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da-rulah · 10 months

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Come Home to Me - Secondo x f!reader

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

Rating: Explicit, 18+

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

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

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3

Secondo doesn't get anxious.

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

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

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

And he'd been right....

8 Years Ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You don't mean that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it was too late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he'd never seen you again.

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

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

He had to face you.

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

Papa.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I... It's... You look well."

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

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

"As do you."

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

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

"Troppo (me too)."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The biggest mistake I ever made.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can tell me why.”

Secondo’s brow furrowed. “W-why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sí, I had hair...” he chuckled.

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

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

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

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

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

Everything. Anything.

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

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

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

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

“But... I thought you said-?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, here you were.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Secondo...”

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

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

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

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

Home. This was home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#the band ghost #ghost #ghost bc #ghost band #ghost the band #ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfic #papa emeritus #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus ii x reader #secondo #secondo x reader #secondo smut #papa secondo #papa secondo smut #papa ii #papa emeritus ii smut #papa emeritus smut

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her-satanic-wiles · 11 months

Text

October 16th

Public Sex, Papa Emeritus II x Reader

Masterlist

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: Public sex; cheating; exhibitionism; power play; abuse of power; forced cucking (so, dubcon); fingering; piv; vaginal sex; unprotected sex; public masturbation; degradation; finger sucking; cum eating?; breeding kink; creampie;

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask @copias-sewer-rat @gehrmansbignaturals

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this is dark fiction, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my rating. Thank you.

I went a bit feral with this... please enjoy the depravity.

Papa Emeritus II was, for lack of a better term, a menace to the Ministry. He had always been a bit of a ladies’ man, but upon taking over Papacy from his older brother, he became a pure, unadulterated nightmare. For the most part, he never abused his power. He never threw his title around and stomped his feet every time he couldn’t get something his way. He would always sit back, contemplate, and form a solution even if it wasn’t the ideal outcome. However, he hated most of the Clergy members. Most of the Cardinals that surrounded him, the Bishops, just most of the people who decided that they would try and brown nose their way to Secondo’s position. Or at least into becoming his right-hand man.

The thing about Secondo was, he never had right-hand men. Knew all he needed to know about men given that he was one and, quite frankly, he couldn’t stand them. No, no, Secondo had right-hand women and enbies. Career-driven, powerful women, and enbies that had tempers and formidable demeanours rivalling that of Mt. Vesuvius. To be perfectly honest, his previous right-hand would have made Vesuvius shake to the size of the Viminal Hill in Roma.

Secondo would never sleep with his right-hand and personal team, of course not! And how dare you suggest such a thing? That would be a breach of his power, a total imbalance of the Force. No, no. He would never sleep with them. He would, of course, provide pleasure should they ask for it, though. The man was an open book many had read. A beautiful person teary-eyed and complaining that their spouse wasn’t pleasing them right? Ugh, a plague on their house. As leader of the Satanic Church, where the vulva’s orgasm was the utmost of their priorities by order of the Dark Lord and father, Lucifer, it was his right - no! His duty as Papa to make sure that this person felt loved and appreciated, and so overstimulated they could hardly walk. But that was neither here nor there. It was only his duty after all.

So, needless to say, when sweet, young, distraught you walked into his office in tears, he was beside himself. His favourite Sibling is struggling? No, this can’t happen - not on his watch. You didn’t want to tell him at first for fear of being unprofessional, but Papa was insistent you unburdened yourself. When you explained that you’d caught your partner in bed with another Sibling and he didn’t feel in any way remorseful for what he’d done, Secondo almost hit the roof. He was only able to keep himself calm for your sake. However, once he was no longer seeing red, devising a plan was as simple and easy as taking candy from a baby. Your partner was a piece of shit to you, but he was also just a general piece of shit. He was one of those brown-nosers who was after a higher position in the Ministry. He practically sold you into Secondo’s employment so you could put in a good word with Papa. But you were the kindest, sweetest, most angelic in the Ministry, and Secondo couldn’t quite bring himself to hate or be wary of you. And so now he was hatching his own plan for revenge on your behalf.

There were plenty of things he could have done, but only one thing he wanted to do. One thing that would really send a message. You. And with your consent he did just that. Papa was, unsurprisingly, the best you’d ever had. And every time you two slept together you were reminded of just how awful your partner was and how much you’d been screwed over. And so by welcoming Papa into your bed you were actively disrespecting your partner in a private way. And while it was good enough the first three times, your partner was none the wiser and was certainly not being shamed for it. Revenge is best served cold, but yours had only just entered the fridge.

You didn’t have a plan so much as a spontaneous idea stemming from the perfect situation. The Clergy had a twice-yearly dinner that all the higher members and their partners would attend. Meaning you would be there with him. And you were just as stunning as usual. You chose an emerald, sequin ensemble that made you look divine and flattered your body in such a way all eyes were on you. And this clearly frustrated your partner as when Secondo found you in one of the alcoves you were sobbing again. “He was fucking her in one of the rooms. Sister Imperator informed me. Now she knows, everyone else will.”

Secondo wrapped you into a warm hug and allowed you to cry into his robes. He was a bitter, miserable old man to most, but to those closest to him he was insanely kind and thoughtful. Ruthless and intimidating, but wonderful. “I want to embarrass him.” Secondo told you. “I want to humiliate him the most. Sathanas, if I could, I’d spread you on the dinner table and have my way with you in front of him, and watch him try to keep his cool head in front of the entire Clergy.”

You didn’t know what came over you. You didn’t know why you said what you said, but you looked him in the eye, wiped a tear away and said, “Do it.”

Secondo was clearly taken aback because he asked for clarification.

“I want him to hurt. I want him to suffer. I want you to let everyone know how much of a piece of shit he is. Ostracise him.”

Secondo gulped and looked at you with wide eyes and his hands tightened their grip on your waist. He let out an involuntary groan at the thought and before either of you could change your minds, he took you by the hand and led you back to the dining hall. He waited a second longer just so that you could make sure you looked presentable and like you hadn’t been affected by your partner’s infidelity and you entered the room, disappointed to see he still wasn’t back yet. Secondo had a plan, though, kissed your hand and told you to sit in your seat until your partner came back. Secondo would go back to his.

The power he exuded just walking back to his high backed seat had your thighs rubbing together to relieve the pressure that was building in your core. He sat down, tilted slightly to the right and resting his whole body on the arm rest, with his knees spread apart and anger in his eyes. He was intimidating, almost emanating a black smoke that subtly alerted people to his foul mood and warned them to steer clear. Your eyes were so fixed onto his, you didn’t notice your partner had walked back through the door with his own lover following moments after, until you watched Secondo’s eyes trained onto him and glowering as he came over and placed a chaste kiss to your temple. As subtly as he wanted, Secondo patted his thigh while making eye contact with you, inviting you to come over to your Papa. And you did just that, making excuses to your partner and walking over to Secondo, butterflies fluttering in your stomach in fear but mostly excitement.

