating the ground. It’s not fresh, just recent. I don’t think they need help anymore.”

No.

It can't be.

He won't believe it. Hasn't he given enough? Hasn't he given away his name, his face, years and years of his life to serve this Ministry? Hasn't he done enough?

Copia is asking only for one thing in return to his efforts: you. 

They can't take you away. 

No one can. 

“Silenzio!” He yells. In the darkness, his eye emits a faint pale glow. “Tell me where they are, now. I’ll go.”

The ghoul's bared teeth shine when he growls, in a silent warning. His muscles are tense under his tight skin, almost as if he was ready to pounce and devour him to the bones. “Alright," he breathes out, after a beat. "No need to get so mad, I said my loyalty is to you and not to the Clergy.”

“Why?”

“Maybe I spend too much time with humans. I’m starting to feel things I’m not supposed to, like empathy and pity. It might be your fault. You always treated me like a friend and not a servant.”

“You’re like family to me.”

Instead of offering comfort, his words seem to shatter the creature's spirit even more. “Something I learnt from humans is that even family can stab you in the back. Don’t trust us. We’re not like you in the end.”

Copia listens carefully when the ghoul tells him where to go. It's not far away, but it is beyond the Ministry's fences. He can make it before it begins to rain, probably, but it will be a tough journey. 

It doesn't matter. He can't fail. 

“One last thing. The tunnels under us, you know them right?”

“Yes.”

“Most of us would consider them part of the Ministry’s grounds. That way, you can get farther away without any ghoul on your heels. I’ll try to distract them as much as I can, but there’s no guarantee.”

“Thank you. For everything.”

“I hope you don’t regret it. This won’t go unpunished for me.”

“I’ll reward you when I get back.”

Without agreeing, the infernal creature begins to walk away. He doesn’t turn around when Copia speaks up, only tilting his head to examine him through the corner of his eyes.

“You said you spent too much time around us, and that’s why you’re experiencing new feelings.” Copia inquires. “Would it be too bad to be a bit more human?”

For a small eternity, an infinite of seconds that weigh as much as his sorrow, the ghoul stays in silence. After that, he swallows. His fists are pressed against his body. “It’s dangerous,” he says softly. “What happens when you lose everything that makes you yourself?”

Copia doesn’t know what to reply. His gaze pierces into the creature, searching for any clue. He detects nothing, only a rare sense of humanity.

To discover humanity in a demon, that’s something he was never prepared for. Copia feels his blood freeze when he witnesses him go without looking back. Before completely disappearing in the distance, the ghoul’s voice continues in an incredibly gentle manner, almost breaking at the end

“You die.”

NEXT CHAPTER

Ps: Sorry for writing a nice ghoul and then implying they died. That wasn't very fluff of me.

Next chapter is probably the end! This is a wild ride. Be prepared, maybe? And, as always, thanks for the support! This wouldn't have been a multi-chapter fic without it <3

[calliedion-dungeon]

❦Say it with flowers

Young Papa Emeritus Primo/ GN Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Young Primo falls in love with you at first sight, without wasting time, he begins to make love to you by sending you flowers and showing you their meaning, before daring to confess who he is because he is very shy, but a couple of imps accelerate his courtship. Mentions of Terzo and Secondo being mischievous children and Primo being their tutor.

Tags: Family Fluff, Making love means courting, like old times, unspecified year, crush, secret admirer. Prophecy in a flower at the end?

Living in the ministry was getting easier every day. Your tumultuous life was getting better and better when you approached the clergy and finally found your chosen family. 

The world was healing, and so were you. The war left you alone in this forsaken land, but life was being kind to you again. Everyone had hope for the future once more, you even started to consider seeing a sibling of sin to let him woo you, even if he was too stoic and dry to express his affection, maybe with time, you thought, he might open up little by little, with patience and care.

But as the months went by, you felt discouraged by his manners, distant, ambiguous leanings, you often questioned why bother? Your passionate and romantic heart left you wanting more, and nobody seemed to live up to your standards.

Sometimes even you expected for him to ask you something improper, knowing very well that a gentleman would never risk your reputation, but at least it'll show you that he feels passion for you, even a concealed and sedated one. Nevertheless, he kept giving you nothing, and your interest was withering, practically dead.

One very pleasant sunset, you were strolling by the ministry gardens, admiring the well cared flowers in the hot house, exotic specimens surrounding you, as well as common flowers, sunflowers as tall as you, and they were looking in your direction. 

You didn't noticed that somebody was looking at you hiding among these flowers, struck by your beauty, how perfectly divine you look with flowers around you, just where you belong, he thought, the shy young man tried not to make noise so as not to scare you and to be able to continue admiring you calmly, his hands held a flower pot that, being enraptured by you, he forgot to leave somewhere and ended up falling out of his hands. You got scared, but you didn't run, you just jumped in your place.

"Hello? Is someone there?" You saw a silhouette moving around, but not quite who it was behind the tall sunflowers and ivy.

"Mi dispiace for startling you, I'll clean this" the voice said while sweeping the dirt, you wanted to see who it was, but it seemed he was hiding on purpose.

His voice was confident, but his manners were shy, since he didn't appear in front of you to introduce himself, after sweeping he just disappeared.

The encounter was brief, you retain his words in your mind, his pleasant voice that denotes kindness resonates in your ears for days. You ask everyone you know, who takes care of the greenhouse, your friends can't tell you who he is, they only describe a tall young man with strong features and blond hair combed back, he came not long ago from one of the ministries in Italy, everyone judged him shy because sometimes he is seen talking more to plants than to people, however; he is as determined in his actions than anyone his age.

