#papa emeritus x reader fluff

[ghost-in-the-hall]

Mistletoe Mini One Shots!

Primo: 

Primo, surprisingly, was all about kissing you under the mistletoe. He would always joke about how he was an old man now, his days of being rambunctious and partaking in such a childish activity we're far behind him. That being said, he never missed an opportunity to kiss you. He would grab you by the waist and pull you to him. "Belissima, I hope you know how much I cherish spending the holidays with you." He would always mutter something cute and meaningful to you. Yes, being his Prime Mover meant you had duties that needed to be filled, but to Primo you were so much more than that. You were this man's earth, moon, and stars and he would never let you forget that. You two would exchange hushed I love you's before Primo would capture your lips in a tender kiss, neither of you able to stop the smiles on your face.

Secundo: 

Secundo wasn't the most festive person but he was more than willing to participate in something silly if it meant making you happy. "My dove, you've kissed me a thousand times before, what about kissing under a plant makes you so giddy." He would chuckle at your excitement."

What? Do you not want to kiss me?" You would tease, grin growing as you held your hands behind your back and meandered closer to him

He clicks his tongue at you in response, "Tesoro, there is not a single second of the day that I wouldn't want to kiss you." He slides his hand gently across your cheek, thumb softly stroking your skin. "Is this what you want my dove? Would it make you happy for me to kiss you under the mistletoe?" The low, gravelly tone of his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

"Please..." Was the only word you could mumble out. He lets out a small laugh at your doe eyed expression.

"I love you tesoro." Despite Secundo's cold exterior there was an undeniable warmth in his eyes as he looked down at you.

"I love you Papa." You return his warm gaze, both of you leaning in to share a sweet kiss.

Terzo: 

You let out an excited shriek as Terzo grabs you by the waist and pulls you to him, peppering your face with kisses. Unlike his brothers he was very enthusiastic about the holiday season. "Cara mia, don't you just love this time of year?" It has become a yearly tradition for you and your husband to get bundled up and go look at the decorations around the Abbey. Unlike his brothers, Terzo was all about celebrating the holidays. He loved cuddling with you by a warm fire, baking Christmas cookies, and going ice skating. Terzo was something straight out of a postcard this time of year, you loved getting to spend the holidays with him. "Is that mistletoe I see?" He asks with a devious smirk. You giggle, holding his face tenderly in your hands.

"Mistletoe or not, just kiss me you idiot." He happily obliges your request, lips crashing into yours in the skilled yet clumsy kiss you had fallen in love with. He holds you by the waist, lifting you from the floor and spinning you around as he kissed me.

"Ti voglio bene cara mia." He holds your chin gently between his fingers, allowing your gazes to linger on each other.

"Ti amo di più Papa." He holds you close, lips catching yours for another kiss.

Copia: 

"Amore mio, could you come here for a second?" You rose from your position on the sofa, where you were currently reading a book, to answer Copia's call from your shared bedroom. "Do you remember where we put my Santa costume? I have some gifts to bring down to the children's wing and I'd like to dress up for the occasion." He turns to you with a big smile, one of Copia's favorite traditions for the holidays was to deliver gifts to the children of the Abbey. You join him in the cramped closet to help him look.

"We definitely had a box of Christmas stuff in here somewhere from that photoshoot." You kneel next to him, digging all the way to the back until you find a box labeled X-Mas. You lugged it to the front and tore it open, Copia retrieving the Santa suit from the top. What lay underneath the red sea of fabric is what caught your eye. A single sprig of mistletoe, the same one that you held over your head last year to get him to kiss you for the first time. You lifted the plant gingerly from the box, holding it high over your head and looking up at Copia with wide, innocent eyes. He was saying something about how happy he was to find the suit, pausing halfway through when his eyes landed on you. His hand caressed the side of your face, lifting your chin so your eyes could meet his.

"You never fail to take my breath away with how beautiful you are amore Mio." The compliment came out shaky and nervous, a straight you had grown to find rather adorable from your Papa. You smiled as Copia's lips found yours, your arms wrapping around each other in a tender embrace.

Sodo: 

You couldn't stop the laughter that left you as Sodo held up what he was hiding behind his back. A plastic frog with a nerf bullet tied to its back with red ribbon. Sodo looked confused, his eyes switching between you and the frog. "What? Swiss told me to kiss you under the missile toad!"

"Mistletoe babe, the plant." You take his face in your hands, peppering his cheeks with kisses. "You're adorable, you know that?" The Ghoul blushes at your compliment. He suddenly pulls you to him, lips crashing against yours in a clumsy kiss. The missile toad later became an ornament for your Christmas tree.

Aether: 

You and Aether had been together for a couple months, your relationship still relatively new. Throughout the entire time you've been dating Aether's always been pretty shy about PDA. When you got caught under the mistletoe with him as you walked the halls of the Abbey he became incredibly flustered. "Aether, you don't have to kiss me if you don't want to." You reassure him, his cheeks burning.

"It's not that I don't want to kiss you baby, it's just… are you sure it's okay for us to kiss in front of all of these people?" He asks you nervously. You take his hand in yours.

"I'm incredibly proud to say you're my boyfriend Aeth. I'm glad all these people will see us together, that way they'll know you're all mine." You nudge him playfully, the two of you sharing a smile.

"I guess one little kiss couldn't hurt." He holds you tightly by your waist, lips joining yours for a short, sweet kiss.

Swiss: 

If there was one thing Swiss loves this time of year, it was mistletoe. He almost always had a sprig of the plant somewhere on his person. He'd walk you back to your dorm, having you flustered and giggling the entire way. "It was really nice getting to see you today." He'd grin widely at you, bending at the waist to be eye level with you.

"Careful, you'll have me thinking you have a crush on me or something." You wink at him, a teasing grin playing at your lips.

"Maybe I do have a crush on you or something." He shoots back the same smirk. Retrieving the mistletoe from his back pocket and holding it between your faces. "Wow, would you look at that mistletoe, how did that get there?" He says in a monotone voice. 'Would it be okay if I kissed you?" You nod with a giggle, the two of you slowly leaning in closer to each other. Swiss' lips ghosted over yours, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. After a few mind numbing seconds of him being just out of reach he finally deepened the kiss, gently cupping your face with one of his hands. The two of you separated with a breathless fit of giggles, both of you blushing messes. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

Rain: 

Getting caught under the mistletoe with Rain would be an absolute accident. This accident however just happened to coincide with the fact that you had a huge crush on Rain and he had an even bigger crush on you. Neither of you were aware of the other's feelings. But both of you had been dying to know what it would feel like to kiss each other. "Oh, hey, would you look at that?" Rain would clear his throat awkwardly, running the back of his neck.

"Do you want to, um…" you trail off, not brave enough to outright ask him. Rain takes a deep breath, one arm finding its way around your waist as the other slides into your hair. He crushes his lips against yours, causing you to stumble back slightly but he had a firm hold on you. You melted into him, arms sliding up his torso to wrap around his neck. 

"That was nice." He mumbles after your kiss broke. Your face was on fire, so was his from the looks of it. "Would you… would you want to go on a date with me sometime?" He asks, finding a sudden boost of confidence. You nod, smile growing on your face.

Mountain:

Your nose was cold as you wandered the garden, side by side with Mountain. You were in the midst of getting the garden set up for the Abbey's annual Yule market. "He said there was a display of kissing balls that needs to be put up."

"Kissing balls?" Mountain questions, the term obviously foreign to him.

"They're balls of mistletoe, two people are supposed to kiss when they are underneath one together." He lets out a solitary hum as the two of you continued on. It didn't take either of you long to find the display that needed to be set up. Mountain helped you hang all the kissing balls once you got to the upper rung of the rack. As you handed him the final one he looked between you and the plant. He places one finger under your chin, tilting your eyes up to meet his. He held the kissing ball in between the two of you, a smile growing on your lips. Your first kiss with Mountain was sweet and gentle, a nice contrast to his huling appearance. "You know, if you wanted to kiss me you could've just asked."

[ghulehunknown]

Undressing Papa Backstage,

A Drabble - Dom Copia x GN Reader

Warning - adult themes ahead!

NSFW below!

Tags: blowjob, unprotected penetrative sex, dom Copia

Word Count: 1.3K

Just imagine undressing him after a show backstage. He’s sweaty and he’s just told the audience to go fuck themselves, and he has similar plans in mind. You watch as he takes the final bow. His brow is glistening with beads of sweat, and his hair is a little damp. There’s a hunger in his gaze, his bottom lip falling slightly open as the lights go out.

Performing has him especially riled up this evening. He’s already pitching a tent in his painfully tight jeans by the time he turns to go backstage. And he wasn’t kidding about that violent shower. You had always wondered what exactly he meant, and envisioned him painting the walls in his ecstasy and making a mess of himself only to wash it down the drain.

And where was the fun in that, imagining? And what was the fun in doing it solo the whole tour, Copia wondered as well. You got to know him pretty well, in the quick changes in between songs. Small chatter, but mostly silence as you focused on your task at hand. But all the touches, feeling his body as you put his robes on and took them off, carefully smoothing his hair each time… it built something inside of you. And you think it did for him too.

“Excellent job, Papa,” you remark as he runs backstage again for the final time of the night. He’s out of breath and chugs the water bottle you hand him as you start to take his red jacket off one arm at a time.

“Mm-!” he mumbles while drinking. “Grazie, dear.” He’s still trying to catch his breath but slowly it returns to normal. “You eh, catch my line?”

Oh yes, of course you had. Since the start of tour you began keeping a tally of all the different ways he would tell the audience about fucking each other or themselves, and how he intended to do the same…

“Of course, Papa, I think the audience liked it,” you say with a smile as you hang up the red jacket for dry cleaning later on.

“And…what about you?” he says with a small smirk, looking at you as he begins to unbutton his shirt.

You blush. “I…” you begin, stepping forward to help him with his buttons as he fumbles around.

“You…?”

“Please, Papa…you’ve put me in a rather…precarious situation. I - I have a job to do, and I can’t be distracted. Don’t make me choose between what I want to do and what I have to do.” You look up at him, his shirt collar in your grasp. But you don’t sound convincing. Nor do you want to.

“I know tesoro, but you don’t have to worry about any of that. I want you. I’ve wanted you since they assigned you to me.” He’s touching your elbow now, gingerly brushing your arm with his thumb. “All this touching and no fucking, I can’t stand it.”

“Papa, I -” you start to say but before you can get the words out, he shoves you off him while undoing his pants in a hurry but tugs at it hopelessly just like the buttons on his shirt.

He curses in Italian and slumps his shoulders a bit, looking at you pathetically, giving up. “That was supposed to be seductive,” he said, frowning.

You can barely contain a smile. “This is why you need your wardrobe assistant,” you say, unlacing his pants and unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way. Your fingertips brush his sternum, feeling the few coarse hairs sprinkled across his chest.

Your breath catches in your throat. You kneel down to start taking off his pants past his waist before you realize - of course, how could you forget? These jeans don’t leave much to the imagination, and he forgoes undergarments just to get them over his hips.

“Something the matter?” he asks, looking down at you and wondering why you paused.

You shake your head and continue, this time yanking the jeans halfway down his thighs in short tugs. The tight fabric combined with his sweat doesn’t allow much wiggle room.

Finally his erection springs forth, completely hard and in your face. Your hands trail up the back of his thighs, until you’re cupping his supple ass. You give his cheeks a squeeze, eliciting a little chuckle from him. You bring one hand to his front, grabbing his cock in your fist and tilting it upwards towards your mouth.

He sighs and grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your head back. Then he spits directly onto his shaft, saliva pooling around your hand. You work him up in your grasp, his spit giving you allowance to glide your fist around him smoothly.

You lean forward until your lips touch his flushed tip. You part your lips and kiss it gently before taking him in your mouth and sinking down on him fully, until his tip hits the back of your throat. You can smell his natural body odor mixed with his cologne at his base. He tastes salty from all the built up perspiration.

“Fuuuck,” he groans, clutching onto your hair harder. His eyes are closed as he rocks his body against your mouth, feeling every part of his cock enrobed.

You gag at first, but his thrusts don’t wait for you to catch your breath. He’s using you for his own pleasure, like his own little fuck doll.

Before he finishes, he pulls you off him roughly by the hair. You choke and sputter as he utters a gruff command.

You nod and obey him when he says, “I want you bent over the vanity.”

You quickly clear the scattered mess of things on the surface - his face paints, makeup brushes, tissues, setlists, water bottles - as he comes up behind you and yanks your trousers down your hips. He throws them to the side once your legs are free.

He pushes you flat against the vanity, your head turned to the side and your cheek laying down flat. He kicks your legs apart so they make a wide V shape. You hear him spit again, then again, this time in his hand. He reaches down to your core, massaging his saliva like it’s lube at your entrance.

You both moan in sync as he pushes into you, and you feel the initial stretch. Oh fuck! You had thought of this moment so many times while alone backstage with him, but truthfully never even knew how big his cock was until now. You had an idea, sizing the bulge in his pants. But he usually put his pants on by himself before shows, and took them off himself afterwards on his way to the shower, so you never saw this part of him. You wince as your walls contract around him to accommodate his size.

“Ah - fuuckk, s-so good -” he murmurs, thrusting in and out of you.

You lay there atop the table, feeling him pound into you over and over. You moan every time he brushes up against your little sweet spot deep inside you.

“You like that, mm? My little assistant,” he growls in your ear, and as you look up into the mirror you see him smirking and looking into your eyes. He spanks your ass, leaving a red handprint.

You yelp as he bends your left arm behind your back, keeping a firm grip there to steady himself as he continues drilling into you. Your body bounces on the table as you watch both your faces contort in passion in the mirror. The hairspray bottle and his cologne are dangerously close to falling off the table.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum -” he says breathlessly, pulling out of you quickly. You peer up into the mirror again and see him looking down and just when you wonder - warm, thick liquid splashes all over you, painting your backside as he coaxes out his seed.

You lay there in a daze as he pulls some tissues from the box next to you, cleaning himself off and aimlessly cleaning you off too, though it’s more of a smear.

Then he says, “Undress. Get in the shower. We’re just getting started.”

[library-ghoulette]

Headcanons: Copia (Papa Emeritus IV) x reader who loves to bake

SFW, gender-neutral reader

Some cutesy fluff that I haven't been able to get out of my head all week. Because we've seen him go to town on that whipped cream in RHRN, we know this man has a sweet tooth.

He finds out about your hobby when you bring baked goods to a staff meeting or a Ministry potluck. "Who brought these cookies?" "Er, I did?" "So good... Did you get them at that little bakery in town?" "Oh no, I made them!" "You made them??"

He would never outright ask you to bake for him, but he can't help bringing up those cookies every now and then. Just... wouldn't it be nice if there were something sweet at the budget meeting next week? People would probably like that?

You bring a batch, plus a little box with a few set aside especially for him. You pass it over to him in secret so that no one gets jealous, and he falls for you, hard.

He becomes your go-to person to test new recipes on.

Loves to hang out in the kitchen while you bake, chatting your ear off the whole time and stealing little tastes of batter and handfuls of chocolate chips.

Wants to help, but you always end up banishing him to a stool a safe distance away from whatever you're baking. It's not that he's a fuckup, but he gets nervous when he's outside of his comfort zone, and that's when you get chaos in the form of dropped eggs and tablespoons confused for teaspoons.

Asks questions about what you're doing and seems genuinely interested even if he doesn't really get the technical aspects.

Yes, of course he wants to lick the beaters. And the spatula. And the bowl. Yes, it does send your mind to filthy places every single time.

Prefers brownies and cookies just slightly underbaked and gooey, warm out of the oven. He's impatient and hates having to wait for anything to cool down.

He's definitely one of those people who make nigh-pornographic noises when they eat something delicious. Exclamations and expletives, moans, praise.

He has so much confidence in your abilities that it borders on delusion. This is a man who will see the most heinous challenge on GBBO, one that reduces the contestants to tears, and scoff, "Heh! You could do that, easy!"

He's careful not to take your baking for granted or make you feel unappreciated. He knows what it's like for people to constantly demand more and more, and he's not going to do that to you.

Realizing that sometimes you get a sugar craving when you don't feel up to making anything for yourself, he teaches himself a simple recipe for those occasions. Yes, it's just a chocolate mug cake made in the microwave, but he's so proud when he makes it for you. He always adds a generous dollop of whipped cream and some of whatever sprinkles he finds in your stash, usually Halloween ones.

If you find some expensive piece of equipment or fancy ingredient or novelty cake pan that you want but can't justify buying for yourself, he won't rest until you let him get it for you. Or, if you protest too much, it will just show up on your doorstep one day.

The first time you make a birthday cake for him--pulling out all the stops with luscious fillings, homemade buttercream, fancy piping tips--he tears up. Just stares at it for a moment in shock before blowing out the candles. Barely wants to cut it. Insists that you get good pictures of it before he does. It's one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for him, and it makes him feel so, so loved.

[writingjourney]

a message from the bulletin board | cardinal copia x gn!reader

summary: the ministry’s bulletin board, ordinarily used for missing items or party announcements, contains a particularly interesting request this week – a lonely hearts ad.

content: 9k words, gn!reader, slightly suggestive at times, first date/first kiss shenanigans, sad lonely awkward cardinal fluff, you know the drill

Masterlist – Ao3 link

You ignore the knot of people in front of the bulletin board.

As much as the whispers and giggles garner your attention, someone else attracts it even more. Cardinal Copia, red cassock, red biretta, arms filled with two boxes worth of files and papers, is trying to push the door to his office open with his hip under a swell of Italian curses. Certainly, his hip swing is impressive on most days, especially on stage, but today it seems more like a helpless, uncoordinated bumping that the door is fighting with every ounce of its wooden strength.

Evidently, he’s struggling.

“Good morning, Cardinal, do you need a hand?”

His eyebrows shoot up when he hears your voice and he stops dead in his tracks, slowly turning his head until he catches you standing right behind him. Despite your announcement, he visibly startles, nearly dropping the boxes in his arms.

“Oh, eh… yes, if you could open the door for me, Sibling?”

“Of course.”

With your hand on the knob, you watch as he hurries inside of his office, wheezing under the weight and dropping the boxes onto his desk with a dull thud that echoes loudly in his mostly bare working space. Apart from books upon books strewn across and around his desk as well as an old weathered couch, there hasn’t been any love put into decorating the space. You wait patiently for him to turn back around to you, a hint of red dusting his cheeks when he finally does.

“Thank you,” he squeezes out, trying very hard to swallow his heavy exhales. “I carried them here all the way from the archives. Long way, you know, even for my…” He holds up his arm, flexing it exaggeratedly. “My strong, powerful muscles.”

You giggle and he perks up in delight, eyes wide and shiny. “No problem, Cardinal, I can imagine they’re very heavy.” 

You smile at him and he smiles back, so sweetly, and you’re momentarily at an equal loss for words. A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead, down the prominent bridge of his nose. He brushes it away with a leather-gloved hand and you can’t help but stare as he wipes it clean on the heavy fabric of his vestments, shaking out his fingers once he’s done. You can’t look away as they flex and release, flex and release. They’re surprisingly long and so… nimble.

Copia’s violent cough startles you awake and you’re not sure if it’s his own nerves that make him clear his throat, if his overexerted lungs are protesting or if he caught you staring. Either way, you feel your own cheeks getting hot now, the moment of hesitant silence slowly transitioning into a gooey sort of awkwardness.

“So, ugh… I better get back to my own duties,” you say. “Lots to do, spring cleaning and all that.”

He nods. “Yes, yes, you are busy, of course. Such a busy little bee. Bzz bzz. Hehe.”

You awkwardly giggle back, trying hard to think of a clever joke. Maybe something that has to do with stinging? But before you can settle on one, the time for a witty come-back has stretched thin and so you just awkwardly wave at him, mutter a “see you later” and close the door.

With your back pressed to the wood, you let out a deep exhale, the butterflies – or bees – in your stomach making it very hard to breathe at a normal pace. Once you’ve recollected your wits, you notice that the hallway is still as busy as before, maybe even busier.

Like lions gathering around an animal carcass after days of starvation, what feels like half the abbey has been flocking to the big rectangular corkboard. You cannot possibly imagine what would warrant such intense interest. The most exciting messages on any given day are unusual sex requests, the invitation to a weirdly themed party or a call for applications to a particularly intricate sex ritual to honour the Dark One.

You push through the crowd to check what’s causing the repeated giggling and excited whispers amongst your peers when you spot a pristine piece of paper on the board. It’s thick, stark-white, shaped like a heart at the top and with pieces to rip off at the bottom that contain a phone number. You squint, move in even closer until you can make out the text – hand-written and in cursive.

I (m, 50) am looking for a partner to spend the rest of my life with. I don’t have any preferences but it would be coolio if we had similar interests, so we can have some fun together.