Secondo took hold of your hand once more and placed a kiss to the back of it, chivalrously greeting you and welcoming you back into his presence. He decided against making a speech, believing that in this instance actions speak louder than words, and so he delicately grabbed you by the waist and guided you to sit atop his lap, the backs of your knees hooked over the armrest he was leaning on before. Now his hand rested on your thigh, and his thumb was stroking the sequined material there while his eyes gazed up at you. He sat up, stretching his back all the way up so his lips could reach your neck and attached them to your most sensitive spot. He chuckled when your eyes fluttered closed and a breathy moan escaped you. “Straddle me.” He ordered, loud enough for only you to hear.

You obeyed, hiking your outfit to it’s most comfortable position and allowing you to sit comfortably on his lap. People had begun to take notice now, but conversations were still being had. He cupped your face and pulled you down for a kiss, wasting absolutely no time in making it as filthy as he possibly could. Never had Secondo been so brazen as take a Clergy member’s wife into his lap and treat her like a common whore in front of the whole Clergy. The thought alone excited him more than he could possibly say.

His gloved hands came down your hips and grasped onto your ass cheeks, pulling your body closer to him and giving them a rough squeeze. Into his mouth, you moaned, loud enough now for more to start taking notice and conversations to begin dwindling. You barely heard the hushed whispers of people discussing how scandalous it was. But the whispers didn’t stop Secondo from taking one of his hands to his lips and spitting on it. Nor was he deterred from pulling your clothes to give him better access to your core. The only face and voice he was focussed on was yours as his middle finger made contact with your now sensitive clit. The only reaction he gave was when he watched your mouth hang open with the pleasure from the leather. Your face alone was almost enough to make him cum in his robes, but he did everything he could to make sure that the only place he’d cum tonight was inside you.

When you had gotten used to the feeling of his finger on your clit, he once again spat on his finger and used that one to breach your walls, tapping up just as you liked and making you let out a much louder moan. Whoever’s attention you didn’t get, you had now. Your hips began to move on their own in a grinding motion so you could wriggle his fingers deeper into your desperate hole. When he added a second finger, your loud moan was coupled by your back arching and your head falling backwards, allowing you to open your eyes briefly to see the entire Clergy staring back at you. Most had amused faces or disappointed looks, but your eyes flickered over to your partner to witness the look of sheer fury on his beet-red face. There was his spouse, in the lap of Papa Emeritus II, getting her pussy pleasured by him in front of the whole Ministry. You felt your nipples growing hard beneath your clothes at the thought of his embarrassment, and just how much he wanted to stop this but had no authority or power. No one did. Secondo was head of the Satanic church now - he could do what he liked. Which is how you’d both been allowed to go on for as long as you had.

“Papa!” You screamed as he hit a particularly great spot inside of you.

Secondo chuckled. “There?”

“There!”

“Cum for everyone here, principessa. Show them how pretty you look when you cum on Papa’s fingers.”

And oh boy, did you. Secondo’s fingers were playing you like an instrument he’d been playing for years. It was like he knew every single one of your quirks and desires and used them against you while he touched you. The combined eyes of the upper-Clergy and your irate partner’s expression caused you to tip quickly over the edge and cry out as you did so, toes curling and eyes shutting.

Once you’d come down, Secondo guided you to the table where he gently sat you upon it, situating himself in between your open, yet tired, legs. Secondo’s voice sounded again, “Ripple!” He called.

One of his Ghouls came forth instantly and waited for his master’s instructions. “Yes, Papa?”

Secondo’s eyes moved towards your partner and he grinned slightly. “Make sure all the paperwork for Mx. ______’s divorce is prepared. I want her free from that cheating scumbag as quickly as possible.”

“Of course, Papa. Right away.”

Ripple turned and made his exit, and when you watched him go, your eyes locked onto a particular Cardinal whose sinful smirk had caught your attention: Cardinal Terzo Emeritus. He stood, clearly not comfortable seeing what was about to come next, but he shot you a casual salute before picking up his glass of wine and pulling his own squeeze for the night, and his personal Ghoul with him as he walked away. Of course Terzo appreciated this display, it was probably something he’d do himself if he was given the opportunity. Rumours of his own infamous orgies spread like wildfire after every single one - this would normally be right up his alley.

Secondo, still looking at your partner and once your cunt was exposed to Secondo and only him, proceeded to press himself inside you. This animalistic display of dominance was almost too much for you - you were about to go feral over Secondo and the way he was silently daring your partner to do something as you were willingly defiled in front of everyone. The gasps other people made as Secondo was sinking himself into you set your body on fire, and you fell backwards onto the table allowing Papa to see you entirely.

“Are you ready, principessa?” Secondo asked looking down at you.

“Yes! Please fuck me, Papa!”

He gripped onto your soft waist for leverage as he started his movements, snapping in and out of you over and over again and making you scream with each hit. You were, perhaps, going a little overboard with some of the noises you made, but the majority of them were completely involuntary. Secondo’s cock was the best you’d had, and his attention to your body made him an expert in you. He knew you liked it rougher, filthier than most of his previous partners. And now he could add exhibitionism to the list. The way you clenched around him every time you locked eyes with someone new made his own grunts and groans appear.

“Does that feel good, principessa?” Secondo asked, his eyes locked onto your body as it jiggled with the force of his thrusts. “Do you like the Clergy watching your Papa fuck you?”

“Yes!”

“Do you like watching the Clergy touch themselves while your Papa fucks you?”

“Oh fuck!”

Secondo wasn’t lying, there were numerous Cardinals and Archbishops present, rubbing their very obviously hard cocks over their robes as they watched Secondo bury himself deep inside you over and over again. And fuck did it turn you on to see that. Quite a few people had left for reasons you couldn’t ascertain, meaning the people that were left either wanted to remember this whole scene for later, or enjoy it while it was still live. You had noticed that the remainder of Papa’s Ghouls were ushering people out as well, no doubt to give you as much privacy as possible under the strange circumstances.

Your cunt tightened, however, when you locked eyes with your partner once more, laughing deliriously at the look on his face. He couldn’t look away from you whoring yourself out to Papa - like this! While you still looked at him, you let out a loud, obnoxious moan, and set your hands to work. One pinched your nipple and played with it while it was still under the fabric of your outfit, the other moved down to your clitoris and rubbed it matching Secondo’s pace. This earned you an appreciative grunt from him.

While your eyes were still locked onto your partner’s, Secondo spoke again. “Tell me, whose cock is better? Mine or his?”

“Satan! Your c-cock is so much better, Papa!”

“Why, principessa?”

“You’re b-bigger! And you reach deep inside of me. Oh fuck! Papa, you feel so good! You always touch me in places he can’t reach!”

“Poor baby. Did he always leave you unsatisfied?”

“Yes!”

“Could he make you cum?”

“No! E-every time he fucked me I was disappointed!”

“How many times have I had you, principessa?” When you couldn’t answer, Secondo grew impatient. He landed a particularly hard thrust against your cervix that had you screaming. “How many times?”

“Four!”

“How many times have you cum around my cock?”

