#the band ghost comfort fic

[serene-sun]

˚⛰︎ミ☆𓆦𝕭𝖎𝖌 𝖗𝖊𝖉𓆦☆彡⛰︎˚

Pairing: papa of your choice & teen reader (platonic)

Genre: fluff! Comfort!

“Mm, sleepy.” You mumble under papas throw blanket that draped across you and him on his big leather sofa as a movie played.

He pets your head, trailing his fingers through your hair and massaging your scalp. The feeling makes you uncontrollably moan.

“Cold…” you pout, wiggling more into his back against the couch.

“Come on Angelo, let’s go to bed, it’s far past your bed time.” Papa whispers, his words blowing strands of hair out of your face.

You moan more, too sleepy to move. Papa catches on and decides to motivate you.

“Oh, but guess what papa found in the closet?” Papa teases.

You perk up, unable to hide your love for surprises.

Papa leaves the room, only to return moments later with a familiar red blanket in his arms.

You gasp, recognizing the fabric immediately.

“Wher-?” Before you can ask where he found it, he answers, “ghouls were hoarding it”

You run off to papas big bed, and attempt to get on the tall matress.

“Jeez, it’s seen better days.” He shakes his head.

You motion for him to throw it over you, only to have a bit of sadness swell up in your heart.

It’s….so small?

Papa sees the look of disbelief in your eyes, and sighs softly with a soft smile.

“You’ve grown up allot!” He reassures you.

“But…” you give up, trying to figure out how the blanket shrunk.

“Oh, amore..” he says, brining you into a big hug across his bed as tears swell up at the realization that you weren’t a kid anymore.

“You know…I remember like it was yesterday that we had to franticly search for you under this raggy old thing you were so small.” Papa tells you, petting your hair once more

“It was like a mountain.” You try to distract yourself from any negative thoughts and feelings intruding.

“But amore, it’s just a blanket. I know it holds so many good memory’s, but it’s just fabric! Just because you have grown out of being a small little child doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to feel that love, or be treated differently. I’ll still give you a bath if you please, and you know I don’t mind when you sleep with me.” Papa whispers into your hair as he rests his chin on it.

“I didn’t think time would go by so quickly.” You sigh, the tears spilling from your cheeks.

Papa hums, “I remember how you would even take it to the trampoline, even on joy rides around, and of course down to the basement during bad weather.”

You simply nod, remembering all the years the toughen red fabric releases as you hug it more.

“Oh jeez, it’s late. Come on.” Papa motions for you to lay back down as he gets under it as well.

You can practically smell all of the summer nights on it, as well as the cold winter ones. The feeling of the blanket brings you back to the feeling of the winter cold on your cheeks, but the blanket would bring you that warmth that was of a humans body. It even gave you the faint hearing of the heat Turing on, and how it reminded you of coming home from school and plopping down on the couch that was perfectly over the vent. The big red blanket also brought you back to laying on the trampoline, and how the twinkly lights of the stars speared at the sun was swallowed by the hill side. And how the frogs and crickets sing their lullaby as the moon wakes up, or how the wind would play with your hair as the campfire would crack and warm your feet and hands. Even when you had it draped around yourself at the table playing card games with the ghouls, mountain would look at your cards and help you out since you insisted you ‘knew how to play’, never once, unlike Swiss, did he cheat though.

But now that you had grown more, You found yourself in papas arms falling asleep, even more importantly, wrapped around the warm comfort big red.

A/n: huh what I’m not crying and projecting my childhood trauma into my work??

[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

[leezlelatch]

What I Was Made For

Terzo x F! Reader - Comfort, skin to skin, love confessions. Sometimes you just need your Papa.

Terzo’s chasuble falls off his body in a rush of satin, pooling at his feet. His gloves come off in equal measure, tossed to the floor carelessly. He removes each layer of clothing with hurried hands, stopping only when he’s standing before you in nothing but his underwear. He slides into the seat next to you, his arms wrapping around your waist in a firm grip as he drags you across the leather couch. You don’t say anything as his hands lift your shirt and usher you out of your leggings, joining them in a heap on the floor next to his papal vestments. 

