#da rulah writes

[da-rulah]

Rubenesque - Secondo x F! Plus Size Reader

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

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

Rating: Explicit, 18+ Only

Word Count: 7.8k

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

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

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

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | TIP JAR

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Amore, I-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They... they talk,” you mumbled.  

“Who?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[da-rulah]

Thank you so much for recommending my works! 🥹🥹

Welcome to the fandom, anon! I hope you enjoy if you choose to check them out 🖤🖤

hi! i'm a new Ghost fan and i would love to get some fic recs since i don't know where to start. 😊 i'm pretty much open to anything but something with lots of feelings (hurt/comfort), Papa IV x someone, and around 15,000 words would be great. thank you in advance 🧡

hellooo! welcome to our little satanic corner of tumblr!! i'm so sorry this took me so long—i had a tough time finding fics that matched your criteria. i hope it's okay that i focused on "feelings" more so than hurt/comfort specifically. definitely give these writers a follow if you haven't already. (i also wasn't sure what you meant be "x someone" so i threw in a mix of x reader, x ghoul, and x oc.) feel free to dm me or send another ask if i didn't get it right this time! i can also point you towards a bunch of fantastic writers ♡

recs under the cut!

x ghouls

paper armor - @ratballet - copia x dewdrop

“Horns,” Aether says quickly, like the words in his mouth are searing him. “It’s his horns.” He spares a glance at Dewdrop’s door, like he’s afraid he might be pressed up against it, listening. “He’s shedding them." Dewdrop is shedding his horns. Copia tries to help.

Steadfast Love, Not Sacrifice - @st-danger - copia x aether x dewdrop

It’s a bit like a shark smelling blood, he thinks as they follow close behind. It's natural they were going to want to taste it, too. “Well,” Copia says, “some of us need our beauty sleep.” He hesitates, and then proceeds to look nervously between the two of them and continue, “I meant me, of course. You two are already very, erm. I should go to bed.” It’s such a flimsy excuse. The elevator reaches the third floor before any of them speak again. Aether clears his throat. “You don’t want to though.” Copia looks very called out, but can’t do much more than stare, before realizing the two ghouls beside him are waiting for an actual answer of some kind. The elevator beeps as it passes the fourth floor. “No,” Copia says slowly, and Aether’s stomach does a little swoop. “I don’t.” Or, Sometimes the reward is worth the risk. *No Man Taketh From is another favorite of mine with Papa IV and Aether.

x reader

A Message From the Bulletin Board - @writingjourney - copia x reader

The ministry’s bulletin board, ordinarily used for missing items or party announcements, contains a particularly interesting request this week – a lonely hearts ad. Or: You and Copia are secretly crushing on each other. You both have to reach maximum desperation before you make a move. * if you're in it for the long haul PLEASE read I Knew Nothing But Shadows THE hurt/comfort fic of all time. you won't regret it.

Confessional - @da-rulah - copia x reader

As a sister of sin, it was your duty to confess at least once a month, to have your sins praised by a higher up member of the clergy. But you only ever chose Thursday nights, when you knew he was on duty. And tonight, you were working up the courage to confess your darkest sin - the dreams you had been having… *check out Rituale Septem while you're at it. lotsss of feelings but with Papa III, instead.

x OC

sweeter red - @anamelessfool - copia x oc

Your kiss so sweet, your sweat so sour…sometimes I’m thinking that I love you... but I know it’s only lust. Copia is a scrungly little nerd and this totally happened to him. There's something about Cardinal Marian. Maybe it's the way she infuriates him with her laissez-faire attitude, or ingnites his soul with envy of her free spirit. Rage and love, at a certain point they merge together into an overwhelming burning in the heart and mind: passion.

you found the ache in my argument (series) - @the-lisechen - copia x oc

In which two reasonable people from different religious disciplines have a conversation. (A study in faith, hope, and love.)

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, leave kudos and/or comments!

[her-satanic-wiles]

Kinktober Day 1 - Writing on the Body

Young!Papa Nihil x Reader

When Papa Nihil catches you flirting with another member of the clergy, he takes it upon himself to remind you and everyone else just who you belong to, and what you are.

Masterlist ⛧ Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Words: 3.9k.

Reading Time: 16 min.

Warnings: clothed man/naked woman, cum eating, degradation, fingering, finger sucking, jealousy, possessiveness, predator/prey (mild), spit as lube, writing on the body,

Taglist: @akayuki56 @alien-the-ghost @amazing-bobinsky @angellayercake @anonymous-appreciation @babydestinyinfluencer @bitchywitchygardener @blossomsea @call-me-little-sunshine84 @copiaspet622 @copiasslut @cosmixxdust @da-rulah @dolceterzo @dopey-fandom-girl @faithisyours @ghoulishxdelights @high-above-the-city @howlingco @inkstainedrat @kaijukimchi @kenken-the-shoggoth @ledger-kaos @magopi @megachaoticstupid @meliza1001 @miss-leto @mommy-dust @neganwifey25-blog @piaart @saintbowie @shycardinale @sisterof-sin @sodoswitchimage @the-did-i-ask @xiyingly @zombiesnips-blog

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Nihil would never admit to his jealousy, not even to himself. He preferred to keep it buried deep, locked away in the darkest corners of his heart, where he thought no one would ever see it. In his mind, he had perfected his poker face, his expression an impenetrable mask, as solid and unyielding as a fortress from the 9th century. But for all his efforts at pretending, his feelings were as clear as day to anyone who bothered to look, especially when his gaze locked onto the two of you. It was painfully obvious who the target of his ire was and who it was directed towards.

His hand clenched around the stem of his wine glass so tightly that his knuckles turned a ghostly white, the tension in his fingers making the glass creak ominously. It was as if he could crush it into dust with a single squeeze. Around him, people murmured, their eyes darting nervously toward his trembling hand, sensing the storm brewing behind his eyes. But you were oblivious. You couldn’t hear the sound of the glass under his grip over the sound of your laughter—bright, musical laughter that seemed to carry through the room like a melody. It was unmistakable, ringing out above the noise of the gathering, but to Nihil, it was like nails on a chalkboard, grating against every nerve.

And the way you were laughing, your face turned up towards Brother Emilio, your eyes shining with mirth—it was enough to make Nihil’s blood boil. The two of you seemed to be in your own little world, completely absorbed in each other. If looks could kill, the pair of you would have been sprawled out on the floor already, pierced by the icy daggers Nihil was throwing in your direction.

You leaned in closer to Brother Emilio, your bodies moving in sync as if caught in some private, forbidden dance. Was it intentional? Nihil couldn’t tell, but it felt like a slap to the face. His blood was simmering beneath his skin, every nerve alight with a primal, possessive rage. Then, Emilio’s hand found its way to your waist, fingers grazing your side, and his lips hovered just inches from your ear as he whispered something to you—something that made you laugh even harder.

The sheer audacity of that cretin to touch something that didn’t belong to him—it was almost too much to bear. Nihil’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. You were his—at least for now. He had been using your body with a sense of entitlement, not bothering to hide it, not caring who knew. He had a habit of choosing one person and becoming singularly obsessed, discarding them only when the novelty wore off. Right now, you were the one who occupied that space, the one who held his interest. And the thought of another man stepping into that role, even temporarily, made his stomach twist with a bitter, corrosive jealousy.

He stood back for a moment longer, giving you the chance to pull away, to push Brother Emilio’s hand from your waist, to remind him with a coy smile or a whispered word that you were already spoken for. But instead, your hand began to drift over Emilio’s shoulder, your fingers tracing a line down his arm, a slow, languid movement that spoke of comfort, of familiarity. That was the final straw.

Nihil couldn’t stand there and watch any longer. The room seemed to close in around him, the sounds of laughter and conversation fading into a dull roar in his ears. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest, his breath quickening as a wave of red-hot anger surged through him. He felt his feet moving, carrying him forward without conscious thought, his eyes locked on the two of you like a predator stalking its prey. Enough was enough.

He threw the glass on the floor, ignoring the surprised sounds of the siblings behind him as he charged over to you. You felt his hand wrap around your bicep, a tightness in his grip that conveyed every angry thought he’d had over the last few minutes being subjected to your torture. You looked at him, eyes widened with an anger of your own as he’d interrupted your conversation with a friend and embarrassed you in front of everyone. But, he didn’t seem to care. All he could see was red.

“Papa,” you said through gritted teeth, “what are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” he hissed, his voice low and venomous, barely more than a growl. “What am I doing? I’m reminding you exactly where you belong.”

He glanced over at Brother Emilio, his gaze sharp and cutting, then turned back to you with a sneer, starting to pull you with him as he exited the room. “You think I’d just stand there and let you make a fool of me? Laughing, flirting, letting him put his hands on you as if I don’t exist?” He shook his head, a mirthless chuckle escaping his lips. People began to stare. “No. Not while I’m around.”

When you left the room, he pushed you against the wall, trapping you between him and the stone. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that only you could hear. “You’re mine, and I don’t share. Not with him, not with anyone.”

“You don’t own me,” you countered, a defiance in your voice that only riled him up more.

Nihil’s lips curled into a dark, almost predatory smile, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on yours. “Don’t I?” he replied, his voice dripping with a mix of arrogance and menace. He leaned in even closer, his face just inches from yours, so close you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, the way you come running whenever I call. You like the power I have over you—whether you’ll admit it or not.”

His grip tightened, almost painfully, as if to prove his point. His free hand came up to your face, and his thumb travelled over your bottom lip, spreading them apart erotically. “I may not own you, but I have something over you, don’t I? Something that keeps you coming back, no matter how much you want to deny it.”

He let out a soft, mocking laugh, his eyes flicking briefly over your lips before returning to your eyes. “So tell me, if I don’t own you, why are you still here? Why haven’t you walked away?”

He lowered his mouth to your ear, and dropped his voice lower still, making his voice deeper and more seductive. Nihil’s breath brushed against your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. His voice dropped to a whisper, husky and intense, vibrating with a dark allure that made it hard to focus on anything but the heat of his words.

“You can tell yourself whatever you want,” he murmured, his lips so close they almost grazed your skin. “But we both know the truth. You crave this… the way I make you feel, the way I command every part of you with just a touch, a glance. You’re drawn to me like a moth to a flame, and no amount of defiance will change that.”

He paused, his lips lingering near your ear, as if savoring the moment. “So go ahead,” he continued, his voice like velvet, smooth and deep, “tell me you don’t want me, that you don’t feel this… and see if you can make yourself believe it.”

The hand that was on your lips now moved downwards to rest gently at your throat. He never latched onto your jugular, but rested his touch there as if it was a threat - or a promise. You felt your body erupt into goosebumps, breath running short with the proximity of this man. He lowered his lips to below your ear and began to kiss your sensitive skin, earning a gasp from your mouth as it parted in pleasure.

Then, all of a sudden, he was gone. He pulled back, his hooded eyes and blown out pupils looking at you as he widened the gap between you. The sudden coldness surrounded you, leaving goosebumps on your skin.

A few siblings walked by just moments later, annoying Nihil. It was as if he couldn’t shake the tension that had filled the air just moments before. He glared at the passing siblings, his jaw clenched tight. The moment had been electric, and now it felt like the spark had sputtered, replaced by a cold silence that made him restless. He could see the way their eyes flicked between you and him, curiosity evident in their glances, as if they were trying to decipher the heated scene they’d just interrupted.

Nihil’s irritation simmered beneath the surface, a reminder of how easily his emotions could spiral. He needed to regain control. He stepped back, creating distance, but not so much that the connection felt completely severed. Instead, he motioned for you to follow him, his eyes glinting with a mix of frustration and something darker, something hungry.

“Come on,” he commanded, his tone brokering no argument. He turned on his heel and led you through the winding hallways of the estate, the sound of your footsteps echoing against the stone walls. The atmosphere shifted around you, a growing tension that promised a reckoning.

As he reached the door to his private quarters, he paused, glancing over his shoulder to ensure you were still behind him. The sight of you, still flushed and bewildered, reignited the embers of that earlier rage within him. With a swift motion, he opened the door and stepped inside, gesturing for you to enter.

The moment the door closed behind you, the world outside faded away. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing across the walls, casting an intimate atmosphere that felt charged with unsaid words. Nihil turned to face you, his expression shifting from irritation to something more primal.

“Now that we’re alone,” he began, his voice low and steady, “let’s address this little… distraction.” He stepped closer, invading your space again, his presence overwhelming. “You think you can laugh and flirt with anyone else? That I’d allow you to get away with that?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he silenced you with a single finger placed over your lips. “Save it,” he said, his tone clipped. “I don’t want excuses; I want to remind you of what you have here.”

With that, he reached out, pulling you against him, the heat radiating from his body igniting the air around you. His lips found yours in a fierce kiss, a collision of pent-up frustration and desire. You could feel the urgency behind his touch, the way he wanted to claim you in every way possible.

As the kiss deepened, he backed you toward the bed, the soft linens waiting to catch you. Nihil’s hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve, every contour, as if he were memorizing you. You felt the weight of his need pressing against you, and a shiver of anticipation coursed through your veins.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, searching for any flicker of rebellion. “You may not think I own you,” he murmured, his voice a seductive whisper, “but tonight, I’ll show you just how much you need me.” His two hands came up to your shoulders and pushed hard enough to get you onto the bed below. Your hair fanned out beneath your veil, which was hanging on by a single strand anyway, forcing you to toss it across the room like it meant nothing.

Your habit lifted up your thighs as your legs parted to allow him to slot perfectly in between them. Beneath his robes, you could feel his hardness poking out, begging to be buried deep within you - to feel you wrap so willingly and deliciously around his cock.

Nihil’s lips curled into that familiar, predatory smirk as he towered above you. His fingers traced the edge of your habit, slowly lifting the fabric higher, exposing more of your bare skin to the cool air. His eyes darkened with desire, devouring the sight of you beneath him, but he didn’t move to undress you further—not yet.

“No,” he whispered, his breath warm against your throat as he leaned down, lips brushing lightly against your skin. “Tonight isn’t about rushing, my little temptation.” His fingers trailed over your bare thigh, sending a shiver through your body. “Tonight, I want to take my time… make sure you remember exactly who you belong to.”

He reached into the folds of his robe, retrieving a thick marker pen, its tip gleaming in the dim light. The sight of it sent a thrill of anticipation through you—he had used it before, inscribing his name across your skin, marking you in ways no one else could see. But tonight, you could sense something different in the air. Something more possessive, more deliberate.

With slow, deliberate movements, he pressed the pen to the soft skin of your thigh, the cool ink leaving a trail of his intent. His gaze never left yours as he began to write, each stroke precise, almost reverent.

“Do you feel that?” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction as the words appeared on your body, permanent for this night. “Every mark, every word, is mine. You’ll wear my thoughts, my desires, on your skin until I’m finished with you.”

He pushed himself off you a moment. “Strip,” he ordered.

You did as he asked, stripping down to your underwear and throwing your habit into the darkness. Your body, in that moment, became a canvas for him. A notepad for his depraved and dark thoughts, and you shuddered at the words he’d mark into your skin.

His hand shifted, moving higher, the ink now tracing its way across your abdomen. The sensation was almost intoxicating—each stroke of the pen sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through you, the knowledge that his words were becoming a part of you only heightening your arousal. Nihil’s gaze flicked down to his work, his lips curling as he admired the way his handwriting stood out against your skin.

“Perfect,” he muttered, almost to himself. His free hand slipped beneath the hem of your habit, fingers grazing the sensitive skin between your thighs, teasing without mercy.

You peeked down to see your thigh, the smooth skin now inked with ‘Nihil’s property’ length-ways down your leg.

Nihil’s fingers danced lightly between your thighs, deliberately slow and teasing, each touch a reminder of his control. He followed your gaze to the words inked on your skin, his possessive smile widening.

“Look at you,” he sneered softly, his voice dripping with condescension. “Marked like a piece of property. That’s all you are, isn’t it? Mine to use, mine to ruin.”

His free hand trailed the inked words, lingering over each letter as if savoring the sight of his ownership laid out before him. “No one else will ever see you this way. No one else will ever understand how much you crave this… how much you need to be put in your place.”

As he spoke, his fingers pressed deeper between your thighs, purposefully stopping just short of where you wanted him the most. The denial sent a frustrating wave of heat through your body, and Nihil noticed immediately. He smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“You’re so desperate,” he taunted, his voice lowering as his fingers barely grazed your most sensitive spot, offering the smallest hint of pleasure. “All it takes is a few words and a touch, and you’re falling apart. Pathetic, really.”

He pressed the pen back to your skin, this time near your navel, writing a single word with a deliberate flourish: ‘Worthless.’ He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Because that’s what you are when you’re not beneath me. Worthless without my attention, my touch.”

The degradation was sharp, biting, but laced with the intense intimacy of the moment, feeding the undeniable tension between control and surrender. Nihil’s hand continued to trace the letters he had written on your body, claiming each part of you, as his other hand teased relentlessly.

“Tell me,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear, “who do you belong to? Say it, and maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

“I belong to you,” you breathed, gasping for air. It felt like there was a weight on your chest as you spoke, your arousal so overwhelming you could hardly bear it. “I belong to Papa.”

“Good girl,” he praised darkly. He dipped his hand beneath your panties and began to stroke your clit, deft fingers working well against that bundle of nerves and having you sing for him. Immediately, your hips began to buck up to meet his touch, desperate for the pleasure that he was giving you. You couldn’t believe that you folded for him so easily, but you also didn’t care, too busy enjoying his attention and his touch to worry about how needy you looked.

That same hand stopped stroking you for a second, just long enough to pull your panties off you to give him better access to your cunt. He put his middle and ring fingers into your mouth, ordering you to suck on them. “Such a whore for me,” he complimented, watching his fingers slide in and out of your mouth as you wet them.

Your mouth released his fingers with a wet pop, and once he had your pussy lips spread as wide as they needed to be, he inserted them into your hole, laughing at the way your eyebrows furrowed and your mouth fell open entirely. He would never get sick of this, he’d resolved. Watching you writhe and beg for him was all he could ever want. And the sounds your cunt made around his digits as he tapped upwards had his jaw clenching in jealously. He wanted his cock inside so desperately, but it was always more fun to play with your food before you ate it.

“You like that, don’t you?” he taunted, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “Tell me how much you love being used like this. Tell me how badly you want more.”

His fingers pumped in and out of you at a maddeningly slow pace, each thrust deliberate, calculated to keep you on edge, your pleasure building but never quite reaching its peak. He watched you, savoring every moan, every twitch of your hips, every ragged breath that escaped your lips.

He twisted his fingers inside you, pushing deeper, his thumb brushing over your clit as he continued to work you open. The pleasure was overwhelming, your body writhing beneath him, desperate for release. But Nihil wasn’t about to let you have it—not yet.

Despite your hips moving on their own volition, Nihil still put the pen back to your skin, his printed words adding a new sensation to the feelings he was already giving you. The nib glided across your lower stomach, right above your mound. ‘Obedient toy.’ Your stomach tightened as you felt each letter’s completion, realising the phrase he’d spelled on you. It felt so good. To be disrespected in an act of worship was completely earth-shattering, and it had your cunt tighten around his fingers. The idea that you wore his judgement on your skin had you feral for him - regardless of anything else he did.

He leaned down from above you, lips grazing against your ear. “Come on,” he whispered darkly. “Show me how much you need this. Beg like the little slut I know you are.”

Your hands moved up to your breasts and began to pull at your nipples over the fabric. Something Nihil was unhappy about seeing. He ordered you to remove that, too, enjoying watching your fingers pinch and stroke over yourself as your body softly jiggled for him.

You felt the heat pooling deep inside you, a mix of pleasure and frustration as you fought to form the words he demanded. Every thrust of his fingers sent waves of ecstasy crashing over you, yet the overwhelming sensation left you breathless and yearning for more.

“Please,” you finally managed to whimper, your voice barely above a whisper. “I n-need it… I need you.”

Nihil’s smirk widened at your admission, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “That’s more like it,” he praised, his fingers never ceasing their relentless pace. “But you can do better than that. Tell me exactly what you want.”

His thumb pressed down on your clit, circling it in a way that made your back arch and your breath hitch. The pressure was building, threatening to spill over, but he maintained that maddening rhythm, keeping you right on the edge.

“I want you… mmm, fuck! I want to come,” you gasped, desperation lacing your voice. “Please, Papa, I’ll d-do anything.”

“Anything?” he echoed, his voice laced with amusement and mockery. “You mean you’ll be my good little whore, won’t you? Just for me?”

You nodded vigorously, lost in the haze of pleasure and humiliation, completely at his mercy. “Y-yes! Yes, yes, yes! I’ll be your good girl. Oh, fu-uck! Just please let me come!”

“Good girl,” he murmured, his fingers working faster now, the slick sounds of your arousal filling the space between you. “Let it build for me. Let me feel how desperate you really are.”

Your body responded instinctively, the heat pooling deep inside you as his fingers drove you closer to the brink. With every thrust, every swirling motion of his thumb, your senses heightened, drowning you in a mixture of pleasure and overwhelming need.

“Please,” you begged again, your voice a mix of desperation and desire. “I can’t hold back much longer. I need you to let me come!”

Nihil’s smirk widened, eyes dark with satisfaction. “Not yet,” he teased, his fingers relentless.

He increased the pace, fingers pumping inside you with an intensity that had your heart racing. You felt the pressure building, a tight coil of ecstasy that threatened to unravel at any moment. The combination of his words and his skillful touch had you teetering on the edge, hanging on his every command.

“I want t-to be your whore!” you cried out, your voice trembling with need. “I’ll d-do… anything for you. Just please… let me come!”

“Such a good girl,” he praised, his voice dripping with mockery. “You’re so desperate, so eager. It’s adorable.”