“Fuck, Papa! I don’t remember.”

“Try harder for me. How many?”

“Maybe - fuck, Papa! T-ten times? Papa, you’re gonna split me in half!”

“Where did we fuck the first time, principessa?”

“On his desk! I’m so close, Papa, please!”

“You’re mine now, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes, Papa!”

“Say it.”

“I’m yours, Papa! I belong to only you now. I’m gonna fucking cum!”

“Cum for me. Show him what he’s been missing out on all this time. Remind him how much of a waste of space he is.”

With one final flick of your wrist, you came undone on Secondo’s cock, your body tensing and locking as you rose off the table. Your breath escaped you and your eyes widened. You couldn’t breathe or see. All you could do was feel. Feel your fingers still working at your clit while Papa continued to ride you in front of the Clergy members that were left behind. He was still going as you came down from your second orgasm. His gloved fingers wrapped around your hands and brought yours to his lips. His tongue flicked out as he took each individual finger into his mouth, sucking off your cum from them and moaning as he did.

“Papa!” You called up to him weakly. “I want you to cum deep in my cunt!”

He took your fingers out of his mouth and grunted in agreement. “You want Papa’s cum?”

“Yes! I want you to fill me up. I want you to fuck me full of your cum and show everyone who I belong to. Remind everyone I’m yours.”

“Knock you up,” he grunted, “do what your failure of a spouse couldn’t.”

“Please, Papa! Cum inside me!”

“Be a good girl for Papa and take it all, won’t you?”

“Yes, Papa!”

“Take it, principessa. Take every fucking drop.”

And with that, it was Papa’s turn to topple over the edge. He stilled inside you and let out a gutteral groan, releasing his seed and filling you just as you asked him to. You’d won. Your partner was completely humiliated, but the cruel beast inside you wanted to take it one extra step. Once Secondo had pulled himself out of you, you sat up and swivelled round on the table, resting your back against him. Papa took this opportunity to kiss your neck and move up to bite your ear, hanging over you protectively and dominant just to further stake his claim to you. You spread your legs once more, and showed your partner exactly what had just transpired. You shot him a smug look as you spread your cunt apart and Secondo’s cum began to drip out of you and onto the table. All of the orgasms Secondo had given you were exquisite, but watching your partner walk out of the dining hall a smaller person than before came as a close second.

Just before he left, Secondo shot him a middle finger that only you were really paying attention to, and it made you giggle. It made Secondo giggle, too. This whole ordeal had been about revenge but it also brought you closer to Secondo - and right now, even though you were still in front of a few people, the whole moment felt very intimate and private. That was when you realised you were falling for him.

Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

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seakicker · 2 years

Note

hello i have returned w priest childe food

as ofc the reader is a naive nun, they had no idea what to do with this growing situation between their legs. in fact, reader believes that this was some sort of force was trying to tempt them away from their duties. considering how well they trust childe as he was the one who took them in, they go to him for help. little would they know, reader would end up bent over the podium, taking his massive cock over and over and over again while reciting a prayer of salvation that he deemed necessary for this ritual

yes yes yes, this indeed... it's easy to feed you lies when it comes to sex and intimacy when he's starting with a total blank slate. he doesn't have to go through the process of reversing or overriding what you already know when you don't know anything... he very well could convince you that children are made when two people who love each other hold hands lmfao

cw: afab + gn reader, reader is a nun and childe is the head priest. religious themes/talk, emotional manipulation, reader is Desperate for approval, dubious consent (reader consents but because of the idea of "i need to do this" rather than active sexual desire), abuse of power/authority, no foreplay/childe pushes into you when you're kinda dry

also crossposted to ao3 if you prefer to read content there.

It is not within a nun’s line of duty to indulge.

Your tiny little monastery bedroom is noticeably devoid of any furniture or decorations beyond your bed, desk, dresser, and bedside book compiling all of the church’s values and teachings in their service to the Tsaritsa. You get by with only what you must; you don’t waste your money on frivolous, unnecessary items to enhance your appearance or show off any sort of social standing. You sustain yourself with simple, basic foods like potato soup and bread; any food item more fanciful would be better either gifted to the homeless or to the Tsaritsa Herself as an offering.

If you have the money to throw at purchases of expensive clothing, fine dining, or fancy interior decorations, then you have the money to donate to the church or otherwise put to better use than downright wasting it on yourself.

Just as it is not their duty to indulge in the more tangible pleasures of mankind, a nun needn’t concern themselves with relationships outside of that of the one between them and the Tsaritsa. Needless to say, romantic and sexual relationships are explicitly forbidden— such depraved encounters only serve as distractions from your one true duty: your service to the Tsaritsa.

Save for the Archon Herself, no figure has been more vital to the development and enhancement of your faith in the Tsaritsa and Her kindness, loyalty to the Greater Cathedral of Snezhnaya as a gesture of gratitude for all the kindness it has blessed you with, and insistence on always being the best representation of Her you can be than the monastery’s head priest Tartaglia.

It’s hard to remember anything of note from your life prior to joining the Church— Tartaglia took you in about two years ago out of the goodness of his own heart as a member of the clergy; he mentioned that he is but a vessel for the Tsaritsa’s divine kindness and that it is his duty as a direct representative of her to pay that kindness forward. Turning his back on a destitute, helpless being, someone created in the Tsaritsa’s own image at that— you’re just as much a creation of Her as he is—like yourself at the time would have gone against everything the Church stands for.

A whispered promise to deliver you from the vices and horrors of man and into the warm, loving embrace of the Tsaritsa was all it took for you to accept Tartaglia’s invitation to the Church. You would have accepted any offer of food and shelter at that time— whether or not it was simply luck or divine fate that it was Tartaglia who found you, cold and ill and alone, is beyond your comprehension. As far as you’re concerned, it’s both— who alive could show you more kindness than Tartaglia has throughout the past two years?

In addition to his otherworldly kindness, Tartaglia has shown you no shortage of patience since he took you in and insisted to personally teach you in the gospel of the Tsaritsa and personally train you in all the duties of a good, faithful nun. His affectionate nickname of “little lamb” has stuck with you ever since he first called you a lost one: a wayward, helpless, lost little lamb in dire need of the Tsaritsa’s— and his— guiding hand. He dressed you in the warm, soft dress and robes customary of all nuns, a massive upgrade from the tattered, worn clothes he found you in. When he had asked you if they fit your body comfortably, you didn’t tell him that they felt a little tight around your bust or your hips— beggars can’t be choosers, and all of his teachings of gratitude and thankfulness would go to waste were you to have the audacity to complain about a brand-new, clean, fresh outfit, wouldn’t they? Who on Tsaritsa’s green planet would even dream of complaining about anything when they previously had nothing?

You know better. Even if you didn’t know better before, you certainly do now— Tartaglia’s gentle guidance has taught you at least that much.