“Terzo,” you finally break, your voice small, and he shushes you. A long finger slides beneath your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes are warm, even the white one like liquid as he regards you with a concerned and adoring smile. 

“I am here, piccolina,” he whispers, bringing your hands flat against the expanse of his chest to feel his heart beat steadily against your palms. “Do you feel me? I am here. I am here with you.” He continues to murmur this as he pulls you into a more comfortable position, cradling your head lovingly into the juncture of his neck as he reclines on the couch. “Feel my skin against yours. And breathe, mio dolce amore.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. He smells like caramel. He smells like your favorite candle. He smells like a warm pie baked in the chill of fall. He smells like home. You turn your nose into his skin and nuzzle against it, and Terzo almost coos, a sweet noise leaving his lips followed by a small chuckle. A chuckle of near disbelief as he pulls you closer. 

“Ah, what you do to me, eh? Make your Papa such a mess! I thought that was my job,” he squeezes you to him for a moment. “I will have to try harder, si?” He’s smiling, a contentment to his voice that you don’t think you have ever heard before. 

“You fluster me,” you murmur into his skin.

“Hmm? What was that?” He teases. “Speak up. Your Papa has a hard time hearing over his bravado, you see.” That makes you laugh, your body shaking on top of his. Terzo laughs with you, deep and joyful, and relieved. “There you are. Come along now, dolce.”

“I said, ‘you fluster me’,” you say a little louder, turning to hide your burning cheeks in the crook of his neck. You feel the brush of his lips upon your forehead and you grow quiet, sucking in a short and shaky breath. 

“Thank Satan,” he whispers, lips fluttering against your skin. “I was worried you were falling too close to the edge, and I could not catch you. My only choice, you see, is to fall with you.”

“I don’t want you to fall, Terzo,” your voice is quiet, sad. Your fingers draw through his chest hair, expression thoughtful as you rest skin to skin against him. His fingers copy your movements through your hair, his right hand sliding down to glide a gentle thumb across your cheek. 

“But that is the beauty of our love, is it not? We are clumsy together. We fall. And then we kiss each other’s bruises. They hurt a little less each day. Turn from black to yellow. And then they’re gone. Perhaps we shall look back on them, but they won’t hurt anymore. We will just remember the kiss,” his accented voice, melodic and warm, washes over you like a blanket. 

You start to sit up, Terzo following you, his fingers grasping at your skin. He is nearly desperate for you to understand. To help you through whatever melancholy is stuck to your precious heart. There are many things Terzo would admit to failing at in his lifetime. This would not be one of them. 

“Let me kiss them, amore. Please,” he begs softly, hands at your waist, massaging the soft skin there. “With you is where I am safest. Let me be safe for you.” 

The face of the former antipope in front of you is bare of makeup, his brow furrowed, the divot between his brows deepening every day. Crow's feet stretch from the outer corner of his eyes, marking a path of laughter across his face. Silver cuts through dyed black hair. He is the most beautiful man that you have ever seen. 

“I love you,” you tell him. Honest and hopeful and raw.

Terzo hands are on you, pulling you firmly back into his lap, wrapping arms and legs around you until any outside viewer wouldn’t know where you ended and he began. He’s heaving great breaths, bordering on a sob as he holds you so tightly against his flesh. 

“I love you. I love you. Satana, grazie per questa benedizione. Grazie, grazie,” he whispers fervently, pressing kiss after kiss against your temple, your cheeks, any inch of you he can reach. It has you giggling, and then he laughs too, and you’re both smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. 

“I don’t even remember what I was sad about,” you finally say, looking into his eyes, your lips mere inches of his. Terzo smiles, softer now, sweeter. 

“Exactly,” he whispers.