I like: watching movies, playing video games, going on walks, rigatoni, juice, small animals

I don’t like: coconut flavour, being barefoot, swimming, touching wet dishes, bullies, dentist appointments

If you think we are a good match I would like to take you on a romantic date. Please call or text me.  Bye bye!

You smile at the note but quickly find back down to earth when someone rams their elbow into your side. No one has taken one of the numbers yet, so you assume the excitement is more about the fact that there is a lonely hearts ad on the bulletin board at all than any actual interest in the person. You have to admit, it is a bit odd. Most younger clergy members just use dating apps these days or social media. But the lonely heart in question is fifty, so they may not be familiar with modern methods, and it’s oddly endearing that anyone would go through the trouble of creating such an ad. At the same time, it breaks your heart that someone in the abbey is so lonely that they risk the ridicule of half of the clergy members just to have a chance at finding love.

“Well, there are a bunch of people who it could be,” you overhear someone say. “Maybe one of the older Brothers, a bunch of them are single. Could also be that new bishop who just arrived, I heard he’s a cinephile and walks around the gardens quite often.”

You ignore the whispers of speculation, making your way back through the crowd to return to your duties. It’s almost dinner time by now and you need to get two more loads of laundry done before then. But even as you sort through piles of habits, cassocks and veils… you can’t stop thinking about the ad. You sincerely hope the person receives a few serious and not just prank calls. The note did sound endearing and you definitely see similarities. At the same time you’re far too busy nursing your hopeless crush on the Cardinal to actually entertain the thought of dating someone else. 

You decide to check on the ad again tomorrow, see if anyone took a number, and if not, you could at least save it to your phone… just in case.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

Two birds land on his window sill, rubbing their beaks together in a kiss before happily chirping at each other. They’re in love, literal love birds, building a nest on the little protrusion in the wall right below his window. He’s been watching them occasionally, unreasonably envious, as they bring in twig after twig, ready to start their family. From the same window, Copia can make out the spring-filled gardens with their colourful patches of pink and red tulips, bumblebees hurrying from blossom to blossom, drunk on pollen and greedy for more. He can overlook the bright green meadow leading down to the pond, speckled with lush, budding trees. At this time of the day, after everyone finished their daily duties, the grass has almost completely disappeared under a plethora of picnic blankets.

Spring fever, he assumes, has to be the reason why everyone seems to be in love. Couples dozing in each other’s arms in the shade of the trees, feeding their lovers berries or grapes, taking a stroll down to the pond with their joined hands dangling between them, kissing without pause in the archways of the cool stone walkways leading outside. Just now he spots two Sisters rubbing sunscreen on each other’s bare shoulders, one of them kissing the other's head before they fall back onto their blanket, giggling happily at each other.

He feels so incredibly lonely.

This has been going on for weeks now and he’s tired of feeling so shamefully worthless of affection. Instead of the arms of his lover, he sinks into his tattered old desk chair and drowns his sorrows in boring paperwork. Not that that’s going well, but for lack of alternatives, he’d rather do budget calculations than sit in his quarters all alone. Every evening, the spring breeze carries the sound of happy laughter through his windows, usually while he’s playing video games all by himself, but he can’t keep them closed if he doesn’t want to sweat to death. Besides… that same gentle breeze is the only thing caressing his skin as he tries to fall asleep at night and if he closes his eyes, the wind almost feels like fingertips ghosting over his arms.

As he leaves his office that night, he receives another heavy but sadly much expected blow. Almost a week now and still no one has taken one of the numbers from his lonely hearts ad. Of course it doesn’t mean no one saved it to his phone, he tells himself, people are shy or they just don’t want to date an anonymous person. It has nothing to do with him, they don’t even know it’s him. And yet… if his dating streak continues so poorly, he’s not sure if he can stay sane for much longer. There are only so many tears you can cry in bed at night before it starts to take a toll on you.

His heart is especially heavy as he makes his way to his lonely quarters. One more day and then he’s taking it down, he decides. No use in waiting any longer now that surely everyone in the abbey has seen his request and the last thing he wants are pity calls.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

“So, are you going to call the Cardinal?”

You look up from your breakfast plate. Your friend Lily is sitting opposite of you, chewing on a blueberry muffin, and you narrow your eyes at her. “The Cardinal?”

“The number in the lonely hearts ad,” she says. “It’s still there, I checked earlier.”

“It’s the Cardinal?”

She nods, popping another piece of muffin into her mouth. “Duh.”

You feel your cheeks heating up and set your fork down to hide the sudden tremor in your fingers. “Which Cardinal?”

She gives a soft groan of annoyance. “Babe, there is only one of the Cardinals who would ever hang up such a goofy thing. Now, will you call him?”

Copia. She knows about your… slight infatuation with him. And despite being kind and not teasing you too much, it was just a matter of time until the occasion popped up. If he is looking for a serious partner… maybe it’s too late for you soon. The ad has been up for days and while you’ve been toying with the idea of calling, you just haven’t found the courage yet.

You continue eating, trying to act casual, but it takes you three attempts to pick up a stray piece of cucumber from your plate. “How do you even know it’s his number?”

Lily takes a deep breath, setting the muffin down to ready herself. “Sooo, Michael wanted to call the number to check who it is, right? Well, turns out his girlfriend already knew it’s the Cardinal’s number and his girlfriend is Sister Jill who knows it from Sister Mary who is roommates with Sibling Jessie who works with the treasury and their colleague Brother Paul works as the Cardinal’s assistant two times a week and that’s how he has the Cardinal’s number for emergencies.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Now, will you?”

Eyes on your empty plate, you bite your lip until you can taste blood. It’s Copia’s number, the number of your crush of about six months now, and he’s looking for a partner, unspecified. That’s… big news, intimidating news, news that calls to an action you’re not sure you’re prepared for.

Glancing at Lily, you catch her smirking at you and promptly give her a scowl. “I don’t know. What if he already got better options?”

She cocks her head to the side. “Better than you? I doubt it.”

“You’re biased because you’re my friend.”

A shrug. “You should try. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“He could be disappointed.”

“He’s more disappointed if no one calls,” she counters.

“Yeah but–”

You stop yourself when you see Nora, Lily’s girlfriend, approaching the table. Her arms wrap around Lily from behind as she presses a loud, lingering kiss to her cheek, both of them giggling.

“You scared me,” Lily says, turning around for a proper kiss.

“Sorry, love, but I can’t leave breakfast without my sweet treat.”

You avert your gaze, involuntarily feeling like an intruder. They’ve been together for a few weeks now, sickeningly adorable. Lily had been pining after Nora for months, a little bit like you with the Cardinal, only that she eventually found the courage to ask her out. To see her bravery being rewarded like that makes you incredibly happy for both of them. But at the same time… you have rarely ever felt your loneliness so sharply, the heaviness of your unreciprocated crush such a weight on your shoulders.

You know that if you want this to be you and the Cardinal, then there’s only one real answer to her question: You have to reach out to him.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

He’s ready to toss this day into the trash bin already and he only just got up. 

Last night, after tossing and turning for hours, Copia fell asleep only to promptly land in a hysterically embarrassing dream that made him jolt up whimpering like a kicked dog and hiding his face in the pillow. Bringing himself close to suffocation, he finally realised that he had not actually stumbled right in front of you, spilling juice all over his robes, scrambling to get up only to slip in the puddle by his feet, falling onto his butt with a high-pitched cry. You had been standing there motionless, watching the spectacle unfold until you turned around to leave.

This is the reaction he would expect, should he ever actually find the courage to ask you out. However, this is highly doubtful, because upon walking to his office half an hour later, he catches you with a group of friends. He often sees you with them – attractive young Siblings, evident chemistry between all of you, and every week he suspects a different one to be in love with you. He recognizes the two Sisters he saw from his window earlier this week. One of them presses a loving kiss to the other’s cheek and he wishes he could just walk up to you and do the same.

His heart hurts. No matter how much kindness you extend to him, you’re a beautiful young soul who could never be romantically interested in an aging loner. Copia is not disliked per se, he gets along with pretty much everyone, but he struggles to build meaningful connections. Between working his butt off to satisfy the clergy and spending time on his mostly solitary hobbies, it’s hard to meet people. He had to actively put himself out there but neither online dating nor any of the singles’ events Terzo sent him on brought any results – only what the young Siblings call getting “ghosted” or “benched”.

His ad is his last chance. And even that failed miserably.

As he ponders his options, your eyes suddenly meet his and he swears you’re smiling. Then you lift your hand in a cautious wave. For a second, he’s too scared to wave back because there are people around him, all of which could be your target. Your hand sinks after a moment as your smile slowly straightens and he suddenly knows that you do mean him. He lifts his hand far too excitedly in a reciprocative wave. Your smile returns, a shy one, but before he can even think about possibly approaching you, his knees suddenly give out.

No, they don’t give out, someone rams a trolly filled with supplies for Black Mass into him. Some of the tall candles roll off the top and clatter to the floor, breaking in half just like his dignity. 

“Oops, sorry, Cardinal,” the Sibling says, scrambling to help him up. “It’s so hard to steer this thing.”

“It’s fine,” he chokes out, the pain in his knees anything but fine. “It happens.”

“I’m truly so sorry.”

He smiles, a hand on their shoulder now that he’s on his feet again. “It is okay, eh? No worries.”

When his eyes try to find you again, you’re not there anymore and he can’t decide if he’s relieved or sad. He prays to Satan that you didn’t see him fall but there is no way you missed it. His dream, if slightly watered-down, did come true after all and perhaps now you won’t want to–

“Cardinal, are you alright?” 

Copia, still dizzy and skittish, spins around so hard he nearly stumbles again. He smooths out his now crumpled cassock, the dust he collected on the floor even more visible on today’s black vestments. In an attempt to retain his dignity, he straightens his spine and looks right into your beautiful eyes. You have a tendency to startle him like that and he wishes he could be more smooth about these encounters.

“Yes, yes, Sibling, thank you. It was… it was nothing, just a little stumble, eh?”

“Are you sure?” You inspect him from head to toe, your brow creased in concern. “It looked painful. Your knees…”

“Oh, my knees are fine!” he lies. “I kneel all the time, Sibling. You know this.” Your eyes widen and he continues to stammer. “I mean in prayer. I pray a lot. On my knees. I am a Cardinal, yes? It’s my job.”

 You nod heavily. “Yes, of course.”

“So, ugh… I better just fuck off.” He presses his lips together to keep more silly words from coming out. “I mean I’ll go back to work. ”

As he tries to leave, your hand shoots up, squeezing the muscles in his forearm. He’s not as much startled as enthralled by your touch, so unexpected that he has no time to feel insecure but so welcome that it almost feels natural to have your fingers on his arm. He swears there is a hint of nervousness in your eyes now and despite knowing it’s silly, his heart wants to interpret it as bashfulness.

“Cardinal, please. I… ugh…” 

You look beautiful from up close. Even if you weren’t stuttering he’d have a hard time listening to your words. It seems like you stopped breathing, your cheeks now a sweet shade of rosy, and you open your mouth to speak but no words come out. Eventually, you shake your head and run your fingers over the fabric of his sleeve. He thinks he’s about to pass out, his nerves rising until he can feel his heartbeat all the way up to his neck. Your hand is so gentle, so… affectionate.

“I’m sorry, Cardinal. I don’t mean to keep you. I was just thinking that I really like the black cassock. It suits you.”

A compliment. His mind is racing. This is not what you really wanted to say, he can tell, but he grins anyway. You like his cassock? Well, you should wait until you see him in a suit. Maybe on a date. He should ask, he realises. This is the moment he’s been waiting for for months now. But as he continues to stare at you his tongue becomes too heavy to form the words, and then your hand is suddenly gone and takes his courage right with it.

“Thank you, Sibling,” he says instead. “I also really like your ugh… your outfit.”

Only when the words leave his mouth does he realise it’s the same everyday habit you’re wearing all the time. Somehow, the silly compliment still manages to conjure a smile onto your face and so he stops berating himself because he made you smile. The sight stuns him, butterflies erupting in his already nervous stomach.

“I’ll see you later, Cardinal,” you say then, your eyes leaving his to glance down the hallway where your friends are waiting, beckoning for you to hurry.

Copia nods and he looks down at your hand in silent fascination, staring at your fingers that are dangling by your thigh without any use as if he could magically make them touch his arm again. “Yes, yes. See you,” he mumbles. “Bye bye.”

When he looks back up, you’re already hurrying off. Copia stays frozen, his gaze trailing after you as though his eyes are glued to your form. Even when you’re out of sight it takes him a while to start moving, to start breathing again.

Around him, the hallway slowly empties as everyone starts to tend to their respective duties. Copia can’t help but feel the nagging disappointment about not asking you out. A chance like this won’t suddenly appear again and even if you refused him it would still be less humiliating than the untouched ad at the bulletin board. He should take it off right now, he figures.

Only when he enters the hallway leading to his office, something looks off about the postings. He notices the change from the corner of his eye at first as he walks past the large corkboard. More party flyers have appeared, someone took down the “diamond butt plug set missing” request that had been hanging there since an orgy in the Siblings’ wing went wrong last month. Instead, Copia notices a large poster promoting condom usage that partly covers the request underneath. Which is how he recognises it.

His ad. 

And one of the numbers is missing.

Copia nearly lets out a loud squeal as realisation dawns on him like the gentle spring sun rising over the hills every morning, bringing warmth and happiness after a cold, dark night. It seems like Cupid finally answered his prayers, like Aphrodite found sweet mercy for him.

Someone took his number. Someone wants to reach out to him.

For the rest of the day, he feels like he swallowed a swarm of bees, staring at his phone like it’s going to light up any second. Which it could. He could receive the message or call that changes his life any second now. Any second. Any… any second.

Nothing happens. Not in the next hour, not in the next two hours. All day, in fact, his phone stays quiet. His initial happiness deflates like a balloon. As he heads towards his quarters that evening, he observes how everyone piles into the dining hall, their happy laughter and cheerful spirits spoiling his usually solid appetite. He hates the sour feeling of envy in his stomach but he can’t help but suspect that everyone conspired against him.

Copia decides to skip dinner in order to cry into a big bowl of gelato. His nightmare might not have come true but his brain tortures him with pictures of your smiling face instead, with the phantom feeling of your warm hand lingering on his arm, and he can’t help but feel crushed anyway. He’d sell his soul to come home to you, to eat with you, sit with you, watch silly movies with you, fall asleep with you in his arms and wake up with your smile as the first thing he gets to see every day. It becomes increasingly clear to him that every day he misses out on being with you is a day tragically lost.

If only he was brave enough to change that.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

You’ve been pacing your bedroom for the better part of the evening now, back and forth and back and forth to the point where you’re seriously concerned about wearing down your carpet. The day passed uneventfully apart from your encounter with Copia in the hallway where you made a complete fool of yourself. You would have loved to skip all of the unnecessary fuss of texting back and forth but you barely spoke more than two words to him before you chickened out. Surely, if his interest in you was romantic, he could just ask you out instead of advertising himself on a public corkboard?

In any case, you’ve been typing out messages for over an hour now, deleting every single one of them only to throw your phone onto the bed multiple times before picking it back up to risk another attempt.

The reason you haven’t given up yet is that Lily knows you have his number now. Last night, when you thought everyone was asleep, you snuck out of your dorm feeling like James Bond with your torch and black clothing, tiptoeing down the empty corridors of the abbey. You didn’t want anyone spreading any premature rumors but a part of you was hesitant to take one of the numbers at all. Even if you called him, it wasn’t certain that he’d want to go on a date with you.

Still, you ripped off one of the thumb-sized pieces of paper and headed back – only to promptly run into Lily as she snuck out to meet Nora. You’re never going to forget her self-satisfied grin as she spotted you with the crumpled number between your fingers.

Begging your creative juices to start flowing, you stare at the empty message box. Perhaps you should be funny. You wonder if he knows the Piña Colada song. It is about a lonely hearts ad after all and he’s a musician. You type and type, delete and retype until you end on a rough draft to show Lily when she gets home. But no, upon rethinking, the joke is too silly even for you and there’s probably a better way to phrase this–

“Hey, have you called him yet?”

You jump, your heart rate doubling in shock. Lily appears in the open doorway and her voice startles you so fiercely that you clutch your phone to your chest. To your utter horror, the swishing sound of a sent message reaches your ear as your palm connects with the touchscreen, and when you glance down, the bubble with your typed out message sits at the top of your chat history.

“Oh no,” you whisper.

“What?”

“I sent my stupid silly joke message to him.”

Lily picks your phone from your hands, reading the solitary message from the display. “Well, at least now you’ll know if he shares your weird sense of humour?”

You grasp her shoulder and release a deep, throaty groan. Her words don’t calm you in the slightest, if anything, they only make it worse.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

Driving Miss Daisy can’t distract him anymore.

Every two minutes Copia reaches for his phone to check for any missed texts or calls only to have the gapingly empty home screen staring back at him. He never figured out how to change the pre-set wallpaper. Perhaps he could try again when he has a cute couple picture of him and his future partner. The thought makes him smile. It’s one of many little things he would change – if they only called.

Despite putting it on vibrate, he doesn’t trust the device to inform him of any news. He even carried it to the toilet twice already, just in case something happens while he’s gone. His ice cream doesn’t satisfy him tonight, everything feels bland and devoid of flavour, but he refills his bowl anyway. One big spoon and a bit of spray cream… and as he walks back over to his bed, he realises that he should definitely check his phone again because this took way longer than two minutes.

Right as he pulls the device out his pocket, it vibrates violently in his hand. For a moment he is so shocked to see a message pop up that he throws it away. It lands on his bed, bouncing a few times, display still lit up with one new notification glaring at him from the centre of his screen.

He takes a deep breath. This is real. He got a message.

No, he can’t look at it, he’s going to lose his nerves. A few more deep inhales and slow exhales, then he can’t fight the suspension any longer. 

Hey, stranger :) You don’t like coconut, so you probably don’t like Piña Coladas, but maybe I’m still the love that you look for?  I would love to go on a date with you, if you are still looking for one. 

It takes him a second, then another one. The ice cream melts in his bowl as it sits forgotten on the floor next to his bed. Suddenly it clicks and he chuckles, in relief as well as amusement, thinking that he knows that song, that he gets the reference. That means this person is funny. They made a joke. He smiles to himself. A funny person wants to go on a date with him.

He types back, deleting, typing again. After five minutes, he comes up with a reply.

Hello, stranger! 👋🏼 I do not like Piña Coladas 🍹 but I have many better things to offer if you want to go on a picnic 🧺 with me tomorrow? I will bring food 🥪 and drinks 🧃 of course. Hopefully we do not get caught in the rain 💦😀

He thinks about how he could sign the message but then his nerves start to kick in. If he tells the person who he is, they may reconsider their choice to go out with him and that’s the last thing he wants. Even if the date doesn’t go well, he wants to try his best, so he shoots another message after the first: 

Oh. It will be a blind date, if that is okay with you?

The next minute is the longest of his life. An eternity passes. He thinks he might have stopped breathing with how tight his chest feels. That is, until his phone lights up and shows the same number again, wringing a deep sigh of relief from him.

That’s fine with me. Where do we meet?

The squeal he lets out vibrates in his chest and bounces off the walls.

He’s got a date. Finally.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

Copia hears his bad conscience somewhere in the back of his mind whispering that blocking the best spot in the gardens all day is selfish. Perhaps it is true, perhaps he feels a little selfish today. And yes, besides feeling selfish he also feels a little guilty. Is it fair to go on a date when he has such a horrible crush on someone else? No. No, it’s not fair. But he can’t let another chance at love run through his fingers like sand on the beach. He simply has to grasp this opportunity.

His red-checked blanket lays untouched underneath the tall chestnut tree, its big, hand-shaped leaves rustling in the soft breeze as he approaches. The head of a rat is stitched into all four corners  of the fabric – a gift from Sister for his latest birthday – and it’s been sitting here since nine o’clock when he took the liberty of… reserving… the spot. He picked the north-side of the tree so that the shade falls exactly where he’s going to be sitting with his date in approximately fifteen minutes. If they prefer the sun, he can just pull the blanket over a little, but he’d never forgive himself if they got sunburn because of him.

Copia took the day off, his first day off all year in fact, risking his next employee of the month award to spend all morning in town, running errands. With the end of May and strawberry season starting, he visited every grocery store within walking distance to find the ripest, juiciest ones they offered. He was lucky enough to obtain a small basket filled with the most delicious-looking red fruits and some additional fresh ingredients for his sandwiches. While he was quick-witted enough to ask about his date’s allergies yesterday, he completely forgot to ask them about their favorite snacks and so he’s decided to just bring anything he could think of that wouldn’t melt in the sun.

The basket he packed feels heavy in his hand for that exact reason and when he sets it down on the blanket, he can feel the strain in his arm. The past hour was spent obsessing over his outfit until he decided to just go for the white suit combo. Yes, white fabric near grass and juicy red fruits is not the most brilliant idea, but he wants to look his best and that means going the extra mile, even if he has to wear the tiny, itchy underwear underneath.