“Little lamb,” Tartaglia calls, resting a hand over yours as you go to flip a page in the Scripture book you’re holding. A chronicle of the Tsaritsa’s historical feats and accomplishments in addition to her dream for all of Snezhnaya, rather all of Teyvat, serves as the basis for the Church’s teachings, and Tartaglia personally ensures that you don’t fall behind on your readings by meeting with you every Monday evening. The desolate silence of the Cathedral after hours serves as the location for these studies— it allows you to immerse yourself in the grandiosity and significance of the Cathedral while you read.

He clears his throat and repeats himself. “Little lamb, stay focused.”

You smile sheepishly like a child caught sneaking a treat. “I’m sorry,” you offer, glancing over at Tartaglia’s gloved hand resting on your bare one.

He hums. “Something on your mind?”

Ah. He’s always been able to see right through you— whereas someone else may have just concluded that you were growing bored of reading after having done so for three hours straight, Tartaglia deduces that your mind is elsewhere. He deduces not that you’re bored of the Tsartisa’s divine accomplishments because you’re a good, dutiful, dignified nun who would never, ever tire of hearing of Her feats. He can confidently assert that you’re everything a nun representing the Tsaritsa should be because he personally taught you everything you know.

Your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. Allowing your mind to wander when you should be focusing on Her teachings is mortifying enough, but being caught daydreaming by Tartaglia is leagues more humiliating. “It’s nothing, I promise. Surely nothing more deserving of my attention than our studies.”

Tartaglia hums again as if he’s in thought then moves to close your book, resting his hand on the front cover. “Well, if it’s important enough to distract you from our readings, then it has to be worth hearing out, right?”

You didn’t think of it that way. Finally forcing yourself to make eye contact with him, you take a deep breath to steady yourself and begin speaking. “It’s embarrassing, really,” you force a shaky laugh in an attempt to lighten the mood… or maybe it’s to distract you from the fact that the useless, wasteful wandering of your mind just caused Tartaglia to end your lessons early.

“It’s just that I…” Your voice grows quieter and quieter the more you attempt to speak.

Tartaglia leans in closer, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “You can say it, little lamb.”

“It’s humiliating, truly,” you finally continue. “But recently I… I’ve been having thoughts in need of purging, sir. M-More frequently than usual— they’ve only grown in frequency and intensity since our last cleansing.”

Thoughts in need of purging or, in other words, sexual thoughts that you’ve been taught to never, ever indulge because nuns do not indulge in lust. At first, the thoughts were infrequent enough to the point where you could effortlessly ignore them— even just the slightest distraction buried these thoughts completely. You could opt to sweep the Cathedral or tidy up your quarters and the thoughts would be gone just like that.

The timeline gets fuzzier the more you attempt to recall it, but you guess that those thoughts first appeared about three months or so following when Tartaglia first took you in. You didn’t actually confess them until about six months into your mentorship under him, and he was quick to offer you a method to truly purge— not just suppress— your mind and heart of these lustful thoughts.

However, those thoughts have yet to be truly purged. You must be broken— the thoughts have only increased exponentially following each and every cleansing session; whenever you and Tartaglia finish, your thoughts only grow more intense than before and you find yourself caught between the shame of confessing your moral degradation and the guilt of living silently with your thoughts. The idea of confessing that despite all Tartaglia’s patience and kindness with you and the cleansing rituals, your thoughts have only grown lewder and darker and nastier… how would that make you look? How could you ever look him in the eye and tell him that you fear you’re getting worse despite all his attempts to help you get better?

Despite your internal conflict, you always, always confessed— you’ve probably had about seven of your private cleansing sessions with Tartaglia now. He taught you to never keep sins a secret, whether you actually acted on them or not.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment— the minute of silence feels like thirty years and you begin to brace yourself for the firm scolding you deserve rather than the warm understanding he continues to undeservingly spoil you with. You wouldn’t be upset if he were to reprimand you or punish you for your incessant sinning— it’s what you deserve more than you deserve even an ounce of his kindness.

That scolding never comes, however, and once those metaphorical thirty years have passed, he clears his throat, removes his hand from yours, and leans back in his seat. “I understand, little lamb. I’m glad you’re being honest about it.”

“Hey, look at me,” he coaxes. You didn’t even really notice that your gaze fell down to your lap rather than looking up at him until this request; surely it would have been more polite and sincere of you to look him in the eye while confessing the depths of your sins.

“I’m sorry,” you rasp, hesitantly (and finally) looking him in the eye per his request. “I’m so sorry, sir. You’ve been doing so much to help me curb these thoughts and they still… I still…”

He shushes you with a soft shh, taking your hand in his once more and smoothing his thumb over the back of your hand. “Sweetheart, it’s my job to help you and guide you. You know that. If I were the type to give up on you for failing once or twice or even a hundred times, what kind of mentor would I be? Little lamb, our cleansing sessions are important to me because I can see that you’re improving.”

His kindness knows no bounds. Whereas he could have chosen to curse you or damn you for your incessant lustful thoughts, he instead expressed patience and understanding.

Because Tartaglia is a kind, patient, and understanding man.

“I guess that means another session is in order, huh, little lamb?” Tartaglia prompts you, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “We’ll continue our readings tomorrow once you’re… less distracted.”

You laugh hesitantly, having been reminded of the utter humiliation of interrupting your weekly readings before you finished them by being too busy having lustful thoughts instead. You slowly rise to your feet and make your way over to the center podium where Tartaglia conducts all of his sermons— your cleansing rituals always take place right here because it’s, in his words, the holiest place in the entire monastery.

You’re mortified. Humiliated. Here you are, a stupid wench of a nun who can’t seem to learn how to properly behave despite all of Tartaglia’s attempts at helping you. How long will you continue to test his patience, reverse his efforts, and take advantage of his kindness? When will you ever, ever learn?

The sound of Tartaglia’s chair sliding against the cool marble floor alerts you that he’s ready to begin as well. He makes his way over to you and stands just behind you, a strong hand settling reassuringly on your hip through the thin cotton of your floor-length standard dress.

He chuckles in a manner you’ve never heard from him before. There’s an unsettling sort of darkness in the way he laughs, his right hand gripping your hip and the left seizing hold of your chin to turn your head slightly towards him. Were you in the position to even dream of questioning him, you would probably find yourself unnerved by the sound— but you are in no position to doubt the man who’s shown you nothing but kindness since the day he met you. When you’re a lowly, sinful, wasteful little nun, you don’t have the right to doubt a man leagues more powerful, wiser, and well-versed in the Tsaritsa’s teachings than you are.

These are not the depraved cackles of a man outside of the Church’s influence staking claim on a pliant, unwitting toy. Tartaglia would never steer you wrong, he would never do anything outside of your best interests as an aspiring member of the Church, he would never hurt you.

Because Tartaglia is a kind, patient, and understanding man.