As he spoke, he tightened his grip, fingers curving just right to push you even closer to that precipice. Your breaths came in short gasps, each one punctuated by a moan of pleasure. The world around you faded, leaving only the two of you in this moment, the connection between your bodies intensifying.

“Come for me now,” he commanded, his voice low and powerful. “Let go and give in. I want to feel how completely you surrender to me.”

With his words, the dam broke. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you breathless as your body convulsed around his fingers. You cried out, the sound echoing through the room as your climax washed over you, an intoxicating blend of ecstasy and release.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his fingers never slowing, coaxing every last drop of pleasure from you. “That’s it. Let it all out. You’re mine, remember?”

As your breaths slowed and the last tremors faded, he finally withdrew his fingers, bringing them to your lips. “Taste yourself,” he ordered, watching intently as you eagerly complied, savoring the remnants of your desire.

“Now tell me,” he said, his voice deep and commanding, “who do you belong to?”

Prev./Next

[copias-sewer-rat]

COPIA'S SEWER RAT RECOMMENDATIONS PT.1

This has been a long time comming! I wanted to take the time to create a long post not only with fic recommendations but also other stuff. The Ghost community is so talented that I needed time to gather all of the amazing projects and ideas that flutter around.

(This even took longer than anticipated because just when it was almost ready some of the authors in this list posted some freaking MASTERPIECES and I needed to add them as well, obviously.)

I plan to do a post like this from time to time with new discoveries, so please if you don't follow/know these creators, please check them out. Furthermore, if there is someone you think I have missed or that you would like for me to check out, please, let me know. I am always eager to know more amazing creators.

(please be aware that some of the fics and artists I will be talking about write some very nasty, yet amazing, stories/art so please always check their tags and tws before diving in).

next part | my masterpost

📝WRITING

Let's start with one of the backbones of this amazing community: @da-rulah and her gorgeous and deliciously nasty fics. Please go read Rituale Septem and Confessional if you haven't already. Her hcs and drabbles are also so so good, you should read everything she has written, you won't be dissapointed.

Now, the wonderful, amazing writer that is @her-satanic-wiles. I have become her personal and most ardent supporter this October (if you could not tell by how much I have reblogged and liked her stuff smh). Her Kinktober challenge this year has been an absolute delight so I leave you with her mastrerlist so you can check her out on your own.

Now, my beloved, the amazing writer that is @writingjourney with my favourite fic to date I Knew Nothing but Shadows. I honestly get such joy when she posts, it is pure perfection. She puts such detail in her writing that it always makes me so incredibly happy to read her stuff. I also leave you with her masterlist, please check her out! UPDATE: SHE JUST POSTED THE MOST PERFECT VAMPIRE SECONDO FIC, you must read it: Friday Nights at the Vinothek.

The great @bupia is next!!!! I honestly adore everything they write. My personal favs are Barista Preferita, Love Letter, Bloodlust, their kinktober series and their new work is Serendipity. I am always in awe with how they write honestly. I want to be y/n so much with their fics (lol, cringe). Please read everything of theirs!

How can I not mention the absolute, amazingly talented, cowboy lover that is @ramblingoak ??? Her whole universe of cowboys (I love cowboys like yeehaw all day you know?) is honestly one of my favs, AND THE WAY SHE WRITES, let me tell you, the DETAILS, the EMOTIONAL backstories, THE ROMANCE, THE DRAMA?! Please go read The Cardinal's Bride and the other stories of the same au if you haven't done so already. You are missing out on one of the best AUs this fandom has to offer. UPDATE: A NEW FIC?! SKATING COPIA?! TIGHT SUITS?! Need I say anything else? Go read her new series: Copia on ICE!

Then, @molly-ghuleh !! I just started reading her stuff and now I cannot stop?! Camellia is SO GOOD you must read it!! It deserves much more attention!!! THE DETAILS?? The love at first sight trope leaving me in shambles???!!! I am seriously invested and I cannot recommend her more! GO! NOW!

Next, my lovely ghestie @discountdemonwarehouse/@eyeslikelilith who is so funny and so so nasty😈💜! Please go follow her here and on Ao3 for her amazing fics (I love her WWDITSxGhost fic What We Do In The Ministry the most hehehehe iykyk)

@leezlelatch and her amazing drabbles bring me so much joy, please go check her out and read everthing she posts, it is wonderful and insanely entertaining. (I cannot choose only one recommendation help, read everything!!!)

What can I say about @earthry other that she is amazing and I that I am obsessed with her drabbles and asks? I have read Watermelon Kisses so many times that you could lock me up.

Go check @zombie-rott out in general! Her stories are very comforting and nice!!! AND THE WAY SHE WRITES??? I love love love it. I highly recomend reading Pawprints, it is adorable, you should ckeck it out.

Please go read @bethbruttenholm's Seduce Me... I fell in love with this fic, so so good, and her writing is *chef's kiss*.

@anamelessfool in general is a master, like, her Omega3 fics are so nice *wink*, extra kudos for Reciprocity muhahahaha (it is delicious)

AAAAAA @gravehags and her curator!reader x copia series??? I AM ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED? THE HALLOWEEN CHAPTER? I WAS GRINNING LIKE A MADWOMAN ALL THE TIME. She also writes a lot about the Ghouls and Ghoulettes and it is SO SO NICE!

@the-curator1 In The Darkness of your Dreams ??? AN ABSOLUTE MASTERPIECE oh my Satan, I LOVE LOVE IT!!!

🎨ART

This list is going to be long and I don't want to sound like a broken record or make this post eternal (because I could talk about all of them for ages if you let me) so I will make only a big recommendation for the following artists:

@vogelfreyh

@piaart

@vanmec

@comfysanda

@nocterish/@nocturnal-birb

@sirlsplayland

@risunsky

@blanchebees

@mardyart

@meowsaidmissy

@forgelokid

@novaiisk

@nekronyancer

@delulluart

@yollur

@quaildoodle

@oranpo

@doodleshrimps

@kabukiaku

@thew0man

@blackbird5154

Please, check all of them. They deserve all the recognition they can get. I adore how much love and effort they put in their art, WIPS or whaterver they decide to make. Every single one of them inspires me so much, I cannot explain with words how proud I feel to be able to look at their creations and share a community or even an interest with such talented creators.

👻OTHERS

This is the one that needs more creators. I need to find projects, creators that do other things such as theorising, gifs, big projects, whatever. Please, give me your suggestions and I will check them out and add them in following entries.

For now, I leave you with a couple of amazing people that deserve all the praise:

@stressghoul I honestly follow her EVERYWHERE. I love her tiktoks so much, she is so funny. The Brittany Brosky of the Ghost community you could say.

@slavghoul If you need any questions solved about our dear Satanic papas, go follow Slav. I have never seen a more dedicated person with such an amazing brain, it is honestly so inpiring to see what they have to say every single time. By the way, also check their videos on all the little isolated parts from Ghost songs, does not fail on lifting my feet from the ground as if possessed, every-single-time. You can check all the videos here.

@kabukiaku again??? YES! WHY?! BECAUSE I ADORE HER PAPA PLUSHIES I THINK THEY ARE THE CUTTEST!!!!

Lastly, I wanted to mention a YouTube creator that is making orchestral versions of Ghost songs. I found an orchrestral version of DATHOML on Tiktok and I had to find the whole song. Please check them out because they are doing more and it is amazing. Jamie Turton.

[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

❧ blog recommendations

“that boy is a monster.” —monster, lady gaga

❝to me, supporting people who do what they love is the most important thing, especially if they’re making others happy. these people deserve to be recognized for their hard work❞ —kosmo

DISCLAIMER: writers on tumblr deserve to get their work put out there through reblogs, reviews and comments, as it helps motivate them to continue to write amazing stories. be sure to at least give some of these writers the attention they deserve. they would all definitely appreciate it. it helps to know that their work is being appreciated instead of just being mindlessly consumed.

i will definitely add more writers if i find more that i like. remember to support these creators! their work deserves it!

┅✦┅

BLOG RECS

— @lady-jane3

➵ lovely writing style and frequently posts something new for readers to enjoy. i frequently come back here if i’m in the mood for something quick and fun. ✨

— @aestheticpearl

➵ lots of gn reader content so anyone can enjoy her writing. i dig the aesthetics of her blog too. such an amazing and talented writer 🩵

— @her-satanic-wiles

➵ holy crap do i love the stories she writes 🤭 the dark fiction is disturbing, but that’s what makes it so good. if you’re in the mood for something eerie then definitely check her out

— @undyingghoul

➵ i swear anything he writes is so good. i love to sift through the sodo fics they write because they just got me giggling like a high school girl. definitely go check them out ‼️

— @p1nkcanoe

➵ lots of juicy ghoul x ghoul content that i like to binge 👌 love the writing style and definitely deserves the attention she gets. hilarious asf too, keep it up!

— @writingjourney

➵ in love with the writing style. high quality papa content for all of the emeritus enjoyers out there. creative stories and juicy smut. we love to see it ‼️

— @serene-sun

➵ idk what it is about his writing, but there’s something to it that just makes me go argagaggrgagagrga 👹 definitely go check out the writing on his page, it’s worth it

— @copias-sewer-rat

➵ her stories are creative as shit??? like holy crap i’ve only read a couple fics from them but i am hooked!! very talented and definitely deserves more support and recognition 🙏

— @emeritus-fuckers

➵ this blog is run by three talented writers and holy crap is it a goldmine. there’s a lot of stories to pick and choose from, and they’re all so good 🙏🙏

— @ghulehunknown

➵ went through the kinktober prompt list on her page at its just so 👌👌 10/10 writing skills. lots of love for the papas on this blog too.

— @sentientgolfball

➵ deserves more recognition !!! very personal style of writing, and i love reading through the stories they create! definitely deserves more credit here on tumblr 🙏

— @gravehags

➵ i just started reading the ghoul bicycle series and it’s literally so good omg. absolute hidden gem of a blog and deserves all of the love and praise she gets 🫶

— @bupia

➵ literally on the floor from her writing like 🫣 everything she writes is so good and so creative. like i read one terzo smut and i’m already hooked. keep it up!

— @miasmaghoul

➵ all of her writings are nasty, but a good kind of nasty. i like reading their work, there’s always something new to explore and it’s always such a great experience! love this one 🖤

— @da-rulah

➵ i read a couple of fics on here and it’s good shit. has a lot of papa content, very very nice style of writing and i love the aesthetics too 🙏🙏

— @xxcallmemaryxx

➵ i love reading through her writings!!! stories that can be enjoyed by anyone, and it’s just a joy to sift through honestly 🖤 please check this blog out

— @molly-ghuleh

➵ wahhhh this one is so good!! it’s so wonderful reading through her stories like holy crap 🤭 camellia is definitely a good one on here and i just started reading it

┅✦┅

friendly reminder that there’s always more writers out there that deserve all the love and support they can get! be sure to support these writers by reblogging their work and commenting!

if i find more amazing writers i’ll definitely add them here. but this is all i can think of for now ♡︎

[portaltothevoid]

you're losing me part vi -- copia x reader

A/N: thank you for being patient with me! i A LOT of research when into this chapter. if i'm writing about infernals, i gotta do them justice. that being said...

songs: i hope you suffer by afi

warnings: dark magic (whatever you do, do not try this at home), hexing, demons, reacting/dealing with trauma, self-loathing, self-deprecation, angst, i translated the italian myself (shout out to wordreference.com)

word count: 6.5k

taglist: @bitchywitchygardener @copias-juicebox @da-rulah @deetz-ghuleh @fishwithtitz @ivycasket @water-ghoulette

All eyes were on you. You gulped at the discovery of your destiny and the confirmation of your vision. This was all real. It was actually happening. In one day you went from just an average person who wasn’t anything special, or so you thought, to practically becoming the next messiah of the Satanic Church. Your eyes glazed over as you stared off into nothing. Not even the eruption of everyone speaking at once diverted your attention.

Nihil was insisting on informing the other higher-up Clergy members, making Sister Imperator snap back with reasons why they shouldn’t even tell anyone outside of this room. Primo was muttering about herbs for rituals, which was where Secondo chimed in about how you would need to start preparations and how he now needed to research rituals for your ascension, if anything like that even existed. Terzo just leaned back against the wall with a smug look on his face as he watched the chaos unfold. Copia’s fists were balled at his sides as focused on calming himself down enough so he wouldn’t smack that look off Terzo’s face.

Eventually, the noise of the anxious, overlapping chattering and near arguments was enough to overload your senses as they escalated. You started to sway as you felt yourself get lightheaded. As you slightly dipped backwards, Swiss stepped forward to stabilize you by gently holding your elbows, and guiding you to take a step towards the door. You have to rest, he told you. You shut your eyes tightly, the lights suddenly too bright. It felt like you were walking through a dense fog as your legs were turning to jelly. You nodded as you leaned against him, needing support.

“Basta (Enough)!” Copia shouted sternly once he noticed your movements. “This is too much for her body to handle. Nothing needs to be decided right now. We will discuss everything when she regains her strength.”

You pressed your mouth into a smallest smile at his words. You reached for his arm, grabbing the fabric of his cassock as firmly as you could given your state. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Terzo begin to open his mouth. He whipped around and lunged for him, pressing his forearm against Terzo’s neck with his back against the wall. “Qualsiasi tu sia in procinto di dire, non farlo. Ha attraversato abbastanza a causa di ti (Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. She’s been through enough because of you),” Copia snarled, forcing his words through his clenched jaw. 

Terzo managed to wiggle his arm free as Copia applied more pressure to his neck. He then made a motion like he was zipping his lips, raising his eyebrows twice. Copia gave him one more shove into the wall before he pushed himself off of him. As he turned back to you, he straightened his pellegrina. 

You took a few shuffled steps before your knees buckled. Copia rushed to your side, arms awkwardly outstretched in an attempt to catch you. Swiss had a firm grip on you, keeping you upright. He swatted Copia’s hands away as he picked you up to carry you. You used what little strength you had left to wrap your arms around the ghoul’s neck. “’S okay, Copia, Swiss’s got me,” you whispered weakly, trying to lift your head up from his shoulder to look at Copia. 

The ghoul with the white horns held the door open. Once you, Swiss, and Copia were in the hallway, he slammed it shut. Him and the other ghoul followed behind you. Thank you… you thought to all of them just before your head fell onto Swiss’ shoulder and you slipped into unconsciousness. 

~~~

Copia was restless. Once you were safely tucked into bed, and he checked thrice that you were still breathing, he couldn’t stop wearing paths into the floors of his living quarters. Swiss watched him go back and forth, back and forth. The constant eyes on him didn’t ease his anxiety any less. 

Abruptly he gathered his things. “I have to try to help… do, eh, some research or something,” he announced to the ghoul. “Send someone when she wakes up?”

Swiss nodded in response with one of his signature smiles and then swung his legs onto the couch, placing his arm behind his head. He grabbed the remote and began flipping through the channels on the tv.

“Sì, sì, certo, mettiti comodo (yeah, yeah, of course, make yourself at home),” Copia grumbled as he sent you a text for when you wake up. 

Amore, if I’m not here when you wake up, I’m just doing research, figuring out how I can help you. Let me know as soon as you’re up, sì? ❤️🖤 

He hit send and put his phone in his pocket. As he left his apartment, he jumped at the sudden movement of someone right outside his door. He made eye contact with the white horned ghoul who was standing watch outside the door. “Ah, mi dispiace, I, uh, didn’t expect you to be there… I’ll, eh, be back… uh, thank you?” he stumbled over his words as the ghoul returned to his stance with a single nod. His floor was swarming with ghouls. Aside from a Ghost ritual, he didn’t think he’d ever seen this many in one place outside of their own dormitory. At least he knew you’d be safe. 

Inside of going to the library or his own office, he found himself knocking on Sister Imperator’s door.

“Come back later, please,” she called out on the other side of the door.

Copia gently opened it and stuck his head in. “It’s me, Seestor.”

The woman sighed heavily, waving him in with her hand. “How is she?”

“Still sleeping. I couldn’t… sit around and wait. I want to start researching or planning or…” he fretted as he sat down across from her.

“Cardinal. You said it yourself, there’s really nothing we can do right now.”

“But we have to– Should we start with Lilith herself? The history of her descendants? Rituals? Or possession? Is it even that?” his questions flew out of his mouth a mile a minute. 

“Secondo has already exhausted any historical texts we have, that’s how little information there is. This really is… uncharted territory,” she said with distant eyes.

“Was there anything useful?”

“Mentions of a ritual for the ghouls to formally swear allegiance to her, nothing of the actual ritual itself. I’m afraid the texts that we need are in Rome. We can’t exactly ask for all these volumes without raising suspicion.”

Copia furrowed his brow in thought. The wheels were turning as something dawned on him. “Seestor, she has a connection to the ghouls. I don’t know how strong it is, but could we… Is there a way we could break their oath and get them to talk to us? They’ve got to know something about this…”

“I don’t know if they’d be willing to… but that would be a place to start researching, no? Maybe there’s something in the ghoul’s history?” Copia nodded and went to get up. “But, Cardinal, there’s really not much we can do until she wakes and we know what state she’s in. Even then, we have to wait for her visions to start.”

“Visions?”

“The one thing that was clear across the texts Secondo found was that with any awakening, with any strong connection to a deity… It’s almost like they become prophets. There was no other explanation to the knowledge than had other than it came straight from the mouth of Lucifer or whomever else had… Earthly matters to attend to. Perhaps that’s why there’s barely any information on this…” Imperator mused. “Nonetheless, we have to wait for her. But if she yells anyone about them, it’ll be you Cardinal.”

Copia nodded again as he let Imperator’s words sink in for a moment before he turned towards the door.

“Cardinal?” she called after him.

“Sì, Seestor?”

“As difficult as it may be, it might just be best to busy yourself with your regular work so you don’t get behind. Secondo is preparing a ghoul summoning ritual as we speak. If she really is the daughter of Lilith, she’ll need to know the ins and outs of it and summon one for herself. I can’t imagine what she’s going through. She needs someone. She needs you.” Her usual façade of steel had softened considerably. It was her way of attempting to console Copia. She knew how much he cared about you and she knew he would become obsessive with finding answers. She had to remind him of what was most important right now.

“Sì, I-I understand,” he said with a bow of his head before he scuttled to his own office.

Of course, he wasn’t going there to work on any of his actual duties. He had a small stockpile of books from when he first saw your mark of Lilith. Maybe there could be something of use if he simply looked up the Queen of Demons herself. In any case, he knew researching her and the lore that surrounds her were ways to show respect to her as a deity. No matter if he found anything for you or he didn’t, it wasn’t going to be wasted time. 

Unfortunately, nothing of great use turned up. He decided that in the coming days he would set up an altar for her. If he had a dedicated space for her in his home, maybe it would make contact with her easier for you. Perhaps the answers you needed didn’t have to be found in literature, but from Lilith herself, inciting the visions that Imperator had mentioned. 

Hours had passed by when he switched gears to researching the history of the Ministry’s ghouls, their summoning rituals, and the like. Eventually, the day caught up with him. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for what he thought was just a moment.

~~~

You had no idea how long you were out for. It took a few blinks of your eyes to get your bearings. The only thing you really knew was that it was nighttime. The only light coming from the glow of an iPad next to you. As you sat up you looked over to see Swiss sitting cross legged on the other side of the bed, frustratingly swiping away at something. Immediately upon feeling you stir, he went on alert.

You’re awake! Even his thoughts were full of concern.

“How long was I asleep?” you asked aloud.

I’d guess about fourteen hours, he thought, glancing at the clock on the night stand behind him. Are you feeling okay?

Yeah, I don’t feel weak or anything. I feel sort of… normal, you thought. Hey, is this the only way you can communicate with me or can you use your voice?

Well, ghouls take a vow of silence out of respect for Lucifer around the Clergy. But now that you’re ascending you can give us permission. We obey you first before anyone else now.

You nodded. “Okay, well, this telepathic shit is still weird for me. So I give permission to every ghoul to speak to me as long as I’m alone, unless I say otherwise.” Your tone was confident, you felt like a real leader. He flashed you his pearly whites while his tail swished happily. “You aren’t servants. You should be held equally to us. Having you here… it’s a gift. I’ll make sure everyone sees it that way.” You smiled warmly at him as you patted his knee. “Do I need to say that in my mind for everyone or…?

“Thank you, Your Eminence. You’ve always treated us like… humans. But no, just speaking it the way you did, everyone heard it loud and clear.”

“Good! And you’re welcome. I mean, you look fairly human. You know, minus the tail and the claws,” you shrugged.

Swiss let out a laugh. “On the mortal plane we have to blend in, so we take a human form. Only a few of our demon qualities remain just to show that we’re hell-sent. If we have to be around humans, like outside of the Ministry, we can retract our claws and hide our tails. Like when we help with Ghost.”

“And you all have your own… abilities? I’m sorry, my knowledge of ghouls really isn’t that in depth.”

He nodded excitedly. “We’ll teach you! And we’ll show you what we can do. So usually each ghoul corresponds with an element. There’s air, water, fire, earth, and quintessence.” He noticed your quizzical look, unsure of the last element he mentioned. “Quintessence is basically like… spirit, I guess? Those ghouls are really good at going between worlds, teleporting, that kind of stuff. It’s more energy based.”

“Oh, so they’re like the psychic ghouls?”

“Kinda! Then there’s multi-ghouls. That’s me. I can do a little bit of everything.” You slowly nodded and ran your hand through your hair. “This has gotta be a lot to take in, huh?”

“To say the least,” you sighed as you widened your eyes for a moment. 

“We’ll have to do like… secret training sessions! We can teach you about your abilities.”

“So you can help me not go all black-eyed baddie when I get pissed off?” you chuckled.