His heartbeat is going a mile a minute now. He can’t unpack yet, he doesn’t want the food to be out for too long, and so he sits and waits, his hands sweaty under his black and white leather gloves. The fact that the gardens around him slowly become crowded as the afternoon rolls around does nothing for his nerves. He can feel the curious glances, can hear the hushed whispers, and as the hour nears, he starts sweating even more despite the shade. If the unanswered ad had been embarrassing, being stood up so publicly would be even worse. 

And then the most horrifying thing ever happens.

Copia sees you walking along the path, wearing a weather-appropriate, slightly dressed-up outfit that makes his eyes involuntarily roam your whole form. But he can’t fully focus on your loveliness. At first, he’s panicking that you’re meeting your friends somewhere close by where you could see him with his date. He would be so embarrassed, so distracted, so uncomfortable. But you walk straight towards him and that’s even worse. If he has to tell you that he’s busy meeting someone else he might spontaneously combust, explode into tiny particles of humiliation. It would ruin everything, his date and his crush on you. What if his date shows up and sees you with him? What if–

Oh no, you don’t stop approaching, you don’t take a turn, you walk up straight to where he’s waiting – with a hint of hesitation, yes, but very directed steps. Copia jumps up immediately, his black hat nearly falling from his head.

“Oh, Sibling,” he stammers, lifting a trembling hand to adjust his fedora. “Hello, hi. Are you spending some time outside today as well?”

Your mouth opens and you wring your hands before hiding them behind your back. “Hello, Cardinal. I ugh… I’m supposed to meet someone here under the chestnut tree.”

Copia furrows his brow, slowly registering your words. “Meet someone. Under the chestnut tree.” 

“Yes.”

“Oh, Satan. It’s you?” He stops, stares, comprehends. He sounds incredulous, his voice a higher pitch than usual. “You’re my stranger?”

You nod, big eyes staring into his mismatched ones in silent expectation, hope and fear muddled together in the crease of your brow. He doesn’t know how to react, just rubs his thumb and index finger together as his mind races faster than speed limit.

“Is this… is this bad?” you finally ask, breaking the awkward silence.

“No!” Copia exclaims. “No, no, no. Please, please sit.”

You do, kneeling down on the blanket a little hesitantly. Copia joins you, still not fully trusting his senses. This feels like a hallucination. His disbelief has to be the only reason he hasn’t passed out yet. Is he really on a date with you right now?

After another moment of silence, Copia notices you eyeing the basket and snaps back into reality. His plans, his very detailed plans for how this date is supposed to go, flood his mind and he remembers the first step now. Swallowing his shock, he sits up a little straighter.

“Ah, eh… yes, I got you something.” He reaches behind the basket and procures three deep red roses he stole from Primo’s rose garden on the way here. Their intense smell hits his nose as he whips them past his face and hands them over. “These are for you. I hope you like roses. I know it is a bit cliché but also a classic, no?”

“I love them,” you assure him, holding them up to your nose with a smile. “Thank you, they’re beautiful.”

He smiles. “Good, good. Yes. So… I thought about what we could do and–”

“Cardinal,” you interrupt then. 

“Oh, no. No, call me Copia. Please.” He gives you a shaky smile. “We’re on a date, no?”

“Copia,” you try but feeling his name on your tongue doesn’t make you feel any better. Ever since getting here your bad conscience made it hard to fully settle into this date and with his visible distress upon discovering it’s you, you feel like now is the time to address it. “Before… before we do this, I have a confession to make…” 

He hums and wriggles his eyebrows. “Oh, really? Well, I would love to see you in confession soon…”

You blush furiously. “Oh, no. No, that’s not what I meant.”

A flash of concern and you can practically see all of his insecurities mirrored in his eyes. You’re both tiptoeing around the same question, you assume, but it’s on you to take the plunge.

“What… what do you mean then?” he asks.

“About this date…” His lightheartedness completely disappears. You feel bad for ruining the mood but it’s too late now and you need to get it out, you owe him that much. “Copia… It wasn’t a blind date on my part. I… I knew it was you.”

“You knew it was me?” he asks and again his features change, eyes wide now. He really had no idea that people knew the ad was his and suddenly he feels like a fool.

“I’m so sorry, I should have been honest from the start.” You stare at his gloved hand but you’re too scared to take it. “I hope you can forgive me for keeping this from you.”

“You knew it was me and you still… you still wrote to me? You still came?”

You furrow your brow. “I didn’t tell you because then I would have had to admit that it’s me and I was scared that maybe you wouldn’t want to go anymore.”

“Me? Not… not…” He shakes his head so fast that his fedora once again threatens to fly off. “Oh, tesoro, I would have… I would have been on the moon with joy, as they say. Yes, yes, I would have.”

You don’t correct him. Instead, an insecure smile settles on your face. “You know you don’t have to say that, Copia, it’s okay if you were hoping for someone else… That’s the risk of going on a blind date, right?”

He yanks your hand out of your lap, wrapping it up in both of his gloved ones. “Tesoro, can I be very honest with you?”

You nod. “Of course you can. Always.”

“I was hoping it was you.”

Your breath catches and steals your next words. The same incredulity that hit him earlier now settles in your chest and you can’t find it in you to question him.

Copia immediately fills the silence. “I never… I never thought…” You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down, a nervous swallow, before he wets his lips. “Tesoro, you were always very good to me. I always saw your kindness, you understand this, yes? Don’t get me wrong, I just… I never thought you were interested in me like this. In such a silly old man.”

You have to giggle through your nerves. “I love that you’re a silly old man.”

He smiles shyly. “You are very sweet, tesoro.”

“I’ve actually had this crush for a few months now,” you admit, encouraged by his positive reaction. “And I want you to know that when I saw your ad I thought about calling even before I knew it was you.”

His smile grows impossibly bigger at that. “Did you?”

A nod. Copia squeezes your hand, then brings it to his face for a kiss. You feel his wet lips on your skin and they’re so soft, so gentle. When he sets your hand back down you see a trace of black lipstick on its back and instantly feel warm and fuzzy inside.

“Should we start then?” he asks. “I brought a lot of things, let me show you.”

The basket opens to reveal a plethora of food and drink options. Copia sets down a foil-wrapped plate with sandwiches that look a little wonky so you assume he made them himself, then some juice boxes, apple and orange, a box of fresh, delicious-looking strawberries, two bottles of water, reusable plastic cups and plates. At last, he hands you one of many different muffins he must have stolen from the kitchens.

“For my dolcezza,” he says with a smile.

More heat spreads in your cheeks as you take the little treat from him with a thanks. You’re both visibly losing your nervousness now, your postures less cramped, stretching out your limbs on the blanket with your bodies angled towards each other.

“Maybe we should… talk a bit about us?” Copia proposes. “To get to know each other, sì? I would like to learn about you.”

“Oh, yes, that sounds good. Do you want to start?”

He thinks on a good starter question, the pressure clouding his thoughts for a moment but then his silence grows thick and he has to say something. “So, ugh… do you like Star Wars?”

This is not one of the questions on his list of conversation starters. For some reason, every single meaningful thought suddenly leaves him. Luckily, this simple, safe question seems to put you at ease and you relax even more.

“I do,” you say. “I watched all the movies.”

“Oh, good! And what is your favorite?”

You pluck a piece from your muffin, popping it into your mouth. “Hmm… The Empire Strikes Back, I think.”

“Hehehe, sì, sì, I am your daddy.” His eyes widen. “Not that I’m… I don’t mean… you know, the scene with Luke… ugh. So, anyway, yes, that is my favorite as well.”

You giggle and he lights up, smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt. You reach for one of the sandwiches then. Copia helps, holding the plate up for you.

“So, these are all inspired by Italian foods. I have ugh… caprese. Mozzarella and tomato?”

You reach for the one he showed you. “That sounds great, thank you.”

Copia can’t help but stare as he awaits your reaction. You hum in delight and immediately take another bite of the soft bread. Satisfied, Copia allows himself to grab one as well now. Conversation slows down as you eat but you continue to talk about your interests between bites, finding more and more similarities as the minutes pass. 

Your little spot is beautiful, cool enough to sit comfortably but warm enough to feel the reviving effects of spring. The leaves above you rustle every now and then, birds and bees flying past, the odd ant crawling over your blanket in search of some crumbs. Neither one of you is bothered as you sip on your juice boxes in tandem and intuitively increase your proximity.

With your bodies gravitating towards each other like that, you end up sitting very close after a while. Copia reclines against the tree trunk, pulling his hat down to grant him more shade, a little bit like a cowboy leaning against the walls of a saloon. His white suit is an odd contrast to his relaxed pose, not the most comfortable outfit to lounge in. Without thinking too much about it, he pulls you close to him and angles you so you can rest your head in his lap. 

You’re only tense for a short moment. Copia gets rid of his gloves and you can feel his bare fingers running over your scalp. The steady pattern he draws calms you and you sigh, closing your eyes for a few minutes as a warm feeling of safety spreads out in you.

Copia can’t help but stare. Despite the initial hiccup, you’re so comfortable around each other that he feels like he’s known you forever. This is a dream come true for him, all his fantasies, his wishes, his longings, they all seem to come together in the lovely face dozing in his lap. You’re the most stunning sight he ever had the pleasure to behold. Every line, every hair, every mole, blemish or scar combines into the most beautifully painted canvas – and to him, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.

“Do you want a strawberry, tesorino?” he asks then.

You open your sparkly eyes and they reflect a speck of sunlight breaking through the canopy. Blinking a few times, you shift in his lap to avoid being blinded. He tenses as your cheek narrowly misses his groin, but then you nod and he distracts himself by reaching for the box of strawberries. 

With careful fingers, he grabs one of the shiny heart-shaped fruits, making sure to touch the stem to avoid any stains, and then guides it to your mouth. He can’t help but stare as he sees your lips part for him, the tip of your tongue peeking out to welcome the sweetness. You sink your teeth into the red flesh, so eager, and spatters of juice stain your lips. They appear even more saturated as you lick them clean, wetting them with your tongue, and he so desperately wants to kiss you.

“They’re so sweet already,” you say, taking the rest of the fruit from his hand.

“Yes, I agree.”

You giggle. “Copia, you haven’t even tried one yet.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean the strawberries.”

You huff out a flustered breath, fighting the still evident smile on your face, and hold the half-eaten strawberry up to his mouth. “Try.”

He lets you feed him with burning cheeks, keeping his eyes locked on yours. As his teeth meet the flesh, a few droplets of juice fall astray but he doesn’t even care if they ruin his suit anymore. He can’t stop looking at you, thinking about your soft hand so close to his mouth. He wants to kiss it again, desperately, and so he traps it with his when you try to pull away. With his lips pressed to your palm, he closes his eyes, kissing all the way down to your wrist where he lingers.

You gasp softly, lips parting as Copia continues to drag his lips over the delicate skin. Your reaction brings a smirk to his face, another moment that he’s going to think about for days to come.

“I tried, dolcezza,” he says. “And I think you’re still sweeter.”

You blush so prettily at that. Flustering you is easier than he expected and he takes notes of every little thing that draws a reaction from you. You spend another hour like this, eating fruit, drinking juice, chatting about all sorts of things while you exchange soft touches and words of your blossoming affection. At some point, the gentle breeze that carries on throughout the afternoon becomes stronger, and more and more people head back inside to escape a possible weather change.

Neither one of you wants to leave but as you start to shiver more violently, Copia’s worry about you catching a cold wins over his desire to prolong your date. He proposes to head inside as well, running his hands over the goosebumps on your bare arms to warm you up.

When you reluctantly agree, he starts to pile your dishes and the leftover food into the basket. You move to help but he stops you with a tut. “I will pack this up, eh? Don’t worry about it.”

“I could help you, you know.”

“Ah, no no. I invited you, yes? It is my pleasure.”

It only takes him a few minutes to pack everything up. You grab your flowers in the meantime and he watches from the corner of his eye as you sniff them with a growing smile on your face, swaying slightly from left to right. As Copia shakes out the blanket, folding it messily in the middle, you hesitate by the edge of your little picnic spot.

“So, do you want to walk back together?” you ask.

Copia smiles, glad that you don’t want to leave him quite yet. “I would like that a lot, tesoro. Should I carry the roses for you?”

You hand them over and he places them on the lid of the basket before he carefully picks it up. When he’s by your side again, you stop him with a hand on his forearm, the same gentle squeeze you gave him the last time. Only this time you don’t leave. Instead you lean in and press a soft kiss to his reddened cheek, your lips lingering for a few seconds longer than necessary. Copia opens his mouth but he can’t think of anything to say. Instead he uses his unoccupied hand to fish for yours.

Hand in hand, palm against palm, you walk past the leftover groups of Siblings that make use of the last few moments of sun. Neither of you spares anyone else even a glance. Whenever your eyes aren’t focused on the path ahead, they meet each other, giddy, love-sick smiles gracing your lips.

As you finally pass the first archway and enter the cool stone corridors of the abbey, Copia suddenly stops. Your arms slowly extend as you take a few more steps but before your hand can slip from his, he pulls you back. Maybe he used a little bit too much force or maybe he just caught you by surprise, but you practically stumble into his arms. A gasp falls from your lips. You make no attempt at breaking away and so Copia gently guides you against the frame of the archway, setting down the basket in the process so he can place his other hand on your hip.

Big eyes look up into his. He leans in slowly. The rim of his hat catches the stone and it finally slips from his head, dropping somewhere. Copia doesn’t care because he can already feel your sweet strawberry breath on his lips and nothing could stop him from getting a taste. Your hands impatiently grab at his lapels, then, pulling him even closer, and he gasps at the force of your need. With your eyes falling closed, lips slightly parted and your chin tilted up, Copia feels like he’s in a dream.

“Please,” you whisper.

He has to fight a moan, the word resonating somewhere deep inside his belly. Still, he draws out  the moment for as long as he can, stalling as the tension crackles in the tiny space that separates you. He starts by nuzzling your nose while he pushes his hand upwards until he can grasp your jaw. As he angles your head just right, he feels your lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He fights off a giggle as they continue to tickle his skin and you shift slightly against him, growing impatient.

“Co–”

His mouth swallows your next syllable. You hum against him as his lips capture yours with gentle adoration. The grip on your waist tightens at the same time as his thumb presses into your cheek. Want, need, trickles into your belly and Copia feels the same way, moving his mouth against yours with slightly more pressure. The kiss is still slow, still tame, but it’s unmistakable how much stowed up desire for the other you both hold inside.

For a while you continue like this, your body trapped between Copia and the cool stone and the world around you a mere shadow. You open your mouth for air and that’s when you can feel his tongue cautiously pushing against yours. The sensation makes you feel even more fuzzy, the need for oxygen forgotten as you tangle your tongue with his. The taste is sweet, residues of fruit and juice, and underneath it all you feel Copia. Copia.

You only break away when you’re both struggling to keep up the pace. He’s a mess, his lipstick gone, black smears covering his chin and cheeks where his eye make-up rubbed off. You lift your hand to wipe some of your mingled spit off of his chin and the blissful expression on his face makes you smile. You love to see his face ruined like this, you decide. And Copia, seeing the lipstick-smears all over your kiss-swollen mouth, unknowingly thinks the same.

“We should do this again sometime,” you say. “The date but also… this. Actually, I think we should do it again right now.”

Copia chuckles, resting his forehead against yours. “How about we never stop doing it?”

You nod your approval, wrapping your arms around him to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s soft, if a little bit sweaty, messy from the loss of his hat. “I would like that a lot, Copia.”

“I mean it, tesoro,” he whispers with a hint of insecurity. “I don’t want to stop spending time with you. Ever. We already wasted enough of it.”

A big smile breaks out on your face. Copia can’t help but return it, squeezing you a little tighter to his body, and you giggle happily as he kisses your nose.

“You’re right,” you finally say. “Let’s not waste another moment.”

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this silly little story – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Masterlist – My Ao3

[theunholybastard]

Bad Day (Papa Emeritus IV x Gender-Neutral!Reader)

Requested by @ollies-station !!! <3

Tags: Fluff, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Reader Is Hinted Trans But It's Pretty Vague, Mentions Of Body Dysmorphia/Dysphoria, 2nd Person POV

Copia hovered over you, paints smudged and halfway wiped off. He stopped in the middle of washing his face when he noticed something wasn't right with you. You lay face down in the bed, unmoving, just so done with life.

"Eh... t-tesoro, what's wrong?" Copia asks warily, head tilted like a confused puppy, eyes darting around the room awkwardly. He was never very good at comforting people. But you were the love of his life, how could he not at least try to be of help? He just can't stand to see you like this.

"Everything." You reply hoarsely, muffled by the pillow you were crying into earlier. You were hardly exaggerating, everything seemed to be going wrong and sending you further down a spiral. Not to mention, you've not been very kind to yourself today either. When you first woke up, things immediately felt off. You felt off. Looking into the mirror, you instantly felt dread, like something wasn't quite right with you. Deep rooted insecurities bubbled up to the surface, your body not feeling like your own. You just want the day to be over already, but every passing moment feels like eternity.

"Bad day, huh?" Copia sighs, sitting down on the bed with you, mindful to give you a little bit of space if you needed it. You finally lift your head up, and the sight makes Copias heart ache. Red, puffy face, tear stains down your cheeks, hair tussled and greasy. You hadn't even gotten a chance to shower that morning, notably the first sign today wasn't going to be all that great. You probably looked like a hot mess right now, but to Copia, you were the most beautifully ethereal being he'd ever laid his eyes on, no matter what state you were in.

"Is there anything I can do?" Copia asks concernedly, softly stroking your back with a gloved hand. "Do you want to talk about it? It might make you feel better."

"Maybe... But there's still so much stuff I have to do today-"

"Non importante. Whatever needs to get done today, I will do it for you. You've had enough stress put on you today, now it's time for you to relax. Now, tell your Papa what is wrong, okie dokie?"

You couldn't help yourself, airing out all your grievances to him. You spared no details, every little thing that went wrong and every little worry you had was brought to his attention, and he listened intently to every word. That was the one thing he's always been very good at. Listening. And he was right, it did make you feel a little better, especially with how earnest you could tell he was.

When it was all said and done, he said nothing at first, simply holding you close to his chest, his warmth and sweet smell of cologne quickly lulling you into a sense of security and comfort. You knew you always had a safe space with him.

"Bad days come and go, amore. You must keep in mind that this won't last forever. The good days will come back sooner than you think. And yes, maybe they will fleet sooner than you want them to as well, but the important thing is that they will come again. Look outside, tesoro..." You did as you were told, gazing out the window to see the sun slowly setting over the horizon.

"The day is almost over, you see? And tomorrow is a new day. A better day. Why don't you sit here for a moment and focus on that while I run you a nice relaxing bath, hm? I'll quickly run whatever errands you have left today, and after that I'll order some takeout for the two of us, how's that sound? I'll get you whatever you want."

"And... And can we maybe watch something after? And cuddle?" You sniffle. A comfort show would be great right now. He smiles. "Of course! Anything for my baby." He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, pulling away to get up and do the tasks he promised. You quickly grab the lapels of his jacket, keeping him from leaving you so soon.

"Copia... You know you don't have to do this, right? I'll be fine, really." You murmur, self conscious and worried that you're asking too much of this sweet, perfect man you've somehow managed to claim as yours. He chuckled.

"I know, amore; I want to. I want to make you happy, I want to make things easier for you. Because I love you. Because you deserve that. Capisci?" He says, a gentle firmness in his soft-spoken voice. Hesitantly, you nod. Still, you don't let go of his jacket just yet.

"Could you stay with me for just a little while longer?" You ask, hopeful and bleary eyed. He grins.

"As long as you need, tesoro."

-

[leezlelatch]

Terzo x F!Reader - comfort, fluff, piggybacks, soft soft soft. You come home after a long day, and your Papa is waiting with a stern look, and a firm back.

A Vow “Amore mio,” Terzo’s voice is stern, almost scolding the moment you walk in the door. The evening’s paper crumples in his hands and he sets it down on the dining room table. His hands land on his hips, the backs of them with his fingers pointed behind him, a move you had often seen in videos of his stage performances.

Today has been…hard. If you were being honest with yourself, everyday has been hard. If there was a reason for it, your mind couldn’t come up with any one specific thing, but did it matter? You feel bad. Your body wants to slump to the floor, and all you can think of is your bed and maybe a hit or two, but Terzo’s expression stops you in your tracks right inside the front door.

His heavy brow is pinched and he walks steadily toward you, one foot swinging in front of the other as if he were loping in slow motion. You wrack your mind for what else you could have done wrong today to make him look at you so, but your eyes widen in confusion as he abruptly turns and kneels down in front of you. Terzo glances over his shoulder, now patient and smiling.