He caresses your chin and hums a hymn you recognize from his sermons. “I must admit,” he whispers, gazing at you with an expression you couldn’t begin to decipher— it’s some mix of rueful bitterness, anticipation, and sadism. “I’ve been guiding you for two years now, and to see progress this slow… it does make me wonder if you’ll ever learn,” Tartaglia breathes against your lips, grinning salaciously in a way wholly unbefitting of a priest. “It’d be wrong of me to deem one of the Tsaritsa’s subjects a lost cause, but…”

Chuckling again, he releases your chin from his grip and traces a thumb up the swell of your cheek. Is he checking for tears? “But you?” He finally continues. “I’m starting to wonder if you’re even able to be redeemed. If it’s gotten to the point where you can’t even focus on your usual readings… maybe you’re just not cut out for this sort of thing, huh?”

Practically immediately following the last syllable that leaves Tartaglia’s mouth, a pained gasp escapes you and your eyes go wide with a sort of frantic horror. “No! Please, no, I’ll do— I’ll do anything!” Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you beg him, plead him, implore him to help you— you really, truly would do anything to remain in the Tsaritsa’s— no, in his— good graces.

He says nothing when you drop to your knees before him in a desperate display of submission, clumsily knocking one of your feet against the base of the podium. A tear falls from your eye and you don’t stop your body from throwing itself at his feet, clinging to the sweeping skirts of his robes like a lifeline. “Please, sir,” you wail pathetically, sobbing and sobbing and sobbing as if your filthy, self-victimizing tears will wash away the grime of your sins.

While not undeserved even in the slightest nor totally unexpected, his sudden cruelty has you feeling more terrified than anything you’ve ever experienced in your life. Has he finally run out of patience? Has the dutiful, kind, intelligent Tartaglia who took you in when you didn’t have even a single mora to your name grown fed up with your stagnating progress? Have you gone backwards despite all the sessions you’ve gone through with him? Is he beginning to view his decision to take you in as a mistake? Is he going to brand your salvation a fruitless endeavor, forsake you, and throw you back out onto the streets of which he first plucked you from?

No. You won’t let that happen. He’s given you so much and you won’t let all of his time and efforts go to waste— you will improve. You will not simply indulge in his kindness while keeping it from changing your heart; you will take his teachings and allow yourself to be born anew as the spitting image of a follow of the Tsartisa.

“Please forgive me,” you wail weakly, throat already feeling hoarse. With your mind gone and your desperation controlling your body’s autopilot feature, you bury your face in the fabric of his robe and continue to cry and cry and cry.

Unbeknownst to you, Tartaglia smiles.

“I forgive you,” he notes simply. “But you’re not trying to earn my forgiveness, are you? You’ll need to work for Her forgiveness if you’d like to really show me what a sweet, dutiful nun you can be.

I forgive you, he said. You suck in a shaky breath and do your best to quiet your body-wracking sobs into tiny, pitiful hiccups and coughs instead. Tartaglia looks down at you with all the empathy of a stranger passing a wounded animal on the street and you buckle against him, your arms wrapping around his legs.

“Let’s not waste any more time, alright?” Tartaglia says with a grin, prompting you to bashfully apologize again and clumsily rise to your feet. He doesn’t need to ask you to bend yourself over the podium because you know the process plenty well by now— the cleansing ritual involves partaking in behavior nuns are typically required to swear off, so if that fact alone doesn’t inform you of the desperation of the whole situation, nothing will. If Tartaglia deems it fit to break your vow of celibacy— and you would never even dream of questioning the logic behind this— in order to purge you of your sins, then you’ll accept no matter what.

He hums in approval at your obedience. You catch on quickly… it’s a shame that you don’t truly internalize his teachings and learn quickly.

“It’s okay, little lamb,” he reassures you, gently clutching your dress and lifting the fabric slowly until he’s exposed your ass to the cool Cathedral air. “You’ll do well tonight— just as you always do, right?”

You will. You’ll do so well tonight. You’ll behave and perform better than you ever have because you need to— it’s one thing to mess up your first time and a whole different thing to mess up your eighth time. You won’t let Tartaglia’s guidance go to waste, you won’t allow yourself to go to waste so long as he sees potential in you, and you won’t give up as long as Tartaglia continues to view you worthy of molding, changing, and shaping into the ideal nun.

It’ll be okay.

Slowly working your white panties down your thighs, Tartaglia gently parts your legs wider by knocking his foot against your ankles, all but kicking you open to give him some room to work with. You don’t feel as wet this time as you have in past sessions… does that mean your body’s ridding itself of all your sin and lust? He taught you that wetness is a sign of your body’s cravings, and if you’re no longer growing wet… that’s a good thing, right? The thought alone fills you with hope that you are not, in fact, a lost cause.

The initial push of Tartaglia’s cock into your entrance hurts. You don’t deduce that it’s because you’re not all that wet this time— no, you decide that it’s because your sins are finally leaving your body and because nothing worth having ever comes easily. The pain is a sign that the ritual’s working as far as you’re concerned… and you breathe a shaky sigh of relief amidst your whimpers of pain as he continues to push inch after inch of himself into you.

“Thank you,” you wheeze as your body attempts to relax around him. “Thank you for taking pity on me and… guiding me.” Just as you bent over his podium without being asked, you clasp your hands together in prayer before Tartaglia can ask you to— if you want to show him how obedient and receptive to his teachings you can be, it’s now or never.

It hurts, but you don’t complain. Why would you ever complain when he’s trying to help you? Why would you complain when this is surely your body’s way of notifying you that your sins are leaving it?

“There you go,” Tartaglia grunts, cursing under his breath because you’re so fucking tight— he’ll have to remind himself that you’re not really one he can skip foreplay with, especially not when you’re this much of a wreck. “I knew you could do it, little lamb. I’ve always believed in you, you know. I’ve always thought that you’re special.”

You barely have the mental capacity or rationality to compare these praises to his prior comments about you potentially being a lost cause.

Your body adapts quickly enough— the stress of the somewhat dry entrance causes your body to quickly overcompensate, producing enough juices as possible in a limited timeframe in order to allow Tartaglia a relatively comfortable slide in and out of your pussy. He figures that nerves are to blame (or thank, in his case?) for your sudden insane tightness, your pussy squeezing up so tight he can barely manage to pull out. Oh sweet Tsaritsa, he thinks with a sleazy grin. This sort of nun is the best there is.

“Your prayers, little lamb,” Tartaglia reminds you, grinning when you gasp out another apology for being so pitifully forgetful. It’s a prayer he himself wrote just for this occasion; just for you— that should prove the depths of his love and concern for you enough, right?

Nodding your head in understanding, you bow your head down to hang between your arms. “My Royal Highness, the divine Tsaritsa,” you begin quietly, crying out for Tartaglia when he blesses you with a thrust so deep you feel it all the way in your belly. “I plead for Your forgiveness. Forgive my transgressions and pardon my sins. Though I—”

A moan of Tartaglia’s name falls from your lips and cuts your prayer short. Your priest seizes hold of your hips and all but jackhammers into you from behind, slaps resounding throughout the empty Cathedral as you pitifully attempt to complete your prayer amidst the sinful, sinful pleasure Tartaglia’s drowning you in.

“Though I,” you repeat yourself, starting the sentence from the top. “Though I may be imperfect, and though I may act in ways unbefitting of a pupil of Yours, I beg for Your forgiveness.”