On one evening, you're about to go to the dining room, ready to head out of your room, you hear giggling on the other side of your door, maybe these children that live in the ministry are doing pranks around, you decide to catch them in the act opening the door and there they were, two very small children laughing together no older than ten years old, they looked like twins, both with dark hair and their left eye was an unsettling white color, they had a bouquet of acacias and sunflowers, they smiled at you and hand it over.

"Thank you very much, child, how pretty. Somebody sent these or…?" You asked them, as you smell the delicious bouquet.

"Non dirglielo, ce l'ha ordinato nostro fratello" one child said to the other.

"Lo so, stronzo" one child said, pushing his little friend or brother, you weren’t sure.

"Non chiamarmi così, stronzino" yells the other and then both start pushing each other and wrestling at your door frame.

You didn't understand the children, they stopped wrestling to look at you, putting the bouquet in water and leaving it near the window that faces the garden, so everyone can see, the dark-haired children elbowed each other and whispered something.

"Roses are red…" one started reciting very loudly.

"Sometimes they have dow… dew!" continued the other child, both have beautiful voices, maybe they were in the choir, you suppose.

"Our brother is in love…"

"And we always knew"

They took turns to say the little rhyme with a very thick accent, very obviously learned to say it only in the moment, since they didn't seem to understand you, and right after, they left running and laughing down the corridor before you could ask again what they meant. They looked so adorable doing the errand, your bewilderment went to the background.

You shared the cute story with your friends, now somebody has eyes for you and it's most intriguing the mystery of your secret admirer. Even if it's a stranger who is doing that, it was a stranger who's making an effort to romance you.

The next week you heard eager knockings on your door, it was the kids again with another bouquet for you, it was a combination of red tulips and yellow iris, but this time a tiny book came with it, a book about floriography with the meaning of the flowers in the Victorian times, this person really wants you to know what they mean, not only the beauty of the gifts, but the message in them. The kids ran away from you again, without letting you say another word, so you ran behind them, this time you needed to know who it was, when they realized that you were behind them, they started to run faster towards the green house.

They screamed like you were a monster trying to catch them, and the bushes in the gardens were like a maze, the children separated and you went for the shorter one, grabbing him from the collar of the white cassock, careful not to hurt him. You took it as a good sign that he was still laughing.

 “Alright, you’re going to tell me who is sending these, I’ll keep the secret ok?” the black-haired child stared at you silently grinning, you intuited that it’s because he didn’t understand you. The other child appeared, peculiar as they were, they also seemed good natured and they were just the messengers, for that you decided to let them go and went to your room for the night.

Every week, for the last couple months, they left a bouquet with the most perfect flowers, sometimes they left huge bouquets of roses, other times they had already given you before, but according to the little book they gave you, they were all declarations of love, admiration for your character and beauty, on some occasions the children said a few words to you, almost always they made a mistake in a word, it seemed that they were still learning English and that made it more adorable, it was obvious that someone sent them, the children would not have as much consistency seeing how restless they are.

One delivery was very special, the day after you had to sing in front of the congregation in praise of Satan, hours later, when you returned to your room after dinner, your room was full of carnations and roses, along with a note, talking about how elevated your admirer felt to have had the privilege of hearing you sing at mass, drinking the poems that fall from your breath, how he could not stop seeing your lips when you spoke and your luminous eyes when lighting the candles.

That made you feel so loved, so cared for, your eyes filled with tears that someone could really see you like this, but they were also tears of longing peaking from your eyes, longing for that person to speak to you tête à tête. Being able to feel in your own flesh that admiration that he expresses so much with flowers, even so you smile looking at the moon through your window, wishing you could conjure the name of who makes love to you.

The following week, before going to mass, you saw the little ones who have sent you the flowers, running around, they begin to surround a sister, one behind and one in front, the brown-haired one shows her something between his hands, distracting her while the other little one with black hair lifts her skirt from behind, then run away laughing, she yells terrible things at them, when you get closer you hear someone tell her that they are just children, justifying them, but not on your watch. You go to look for them in a corner inside the church to reprimand them and find out who is responsible for them.

You find them with a man who is scolding them strictly, crouching in front of them, and yet he spoke affectionately, you approach him to tell him about the matter and also tell those little ones how wrong that was, the pair weren’t laughing anymore.

“... stavamo giocando” said the one with brown hair, the other boy was silent and looking at you.

“In english, Secondo, you must practice” the man reminded them “You must respect the sorelle and everyone in here, you will get a lot more out of people the good way, especially if one of you ends up being the leader of the…”

“Fratello!” yells the black hair boy.

“Terzo, I’m speaking” he straightens his hair “Those are not proper games, and father doing it does not mean you should too…”

“Fratello!” yell the children louder.

The young man follows the glances of the little ones, turning his head and looks at you, a pale young man becomes even paler when he stands up suddenly, you smile at him and cross your arms, the children whisper things in each other's ears, twin things, you think.

“These two are going to be the terror of the ministry one day, eh?” you tell them, neither dares to say anything “Sister Lily is very upset, young men, you should apologize. Lifting a lady’s skirt is unacceptable. I shall tell about this to your tutor, or whoever…”

“That’s me” the man swallows hard looking at you terrified “These are my little brothers. I’m afraid they already are the terror of the ministry” he smiles coyly at you, brushing his blonde hair with his fingers, you find him rather handsome with his red vest, cream colored shirt with rolled up sleeves and burgundy pants.

“I’ll keep my eye on you two, they’ve been doing mischief on me too, you know” the man immediately tenses up, clenches his fists and turns to see the little ones.

“Secondo! Terzo! What have you done?” He doesn't yell at them, but his voice is as resonant as theirs when you heard them recite.

“Non abbiamo fatto niente” pleads the boy with black hair, he grabs his brother by the arm with a little fear.