“I think so? Well, I dunno about that, exactly. But we can show you other things you can probably do. I think being the Mother of All, your abilities are kind of like a multi-ghoul’s. Like me!”

“There’s gotta be a way I can control it…” you mumbled, looking at your fidgeting fingers in your lap.

“There is. It comes with time. It’s like when a ghoul is first summoned. Takes them a little to adjust to being here. You’ll see when you summon your ghoul.”

“When I what?”

“You’re gonna have to summon your own ghoul. There has to be one assigned to you and you alone. One that’ll be completely devoted to you. Like how Omega is…” Swiss cleared his throat, knowing that mentioning Terzo was a sore spot. “Well, you know… And I mean, we all are devoted to you, but this one will have a special connection to you. Like if you need help and you call out to any of us, that ghoul will always be the first one there.”

You could only stare at Swiss. He could tell by the way your eyes started to gloss over and became unfocused as you looked away from him. He scooted in front of you, taking both your hands in his. “We’ll help you. I’m sure The Infernals will help you too. You won’t have to do this alone.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered as you leapt forward to engulf him in a hug. He squeezed you tightly and started to purr. 

“Wait, where’s Copia?” you wondered when you returned to your sitting position.

“Oh he’s been in and out, waiting for you to wake up. He probably fell asleep in his office. He’s been trying to research things to help you. I don’t think he’s stopped worrying about you. I should go let him know you’re up.”

You sighed contently, ignoring the pang of guilt that lurked under the surface. You knew Copia was doing whatever he could for you. “Let me text him first,” you said as you reached for your phone. You didn’t even see the text from him when your lock screen came to life. Your eyes turned to slits as a scowl came over your face. Swiss could feel your demeanor change like static electricity before a lightning strike. 

You tried to take deep breaths as you opened a text from Terzo.

Buonasera, la mia bella addormentata (good evening, my sleeping beauty). Just wanted to remind you that you left some things in my office. I expect to see you tomorrow to get them 😘 

You could feel it, a spark in your chest that ignited and slowly was engulfing your body in flames. It almost felt so real, you had scanned your eyes over your body to make sure. That only made you aware that you were still in your dress from the summons, one that you now hated. You clawed at the zipper in the back and tore it off, leaving it in a crumpled ball on the floor. Swiss turned around immediately, giving you privacy while you changed. You just threw on a random pair of underwear, since you were just reminded where your other pair had ended up. Then you put on some black sweatpants and a random tank top, whatever your hand happened to touch first. 

You grabbed a tote bag and opened the bottom drawer of your dresser. You dug around until you took out a wooden box with intricate carvings on it of pentagrams and sigils of protection. While you weren’t a “closet witch” these weren’t things you wanted to leave lying about or to broadcast to anyone you had them. Into the bag, you tossed in a container of graveyard dirt, a jar of rusty nails, a vial of black mustard seeds, a small bag of hemlock, and a vial of thorns you had collected for an occasion such as this. You pawed around in the drawer some more to grab a couple black candles, a black bowl, and your small black cast iron cauldron.

Swiss anxiously shifted his weight on his feet as you packed everything up. “Um… should I go and tell Copia you’re–” he started to say.

“No,” you growled gutturally. “There’s something I have to do first.” 

You stormed into the kitchen. Flinging cabinets opened until you found vegetable oil, chili powder, and crushed red pepper. You turned on the stove, placing the cauldron over the low flame. The white horned ghoul hastily entered the room. Swiss had followed you to the kitchen. “Your Eminence, are you al–”

“Sodo, do I look alright to you?” you snapped. Your eyes turned black as you glared at him. The white horned ghoul, named Sodo, backed away from you, literally almost putting his tail between his legs. 

“What are you–” Swiss started to ask, barely audible.

“I’m doing something I should have done a long time ago. Now, shut up and let me do it,” you snarled. Dutifully, the ghouls went and sat on the couch, but they never took their eyes off you. 

You eyeballed about half a cup of oil and poured it into the cauldron. You tapped the glass vial filled with mustard seeds and they spilled into the oil. Next, you started to lightly sprinkle some hemlock out of the bag before shrugging and dumping almost half of it in. After a couple dashes of chili powder and a generous pinch of crushed red pepper, you counted six thorns from your vial and dropped them in one by one. To top off the mixture, you added a generous amount of graveyard dirt.

You gave everything a stir. Then you marched back into your room to grab a shoebox from the back corner of your closet. Inside were trinkets, photos, memories. You grabbed a polaroid of Terzo you had taken of him backstage on the last Ghost tour. 

You slammed it on the counter when you reached the kitchen. Yanking open the refrigerator, you grabbed a lemon.

“This is quite the potent spell you’re concocting,” a smooth, unfamiliar voice said, making your insides jump. “I’d hate to be on the receiving end of it.” You shut the door and turned to see a man in a regal black suit leaning against the counter. Your eyes darted to the side to see if Swiss and Sodo had reacted yet, but they were perfectly still. “They can’t see me. Only you can.”

Your eyes scanned over his strong frame. His hair was wavy, jet black, and down to his shoulders. He had two ram-like horns jutting out from the top of his head. But his eyes… His eyes were the most intriguing thing about him. They were hypnotizing as they glowed a bright orange, flickering like a burning ember. When he held out his hand, you instantly kneeled and kissed it. “Belial was right, you are respectful,” he muttered to himself, almost in awe, still holding your hand. “I admire that... Do you know who I am?”

“No, I’m sorry,” you said softly, shaking your bowed head as you stood up.

He pulled you flush against him, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Hm, I don’t suppose you would,” he hummed. You didn’t dare to breathe. His eyes of wildfire bore into your blackened ones, into your soul. “I am King Asmodeus,” he breathed through barely parted lips as he released your hand to stroke your cheek. “You really are her daughter. You’re… exquisite.” Being this close to someone else, finding yourself in yet another precarious position, your whole body tensed. 

“Thank… you…” you breathed as your tone had an edge of anxiety to it.

He inhaled a sharp breath and instantly let go of you, taking a step backward. “Forgive me. I was unaware of exactly what had brought upon your awakening. The miasma that surrounds you… Defilement. Guilt.” He paused before he smirked at you. “Wrath.” 

You finally broke eye contact as you took a step back yourself. You toyed with the hem of your shirt, avoiding his piercing stare. He inspected your cauldron and ingredients you had strewn across the counter. “Is this your retaliation?”

“It’s either this or I kill him,” you deadpanned.

Asmodeus let out a genuine laugh. “We can’t have that. Not yet. I’m impressed with your work. Truly.”

Your eyes lifted to his again. “You are?”

“Sweetheart, vengeance is what I do. It’s what I teach. I could feel your wrath. It’s practically intoxicating.”

“I… Will I ever be able to control it?” you mumbled shyly.

“Of course. The ghouls take orders from The Infernal Court, like yours truly. We work through them and will appear ourselves when needed. Your truth isn’t something to fear.”

“I don’t fear what I feel. I–”

“I’m not here to talk about your fears,” he interrupted, his tone gentle yet stern. “Do you feel burning in your chest? In your center?” You nodded. “Good. Never lose sight of that. Wrath sparks the fire, but you have the power to control it. Add air if you need the grandeur. Take it away if you don’t. Add water, add earth to stifle it. Take a moment to focus. Feel it.”

You closed your eyes, breathing into the flames inside you. All you wanted to do was scream and tear everything around you asunder. Asmodeus felt what you were feeling and chuckled. “There. Now pull it back, center it. Breathe.” You pictured flames receding, like a film of the spreading of a wildfire in reverse. You imagined calm washing over you as if someone dumped a bucket of water over your head. Your breathing slowed. As you opened your eyes, the King of Hell before you saw the blackness fade. He beamed like a proud father. “See?”

Chewing on your lip, you nodded. You looked over the kitchen and saw the hex you had in progress. Your eyes scanned over the picture on the counter. You struck the match again and ignited the fire. As you looked back at Asmodeus, your eyes filled with darkness again. He tapped his knuckle twice on the counter. “Beautiful. I can’t wait to see this unfold.” He started to turn to walk out of the kitchen before he looked over his shoulder at you. “You might want to check your dark ingredient box again… I think you missed something.” He laughed darkly as he faded into a black mist.

“You okay in there?” Swiss called out, pulling you back into the present reality. 

“Peachy,” you said as you went back to your box of baneful spell ingredients. Right on top was a bag of deadly nightshade. You’ve only ever seen that in Primo’s case of rare herbs. You smiled darkly before snatching it, grabbing a pair of tweezers from the bathroom, and returning to the kitchen. You delicately plucked three flowers and watched as they fell into the oil. As you stirred it again, you focused your intention for each ingredient, then murmured an incantation. 

“May his plots and schemes

Be ruined by his confused mind.

May his impotence make him scream

And his lover's eyes for him turn blind.

Swiftly he suffers this plight

Feeling my pain as his own

This curse is his blight

As he suffers alone.”

You repeated this over and over staring into the cauldron while the hex oil sat over the flame. After about ten minutes, you took it off the heat to let it cool. You lit two black chime candles in front of you and were reminded of the fire that burned inside you. You snatched the photo of Terzo and held it tightly in your hands. As you stared at it, you repeated your spell three more times before you cut a slit in the center of the lemon. Thrice you folded the photo, making sure to fold it away from you, as you thought of nothing but him suffering just like you suffered. To further drive your point home, you hummed “I Hope You Suffer” by AFI to yourself as you placed the photo inside the lemon. A happily malevolent smile flitted across your face. 

You fanned your blaze of wrath as you danced the rusty nails in your fingers. Every instance of hurt, of pain, of humiliation flickered through your memory. With each one, you held a nail in your palm, branding the energy of your detriments into it. The nails pierced through the rind and flesh of the lemon. Bits and pieces of your rage went with it into the fruit. It then went into a black bowl.

Satisfied with your handy work, you poured the oil out of the cauldron into a jar before you doused the lemon with it. Carefully, you placed it in a cupboard that barely saw any use. You left the lemon there to rot.

Your lungs expanded and deflated. Your eyes were gently shut. You sent a torrential downpour over your internal inferno. The wrath had retreated, replaced by a contentedness that, as of late, had almost become unfamiliar. When you opened your eyes, you felt like you did when you did before you stepped into Terzo’s office; you felt like yourself.

Silently, you began to pack away your magick supplies. When you emerged from your bedroom once more, you could feel the apprehension lingering in the air from the watchful ghouls. The soft caress of guilt swept over you when you remembered how you had snapped at them.

They hadn’t left their spots on the couch so you scooted yourself in between them, grabbing each of their hands in yours. Thank you for being here with me. Terzo told me I have to go to his office tomorrow. I– It set me off, you thought to both of them, fearing if you spoke aloud your emotions would betray you.

We understand, Sodo responded, giving your hand a squeeze. It’s a hell of a lot to adjust to.

How did– You controlled your wrath… Did someone visit you? Swiss tilted his head questioningly. 

Yes…You nodded, curling your lips in. You let go of their hands so you could wring yours in your lap nervously. 

Damn, the Infernals really do like you, Swiss tittered.

Wait, no one’s supposed to know. How did you know? Your eyes felt like they were going to bug out of your head from fear of disobeying your orders.

Ghoul thing. We could smell the sulfur. Depending on the visit, they leave traces of it. Since we report to them from time to time, it’s a way for us to know they were around, explained Sodo.

Your body deflated and relaxed as you let out a sigh of relief. Thank Lucifer. The last thing I need is to piss off Hell’s royalty. I don’t know how I would explain a sulfur smell to Copia… Shit, I should let him know I’m awake. Swiss, can you go get him? The ghoul nodded with a smile before he dashed off.

I’m gonna go back to guarding the door. Give you a minute before he gets here. Sodo told you. When he got up, he put a hand on your shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. You placed your hand on his. 

“Thank you,” you said sincerely. 

Once the door shut behind him, you got up to grab your phone from the bed. This time when you unlocked it, you completely ignored the text from your asshole ex and found one from Copia you neglected to see in your fury. 

I’m awake. Barely know what day it is, but I feel okay. Sending Swiss to get you if you fell asleep. Miss you 🥺

After hitting send, you checked on Cannoli, making sure he had enough food and his water bottle was full. Then you ran out of things to distract yourself.

You plopped yourself back on the couch, head leaning against the back of it. Your eyes shut as you felt this gnawing in your gut. This feeling crept up on you, dancing on your skin like maggots on rotten flesh. 

Terzo’s words replayed in your head: “You utter a single syllable of this to Copia and he’s gone.”

How could you look Copia in the eye after what you allowed to happen? You knew Terzo was manipulating you, dangling the threat of your love being sent away like a carrot in front of a donkey. Why didn’t that set you off? Why did your “awakening” (as everyone seems to call it) have to happen after the act? Now you have to lie to Copia. Lie about what happened. What the hell are you even going to tell him if he asked? Time was running out for you to think of something. 

The weight of everything pressed down on you. You could feel the immense pressure on your chest. It wrapped around your head like hundreds of rubber bands. 

With short gasping breaths you stumbled to the bathroom. The light stung your eyes. The sound of the faucet running seemed deafening. Even still, you felt the cold water on your hands, then your face. You let the droplets slide down, not bothering to wipe it off.. You gripped the sink like it was the only thing tethering you to this plane. Slowly, you brought your eyes to see what exactly was staring back at you. Whoever she was, you didn’t recognize her. Again, a shell of your former self. 

That infuriated you. All of this. It was all because of him. You thought you could change him, you thought you had changed him. You thought you were good enough to make him yours. Only yours. If only you had given Copia a chance first. If only you weren’t swept off your feet by illustrious charm. If only you hadn’t been taken advantage of.

Your breaths started to come out in huffs. The longer you stared at your reflection, the more you could feel the fire burning inside of you, but this instance, it was fueled by self-loathing. 

That was the first time you saw it. You saw the black fire ignite and consume your eyes. You watched as your reflection changed in real time. A gasp escaped your lips as you pushed yourself off the sink, scuttling backwards til you hit the wall. Rapidly, you shook your head and blinked as many times as you could while you sunk down to sit on the cold floor. 

The flames died as tears began to fall. Your head fell into your hands that rested on your knees. A few sobs managed to escape, but that was all you would allow yourself. You covered up the cracks and breaks when you were still with Terzo. You could do it again. You could do it for this. 

You could do it for Copia. 

Aggressively, you wiped away your tears. You stood up to see your guarded self staring back at you. Shoulders back and head held high, you returned to the spot you had occupied on the couch. A façade of confidence wasn’t one you could uphold for long. Eyes closed, you just focused on breathing, in and out, until you heard the door open.

“Amore?!” You heard amongst the sound of frantic footsteps. 

Without thinking, you bolted up, letting your feet carry you until you crashed into his arms. He held you there, one hand holding your head against his chest, the other securely around your waist. Your eyes squeezed shut as you fought back another wave of tears. After a few moments, he gently nudged you a half-step back, so he could take a look at you. Your shakey intake of breath, betraying your desired stoicism. 

He ran his hands up your arms until he lightly gripped your shoulders, mismatched eyes assessing every inch of you. You bit the inside of your cheek, desperately trying to keep your composure. Moving his hands to cup your face, he redirected your gaze to his. He stepped forward, closing any remaining space between the two of you. His mouth dropped open like he was about to say something, but the words were lost. His eyes never stopped searching yours. 

“I’m okay,” you said reassuringly, moving your hands up to hold his wrists. He could only pull you into another embrace, still at a loss for words. You wrapped your arms around his waist, giving him a squeeze, before you wriggled out of his hold. “Come on,” you said, pulling him by the hand, “we have a lot to talk about…”

“I don’t… I don’t even know where to begin,” he said as he took a seat next to you on the couch. 

“Did you know? Did you know any of this was a… was a possibility?” You were too drained to beat around the bush. 

“Sì… eh, well, no. I mean, I only… It was only when I saw your birthmark that I suspected…”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you practically pleaded.

“I never thought anything would come of it so soon. We wanted to be certain before we–”

“I’m sorry, ‘we’?” you asked with an edge of irritation.

“Ah, shit…” he muttered before sucking in a breath through his teeth. “Seestor Imperator. I might have, eh, mentioned it to her…” You could feel the heat rising in you. “Only to see if there was any truth behind it. Really, it’s only ever been like a myth to us. Like… like how the– the Antichrist is to the others.”

You leaned forward, putting your elbows on your knees as you held your head in your hands. Breathe in. Breathe out. You didn’t need to get angry over this. “I don’t want to be the last to know anymore. I can’t.”

“No, no, you won’t be. Primo and Secondo are looking into the next steps. It– It’s going to take some time.” 

You wanted to tell him everything you learned from Swiss, but was it time? Could you even trust him? Should you go about this all in secrecy? 

Copia’s words pulled you from your internal debate. “You’ll have to summon a ghoul. That’s the ritual Secondo is, eh, preparing.”

You let out a sigh of relief, but Copia interpreted it as dread. “And that takes a while to prepare?”

“We’ll probably be ready in a couple of weeks. You’ll have to practice, so nothing goes wrong.”

A brusque laugh slipped. As if any of Hell’s deities would allow anything to go wrong. They’re the ones who needed things to go smoothly more than any person in this whole abbey. You couldn’t tell him that, though. 

“As far as rituals go, you’ll do great. I know it,” he smiled warmly at you, reaching out for you, but the way you abruptly snapped your head to almost glare at him caused his hand to recoil.

“Why? Because I’m the special chosen one now?” you scoffed.

“Che (what)? No… I’ve seen you work magics and rituals of your own, dolcezza. You– You have a talent.” There was something different in the way you were acting. He knew to tread lightly. He cleared his throat. “Speaking of… I think we should set up an altar for Lilith here. Maybe it’ll help you with your… comunicazione with her.” You only nodded, your eyes showed how your mind was someplace else. “Seestor did mention something about visions.”

“What about visions?” you barked, asking almost too quickly.

“There aren't many texts here with information about ascensions of any kind, but there was a common thread of people, such as yourself, having a strong connection with a deity. It’s as if… Well, I think you’ll act as their vessel to help with, eh, whatever they need done here…” You leaned back with a huff as you crossed your arms. Copia’s brows furrowed. Worry creased his face. The last thing he wanted to do right now was upset you further or overwhelm you. “We don’t have to talk about this tonight, amore.”

“Good,” you mumbled. Because I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up… you thought to yourself. “I’m… uh… I’m getting tired again anyway.”

“Then we go to bed, sì?”

You nodded and got up to brush your teeth, avoiding eye contact with your reflection the whole time. Then you crawled into bed and waited for Copia to follow suit. When he did, he wrapped his arms around you. You could only hope he didn’t notice how your body went rigid at his touch, which was something you felt like you didn’t deserve.

“Stellina?” he asked, his voice showcasing his nerves as his pitch went up slightly.

“Hm?”

“I just… Eh, well, I want you to–” he sighed, frustrated by his fear he wouldn’t be able to articulate what he was feeling the right way. “I know I’m nothing special, but I will always protect you. I’m here for you. Always. You’re safe with me. Do not ever forget that, okie dokie?” 

You placed your hand over his that was draped over you, holding it tightly, but you didn’t dare turn to face him. “You are special, cocco (sweetie/your short and sweet play on his name). Sei il mio tutto (you’re my everything).”

He pulled you closer to him as he kissed your head. “Ti amo (I love you).”

You swallowed hard, hoping to swallow the guilt that was bubbling up inside you. “Ti amo anche (I love you too).”

Copia’s breathing soon relaxed as he fell asleep. Sleep wasn’t coming for you anytime soon. There was no way to cease your racing thoughts no matter how hard you tried. You could only lay there, pressing down on your lips that curled around your teeth, as tears silently fell.  

part v | part vii

[sodoswitchimage]

I don’t know what to do with myself now that October is over…. There were soooo many amazing masterpieces written that fed me everyday 🖤🖤 so proud of everyone and the effort put forth to write for us peasants 😂 thank you for making my October extra special 😈👏🏼🧎‍♀️ @da-rulah @bupia @her-satanic-wiles @writingjourney @ramblingoak @molly-ghuleh

[angellayercake]

WIP tag game

Thank you @ghostchems 😊

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Birthday SURPRISE

I hate writing

Sad boi :(

Son of a preacher

The return of DOM COPIA

Perla

Cream pie diary

This is not exhaustive of all the silly little things I have started but all of these have actual writing at least 🙃

Tagging: @da-rulah, @her-satanic-wiles, @fishwithtitz, @meowsaidmissy, @zombiequeenblog, @the-hole-in-terzos-shoe and @mustluvecho

[writingjourney]

WIP Game

RULES: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Thanks for the tag @silverofthunder ♡

So, since the last time I did this not TOO much has changed which is why I will only add the WIPs that I am actually working on and not the ideas I haven't touched in half a year lol (or that haven't changed since then):

Ghost:

IKNBS Chapter 17

Copia reading smut

Poison Garden (Primo)

Friday Nights at Čachtice Castle (the Dracopia Friday Nights installment)

Manondo (future Secondo x OC long fic)

HOTD:

as of now untitled Otto Hightower fic that's almost done

I also want to write more BG3 especially with Minthara and Shadowheart but I don't have any actual WIPs yet.

I'm tagging: @leezlelatch @da-rulah @her-satanic-wiles @megachaoticstupid if you want to ♡

[da-rulah]

In Cold Blood - Terzo x f!reader

Summary: Solitude had always appealed. Perhaps that’s why you took on this project… The thought of transforming a dilapidated old Victorian farmhouse into a sanctuary of your own, to live in peace and the romanticisms of a gothic home you fell in love with.

After the structural integrity of the house is replenished, you fill your days with DIY and decorating, bringing to life a house that had been frozen in time and left to rot for decades. You could enjoy the solitude of the land already, a few miles outside of a town plagued by disappearances and a fear of the dark. But you couldn’t escape the news of more missing people, nor the strange occurrences happening around your new home.