“Your chariot awaits,” he purrs, the words falling over themselves in a sing-song quality mixed with his Italian accent.

“What are you doing?” You sound bewildered, your hands falling on his back as you peer down at him.

“I am taking you to bed. You look weary, amore. Let Papa help you, eh?”

“You want me to climb on your back?” The idea appeals to you greatly, and a small smile crosses your lips. The first all day. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Terzo chuckles in response, backing up until he bumps against you, making you take a step back. “Summers playing calcio as a boy did more for my thighs than you think. Among other, more stimulating cardio exercises.” His voice drops, and the suggestion behind it makes you blush. “I can lift you.”

You’re too excited to argue more. You want to be taken care of, and here was your Papa, literally kneeling in front of you, willing to do so. It felt nice to be loved like this. And you know Terzo does love you. It’s in his every look, and the way he looks at you now…he’s concerned.

You smile at him, and it lightens his face. You settle yourself over his back, and he stands up in one swift movement. You make a short squeal, trying to hang on and he adjusts his hold on you, making sure your thighs are tucked securely under his arms. He didn’t make a sound, although you’ve often heard him groaning or muttering when he drops a pencil or has to get down to the floor. Your Papa was an old man despite his attempts to hide it, but at this moment you could imagine him twenty years younger.

“Are you okay?” You ask him softly, your chin resting on his shoulder. Terzo turns his head against yours, his dark hair now interspersed with silver since he stopped dying it tickling your nose.

“You keep me strong, ragazza mia,” he murmurs. “Allow me to do the same for you.”

He carries you through your shared quarters, your life together reflected back at you from a new height. Pictures on the wall, your favorite blanket, which he remembers to pick up as you pass by, on the couch. Your cat slumbers peacefully on the carpet in front of the coffee table, and for the first time in days you feel your heart lightening.

He passes into the bedroom and gently deposits you on the bed. Terzo meticulously takes off both of your shoes, and then your socks. He takes his time to press his thumbs into your soles and you almost protest. You’ve been on your feet, they’re probably sweaty, but he doesn’t care. How could he? Love doesn’t mean shying away from the little things that make us human.

“Do you want to talk, amore?” He asks, his voice softened considerably. He watches you relax on the bed, and his features look anguished when you take in a shaky breath, trying everything you can to not cry.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, focusing on the way Terzo pulls your legs out of your pants, his gentle hands continuing their massage on your calves. “It’s hard to put it into words. And I don’t want you to think I’m unhappy with you.”

Terzo clicks his tongue and he lets go to climb into bed beside you. Pulling you around, he spoons you, his legs intertwined with yours, and his large hands firm on your belly. “I do not think that. I have been in the dark before, amore. You found me there many times. And it is not a thing easily explained, sì? It is a feeling greater than words with clawed hands that want to pull you down again and again.” His voice is a murmur, soothing against your ear. He kisses the back of your neck.

“I know this. But I am here. And I will never let the dark have you for long. But that does not mean that I can rush in and fight it, and everything will be okay. It is a slow journey, one that I vowed to go along with you. And I promise, we will make it out on the other side.”

Your tears do fall then. But they’re good. Cleansing. The kind that helps set you free. You turn in his arms and he gathers you close, pressing little kisses against your cheeks, forehead, and nose. He whispers to you, some in English, some Italian, but they all mean the same thing. He loves you. And you love him. And he’s right.

It may take a while, and you may have to fight really hard, but in Terzo’s arms you know it will be okay.

♡⸝⸝

Please consider donating to my ko-fi. I'm responsible for two other people, and after rent, I don't have any money for food until the 17th. I would love a McCrispy. Thank you so much.

[ghulehthezombiequeen]

WHAT IF a Dracopia that hunts like a house cat bringing you a mouse 'cause he just loves you sm

GIRL YES THAT'S SO CUTE

also sorry this took so long, i was traveling. but i'm back now and i hope u enjoy !! <3

masterlist.

warnings/things to note: no pronouns used for reader, mention of bood (it's the mouse's), possibly autistic Copia, fluff

word count: 546

In all honesty, you hadn't realized Copia was a vampire until after you two got together. Which was fine with you at first, thinking he was going to be more of a Twilight Edward Cullen vampire and not... well, whatever he was. You didn't really mind that, though; it was just a bit unexpected.

When he suggested that you both share a living space, you were a bit hesitant as it was common sense that vampires were nocturnal creatures. However, you could never resist his cute little pleading face.

The first few nights were normal, except for the fact that he was a sleepwalker. It took some getting used to, but eventually it became one of your favorite things about him. Things were moving along well, and you thought nothing of it when he slipped out of bed, mumbling to himself as he wandered into the kitchen.

Until the mice started to invade.

You could hear a few of them scurrying in the walls while the both of you fixed dinner for yourselves, causing Copia's eyebrow to raise in suspicion. He said nothing, returning to the pot of boiling sauce for your dinner.

The rest of the night went by smoothly, neither of you wanting to bring it up as exterminators could get pricey and money was tight.

When you went to bed, he stayed awake holding you close to his chest in a protective manner.

"What? Scared of the mice?" You teased, to which he scoffed.

"No, amore. Don't worry about it. Let's go sleep now, yes?" He purred into your ear, pressing feather-light kisses to the back of your neck.

You sighed softly in contentment, slowly drifting off into the realm of dreams.

A few hours later, you heard Copia sliding out of bed. Nothing new to you, as you thought he was sleepwalking again. Then came a little rustle out in the living room, and soon enough you heard Copia's feet pitter-patter back into your room. What you weren't expecting, though, was a small thud of a dead mouse on your lap.

You bolted upright with a scream. "Copia, what the hell?!" You glared at him but were only met with his face in an expression pure joy.

"I caught one for you, amore! I finally got one!" He said, sounding like a small child as he clapped his hands happily.

You blinked, looking down at the mouse carcass in your lap. He'd already drained its blood, which made sense to you as he was a vampire (obviously), but was still disturbing nonetheless.

"I... for me? Is this just a- another vampire thing that I don't understand?" You asked as you lightly picked it up.

He shrugged. "I got it for you, amore. Oh- don't mind the, um... bite marks, I got thirsty."

"O-Okay, um... my dearest, ehm- thank you so very much for this, I'm speechless... but maybe we should... not bring them into the bed?" You tried to reason with him, to which he took a step back and thought.

"Yeah, you're probably right like always, amore. Mi dispiace," he chuckled sheepishly and took the mouse from your hand. "I'll take care of this..."

And with that, he ran off into the kitchen again, mumbling to himself with a slight giggle.

~~

i hope this was what u wanted and sorry if it wasn't 😅

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Hello, my little bumblebees!

Welcome to my tiny corner here on Tumblr.

You can find all of my works for multiple fandoms here <3

Here is who I write for and my request rules!

🐝─ ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ───🪻─── ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ─🐝

Events

Fi's Christmas Market ☃️

FI'S MEADOW PICNC ✨️💐🐝

Resident Evil

Leon S Kennedy

Series

♥︎ Lost and Found ♧ 1. 2. 3. (Complete!)

• you survived Raccoon City with Leon, but got separated and thought he was dead. After 6 years, you reunite with him on a mission in Spain, rescuing Ashley Graham. What happens once he's pushed back into your life all of a sudden?

One shots

♥︎ Raindrops falling on my heart ♡

♥︎ Random Leon headcannons

♥︎ Sleepy desperation ♡ (nsfw)

♥︎ Rocking the Tides 🌊 (nsfw)

♥︎ Renaissance!Leon headcannons 🩷☁️ (nsfw)

♥︎ Everybody loves Somebody 🫀

♥︎ Back to me 🖤

♥︎ Brick by Brick 🎄

♥︎ Tradition and Love 🌹

♥︎ Red Ribbon ❣️ (nsfw)

♥︎ Stuffed Heart 🧸

♥︎ Siren!Leon headcannons 🧜🏼‍♂️🐚

♥︎ All I see is Red ♦️

♥︎ The honey to my moon 🌬 (nsfw)

♥︎ The Kiss of a Siren 🫧

♥︎ Holly-what?! 🎬

♥︎ Taunting Ghosts 👻

♥︎ Won't go Home without You 🫂

♥︎ Fate - spin, measure, cut 🌙

♥︎ Tongue tied 🪶

♥︎ We fell in love in October 🍁 (nsfw)

DC

Jason Todd

♥︎ The Hercules to my Meg ♤

♥︎ Paper Rings 🩷

♥︎ Wrapped 🎁

♥︎ Rooftop Confessions 🌟

Bale!Bruce Wayne

♥︎ BATtrayal

♥︎ My precious Jewel ♧ (nsfw)

♥︎ Dating Bruce has his assistant headcannons

♥︎ Bruce secretly being in love with assistant!reader

♥︎ Bruce x assistant!reader 3 ♡

♥︎ Burning Touch ♠︎ (nsfw)

♥︎ Deck the Halls 🎻

♥︎ Diamond Rings 💫 (nsfw)

♥︎ Bruce taking your virginity ♡ (nsfw)

♥︎ PALentines day 💋

♥︎ Sweet as a Peach 🍑 (nsfw)

♥︎ Lazing on a Sunday afternoon ☁️ (nsfw)

♥︎ Bruce taking out his frustration on reader ♡

(nsfw)

Dick Grayson

♥︎ Nightingale 🕊

Call of duty

TF141

♥︎ TF141 w/ a chubby girl ♡

♥︎ TF141 getting a boudoir photo album as a wedding gift ♡ (nsfw)

♥︎ TF141 taking you on a picnic date 💐 (nsfw)

Captain John Price

♥︎ Northman!Price 🪓

♥︎ Aphrodite sends her regards 💋 (nsfw)

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

♥︎ tit man Johnny hcs 🤍 (nsfw)

♥︎ Mo ghràdh mòr 🩶

♥︎ Mrs. MacTavish's Remedy 🍯

♥︎ Highlands and Full Hearts 🌧 (nsfw)

♥︎ Bikes and Bees 🐝 (nsfw)

♥︎ Pumpkin Patch Lovin' 🎃

♥︎ Mirror, Mirror on the Wall 🪞

Simon "Ghost" Riley

♥︎ Simon relationship hcs ♡

♥︎ Simon Riley NSFW hcs ♡ (nsfw)

♥︎ Phantom of the Ball 🥀

König

♥︎ Königs German specific quirks <3

♥︎ Tale of the Tummy 🌸

Ghost

Terzo Emeritus

♥︎ Garden of Love ♡

♥︎ Phantom of my Soul 🌙

Stardew Valley

Abigail

♥︎ Knight in shining armor

Baldur's Gate 3

Astarion

♥︎ The sweetest Taste ♤

Linked universe

The Chain

♥︎ Home is where the Heart is 🌱

Misc.

♥︎ Aching Heart left there in the Cold ♡

🐝─ ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ───🪻─── ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ─🐝

There's more to come~

[anamelessfool]

Papa IV "Copia" x GN! Reader (AO3 Link)

Domestic Fluff, GEN with some strong language.

You’re in the middle of recovering from a broken leg, and after a few months of this every appointment feels more like a setback than a step forward. At least Copia had been there. This whole time, your man was there.

Dedicated to my friend @thew0man. I hope this domestic fluff instantly heals you. Thank you for all your support. Keep being your lovely self.

Tags: Gender Neutral, Established Relationship, Healing After Injury, Married Life, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff. Broken Bones, Wheelchairs, Medical Issues

The lift stops at the fourth floor with a final clunk that knocks a tired sigh from you. Your leg in its cast and new boot stirs and issues a dull ache as a reminder. Your love Copia is wedged in the corner by the buttons, his mismatched eyes blinking in their perplexed way as he waits just a bit more until he's sure the lift’s stopped. He meets your eyes, flashes you a tender smile and a little thumbs up. “Home sweet home, eh?” He chuckles. He squeezes his body around your wheelchair in the tiny service elevator of your flat, nearly stumbling backwards into the hall.

“There you go, I got you,” Copia mutters, placing his hands on either side of the chair to help pull you out.

“I'm fine, I'm fine Copia,” you reply, moving your hands along the hand rims to roll the wheels forward. You exit the lift with a thunk and wince. The painkillers have done their job but your leg still throbs in its boot. The boot is new, and it was a good step towards actually getting over this. In the car you admitted to Copia your exhaustion from today’s appointment, so like a gentleman he brought down the wheelchair.

“Now, amore, we spend the rest of our Saturday relaxing, si?” He says by your ear. “You eh— you need help?”

“No I'm fine.” You give him a weak smile. He's so attentive that those butterflies start to wake. The ones where you're worried for him. You feel a flush of nerves as he continues his friendly chatter as you wheel yourself down the hall towards your flat.

In a few moments you're inside your place and sitting once more on the couch. Copia has arranged a nest of blankets around you as carefully as a mama bird, settling you in for another late afternoon and evening to get through while you heal. Your leg in the cast itches. It always does at the worst time. You stare at it hoping just giving it a tired look will make it stop, but it continues, taunting you. You notice once more an old get well card over the television and its memory continues to sink your mood.

Happy Valentine’s Day, you say to yourself whenever you feel down about your situation. The red and pink, white lace and teddy bears were the decorations festooned across your earliest memories of your accident. The sweet little tributes filled the hospital room but also reminded you too much of how badly you miscalculated. If only I…if I had just…why didn’t I… Over and over the moments replayed themselves in your brain as you stared into the black plastic eyes of yet another “Grin and Bear It!” Plush delivered to your room. Happy Valentine’s Day but it was nearing July. And every time you returned from your doctor’s office it never felt like an improvement, just another problem.

At least Copia had been there. This whole time, your man was there. He had travelled to your hospital bedside as soon as he was able, clearing his schedule to spend time playing Uno and reading you books until you fell asleep. “My love…You'll be well soon,” he had said as he held your hands in his own over the rough hospital blanket. “Believe you'll be well and you'll be well, amore. That's most of it, si? The em— power of the mind and all. Getting you through.”

He's helped you to every appointment he can, kept you clean and fed and comfortable. His whole world was you, even though it had shrunk to the size of your apartment and the occasional wheel around the park to stay sane.

“Let’s get you comfortable, here em—yes, perfetto,” Copia murmurs. He's here even now, adjusting the pillows around you on the couch. He's wearing his Saturday best of ratty red sweatshirt that’s seen better days but over time has become impossibly soft. His freckled cheek is right beside yours, his eyes lowered as he works. He smells of lavender and Florida water aftershave as you lean forward and steal a kiss for yourself. He makes one of those little noises in his throat, frowning comically as he stands up.

“You're distracting me,” he says. “Although I know I am irresistible. As I um— as I seduce you with all of these em…couch cushions.” Copia ends his task with his own thoughtful little kiss on your forehead before moving on to the kitchen nearby.

You learned that when he can't touch you in the ways he wants, he'll stack your table high with food. You're not sure if it's an Italian thing or a Copia thing but watching him putter about in a kitchen calms you down after another long day of being stuck in your thoughts. “We can see that see that gangster film if you like em— which one was it? The one with the guy who…oh, he's in that other film…”

Copia continues his rambling as he chops things in the kitchen. There's the sizzle of oil and the comforting scent of your favorite meal wafts into the living room. You shake your head, laughing quietly to yourself. Spiced tagine chicken, your favorite. Copia's awful proud about how he's figured it out and so now you assume with another chuckle that this is what you're going to eat for the rest of your life.

Or at least until your leg was better. You stare at the new cast now, frowning at it propped up on the ottoman.

You were better, but you were far from recovered. And as sweet as he was, you were worried Copia wouldn’t keep his patience. At some point he’d get tired hauling you from one appointment to another. Would get frustrated from helping you to and from the car, would get bored from all the missed opportunities for sweet dinner dates, concerts or cocktail bars.

It was embarrassing enough asking him for the most basic things that just weeks ago you would do without a thought— damn, if only I—getting up the stairs, bathing, cooking meals. A part of you decided to tell you stories about what was going through Copia’s mind as he doted on you. Surely, this task would be the one to put him over the edge. Yes, this setback, this latest appointment will make his smiles and cheerful demeanor fade. When he wasn’t around you’d sleep. Or lie awake wondering.

Maybe you'll start with a game. Some Zelda or Phoenix Wright, you're not sure. Although you’re halfway through a court case in Phoenix Wright and you don't really remember all the little details anymore. Maybe not. Maybe you'll restart the chapter later, although filing through all that text seems tiring at this point. Fine, perhaps no video games.

Painting? Copia’s left your iPad on the side table within reach. But you're not sure what to paint. And the last one needs some color correction and the thought of fiddling with the smallest adjustments that nobody will notice except you is far from appealing. There's nothing on the TV of any interest to you at this hour. You pick up a book you've been planning on reading but after a few minutes the text swims in front of your eyes.

Or you could always do the jigsaw puzzles. Dear God not the jigsaw puzzles.

You click on the television just to have noise to fill the air. It's two women crowing about handbags on a home shopping network. That’ll do. You set it all down and stare at the ceiling.

“I will set my alarm for eh— the three times a day you need the small white round ones, and the twice a day the long pill capsules and of course the injections….how many do we need?” Copia stares at the doctor’s note, mouth slack like he's attempting to translate an ancient curse carved into the side of a pharaoh's sarcophagus. “How, how do they write like this, tesoro? Is this em— is this English? Cazzo, what is this…”

“Twice a day,” you sigh. You're not happy about the shots but at least your man's been a champ when it comes to helping you with them. However, last two times he made you laugh too much to hold still. “Look away, dear, I’m eh—too scared to look too,” he joked, covering his eyes.

Dinner is set to steam on the stove for a while. He returns from the kitchen, with his Kiss the Cook apron on with the matching tacky fish-shaped oven mitts you brought back from Brighton for him as a joke. The money was worth the polite, nervous smile he gave you when he opened the gift. Now he uses them with pride cooking every night. Getting better at your favorite spiced tagine chicken recipe. He's close, almost.

“Is there anything else? Anything I can get you em—before dinner?”

All this fussing, all the delicious smells of your favorite meal and the buzz of shows on the TV and the warmth of the blanket he's draped on you spins in your mind. You want to be happy. You want to be at peace, but the twist in your chest doesn't go away, and in fact the more he dotes on you and mutters sweet nothings the more that tightness winds.

And right now, it just snaps. You let out a sob, something that you thought wouldn't be detected but is too loud across the space. Copia freezes. He heard it. Fuck. The tears pour out like fizz from a shaken soda can.

“I just…Copia, I'm sorry!” The scene swims in the onslaught of your tired tears. He's frozen in his bewildered mismatched expression, holding onto an oven mitt like a life raft against a tsunami. It's all too much but you can't stop now. “I'm so sorry you have to see me like this. You have to…take care of me like this. After— God, I'm such an idiot! I wasn't thinking and now…now you have to…I'm like a helpless little nothing over here, and it's my fault!”

You don't want to look at him. You've already wasted enough of his time. He's seen you at your absolute worst, and even worse than that carried you around like you were his nonna. You have the image of him wheeling you around some Italian square, pigeons flying about while you tighten your old lady scarf around you. The idea of that injects you with a odd feeling of pity and mirth, and you utter a tired noise you're not sure is a laugh or another sob, but it's an embarrassing honk just the same.

“You’ve done too much. I…” And you say the quiet part out loud. “Copia I don't deserve all this.”

“Amore…is that it?” Copia settles in next to you and places his hand on your good leg.

You nod wordlessly, tears still streaming down your face. The people in the television laugh, unknowing of your inner turmoil. But the secret’s out now. To everyone, including yourself.

“In sickness and in health, si?” His mouth quirks as he struggles to stay serious. “That's ah…that's fifty percent of that sentence, yes? There's good times and there's em—well, not so good times.”

Now you want to apologize for being such a baby. From nonna to whining baby, the shame is giving you whiplash but his touch keeps you tethered in place. “Copia, I’m—”

“Sickness and in health. One hundred percent. I love you one hundred percent, amore,” he says bringing your hand to his lips. His eyes never leave yours as you feel his soft lips graze your knuckles. “Love is getting through the hard times, is it not?”

The moments of shame still dance in your head but his warm presence wards them off. His gaze has softened into something more, deeper. He knows all about you, he always has. So why not give into it. Give in to his gentle glance of love. “Amore….” he presses.

“Copia, thank you,” you whisper as he leans into an embrace.

“We'll laugh about this one day,” he purrs in your ear, his scent enveloping you once more. You bring a hand up to run your fingers through his hair and he utters one of his pleased little myehs that usually make you chuckle.

“Yeah, we will,” you sniff.

“Laugh about it on the Amalfi. Over some gelato. And now I'm retired we can really get into it, you know? Doing nothing somewhere nice. Would you like that?”

You would. The blue sky and the pink gelato and the white sand. His handsome freckled face laughing in the sun. His gold cornicello on a chain against his chest barely covered by a crisp linen summer shirt. And his black socks. Those fucking dress socks in his old man slides. Your smile returns. “I really would, Copia.”