“Only what you order, promise, Primo” the taller boy speaks and covers his mouth immediately and widens his eyes.

“Bravo, now you remember your english?” He massages his eyebrows in frustration, the poor man who now, thanks to the innocence of his little brothers, you can now identify as Primo, can't find a way to hide his face. You can't be bothered with any of them, the little comedy they invented between them had been extremely charming, your smile doesn't fade, quite the opposite.

“You’re the one who’s been sending me the flowers?” even when it’s heavily implied that he is, you must hear him say it or deny it.

“Well, it depends…” he manages to say, his flustered face was most endearing.

You were so absorbed in each other that you did not notice when the children left laughing at their older brother's ribs, now you can clearly notice the feature that he shares with his little brothers in his left eye which hardly dares to look at you.

“On…?” You urged him to continue with what he was going to say, the poor man had been stunned, he seemed shyer than his face implied, and his little brothers did not seem to be of that withdrawn nature at all.

“On... what do you say?”

“About what?”

“You really wish for me to say it?”

“I don’t wish to torture you, Primo” knowing his name you roll your tongue calling him, he looks excited and fails to conceit his emotions, you think of following a little more of this game of his  “Meet me in the green house in ten minutes, I’ll give my answer”

You leave the church, giving a mischievous look, first, you go directly to your room to look for the book that he had sent you, you know that you must search by color to get to what you are looking for, you read while you walk almost running towards the garden.

Every second that passed, Primo counted as if it were a year, every step echoed in his head just like his heart as he approaches the greenhouse, his little brothers apologized multiple times in several languages, hugging him and kissing him to forgive them for their indiscretion, but he couldn't be mad at them at all, he loves them too much; they follow him quite far without losing sight of him, they are not very sure why, only their instinct tells them that they should be close.

When you come out of the greenhouse, with one hand hidden behind your back, you have already chosen your flower. The understanding that you feel with impresses you, as if you have known him all your life, perhaps because you know that he understands your romantic nature. He walks to you, half hope, half fear.

“Look for a flower, we will make something like a duel, we will get our ideas at the same time and so we will know what we will do from here on” You may have sounded a bit abrupt in your words, making him fear that you're not interested, but it's all part of the game.

You were surprised how quickly Primo was to find his flower, as if he already had it ready, you see the children from afar playing in the gardens, the one with black hair stops to wave at you, you assume it was Secondo, you’re still not sure about their names, the other little one, which you assume is Terzo, pushes him away and takes his place to blow you a kiss. You laugh at how quirky those kids are and how lucky they are to have a man with as good temper as his brother, they certainly require a lot of patience.

“They’re a handful, but I wouldn’t change them for anything” Primo says from behind you, your flower well concealed in your hands and his hands also hidden behind his back. You face him admiring his features, his poise and elegant manners and his language in his letters only make you more certain of your choice.

“Ready?” you count moving the mouth up to three, without making a sound, you both show your flowers at the same time and laugh.

You laugh together because not only did you both took a red flower, which is already a good sign, but it is exactly the same flower, a red cardinal. It must be a sign, it must be destiny, he took that flower both for its meaning and because that was the pot that he dropped when he was enthralled by you the first time he saw you.

[squarehammersupremacy]

[Chapter Three]

(Before the chapter starts, I want to thank everyone for the support!! The request for this one was a dinner date gone wrong between Sister and Papa :))

WARNING: Mention of stepping on glass!!

*Sidenote, I listened to Mary on a Cross while writing this, which is entirely out of the blue but yeah, enjoy!*

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

Nihil knew he was in trouble when he fell in love with the fiesty fire known as Sister Imperator; hell, she gave him a run for his money. That made it more worth it because if Nihil was honest, he liked bossiness in a woman. That, and a strong leader. So, he was preparing a nice dinner for her because the kids were on a trip to the Aquarium, and he would never finish if they were there. Thankfully, he had all the ingredients to make a beautiful meal of shrimp scampi because that shit was good. As well as he had already done the pasta before now because he knew it would take a long ass time to make it homemade. He had a time crunch because the missus would arrive around 8 o'clock. 

Before starting, he pulled his hair back to a half-up half-down look, smiling as he cracked his knuckles. Going with the recipe, he melted butter with olive oil in a skillet, humming along with the tune of a song on the radio he had turned on. Then he added garlic and sauteed it, swishing his hips to the rhythm. It sat for about a minute, and then, when it was done, he pulled a bottle of wine from the secret cabinet and sat it down. He pulled a corkscrew out and opened the bottle, shrugging as he took a sip directly from the bottle. 

He then poured half a cup of it, and then, from the spice rack, he grabbed salt, red pepper flakes, and black pepper. He brought that to a simmer and then took another sip from the bottle when--

"Squeak!" Nihil spit the wine from his mouth everywhere; currently, three rats were on the kitchen counter, peering at him with their beady eyes. 

"AI! WHO LET YOU OUT!?" Nihil rushed to get the rats, but they scattered in different directions. He began to curse loudly, hands delving into his hair as he let out an angry groan. "Fucking rats, I knew it was a bad idea to let Copia have the damn things. Ai, it's 7:40!" he started hearing squeaks left and right. Then his eyes landed on the treats they had for them, and he grabbed the bag, rattling the goodies in them. Nihil opened the bag and took one out, looking at the treat. It looked disgusting, and he threw it on the ground in front of him, waiting for one of them to come upon it. 

One rat scattered out once it saw the treat, and much to Nihil's amusement, it was Dickhead, or Big D, thanks to Sister yelling at him. His poor ear was still red from where she pulled it. The rat stood on its back legs with the treat in its paws and looked up at Nihil. Nihil leaned down slowly, placing another treat in his hand. Nihil set his hand to the floor, and the rat climbed on, accepting the treat with a squeak. 