Were you imagining things? Or was there indeed a shadow haunting your sanctuary?

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI Word Count: 19.6k (i'm back bitchesssss)

Warnings: Dark fiction, horror fic, mentions of murder, coercion, manipulation, obsession, masturbation (f), voyeurism, manhandling, threat and mild violence, dubious consent (later turns to verbal consent), oral sex (f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, blood, blood drinking, unprotected sex

Read on AO3 | Masterlist | Leave a tip

WARNING: This is a work of DARK FICTION. It is a horror fic, and contains mentions of violence as well as elements of dubious consent and manipulation. Please do not read if this is going to affect you negatively. You have been warned, and I take no responsibility if you choose to ignore the warnings and triggers attached.

a/n: well hello there. It's been a while, hm? Radio silence and then BOOM, a 20k word fic outta nowhere? Well, this was written for the wonderful @angellayercake's birthday, and she's been so kind as to give her permission for me to share it. I promise, more new content coming soon, and I'll be working on an update for The Mayor's Daughter ASAP! Happy reading, creeps...

“What’s the catch?”

The real estate agent blinked at you in confusion, as if you’d just asked her to recite the square route of pi to the 30th decimal.

“The… the catch?” she asked, “I don’t understand.”

“Well, it’s just so cheap, I have to wonder which closet the skeletons are hiding in…” you joked, knowing full well the skeletons were actually in the backyard under the headstones that sat growing moss and ivy for the last six decades at least.

“Ma’am… I’ve been very upfront about the state of the house. It needs extensive repairs and renovation, it has a graveyard out back, it’s way out in the sticks and the landscaping is overrun… What more could be wrong with it?” She rang out her hands nervously, chewing on her cherry red lips as you scrutinised her body language. You’re sure there was something she wasn’t telling you, but this was a perfect opportunity for you…

Coming off the back of a decent chunk of inheritance left by a relative you’d long-since forgotten, you needed a project. You’d always wanted to renovate a beautifully gothic home from the 19th century, and when you saw the listing for exactly that on the edge of a small town? Ideal. Perfect. Exactly what you wanted. The thought of being a little out in the country, surrounded by land and away from the bustle of the city you grew up in was all too appealing.

“It has a charm to it, don’t you think?” you smiled to yourself, fiddling with the dusty net curtains still hanging in the living room’s huge bay window.

“Uh… sure, yeah,” the agent agreed with reluctance, still so confused as to why you would be at all interested in this ruin that she couldn’t even show you all of due to the structural integrity of the floorboards.

“I’d like to put in an offer,” you told her, turning back to face her with a smile on your face.

“You… really? Oh, my god! Okay, great! Well, I’ll get the paperwork…” she sprung into action, suddenly full of an energy that could only have been triggered by the whiff of her future commission.

It would take some work, sure, but this place had the potential to be the perfect project and future home for you…

It took six months, but the structural integrity of the house had been stabilised by a team of builders you’d hired to take care of the place while you got your affairs in order and ready to move halfway across the country. You weren’t taking much; a lot of the furniture left in the abandoned house was part of the project and with a little restoration would be absolutely beautiful. You were ready for the work, ready to create a home that you could be so proud of and had your stamp on it.

Moving into the house was quicker than you thought it would be, with most of your furniture sold and donated. For now, you had to live out of suitcases until you had a bedroom and closet space that was clean enough to hang your things in.

At the very least, you’d cleaned and stripped the four-poster bed that still lay in the master suite, checking the integrity of the bed itself and noting how… pristine it seemed compared to a lot of the other furniture left behind. But this was made of expensive, dark mahogany wood – it was built to last, and so with a polish, a new mattress and sheets? You had a gorgeous bed to sleep in each night, taking a little bit of pressure off when you’d spent an entire day exhausting yourself over more renovations.

One of your first jobs had been landscaping in the graveyard. You’d felt pulled to the graves, wanting to give whoever was buried on your property a much more respectful resting place, rather than allowing them to be swamped by ivy and moss.

It seemed to be a family plot, probably the last family to have owned the home. Every stone had the same surname, dating back to the first of the deaths in 1904. What struck you as odd, however, was the nature of the stones themselves…

For the time period, you might have expected angels, cherubs, perhaps a cross or two. But whilst these stones were ornate and beautiful, they were not steeped in biblical references at all. Instead, the eldest stone had a decaying gargoyle sat atop it… Another, a ram’s head at the base. One had a stone skeleton laying above where the body would have been buried, carved into a slab of concrete as if it was protruding from the grave itself. You’d never seen graves like this before, symbols and carvings you couldn’t identify but had you on edge the minute you looked at them. But one of those symbols, you certainly recognised.

A pentagram.

Now, as a purveyor of the dark and mysterious, you hadn’t minded the thought of a graveyard in your garden. For goodness sake, you loved the gothic aesthetic, the dark and macabre had always called out to you. But to find these graves had a theme to them, a darker, occult theme… It cast a deeper shadow over the home you’d purchased.

Who were this family? Were they part of an occult? You were itching to understand the history, to uncover more about the lost family that let their home fall to ruin and their graves be overrun by nature.

But it had to wait, the renovations taking over to make your house a far more liveable abode. With the graves at least clear from nature’s extremities, you could come back to them another time to give them a proper clean, to uncover the names in full and potentially use the information to gather more with a trip to the local library or a google search.

For now, you had to get to cleaning room by room so you could begin stripping and re-decorating where it needed it most.

“…The Sheriff’s office have released a statement today to calm locals calling for more action in the string of disappearances throughout town. Last Monday saw the latest in the line of disappearances, 29 year old store clerk, Andrew Walton, taking the total up to 12 missing in the last nine months. Mr Walton was last seen on CCTV heading into the alley of the 7/11 where he worked…”

The radio news bulletin caught your attention as you were working in the master bedroom, stripping the already peeling wallpaper from the panelled walls atop a stepladder. You’d only moved in three weeks ago, and yet, the little radio you always put on to work to kept churning out the same story consistently – the string of disappearances in town that seemed to be getting more and more frequent.  

It would seem it was the town with skeletons in the closet, not your precious new home. The estate agent failed to mention that one…

When you first heard about it, you’d made sure the house was secure, with locks on the windows, every entrance bolted and sturdy. Being so far outside of town, you weren’t particularly worried since you rarely ventured from your home, particularly not at night when most of these disappearances seemed to have taken place. But it didn’t hurt to be safe...

Still, the thought that there may be someone out there snatching people for God only knows what purpose was a little unsettling. You could only hope the sheriff would do his job and catch whoever was behind the crimes soon – but it had already been nine months… All you could do was lay low, stay as far away from the potential risks of heading into town alone in the dark.

As the lunchtime bulletin ended, the radio began to play one of the top 40 songs you’d heard at least three times already today. Whilst it was repetitive, you’d learned the words, and found yourself singing along as you scraped at patches of wallpaper residue with your little scraping tool. You lost yourself to easily in the renovation tasks, the monotony allowing for your brain to whisk you away to distant worlds, like shooting your own music videos to the songs as you sang along.

Drifting so far off into your own thoughts is probably the reason you hadn’t realised the radio had actually cut out completely, and it was just you singing and the sound of the metal scraper to fill the silence… The batteries had died.

“Ah, shit…” you mumbled to yourself, stepping off the ladder and reaching for the radio you’d placed on the window sill. Upon closer inspection, you made the definite conclusion that it was in fact the batteries, and sighed in annoyance. Of all the things you didn’t think you’d need for a while at least, you would now have to rummage around in the unemptied moving boxes that were still stockpiled in the dining room, filled with ‘random crap’ from your ‘random crap’ drawers – the drawers every home has… You just hadn’t renovated enough of the kitchen to have a ‘random crap’ drawer yet.

Digging through the boxes, you pulled a tape measure, a pack of four highlighters with two missing, six bank statements dated four years ago and a set of tiny little wrenches from the collection, until finally, you found a pack of unopened batteries at the bottom of the box.

You fumbled with them, rushing to get them out and replace the dead ones in the radio so you could get your music back and get back to work. Just as you pushed the second battery in, the radio roared to life again, startling you with a sudden gasp. Your heart raced in your chest as you chuckled at yourself, laughing at how stupid you’d been to have forgotten to turn it off before you pushed the new batteries in.

But a sudden and much more frightening crash from beneath you had you jumping again within seconds, your grip on the radio faltering as it flew to the ground, the new batteries flying out at the impact and drenching the room in silence again.

Your head flew immediately to the old door to your left, the one that led beneath the house to the basement…

You don’t know how long you stared at it, your heart rate never calming down as your mind raced with scenarios. An animal? Old house falling apart? Ghost? Psycho killer from town? You had no idea what to think.

But you lived alone. No noise should be coming from down in the damn basement.

You stared for so long, you began to question if you’d heard anything at all. Perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you. But with a mental kick up the arse and a quick shake of the head to rid yourself of the fear, you marched over to the door to investigate like every stupid final girl in every horror movie you’d ever seen.

When you pulled on the string light, it buzzed and flickered before settling on a barely-there orange glow. Thankfully, it didn’t matter so much, the small windows in the house’s foundations letting in just enough light to deem the room visible. You could smell the must as you stepped down the wooden stairs, creaking under your feet as if some obnoxious special effects guy was dubbing the scene.

The movers had moved some of the restorable furniture you’d asked them to keep down here, stacking it in a far corner for you to come back to when you’d sorted the main structure and décor of the house. They were caked in a thick layer of dust, fingerprints from the movers clearly visible.

But nothing looked like it had fallen, there wasn’t anything broken or toppled over on the floor at all. The bang you’d heard had no source, that you could see. Even the cellar doors that led to the yard out back were still chained and bolted shut – you couldn’t blame it on a gust of wind, and upon first inspection, there was no sign of an animal somehow making its way inside either.

But to be sure, you walked through the clear space in the centre of the basement and over to the furniture pile of display cabinets, side tables, some chairs and a wardrobe you’d had moved from the master bedroom. It was one of your favourite pieces, that wardrobe. You planned to only clean it up and revarnish it, matching the ornate wood of the bed that had been kept pristine and you now used as your own. Even the mirrors on the door – oval shaped with dark ivy carved into the edges – were in fantastic condition. No scratches, just caked in a layer of dust like the rest.

A closer look proved there were no animals in the basement, no rodents or critters to try and ferry back outside. But what you did notice were the fingerprints on the brass handles of the wardrobe. Perhaps the movers had peaked inside – you hadn’t when you viewed the place. Maybe there were some old clothes still left behind from another decade?

Curiosity got the best of you, and you opened the door with a shriek of its hinges to find… nothing. The wardrobe was empty save for a few wire hangers that jingled with the opening of the door, and another layer of dust, albeit thinner, on the low shelf inside. But the dust was disturbed…

In the centre, there was a rectangle in the dust, as if it had been carefully wiped clean with absolute precision… It was about the size of a shoe box, but the dark grain of the wood stood out around the greyed and dulled wood surrounding it. Something had been in there for years, and had been removed…

Instantly, you blamed the movers. They’d gone nosing around and taken something they thought was valuable? Oh hell no. It got your back up immediately… You’d trusted these people, and they’d stolen from you? They’d be getting a phone call later.

Now pissed, you shut the door to the wardrobe a little harder than perhaps you should, the bang that sounded ricocheting off the stone walls of the basement.

That sounded like what you’d heard from upstairs.

You brushed it off, thinking nothing of it and instead looking up into the oval mirror of the door to check you’d left no damage to it.

But then you saw him. A man, in the dusty reflection standing in the far corner, the darkest spot of the basement. You could only see an outline, a silhouette. But one of his eyes seemed to gleam brighter than the other, the light perhaps hitting it just right. He was glaring at you, watching you intently in the dull reflection…

You shrieked, spinning in your place and slamming your back into the wardrobe behind you. Your chest heaved in panic, heart racing and breaths coming short and fast while your eyes searched the dimly lit corner and found nothing.

There was no man stood in the corner, nothing at all in fact. You were completely alone, your mind playing havoc on you in your heightened state of anxiety and anger. Even now, your heart was still hammering away, your lungs just beginning to regulate your breathing.

You straightened yourself up and wiped at your clothes that collected dust from the wardrobe when you’d slammed into it.

“Dumbass,” you mumbled to yourself, heading back upstairs quickly and slamming the basement door. You tried your best to shake off the anxiety, putting your batteries back into your radio and rushing back to the master bedroom to continue with the wallpaper scraping in the hopes it might put your mind back at ease. But for the rest of the day, you felt an anxiety you couldn’t shift, as if there truly was a man in the corner of every room you entered, glaring at you from the shadows.

It took a few days to get all the paper and residue off the walls in the master bedroom, careful not to mess with the panelling you wanted to sand down and keep as part of the décor. But for now, you could finally get onto stripping the paper in one of the other bedrooms, hoping to strip all of the paper from the upstairs in one go before getting around to sanding and replacing any panelling so you wouldn’t be spreading the dust into rooms you’d already finished and cleaned. There was method in your madness – strip everything down, sand, then clean.

The next biggest room upstairs had no furniture in it and was in the worst state, having been the room with the most extensive damage to the flooring and structural integrity. Builders had to replace the entire floor, and so had removed everything to do so. Apparently a leak in the roof – now fixed, of course – had caused irreparable water damage to the far corner, where they’d also removed the mouldy panelling and cleaned the remaining black mould properly and safely.

But now the rest of the room needed its paper stripped, so that’s where you found yourself. Your little radio blared the same station as always as you scraped away at the paper, making your way along the walls. It came off easier than the master bedroom, the damp of the room helping to already ease the adhesive from the plaster beneath.

As you moved to a section of the wall near the window, placing the stepladder on the floorboard, you heard one rattle beneath it. Having had the entire floor replaced, you’d assumed that every floorboard would be secured down. Perhaps the builders had missed one, but a few nails and you could fix that. So you moved the stepladder out of the way and crouched to inspect the plank that wobbled.

It had the holes in it where the nails should have been, and yet, there were no nails to hold it down… It was as if it had been secured and then pulled up again, except you couldn’t figure out why.

Curiosity got the best of you, and you pushed on one end of it to lift it from the structured beams beneath it. It opened up to a crawl space filled with fresh insulation and piping beneath the room. But when you pulled out your phone to flick on the flashlight, you noticed a rather out of place looking jewellery box had been hidden just to one side of the loose floorboard.

Instinct overruled you and you reached for it, pulling it from under the floorboard and wiping the dust from the top of it. It was a beautiful jewellery box, made of dark wood with an intricate baroque pattern carved into it and filled with some kind of gold resin. It had no lock on it, only a hook to keep its lid closed.

It made no sense to you… Why would this be under the floorboards when the floor was so new? Where had it come from? Should you open it?

And then your brain connected the dots. This box was the same shape, and a similar size to the disturbed dust inside the wardrobe in the basement. This had come from the wardrobe…

Logically, you concocted a story that maybe one of the builders had found it and wanted to hide it, come back for it later but forgot. But if they knew it was of value, surely they wouldn’t have forgotten it? And that patch in the wardrobe seemed too fresh, too pristine… Still, you had no other logical answer. You refused to believe it had magically found its way up from the basement and under the floorboards by itself – or even more horrifyingly, at the hands of someone else.

But you had to open it, right? You had to see what was inside, to see why someone would want to hide such a pretty little box at all. So you flicked the hook open, and slowly opened up the jewellery box…

You’d have to say you were disappointed. There were things in here, but nothing that screamed value at you, more like cheap and random items. There were some cuff links that you thought may have been silver, but were only sterling silver; a costume jewellery bracelet made of plastic pearls; a lipstick, worn down to within an inch of its life in a deep red shade; various little knick-knacks that together made absolutely no sense at all. The only thing that stood out to you as remotely unusual, was a watch.

This watch looked ordinary, something you’d pick up for cheap. It was broken, the glass cracked and the time clearly not moving on from 11:06 on the day it broke. It wasn’t branded, the clock face not diamond-incrusted or made of any real precious materials. But just under where the hands connected in the centre was a tiny little rotating set of numbers for a date, reading as 19/03/24 – just over a week ago. The watch had stopped working just over a week ago.

You couldn’t entertain this idea any longer. You stuffed the watch back into the box, slamming the lid closed and putting it back under the floorboards in the hope it might poof itself out of existence. You had to be imagining things, this wasn’t real. First, hearing noises down in the basement. Then, seeing the reflection of a man in the wardrobe mirror, only for him to disappear when you turned around. Now, finding a box of trinkets in the floorboards with items that were completely out of place for the time period of the old house.

You were being ridiculous, making up things that didn’t exist and had no significance at all. This must have been left by a builder, the battery being the reason it stopped, not the crack in the glass. There was just no way. No one had been by the house since you moved in besides the postman, and even he had quickly stuffed the mail into the mailbox at the end of your drive and run off quickly every time you caught him.

A creak in the floorboards in the hallway snapped you from your racing conspiracies, igniting your fight or flight response much like the noise in the basement the other day. This time you didn’t freeze, you stood up quickly and ran to the doorway to see if you could catch whatever was making the noise.

There he was again.

The same silhouette, a man stood in the hallway, backlit from the large window behind him and the sun streaming in through it. You couldn’t see his face properly, left in shadow but you could see those same eyes, glaring at you, watching to see if you would make a move…

Anger flared inside you, thinking you had an intruder in your home. You weren’t one to back down from a fight or go quietly. If this man was skulking around your house in broad fucking daylight, you were going to confront him.

“HEY! Who the fuck are you?!” you yelled from the doorway, “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

The silhouette said nothing, instead stepping to the right through the door to your master bedroom. Without a second thought you ran towards the open doorway, grabbing the scraper from the floor where you’d set it down earlier as some kind of precautionary weapon.

“I said, get out of my-“ you stopped, frozen in fear. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing, confusion replacing the rage inside you.

Nothing.

There was nobody in here. And you made damn sure to check… No one behind the door, no one in the en-suite, no one under the bed… No one.

You were losing your mind. You had to be. Perhaps you had spent too long alone in this old house, maybe you needed to socialise, head into town and meet some real people instead of chasing shadows. This wasn’t healthy, all this obsessive renovation work. This was your brain telling you you needed a break, right? It had to be that, because you could come up with no sound, logical explanation as to why you were seeing a shadow man roaming around your house other than madness. None of this was really happening, this was simply a descent into insanity caused by too much isolation.

At least, that’s what you told yourself to quiet the pounding heartbeat in your ears as the fear crept its way inside, burrowing deeper with every strange happening you seemed to experience.

A day off was all you’d needed, time out of the house to escape the need to be working, to essentially touch some grass and speak to another actual human being besides the shadow you’d conjured in your head. You’d gone into town, done some shopping, sat in a local coffee shop… You’d met a lovely older woman in there – Amelie, a widow and life-long resident – who’d welcomed you to town, so excited to have a fresh and pretty face to say hello to.

Although, she had warned you to head home before the sun set… That you should never walk alone in the evenings, and should lock your doors and windows at night.

“He likes the younger ones,” she’d told you. “I’m no good, you see… He likes them young.”

That had chilled you to the bone… Perhaps the mad ramblings of a woman hitting senility, but already on edge after the last few days at home, it seemed to strike a nerve. But nothing could have prepared you for the look on her face when she’d asked her where in town you had moved into, and you divulged it was the old farmhouse on the outskirts.

Her cheeks had sagged, smile dropping instantly. She shifted in the chair she’d taken at your table, straightening out the skirt of her dress over her knees and avoiding eye contact. And then she clutched her necklace in her fist – a gold crucifix – as she reached to take yours in her other hand.

“You must protect yourself, yes? That house… Something is there. You must be careful,” she told you, her voice as stern as she could make it to hide the tremble of fear.

“I-I’m okay, really… It just looks old, it’s overgrown and falling apart but I’m working on-“

“No!” she yelled, turning the heads of other patrons in the coffee shop. Her grip on your hand squeezed tighter, her nails digging into your hand painfully. “You should leave, before it’s too late. Such a pretty young thing, you shouldn’t be there…”

You pried her bony, arthritic fingers from around your hand and gently held hers in both of yours.

“I’m okay, Amelie. Please, don’t worry…” you comforted her, but she seemed dissatisfied, her eyes wide as she conceded.

That entire interaction had sat with you for the rest of the day as you’d wandered through the local farmer’s market, picking up fresh vegetables to turn into a casserole for one tonight. It shouldn’t have unnerved you the way it did, such an elderly woman was clearly suffering the effects of an ageing mind and yet, with the experiences of the last few days? Her warning unnerved you.

You headed home long before sunset, and locked the doors and windows like she’d told you to. Did it make you feel any better? Absolutely not… But as you pottered around in the kitchen making the casserole you’d planned, slowly the anxiety started to ease, helped mostly by the music on your little radio.

You ate in peace, scrolling through your phone while you tapped your foot on the tiled floor of the kitchen. You didn’t mind these lonely evenings so much, having grown tired of the bustling city long ago. These days, the quiet of your own company was quite welcome, easily sinking into your own little world.

Even as you stood at the sink, scrubbing at the dishes, you were in your own world, humming along to another overplayed song you’d heard time and time again. You’d find yourself staring out the window in front of you at the sunset, the sky painted pinks and oranges and casting a tranquil glow over the little graveyard out back. Dusk was quickly approaching, the night drawing in as you cleaned.

Just as you placed your plate on the drying rack beside you, you looked out again at the graves, now like silhouettes as the sky turned to a deeper shade of bluey purple. But your heart dropped, every hair on your body standing on end.