He meets your eyes and senses the change in you, returns your shy smile with his own. “I love you,” he murmurs. He leans in close once more as his mouth meets yours. That tender kiss never gets old. What your mind can't learn from his words its taught with his lips. And they're damn good at convincing you you're loved more than you’ll ever know.

He pulls back with a gentle caress of your cheek and your tears become happy ones. You love this man, and he loves you. He'll love you whether he's sitting at an exotic cafe or your bedside at the hospital. It's the same place in his mind, as long as he's with you.

“But until then we can bear a few Downton Abbey reruns, si?” He settles in next to you and curls his fingers around your own. “What is this…lord so and so? What's her face em— what is she up to now?”

“You'll have to actually watch instead of talk over it, Copia dear,” you reply.

“Right, right. I'm suffering more than you, tesoro,” he chuckles. “Let's ah…keep it all in perspective, here.”

“Of course,” you say, and you rest your head on his chest. He's still wearing his silly apron but you couldn't care less. You can hear his heart beat through it just the same.

My Fic List | My AO3

Thank you for all your thoughts, kudos, kind words, reblogs, all o it

[copiousloverofcopia]

imagine copia about to become papa iv and his prime mover saying something like "you're going to be papa" and he's like duh, not getting it at all, and she literally has to go "no, you're going to be *papa*" and that's how she breaks the news to him

It's a shame how long it's been since I got this...like a year. 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

Hopefully this little sumthin sumthin will be worth it.

And Then It Hit Him

You have news for your husband, Cardinal Copia on the brink of his ascension to the Papacy, but will he stop long enough to listen?

Also available on AO3 HERE!

You were doing your best to remain patient, though the news was burning from inside you. Wringing the fabric of your habit in your fingers as you waited for the perfect moment to interrupt him. Your husband had barely looked up from his parchments since you entered. A comfortable silence between you as you noted his hands were once again covered in ink. 

You were instantly transported back to when your dear sweet Cardinal was only the Ministry treasurer, and you still a naive novitiate. A time when you fell hard and fast in love with eachother. Watching with joy as he ascended the ranks of the Ministry. Proving himself worthy of his station at each and every turn. 

Now he was only weeks away from the announcement that he would receive the miter. The highest honor that only the select few could ever hope to achieve within the church. Truth be told you had wondered if your news would pale in comparison, but knowing Copia as you did, there was no way it would.

"Cope..." You nudge, hoping to finally garner his attention. Copia stopped, pulling his glasses off from where they hung on the bridge of his nose and began rubbing his eyes. Clearly he hadn't moved them from his work for more than a few second at a time.

"I'm so sorry cara, I just have so much work that needs to be done before I head back out on tour. If I leave anything unfinished Sister will have my head for it." He responded, taking your hand in his. His eyes, returning to his desk. You could tell he was worn down by it. The endless bureaucracy of the Ministry trampling over him in the guise of all this paper and ink.

"Copia, my love...I know you have a lot on your plate, but I—I just have something I wanted to tell you." 

"Of course, what is it?" He asked you, a sweet smile sent your way.

"Well.." You began, rounding his desk and placing your head on his shoulder. Breathing in the scent of his cologne. Like old books and patchouli, a scent that had intoxicated you night after night for so long now. It hardly seemed fair just how much it had affected you. Like a spell cast on your senses. Clearly it was one of the many reasons, like his undeniable charm, that led to you being in this position. "Soon my love…you are going to be a Papa.”

You were surprised when Copia's reaction was lacking. Letting out a sigh as he finished up the sentence he had been writing. "I know, I know. That's why I have to get this done." He explained, clear now that he had completely missed what you were trying to tell him. You thought for a moment, trying to decide if you could stand one more minute of knowing it all on your own, before finally you let out a groan.

It stopped him, Copia catching on that you needed him. Letting the pen drop to the desk as he pulled his attention away from the plethora of papers decorating it to face you. Heeding you as you gently brought his jaw up to help face you. Your eyes locked with his when he gently kissed your hand. The hair of his sideburns, tickling your palm as you spoke.

"No…Copia.” You began, a note of both amusement and disbelief in your voice, “...that's not what I was trying to say.” 

“I'm sorry amore… you should have had my full attention. Please…what is it you wanted to tell me?”

“I'm trying to tell you, you silly man, that you are going to be A PAPA.” You emphasized by taking his hand and placing it on the small of your belly. Suddenly it was clear to him. Hitting him all at once as his eyes began stinging with tears. He stared at your still inconspicuous belly. Both mystified and deliriously happy before looking up at you.

“Amore, are you sure?” he asked you. His voice quivering—a mess of emotions. You could feel Copia's hand trembling as his thumb gently glided over your stomach. Already so gentle and tender with a child he had only just discovered existed.

“I'm very sure Cope…we’re going to have a baby.” You smiled. 

“Sweet Satanas, I'm going to be a Papa!” Copia yelped, casting himself up from the chair and pulling you tightly into his arms. Blissfully crying and whispered praises in Italian, his hand never leaving your belly. You began to laugh. Copia looking up at you once again just as your own tears began streaming down your face.

“A papa and Papa.” 

Notes:

novitiate- nun or sister in training 

[her-satanic-wiles]

Spring Cleaning with Secondo

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Secondo’s eyes snapped open and a groan fell from his lips. He sat up just enough to see the clock. 6:30am. What stronzo could wish for death so much they’d wake him a full hour and 30 minutes before his alarm was due to sound? And before he’d had his coffee at that.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Those knocks were too fast and cheery to be intended for him. Perhaps someone had got the room wrong? It didn’t matter. He’d have to give them a piece of his mind before he attempted sleep again. He pushed the comforter off his body and wrapped a dressing gown around him, preserving what little modesty he had left.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Sì, sì, va bene! I am coming!” Secondo complained loudly, loud enough that the offending person may hear him from the other side of the door.

🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

This is part of the @home-charity-fanzine for Palestine! To read the rest of this fic, and see other amazing artworks and fics, please go ahead and donate to access the full zine. More details on the above blog.

Free Palestine!

[ghulehunknown]

Waking up with Papa Headcanons 💤

The below contains Safe For Work headcanons! Gender neutral reader

This morning I woke up daydreaming about having a Papa in my bed and all the cute cuddling and pillow talk we’d do 🥹

Primo

He’s already awake and brushing his teeth by the time you wake up

He’s made you a cup of tea, waiting for you on the bedside table

Kisses you sweetly on the forehead and hugs you before he leaves for the day

Says you are welcome to stay in his bed as long as you want

Secondo

You wake up to his arms protectively wrapped around your body

He already woke up long before you did, but wants to spend as much time with you as possible and didn’t want to leave yet

Has time for a quick cup of coffee and light conversation while he gets ready

Kisses you before leaving

Terzo

You wake up to him planting kisses on your neck and face

Your limbs are all tangled together because he’s wrapped himself tight around you in the night

He can’t get close enough to you and agonizes about leaving because all he wants to do is lay in bed with you all day and do nothing but watch TV and talk

You’re the first one to leave bed; he keeps pulling you back for more kisses, no matter how much you protest that you’re running late (and so is he)

Copia

He’s still snoring but is sleeping on his side, cuddling you with his hand on your waist, drool coming out of his mouth

Smiles when he wakes up and sees you next to him

Spends most of the free time staring into your eyes and talking with you before getting ready

Pulls you in tighter when you get up, and lets out an exasperated groan. “So soon, tesoro?”

Nihil

Laying flat on his back snoring with his mouth wide open

It takes a while to wake him up

Complains about what terrible sleep he got while you lay on his chest as he rubs your back soothingly before getting up for the day

He’s very slow to move or get ready at all, unless he has an important meeting

[luciferscowgirl]

— my masterlist —

My most recent/ongoing work:

Never to Return - Catholic virgin fem OC x Cardinal Copia (finished, chapters 60/60) SMUT INCLUDED

Andiamo a Roma! - (chapters 3/?) Copia shows Alice how beautiful his home is. Apart from exploring all the different sights there, Alice explores her bratty side and gets paid for it.

(If you want to be included in a tag list concerning this ongoing series, hmu!)

My most recent one shot: here

My most recent Ghostober 2024 drabble: here 🔞

My series:

Never to Return - stories of Alice and Cardinal Copia - a collection of side stories within the Never to Return universe

Never to Return (chapter 1-60) 🔞

The day after - (chapter 1/1) Copia and Alice aren’t quite sated yet 🔞

All Hallow’s Shenanigans - (chapters 4/4) It’s Halloween! And Alice and Copia celebrate the high life over there at the Ministry… 🔞

Andiamo a Roma! - (chapters 3/?) Copia shows Alice how beautiful his home is. Apart from exploring all the different sights there, Alice explores her bratty side and gets paid for it. 🔞

Dom Cardinal Copia:

In the name of Distraction - 1st person fem POV x Cardinal Copia (he is a brat tamer in this.)

La piccola morte - 1st person fem POV x Cardinal Copia (he helps you deal with a bad dream in his own ways.)

You and Me and the Devil makes Three - 2nd person fem POV x fem oc x Cardinal Copia (he likes to watch you watch him. A threesome.)

“This might’ve been a little bit too much” - 2nd person fem POV x Cardinal Copia (Copia is not amused and he’s going to punish you for it.)

“Mangiamo!” - 2nd person fem POV x Cardinal Copia (he’s a bit switchy in this, but that’s your fault.)

One Morning with Cardinal Copia - 2nd person fem POV x Cardinal Copia (he’s a soft dom in this, and he woke up horny.)

Lay all your Love on me - 1st person fem POV x Cardinal Copia (flash fic. He’s a soft dom and makes sure to kiss you properly before he goes all the way)

Morning Indulgence - 2nd person fem POV x Cardinal Copia (a lovely somno fic. You wake up needy for the Cardinal. Soon, the two of you are busy waking each other up.)

Showtime - 2nd person fem POV x Papa/Cardinal Copia (established relationship. Copia is a lil jealous and wants to show you who you belong to. He also likes boxing, as it seems.)

One out of Three - 2nd person fem POV x Cardinal Copia x Special Ghoul (established relationship with Cardinal Copia. You two are getting a little freaky with a Ghoul. Copia takes the reins in this little adventure of yours. It’s also very gay in a way.)

Your Infernal Majesty - 3rd person fem x Cardinal Copia/Dracopia (CW/TW: NonCon stuff! | Year 1350. A young, untouched woman follows the mysterious Cardinal back to his mansion out of sheer curiosity, and what happens is something she is not going to remember.)

The Wedding - 2nd person fem x Cardinal Copia (TW/CW: mentions of alcohol consumption. | Basically the two of you attend a wedding and get freaky in public. Established relationship. Copia talks dirty. He teases. He edges. He’s a sexy asshole in this one.)

Little Miss Innocent - 1st person fem pov x Cardinal Copia (oc is super bratty. Kind of a rage fuck. Copia is upset and makes her pay for it.)

Play The Way You Feel It - 2nd person fem pov x Cardinal Copia (CW/TW: dubious consent! | Copia is plagued by some dreams he’s been having. His fleshlight isn’t enough to mend the yearning…)

Sub Cardinal Copia:

An ice-capped Fire - 2nd person fem POV x Cardinal Copia (Copia is a whiny, pleading little whore in this short one shot.)

Divine you feel my Thrust - 2nd person fem POV x Cardinal Copia (he’s whiny again. And also, you indulge in some nice butt stuff.)

In return, you gave them Hell - Copia‘s POV x 3rd person female OC (power struggle. It contains some pole dancing. And restraints.)

Papa Emeritus IV:

For a Minute - 2nd Person female POV x Papa Emeritus IV (let’s find out what happens on that couch during Miasma, huh? Disclaimer: possible ghovie spoiler)

Ficlets:

Letters from the Cardinal - Cardinal Copia POV x 2nd person gen. (Copia writes you a letter while he’s away on tour. Please be so kind and open it, he’s yearning and needs you to read it.) M-Rated.

Ghostober 2024 by Hysteric_Muse - little one shots that follow Muse’s prompts all throughout October! You’ll find various SFW and NSFW drabbles in there.

Fics with more than one chapter:

If I could turn back the Time… - 2nd person fem POV x Cardinal Copia (my first fic ever. Never intended to write more than one part. I add to them whenever I see fit. // Reader basically meets her old flame after ten years of not having been able to see him.)

Until you’re Mine - 2nd person fem POV x Dracopia ! (Reader goes on an adventure to meet the Cun-, the Count and it’s oddly Bram Stoker’s Dracula coded.)

Never to Return - 3rd person catholic virgin OC POV x Cardinal Copia (Alice is a catholic woman who lives a pious life, well, does she really? Because one errant night, she meets a mysterious, satanic man who’s gonna help her with exploring new shores…)

The Wedding - 2nd person female POV x Cardinal Copia (The Cardinal and you are invited to your cousin’s wedding. Copia didn’t want to go, but after a little negotiation you managed to bring him with you. You didn’t think he’d actually do what he wanted to do, though…)

My Wattpad account:

I’m slowly but surely transferring all my fics from Wattpad to AO3 so there might still me some which I haven’t uploaded on AO3 yet, like this one for example.

Copia is quite the violent dom in there.

Thank you all for reading my silly little stories! 💓💓💓

Here’s a photo of the man I am definitely not obsessed with 🤥:

[writingjourney]

Unprecedented | Secondo x gn!Reader

Or: The four times you almost get Secondo to admit his feelings for you and the one time you succeed.

Summary: Working with Secondo is only half as bad as people make it seem – at least until you fall in love with each other.

Content: 12.7k words, gn!reader, pining, sexual tension/suggestive language, food mention, blood/minor injury, forced proximity, soft secondo, terzo being a menace, smut-ish in part four but definite smut in part five (thigh riding, unprotected sex, penetration, dom/sub dynamics), 18+ MDNI

thank you for being patient with me, this is my first time writing Secondo, so pls go easy on me ♡

Masterlist – Ao3 link

1 Voluntary Abstinence

The air gets colder by a few degrees as you take the last few narrow steps down the winding staircase into the basement. Burnt-down candles are illuminating the hallway from small alcoves, wax dripping down the weathered stone, their light flickering off the dark brick walls. Amongst these dancing shadows you make your way to the door at the other end of the hall. It’s made of iron, heavy and airtight, the rooms beyond kept on very specific temperature and humidity levels to preserve the precious items they’re protecting.

You push it open and find yourself in a small antechamber that leads into three different rooms – a tiny office, the restoration workshop and a small storage room. Entering this area always feels like stepping foot inside a secret laboratory, though it looks far less sterile with all the shelves of old tomes, paintings and other cursed as well as non-cursed artefacts.

“Papa?” you whisper upon closing the door.

“Office,” a steady voice calls back.

You find Papa Emeritus II bent over the desk, sorting through papers. He’s wearing his narrow reading glasses, the paint by his ears slightly smudged while his outfit remains pristine. Black slacks, a black button down shirt, sleeves rolled up casually, his usual black leather gloves switched for white cotton ones to avoid fingerprints and sweat stains.

He’s hard at work, has been for most of the morning, trying to save a rare first edition of Nietzsche’s Der Antichrist. He lets you observe him from time to time, ever since you expressed your genuine interest in his restoration work. His book-binding fascinates you the most so whenever an interesting project emerges, he lets you know and you get as much time off from your regular clergy duties as possible in order to learn from him. Lucky for you, Sister has no issue excusing you from time to time to help Papa down here. Not many Siblings have the patience or steady hands to work on these intricate projects and even less want to work with Secondo at all, if only for his understandably high standards when it comes to handling fragile artefacts.

“How is it going, Papa?” you ask casually.

“I am taking some time to document the process and sort through these,” he says. “My hands are a little too shaky for bookbinding right now.”

When you don’t reply, he finally looks up at you. His eyes appear bigger behind the glasses but he quickly takes them off, the marks now imprinted on his nose making you smile. Only the smile quickly vanishes when you take in his tired eyes. Even under the black make-up he looks exhausted, sleep-deprived and almost hungover, though you know he wouldn’t drink in the middle of a project like this. So there has to be a different cause.

Secondo, meanwhile, takes you in as well. You’re wearing the tight habit that hugs your body in all the right places today and he’s very pleased with that. Perhaps by now you’re aware it’s his favorite, he knows you’re observant like that, such a smart, sharp-witted thing you are. He’s trying very hard not to stare but you’re too busy worrying to notice.

“Are you feeling alright, Papa? You look… ugh.” You’re clearly trying to find a polite way to put it and it amuses him greatly. Even now you hesitate to speak your mind around him. “I mean, you seem like you’re in need of some rest.”

“Yes, sleep was not a priority last night.” He smirks to himself at the memory, he can still feel it in his sore muscles as well. “So you will have to excuse me looking a bit tired today, Sibling.”

Your lips press together into a thin line. “Oh. Of course.”

Secondo does not miss the hurt that’s flickering over your face. Once, he might have, but by now he’s seen this look so many times that he can catch it in milliseconds. The guilt he feels upon glimpsing it is the main reason he established certain rules in the first place. As a man with many lovers, Secondo had to find ways to stop anyone from developing any actual feelings for him that he cannot reciprocate. Most of the time, this isn’t a real issue, the intentions are clear, people seek adventures, a like-minded lover who can satisfy them in ways that others can’t. But from time to time expectations change, feelings get in the way and it’s so very human but very bothersome at the same time. Secondo has no desire to toy with anyone, so at the first hint of anything that goes beyond lust, he usually calls it quits to avoid inflicting any more pain than necessary.

But there is a key difference here: You’re not his lover.

“Well, I won’t keep you, Papa, I just wanted to see the progress and check in on you. I have to help out with lunch preparations now, but perhaps I can come back later,” you say without meeting his eyes again. “I wish you a productive day nonetheless.”

He wants to stop you and say something, only he’s not sure what there is to say at all. Please, do come back? Don’t leave yet? 

It’s only when you’re out the door that he realizes he could have just thanked you.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

Despite what occurred in his office before lunch, you’re back in the early afternoon hours, presenting him with some painkillers and a cup of black coffee. He can tell by the smell alone that this hasn’t been brewed in the kitchens; you clearly begged Terzo to let you use the fancy coffee machine in his office. It’s always worth it, even if Terzo teases him mercilessly when it comes to you by now, his little assistente, as he calls you.

You don’t comment on your hasty exit from earlier as you set down your cargo on his desk and take a seat on the wooden chair opposite from him. You’re staying for a while, it seems, that’s good. He can use your company after working alone in the basement all day.

Not used to someone taking care of him, Secondo tries not to show how your simple gesture affects him. “Thank you, my dove. This is just what I needed.”

You smile with genuine kindness, the sort of smile that always makes him pause as he feels its paralysing effect on him. “You’re welcome, Papa. Are you feeling any better?”

He smiles and takes a much needed sip of coffee. “Yes, but I think I should take a bit of a break from…” He stops, trying to word it carefully. “… the nightly activities.”

“Oh, really?”

Your eyes bore into his and it’s like you’re begging for the honest answer he simply cannot give you. Secondo knows – he knows of your feelings for him, he knows of your desires, your wishes, your hopes. And he’d be a liar if he claimed not to return them. But right now being a liar seems easier to him than admitting to any of this.

“I am not getting any younger and I can’t have it impacting my work too much,” he states instead, a lame excuse for certain. His stamina is impressive even now and his reputation precedes him. It’s the lack of sleep that’s affecting him more and more, some joint pains maybe, but even that is barely worth mentioning – he can focus when he has to. Satan knows he could have a Sibling or even a ghoul over every single night if he really wanted to.

There is only one reason he doesn’t find proper fulfilment in most of these nightly encounters anymore. And that reason is looking at him with wide and far too hopeful eyes right now.

“I’m sure some people will be very sad to hear that,” you finally say, glancing away.

Not you, no, he thinks.

You shift in your seat, then, and he can’t tell why exactly you’re so nervous all of a sudden. It could be the subject matter. He doesn’t take you for being shy, so maybe it’s because of your very obvious attraction to him, the mere idea that anything could happen between you, implied by the fact he’s telling you about his sex life right now when you’ve been lingering on a safe professional level for months.

Secondo is not in the habit of discussing his private matters with people who aren’t involved, as much as Terzo tries to coax the details out of him over drinks sometimes. He is a private person, discreet, not necessarily secretive but certainly disinterested in any sort of unqualified opinions. But with you he feels safe enough to at least hint at them, if only to see that delicious blush spread across your gentle face.

“Well, I’m not saying that I’ll stay abstinent forever,” he finally says, aware that he’s sending out very mixed signals. “But I think I will be more selective from now on.”

You look at him again and your eyes still shimmer with expectation. He almost hates himself for giving you false hopes. But he can’t help it, you just look so stunning when you’re flustered for him, when your eyes circle in on his bare forearms, his gloves, his lips, your breathing becoming heavier by the second. Arousal suits you, he decides. It takes a lot of restraint to withstand the urge to show you what he could do to you if he just gave in. And this is certainly not the first time the image of fucking you on this very desk pops into his head.