He sighed with relief, walked to Copia's room with Dickhead in his hand, and set him in the large cage, the rat squeaking again as he looked up at Nihil. Nihil smiled at the rat and then waved, walking back into the kitchen to see the other two rats delving into the treat bag. 'Perfect, now I can put them back in, and then voila, finish cooking the pasta!' it was not that easy, for these two rats were brighter than the other. They both climbed out quickly and began to run on the counter, hitting the open wine bottle as they ran out of the kitchen. The wine bottle crashed to the ground, breaking right next to Nihil's feet. 

"SHIT!" Nihil jolted out of the short stupor and grabbed the broom, running the way the rats went. Luckily, they did run into Copia's room and right into the cage. He sighed and closed it, cursing the rats out as he walked back, setting the broom against the wall. Nihil's face dropped as he saw the mess, and the skillet was now on fire, "OH FUCK!" Nihil grabbed the skillet's cover and placed it on, turning off the burner as he set it aside. 

Nihil then hissed as he looked down, his foot currently stepping on the glass on the ground. He hopped and fell, holding his foot as he cried out, his eyes squeezed shut. The man rolled onto his side, clutching his foot as he groaned, and it was at this moment the clacking of heels announced her arrival. 

"What a mess--are you alright, dear?" Sister rushed over to Nihil, cupping the side of his face with a snide smirk and a brow quirked up. 

"I have-I tried to surprise you with a fancy dinner, and then the three rats got out. Then I burned the sauce and broke a wine bottle--I just wanted today to be special for us." Sister's face softened as she tsked, looking down at his foot. 

"How very kind of you, love." Sister stood to grab the first-aid kit, kneeling back down as she pulled out tweezers, antibacterial ointment, and a bandage, "now, let's clean this up, and then we'll order in some food. Your choice." Nihil grinned and nodded, and she went to work. 

When the procedure was done, and Nihil was on the couch, Sister cleaned up the skillet. 

"How was work, angel?" Sister smiled from her place in the kitchen, perfecting the pan from the sauce. 

"It was alright. I missed you, though," Sister set the pan in the sink and walked back into the living room, sliding off her heels. Sister put the shoes into the cubby and sat on the couch next to him, leaning her head against his shoulder, "so what are you thinking for takeout, Master Chef?" Papa let out a pained 'ai,' and she giggled. 

"I'm thinking of a burger; what do you think?" Sister shrugged and nodded, pulling her legs up under her body. 

"That sounds fine to me," they looked at each other, and he cupped her face, leaning in to place a tender kiss on her lips, "then we can watch Legally Blonde and Legally Blonde Two as well." Sister kissed him again, smiling into it. 

With that, they ordered takeout and enjoyed it while watching the masterful work by Reese Witherspoon (Sister's favorite actress, but that was a secret). Then she fell asleep in his arms, a soft smile on his face as he looked down at her. He was pleased, and for once, he was glad that he had fucked up. Suddenly his phone dinged, and he looked at it with displeasure because it had broken him from his lovesick ramblings.  

'Hope you're having fun, Pop!' with a picture of the three older brothers posing for a selfie with a sleeping Copia. Papa smiled at this and typed back a reply, saving the photo onto his phone under the folder 'My Family' in Italian. 

(As always, lemme know if you wanna see something else with this wacky family!)

[korn-y-copia]

Heir Apparent

Hi yes, I am currently experiencing baby fever (it’s bad), and I am unashamedly in love with Copia (it’s bad) and from that fatal concoction, this monstrosity (my first ever published work!) has been born.

I am new to all of this and could not think of a proper title, but basically, please enjoy this little piece entailing the first few hours following the birth of your son with Papa Emeritus IV (it is intended to be very fluffy, I really hope it reads that way!)

Word count: 1,333 (roughly)

Written in second person P.O.V. 

Warnings: AFAB reader (gendered language, “mamma,” and “cara” should be the only instances), slight cursing, allusion to Terzo being a whore (affectionate), mentions of “parental instincts,” brief mentions of childbirth and breastfeeding which some readers may find uncomfortable!! If I missed anything please let me know! Constructive feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

“Ah, shit,” grunted Copia, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. The first 40 times, it was because your water broke. The next twenty instances slipped between haphazardly lifting you from your seat in the car, to wheeling you into the hospital. The latter 39 counts were muttered and groaned as you gripped his hand amid labor, in such an ungodly grip that it took an hour for the feeling in it to return. In that time, rather reluctantly, he sped back to the ministry (Nuclear Assault blasting the entire way, and yet he hadn’t “heard” it), his mind in such a euphoric haze that he also failed to register when Primo concernedly inquired about you and the baby, or to notice when he nearly trampled Terzo and his chosen sister of the evening, or when he bumped into Secondo—an action that would normally result in Copia nearly dying of fright—while on his way to your shared quarters, to retrieve the forgotten hospital bag for you (luckily, his brothers, for as unforgiving as they could be, gave him a break just this once, since they understood the importance of the evening—the Emeritus bloodline was now secured once more, with the birth of Copia’s son). Now, after grabbing the bag, quickly changing into his favorite pair of sweats (he of course, nearly tripped changing into them) and bumping into several nurses in his hurried return to you, he found himself uttering his favorite foreign curse for the hundredth time, as his cacophonous movements, upon reaching your room, caused a stir from the bundle of blankets lying in the bassinet before him. Copia winced when the gentle coos of his awakening son quickly turned to cries. Panicking, the potent concoction of his paternal instincts—which he had nurtured, and refined through the help of several parenting books, and attending doctor’s appointments with you throughout your pregnancy—chronic anxiety, and adrenaline, sent him into action.