Another hard thrust has you faltering, and you fight off your instinct to unclasp your hands from their prayer position and grab at the podium for stability. Tartaglia’s hands grip your hips harder and harder to the point where you swear you can feel his fingernails through the fabric of his gloves.

“I vow to always act in a way befitting of Your image.” You squeeze your hands together so hard they begin to shake, your breath coming to you only in staccato gasps and strained whimpers. “Amen.”

As you finish your prayer, Tartaglia hums in approval from behind you and rubs his hand over your ass in a soothing gesture. “There you go,” he praises. “You did such a wonderful job. I told you that you grow better and better the more sessions we have… perhaps we should make these part of our weekly routine rather than sticking to a case-by-case basis, hm?”

Whatever it takes to reach salvation and prove yourself to him. He’s such a busy, busy man and him taking time out of his schedule to read Scripture with you is already more than you deserve, and here he is, offering to cleanse you of your sins weekly and keep you at your absolute purest.

Would it be sacrilegious to claim that Tartaglia’s kindness surpasses that of even the Tsaritsa Herself?

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collapsedsquid · 2 days

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Father John is gone — removed from his post by a sex-abuse scandal, he died last year — but the CIC is still on K Street. It is still run by Opus Dei (Latin for “the Work of God”), which is not focused on ministering to the masses (and if it were, it would be failing spectacularly, as more Americans are leaving the Catholic Church than joining it, by as much as four to one). Instead, it is focused on marshaling the people who have various forms of authority over the masses (Opus Dei reportedly calls them the “intellectuals”) to its various revanchist causes. The group targets, and attracts, people like Donald Trump’s current running mate, J.D. Vance, a convert to conservative Catholicism by way of Opus Dei–connected clergy and influencers. [....] “Catholicism faces vile and amoral current-day barbarians, secularists, and bigots,” Leo said in a 20-minute speech still viewable on YouTube. “These barbarians can be known by their signs: They vandalized and burnt our churches after the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade, they show up at events like this one trying to frighten and muzzle us.” He assails “the current-day bigots, the progressive Ku Klux Klan … they repeat the KKK canard that Catholics want this country to be dominated and controlled by a theocracy.” The lawyer-lobbyist launched into a brief history of the Catholic Church versus its enemies, starting with the Christians repelling the Ottomans at Vienna in the 17th century, and concluded: “Catholic evangelization faces extraordinary threats and hurdles. Our culture is more hateful and intolerant of Catholicism than at any other point in our lives. It despises who we are, what we profess and how we act. Our opponents are not just uninformed or unchurched; they are often deeply wounded people whom the Devil can easily take advantage of.”

Catholicism being suppressed in America by people being able to get tired of it and quit.

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divinum-pacis · 2 years

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#religion #christianity #protestantism #baptist #southern baptist #abuse #sex abuse #clergy abuse #article #divinum-pacis

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occupyhades · 3 months

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Operation Phobos

Targets the Denizens of Zophos: The Violators of Children.

The eyes of the LORD are in every place, keeping watch on the evil and the good. Proverbs 15:3 (ESV)

Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead expose them. Ephesians 5:11 (ESV)

There is no darkness or deep shadow where the workers of iniquity can hide. Job 34:22 (BSB)

What sorrow awaits those who try to hide their plans from the LORD, who do their evil deeds in the dark! “The LORD can’t see us,” they say. “He doesn’t know what’s going on!” Isaiah 29:15 (NLT)

While you did all this, I remained silent, and you thought I didn’t care. But now I will rebuke you, listing all my charges against you. Psalm 50:21 (NLT)

The iniquities of a wicked man entrap him; the cords of his sin entangle him. Proverbs 5:22 (BSB)

Dear friend, do not imitate what is evil but what is good. Anyone who does what is good is from God. Anyone who does what is evil has not seen God. 3 John 1:11 (NIV)

The Righteous One knows what is going on in the homes of the wicked; he will bring disaster on them. Proverbs 21:12 (NLT)

#clergy misconduct #clergy sex abuse scandal #child exploitation #judgement #damnation

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theconcealedweapon · 1 year

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TW: Pedophilia

Children are rarely taught the reason why they can't consent to sex, which is because of a power imbalance.

And that's because understanding how power dynamics lead to abuse would cause people to dismantle those power dynamics.

If it's well known that the desire to be seen as mature makes children easier victims of predators, the logical response would be to stop normalizing the use of mature as a compliment or immature as an insult. If it's well known that predators take advantage of children being expected to obey, the logical response would be to stop expecting children to unquestioningly obey adults. If it's well known that children who are treated like shit on a regular basis are more likely to trust a predator who seems less abusive in comparison, the logical response would be to stop normalizing treating children like shit.

If people understand that a power imbalance makes consent invalid, then they'd understand other situations when consent is invalid. For example, it's impossible to consent to working for a poverty wage or to being searched by the police.

It would also be impossible to compare marginalized groups to pedophiles. If people understand that a power imbalance is what allows pedophilia to happen, then there'd be no possible way to compare LGBT people to pedophiles, since being LGBT cannot possibly give someone more power. People would realize that clergy members, who children are expected to obey, are the ones who have the power to abuse children.

And the ruling class don't want that to happen. They don't want adults to lose their power over children and to instead have to treat children like people. They don't want people to recognize the abusive patterns that rich people and the police have. They don't want to lose their ability to weaponize pedophilia against marginalized people.

So they don't teach children the real reason why children can't consent to sex. They instead say that it's because "it's the law" or because what children want doesn't matter. Or they use a dismissive answer like "you'll understand when you're older".

And that makes it much easier to continue treating children like shit while pretending that the people who care about children's rights are the predators. That makes it much easier to label any deviation from the norm as pedophilia while giving a free pass to actual pedophiles.

Also, if children don't understand the reason why a rule exists, they could feel like they're being controlled and rebel against it.

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ghuleh-witch · 6 months

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And We Are Tied As One Eternally-II

Fandom: Ghost Rating: Explicit Warnings: (For Future Chapters) NSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral sex, mentions of past abuse and domestic violence, references to suicide Relationships: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia x OFC Characters: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia, OFC Additional Tags: soft!dom Copia, eventual smut, developing relationship, no beta reader Chapter Word Count: 2921 Summary: Ellie Moran just wanted to make a new life for herself. Running to escape the people in her past, she ends up in a small town in the middle of nowhere that happens to be home to a Satanic church. She never expected her life to change again after she started attending the public masses at said church.

Ao3

Chapters: 2/?

Tag list: @sodoswitchimage

Chapter Two

tw: references to past self-harm

The dining hall was filled with an aroma of buffet food. Siblings and clergy members spoke to one another as Copia entered the hall. His eyes scanned the people and ghouls in the room before finding their target. He spotted Ellie with Sister Gemma in a small group of Siblings. He wanted to approach Ellie and talk to her, but the vision of her down on her knees in front of him, looking up at him, well, it did things to him. He couldn’t figure out why seeing her like that affected him so much. Had it been as simple as seeing a beautiful woman on her knees before him? No, it couldn’t be it. There were many beautiful people in the ministry that dropped to their knees before him every week and they hadn’t affected him the way Ellie had. There was something about her specifically and he wanted to find out what it was.