In the end, you don’t comment. It’s something he appreciates a lot about you, the fact that you know when to shut up. And for the rest of the afternoon, while you watch him work on the Nietzsche, standing idly by the side with your eyes glued to his hands, you barely say another word. But you don’t have to – the very telling smile that never leaves your face speaks for itself.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

2 Papa’s Personal Pasta Day

Wednesday is Pasta Day.

Three different types of pasta, three different types of sauce you get to choose from. It’s the best day of the week, everyone agrees – even Secondo.

And yet your Papa is nowhere to be found today.

It’s not rare for him to skip lunch or avoid the bustle of the dining hall, but you always, without a doubt, catch him here on Wednesdays. As you eat the remainders of your own meal, staring at the empty spot next to his brothers where he usually sits, you wonder what keeps him occupied. You know he finished the Nietzsche but you also know that he recently got another box filled with rare books. So the only real explanation is that he’s even busier with those now.

Which means he’s skipping lunch altogether.

A sudden movement in your peripheral vision. Terzo stands up with his tray, though you can already see two Siblings scurrying towards him, ready to do the job for him. Without thinking too much you gulp down your last bite and hurry after him, asking a friend to dispose of your empty plate, an idea forming in your mind.

You catch him in the hallway as he’s sauntering back to his office, humming a merry tune.

“Papa!” you call out to avoid running after him for another five minutes.

“Hm?” Terzo spins around, smiling in recognition. “Oh. Buongiorno, Sibling. Don’t you look so well today?”

“Thank you, Papa. I was wondering if you can you spare me a moment?”

“Ahh, for you always!” The corners of his mouth curl up into smirk. “I hope you don’t come to complain about my fratello? Because that list is already very long.”

You assure him it’s not a complaint and follow him to his office. Once inside, he casually leans against his desk, folding his hands neatly in front of him as he awaits your plea. A few dots of red pasta sauce stain his right glove but you’re too nervous to point them out to him.

“I have a… a request,” you start, fidgeting under his intense gaze. “It’s unusual and I totally understand if you won’t allow me such a thing. But…  can I use your kitchen?”

“My kitchen?” he asks, brows shooting up in surprise. “Whatever would you use my kitchen for?”

You blush profusely as you start to explain. “It’s just… your brother skipped lunch today and you know he’s working so hard on these books right now. He probably forgot to eat again and it will give him another headache in approximately two hours. I would ask to use his kitchen, of course, but then it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore and you know I can’t use the Ministry kitchens because they’re busy in there now cleaning up. And I really don’t want to bring him reheated leftovers.”

Terzo considers this, considers you. “Oh Sibling, you really do like him, eh? What is it that you see in him? He’s a grumpy old man with no sense of humour.”

“He’s not so grumpy when we’re alone,” you offer, even more heat creeping up your neck. “And he can be funny, in a kind of dry, unintentional way.”

“Hmmmm. My coffee machine, my kitchen…” Terzo furrows his brow, the skull paint on his face giving him a slightly menacing look. “What is next? My bedroom?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh no! No, it’s not that kind of… not that kind of thing.”

Terzo chuckles and his features relax, making way for genuine amusement. “No? You want to tell me you don’t fuck down there?”

“N-no…”

“Ah, well, so it is on me to give it a little nudge?” His hand moves up to his chin in mock contemplation as he smiles at you. “Va bene, you can use my kitchen but I have one condition.”

You give him a pleading look, folding your hands in front of your chest. “Whatever you want, Papa, I will gladly do it.”

He smirks again, fishing for his keys before throwing them at you. “I expect some leftovers in the fridge tonight. And they better be good.”

✦ ✧ ✦ 

Carrying a tray down the narrow steps into the basement is not an easy feat, especially because your mind constantly tries to tell you that this is a bad idea and you forget to watch your steps. In the humidity underground the stone gets especially slippery, just like your situation with Secondo. You’re not quite sure how he’s going to take this. You shouldn’t have made such an effort. This whole idea was born from mere intuition, from that pathetic need to impress him that you always carry around with you.

But you just can’t control that tiny part of you that wants to prove just how perfect you are for him, how well you’d take care of him if he just allowed you to be in his life – no matter how unlikely that is.

You just hope it’s not awful, especially since Terzo is going to eat that big bowl of pasta you left in his fridge. To be fair, his kitchen looked like it had never been used before, so at least you don’t have to worry that you messed up his routine.

You sigh in relief when you see that the lights are on in the workshop. You can hear Secondo in the main room, so you set the tray down in his office, the only area down here where eating is actually allowed, and then knock very carefully to avoid startling him.

“Oh.” His eyes land on you and sets down the book in his hand that already looks mostly finished. “Good morning, Sibling.”

You lift your eyebrows with a smile. “Hello, Papa. Though I’m afraid I have to tell you that it is not quite morning anymore.”

He eyes the clock on the wall above him, exhaling in defeat. “I forgot the time, to be honest. I missed lunch, no?”

You linger near the door, ready to take the plunge. “Well, you did, but… are you hungry by any chance?”

✦ ✧ ✦ 

Secondo is not quite sure what to expect when you lead him into the office. What he certainly didn’t expect was a tray that resembles the ones used for room-service in the upscale hotels he loves to frequent, cloche and napkin included. He knows you have good taste by being around you so often, but that it is this excellent is news to him. The thought of you choosing this fancy dishware for him is almost enough to make him smile.

“So you brought me lunch?” he asks, though he should not be surprised by your efforts. You’re always attentive, you most likely noticed him missing earlier and pieced it all together.

“I made this in your brother’s kitchen,” you warn him. “So, he might ask about it.”

As he takes a seat behind the desk, Secondo’s brow furrows. “You made it? It’s not from the kitchens?”

At this question you bite your lip. He tries not to stare at your mouth. “Uhm, I made it, yes. I didn’t want to bring you stale leftovers and besides, they didn’t have your favorite today…”

Secondo leans back in his chair. He can tell that you expect him to scold you, to tell you that he wouldn’t have minded the leftovers, that you shouldn’t waste your time on such a thing, but that’s not what’s on his mind at all. To anyone else, he might have said these things, but to you? He feels his heart swelling in his chest at the gentle care you offer him, an altogether unfamiliar feeling, so all he can really do is stare at you in wonder.

You seem uneasy under his lingering gaze, your restless hands fiddling with your habit. “Okay, well, I should leave you to it. I have other dut–”

“No, no, you stay,” he commands and there is no room to question him. He will not let you scurry off again, not this time.

He waits for you to take a seat before he removes the cloche from the plate, revealing a beautiful serving of Spaghetti Cacio e Pepe, complete with freshly ground pepper on top as well as some half-molten parmigiano. He fails to suppress a surprised exhale as he takes in the food. It’s a beautiful plate, one he may well find in one of his favorite restaurants in Rome or Milan.

“How do you know what is my favorite?” he asks, spreading the napkin out over his lap.

“Oh well, I’ve… I’ve seen you get it for lunch whenever they offer it… Maybe it’s not your favorite, I just assumed…”

“It is my favorite,” he admits. “You’re very observant, my dove. I should be more careful around you, eh?”

You smile at him and the corner of his mouth curls upwards as well before he quickly averts his gaze. Secondo grabs the fork and moves it around in the pasta, his stomach giving an urgent growl. It’s beyond him how he managed to miss lunch being this hungry, but you made sure to give him his very own Pasta Day and a much better one at that.

From your side of the table, his feelings are still veiled in shadows, hidden by the severity of his features. You can’t quite tell what he’s thinking, but you have to admit that the situation is a bit awkward because all you do is sit here and watch him eat. Secondo, completely unbothered, has quickly finished half of what you put on his plate and you feel mildly concerned that you didn’t bring enough. He moans softly every few seconds and you struggle to hide what it does to you. There is something inherently erotic about this man eating your food, the way he seems to treasure every single bite, how he licks the sauce off his painted lips before using the napkin to gently clean them, leaving a mouth-shaped black stain on the cloth. It’s not hard to imagine the same shape covering every inch of your body, an entirely unhelpful thought. Secondo can’t hear how rapidly your heart is beating in your chest, but he may well notice how you sit there with your thighs pressed together, hands covering your lap.

“It’s good?” you ask for distraction, fiddling with a loose thread on your sleeve.

“Very good,” he states. “Have you not tried it?”

“Uh… well I had to hurry down here before it got cold.”

Secondo fills another fork, expertly wrapping the spaghetti around its tines. Then he holds it out to you, his other hand kept flat underneath it, and you realise that he wants you to eat. 

That he wants to feed you.

Your chest feels like exploding as you lean over the desk to reach him. Eyes locked with his, you slowly open your mouth, pushing your tongue out just enough to give him a glimpse. His hand doesn’t move, in fact he’s completely static as his eyes move to your open mouth. They stay glued there, his own lips parting just slightly. The expression turns his features unusually soft.

“Papa?” you ask, trying to hide a grin.

Secondo looks back into your eyes, but before he can move, you wrap your lips around the fork and slowly drag the spaghetti off. He watches your every move and his reaction gives you the courage to continue. You moan softly at the taste, the intense aroma of the Pecorino still evident in the sauce and it is good, you have to give yourself credit for that.

You hum vocally, a sound that hits Secondo like a brick.

You’re so deliciously unaware of the pain he’s going through, how the sight of you licking your lips nearly drives him insane. Your tongue darts out to reach the corner of your mouth, but there is some sauce closer to your chin that you have to remove with your thumb. When you suck it off the digit, Secondo has to fight a deep groan and it comes out as a strangled cough. His cock is twitching in his pants, already half-hard, and he knows he has to get a grip. You’re eating, it shouldn’t have such an impact on him.

“I may need some more practice,” you say, sitting back in your chair. “But I would say it’s better than in the kitchens.”

“You’re modest,” Secondo states. “It was perfect, my dove, thank you. I could not have prepared this dish any better and I have made it a hundred times.”

An almost shy smile, only betrayed by the way your lips quiver as you hold back your delight at his praise. “You’re flattering me, Papa, I’m sure you’re way more proficient than I am.”

It’s an endearing look on you, a hopeful sort of confidence, laced with a hint of hesitation. He’s not sure where his next words come from, but despite their barely hidden meaning he can’t hold them back. “I hope I get the chance to return the favor soon. I think I know what your favorite is and I happen to know the perfect recipe.”

Your grin widens, your whole expression one of warmth and joy and he’s rendered speechless for a very conspicuous amount of time.

“Should I get rid of the tray?” you ask. “I think your brother wants his dishes back.”

He finds his words again at the mention of Terzo. “Only if you come back down here after. I need your help this afternoon or I am going to miss dinner as well.”

“Certo, Papa,” you say, mimicking his Italian. “I will be back before you notice that I’m gone.”

You grab the tray and he watches your figure disappear through the door, slumping back in his chair with a myriad of thoughts and feelings running through his mind that he can’t possibly catch up with. His hand finds his crotch as soon as you’re out of sight, adjusting just enough to get rid of the painful tightness in his pants. 

At least this time he didn’t forget to thank you.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

3 Seeing Red

He’s trusting you with a Crowley.

It’s unprecedented. Secondo had Siblings watching before, he had them assist him before by bringing him tools, but never before has he allowed them to touch any of his delicate books.

It’s the next logical step. You have been watching him for months now, you have practiced on less valuable books and shown unexpected talent. And even now, with the Crowley in hand, he’s surprised to find himself trusting you completely.

Inexplicably, his eyes find you ever few minutes without his own doing. It’s not to control you, though maybe a tiny part of him does indeed check in with the state of your work. Whenever you look back, you hold his gaze so confidently. It’s intoxicating to have your eyes on him, fully aware that you reciprocate the feeling, and even when you don’t look back, seeing you so patiently focused on the needle in your hands is quite the sight.

His staring doesn’t stay unnoticed. You catch him looking at you for the tenth time in the past few minutes, though that is only a rough estimate. As elated as you are by his attention, you’re genuinely getting frustrated with him. He has to feel the tension between you. You refuse to believe that all those lingering looks are meaningless to him.

A sudden sharp pain in your finger. You hiss, more in surprise than in pain, and quickly pull away. The thick, curved needle pierced your white cotton glove and dug straight into your skin. By pulling it out so rapidly, you must have damaged an artery or at least left a pretty big wound because the blood spills out immediately. The shock only lasts for a quarter of a second before you pull your hand away, just in time before a few heavy droplets of blood drip down your wrist and onto the floor. Fortunately, the book still looks pristine and you take a shuddering breath of relief.

“What happened?” Secondo asks.

“I… I–”

Before you can explain, he’s by your side, roughly grabbing your arm to hold it steady.

“I didn’t bleed on the book,” you stammer. “I pulled my hand away really fast.”

His grip on your wrist is impossibly tight and you wonder if he’s going to scold you for your clumsiness, for being so distracted. His lips are pressed together as he takes in your shaky frame, his eyes meeting yours with such intensity that you struggle not to break away and you feel your lips quivering as you fight back tears.

“I’m so sorry, I– I didn’t–”

“I don’t care about the book,” he says and then he pulls you out of the workshop. Once you’re safely back in his office, he leaves for the storage room. You stand there, watching the blood run over your hand, pressing your thumb into your pulse in hopes of limiting the blood flow just like he did. But the once white glove is ruined by now, blotchy and red all over.

When Secondo returns, he carries a first aid kit. He sits down on the chair in front of his desk and motions for you to join him. You carefully step beside him, hand out-stretched in a cautious offering, but he’s having none of it, he just pulls you straight into his lap and grasps your wrist again.

“Let’s examine the damage,” he says, even though you’re not sure you can even hear him. His strong thighs are firm underneath yours, keeping you steady, but then there’s the throbbing in your finger, his hand on your arm, a wild mixture of impressions that overflow your sensory perception. Your rapid heartbeat surely does nothing to help with the bleeding.

You fight the urge to shift nervously but he doesn’t seem to notice your state, just turns your hand skyward and gets to work. He meticulously removes your bloody glove, one finger at a time, the fingertips of his own turning red in the process. Frustrated by the barrier, he removes them as well, throwing them aside with an annoyed grunt. Once his bare hands grasp yours, you feel a shiver running down your spine. The pain in your finger ceases to exist for a moment as you realise that this is the first skin on skin contact you ever shared. You’re closer than ever, so close you can smell the remainders of his cologne, feel his exhales on your skin.

“It’s not as bad as I thought,” Secondo muses. “You hit a bad spot.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I’m not usually so careless.”

“I know, my dove. It happens.”

Not to me, you want to say, not while I’m here, trying so hard to impress you.

“Go wash out the wound,” he orders then, his hand patting your hip in encouragement, dangerously close to your ass.

You reluctantly hop off his legs and wash your hand in the sink in the workshop. The water runs red at first but turns clear in the matter of seconds. With the blood gone, the wound only looks half as scary and you’re far less shaky when you return to the office.

You expect Secondo to just leave you to yourself now, but he immediately pulls you back into his lap, turning slightly to reach into the first aid kid on his desk, fiddling for bandaids and a spray bottle with disinfectant. You patiently hold out your hand, waiting for him to figure out the logistics.

The antiseptic stings and you flinch, more from shock than actual pain. Secondo is so careful, not a single tremor in his deft fingers as he applies the bandaid, making sure it sits tight around your still throbbing digit.

“There,” he says. “It is better now, yes?”

You nod, sniffling as you try to calm down. “Thank you, Papa.” 

His mismatched eyes meet yours and the concerned furrow in his brow softens. One of his hands rests on your hip, the other comes up, hovering by your jaw as though he’s scared to touch you. You feel his fingertips grazing your skin, tickling, exploring cautiously.

His gentle touch gives you courage. You lean in slowly and press your lips to his cheek. The feeling of his skin against your lips is so soft that you linger, kissing again and again, slowly moving them further down while one of your hands skims his other cheek. Your last kiss hits the corner of his mouth and you hear him suck in a sharp breath through his nose. His lazy grip on your hip suddenly tightens until you can feel the tips of his fingers digging into your flesh.

You sit back and look at him. There is something wild in his eyes now, a flicker of… you can’t quite decide if it’s lust or anger. For a long moment he stares at you like this, a terrifying expression that keeps you static. Right when you come to the conclusion that he must be angry, that you have to apologise, his hand shoots up to grab your chin and then his fingers push into your hair, his second hand joining in until he’s properly holding your head. He growls and presses his lips together until his whole face is tense.

“Papa,” you whisper. “Did I–“

He shuts you up by moving to stand, simultaneously lifting you onto his desk and pushing himself between your legs until your chest is pressed to his. The first aid kit flies to the floor, but the impact is only evident by a distant cluttering because all you can focus on is him. Secondo’s hands find your head again, holding it in place as he continues to stare at you, eyes moving from your lips to your nose to your cheeks that are squished between his palms, and then, finally, they meet yours.

You think he’s going to kiss you as he leans in, but then his head abruptly turns to the side and he buries his face in your neck. With a groan, he pulls you further into him, squeezing so tightly that you lose your breath.

“You’re killing me,” he mumbles. “Oh, my dove, you will end me.”

”Papa–“

Another groan. He sounds like he’s suffering, a wounded animal about to turn into roadkill. You don’t quite understand. It feels good to be so close to him, to have him hold you like this, so you simply sink into his embrace, move your unhurt hand to the back of his neck and softly scratch his scalp. He sighs deeply, slowly relaxing against you.

“What is this?” you mumble.

He gives a dry chuckle. “I wish I knew.”

✦ ✧ ✦ 

4 The Storage Closet Incident

Are you high on glue and paint solvent? Maybe.

In any case, your head is spinning. You spent all morning so far sorting through a fresh delivery of restoration materials, taking inventory and checking if they’re complete. Papa was here earlier to check in with you but left for a clergy meeting half an hour ago, so you’re left alone inside the storage room. There are three more boxes outside in the hallway and you’re on your fourth now, different types of paints and solvents and glue. You never opened any of the cans but you swear you nevertheless inhale the biting fumes.

Upon crossing out the last few items on your list, you hear a heavy knock. Maybe you should be cautious with opening considering that no one ever knocks here, but you do indeed find Secondo in front of the entrance, still fully robed.

“Forgot my keys upstairs,” he mumbles, patting down his pockets as though they would magically appear if he just tried hard enough.

“You can take the ones inside the storage room for the rest of the day,” you suggest.

“Humph.”

He’s usually in a pretty foul mood after clergy meetings that involve his father, so you’re not surprised by the lack of conversation. You watch him pull the keys out of the lock – the door stays open while you’re busy in the storage room anyway – and when he carries them into his office, you think nothing of it. Any potential concern would have escaped you at the latest when you catch him shedding his robes through the open door. As soon as they’re hung up on the coat rack in the corner, you can’t help but sigh. He’s wearing his classic black shirt underneath – black because it won’t show the paint stains on his collar. But it barely touches his neck anyway; he keeps it open just enough to display the first few inches of dark, curly chest hair. You take in his slender form, the taut muscles on his arms stretching out the fabric as he moves around, sorting through the papers on his desk, hands covered in tight black leather gloves that perfectly match his belt.

“So…” He looks up and catches you staring. “How is inventory going?”

“Great,”you say, finally looking back at your actual work. “I’m more than halfway done.”

“Good,” he says. “You’re fast.”

You smile when you deposit the last bottle of glue onto the shelf. “Speaking of inventory, can you help me carry the rest of the boxes? I left the big ones for when you get back.”

He’s already back out of the door before you even finish your sentence, carrying one of the heavier cartons inside to where you’re standing. You push it in front of the designated shelf and wait for him to bring the other two boxes in as well – carrying both at the same time. On his way inside he bumps against the open door to the storage room and it falls close behind him. He sets the boxes down and you notice him flinching as he rights himself, even though he covers it up with a low cough. You make a mental note to acquire something for his back pains, perhaps Primo can whip up some sort of tincture or cream. And even though you highly doubt Secondo would let you rub it into his back, the image is very clear in your mind now.

You hide your deepening blush by pulling out your neat little list, flipping through the pages without actually reading anything. “Thank you, Papa. I’ll spend the rest of the afternoon sorting these until Sister needs me.”

He moves to reach out for your arm, but his hand drops before he ever reaches it. “Thank you, my dove. I know it’s tedious work.”

You smile at him, a little disappointed that he didn’t touch you. “Well, I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

His gaze lingers on you for a little longer before he pulls himself away to return to the office. Only then do you realise that something is very odd in here. The door is closed. Fully closed. With no functioning door handle inside, you have no way of getting out without the keys. For a second, all you can do is stare at the metal bar used to pull it open – and the very empty hole where the key would usually be found.

“You have the keys, Papa,” you remind him.

“I don’t,” he states. “They’re on the desk.”