“Aw, what’s the matter, little man?” He fussed, caressing his son’s cheek before settling his gloved hand on his belly, patting him softly. “Why do you cry? Why—you should be happy, yes. You have the best mamma in the world!” The baby, not yet named, only looked up at him with a pair of curious eyes, matching his own. The tears had stopped at the familiar sound of his father’s voice (Copia had made it a point to talk to your belly as often as his papal duties allowed him to, for this exact reason). Copia smiled, his eyes threatening to fill up with tears once more (when the baby was first born only a few hours ago, he had been in near hysterics). “Yeah, you do!” He continued, “and your papa,” he gestured to himself. “he might not always be around, but he’ll…” his mind momentarily wandered back to his childhood. He still carried with him the heavy weight of growing up without the love of a mother or father. There was still a lonely child residing within him, one that sat outside in the bitter rain, on the steps of the abbey, wrapping his arms around himself as he cried into his lap, relying only on himself to bring him comfort, since no one else would. He’d be damned now (again) if he’d let his son fall victim to this same lonesome fate. “He’ll be there, sì? I promise.” Papal duties or not, Copia would always make his way back to his son, and to you—this was a promise both to his son, and to himself. The baby soon dozed back off to sleep, causing Copia to hum contently. He took the opportunity, in the silence of the room, to carefully lift the baby—exhausted from his entry into this world—into his arms, holding him to his chest as he sat down in the recliner beside you, taking the moment to sigh in relief. He couldn’t help himself—he was just too restless, too exited to finally be a father—and so he sat there, eyes fixated on every little movement the baby made, rubbing his thumb across his cheek. “My little man,” Copia whispered, placing a kiss to his forehead. He sat there, snuggling his son and heir, ignorant of the time that had passed, but relishing in every moment of it, until he began to fuss again.

Copia rocked him in his arms gently, soothing him. “Oh, why so negative, huh? Are you hungry? You want a little somethin’-somethin’?” The baby only continued to whimper. “Come on,” he grunted, standing up from the recliner (which certainly wasn’t doing his back any favors), and approached your bed. “Maybe mamma has a little somethin’-somethin’.” Exhausted from the birth, you’d fallen asleep shortly after, only awoken when nurses came in to check on you—Copia wouldn’t dare wake you, after having witnessed all the tears, and the screams of pain that you suppressed (not wanting your son to enter the world to such a jarring noise), none of which he could ease, all while you birthed another human. Now it seemed, out of necessity he would have to, and so while holding your son firmly with one hand, he brought the other to the side of your face, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear. The sensation of leather, just barely ghosting your skin awoke you. With your eyes still blurry from exhaustion, you questioned “is the baby okay?” Copia’s heart melted. “He is here, amore,” he spoke gently. “He is okay. But, uh, I think he needs his mamma now.” That was enough to momentarily bring you out of the haze of exhaustion, as your own instincts filled you in on what precisely Copia meant. Sitting up, you allowed him to hand you your son for the first time. “Oh, he’s perfect!” You cooed, examining his little face. Once more, Copia found himself utterly bewitched by your bright smile—it made him just as weak in the knees as the first time you had met. “He has your nose,” you chuckled, looking at Copia (his old nose, anyway). Copia smiled softly, relishing in the unholy vision before him. He long dreamt of being a papa, and part of that dream was seeing you as a mamma—and here you were, glowing and radiant, and absolutely divine in his eyes, as you cuddled your son close to you, guiding him to feed. You sighed, relaxing as you felt the baby successfully latch onto your breast. You looked up to Copia, who now moved closer, sitting beside you on the bed. He kissed your temple, gently petting your hair as he whispered praises to you. “Oh, you did so good. Molto bene, cara mia,” he softly spoke, rubbing the back of his knuckles against your cheek. You nuzzled against his touch, closing your eyes, content to finally be holding one boy in your arms, and to be held in the arms of the other. Silence lingered as your mind danced between a state of consciousness and unconsciousness. “Copia?” You finally spoke. He looked at you with such softness in his eyes, that you could have sworn you’d melt into a puddle right there. “Amore?” “Thank you.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I should be thanking you! You carried him, you did all of the hard work—” “for those things you said, about me being the ‘best mamma in the world?���” You smiled, heat rushing to your cheeks at the remembrance of words spoken so earnestly. Now it was Copia’s turn to blush, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly. “Heh. You heard that, did you?” “Copia,” you spoke slowly. “Hm?” “I think you forgot something.” His face fell, as he momentarily panicked, assessing the room. “What, what is it, amore?” You bit your lip, finding him just as endearing as the first time you had met him, and beckoned him closer, whispering “he has the best papa in the world too.”

Note: “molto bene, cara mia” = “very good, my dear (f.);” “amore” = “love;” “sì” = “yes;” “mamma” = “mama.”

[the-ghoulish-write]

~ A Ghoulish Queen ~

c.w. // swearing; minor blood; brief mention of death

Word Count: 3463 words

Summary:  Haeresis Dea, the Zombie Queen, was a large ghoul that lived deep within the Eastern Glades outside of the monastery.  Every year, Hell’s Gates produces a bright light show, known as the Night of Electric Flame.  With this night, the infernal ghouls that reside within the Glades grow restless, including the every roaming Queen of Ghouls.  As the wonders of the Eastern Glades and the Electric Flame grow for the younglings within the monastery, they may be prone to wander a bit too far from the nest.  This only makes for a long night for the two eldest brothers known as Emeritus.