The shadow figure. The same shadow figure… Stood out by the graves, looking down at them with its back to you. He seemed to be wearing the same thing as last time you spotted him; slacks, a black coat made of heavy wool that just passed his knees. He was just standing, staring…

You froze in place, watching… You felt paralysed, like you’d spotted a large spider on the wall, staring at it to make sure it didn’t move out of sight because losing it was worse than staring in fear.

It didn’t move, just standing there, staring down.

A rush of anger hit you out of nowhere – this fucker was trespassing on your property, scaring you stupid. You’d locked this prick out when you’d come home, and so he thought it was okay to skulk around your land, trying to frighten you?

Fuck that. No. Enough of this.

You wiped your hands on the dish towel to the side, instinctively reaching for the biggest knife in your knife block on the counter before running to the back door. You unbolted the top and bottom, and ran out into the evening with a surge of adrenaline.

“HEY!” you yelled, like you had when you’d seen him in your hallway, “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

The figure didn’t move, still staring down as you approached quickly from behind. You stayed back a few feet, clutching the knife in your hand and ready to use it should this fucker try anything…

“Answer me…” your voice shook with fear, no matter how hard you tried to keep it steady and strong. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing on my land?”

A dark chuckle… The shoulders of the figure shook with his laugh, and it only pissed you off more.

“Your land? Interesting…” the figure muttered, his voice thick with a heavy Italian accent and gruff like he hadn’t spoken aloud in decades.

“I-I’ll call the cops…” you threatened, “just leave and no one gets hurt.”

His head cocked up at that, turning to look over his shoulder. For the first time, you got a small glimpse at his face, and the eye that gleamed brighter than it should. He seemed to be smirking, as if this situation was somehow funny to him.

“You would hurt me, cara mio?” he teased, his eyes flitting down to the knife you held extended towards him. “I did not have you pegged for a violent woman.”

It caught you off guard, the way he spoke to you. Was he trying to belittle you? Make you question your own self-defense to weaken you? You wouldn’t let that happen.

“What are you doing here?” you asked him defiantly, ignoring his comments and still wielding the knife.

“Paying my respects,” he grumbled, as if he were annoyed by an intrusive question.

“Th-this is my property, and you need to leave. I’ve seen you in my house, and you need to go before I call the cops,” you repeated yourself, your voice shaking.

“Why did you buy this house?” he asked, frustratingly ignoring your warnings.

“None of your business-“

“It is my business,” he snapped, “This house belonged to my family,” he span on the spot, finally facing you. His expression was intimidating, his eyes – now visibly different colours – were boring into you, just begging you to try something. “These are their graves. This is their house. It does not, and will never, belong to you.”

“Well you might want to tell the bank that, Mr, uh…” his name escaped you, forgetting the surname that you’d uncovered weeks ago on the graves behind him.

“Emeritus,” he smiled sadistically. “Terzo Emeritus, and this house is mine.”

He took a step closer to you, and naturally you stepped back in fear. The grip on the knife readjusted with the second step he took, readying yourself to use it should you need to.

“But a pretty thing like you? I’m willing to share…”

“Don’t make another move…” you jabbed the knife forward a little, raising your voice in an attempt to appear threatening. “I know there’s some creep going around town, snatching people… And now you’re here, in MY house, threatening me?”

“I think I’m the one being threatened, cara mio…”

“SHUT UP!” you yelled. “Leave, now. Or I will call the fucking police.”

His hands, encased in leather gloves, shot up in a defensive pose, his smile widening sickeningly. He stopped approaching, but his morbidly beautiful eyes slowly scanned you from head to toe, taking you in, analysing. For a moment, you were locked in a stalemate, staring each other down. You thought maybe he was sizing you up, waiting for the opportune moment to strike like a predator hunting its prey.   

But instead of pouncing like you’d expected, he turned back around and knelt down before the graves.

“Penso che forse lei non è così affezionato a me come io sono di lei, non siete d'accordo? (I think maybe she is not as fond of me as I am of her, don’t you agree?)” he mumbled, as if the dead could hear every word. “Non temere, non lascerò che questa bellezza mi scaccia, i miei fratelli. Questa è casa nostra e imparerà a godere della mia compagnia. (Fear not, I will not let this beauty drive me away, my brothers. This is our house, and she will learn to enjoy my company.)”

“W-what did you say?” you stuttered, still wielding the knife. He looked briefly over his shoulder at you.

“Non vedevo tanta bellezza da più di un secolo, (I haven’t seen such beauty in over a century,)” he spoke to the graves again. “Non dal mio esilio e ritorno. (not since my exile and return.)”

You were growing more and more frustrated as he spoke his mother tongue to thin air, waiting for him to do something – even if that something were to force you to defend yourself. This was just… bizarre.

He stood again, kissing the tips of his gloves and pressing them to each headstone, save for one on the end. Why he missed that one, you weren’t sure, but you couldn’t focus on that right now. He seemed to be saying a goodbye, as if he were actually going to leave upon your request.

“Until next time, bella cosa (pretty thing),” he bowed his head a little and began to walk towards you, giving you a wide berth but keeping his eyes trained on you at all times. You figured he was simply making sure you didn’t try to stab him as he passed, walking himself out of the gates of your land and a little ways down the street before he turned back to you, and blew you a slow, calculated flying kiss.

As he continued to walk away down the lane that stretched towards town, you quickly glanced back at the graves, noting now that the names did indeed all share a common family name.

Primo Emeritus. Secondo Emeritus. Copia Emeritus. Terzo Emeritus.

Your eyes widened. You were sure that was the name he just told you belonged to him? That wasn’t possible… Such an unusual name, and he’d made no mention of being a ‘Terzo Junior’, or ‘Terzo the second’. And it was the only grave he didn’t plant his kiss to…

You span around in the grass beneath your feet, looking out down the lane you’d just seen him walking down and yet, he was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t in the fields that lined the lane into town, and the road stretched with no bends for at least two miles, no obstructions at all. You should be able to still see him walking, running even if he had chosen to. He hadn’t had time to vanish like he had, in mere seconds.

Your head whipped back to the grave – his grave? – before you shook your head of the nonsense that he might well be some kind of spirit who can appear or disappear in the blink of an eye. These ‘occurrences’ were nothing more than fuel for a spooky story around a campfire. None of this was true, you’d just… lost sight of him, or misjudged the view of the road. Something, anything, had to explain this away.

But it didn’t stop you from bolting back through the garden and into the kitchen, slamming the door behind you with the knife still in hand and bolting the door shut, heart thumping in your ears.

You slept with that knife under your mattress that night.

His face haunted you, both day and night. No matter what you did, or how you tried to refocus your mind, to fixate on only your renovations, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. In the few days since the incident by the graves, you were questioning your sanity more than ever.

Had that even been real? Was he real? He couldn’t possibly be… The way he disappeared in an instant every time you saw him led you only to the conclusion that you’d lost your mind, officially. You must have concocted this spectre after seeing his name on the grave when you’d cleared the landscaping around them. You told yourself that over and over again.

That became harder to do though, when you’d spot him out by the graves again not even a week after the first time. You’d been installing some small curtains to the window by the kitchen sink for you to hide the site from view when you’d spooked yourself at the mere thought of that night, and yet there he was again.

You stared in shock, frozen and motionless, as he turned his head towards the house, looking it up and down, before his gaze settled on you in the window. He raised his hand, but before he could gesture a wave at you, you shut the new curtains and obscured his view, darting out of the kitchen and hiding in the dining room still full of packed boxes.

Your heart pounded as it always did when your imagination ran away with you and spooked you like this. You shook your head, told yourself to snap the fuck out of it.

But then you saw him every evening.

Always by the graves, always turning to wave at you, no matter from which window you were watching him from. You did your best to hide, to ignore it and tell yourself he wasn’t real. You just had to keep going, to continue your work and maybe find a good psychologist in town one of these days.

This plan of wilful ignorance was barely working, but what else could you do? Giving this apparition any kind of attention would surely only make it worse, whether he was a figment of your imagination or a genuine ghost from the past.

Ignoring him was hard. There was such a large part of you that wanted more information about him, to learn where he’d come from, why he haunted you. He was intriguing, if terrifying. The face that followed your dreams, both day and night, was starting to become all too familiar, all too comfortable. If it weren’t for that ghostly white eye of his, he’d have quite a charming face. His glare wouldn’t seem so dark if it wasn’t pierced by the white glow, and perhaps he wouldn’t be so threatening… Home invasion and grave haunting aside.

Still, you did your best to continue as normal. The renovations continued, and before long you had stripped every room upstairs of the aged and withered wallpaper that desperately needed replacing. Finally, you could start decorating to your own tastes – starting with your bedroom.

After a trip to the nearest hardware store, and a delivery of wooden slats, you got busy creating the wainscoting that was to run along the bottom three feet of the wall in your bedroom. The idea was to panel it, and then paint everything a beautiful deep shade of royal purple. The hardwood floor was going to be stained a dark shade throughout the entire upstairs, but you’d managed to source a stunning Persian rug in a purple that matched the aesthetic you were hoping for. The furniture – the items you’d had moved to the basement – were already perfect for the room, matching the bed that had also been left behind. You’d chosen gold metal accents to replace the handles on the wardrobe and chest of drawers, and sourced lamps and trinkets in the same gold to match.

After no longer than a week, you’d completed the room with a mix and match of modern and Victorian gothic aesthetics. Frankly, it looked like a Pinterest board – but it was so inherently you.

When you’d laid the finishing touches to the room, you stood in the middle of it, proudly looking around with a wide grin on your face at the beautifully finished space. That estate agent couldn’t see the potential of this house, but you had the second you stepped foot inside. And whilst it was only one room, the rest of the house still just the bare skeletal bones of a home, this was a huge victory.

“I like what you’ve done with my bedroom, bella cosa (pretty thing).”

Your body stiffened at the sound of his voice, coming from the doorway behind you. You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head and willing for the nightmare to stop. You hadn’t heard him, you were imagining it. You had to be.

Except, you heard footsteps behind you, on the hardwood floors. His shoes clacked with every step, slow and deliberate as if he was taking in his surrounding, inspecting your work. When you braved opening your eyes, that’s exactly what he was doing.

He really was here.

“Grazie for keeping my furniture, cara mio. I was always fond of it, and you’ve given it new life,” he said, ogling the wardrobe as he dragged his gloved fingertips along the edge of the wood.

“And purple, too…” he span on his heels to face you, a warm smile crossing his dark features, “My favourite colour.”

“How did you get in here?” you asked, voice shaking as you watched him look around the room.

“I told you, cara, this was my house. I know every entrance and exit there is,” his mismatched eyes settled on you again, “even the ones you don’t.”

He was lying. There were only three ways in or out of the house, and they were all locked – bolted, latched, even the cellar doors in the basement were chained shut.

“This is not your house,” you argued, spitting the words through grit teeth. “You need to leave. I will call the police.”

His eyes darkened again, a veil of threat overcoming him.

“And I told you, this has always been my house.”

You weighed your options. Your phone was on the kitchen counter downstairs; if you were fast enough, you could run down to it and out the back door before he caught you, calling the police as you ran along the road into town. If you didn’t fuck it up, you could even lock him in, taking the key from the back door and locking it shut behind you, leaving him gift wrapped for the cops.

You just had to be quick.

And you tried, you really did. You bolted out of the bedroom, running down the length of the long hall towards the top of the stairs. You hadn’t heard him behind you, his shoes making no noise behind you and so you imagined he’d been left stunned by your sudden departure, giving you a head start.

So you hadn’t expected a pair of large, strong hands to grip you by the tops of your arms at the top of the stairs, and slam your body into the wall. A sharp pain radiated up through your spine, but you cried out in fear more so than pain when you realised he’d trapped you, palms flat against the wall by your head and arms encasing you.

Instinct had you closing your eyes, squeezing them shut and waiting for the next blow, or for this nightmare to end. You could feel a cool breeze against your cheek as you turned your head away from the man trapping you, as if his breath were ice cold.

“Look at me, cara mio,” he ordered, his voice deep and slow. You whimpered beneath him, trying to plant yourself flat against the wall to get as far away from him as possible. “Per favore, I want to see you.”

You wanted to deny him, but his silence said he’d wait for an eternity until you did. And you didn’t want to find out just how aggressive he could be, if given the chance. So slowly, you opened your eyes, looking at him through your peripheral vision before you turned your head ever so slightly.

His face was so close to yours, hovering above you. His eyes flickered across your features, like he was looking for something, or maybe mapping every feature and committing it to his memory for some nefarious reason.

This close to him, you couldn’t stop yourself from doing the same… You avoided his eyes, noting instead how his skin seemed pale for an Italian man, but soft and smooth without a single imperfection. His jawline was chiselled, like you’d cut your palm if you tried to slap him. He had frown lines in his forehead that came with a life of frustration, yet forked lines from the outer corners of his eyes that came with a life of happiness; neither made him look haggard, yet showed he wasn’t quite as youthful as you.

Despite his pale complexion, his lips remained a soft pink. They were full, parted as you both silently examined each other up close. That breeze you felt was most definitely his breath, which you’d expected to be warmer but given the situation, perhaps it was your fear adding to the chill.

Running out of features to scan, you landed on his eyes; the eyes that haunted you more than any you’d seen. At first glance, the colour mismatch was disconcerting. It would put anybody on edge, perhaps make them wonder if he’d fallen victim to some kind of accident or birth defect but the more you stared, the more you fell into them. You couldn’t place why, but they seemed older than the rest of his features, holding more wisdom than you might have expected.

“Are you real?” you asked him, logic and reason battling against the very real fear that you were imagining him, that he was some kind of spirit that haunted his family home you’d never be rid of. But you’d felt him. His hands had been the ones to throw you against this wall, his body was imposing on yours as he trapped you. He was solid, flesh and blood. But there was an innate and visceral fear that something was wrong.

At your question, his eyes met yours, and his lips quirked into a playful smile.

“I am very real, cara mio,” he assured, taking his hand from beside your head and wrapping his gloved fingers around your wrist. He lifted your palm, gently laying it flat against his chest. “Can you not feel me?”

You could. He was solid, like you’d now discovered and you could feel his heartbeat beneath his shirt. Still, something felt wrong. He had no body heat like a normal living man through a simple cotton shirt should, and the heartbeat you felt was significantly slower than it should be.

“Who are you?” you whimpered, palm to his chest without even an attempt to remove it.

“I told you who I was. Terzo Emeritus.”

“J-junior?” you asked him. His brow creased in confusion, missing what you were asking entirely. “Terzo Junior? The grave, it… it says Terzo.”

Now he understood, sensing your confusion and chuckling lightly at it.

“Just Terzo,” he told you, gentle grip still on your wrist. You could pull your hand away if you tried, and yet, you kept it in place as if his own slow heartbeat was somehow reducing your own to a more comfortable pace.

You were at a loss for words now, brain running far too quickly to settle on something suitable to say to him. But at least now you had grown aware of your palm still settled on his chest, prompting you to rip it from his grip expecting him to put up some kind of resistance, to which you met none.

“What do you want from me?” you asked him, unable to tear your eyes from him in the same manner you’d torn your wrist from him.

“Perhaps only your company,” he shrugged slightly, raising an eyebrow in suggestion. “To exist with you, here.”

“This is my house…”

“Sí, so you keep saying.” A beat of silence passed as you thought of what he was truly asking, what that even meant.

“I want you to stay away from me,” you insisted, finding a shred of strength within you. Terzo took in a deep breath through his nose, letting it go as he studied you.

“I don’t think I can do that, cara mio,” he sighed. His admission had tears forming in your waterline, a new fear that you wouldn’t be able to shake this man’s seemingly growing obsession with you. All you wanted was peace, solitude and an escape but you’d fallen into a web, and the spider was crawling towards you agonisingly slowly.

You took a few deep breaths, each exhale shaky. You just wanted him to go, to leave you alone. Maybe this had been his house once before, but it was yours now, and he couldn’t stay here. He already seemed infatuated with you, if the way he looked at you now was anything to go by. His eyes drank you in like he was a starving man, and you were the ripest of fruits for him to devour.

“Please, I just want to be left alone…” you begged, tilting your head back against the wall and letting the tears fall as you squeezed your eyes shut, suppressing a sob in your chest.

Silence descended, and suddenly the weighted oppression of his presence vanished with a swift breeze. Even with your eyes shut, you could feel he wasn’t entrapping you anymore but when you opened them, you saw he wasn’t anywhere near you at all.

He’d vanished again, faster than a snap of your fingers.

And you were left wondering if any of that, once again, was real or a fantasy of your own making. You were so sure you felt a solid body, a real heartbeat. You weren’t a scientist, nor a paranormal specialist but you would assume if he was the spirit of the man buried in your back yard, you wouldn’t be able to feel him in such a way.

But now he had vanished, the feeling he left with you felt very much like an oppressive presence, a lingering energy. Now he left you with the anxiety of another visit without warning, another appearance to trick you into believing your delusions were true.

You expected to see him again.

Another week passed, a surface layer of anxiety lingering persistently. All you could do was focus your attention on your project, doing your absolute best to continue as normal. Now you had finished the master bedroom, you moved onto the upstairs bathroom, which had needed gutting and refitting.

You’d had a small team of plumbers in to replace the pipes through the house just as you had electricians to rewire the place before you’d moved in, and until now, all you’d had was the bare bones of a shiny new bathroom. You’d installed some counters with a new sink, the gold hardware matching around the bathroom. The marble top was a beautifully tasteful black with gold veins to match the black wood of the cabinets.

Even in here, you stuck to your darker aesthetic. The walls were painted a beautiful matte black, the floor tiled with black and white squares. It took you all week, two of those days on tiling alone. But it was something to focus on, a room that you knew would be frequently used and so needed to be finished now your bedroom was complete.

When it came to adding the finishing touches, it felt like the cherry on top of another beautifully made cake. Your house was quickly turning into a showroom, a place that could be featured in home renovation magazines had you been willing to open it up.

But already, you’d had one too many visitors in your home for your liking…

By the end of the week, you were exhausted – more so than usual. The anxiety of feeling watched, monitored, stalked was taking its toll on you, and you needed some respite. For all you knew, Terzo Emeritus could show up at any moment to frighten, repulse and excite you. It was weighing heavy, and your mind was just as spent as your body was.

As you headed to bed that evening, you allowed yourself some self-care in the bathroom you’d now finished. The point of renovating this house was to enjoy it, right? So why deny yourself that…

You filled the new clawfoot tub with hot water, brimming with bubbles and scents that had you falling into a state of total calm before you’d even sunk into it. Your tiny little radio joined you in the bathroom, tuned to a station that played nothing but classical, and on a bath shelf you’d bought you rested some candles, a book and a full glass of red wine to enjoy as you pampered yourself.

Sinking into the water, you relished in the feeling of being submerged in its warmth. Almost instantly, the tension in your shoulders melted away, eyes closing in bliss as your head slipped back to rest against the tub’s edge. You couldn’t help but let out a hum of satisfaction, the relief and pleasure accumulating in a soft moan.

As you let your body relax, a noise caught your attention; a floorboard, creaking just outside of the bathroom door. Your eyes shot open, your body reacting and freezing in place. However when you let your eyes roam over to the mirror above the bathroom sink, you saw him…

By force of habit, you’d left the bathroom door ajar, a small gap just large enough to be able to see that ghostly eye of his in the dim hallway, and the outline of him peeking through the door. Your heart rate hammered in your chest as it always did when you saw him, but you remained still. For now, he wasn’t making any kind of move, and he didn’t seem to be aware you had seen him.

But he was definitely there, watching you as you bathed. It was violating, invasive, perverse… And yet, you did nothing about it.

Instead, you sank further underneath the bubbles, reaching for your wine glass with your eyes trained on the mirror. You took a sip, relishing in the taste and releasing another satisfied moan as if putting on a damn show for him. What possessed you to do so, you had no idea, but he’d been tormenting your mind for weeks now – why couldn’t you do the same to him?

Reaching for your loofah, you dunked it under the water and sat upright, back exposed to him. You stretched your arm out, running the loofah along your skin in a slow and deliberate manner. You were careful to never expose yourself too much, but to tease with the expanse of pretty, bare skin to conjure enough suggestion in his mind that would leave a man desperate to see more.

When you ran the loofah up the length of your leg just above the water, you heard the floorboards creak again, like he was fidgeting on the other side of the door. You checked in the mirror to see if he was still there, and he most certainly was, but you were having the effect on him you hoped for.

Perhaps you stretched it out a little longer than necessary, running the loofah over your body more than needed but you were making your point. Your wicked little mind was ticking over, aware he could only see what you wanted him to; your shoulders and head above the bubbles from behind. Do you dare to cross the line…?

Perhaps the thrill of being watched was having an effect on you too, because you came to the conclusion that yes, you did dare to cross the line.

You lay back against the tub again, using the loofah now to run across your shoulders and down between the valley of your breasts, which the bubbles were barely covering in your relaxed position. You trailed the loofah further down, reaching over your stomach and between your legs.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you brushed the loofah over your core, now realising that washing yourself so intimately – and being watched while doing so – had aroused you more than you’d first thought. A flash of pleasure had you squeezing your eyes shut again, and you couldn’t stop yourself from grazing over your centre with added pressure, hips rocking in the water.

Before long, you abandoned the loofah all together, and from where he was stood, Terzo could see it float and bob up to the surface which had him drawing only one conclusion; you were definitely not just washing yourself.

You worked slowly, methodically. It had been so long since you’d let go like this, since you’d last touched yourself at all and you wanted to savour it, to enjoy it. You were in no rush, working your fingers in gentle and slow circles over your clit under the water. The moans that you let slip weren’t at all restrained or controlled; for all you knew, you were alone, right? So why would you hold back?