He was happy to see Ellie interacting with his congregation. He remembered just weeks prior how she stood alone and away from everyone. If she made friends with the Siblings she’d want to come back to visit, and if she came to visit more often there would be more chances to talk to her, he reasoned.

“So you have your eye on the new girl too,” Terzo said as he came up next to Copia.

His eyes slid sideways to the other man. “I do not,” Copia responded a little too quickly.

Terzo chuckled. “Oh, fratello , you don’t have to lie to me. I saw how you looked at her during communion. I thought you were going to get a hard-on right then and there.”

Copia rolled his eyes at his brother. “Okay, fine, what if I do have an interest in her? What does it matter to you? Are you planning on bedding her? A new woman to add to your tally?” He felt suddenly possessive of Ellie and stomped the feeling down. He had no right to feel that way. Ellie wasn’t his. He didn’t even know her. And even if he did, that didn’t mean he was entitled to her. She probably wasn’t even interested in him. Terzo was just trying to get under his skin.

“Calm yourself,” Terzo said. “I’m only messing with you. I was thinking about asking her out for dinner, but seeing you all up in arms over her has changed my mind. You’re not usually interested in anyone, so I’ll let you have this one.”

“How gracious of you,” Copia deadpanned.

Terzo clapped him on the shoulder. “Good luck, fratello .”

XXX

Gemma introduced Ellie to her friends: Sister Brianna, a pretty redhead with a round face, and Brother Micha a short man with dark hair and eyes in his mid-20s. The other two Siblings welcomed Ellie into their little group with open arms, asking her questions about her life and taking interest in her responses.

“Your tattoos are gorgeous by the way,” Brianna said, taking Ellie’s hand and looking at the bits that poked out from under her sleeve. “Can I see more?”

“S-sure,” Ellie said, rolling up her sleeve to show off more of the floral and vine designs that covered her arm. She hoped no one would notice the raised scar that ran up her wrist that the tattoos hid. She wasn’t up for answering questions and bringing up that part of her life. If any of them had noticed, they didn’t mention it, which Ellie was grateful for.

“I wish I had more tattoos,” Brianna sighed dropping Ellie’s arm after admiring the colorful ink. “I only have the one. Haven’t had time to get more.”

As the conversation turned to other things, Ellie pulled the sleeve of her sweater back down and noticed Copia across the room. He was watching her as he spoke to Terzo. When Terzo patted his shoulder and walked away, Ellie excused herself from the group and walked over to Copia.

“Papa,” she greeted. “The service today was really good. I enjoyed it.”

His lips turned up into a small smile and the sight made her heart beat just a little faster. “Thank you, cara , I’m glad you enjoyed it. It was one of my better ones. I’m glad to see you’re back and that you took communion. Are you thinking about joining our little family here?”

“I don’t know yet,” Ellie said. “I don’t know a whole lot about your religion. I understand and agree with the tenants, but I have a…complicated relationship with religion.”

“Former Catholic?”

“Evangelical Baptist,” Ellie corrected.

Copia made a face. “Even worse than Catholics, si?”

Ellie nodded. “At least the Catholics wouldn’t tell me I’m going to Hell every time I stepped into church,” she laughed.

“I can never keep track of what the different denominations believe. Catholics believe one way, Baptists and Lutherns another it’s all confusing,” he said, waving his hand as he spoke. “At least here we are consistent in our beliefs.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Ellie smiled. “I think I need to learn more before I can decide on joining.”

“Of course!” Copia responded with a nod. “Having all the information in front of you before you make a decision is the responsible thing to do. I’m sure Sister Gemma would be happy to help you, and if she can’t, I would be glad to help.”

“Gemma–er–Sister Gemma already offered to be my sponsor,” Ellie said, glancing over at the little group of Siblings that were still chatting to one another. She looked back at Copia, feeling his mismatched eyes boring into her. “But thank you, I really appreciate the offer. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

“Si, si. Well, eh, I’ll let you get back to your new friends. I hope we get to see more of you here.”

Ellie could have sworn she saw a glint of eagerness in his eye as he said that. It made her smile and nod. “I’m sure I’ll be around more,” she said before giving him a small wave and walking back to the group of Siblings.

“Making friends with Papa?” Micha asked.

“Yea,” Ellie answered. “He came and talked to me a little the first time I was here. I just wanted to tell him that I really enjoyed the sermon today.”

“Papa Copia is alright,” Micha said. “He’s gained a lot of confidence since ascending to Papa. He was awkward as hell as a Cardinal. Should have seen him. Always had a rat with him. Rode a tricycle around the Ministry. It was weird.”

“Aw, I think that’s kind of sweet. I love rats,” Ellie smiled, glancing over her shoulder. Copia was now speaking with one of the masked figures Ellie learned were called Ghouls. After watching the Ghouls interact with other Siblings, there was something weird about them that Ellie couldn’t put her finger on. When she turned back to the three Siblings they were all looking at her with smirks on their faces. “What?”

“You like him,” Brianna said in a sing-songy voice.

“No,” Ellie said a bit too quickly. She felt her cheeks warm. “I mean, sure, as a person. He seems nice.”

“Oh yea? Then why are you blushing?” Gemma asked a grin of triumph plastered on her face.

Ellie let out a sigh. It would be useless to lie. She was always a terrible liar. “Okay, maybe I find him attractive,” she said as Gemma, Brianna, and Micha all looked at each other and nodded.

“What?” Ellie asked, unsure she wanted to know what they all just agreed on.

“We’re going to get you two together,” Micha said. “Papa needs someone. I heard he hasn’t slept with anyone since he became Papa.”

“Woah woah woah,” Ellie said putting her hands up. “I don’t even know the man and you’re already trying to get me in his bed? I appreciate the thought, but I’m just…I’m okay with the way things are right now. He’s nice and I’d like to be friends, but anything else…” The thought of nothing more between her and Copia made her a little sad and she couldn’t figure out why. But her life was too unstable—barely just began to start it over. Ellie didn’t know him well, but she knew Copia deserved someone better than her. So friends it would be.

“So,” Ellie said turning to Gemma to change the subject. “When can I begin studying for my membership?”

XXX

Ellie left the ministry with a handful of pamphlets given to her by Gemma. They covered the history of the ministry, rules, beliefs, clergy hierarchy, and much much more. Her first task was to read through all the material and write down any questions she had. She was meeting Gemma for her first study session in a few days.

As she looked through the pamphlets, she saw Copia’s papal portrait in one of them. It listed him as the current head of the ministry and frontman for Ghost. Ellie couldn’t help but stare at it. He looked regal in his papal skull paints and glimmering blue robes and miter. Gemma, Brianna, and Micha didn’t push her any further on their plans of getting her together with Copia, and Ellie was thankful because if she thought about Copia anymore, a permanent blush would be seared into her flesh.