- - - - - WRITING BELOW CUT - - - - -

- - - - - - -

The dark forests that bordered the monastery held monsters unknown to most of the Church.  The calls of the forest were haunting, pulling in any unsuspecting passersby with the songs of the damned.  The whispers from Hell’s Gates, the high, frosted twin peaks of the mountain range just east of the monastery, would travel down the mountain and settle like a fog within the glades of the forests.  The blue flame would light the night sky on occasion, the sulfur-based pyre licking the tips of the frosted mountain without scorching the land.

The forests were greatly forbidden, especially to the East, where lost spirits would roam in search of their corporeal form.  Stories about a corpse-like ghoul, Haeresis Dea, were always passed around the monastery, a scare tale to keep the young acolytes far from the woodland.  If Emeritus III didn’t do a good enough job in convincing the younglings away from the Eastern Glades, then it was Emeritus II who was tasked to the job in breaking their bravery down.

Standing on one of the many balconies of the monastery, Emeritus II watched the dark night skies light up with flickers of electric blue.  The bright flame ate at the night sky, encapsulating into the stars like a supernatural borealis.  It was a night of immense danger for the monastery if the Eastern Glades were to remain unsealed.  With a darkened sigh, the Second cast his eyes off of the sky down to the foggy forest.  If the younglings decided to sneak out to explore the forest, it would be tonight… It was always the night of Electric Flame.  He adjusted his gloves before moving on to the rolled up sleeves of his green button-up, crossing each arm over each other and tucking his thumbs underneath their respective suspender straps.

Feeling the dark presence behind him, Emeritus II faced the one who had entered behind him, his eyes catching his older brother’s crystalline left eye.  His elder walked to his side without a word, his hands tucked firmly behind his back and his eyes staring towards the forest’s edge.  The First gave a small sigh as he began to speak, his deep yet smooth voice showing no sign of irritation, “I’ve counted four acolytes gone from their beds.”

“Another year of younglings sacrificing themselves to Haeresis Dea, then?  Or do we go out there and sacrifice our own skins for the lives of four idiotic children?”  The Second scoffed, his arms crossed over one another as he also cast his gaze to the forest’s edge.

The First snapped his head towards his younger brother, his voice breaking with a sense of warning, “Mio fratello.  The Zombie Queen has feasted on enough of the church’s younglings, forcing concern from the elder members of the High Clergy.  It isn’t about the numbers lost, it’s about the number Haeresis Dea has gained from consumption.”

The younger brother lifted his left hand, closing his eyes as he let out a sigh, “Primo--the concerns of the High Clergy are not my own.  What’s four younglings to the Clergy?”

“Four souls for Haeresis Dea to unlock her full potential, meaning we will no longer be able to control the Ghouls.”  Emeritus I coldly stared at his brother, a gaze intense enough to clearly make the younger feel it deep within him.  

Both brothers stared at each other for a few moments, no words shared between them.  With only another sigh, the Second’s large dragon-like wings manifested from his back, stretching out one-by-one before folding in on themselves.  His soft green right eye locked onto his brother’s crystalline left, a firm nod coming from him, “I’ll handle this… You don’t have to come with me for this one… Oh, and if Terzo asks--”

“I’ll tell him you’re out.  This isn’t the first time I’ve lied to Terzo for you, Secondo.”

The Second gave a small smirk to his older brother before climbing up onto the balustrade of the balcony with wings outstretched.  With a small wave of his hand as a farewell, Emeritus II dived off of the balcony, catching air under his outstretched leathery wings almost immediately as he headed in the direction of the forest.

With how densely populated the forest was with trees, the Second was forced to soar over the canopies of the largest trees.  His snowy left eye gleamed bright, the supernatural taking his left side’s sight as he searched the forest from the sky.  The ghouls that whispered in his head always gave him intense migraines, their infernal whispers unbearably loud.  His pointed ears perked and he snapped his head to the right, audible cries carrying to him from a nearby glade.  His supernatural eye did quick work to locate exactly where he would have to go.  With a flick of his right wrist, his staff appeared into his hand, the monastery’s signature inverted grucifix at its tip as a blade.

Something was clearly wrong in that glade, his eye locating an odd shape.  That shape gazed directly back at him with two deathly gray eyes, forcing a sharp pain to cast through his head.  The voices of the ghouls were gone, as was the vision those whispers provided to him.  Frustration washed over him as he muttered, “Damn it all… if those younglings are dead… Primo will force me into one of the Nine Circles...” before tucking his wings in as he shot straight down for the glade.

In order to stop his fast fall, he opened his wings again, catching air quickly beneath the leathery surface, allowing him to land softly on the ground.  His leathery wings faded from his back, showing him now as only a man with a weapon in hand.  He scanned the glade, the gentle sobs of one of the younglings just behind him.  He cast his eyes behind him for a quick glance, finding the young girl who sat under a withering willow tree with tears rolling down her cheeks, her bright brown eyes wide on Emeritus.  She couldn’t have been any older than 7-years.  He kept his eyes towards the open glade and his weapon ready, backing up to the girl.  

The Second kneeled down beside the girl, his eyes cold and strict on her.  She recoiled at his hard glare, but she clearly understood why her elder was angry with her.  Paralyzed with fear, with a soft voice she babbled, her words broken up by her sobs, “Your---your dark excellency. You… You really did… you really did come to save us!”

“Quiet now, little one.  You’re safe now…”  Despite his firm gaze, his words were tender, almost uncharacteristic of his usual demeanor.  He reached out to the young girl with his left hand, his eyes quickly back on the glade.  Once the girl had gently taken his hand, the Second pulled her close to him, wrapping his arm around her to keep her close.  Quietly, he uttered to her, “You must tell me where the others are, little one.”