 It was impossible not to keep checking the mirror, to make sure he was still there and every time, he was. You couldn’t help but let your imagination run away with you, picturing him entering the room, kneeling down beside the tub and reaching his hand between your legs for you. You pictured him taking you from the bathroom, into the bedroom and having his way with you, dark, handsome and brooding as he always had been.

You imagined his hands beneath his gloves, his bare fingertips tracing patterns into your skin, his full lips trailing kisses down your still wet body. What did he look like under those layers of his? How would he feel under your own fingertips? How would he feel inside you?

But Terzo made no such move. Instead, he watched silently from the shadows, and each time you caught that glimpse of him your hips bucked towards your hand until eventually, you couldn’t hold back anymore and allowed yourself to fall over the precipice.

Your orgasm was powerful, thanks to not only the lack of self love recently, but also, the arousal of becoming an exhibitionist. It rippled through your body like the water around you, and had you crying out wordlessly as you sank further into the water up to your chin. You hadn’t felt so good in a long time, and it worked perfectly to relieve the remainder of that tension in your body.

As you came down from the orgasm, you dared to glance back at the mirror only to find that he’d vanished. Another little disappearing act, only this time, you found yourself free of the anxiety that usually came with that, and instead smug with the knowledge you might have got one over on him for a change. You’d teased him to a point that he couldn’t tear his eyes from you until it was over, and for a moment you felt truly powerful. At least, if he were real… and not a fantasy you’d concocted for yourself. There was still the very real possibility that all of this was just your own madness and loneliness, and you were just now starting to lean into the delusions as a form of self-preservation.

For a little while longer, you stayed put in the tub, enjoying your book, the rest of your wine and the music in the background. Of course, you kept checking on the mirror to see if maybe he’d return for another look, but nothing. It was twisted, the way your stomach drooped in disappointment each time, but you brushed it off. You were sure before long, you would see him again – whether real or fictional.

Once you had finished in the bathroom, draining the tub and rinsing the suds away, you floated back into your bedroom wrapped in a bathrobe and ready to sink into bed with your book. You pottered around, changing into some pyjamas and crawling under the sheets when a glimpse of colour caught the light beside your bed, earning your attention.

Hanging from your bedside lamp was a pendant, and most certainly not one of yours. They were stored in a jewellery box atop the dresser, not hung on display like this… but it was beautiful, and you reached over to lay the charm in your palm and inspect it properly.

It was simple, yet elegant. The charm was shaped like a water drop, except the stone was purple; perhaps amethyst or a rarer sapphire but it caught the light exceptionally. Surrounding it, were smaller stones that resembled diamonds, but your knowledge of precious stones couldn’t confirm whether they were in fact real, or if this were costume jewellery. It didn’t matter though, it was beautiful as it was, sparkling under your bedside lamp.

You had no idea how it got here, but you could hazard a guess. It had been left for you like a gift, delicately placed in a position that would get your attention. There was only one person it could have come from, and as you played with the unusual pendant under the light, you began to realise that maybe he wasn’t the figment of your imagination you were trying to pass him off as…

The next morning, you had a revived energy, a spring in your step from a decent night’s sleep. The time spent on self care seemed to do the job, relieving the stress enough for you to be ready to tackle the downstairs living room next. Truthfully, your new found vigour may have also had something to do with a large part of you giving in to the idea that Terzo was not a fantasy, he’d been very real this whole time.

You still had no idea who he was, or how he was a real person. You were beginning to think that perhaps spirits did walk the earth, just by how he seemed to appear and disappear on a dime. But you remembered the heartbeat, the solid chest under your palm…

There were so many questions. Who was he? A descendant of the family this house once belonged to, and rested in your garden? How does he keep getting in? He mentioned entrances you might not know about, but you’d searched thoroughly, or so you thought. Was he obsessed with you? Stalking you?

Was he dangerous?

His behaviour was most definitely shady – people don’t just come and go in other people’s homes as they please. But you’d never reported him, no matter how much you’d threatened it. To begin with you’d hoped the threat of calling the cops would be enough to deter him, but he always came back. And at every opportunity, he could have done something to hurt you, yet never did. Even last night, you were in a completely vulnerable position. And whilst peeping on you in the bath was absolutely a violation and a crime in itself, all he did was watch. And you let him.

His existence was confusing, but you’d surrendered to the notion that he did in fact exist; and honestly, that in itself was quite freeing. It felt like some kind of weight had lifted, and it made beginning work on the living room easier to stomach.

This room had suffered in the years the house sat in decay. The old windows had made way for black mould to grow around it, and whilst you’d had the windows replaced since, the mould was still present. Your first job was to clean the walls and potentially replace some of the floorboards, if the moisture had taken hold of the wood.

Armed with a bucket of diluted bleach and a sponge, you got to work scrubbing at the walls and the large window sill that you were planning to convert into a cosy nook; a perfect place to sit and watch the world go by, book in hand. Your little radio sat on the mantelpiece of the stunning fireplace you were going to bring back to life, blaring out the same cycle of tunes you were used to now you’d tuned it back from the classical of last night.

You let yourself zone out as you scrubbed at the mould, singing along to the radio now you knew most of the songs blaring from it. It was a wonder you weren’t sick of them yet, but you still hadn’t got around to unpacking your record player that was supposed to have a home in this particular room. First, you had to finish it though, of course.

As one song ended, the radio host announced a lunchtime bulletin. By this time you were only half listening, fixated on the satisfying cleaning job.

“It’s 1pm, you’re listening to 108.3fm – here’s your lunchtime bulletin. Police have made a shocking discovery after the disappearance of 25 year old Amanda Riley just three days ago.”

Your ears perked up at the news, now getting your attention. Another one? This was concerning, terrifying even. And now they’d made a discovery?

“Human remains were discovered just outside of town in a wooded area yesterday, which police have now confirmed are that of Amanda. Family members formally identified the body, and police have given a statement to locals urging caution and vigilance. Sheriff Ansel had this to say…

“‘We believe Ms. Riley’s murder to be connected to the string of disappearances in the area in the last few months. The victim was found with all her personal belongings still on her person, including wallet, cash, ID and mobile phone, however when the family came to formally identify the body, they noted that the only thing taken from her was her unusual pendant…’”

Your blood turned cold. The hand still scrubbing at the wall froze in place, and slowly, you turned to look at the radio as if it was speaking directly to you.

“‘The pendant is recognisable as a purple amethyst in a teardrop shape, surrounded by smaller white diamonds. While the item is valuable, we believe that the killer may have taken such a personal item as a trophy, which could be part of their M.O. Still, we are urging the public to please keep an eye out to see if we can trace this item, either in pawn shops or perhaps being sold online. We ask that you not panic, and please get in touch if you note anything suspicious. Thank you.’”

Your hand dropped the sponge back into the bucket of diluted bleach, drifting up to your chest where that very same pendant was sat against your skin. You’d put it on that morning, barely even thinking about it, just because you liked it.

But he’d given it to you. Left it out in the open for you, like he was proud of it. He’d given you a dead girl’s fucking necklace. And there was only one way he could have got it…

You stood up, running into the kitchen and colliding with the sink before your body displayed it’s disgust by vomiting violently. All those unanswered questions, and yet, one of them had been answered.

Who was he? A murderer.

As you coughed and spluttered your breakfast into the sink, your mind raced. She wasn’t the only missing person, just the first body to have been found. There were others. So many others, for nine months. Thirteen missing people, one of which found dead with this fucking necklace missing.

You felt dizzy, like a wave of vertigo hit you in an instant. You hobbled over to the fridge, clutching at the kitchen counter to keep yourself steady and rooting around for a bottle of water. Your hands shook as you unscrewed the lid, taking a sip to rinse out your mouth as you stumbled back to the sink to spit. You took another sip, this time swallowing and trying your best to focus on the sensation of the cool water trickling down your throat. But your head was too busy.

Trophies. He was taking trophies? Why? This sick bastard must enjoy it, he must relish in his kills, wanting something to remember each one by. What else had he taken…? And then you remembered.

The box under the floorboards.

You slammed the water bottle down on the side, a jet propelling out onto the work surface from the force. Before you knew it your feet were moving of their own accord, up the stairs and down the hall. You were unsteady, tripping into the walls as you walked. You needed to know, but you didn’t want to.

Stumbling into the bare room, you fell to your knees with a hard smack where the floorboard was loose. Shaking hands lifted the plank, reaching underneath to check the box was still there; it was. You pulled it from its hiding place setting it down on the floor while you racked up the courage to open it again.

In one quick motion, you unlocked the latch and flung the lid open like ripping off a band aid. All the items were still there, just the way you’d left them, including the watch that had made you question them in the first place. It looked like it could have been vintage, save for the date wound to March of this year.

You looked at the collection of random items; the watch, the cuff links, the old red lipstick, the cheap bracelet, a skeleton key, a tiny used bottle of perfume, a red comb, an old butterfly hairpin, a daisy pin badge, a rusty swiss army knife, a fountain pen and a vintage zippo lighter.

Twelve items.

With the necklace, that made thirteen. Thirteen items. Thirteen victims. Thirteen trophies.

“I should have hidden them better, eh?”

The sound of his voice had your body stiffening in fear, skin instantly peppered with goosebumps. You hadn’t even begun to think about confronting him or having to see him. You weren’t sure what you were going to do yet, but you’d have hoped to have time to calm yourself down and think rationally about your options.

But you were going to have to do this ad-hoc.

“I don’t often make mistakes, bella cosa, but when I do… They haunt me. I suppose my kindness is coming back to bite me on the culo (ass).”

He sounded surprisingly calm for a man who’d just been found out to be a serial killer. It unnerved you, and no part of you could figure out his next move. You were a sitting duck.

Slowly, and carefully, you stood up, turning around to look at him. Part of you worried if you startled him with sudden movement, he might strike like any predator would its prey.

He was stood in the doorway, leaning up against the wood with his hands buried in the pockets of his slacks, coat pushed back behind them. He looked far too casual, his face hinting at neither anger nor humour – nowhere on the emotional spectrum.

“Kindness?” you asked, ruminating over his use of the word. “There’s no kindness in what you’ve done.” Perhaps it was dangerous to speak so ill of the murderer in front of you, but you couldn’t help yourself.

His neutral expression darkened in a warning glare, his chin tipping up so he was looking down on you, adding to his intimidating aura.

“Not everybody deserves kindness, cara mio. Some deserve far less,” he challenged, pushing himself off the doorframe and taking slow steps into the room, keeping a distance from you still.

“No one deserves that…”

Terzo scoffed, looking off to gaze out of the window and shaking his head as if what you said offended him in some way.

“So now you know,” he shrugged, looking back towards you, his hands still shoved deep in his pockets. You kept an eye on them, mind racing with all kinds of possibilities – he could have a weapon of some sorts hidden from view. You needed to be on your guard. “I suppose you will report me now, sí?”

There was a playful glint in his eyes that you didn’t miss, like he was taunting you, waving a red flag to a bull. If you said you were, would he attack you too? But surely he couldn’t simply take your word for it if you said you wouldn’t either… Truthfully, you weren’t sure what you were going to do. Your only instinct was to run – fast.

You let his question linger in the air, far too much silence going by as he watched you, assuming you’d frozen in fear. He hadn’t expected you to dart towards the door, your only goal to get downstairs and out of the house as quickly as possible. So when you did exactly that, he watched for a split second, anger snapping inside him.

You barely made it out of the room before you felt a sudden force slam you forwards and into the wall of the corridor. A scream erupted from your chest, blood-curdling and gut-wrenching to anyone who would have heard it – but out here? No one would. How he’d moved so fast, you had no idea, but he had both of your wrists behind your back, and his whole body weight held you tightly against the wall.

“You are leaving so soon?” he asked, leaning in to speak directly in your ear as you writhed under him to try and escape, but his grip was too strong even without him putting seemingly any effort into it. “I was just getting used to you living in my house…”

“This is MY house,” you growled, gritting your teeth and avoiding his eyes.

“Then why should you want to leave? Are you scared I might hurt you, cara mio?”

Tears spilled from your waterline, giving away your fear and distress. Of course you were scared he was going to hurt you. He’d already hurt so many…

When he received no answer from you other than a sob in defeat and the stilling of your limbs as you gave up fighting his grip, he manhandled you until you span around, your back now against the wall just like it had been the other day.

“Th-this isn’t real… You’re not real…” you whispered to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut in the hopes you might wake up from your nightmare. You did not.

“I’m quite real, cara. We’ve been over this, no?” he lifted your wrist again like he had the other day, this time settling your hand delicately on his cheek and holding it there with his much bigger palm. “See?”

His gentility confused you, and when you opened your eyes, you saw a strange softness in his face. For a moment, you almost thought his expression was one of admiration. It didn’t matter what it was, but you couldn’t look away. This man – this serial killer – was being so gentle with you, his eyes cast over you like he was utterly obsessed with you.

“Why?” you whispered, more tears spilling over your cheeks. Still, you held his, despite his grip on your hand lessening ever so slightly. You wanted to understand, talk him down maybe just enough to let you go. You wanted to appeal to the softness you saw in him.

“I have no choice,” he said flatly, almost with a hint of shame. But that only crossed the wires in your mind more.

“I… I don’t understand.”

“I choose them carefully… They are not good people, cara. They have ruined others lives, even taken them and I-“ he stopped himself, looking down at the floor in shame. Your brows creased together, trying to piece your thoughts into coherency.

“It’s always a choice,” you started to argue back, softly so as not to raise any more rage within him in such a precarious position such as the one you found yourself in beneath him. But his head snapped back up nonetheless, his hand gripping onto yours and throwing it back down beside you. He kept you caged beneath him still, hands planted firmly on the wall.

“I assure you, bella ragazza (pretty girl), there is no choice. It is me or them.”

Slowly, he raised his head from where he’d stared at the floorboards between your feet. His eyes watched you closely as he tilted his head back a little, and his lips parted until you could clearly see two very white, very sharp fangs protruding from under his top lip.

For a moment you didn’t react at all, calculating what you were seeing. His hands hadn’t moved, so he hadn’t put them in himself. You’d seen him so many times, and up close too, and never saw them before… They had to be real. He had fangs.

“That’s impossible…” you whispered, “there’s no such thing as-“

“Vampires?” he finished your sentence for you, “I’m sorry to shatter your illusion of a perfect world, cara mio, but I can assure you, there certainly is.”

Finally, your survival instincts kicked in, adrenaline pumping through your veins almost in an instant. You shoved your hands against his chest and pushed with all the strength you had, trying to get him away from you, to preserve yourself. All this time you had felt like prey, and it had been instinct all along. You were prey.

Your shove did nothing. He remained unmoving, like stone encasing you against the wall. You thrashed your arms around, trying to escape him but it was completely useless. You were already trapped, and at the mercy of a real vampire.

“I’m sorry, cara mio, but you will not overcome my strength nor my speed. This is useless, I assure you.” His voice had no hint of patronising, instead of genuine sorrow. It felt as if he knew he had to kill you now, but he didn’t want to kill you. You gave up, your fists balling up against his chest as you lay your head back against the wall, out of breath and sobbing as you accepted your fate.

“Please… don’t kill me, Terzo…” you wept, head lolling forward to look into his eyes for what you thought might be the last time.

His brow was creased, his lips parted in horror as he looked back at you. He raised his gloved hand and wiped at the tracks on your cheek. “I don’t wish to kill you, cara mio… You understand, no? I must kill to stay alive, but not you – never you.”

You barely registered what he was saying before you were shooting questions at him again, needing to know more, to understand why he chose those people. Why he kept their trophies…

“Why them? Why did you choose them? They were innocent, just like me. Why did they deserve that?” you sobbed, your chest heaving as he held your cheek, still caging you against the wall.

“The girl they found? What the polizia (police) don’t know is she was behind the wheel of an intentional hit and run a few years ago. The store clerk a few weeks back? You do not want to see what was on his hard drive. All of them, vile humans. There is more evil in this world than you could possibly fathom, tesoro. They even tasted different…” he shrivelled his face in disgust, “but it keeps me alive, and my conscience semi-clear.”

The shock of his revelation did nothing to help your racing heart or foggy mind, processing everything far slower than you would like in this tumultuous situation.

“Suppose that was true, why do you keep their things?” you prodded further – there must be some part of him that enjoys it. Even if only the fact he were proud of removing scum from the earth, if that were true.

“Because I carry their souls with me… No matter how evil, they are people, and I take their life. Each one is a burden, and I must never forget that.”

There was genuine sorrow, genuine regret there. You could see it. But it changed nothing, he was still a murderer, a monster. And you were still trapped underneath him, literally backed up against a wall and inches away from deadly threat.

“But… it’s sick, Terzo! They’re kept like trophies, like you’re proud of what you do to them!” you protested. He hollowed his cheeks in annoyance, becoming more defensive as you accused him.

The hand that wiped your tears lowered to your neck, his fingertips tracing along the chain of the necklace you had yet to take off, until it reached the unusual pendant, where he played with it against your collarbone.

“And yet, you still wear it. You had time to take it off, if you were so disgusted by it. But here it is, looking so pretty around your… beautiful neck,” he sighed, his eyes roaming hungrily over the exposed skin he so clearly wanted to puncture and drink from. The fear in you started to rise again, your pulse that had just started to settle raising. More hot tears fell over your waterline as you took a deep, shaky breath.

“What… what do you want from me?” you pleaded, your voice trembling and squeaky. His eyes flickered up to yours, fingertips still playing with the pendant, grazing the skin so gently it left goosebumps. You would never admit to the thrill his touch seemed to be giving you, knowing what you know of him now.

But Terzo leaned in further, his hips meeting yours and pressing you further against the wall. The hand that had been keeping you caged against the wall all this time dropped to your waist, holding you just enough to send a wave of curious gratification through your abdomen. He was close enough that your noses would touch, should he tip his head down to you. You could feel his icy breath against your face again – a symptom of his state of undead, you now understood.

“I want you to love me, tesoro…” he confessed in a whisper, watching for your reaction.

“I only fear you,” you defied, unable to admit the curiosity his request sparked.

“Are they not the same?” His eyebrow arched up in question, waiting for your response. But honestly, you had none. You were dumbfounded, wondering what on earth he meant by that. Of course they weren’t the same, nothing about love and fear are the same. The attraction you had felt towards him in recent encounters was fleeting; a right place, right time kind of attraction. It had nothing to do with him, and now knowing what he was, it could never be him again.

Terzo understood your silence to be an internal monologue, a debate in your own mind. He pressed further, illustrating his point.

“Let me ask you, tesoro, does the thought of me make your hairs stand on end?” his fingertips grazed along the length of your collarbone, the grip on your waist squeezing slightly, “Does it make your stomach fill with the flutter of butterfly wings? Does it make your heart beat like the thrum of a hummingbird’s wings?”

You couldn’t deny it, but those were markers of fear as well as love. It didn’t mean they were synonymous. You refused to answer him.

“I can hear it, you know…” his hand flattened against your collarbone, “The pounding in your chest, the rushing of your blood through your veins. I hear them, working so hard when you are near me.”

Terzo leaned into your neck, his nose brushing against your jugular so tenderly as he breathed in deeply, enjoying your scent to the point of near intoxication. Little did you know, it was that scent that drew him out of hiding in the first place. He simply couldn’t stay away from you, and when he saw where the scent was coming from, saw your sheer beauty, he understood why you smelled as tempting as you did.

“Fear smells just like love to me, tesoro. It adds a sweetness to your already saccharine scent. Just like nectar appeals to a honey bee, you appeal to me much the same,” he continued to nuzzle his nose against your skin, his breath fanning over your collarbone. Every so often in his clumsy, inebriated state his lips would gently tickle the skin, sending a rush through you that now you were certain he could smell. “That nectar can be turned into honey, no? I wonder if I could do the same for you…”

You bit your lip, looking up towards the ceiling in an attempt to avoid his eyes that frankly were too hypnotic for their own good.

“They are all markers of fear, Terzo…” you whimpered. You felt his breath as he chuckled against your skin.

“Then tell me why I can smell the sweetest honey already pooling between your legs, cara mio…”

Your head snapped down to look at him, and you met his eyes already waiting for you, a smirk on his lips. You wanted to deny it, to slap him, to push him away from you but what was the point? He was right. There was no denying it. He could smell you.

The shame you felt, letting a monster like him have such an effect on you, was astronomical.

“Please…”  you pleaded; for what, you weren’t sure.

“What is it, cara mio? What can I give you?” he asked, straightening up and again cupping your cheek with his gloved hand, still holding your waist, still pressing his hips to yours. His lips were so close, all you could do was stare at them until you snapped yourself out of it, looking him directly in the eyes.

“Everything.”

It took no longer than a heartbeat for Terzo to process your answer, before his lips attached to yours so fast and hard you felt his fangs scrape against your bottom lip. A thrill zapped your core, and your balled up fists against his chest gripped the lapels of his coat to bring him impossibly close. You succumbed so quickly to him, desperate to feel his lips against yours.

While you were sure this feeling was not love, it was certainly not fear either. ‘Infatuation’ felt closer to the truth, borderline obsession just as Terzo had exhibited towards you. But denying it was futile now, and so instead, you leaned into it. The pair of you desperately held onto each other, kissing as if this was the only way you could get oxygen, and you’d been suffocating without each other.

Terzo started to move, trailing his passion down to your jawline, underneath your ear and down to your neck. Your heartrate quickened again, knowing that his mouth near your neck could go only one of two ways. Both options seemed to excite you in equal measures…

“W-will it hurt…?” you asked him, as you felt his fangs graze against your skin lightly, like he was holding himself back.

“Just for a second…” he panted like a dog laying out in the sun. And he wasn’t wrong, the pain would be momentary, his fangs emitting a small amount of venom that acts as an anaesthetic. That wasn’t the problem, and it wasn’t what stopped him in his tracks. “But I can’t…”

You cupped his cheeks, lifting his head to look him in the eye again. “What’s wrong?”