His lips are pressed together tightly and you can feel the colour draining from your face.  No one ever comes down here, there is no chance people are going to find you anytime soon, at least not before your friends notice you missing.

You swear you can hear him mumble a cazzo, before he lets his forehead rest on his hand, massaging his temples, but your heart is beating so fast that it drowns out all other sounds. You’re not necessarily panicking, even though you do suddenly begin to wonder whether you’re secretly claustrophobic or not.

“It’s fine, I have my phone,” he says but you already know there won’t be any reception down here. Your suspicion is confirmed when he sets it down on the shelf next to him with a little too much force.

“My friends will probably come looking for me when I miss lunch.”

He looks over to you and suddenly his expression changes. There is a glimmer of something almost dangerous in his white eye that makes him look menacing, the effect only amplified by his skull paint and the sharp lines of his cheekbones. You back against the wall behind you, unable to look away despite your body telling you to be on alert. The last time he looked at you like this was when you hurt your hand and you wonder if he’s finally going to initiate more. The thought is arousing and bone-chilling at the same time.

”Papa–“

“Are you scared?” he interrupts, reading you perfectly.

“No,” you reply. “I’m not claustrophobic.”

He approaches you slowly, the soles of his black leather shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor. “That is not what I meant.”

When he stops right in front of you, you swallow, your throat suspiciously dry all of a sudden. You can smell him over the paint solvent now, his cologne so heavy in your nose that you get dizzy. If you weren’t high before, then you are definitely high now. Instead of fear, you suddenly feel incredibly, stupidly bold, full of adrenaline and longing.

“I’m not scared of you,” you say somewhat confidently. “I’m not scared of being alone with you.”

You should be, his eyes are telling you. Even closer now, he leans into you, his hands resting on the wall on either side of your head. You know the eye contact is something he enjoys so you keep your eyes on him without flinching away.

“If I had you right here right now no one would hear you screaming.” He chuckles uncomically, his voice deeper than you’ve ever heard it before. “I could do to you whatever I want.”

“Then why don’t you?”

He furrows his brow. “Hm?”

“Why the hell don’t you?” you challenge. “Why don’t you show me what you want to do to me?”

He seems taken aback by this, staring down at you with his lips slightly parted. For a second you think he’s going to snap back, scold you for disrespecting him, but he just huffs out a laugh. “You know why.”

“No I don’t!” You fight back tears as all of your suppressed emotions threaten to spill out. A strangled sob almost swallows your next words. “I don’t.”

Secondo stares at you and you finally look away, trying hard to stay quiet. You know this is not what he expected to happen and neither had you. But you can’t stop, you’ve lost control over your emotions and now that the cork has been removed you can’t get it back inside.

“I keep trying to find a reason why you don’t want me.” You force your gaze to meet his once more, despite being afraid of what you’re going to see in his eyes. “What’s wrong with me, Papa? What do I lack that the others before me had? What is wrong with me that you don’t even want me for a night?”

You’re crying now, struggling to make sense of him. Frankly, you’re already embarrassed by your outburst and expect him to laugh it off or gently tell you that he appreciates you but just doesn’t feel attracted to you like that. Even him yelling at you would help at this point.

“My dove–”

“Don’t call me that.”

He cocks his head to the side, his lip quivering slightly. “Where is this coming from now?”

You don’t reply, even though your pout should be answer enough. Secondo regards you for a long moment but there is no anger, only curiosity.

“Who knew you could be so feisty?” he mumbles, leaning in even closer but turning away just before your mouths can touch. 

His lips ghost over your cheek, down your jaw, but they never touch. All you can feel is his hot breath on your skin, the tip of his nose dragging over your cheekbone. You squirm, letting out a desperate, high-pitched whimper. Secondo chuckles against your ear and the unfamiliar sound goes straight to your core, goosebumps running all over your body.

“You’re cruel,” you whisper. “So cruel.”

“I am.” His lips touch the shell of your ear. “But you seem to enjoy it.” 

Impulsively, you wrap your hands around his neck for support. Secondo moves to look at you again, his pupils blown wide with lust. This time, you close the gap by leaning in, but he turns away just slightly, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. You try again, more boldly this time, and you swear your lips are already grazing his, but then they’re gone again. His hand moves to grip your chin painfully tight, his thumb digging into your cheek so hard you can feel it pressing against your teeth. You’re completely immobile and when you test it out, his grip tightens even more. You’re pretty sure you’ll find subtle bruises all around your jaw tomorrow.

Secondo’s mouth still hovers just in front of yours, his exhales tickling your face, but he remains just out of reach. You whimper in desperation and he chuckles again, nuzzling your nose.

“Not so bold anymore now, eh?”

“Please,” you whine, squirming in his grip.

“Please what?”

You let out a half-strangled mewl. “P-please.”

Secondo hums and he can feel your body shivering underneath his, muscles jerking, everything inside of you trying to reach for more. He knows he’s being cruel, knows that you’re suffering, but he can’t deny that the thrill of having you at his mercy like that is spurring him on. He wants to test out your limits, see how far he can go, if he can get you to beg even more. You’re always so good, so quiet and polite. Seeing those previously unknown sides of you is like unwrapping a birthday gift and why should he stop when there is still so much more to explore?

You whimper louder this time and he brings his other hand to your waist, pulling you flush against him. A gasp and your mouth stays open just slightly, lips wet and glistening with spit, still pushed into a beautiful little pout bis his gloved fingers. He pushes his erection against you, eliciting a moan from you that seems to come from somewhere deep within. It’s what tips him over the edge, his patience dissolving into thin air. He unravels, closing the gap and swallowing all of your other sounds with his mouth. The kiss is sudden and almost violent. He has to release your jaw to ease the pressure on your head, but he just moves his hand down to your neck instead. More moans and whimpers as his tongue pushes into your now open mouth and it’s adorable how you keep trying to move against him. He rewards your efforts by easing up just slightly, allowing you to taste him as well. 

Secondo is not sure what’s taking hold of him but he can’t fight the urge to taste more of your body. You’re all breathless when his mouth moves to your cheek and over your jaw, soothing, exploring. His lips find the soft skin below your ear, a shiver running down his neck. He can feel the tendon there twitching underneath his tongue and then he’s just sucking with reckless abandon, his intensity the result of a week-long, maybe even month-long starvation.

You moan into his ear and he thinks he’s going to lose it, his hips move on their own accord, pushing against you. It’s not a lot of friction but it’s enough to extract a deep groan from him. He wants to let go, he wants to have you so bad that it’s starting to obscure all rational thought. But he can’t lose control like that, not right now. As a safety precaution he pulls away, slotting his knee between your legs instead. With his hand on your hips he pulls you forward and you groan at the friction. A strangled sob and you try to wriggle for more. It’s uncomfortable with all the layers of clothing in between. His own pants are so tight that it provides him more pain than relief but to see you unravelling under his ministrations is enough to keep him going.

“Please,” you whisper, wriggling even more but his hand on your hips stays firm. He can feel the fabric of his pants getting wet under your movements, your crotch hot against his leg.

“Feels like you’re leaking onto my thigh,” he whispers back. “You’re such a mess, my dove, and I haven’t even done anything yet.”

You moan again, completely beyond words. He had this coming, he knows it. This was bound to happen at some point, the inevitable. But you’re at his mercy now and Secondo knows how to handle responsibility. He can see in your eyes that you’re too far gone now and for a second this clarity hits him like a brick. It’s almost like he’s watching the scene from above, bird’s eye view. This is exactly what he did not want – to fuck you like it’s just that, like it’s just sex, a quick romp in a closet, not even fully undressed, no real intimacy. Right now, it’s all you want, it’s all he wants, but what’s going to happen after?

Secondo pulls his head back to assess the situation, but when he sees the slowly drying tears on your cheeks, your still watery eyes, his paint and spit smeared all over your face and neck, he can’t bring himself to say any words that could possibly hurt you.

He’s lucky to be spared any excuses by a plethora of muffled noises in the background. Your eyes widen at the same time as he hears them and reality slowly settles around you again.

“Fratello?” The voice is barely audible through the thick door. “Secondo? Hellooooo?”

He acts faster than you even seem to realise what’s going on, gently letting go of you in favour of banging his fist against the door as rapidly as he can, trying to draw attention to you. There is barely any time to recover. The door opens after a minute and you find Terzo glancing into the room, hands still on the key in the lock.

“Oh, there you are, Secondo. Got locked inside, eh?” Then he smirks. “And with your little assistente no less. Tesoro, you look so flustered, did my brother–”

“Stai zitto,” Secondo snaps, pushing past him before his brother can get any good glimpse at the situation in and on his pants. “What do you even want down here?”

“Oh, thank you, caro fratellino, for saving us from being locked inside this room all day.”

A scoff. Secondo’s eyes find you again when you close the door of the storage room behind you and you struggle to meet his eyes. A pang of guilt, fear even, of what is going to happen now.

Terzo, completely unhelpful, looks between the two of you. “So, what happened here, eh? What did I miss?”

“Nothing, Papa,” you say quickly. “The door closed but it doesn’t have a handle on the inside. We had to use the key for something else earlier and forgot to put it back.”

“That’s not what I meant, tesoro.” Terzo glances at his brother and then back at you, furrowing his brow now that he’s seeing you both in proper lighting. There is a sudden edge of concern on his face. “Sibling, you look like you’ve been crying.”

Secondo is surprised that this is the first thing his brother comments on. You avoid both of their gazes, wringing your hands behind your back. “Oh, it’s nothing. I should probably go… I need to get back to work and I’m already late. Sister won’t be happy.”

Terzo cocks his head to the side, stopping you before you can walk out. He talks in a hushed, gentle voice, practically shutting Secondo out. “You should take a moment to calm down, tesoro, have a trip to the bathroom before you face Sister. You’re quite the mess.”

You nod at him, a grateful smile on your face, and then your eyes meet Secondo’s. A quarter of a second, nothing more, and he has no chance to convey anything with his expression. You give Terzo another pained smile and then you hurry outside.

The two man both wait for you to close the door  before they face each other. Secondo has settled behind his desk by now, a healthy distance between them that seems to be the only thing keeping their tempers in check. Secondo can’t help but scowl, gripping the edge of the table so tight that his knuckles turn white. “This is none of your business, Terzo. I don’t meddle in your affairs.”

“Why did they cry?” Terzo asks, unimpressed. “What did you do?”

“Why do you ask it like that?”

“It’s usually not a good sign when someone cries after making out, fratello. Don’t think I cannot see your ruined make-up. Your little assistente looked even worse.”

Secondo almost jumps from his chair. “You think I would hurt them?”

“I don’t think you would hurt them,” Terzo explains calmly. “Not physically at least. But everyone sees how they look at you, stronzo, how you look at each other.  Did you fuck up?”

Secondo breathes out a sigh, his hand relaxing as he leans back in his chair. “I don’t know.”

Terzo takes a few cautious steps towards him. “Look, I know, you’re not the type, you don’t fall in love, blablabla. But it is never too late to settle down if you find your person, you know? It may feel like giving up your freedom, but look at what you gain.” 

“Aha. And what is that?”

Terzo smirks. “Someone who puts up with all of your bullshit.”

A drawn-out pause as they stare at each other.

Finally, Secondo exhales all the stowed anger, shaking his head incredulously. “I can’t believe you’re trying to explain to me how relationships work. You.”

Terzo shrugs, moving back towards the exit. “Think about it. You are going to feel so much more balanced.”

He’s halfway out the door when Secondo notices that he never told him why he was here in the first place. Thinking back, he’s not sure he’s ever seen his brother in this workshop or anywhere close to this part of the basement before.

“What did you want down here?” he calls after him.

“Huh?” Terzo turns back to him, shrugging nonchalantly. “Ah, you know, a ghoul noticed you two were trapped in there and to be honest… I’m kind of invested now.”

✦ ✧ ✦ 

5 Returning the Favour

A note.

You pick up the weighty envelope that someone, most likely a ghoul, had delivered to you earlier by sliding it underneath your door.  The paper has your name on it in beautiful cursive, deep black ink, a green wax seal with a II stamped into it, keeping the contents safe. The note inside is written in a similar fashion, kept very brief and in neat handwriting. All it says is: My quarters, 7pm. Secondo.

Considering you spent most of the night in pure agony, this is a welcome glimmer of hope. He is reaching out and that is what matters, despite all of your doubts and anxieties telling you otherwise, obscuring the joy you should feel at the fact that things are finally moving.

You take the note and press it to your heart, sitting back down on the bed in your tiny quarters. It smells vaguely of his cologne or at least the whimsical part of you wants it to. In any case, he wrote it, thinking about you, maybe even longing for you. Your worries slowly melt at that thought, even though you’re aware you’re in love with the most unattainable man in the whole abbey.

If you had glanced outside the window in that very moment, you would have caught Secondo making his way through the gardens and to the greenhouse – a man on a mission.

He had been pondering all night what he could possible do to make it up to you, to set things right. And there is really only one thing he could think of: Food.

When you made him lunch he promised to return the favour. Another unprecedented lapse. Secondo cooks, he loves to cook, but he does not cook for his dates. It’s too intimate, too personal. His kitchen is sacred, preparing food a form of meditation after a long day. It’s a part of himself he doesn’t share with fleeting encounters.

So when he found himself in a nearby Italian market earlier, carefully choosing the ingredients for a meal, he almost felt lost. He’s bought in bulk before, he’s bought for himself before, but he’s never bought specifically for two. And most unsettlingly, it feels good.

Now, here in Primo’s sanctuary, he has almost made peace with these new developments. 

Almost.

 “Buon pomeriggio, fratello,” he greets the older man. “I am in need of some fresh basil.”

Primo immediately picks up his scissors. “Che fortunato. My basil plants are thriving at the moment.”

Secondo has no doubts about that. The smells inside the greenhouse are rich and aromatic, a sensory reminder of all the summers he spent in the Italian countryside, trying to connect with his roots. As much as he loves big cities with their bustling night lives, clubs and parties, exclusive bars and restaurants… this is home. 

While he’s busy reminiscing, Primo moves to an array of basil plants in the corner, their oval leaves a vivid shade of green. Secondo is pleased with that. They’re going to turn his dish into the most beautiful colours and since his objective for today is that everything has to be perfect, details like that matter.

“È sufficiente?” Primo asks.

“A bit more. I am cooking for two tonight.”

Primo furrows his brow, cutting some more leaves off the delicate plant. “You have a guest for dinner? Someone special, then?”

Secondo hates that he knows him so well sometimes, but Primo is the only one who was ever even close to a healthy father figure for him. His counsel is the only one he truly values, even though he is rare to seek it out these days. 

All he can do is give a curt nod in reply.

“You’re in love,” Primo states with a smile. “That is a good thing, you know?”

Secondo makes a face. “I feel like I am sick. I don’t know how people do it.”

“It will stop feeling like that at some point,” Primo explains, carefully placing the cut basil in a small basket. “You will grow to appreciate a steady presence by your side, fratello, especially when you reach my age.”

Secondo wants to reply that he doubts it, but it would be a lie to pretend he hasn’t thought about it since getting close to you. You are steady. You are smart and kind and caring, he can talk to you as well as be silent with you. There hasn’t been a single moment in all these months now in which he’s grown tired of you. And yes, that is unprecedented as well.

“Thank you for the basil,” Secondo says.

Primo gives him a gentle, brotherly smile.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

A tentative knock. 

Secondo looks up from the counter and towards the door, his heart rate quickening in a concerning jump. Another knock, more confident this time. He chuckles to himself. You’re nervous but you don’t want him to think that you are – which is exactly how he’s feeling right now.

Before he opens, he wipes his hands on his black slacks, rights the collar of his white shirt, and then there you are. There you are.

And it’s a sight he will never forget. He’s very pleased to see that you dressed up for him. When he kisses your cheek in greeting, he catches your scent and the perfume with its sweet as well as tangy notes perfectly mirrors your character. It takes everything in him to break away again.

“Thank you for following my invitation,” he says, closing the door behind you.

A shy smile. “It sounded more like an order.”

He feels his heart plummeting and for a second there is a shadow of doubt crossing his mind. “Is that the reason you came? Because you felt obligated?”

Your eyes widen and you quickly shake your head. “No. No, I would have come either way, no matter why you want me here.”

Relief. He takes your arm and gently guides you further into the room. “I want you here because I promised to cook for you and I intend to keep that promise.”

“So, this is a dinner date?” 

“Yes.”

“A date date?”

“Yes.”

Your smile is worth it, genuine and so bright that he almost forgets what he’s supposed to do. Your lips are all he can focus on when you’re so close and it’s only when he sees them form an O that he realises he’s been staring. Secondo finally pulls you into the kitchen area and motions for you to sit on a stool at his counter. It’s surreal to see you here, such different surroundings, but it’s a sight he could get used to.

“Is that fresh basil from the greenhouse?” you ask.

Secondo values a professional mise en place, every ingredient neatly laid-out ready to be used which gives you the perfect opportunity to analyse everything he’s going to use. “It is.”

“So you did guess my favourite.”

“I didn’t guess, my dove.” He looks up at you. “You’re not the only one who is observant.”

You smirk and while he’s busy filling a big pot with water to boil the pasta you take in his quarters. Naturally, they are much bigger than yours, the kitchen and living area combined into a spacious room, all dark colours, black and grey, contrasted with a few light grey touches here and there. You notice a lingering smell of incense and what you can only assume is cigar smoke. A small serving cart turned into a bar sits next to an emerald green couch with velvet upholstering. Your eyes are drawn to a carafe filled with a dark ember liquid, sitting right next to a crystal ashtray that reflects the remainders of sunlight streaming in through the arched windows.

Secondo sets the heavy pot down on the stove and the thud makes you turn your head back to him. He’s noticed you drifting off, hoping that you like what you’re seeing, that you wouldn’t mind spending time here more often. His home in the abbey has been crafted very consciously over the past decade, every item carefully curated. He’s toying with the optimal balance between luxurious and still slightly understated, comfortable.

Your face doesn’t betray your opinion but as he turns on the stove, you slip from your stool. He watches you from the corner of his eye as you join him behind the counter and tries not to let you deter him from the task at hand – salting the water, one of many steps. You come to a stop right behind him and then he feels your arms snaking around his waist, squeezing tightly as you press yourself into his back, your cheek right against his shoulder. It’s an unexpectedly tender hug, like you just need to be close to him in any way that you can, and despite your soft affection that he so struggles to accept, he’s immensely relieved to have you closer. 

Secondo lets you hold him for however long you want. He can clearly imagine your squished cheek, your puckered lips, and all he wants is to spin you around and kiss you breathless. But his plan says no physicality until after dinner. He knows he won’t be able to stop once you start touching, and he has a lot to do until then, a lot to say until then. So it’s dinner first, then discussing the necessities, and then he can fuck you.

“My dove, you’re distracting me,” he says, finally adding a generous amount of salt to the water.

“Mhm.” You duck underneath his arm and hug him sideways now, your face melting into his neck. When your nose brushes against his sensitive skin it’s almost enough to make him come undone. A shiver runs down his spine and you give a satisfied hum at his reaction. “Actually, I was wondering… is it allowed to kiss the chef?”

“Ordinarily, it’s not.”

A kiss just below his ear. “And un-ordinarily?”

Fuck his plan. 

He grabs your hips and pulls you flush against him, bringing one gloved hand up to cup your cheek. He stops for a second, taking in the barely visible bruises on your jaw. With the memory of what happened in the storage room clear in his mind, he feels a jolt of lust, and then his mouth is on yours. This time, he’s not as forceful, but it’s not as soft as he would wish either. He can’t help but push his tongue into your mouth at the first opportunity, tasting you and a hint of minty toothpaste. You moan softly, clinging to the front of his shirt until he’s sure he could have spared himself the trouble of ironing it.

He breaks away, staring at your swollen lips, the skin around them all red and wet with spit.

Oh, that mouth.

He’s going to lose his mind over it, slowly but surely, and he can’t help but kiss you again, slower, deeper, exploring every inch of you with his tongue.

When he breaks away this time, you smile and the way it stretches your lips, plumps the apples of your cheeks and brings out that joyful glimmer in your eyes – it feels so personal, so very intimate to him. This kind of smile should belong to him and only him.

“Are you very worried about this?” you ask suddenly, smoothing your hand over his shirt. “About us?”

A deep, long sigh. “I worry, yes. I don’t know if I can give you what you want.”

Your hand slides up his neck, softly cradling his cheek. “All I want is you, Secondo, in any way that I can.”

He smiles at the use of his name, closing his eyes as he leans into your touch. It may well be the first smile in a long time that he doesn’t even attempt to hold back, though he’s not sure if that’s true. He catches himself smiling at the mere thought of you more often than seems healthy. In your presence, his mouth does a lot of things he simply can’t control anymore.