She was shaking from fear, her small hands now clenching the fabric of the Second’s shirt, her head pressed firmly against his chest.  Tears continued to streak down her cheeks, but words did not arrive to her.  He didn’t know what trauma she had experienced out here, but he didn’t have time to wait for her to decide to speak.  He hooked his left arm underneath her legs, picking her up as he stood tall, his eyes still darting around the area.  He couldn’t hear a thing outside of this girl’s breathing, forcing him to swear under his breath.

The darkness of the forest swelled for a moment, catching Emeritus off guard.  “Shit!”  He pulled the girl as close as he could to his chest, a small gasp escaping her as her rescuer pushed off of the ground to the left.  From behind, nearly missing him as he jumped away, the lithe, skeletal monster sprinted past.  He spun around as soon as he landed, the girl now shaking even further… what a great time to have to fight, with a youngling in arm…

Before him, standing on long, thin hind legs at almost 15 feet tall with skin peeling from its lithe frame was the Zombie Queen, Haeresis Dea, also known as the Queen of Ghouls.  Her dark body was shadow bound like that of other ghouls, but she stood much taller and larger, almost like the queen in a hive.  With a mane of white mist falling down from bright white horns, a row of silver horns that formed a crown on her head, dog-like legs and large claws for hands, this beast was far from the ghouls the Second had ever seen.  By Emeritus III’s Era Three Ghouls, the ghouls had been greatly domesticated… Haeresis Dea was even more wild than the Era Zero ghouls belonging to his Father.  With a blisteringly loud howl in infernal, the Queen of the Ghouls unlatched her jaw, showing long, black blade-like teeth.  It was here when the Second said a silent prayer to the Dark Lord.

Emeritus II pressed his staff into the ground firmly, a strange mist emitting from the ground where he stood.  Haeresis Dea roared, making the Second instinctively keep the youngling close to him.  This girl was going to live to see another day, no matter the plans that were handed to Emeritus by fate.  The mist wrapped quickly around the glade, allowing Emeritus to finally move from his spot just as the large beast of a ghoul charged at him with claws outstretched.  As Emeritus ran from where he stood, few words came from his lips, “Ventum!  Silex!  Unda!  Come to me!”

In front of him, three hooded Ghouls dressed in black robes appeared, their claws shown as their tails lashed at the enemy in front of them.  For just a moment, Emeritus stopped before his Ghouls, his breathing staggered.  He kneeled down, releasing his tight hold on the girl.  She looked up at him, only fear present in her eyes.  The Second’s eyes were soft for a moment, a small smile tracing his lips as he placed his gloved hand onto the head of the girl, “It will be okay.  You’ll be alright.”  His eyes cast up to the largest of the three ghouls, bright green eyes shining through its plague doctor shaped mask down onto them while the other ghouls stayed focused on the beast, who was present on the other side of the glade.  “Flint,”  The largest responded immediately to Emeritus’s voice, his tail lashing less as he looked down to his master and the girl, “Take the young one back to the monastery.  Take her directly to my older brother and tell him what’s going on here.”

The girl looked up at Emeritus II, clutching her white cassock with both arms as she was gently lifted up by Flint.  She spoke softly, but with pure concern coating her words, “Will… will you be alright, fratello?”

The way she spoke hit the Second hard, reminding him of his younger brother.  The Second did not smile, but his eyes stayed soft and calming as he looked at her and answered, “That’s something that only the Dark Lord knows, young one.”  He turned to his earth ghoul and nodded firmly, the ghoul reciprocating the nod then running off into the shadows with the young girl.

Once they were gone into the woods, Emeritus spun on his heel, the beast stalking the far end of the glade, her eyes still on them.  His voice raised in anger as he commanded the two ghouls beside him, “Breeze!  Ripple!  Find the other younglings…  I’ll take care of this beast.”

The two ghouls didn’t say a word, but ran off into the shadows on the edges of the glade, heading in two different directions.  The wrath that was held inside of the Second quickly burst from its shell, a yell resonating deep from within him.  He ran towards the beast, taking his staff in both hands as a brace in front of him, yelling, “Burn in the Nine Circles, you beast!”

Haeresis Dea roared once again, picking herself up off of all fours and standing tall as she roared into the blue-tainted sky.  She charged at Emeritus, both of them meeting near the middle of the glade.  She unhinged her jaws, ready to make a meal out of the Bloodline’s middle son, but Emeritus slid underneath the thin beast.  With his staff in hand, he planted it firmly into the ground, stopping himself quickly as an arcane circle appeared in his hand.  Green flame enveloped the beast’s torso, a pained howl coming from the Zombie Queen.

The Second was forced to lay flat on the ground as Haeresis Dea fell down to her side in pain, howling.  He quickly stood, stabilizing himself with his staff before running towards that beast once again.  He jumped, aiming for the beast’s torso with the bladed end of his staff, but was whacked with the tip of the beast’s long tail, sending him across the glade.

Emeritus landed on the far end of the clearing, skidding to a halt on one knee and piercing his staff into the soil.  His multi-colored eyes flashed in anger as he snapped his gaze back to the beast.  Digging his staff deep into the land, he stood with both hands off of his weapon, coughing up some blood.  He did not use the arcana he had trained with very often, but this was the time to use it.  He was injured.  Raising his arms to his sides, two different runes appeared in both hands as he inhaled then exhaled.  He placed his hands close together in front of him as if he was holding a small orb between the space, where a circular rune soon appeared.  Haeresis Dea had picked herself up off of the ground and roared once more, charging straight for the Second on all fours.  Haeresis Dea stopped about 10 yards away from her target, standing up on her hindlegs with a roar.  