He looked as if he were in pain, his face screwed up in utter agony. He kept shaking his head, like he didn’t want to say it, like he was hiding a secret that would break him just to say aloud.

“If… If I do this, I might not be able to stop,” he whined, “and even if I do, how could I ever let you go after tasting you?”

You searched his eyes, saw the pain and the uncertainty in them. He truly didn’t want to hurt you, and right now he looked more vulnerable than you would think a creature of the night was capable of being.

“When you moved in I couldn’t leave you, I couldn’t stay away… And that was merely your smell, Tesoro. I’m afraid if I taste you, I could never leave you alone again.”

His admission floored you, and as much as the idea of giving yourself over to him willingly seemed to appeal to you, the rational part of your brain was still working enough to understand that that was a line that should not be crossed just yet.

“It’s okay… It’s okay,” you told him sincerely, comforting his distress before bringing his lips back to yours and resuming your heated exchange. Perhaps someday you would allow him that taste, a way of committing deeper than you could possibly comprehend at this stage. But there was a reason for the phrase “blood pact”, and it didn’t originate with the exchange of open wounds between two mortals.

As enthralled as he was in your lips, feeling your pulse beneath them tempting him, Terzo had to push the thought to the back of his mind. He couldn’t lose himself to the temptation so soon. He’d frighten you away if you saw him so feral, and he couldn’t let you disappear like everyone else in his life – not the only woman to ever have smelled so divine to him. Only he knew what that meant, that pull…  You were it for him. His obsession was unavoidable, you were his promised love.

It happened instantaneously for his kind, but for you? It would take time for you to see it, to feel what he felt. Human sense of smell was nowhere near as powerful, and so you could never know just by his scent that he was the one for you, the soul on the other end of the red string tied around your wrist.

To rid his mind of the temptation, he focussed on the moment at hand. His intense grip on your waste drifted over your hips and to the backs of your thighs until he was lifting them, using his hips to ground you against the wall so you wouldn’t fall. It was as if you were weightless to him, his inhuman strength making such light work of carrying you further down the hall and into your bedroom – his bedroom – until you both fell onto the bed.

No part of you thought for even a millisecond of stopping him, an intense need for him screaming from within you. You pushed his coat from his shoulders, diverting to his shirt buttons as soon as he began pulling at his sleeves to rid himself of the heavy wool. In no time at all, his chest was bare to you, peppered with dark hair that you’d expect from a man of Italian descent. You pulled him closer to you, reattaching your lips desperately.

His gloves disappeared as you kissed him, and you couldn’t help but flinch at the touch of his cold skin on yours, his hands sliding up under the hem of your shirt to hold you. He paused for a moment, searching your face for any sign his touch wasn’t welcome.

“Just cold…” you assured him, running your fingers through the dark locks of hair that had fallen over his face as he hovered above you.

“I, eh… sí, mi scusi, I am cold to the touch…” he apologised, a wave of insecurity flashing through his expression.

“I don’t mind,” you smiled sweetly, pulling him down with your hand woven into his hair and kissing his insecurity away. He regained his confidence, grip returning to your bare waist under your shirt and tightening with gratitude at your reassurance.

The way he kissed you was like worship, like he valued every second you allowed him to touch you, to be with you – and as he slowly began to undress you, his worship continued. He started with your shirt, pushing it up your abdomen and peppering the skin with more kisses as he exposed it. Over the curve of your breast peaking from above the cup of your bra, you felt the low rumble of a groan against your chest that was suppressed as he buried his face into your flesh. He was so gentle, so calculated in his motions and it was driving you crazy already.

Once your shirt was finally above your head and discarded somewhere to the side, he pulled the straps of your bra down, kissing along your shoulders and down your arms until he reached behind you to unclasp it. Your breasts bounced before him, and he immediately began to leave open mouthed kisses over them, laving his tongue over your nipples as they stood to attention under the chill of his lips. His free hand worked at your other breast, kneading like he was making the finest ricciarelli biscuit dough.

You couldn’t help the soft whines and hums that left your body as he worshipped you, hips rolling under him in a desperate attempt to feel something more. You wanted him so badly, already overcome with desire.

His hand came to rest on your hip, squeezing and he continued to suckle at your breast. His fingers dipped easily into the waistband of your paint-smeared sweats – one of several pairs you alternated when working on the house renovations. Before long, he was dragging them down your thighs, his cold knuckles grazing at the skin and sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine.

Terzo was taking his time without wasting any. He knew what he wanted, what you wanted, but he spent just enough time working your body, lavishing it to build anticipation. But before long, his kisses began to travel south, leaving a path of wet little marks down between the valley of your breasts and your navel until he was tracing the hem of your underwear, daring to run his finger along the sensitive skin.

It took a formidable amount of strength and restraint to keep your hips as still as you did, and even then, you were wriggling under his touch. But when he could tell you were growing restless, he wrapped his arm underneath your thigh and lifted it above his shoulder. Naturally, you spread wider for him, giving him complete access to your covered core where he could see so clearly the stain of arousal.

He was so close to you, the scent of your sweet honey so intoxicating. You could never understand how divine that scent was with your own human senses, but to him? It cemented itself in his memory. He knew that after today, he would never forget it. He didn’t want to rush, but frankly, it was getting impossible to resist a taste.

He lifted the hem of your panties and pierced the material beneath it with his fangs, easily tearing it away from your body before he pressed his nose to your mound, and took in a deep inhale. He growled between your legs, the vibration and exhale teasing your nerves until you were clenching around nothing.

He could wait no longer, his tongue reaching out to lap between your folds in one slow motion. He savoured the taste on his tongue, making sure to collect as much honey as he could for a truly overwhelming taste. You watched as his hips rocked into the bed below him, his hands tightening on your thighs. His tongue felt cold too, but the pressure was so welcome, a wave of euphoria passing through your core.

Expertly, Terzo used his whole mouth to bring you the pleasure he thought you deserved and yet, not once did you worry about the sharp fangs he’d used to strip you. He had the ability to retract them should he need to, and for this particularly delicate activity, he did just that. But his lips and tongue worked together to have you moaning at every lap, hips rolling underneath him.

Your hands found their way to his hair for purchase, tugging at the roots every time he sent a surge of pleasure through your clit. He loved it, moaning with you as if he too was close to an orgasm. Both of you had lost yourselves to the moment, completely enthralled in lust.

Terzo was becoming more and more desperate to have you finish on his tongue. Each pretty little sound he caused only made him want to hear more, and as you grew closer and closer to orgasm, you sweetened with added hormones that drove him wild. He unwrapped a hand from around your thigh and easily slid two fingers inside, not bothering nor needing to tease with how your body already gave itself over to him. He curled his fingers inside you, a shock of pleasure forcing your back to arch from the mattress as he found the perfect position.

His pace increased with every moan he elicited, the tension in your lower abdomen growing until you were on the verge of snapping.

“T-Terzo… Please,” you begged him. He chuckled darkly as he buried his face deeper within you, his nose adding to the equation and making your hips writhe until finally, that tension inside you snapped.

He didn’t stop, holding you down with inhuman strength as you erupted in cries of bliss. Your muscles contracted, thighs trapping his head in place and fingers pulling painfully at his hair.

Terzo slurped at your core, not letting a single drop of arousal go to waste. You tasted different as you came, the rush of hormones adding something so damn addictive that it wasn’t until you physically tried pushing his head away in oversensitivity that he snapped out of his trance, his head jolting up to look at you with his mouth and skin shimmering. He looked completely feral, his eyes wide, and you watched as his fangs returned with a snarl of a hungry animal locking onto its kill.

Your heart jumped in your chest; out of fear or lust you couldn’t be sure. But he heard it, the irregular thump as you lay vulnerable and weak beneath him. It only served to make his erection twitch in his slacks… Fear was a powerful feeling, and mixed with lust it was one of the most erotic combinations.

He crawled his way back up your body, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before diving into a punishing kiss that knocked any remaining wind out of you. You could feel his length pressing into your hip, and while you were certainly already struggling with exertion you wanted nothing more than to know how he’d feel inside you.

So you reached between you both for his belt, fiddling with the buckle as you kissed him. Taking the hint, he kicked his shoes off over the edge of the bed, and when you’d managed to undo his belt and slacks, he helped to kick them with his underwear passed his knees to follow suit. With him bared to you and pressing into your hip once again, you could feel just how endowed he was, and just how ready for you he was.

“You are so beautiful, cara mio…” he mused between kisses, his cold fingertips trailing down your neck and arm, then back up. “And you can’t ever understand how exquisite you taste.”

“To an extent, I can…” you teased with a flirty smile, “I can taste myself on your tongue.”

He stared down at you for a moment, until realisation finally settled and his lips curled into a devilish grin.

“Tu sei una tentatrice, amore mio… (you are a temptress, my love…)” he whispered, lowering himself to your lips once again.

As you both lost yourself in another steamy kiss, you couldn’t help rolling your hips up to meet his. He hummed into your mouth, understanding that you wanted him completely, and reached between the two of you to grip himself. You spread your legs a little wider to make it easier for him, feeling how he prodded at your entrance once he’d lined himself up.

“Are you sure, amore?” he stopped to ask, and you nodded, biting your lip to contain the smile as you cupped his cheeks. With your permission, he slowly pushed forwards, filling you slowly as he glided through your slick. You fought to keep your eyes open, if only to watch the look of bliss that overcame his face – and boy was it worth it.

He looked so ethereal, like his pale skin had been carved by the finest of Greek sculptors in marble burdened with the curse of perfection. The chill of his skin did nothing to quell the burning heat of yours, finding the perfect balance.

“You’re so… warm,” he moaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck while he enjoyed the feeling for a moment. “Sembra fottutamente incredibile. (feels fucking incredible.)”

Given a moment to compose himself, he began to slowly rock his hips back and forth, gritting his teeth from the sensation alone. You would be the first to admit that he, too, felt incredible inside you, reaching places his fingers had only moments ago and sending waves of a dull pleasure through you once again at the embers of your last orgasm were being stoked.

His hand gripped your thigh and lifted it around his waist, obtaining a better angle and something for him to grip onto to stop his mind spiralling into sheer madness. Already, you were so difficult to resist; temptation was calling to him in the form of your steady, yet thundering pulse where his face lay against your neck. But if he lost himself, lost control like he was so terrified to, he was afraid resistance would fail him.

It was like torture. How could he feel so incredible pumping his length inside you while simultaneously experiencing the physical strain of holding his thirst back. You were his, he’d decided that long ago. But to truly make you his, all he would need to do was to give in, to sink his fangs into the skin he was peppering with kisses. He felt like a recovering addict desperately trying to resist as someone waved a hit under his nose. In some ways, that was exactly what he was.

But not yet. It was too soon. He had to resist for now, to let you make up your mind without ancient ritual influences before he allowed himself to truly make you his. He couldn’t bind himself to you, only for you to walk away when it all became too much, or hell forbid, you found someone more human to settle down with.

Instead, he focussed on the pleasure filling his cock as he pistoned in and out of you. He focussed on your pretty moans, and the way you clenched around him. He focussed on kisses to your neck instead of bites, groaning against your skin as he indulged in you. But too easily he lost himself, and soon he couldn’t help but drag his tongue from the bottom of your neck, to right underneath your ear.

You loved how it felt, completely oblivious to just how close you were to becoming a meal to him. To you it was simply another thing to drive you wild, and when you once again wrapped your fingers in his hair, your other arm pushing down on his back to pull him against you, you had no clue you were making it so much harder for him.

He kept suckling, licking, even nipping so gently at your neck – so fucking close to what he truly wanted as his instincts began to take over. He fought them as hard as he could snarling at himself in warning but still, you were oblivious to his internal fight and mistook his anguish for noises of pleasure.

Truly, he hadn’t meant to let it get this far; but when the sharp tip of his fang grazed just a little too close to where your pulse thundered against his tongue, and you writhed under him with a targeted hit to your g-spot, he nicked your skin just enough to draw the tiniest spec of blood… He hadn’t even noticed, your scent already filling his nose that he didn’t sense it intensify just a fraction until it was too late, and he’d laved his tongue over the graze.

It all happened too fast, then.

You were mid-moan when you felt an excruciating pain where his tongue had just been, the noise catching in your throat with a sudden choke. Your fingers naturally tightened in his hair, and your nails dug into the cold flesh of his back as a scream travelled its way through your ribcage and you couldn’t help but let it out. Your back arched and your muscles constricted, but Terzo’s hips never stopped and now that he’d got a taste of you – a real taste – he growled a visceral growl that you felt rumble in the pit of your stomach.

If he thought you’d tasted good between your legs, this was the most intensely delicious thing he’d ever had the pleasure of tasting. Such pure, untainted blood coated his tongue, dribbling down your neck as he ravished it. He’d known this was dangerous, that one bite would bind him to you for eternity after the first whiff of your scent when you moved in. But now that he’d tasted you, he couldn’t for the life of him remember why he’d fought so hard to stave off.

“T-Terzo, you-“ you tried to stop him, remembering how pained he’d looked when he explained why he really couldn’t do this, but it truly was too late. All it took was one drop. He cut you off with a hand clamping over your jaw, his other holding your hip in place with bruising force.

His hips never stopped, every sensation he felt only pushing him to fuck into you harder like a rabid monster. In that moment, that was exactly what he was. In that first split-second, he frightened you. You saw the side of him he’d tried so hard to hide, and coupled with the pain in your neck, your body flooded with adrenaline – which of course, only added to the sublime taste of your blood.

But like he had promised, the venom acted fast. The pain ebbed away into nothing but a sensation of being prodded and sucked at. Still you held onto him tightly, unable to deny that this was possible one of the most intimate feelings you’d ever felt, and the pleasure started to stack up.

Even to a point, where the rush of blood through the two puncture wounds in your neck became a pleasurable experience. You’d have trouble explaining just how, but it felt unbelievable, like a massage that tickled and sent endorphins flooding your mind. Little did you know, that was also the venom coursing through your body. But it didn’t matter, because coupled with Terzo’s cock thrusting against your g-spot it was the most glorious feeling in the entire world.

As you barrelled closer to a second orgasm, Terzo ripped his fangs from your neck and looked down at you beneath him. He had a look in his eye that was so predatory that you knew immediately you belonged to him now, whether you liked it or not. As luck would have it, you did like it; very much. That obsessive look, that ownership turned you on to a point that had you squealing for him beneath his hand.

Quickly, you reached your peak for a second time, holding him so tightly you thought that maybe even you would draw blood with your nails in his back. Just as that second burst of pleasure coursed through you, Terzo reattached himself to your neck, drinking in the newly sweetened blood that a rush of hormones created for him. If you could imagine the most expensive, and decadent wine you had ever tasted, it wouldn’t hold a candle to the taste of your blood to him right now.

Suddenly he lurched back again, this time removing his hands from your body and holding himself up, only to dive in and sink his fangs into the swell of your breast as it bounced with the force of each of his trusts. Again, you were met with pain the flooded your body but mixed with the high of your orgasm, you could only scream in pleasure. He drank from you again, kneading at your other breast as he too hurtled towards an orgasm.

The pain subsided quickly thanks to another dose of his venom, but he continued to drink from you, prolonging your euphoria just long enough for him to finally and violently reach his own high.

He erupted inside you, his head throwing back as he growled and lost his rhythm, pounding sloppily into you with each twitch of his cock. In your post-orgasm haze, you witnessed the look of bliss on his face, seeing for the first time the distinct red that coated his lips and dripped from his fangs down to his chin. He looked manic, but holy shit it was intensely erotic.

With the small amount of strength left in you, you sat up just enough to push your lips to his. You don’t know why you did it, or even that you had until you could taste the metallic twang of iron on your tongue. Terzo collapsed into you, wrapping his arms around you as he rolled to the side, taking you along with him. With the mess he created of your core, he slipped from inside you, now simply intent on holding you close while he processed that you were kissing him, despite being tainted with your blood. But it grounded him, and slowly, his orgasm subsided and his mind cleared of its fog.

Your kiss came to a natural end, the pair of you exhausted, and without a word you lay yourself on his chest, not bothering to wipe away the smears of blood around your own mouth as you caught your breath.

“I’m so sorry…” he whimpered, pulling you tighter against him and obscuring your view of his face so you wouldn’t have to witness the shame that settled there. You didn’t have the energy to speak, instead hoping that the circling of your thumb over the cool skin of his chest was enough comfort for now to show him you didn’t mind, that you’d wanted that as much as he had.

You let some time pass, calming yourselves down in each other’s arms. His grip on you lessened as the minutes passed, and eventually, you were able to look up at his face. To your shock and heartbreak, you noticed his cheeks were wet with something other than blood – Terzo was crying.

“Hey…” you soothed, shuffling further up the bed to hover above him. He covered his face with his hand, hiding himself but you pulled it away, cupping his cheek and swiping at the tear tracks. “No, no no… Stop this, it’s okay.”

“Mi dispiace tantissimo, (I’m so sorry,)” he cried, “I hurt you. I did the one thing I should never have done…”

“Shhh,” you hushed him like a newborn who couldn’t sleep, “I wanted that, remember? I told you you could.”

“You don’t understand, I… I have bound myself to you, and now, when you leave… it will devastate me,” he sobbed, staring straight up at the canopy of the large bed, unable to look you in the eye.

“What makes you think I will leave?” you asked him gently, still gently swiping his fresh tears away whilst fighting your own.

“Amore mio, I have lost everybody I have ever cared about,” he told you, finally looking you in the eye. “I have either outlived them, or watched as they turned their back on me. And now I have selfishly bound myself to you, knowing that I cannot ever let you go.”

His admission broke your heart. You certainly had no intention of going anywhere, the bond you now shared with him feeling strangely cemented and more intimate than any you’d had with another. But in the end, time would come for you just as it had the rest of his family, lying under the earth of your own back garden.

“How does someone… become like you?” you asked tentatively, absentmindedly, playing with the chest hair the covered his pecks.

Terzo’s brow creased in confusion. “Why would you ask such a thing? I couldn’t condemn you to a life like this…” After all he’d been through; the killings, loss, isolation, and even the exile he’d faced decades ago when the townspeople discovered what he was… He couldn’t put you in a position like that. He didn’t want you to become part of the dark legend of the Emeritus house, another spooky story passed from generation to generation to tell around campfires for years to come.

“Just tell me, how?” you pressed. He sighed, laying his head back on the pillow and staring back up at the canopy.

“You would need to drink the blood of my kind,” he stated simply, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “I could not ask that of you. The process is not an easy one, and to become like me is to be condemned to a life of heartache.”

You thought for a moment, acknowledging his concerns but deciding that whilst that had been his experience, it didn’t need to be yours. Not with him beside you – neither of you would need to be lonely ever again.

“I’m so sorry you’ve felt that heartache, but I believe that the two of us together could avoid that.”

He raised his head to look at you again, examining your face for a moment while he contemplated what some kind of future might look like with you.

“Perhaps not yet, I understand. But Terzo, I will prove that I intend on going nowhere. And when you feel like you might be ready to trust that, I’ll be waiting,” you promised him, cupping his jaw and stroking your thumb gently over his cheek. “Until then, I can be your very own personal supply, hm?” you smiled, “You won’t need to take a life, so long as you have me little and often, right?”

“You… would do that? For me?” his eyebrows creased together in question, truly in disbelief you would offer him such a thing.

“Mhm,” you nodded, “I mean as long as every time feels as incredible as that,” you giggled. “And besides, you’ll get a decent meal at least once a month,” you joked, lightening the mood a little with a cheeky smirk.

Terzo rolled his eyes with a laugh that vibrated his chest beneath you. He shook his head at the absurdity of your offer, no matter how technically practical that sort of arrangement would actually be to a man of his kind.

“Oh, amore… sei davvero una tentatrice (you really are a temptress)…” he grinned, leaning up to capture your lips in a sweet, blood-stained kiss.

A/N: Huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles for beta reading! If you'd like to leave me a tip, you can do so here.

If you'd like to read any of my other works, you can find them here.

[her-satanic-wiles]

October 4th

Rimming, Rain x GN!Reader

Masterlist

Words: 871

Warnings: Rimming; established relationship; fellatio; anal fingering; spit as lube; GN!Reader; semi-public; cum eating; cumswap (terrorising @da-rulah with this lmao);

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage

Author's Note: Hello again, everyone! I just want to pop in again and say that I'm still very much overwhelmed by all the support over the last few days! It genuinely means a lot that so many of you are reading my fics, let alone liking and reblogging them! I love hearing all the kind words you have, and can't wait for you to see what the coming days have in store! I want to apologise for how short this one is... turns out the ghouls were much more difficult to write for than I orginially anticipated.

Want to give a major shout out and thank you to @da-rulah for beta reading all of these, and even helping me on some days when I wasn't feeling the writing vibes!

Without further ado, let the debauchery commence!

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Rain was looking and smelling particularly delicious today, either that or you were just exceptionally horny. You couldn’t tell if there was much distinction, though. He was busy with band practice all day, Papa IV feeling particularly anxious about the upcoming tour which meant he was being harsh to the Ghouls and frustrated at each of their little mistakes. Though Rain made the least amount, he was definitely the most effected by Papa’s stress. It made you want to wrap him in bubble wrap but his intense concentration was too much for you to bear.

During their lunch break, when you knew Rain had finished, you waited for him behind the nearest unlocked broom cupboard and ambushed him when he was alone, dragging him into the tiny room and slamming the door shut behind you. At first, he was frightened, but when he saw it was you he was just confused. Any noises of protest, however, were silenced by your lips capturing his in a messy kiss.

“What has gotten into you?” He murmured in between kisses.