As she finished reading through the third pamphlet, her phone chimed with a text message. Ellie froze for a second. No one had her new number. She ditched her old phone back in her hometown before her journey across the country.

“It’s not him,” Ellie told herself as she picked up the phone and opened the text from the unknown number.

Hey! It’s Gemma! I forgot to tell you that when you come here you’ll have to be buzzed in through the front gate. Just tell them you’re here to see me.

Ellie let out a huge sigh of relief. She forgot she gave Gemma her number. Ellie sent a response to Gemma before saving her number in her contacts. Ellie set her phone aside and willed her heart to stop bounding against her ribcage.

“It wasn’t him. You’re fine,” she told herself.

But the sick and twisting feeling that was currently churning in her gut didn’t go away.

She was hypervigilant over the next few days. Every little unexpected noise made her tense. When her boss dropped a large encyclopedia in the store that morning she nearly gave herself a heart attack. Ellie knew she should probably see a therapist and talk about her past and how it was affecting her, but she just didn’t feel ready to dive into all that just yet. She convinced herself that she was just stressed by all the recent changes in her life. Stress. That’s all it was.

That still didn’t stop her from looking in her rearview mirror to make sure no one followed her on her drive up to the Ministry.

She stopped outside the wrought iron gates that were normally open for public mass days. Ellie rolled down her window and pressed the call button on the box just outside the gate.

“How may I help you?” A voice crackled over the speaker.

“Hi, yes, my name’s Ellie Moran. I’m here to see Sister Gemma,” Ellie said.

“Come on through,” the voice responded as the gates began to open.

Ellie drove the now familiar path up the gravel drive and to the small visitor’s parking lot. She sent Gemma a message informing her she arrived before walking to the front doors. Before she could even put her hand on the handle the door was opened and an extremely tall, masked ghoul was standing there. Ellie had to crane her neck to look up at him.

“Sister Gemma will be right down,” the ghoul said ushering Ellie into the atrium of the church.

“Thanks,” Ellie said. She stood in the atrium, looking up at the stained glass before looking at the ghoul standing by the door. “I’m Ellie,” she introduced holding her hand out to shake.

“I know,” the ghoul said, looking down at her outstretched hand. “I am called Mountain.”

When it became obvious Mountain wasn’t going to shake her hand, Ellie let it drop and waited awkwardly for Gemma to arrive.

“I’m here!”

Ellie turned around to see Gemma coming down a set of marble stairs. She was in the same short, black habit that Ellie saw her in at mass but instead of fishnet tights and pumps, she wore black thigh-high socks and knee-high lace-up boots.

“I’m so glad you’re doing this,” Gemma smiled before waving at Mountain. Gemma guided Ellie up the stairs to the second floor and down the corridor. “I’m going to take you to the library first,” she said. “We’ll get an account set up for you so you can borrow books. Then I’ll give you a tour of the place if you want. After that, I’ll answer your questions and we’ll go over what we’re going to be working on.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ellie said as she kept pace with Gemma.

The Ministry library reminded Ellie of the photos she had seen of the Bodleian Library in Oxford, England. The dark wooden shelves stretched toward the high arches of the ceiling and were filled with ancient-looking tomes and modern-day novels. The smell of old paper filled her nose as Ellie followed Gemma to the front desk. There was a long row of tables and chairs that ran down the middle of the library and ended at the large stained glass window. There were several siblings at the tables, either sitting alone or in pairs. All of them had their heads in their books and were taking notes on paper, tablets, or laptops.

Ellie was handed a clipboard by an older, rather severe-looking Sister and was told to fill it out. It was a basic form asking for her name, phone number, address, and other relevant information, and when Ellie handed it back to the Sister behind the desk, she was handed a temporary card.

“Your official card will arrive in the mail next week,” the Sister said before returning to her work.

“Cool. I’ve never had a library card before,” Ellie said staring down at the simple cardstock that bore her name and an eight-digit number.

“Never?” Gemma asked looking surprised.

“Never,” Ellie said. “The last time I stepped foot in a library I was nine.”

Gemma’s eyes practically popped out of their sockets. “You’re kidding me.”

Ellie felt her face warm. “I…I was homeschooled and my mother…well she didn’t think public libraries were Christian.”

“Oh,” Gemma responded. “One of those 'information is danger' people. I understand. We have a few Siblings here who have similar stories.”

Ellie relaxed at that. “I thought I was the only one.”

“Not at all,” Gemma said. “I don’t mean to pry or overstep or anything, but we have support groups here if you ever need to get anything off your chest about the way you were raised.”

“Thanks,” Ellie said, feeling a lump grow in her throat at the suggestion. “Maybe I’ll check it out.”

Gemma nodded and smiled. “Ready to continue?”

“Please.”

From the library, Gemma showed her the administrative wing, the dormitories, the archives, and the recreational rooms that were filled with everything from video games and board games to movies and comic books. Gemma showed her a few of the classrooms and the greenhouse before stopping outside a small two-story house just outside the main abbey.

“This is the Papal house,” Gemma said. “All five of the Papas live here.” “Nihil, Primo, Secondo, Terzo, and Copia,” Ellie listed off.

Gemma grinned. “Good, you were listening. You know Papas Terzo and Copia of course. Papa Nihil doesn’t go out much anymore. Just for mass and a couple of Ministry events. Papa Primo is always in the greenhouse, and Papa Secondo…well we’re really not sure how he spends his time. He’s always coming and going. I’m sure you’ll get to meet them all at some point.”

Just as Gemma turned to lead Ellie back into the abbey, the door to the house opened and Copia stepped out. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Ellie. Ellie couldn’t help but stare. He looked completely different out of his papal vestments. He was dressed in red sweatpants, a black shirt with baring VVLGARI in white across the chest, and a matching red zip-up jacket over top. His face was devoid of the black and white skill paint Ellie saw him in, and instead, he just had black around his eyes and on his upper lip.

“Oh, eh, hello,” he said. “Am I interrupting something? Did you need to see someone?”

“No, Papa, I was just giving Ellie the tour,” Gemma said. “Sorry if we disturbed you.”

“No apologies necessary, cara ,” Copia said. “I was just going to see Sister Imperator in her office. His eyes were then once again on Ellie. “So what do you think of our little home?”

“It’s nice,” Ellie said. “Everything’s so beautiful.”

“This used to be some Catholic monastery or something before it was sold off and we bought it,” Copia explained. There was a pause before he shifted almost anxiously. “If you have time before you leave today, would you come by my office?”

“Oh? Um, sure,” Ellie said. “I don’t have anything going on this afternoon.”

“ Perfetto ,” Copia said, a smile forming on his lips. “I’ll see you then.”

#awataoe #ghost #the band ghost #ghost fanfic #my fanfic #copia #papa emeritus iv #copia x ofc #copia x oc #papa emeritus iv x ofc #papa emeritus x oc #papa emeritus iv fanfic

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