“You’re mine!!”  The Second gave an evil grin as he unleashed the rune with a quick push of both hands, the bright green runes burning into Haeresis Dea’s chest.  The beast let out a horrific roar, chains appearing around each of her limbs.  She quickly was bound to the ground, spitting and roaring away, struggling against the strong chains.  

Emeritus quickly became short of breath, as holding a sealing arcana on a creature so large was straining enough.  He approached the beast with large strides, two new seals appearing in his hands.  New chains began to bound the ghoul’s beast-like muzzle, pinning Haeresis Dea’s head firmly on the ground.  She would not be able to move as long as the Second would be able to focus on his seal.  Approaching the beast carefully, he could finally see into her bright, silver eyes with bright white pupils.  She shows him her teeth, the blade-like teeth a threat if she was able to break free from the runes.  Newly summoned ghouls tended to be the problem for taming, but this ghuleh had never been tamed… and who knew how old she was.  

Emeritus placed both of his hands gently onto the beast, one onto the top of her head and the other onto the back of her neck.  His snowy eye turned a bright green, matching the glow of his arcana.  This would be a mental battle if the Queen of Ghouls attempted to resist in a large capacity, which was very likely with how much of a danger she has always been.  The whispers of ghouls that he had always heard when touching the edges of the infernal was amplified, almost deafening, and they all resonated from Haeresis Dea.

Her words were broken, clearly due to pain or a mental crack inside this battle.  Her infernal was sloppy, sloppier than it had been in her whispers of it during their fight.  Emeritus took this as his opportunity to carve deep into her skull and spine his capture runes.  This was no longer the traditional way of taming Ghouls, but the Bloodline was forced to learn it due to the dangers of the Hell’s Gates.  Forcing his hands deep into her psyche, he was able to force his seals onto their respective places, but he would have to hold them there for a few minutes so they would lock in place.

This was when Haeresis Dea began to struggle.  Her infernal howls grew even louder, shaking the Second to his core.  He had to remain focused, despite these loud screams.  He was haunted by the whispers of the damned… he could get through this.  Haeresis Dea struggled against her chains, pulling her head up bit by bit due to Emeritus’s declining control over his sealing arcana.  Through clenched teeth, Emeritus hissed, “Stay down!”  That sheer force of will forced Haeresis Dea back to her place on the ground, almost motionless.  Her infernal became more jumbled and began to fall apart, meaning she had given up.  His seals finally locked and he released himself from the beast’s psyche, falling to the ground beside the now unconscious beast.  His breathing was quick and his heart rate was through the roof, and his blurry vision was not doing him any favors.  The infernal whispers vanished from his ears as a familiar voice reached him.

“Fratello!!”  The Second turned to face his elder brother, his head spinning worse when he moved.  He placed his right hand onto his upper face, pinching the bridge of nose with his eyes clenched shut.  He felt his brother’s touch come to his shoulder and he tried to muster up words, but he couldn’t find them.  He needed to rest.  He heard his brother’s voice once more, a stern but relieved overtone active in his speech, “You’re a fucking idiot, Secondo.  You could have died trying to seal a ghuleh this size!  What in the world were you thinking?!”

The younger of the two brothers gave a snarky grin with a soft laugh to follow, the only words to follow being, “I… had to protect… those kids…”

He heard his older brother breath in to start a rebuttal, but go silent.  The First picked up his younger brother, sighing as he let his bat-like wings break from his back.  The elder’s wings were lined with feathers, but more bat-like than bird-like with leather wings still present.  “I’m proud of you, mio fratello… but you were too reckless… Even if Haeresis Dea, the Queen of Ghouls, is now yours to command, you…”  The First’s words faded out as he looked down at his younger brother before he continued, “Family is all we have, Secondo.  Don’t let it go to waste.”

The Second finally opened his eyes, looking up at his brother with softer eyes, “What about--”

“We lost one.  Consumed by that beast you tamed.  The girl that your Earth Ghoul returned was alright physically, but she had a lot of emotional strain.  The other two we found… a young boy, age 11 or 12, lost an arm to Haeresis Dea… the other partially lost vision due to shock.  That vision may be able to be recovered.  And as much as I do not wish to do this, those younglings must be punished for going against the High Clergy...”

Emeritus II dipped his head, closing his eyes once more with a sigh, “I understand… you must follow your duties.”

“There is nothing I can do about it.  It’s the Order of the Stygian… The High Clergy would eat me alive if I didn’t follow it.”  The elder brother scoffed slightly, shaking his head before speaking further, “But enough about all of that… let’s get you back to the monastery.  I will have some sisters of sin check you for any injury--”

“I’m not--”

“--I won’t take no for an answer on this one, Secondo.  My words are law, understand that.”  And with those words, both brothers fell into silence.  

Eventually, Haeresis Dea faded into the shadow where she was left, only to be called by Emeritus II on command for any further appearance.  With the Second fully recovered, her response only came in song to a quiet whisper of “Ghuleh…”  The youngest of the bloodline, upon finding out about the great battle his older sibling had been a part of, grew jealous of his new “pet.”  Haeresis Dea could easily be found walking the grounds of the Monastery at night as its best guard.  The large Ghuleh was discovered as being part of the Primal Era, a long living ghoul who somehow lasted centuries without being found by devote believers.  Now, she is safe, despite her beastial tendencies.

- - - - - - -

-- Message from Dom --

“Hello to my Ghastly Spectral Readers!

I’m proud to show off a story I wrote a few months back!  I hope you all enjoyed it.  Even though I’ve only slowly been able to piece together characterizations on many of the characters, specifically Papas 1 and 2, I think I’m starting to get a better handle on how I see these characters.  The ghouls to me have always felt to have fallen in a sort of ‘creative free reign.’  Expect more writings to come soon!  :D

- Dom, the Ghoulish Write”