“Hopefully you in a minute.” You teased. “But let me get my fill of you, first.”

He groaned when your lips moved to his neck and your hand cupped his growing bulge. “I don’t have m-much time.”

“I’ll be quick, is this okay?”

“Fast, please!”

Immediately, you dropped to your knees and pulled at the button tying his jeans closed. You made short work of freeing his almost hard cock from its confines and immediately got to work, pulling it into your mouth and sucking on it. Your head bobbed up and down as you made sure to take all of him in your mouth and down your throat as much as possible.

“Oh, fuck!” Rain exclaimed, his hands flying to your hair. When you looked up at him through your lashes, you saw that his head was thrown back and his mask was partially off, lifted by the shelving unit Rain was pushed up against.

Your hands moved up to his waistband and pulled his trousers and pants down to have better access to the rest of his body. Rain felt this and panicked a little, but you’d removed him from your mouth with a pop and replaced it with your finger, getting it wet with spit and readying it to go where you wanted it to. Once again, you took Rain into your mouth, but this time you allowed your wet finger to run over his taint and up to his rim, rubbing at the entrance before sticking a finger inside.

“Holy shit!” His voice came out as mere more than a gasp, followed by an incredibly loud whimper. Rain wasn’t much of a talker when you pleasured him, but he was exceptionally noisy. So many gasps and moans falling from his lips. And when you pushed your finger inside him, he bit his lip and released a small scream.

Soon, his hips started bucking as he began chasing his high - your finger in his hole providing him with more pleasure than he could handle. But this wasn’t how you wanted him to cum.

You removed yourself from his nicely-lubed cock and pulled your finger out of his hole, making him whine at the loss. Then, you placed your hands on his hips and turned him around so his ass was now in your face. Then, with no warning, you dove in.

Your tongue licked from his taint all the way up to his rim and you chuckled when he jumped slightly at the feel of you. When your tongue had reached his hole, you began to lick over the nerves and alternate between licking and pushing your tongue inside. You noticed somewhere between all of this, Rain’s right hand was moving in a rhythmic pattern, and when you pulled away, you saw it was wrapped around his cock stroking himself. “No!” He started. “Please don’t stop. I’m s-so close. Sathanas, please more!”

You giggled and dove back in, gripping onto his thighs for support. Your own centre was very much alive with arousal, and you were desperate to touch yourself to his little whimpers. But his pleasure was your priority at the moment.

“I’m so close! Please! I’m gonna cum!”

You began to lick his hole faster, trying to match the pace of his hand’s movements. And sure enough, Rain came hard, his left hand gripping on tightly to the shelves and his cum spilling out onto them.

His pants and groans began to die down as as he remained stood in place, recovering from his orgasm. Though, he turned slightly and saw you crawling towards the shelves. He watched your finger run through the puddle of cum and lick it clean. “Fucking hell!” He said at the sight of you.

He bent down and gave you a deep kiss, tasting himself on your tongue and feeling his own cum get passed from you to him, both of you swallowing it down when you pulled away. “Your turn.” He told you.

You shook your head and stood up, helping him pull his jeans and pants back up. “You don’t have time.” You kissed him again. “Later, okay?”

Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

[copias-sewer-rat]

How can I explain with words how I feel rn?

I feel absolutely and utterly happy to share a community with so many talented people. The emotions they pull out of me are so raw and amazing that I can only feel pride and joy for being able to see, read and appreciate everything that they have to offer.

I need to make a recommendation post soon (very soon). But before that I would like to mention @da-rulah and @her-satanic-wiles for their wonderful work this month of October. I am so happy, really. You both have helped me so much with your writing this month that I needed a post for only the both of you.

Thank you also to everyone who takes their time to create and share their ideas, art, scenarios, drabbles, aus, whatever. It isn't always easy (hell, I always struggle myself with feelings of inadequacy and such) but be sure that you are appreciated, all of you, thank you for making this community so great and wholesome.

[lilmiss-purity-xoxo]

ᏊˊꈊˋᏊ˚ ༘♡ ·˚꒰ᥕᥱᥣᥴ᥆꧑ᥱ t᥆ ꧑ᥡ bᥣ᥆g꒱ ₊˚ˑ༄

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆ ┊ ┊ ┊ ⋆ ┊ ┊ ★⋆ ┊ ◦ ★⋆ ┊ . ˚. 𝒮𝓌ℯℯ𝓉 𝒹𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓂𝓈 ˚★. ᘏ ⑅ ᘏ   ഒ    zᶻ ꒰˶  - ˕ -꒱ ⌒)ᦱ

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Ꮚ´ꈊ｀Ꮚ Hewwo!! Ꮚ・ꈊ・Ꮚ

☪︎ You can refer to me as Purity! 💙 ☪︎ Feb.3.2005. -Bday (19 rn)

☪︎ Female ☪︎ Digital Artist

☪︎ Gamer ☪︎ #Maggot4Life / #Ghoulette4Life ☪︎ Pfp Made by me <3

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

☪︎ My main interest in digital art is creating oc's and fan art of my interest!

☪︎ I like to create and write my own stories or Alternative universes for random a from time to time.

☪︎ I love music, and although I listened to a little bit of everything in order of .y favorite artist/bands they are; Ghost,Slipknot,Pitbull,ICP,Weeknd,Post Malone,Seether

☪︎ I'm mainly in the fandoms; Ghost,Slipknot,Sopranos,Slashers/Horror,DBD,Twisted Metal,COD

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

ᏊˊꈊˋᏊ˚ ༘♡ ·˚꒰About ꧑ᥡ bᥣ᥆g꒱ ₊˚ˑ༄

☪︎ This blog will mainly be about the band Ghost, my self inserts, ocs, and my own stories. Might splash in now and then anything in between about my interest.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

ᏊˊꈊˋᏊ˚ ༘♡ ·˚꒰Status on ꧑ᥡ bᥣ᥆g꒱ ₊˚ˑ༄

☪︎ Ask; Open

☪︎ AT; Open

☪︎ DT; Open - Hesitant

☪︎ Drawing Request; Open

☪︎ Drawing Request Rules and To Knows;

Fandoms I do: Ghost , Slipknot , Slashers , Sopranos

Subjects I will NEVER do: Furries, Zoophiles, Pro shipping, Anime

Oc Interaction: Will do but be specific on which oc of mine you want interacting with which character or your oc. (If its your oc and not a fandom character, provide reference.)

Oc Pieces: Hesitant on drawing others oc's , if I find your character interesting enough and your request isn't too complex might do!

Do not rush or get upset if I do not do your request, I have every right to reject your request, and I am doing this on my free time. I will likely not do big pieces or HQ works as I would save that for AT/DT.

Suggestive and full blown NSFW content I might not likely do, especially of you request your own oc, I WILL NOT do anything mature with another person's oc.

☪︎ Reference Sheets:

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

☪︎ DNI: Pro shippers, MAP, Owner of a blog with triggering themes, Anyone below 17. [My blog is more likely to be mature, there will be proper warnings and censorship for post when need to be] , Fetishize irl murderers

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

ᏊˊꈊˋᏊ˚ ༘♡ ·˚꒰꧑ᥡ m᥆᥆tS꒱ ₊˚ˑ༄

@call-me-mephistophelees , @spooky-creamo-for-primo , @elio-ghoul , @miriena , @copiasslut , @bulletproofthroat , @da-rulah , @checkerboardhorns , @rightintheghoulies

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

[portaltothevoid]

you're losing me part iii -- copia x reader

A/N: alright, this has officially turned into a mini-series (yes there'll be at least a part four!). dedicating this to @ivycasket @fishwithtitz @da-rulah and @water-ghoulette for your kind words and excitement over this little story of mine. it encouraged me to just keep writing, so please enjoy part iii!

songs: you're losing me and would've, could've, should've

word count: 2.8k

warnings: another breakdown, gossip, bullying if you squint?, a fleeting moment of spice

The days after you left Papa Emeritus III made you feel as if you walked through a forest of thorns then waded into the ocean. You couldn’t hide away and wait to be forgotten. There was no forgetting you. You were the one who had gotten the illustrious Terzo to commit to one person, something that shocked the whole Ministry given his reputation. It was only a matter of time before the nature of your separation became murmurs of “told you so” and “should’ve seen that coming.”

Your relationship had advanced your sisterly duties, which you were still expected to fulfill. Burying your eyes into texts of Latin and Italian served to be a good enough distraction for the most part. Your job allowed you to be secluded. The few who you did interact with were respectful enough, but no one could take their eyes off the elephant in the room. When they did, their looks of pity sparked scorned chagrin. 

The first week after was the hardest. Truthfully, you could have been a contender for an Oscar with how you presented yourself. By the middle of the week, it was common knowledge that you weren’t at Papa’s side like you once had been. No one knew exactly what had happened, but they all knew something had changed. You held your high as you saw Brothers, Sisters, and Ghouls alike turn to each other and whisper or stop mid sentence to stare at you. Those that had the decency to treat you normally, you acted as if nothing was wrong, as if your former life with their Papa had never existed. 

Copia kept an eye on you from a distance. He was always watching out for you, ready to put everything on the line if someone took something one step too far. Both of you knew you had to keep your alliance, your relationship, a secret still. It would only create more of a scandal and you were already pushing your limit with just how much you could handle. On the rare occasion where another Cardinal would catch on, when questioned, he simply dismissed it as being entertained by this week’s gossip. If they suspected it was something more, they never let on. 

Luckily you had managed to avoid seeing Terzo throughout the week, the perks of his schedule still being lodged in your memory.  If only your luck had run out earlier. It would have saved you the near panic attack that the first Black Mass had brought you. That was the number one rule: Black Mass was mandatory. Very few exceptions were accepted for missing it. Wanting to avoid your ex? Absolutely not on the list of valid excuses. 

Your compromise was being fashionably late, arriving only moments before it started. This allowed for you to slip in and find an open seat on the end of the last pew. The Sister next to you shifted awkwardly, not knowing what to do with herself in your presence. You pretended you didn’t notice, but you did. You always did. 

Foolishly, you hoped your late entrance and being hidden in the back would shield you from his gaze. Focused on the prayer book in front of you, you didn’t even need to look up to know when his eyes landed on you. Against your own judgement, you looked up. You caught his eye just long enough to see his painted eyebrows pull together. A flash of pain, maybe even regret. But as he began the next verse, he looked away from you and carried on with Mass. If you ever looked away from the book in front of you, you found Copia. His eyes always found yours, but his expression stayed unreadable.

To everyone around you, you looked stoic and devoid of any real expression on your face. As the time for communion neared, your insides felt like they were in a blender. You balled your fists at your sides so tightly, your knuckles were white. Seeing the mischief dance in his eyes, you knew he was going to pull something. 

The closer you got to him, the more your skin crawled. Whatever he was planning, you were hellbent on getting the last word, the last laugh. Your life was a living-hell because of him. Right there, right then you vowed to make his just as miserable.

You could feel every eye on you the moment you kneeled in front of him. Everyone waited with baited breath as they waited on the edge of their seats for whatever was about to unfold. Will they? Won’t they? Civil? Uncivil?

He pressed the wafer roughly into your tongue, slowly dragging his finger away so it hit your bottom lip. Your apathetic expression vanished. Your eyes grew wide before a catastrophic storm blew over your face. He knew you well enough to know what you hated to be the center of attention, for every single person in the room to be solely focused on you. But you left him. You left him for someone else. He hadn’t heard a word from you or even caught a glimpse of you since you left and he tried. He desperately tried. 

The tension was radiating off the two of you in palpable waves. For you, this was a whole new level of fury. Depending on whatever he would do next, you prayed to Satan for forgiveness for however you would react, especially when you saw the smirk on his face deepen as he grabbed the chalice of wine from an alter Ghoul. Your breathing became hard and shallow as your rage continued to erupt.  

“Hmm,” he hummed seductively as he poured the wine into your mouth. “How I’ve missed seeing you like this, sorella…” He spoke loud enough that the handful of people who overheard let out an audible gasp. You were never a Sorella to him. His sarcastic tone poured into your open wounds like salt. This wasn’t a game anymore. This was war. 

You pursed your lips as you stood, not having swallowed the wine. In a fluid motion, you grabbed him by his papal robes, spitting the wine in his face. As the whole room gasped, they held their breaths. It was so quiet, you could’ve heard a hairpin drop. “Vaffanculo, bastardo,” you growled as you let him go with a shove. (Go fuck yourself, bastard.)

Everyone still lingering in the aisle parted as you stormed out, pushing open one set of the double doors so hard that it slammed behind you. It wasn’t until then that you let the tears cascade down your face.

Back inside, Primo had to cover his mouth to hide his laughter, Secondo let his head fall into his palm as he shook it in tired disapproval, Sister Imperator’s eye twitched, and Nihil held his oxygen mask to his face for several breaths. The whole congregation began to stir as Terzo walked off to the Cardinal’s table to get something to wipe the wine off his face. Copia stood so fast his chair almost fell over. When he turned to leave, “Ah, ah, ah, Cardinale,” Terzo tutted. “You were selected to lead the closing prayer tonight. Ricordi, sì?” (You remember, yes?) 

Slowly Copia turned to him. The fury in his eyes rivaled yours. He grabbed his prayer book and stiffly walked to the center podium. Terzo had gotten under his skin and he knew it too. He refused to wipe the conniving look from his face. Copia caught Sister Imperator’s eyes as he passed by. She looked away, but gave him a curt nod. She knew he was right. She knew what had to be done.

~~~

As soon as you slammed the door to Copia’s you sank down to your knees and let out a blood-curdling scream. You banged your fists into the floor, not caring about the pain. “Please, Satanas. Belial. Lucifer, please, please, forgive me. Please, forgive me. Ambo te ignosce me. Please. Please,” you sobbed over and over again in English and Latin. You were in a relationship with the current Papa, but you weren’t his spouse. In the technical eyes of the church, you really were just a Sister, even if you were high up in the ranks. What you did to him… during Black Mass of all times… You defiled Papa in front of the whole congregation. It was grounds for expulsion from the Abbey. It was grounds for excommunication. “Please forgive me…” you cried softly into the ground as your arms curled around your head.  

When you finally ran out of energy and were just laying on the floor catching your breath, you forced yourself to get up. Your limbs felt like they were weighed down with cement. Your voice you knew was hoarse. You could feell how puffy your eyes were and your sinuses felt like balloons.

You made your way over to the couch, grabbing the tissues that were still on the coffee table. On autopilot, you blew your nose a few times before you leaned back and stared at nothing. You sat there in the dark constantly replaying every single moment that made you want to cry and scream all over again. But you couldn’t. You simply couldn’t move. The only thing you could do was wait for Copia. You didn’t know if he would be more mad at you or Terzo for the spectacle. You didn’t know if he could do any damage control for you. So there you stayed, staring off into the void. Too numb to continue worrying. Too numb to care.

Copia burst through the door like a bat out of hell when he was finally able to return home. “Where are you?!” he demanded. 

You only winced at the sound. “In here…” was all you managed to croak. 

He went right for you, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” You avoided eye contact. He reached over and turned the lamp beside the couch on. You shut your eyes tightly as they adjusted to the light. He shook you again. “Look at me.”

You dragged your eyes to his face. Tears started to well up again when you saw the pained look on his face and the sheer panic in his eyes. For him to look that fearful… no, this couldn’t be good. You looked away from him again when tears started to fall. “What did he say to you?” he murmured, wiping your tears away.

“He said he missed seeing me like that,” you said through gritted teeth. Copia’s face darkened. It was worse than he thought. “And then he called me sorella. In front of everyone,” you added.

“But bambina,” he sighed, “you are just a sorella now. You aren’t together. He is still… our Papa.” He could barely say the last sentence.

“He is not my Papa! He will never be my Papa! Do you have any idea what this week has been like for me? Do you?” you yelled.

“No, I don’t because you’ve done nothing but shut me out!” he yelled back. Your face dropped when he raised his voice at you. You knew he was right. Old habits die hard. He took a deep breath to calm himself. When he looked back at you, his face had softened considerably. He brushed the hair out of your eyes. “You have to let me in, amore mio,” he whispered. “I can’t help you if I don’t know…”

“I-I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s all been too much,” you squeaked. “I-I don’t know how much more I can take.”

He reached to take your hands in his, but that wasn’t enough. You needed more than solace, more than comfort. You needed him. So you grabbed his pellegrina and pulled him to you. Your sudden show of force took him off balance. His arm shot out to grab the back of the couch to brace himself so he didn’t fall on top of you. He scrambled so that he was straddling you. His other hand grabbed the side of your neck. He used his thumb to caress your face. The weight of him on you was like being thrown a life vest as you were drowning.

“I’m working on… I’m trying to…” he sighed, unable to express what he wanted to tell you. “There are some things going on that not many know about, okay? The less you know… The less you know the better. It’s safer for you that way, hm?” 

You nodded. You trusted Copia. You trusted him more than you ever trusted anyone in your whole life. But so many worries and fears burdened your cluttered mind. “How can I even show my face again?” you whispered, barely audible.

“With your head held high, amore. You made it through this week, eh? You can make it through the next.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead, but you rolled your eyes.

“Unless they kick me out for what I did.”

“They wouldn’t dare. You have powerful allies, cara. You might get a, eh, slap on the wrist,” he chuckled lightly before he turned serious again. “We can go to war with him, but it is to be a silent war, hm? No more public displays of battle at mass.”

“He started it,” you pouted. 

“For what it’s worth, topolina, he deserved it,” he said with a smirk bordering on seeming prideful.

You couldn’t help but smile. “Are you… proud of me?” you asked slyly.

“No, no. I don’t condone those acts of… defiance, but… I’m not upset about it either…” he said, playfully which made you let out a small giggle. His heart swelled seeing you smile. He brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “I will always fight for you. Remember that, okay? Sempre. Ora sei mio.” (Always. You’re mine now.)

Your eyes darted from his eyes to his lips before you nodded. “Sì. Sono tua. Sono tua,” you said breathlessly as you stared deeply into his mismatched eyes. He leaned down to kiss you, softly at first, but the hunger you had for each other caused flames to erupt. His tongue caressed your bottom lip and you opened your mouth eagerly for him. Naturally, that was when there was a soft knock at the door.

“Cazzo,” he breathed. He went to get up, but you pulled him back, still having his pellegrina in your iron grip. You shook your head no with a pout. He didn’t need much convincing to return his lips to yours, but then there was another, louder knock. This time it was much more urgent. You sighed as you let go of him. 

You peaked around, able to see the small entryway from your spot on the couch. It was a ghoul, handing something over to Copia. “Grazie. Th-thank you,” he said to the ghoul before they turned and marched away. The door shut and he walked back over to you in a daze. “I-it’s for you…” he said as he handed you a black envelope. You turned it over to see the wax seal of Papa Emeritus III. 

Worriedly, your eyes flashed up at Copia. You opened it with trembling fingers. Before you could pull out the contents of the envelope, you shoved it into Copia’s chest. “I can’t,” you told him. He dutifully continued to open it, eyes scanning over the letter. When his brow furrowed, you couldn’t take the suspense anymore. “What? What is it?”

“It’s a summons. For tomorrow morning.”

part ii | part iv

[angellayercake]

I absolutely love Banchetto!!! I binged the hell out of it last night! It’s so juicy and 🌶️

I was wondering if you’re going to be updating it again?? (I hope this doesn’t come across like a demand or anything I’m just curious 😰)

This means so much to me!!! Thank you for coming to tell me how much you enjoyed it!

The simple answer to your question is a massive yes!! But I have no idea when and I will go into this under a read more because I am going to be waffling 🙃

So not a day goes by when I don't think about this story but that doesn't really help me actually write anything. Writing has been a bit of a struggle for a while now and I have really really slowed down due to a few life things that have been going on since November (nothing bad just been really busy and a bit stressed.)

And I have been struggling for a bit with how fandom treats Terzo that completely irrationally makes me want to be really protective of my particular interpretation. I made a post about this before that kinda backfired on me but it did help me find a few more people that appreciate him the way I do so it wasn't all bad.

In spite of all this I have been chipping away at the next chapter and then scrapped about 1000 words because I hated it 🙃 but a clean slate is sometimes a good thing. I do want to reassure you though that the whole fic is planned out. The remaining five chapters are planned, recipes picked and I hope it's going to be a satisfying ending. Only @ghostchems and @da-rulah know the ending and they have both reassured me about the direction I just have to write it now 😂

Anyway all this is to say I fully intend to finish it and I hope to have it done in the next year I just need to beg all your patience for a while longer. But messages like this, knowing there are some people that still care about my silly little story really really helps 💜💜

[writingjourney]

3 Random Facts About Me

Thank you for the tag @da-rulah ♡

I'm currently working on my PhD dissertation. I started in September and I'm sort of hating it lol. Academia on that level is just a bigoted and superficial hellscape but I told myself to at least try and make use of the chance I got to stay at uni, especially because I love working with students.

I've been writing fic since I was ~12. I used to write in pencil in a notepad for some friends to read and it was already self-insert fiction where I literally put our names into the story and just added characters from all sorts of fandoms we were into. Started with a Pokémon Diamond retelling, fully illustrated with drawings, and an Evil Dead inspired zombie apocalypse story where we met and fell in love with random characters that somehow landed in that world. I then started writing fic in English in 2016 when I made this blog. One of my first long fics in a fandom I won't name that I published on Wattpad has almost 500k views there and I regularly get death threats in the comments on one chapter because I "killed" off the main character lol.

I broke into our own house once because I locked myself out. I used a tilted window (we can do that here), an old string and an empty toilet roll from the trash to fully open the window and then crawled inside. Took me three tries.

tagging: @ghostchems @leezlelatch @copias-fluffy-asscheeks @copias-sewer-rat ♡