Like kiss you again right now, fiercely, passionately, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth until you start whining. At this point, he doubts he will ever be sated. His need for you is an ever-expanding black hole and he’s teetering at the edge of being consumed himself. But he’s no stranger to uncertainty, to taking risks, as much as he hates the feeling of powerlessness. And so the next time you part, he turns off the stove despite the water almost boiling, and pulls you into his bedroom.

There should have been a conversation at some point tonight that lasted more than that one sentence of reassurance you gave him, an honest exchange of expectations, feelings and hopes, but maybe he doesn’t have to say it.

It’s a knee-jerk response, a very reactionary change of plans: Make love to you (or at least attempt it), eat dinner, then fuck you for the rest of the night.

The bedroom, unsurprisingly, is dominated by a huge four-poster bed, clad in emerald green sheets that give off a sweet scent, only overpowered by the smoky aroma of the incense burning on Secondo’s altar, the light of numerous black candles dipping the room in a warm, flickering light, heavy curtains blocking out the sun completely. 

You stand in front of his bed shivering in anticipation. 

“Two things,” he says, eyes fixated on yours. “First: In here, it is Papa. At least for now.”

You nod. 

“Second: You will tell me immediately if I do anything that you don’t like. No shame, no judgement. You use your words to let me know what you want or do not want. Yes?”

“Yes, Papa.”

He smirks. You learn fast, but he knows that already. Secondo reaches out for your hands, taking both of them in his and bringing them to his lips, gently but insistingly kissing your knuckles. In the dim light, his features look daunting, a stark contrast to his soft mouth. His eyes meet yours, fervently, longingly, and then he drops your hands and pulls you in for a real kiss. This time, knowing he won’t have to hold back anymore, he lets his hands roam free, opening buttons, freeing every inch of your skin with deft, confident fingers, until you’re completely bare in front of him. His mouth doesn’t leave yours even as you gasp for air, sucking and licking on whatever he can reach. Ultimately, he keeps your bottom lip trapped between his teeth to allow you some air, teasing it with his tongue before swallowing your next breath yet again. Meanwhile, his hands explore the outlines of your body, big, curious hands still covered in leather, mapping out every single detail.

Shaky fingers toy with the buttons on his shirt, not managing to open any of them but trailing further down until they find his belt. He allows you to fiddle with the buckle, if only because your warm fingers graze his abdomen with every attempt to open it. When you give up and reach further down, he gently removes your hands and pulls away from the kiss.

You look at him with big eyes, whimpering softly, and he can tell that you’re nervous.

“Relax, my dove,” he says, swiping his thumb over your hot cheek. “All I want is to take care of you. Now, get on the bed.”

You do as he says, so obedient. Secondo removes his belt slowly, watching you stretch out amongst his sheets and pillows. His hand falters at the sight. You’re beautiful, a dream come true, and in that moment he is immensely relieved that he did not give into his impulses before.

With your eyes on him, he removes his shirt and steps out of his pants. He didn’t bother with underwear, so when he joins you on the bed there is nothing separating you anymore. Your skin is hot under his as he crawls between your legs, towering over your shivering form.

He can’t help but kiss you once more, licking into your waiting mouth. Your hand moves to his head, scratching softly, and he hums as he allows his lips to travel to your neck. He finds a deep purple hickey there which shouldn’t come as a surprise to him since he left it there a mere day ago but the sight nevertheless makes him proud. You’re already marked as his and when the night is over, your whole body will be.

Making true on that promise, his lips trail down your body, stamping soft, lingering kisses to your chest, your nipples, licking down to your abdomen where he stays for a moment.

“Hm, così dolce,” he whispers. “So sweet.”

“Papa,” you say.

He looks up. “Yes?”

You buck your hips slightly. “I need… I need more.”

He sits back, intense eyes circling in on you as he removes his gloves, throwing them aside. “Open your mouth, tesoro, show me that sweet tongue.”

You do, poking out your tongue slightly, and he leans back over you, sliding two fingers in between your still swollen lips. You start to suck, swivelling your tongue around his digits and he can feel his cock twitching at the sight and feeling.

“So good for me, my dove,” he whispers. “So good for your Papa.”

You moan around his digits, the vibrations sending a pang of need into his body. When you start to breathe heavily through your nose, he decides that his fingers are wet enough. His hand snakes down your body, collecting more of your arousal, and then he starts working you slowly, carefully. You whimper, demanding more, but for right now he’s not going to hurry. You’re not going to come before he’s inside of you.

He continues for a bit longer until you can feel the arousal flowing through your whole body, building up into waves that make you shiver. His fingers find your waiting hole, spreading out the combination of spit and arousal on his hand and stretching you open bit by bit. His hard cock, already leaking precum, sits hot and heavy against your thigh. Mismatched eyes never leave yours, catching ever flicker of lust and pleasure in your half-lidded eyes, even as the squelching sounds between your legs get louder and you barely manage to hold his gaze anymore.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please, Papa.”

“Please what?” he demands. “Words, tesoro.”

You swallow heavily, chest heaving as your body tries to search for his, but he’s hovering just above you, propped up on one arm, massaging your insides with the other.

“I want you, Papa,” you say. “Please, I need you inside of me, need to f-feel you. Please.”

Secondo could listen to you all day and maybe later he’s going to see just how long he can get you to beg, but right now he’s too impatient, too eager, spurred on by how tight and wet you feel around his fingers. His cock is aching for friction and so he removes his hand, ignoring the disapproving whine you let out.

“Since you ask so nicely,” he says.

Cock in hand, he lines himself up, carefully pushing inside. Your head falls back into the pillows as you let out a drawn-out hum, taking him so well, inch by inch, and he feels a flutter inside of his chest at the sight. Your legs wrap around his back, heels digging into his ass, and he lets his chest sink onto yours, waiting for you to relax, to adjust. Pressed together like that, a searing wave of emotion overcomes him, deep, warm, an intense longing to never let go that is utterly unfamiliar to him. He has to unload the sudden tension in a heated kiss, feeling your moans and whimpers reverberating inside of him as he slowly starts moving.

He tries to make it last, to keep up a careful, deliberate rhythm. He really, really tries, biting his lip to hold back, but he soon has to go faster to stay sane. More desperate noises from you as his thrusts get harder and weeks of held-back need for you spill out from inside of him. Attaching his lips to the still unmarked side of your soft neck, he starts sucking, biting, trying to absorb you into him. You keen, one hand on his neck, the other tightly grabbing his shoulder for support. With a pop, he removes his mouth to take a deep breath and your expression is hazy, eyes clouded with lust. He shifts his weight onto one arm, angling your hips up slightly and you clench around him over and over again at the changed angle, crying out softly at every roll of his hips. He feels himself getting close and to his relief he can tell you’re getting there too, trembling underneath him more and more.

“Please,” you say, strangled, whimpery. “Please, Papa, I n-need to– need to come.”

He growls, bringing his hand between your bodies to help you over the edge. It’s strenuous, his arm protesting wildly, but when he feels your sticky arousal on his fingers, it’s enough to keep him going.

“Come for me,” he says. “Come on my cock, tesoro. You’ve been so good for your Papa.”

It’s all you need, two more thrusts and a few words of praise, and you tighten around him, crying out as your whole body shudders. He gives a few more laborious thrusts to draw out your pleasure before he finally changes the angle, taking the weight off his arm until he can pound into you harder, chasing his own release. His hips snap against yours, loud obscene sounds, and you whimper in overstimulation, arms wrapping around him gently as he stills. A low moan leaves his burning throat and he spills inside of you, filling you up with his seed. His hips stutter a few more times before he rolls onto his side, dragging you with him.

Heavy, panting breaths fills the sudden silence of the room. Secondo pulls you close and you settle against his chest, breathing kisses to his sweaty skin, softly licking up the column of his throat. He only hums and for a long time, you stay like this, tangled up in silky sheets and the comfort of each other. His hold on you is so tight that you don’t, not even for a second, doubt whether he meant everything that just happened, all the things he can’t bring himself to tell you yet but that you can feel so clearly even in his silence – and for now, that’s enough.

“You sabotaged my dinner plans,” he finally whispers, breathing more slowly now. “I didn’t even get to open the wine.”

You chuckle against his neck. “Would you like me to help you preparing it now?”

Secondo sighs deeply, pulling you closer. “No, my dove, give your Papa a few more minutes of this, yes?”

By the way you can feel him twitching against your belly, you highly doubt that it’s only going to be a few more minutes. He knows this too, his plans long abandoned, and when you prop yourself up to look at him, eyes full of reverent love for an old man like him, he starts to embrace all of the changes you bring into his life. Maybe Terzo was right after all, maybe it’s never too late, not even for someone like him.

Thank you for reading! I know this was very long but believe me, writing it was a pain too :D I hope you enjoyed it – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always very appreciated ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3

[ink-and-dagger]

Juice Box 🧃

Reader x Papa Emeritus IV || Popia x Juice box || Post-coital fluff || Drabble || MDNI || Copia being a weird lil guy 🖤

A/N: Quick, unedited brain-fart after Chapter 17. This is my new official Popia headcanon. Enjoy!

The laboured breaths of the man at your side fill the gaps between your own ragged exhales.

Second by second your muscles melt further into the mattress beneath you, and if you close your eyes and focus —cutting off all external senses— you can almost still feel the shivers of orgasmic pleasure lingering in your bone-marrow like ripples on a pond surface.

Several months of lingering looks and butterflies had led to several weeks of successful dates and chaste kisses, which in turn has lead to this first moment of physical intimacy with Papa Emeritus IV – and though his sweet and awkward nature is largely a part of what had drawn you to him in the first place, a part of you is mercifully grateful to discover that his placid nature does not carry over into the bedroom.

Beelzeboy can this man fuck.

The low complaint of bedsprings steals the satisfied smile from the corners of your mouth, and your stomach drops at the deliberate shift of the mattress. But you exhale your silent relief a moment later when it becomes apparent that he’s merely rolling over to retrieve something from his nightstand. You hear the wooden slide of a drawer, the light patter of searching fingers, and then he’s turning back to face you; hair ruffled and a tentative little smile on his paint-smudged lips.

“Orange or Apple?”

You blink at him once. Twice. Before your gaze drops to the two boxes in his hands, and the nature of his question truly registers.

Juice boxes. Juicy Juice juice boxes no less. Nostalgic warmth fills your heart, and it settles alongside the affectionate glow that only continues to brighten the more you get to know the man behind the papal paints and flowing robes.

You peer up through your lashes to meet Copia’s gaze, a shy curl upon your lips, “Apple, please.”

He appears pleased with your answer.

Like the gentleman he is, he promptly removes the straw on your behalf, (momentarily losing it within the rumpled folds of the blankets with a muttered “goddammit”) before piercing the small foiled hole at the top of the box and offering it out to you.

A soft “thanks” accompanies your backwards shuffle as you prop yourself up against the headboard next to him; shoulder to shoulder.

The quiet is comfortable, until it’s broken by a generous, rattling slurp. Copia clutches his own box with both hands, ample lips pursed around the straw with the enthusiastic force of his sucking. Both the sight and sound draws a giggle from you before you can help it, and he cuts you a wide-eyed, sideways glance, before swallowing his drink with a sheepish, “Eh, sorry…Orange is my favourite.”

“I can tell,” you grin.

A flash of self-consciousness crosses his mismatched gaze, but you’re quick to dispel such a thing from the soft depths of his eyes by resting your head upon his shoulder and taking a generous, noisy slurp of your own drink.

You sense him relax beneath your temple, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world to cosy up closer. So you do.

“I like apple,” you muse aloud, “but I think blackcurrant is my ultimate favourite.”

The weight of Copia’s cheek sinks into the crown of your head, and his breath breezes warm through your hair.

“I will be sure to get some blackcurrant in pronto, Tesoro.”

[6emo6zombie6]

A matter best discussed with Papa

Papa III x Reader

Tags: fingering, daddy kink... but I suppose it's more of a Papa kink?? Getting freaky with Papa in his office!!!

You’d stayed behind in the pews, sitting on your own after the weekly sermon. You wanted to talk to Papa but he was talking to some other sisters. You couldn’t be bothered enough to listen closely to what they were saying, not with the questions you had. Today’s sermon had been—not unusually—about sex, but specifically the orgasm and its importance in rituals. Papa Terzo was undeniably very interested in the topic, and he spoke openly about it, including his own sexual experiences.

Now, of course, there were some giggles and some whispers when Papa expressed his fondness of orgasms, the supposed ecstasy that they brought. It was then that you realized you hadn’t experienced anything similar to what he had been speaking about. Then again, your sexual encounters had been very minimal—but you couldn’t help but wonder, maybe you’d been masturbating incorrectly as well. You figured it was a topic best to discuss with the man who seemed to know all about it.

“oh—Papa,” You said as you hastily got up from the pews, noticing the others had left. Papa’s turn was a tad dramatic as he heard your voice, his robes swishing around him as you made your way to the other end of the chapel.

“Si, cara, what is it?” He said in his usual smooth voice, looking down at you with a fond smile. You’d always suspected he favored you over the others—for reasons unknown.

“Uhm...” You briefly glanced at your feet, then down the hall to make sure it was empty. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Papa let out a soft, breathy chuckle as your cheeks started to burn up.

“Would it make you more comfortable to discuss this in my office, cara?”

“Yes, that’d be... that’d be nice.” You nodded quickly, smiling softly as Papa lovingly flicked his index finger under your chin. You followed him to his office as he had suggested. Your heeled shoes clacked against the marble floors of the ministry as the two of you walked.

“Is it about the sermon?” Papa asked as he cast you another glance. He chuckled once more when he saw you gulp, looking away from him.

The two of you walked in silence for a minute before reaching Papa’s office, he opened one of the large, ornate wooden doors and motioned for you to enter. You hesitantly did so, Papa shutting the door behind you.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, tesoro, truly,” He exhorted, sitting down in the expensive chair behind his large desk. His fingers tapped on the wood as you took your seat across from him.

“Now tell me—tell Papa what’s been bothering you.”

You twiddled your thumbs, letting out an unsure “Ummm...” as Papa stared at you, waiting for you to tell him what was going on. He could tell you were somewhat uncomfortable, sighing softly as he leaned back in his chair.

“Well...” you began, piquing Papa’s interest. “You were talking about orgasms and such and I uh... I don’t think I’ve ever had one.”

Papa lifted an eyebrow, a small grin starting to form on his painted cheeks. “I see...” He murmured.

After a few seconds of silence, he patted his lap, waving you over to him. “Come sit,”

You sheepishly walked over, feeling his hands wrap around you and hold you steady as you sat in his lap. He smiled at your obedience, and how shy you looked. You weren’t the most outspoken of the sisters, but he’d never seen you this shy.

“Now tell me, Cara,” One of his hands rested on the side of your thigh, his gloved hand swishing his thumb just below the hem of your habit. “Do you want me to tell you, or do you want me to show you?”

Of course, Papa wanted you to agree to the latter, nothing was more relaxing than having a cute girl writhe in pleasure because of his ministrations. It was definitely one of his favorite pastime activities.

“Show me,” You muttered, biting your lip anxiously as Papa squished your thigh with a grin.

“Good girl,” He spoke in a deep tone, carefully pulling your leg open. “Let Papa show you how to relax.” 

You looked at him, seeing his face light up at the thought of being able to pleasure you. He carefully hiked up your already short habit, looking up at you to make sure you were comfortable. A small gasp left your lips as you felt his hand, gently stroking up and down your clothed heat.

“Hm... see what I’m doing? Gotta get you nice and bothered before we do anything else, huh?” He absently bit his lip, his leather glove cold against you.

His gentle movements made for a bunch of comfortable, soft tingles around your lower region, warmth stirring up in your body at the pleasure.

You let out a soft, content sigh as you started to ease into Papa’s touches, he let out a proud chuckle at your submission.

He drew a quick, lazy circle over your clit before stopping the motions, dragging his large hand up your torso and cupping one of your breasts carefully. You let out a soft gasp as his thumb flicked over your nipple, making him chuckle again.

Then, he went silent for a second, his gaze reverting to an old, floor-length mirror across the office. A smirk spread across his cheeks as he let go of you and patted your leg.

“Do Papa a favor and sit there,” He grumbled smoothly as he pointed at the floor in front of the mirror.

You nodded and silently got off his lap, sitting down where he’d pointed at. You followed his movements through the mirror, watching as he took off his gloves before following after you and sitting behind you with his legs on either side of you.

“Papa’s going to show you how to relax, hm... Si?”

The way you panted and blushed as your eyes roamed away filled him with need. The thought of him corrupting such a gentle soul made him let out a shaky sigh.

“Take your uh...” Papa pondered for a second, not knowing the English word. “Your—your mutandine, take them off.”

“Si,” You responded coyly, knowing what he meant. You quickly slid your panties off, laying them beside you.

“Now, open your legs for me.” He kept grinning to himself when you did so, your pussy already slick from his limited touches. “Mio piccola ragazza, you are adorable.” You hooked your legs over his, giving him more room to stroke and rub. He did so happily, his index and ring finger leisurely drawing circles on your puffy clit. His head rested on your shoulder to properly inspect your reactions in the mirror.

The sight was one for sore eyes; your eyes lidded and fixated on his hand in the reflection, your cheeks red and your breathing slightly heavier than usual. You were so responsive, so much more perverted than Papa had ever could have guessed. He loved it.

“Dio, you’re wet,” He bit his lip softly, speeding his fingers up and rubbing your clit a little longer before stopping and inspecting your wetness coating and webbing between his fingers. He let out a soft grunt as he pushed those same two fingers into your juicy cunt, earning a small whine from you.

“Feels good, hm?”

“Yeah,” You replied breathily, little sounds starting to fall from your lips as the older man started to repeatedly pump his fingers in and out. The movement made a wet squelching noise that in turn made Papa smirk. His free hand wrapped around you and squeezed your tits needily, making it harder for you to focus on what he was doing.

After a little while he pulled his fingers out, his hand moving to hold your face as he lifted his hand to your mouth. “Suck them clean for Papa,” He grinned, watching you do as he asked, your tongue eagerly sucking his fingers clean from your slick. He chuckled after pulling them back out and letting go of your face.

“Now, watch what I do.” You watched his hand as he curled his fingers upward. “See? It’s going to feel good like that, I promise.”

His fingers were back in you before you could fully process what he meant. You let out a surprised gasp and watched him do the same thing he did before, only now he was curling his fingers up against a specifically sensitive spot inside you. Your mouth hung open at the intense, yet pleasurable feeling.

He switched between pumping his fingers in and out and curling them periodically, slowly speeding up little by little to push you over the edge. You felt a few soft kisses against your neck as you finally let your head loll back, moans and whines exiting your throat deliciously. It was no secret that the sight alone drove Papa wild, you could feel his rock-hard cock pressing into your lower back.

But this was about you, so you tried not to focus on it too much.

Your moans became a bit louder as Papa hammered his fingers against that delicious spot over and over, your legs started to tremble as you felt yourself grow closer to an orgasm—a feeling that was new to you. You couldn’t keep quiet, it felt too good. You felt a tight, warm knot twisting your insides and begging to unravel. Papa spoke up once he noticed your breathing starting to quicken.

“You’re close,” He grinned, glancing at your trembling thighs. “Rub your clit for me, cara, it’ll make it feel even better.”

Your hand trembled as you slid it down, your entire cunt coated in your juices, as well as the inner parts of your thighs. You’d never felt this great—euphoric, and you hadn’t even come yet. Papa’s hands were like magic.

You carefully rubbed your clit, your legs starting to involuntarily twitch when you started. It felt so intense and you had no clue why you hadn’t ever come to this point on your own.

“O-oh, Satan, I think I’m going to cum,” You managed to mumble between your many pleasured noises.

Papa’s eyes raked over your body, taking in the jumble of hands between your legs, your hard nipples poking through your habit, the slight sheen of sweat on your neck... fuck. He groaned at the sight. You were more beautiful than any painting he had ever seen, your body writhing in pleasure like it was designed to do so.

“Cum for me.” He said in a low, hoarse voice. It sounded more like a command than any of his other sweet comments.

Those three words were all it took. The knot unraveled and you struggled to keep the rhythm on your clit, a wave of tingles shooting up to your head and down to the tips of your toes. Your body trembled as Papa kept up his flawless pace, moaning softly as your back arched and your cunt spasmed around his fingers. You had never felt this great, nor had you felt this perverted. Nobody had managed to get you near an orgasm before, but in your defense you were ill-informed. 

Your moans echoed through the office, they were probably loud enough for anyone outside to hear, but you didn’t care. It all felt too good. Your body was overcome with ecstasy, making you wish the pleasure would never end.

Alas, your orgasm gradually died down. Papa pulled his fingers out and licked them clean himself this time, letting out the softest moan at your taste. He would have loved to dive between your legs and use his tongue to make you cum again, but you looked exhausted from it all. His hands slid down to your thighs, his thumbs soothingly rubbing back and forth over the skin.

“hm...” He hummed, kissing your temple. “Poor thing... you must be exhausted.”