[iamthecomet]

hi, do you still take requests? I would love to see some broken limbs related comfort (does that count as a sick fic?). like mountain helping rain walk cus he lost his crutch or cirrus helping cumulus wash her hair since it's hard to do with a cast on her arm. (implying there's a reason they can't insta heal)

I do still take requests! It just sometimes takes me a really long time to get to them. But this one got my brain whirling. I haven't written much (any?) of it in the Ghost fandom but I am a big fan of whump (the injury version of a sick fic). So thank you for giving me an opportunity to inflict some pain (and comfort) on our favorites. Almost 1.2k of Aeon & Swiss hurt/comfort under the cut (no broken bones, because this is what came to me instead).

Aeon loves quintessence. He loves the electric shock of it. The tingling warmth. The way he can ease pain, and loosen muscles with a little press of his fingers. How he chases away Dew's headaches, and Cumulus' lower back pain. How he can loosen up Rain's hips, and Mountain's shoulders with barely a flex of his muscles. The only thing he hates about it, is the limitations. The fact that he can't do it to himself. Can't turn his power around and soothe his own aches. Most of the time, it isn't a problem. He's flexible, loose, spry. His vessel isn't prone to tense muscles or joint pain--maybe a product of his quintessence nature. He doesn't know. What he does know, is he's in agony. Something happened during Square Hammer. He got a little to overzealous with his movements and slipped on errant confetti. Hand coming up to grip the closest thing to him--the edge of Mountain's drum platform. His grip kept him upright, but wrenched on his shoulder as he regained his balence. Forcing an uncomfortable pop in his shoulder that he felt radiate through his entire body. A sickening thud, followed closely by immediate alarm bells in his head. That's not right. Something is wrong. It didn't hurt--not right away. Too caught up in the sudden wrongness of it. Adrenaline, already pumping through him from the show, dumping into his blood at an alarming rate. He thought he was fine. The pain started just before the end of the song. A dull ache radiating across his shoulder. Slowly gaining heat and intensity. Now, he's standing next to Swiss, about to bow, feeling like if he doesn't get off of this stage right now he's going to collapse in front of twenty thousand people. His stomach twists. The pain is bright and not now. Molten. Deep in his shoulder. Moving it, even just a little, raises a strange sense of dread through his body. Like something at the base of his brainstem knows he shouldn't do that. That catastrophe will happen if he does. Fight or flight directed toward his own body--his own pain. He wishes he could run from it. That he could just take off--run fast enough to leave this pain on the stage. Spread out and abandoned. Instead it's all he can do to bow without bursting into tears. When Swiss claps his hand over Aeon's shoulder, he winces. Pain drags up his neck, into his skull. Swiss notices, of course he does. Gaze lingering on Aeon for a second too long. Aeon flushes under his mask--embarassed even though he doesn't know why. He can't see Swiss' eyes but he can picture the way they're narrowing behind those dark lenses. Aeon looks away first, he shrugs it off. He makes it off stage, into the dressing room, and halfway out of his uniform before the trouble really starts. Everything is fine until he goes to pull his compression shirt off. The vest went fine, and the button up shirt beneath. He'd shrugged them off, letting them fall to the floor in a heap. But now--this--fuck. He should have just worn the sleeves tonight. He curses himself, looks at the compression sleeves sitting neglected in his trunk. He thought about it--but after a few shows of constantly having to adjust them back up on his arms he'd opted for the full shirt to save him some aggravation. He swears, under his breath. Glamor rapidly failing him as he feels fangs prick against his lip, and the bite of claws into his palms. He tries to get it under control, grasping at straws for any hint of control, of magic, of relief. "You ok, Bug?" Swiss is gentle this time when he touches Aeon. Avoiding the shoulder all together and opting for a heavy warm palm on his waist. Aeon feels panic crawl up his throat, hot and insistent. Filling him with the need to go. To run. To scream. Instead, he whines. Pain breaking out through his clenched teeth. Swiss stiffens, the usually casual air of his evaporating, replaced with worry. "Aeon." "I did something--my shoulder," Aeon's cheeks get hot, eyes watering. "It's not getting better. And I can't get my fucking shirt off."

"Let me help." Swiss is gentle when he slips his fingers beneath the compression fabric. Aeon allows himself to be undressed--not much else he can do. He can barely lift his arm, but Swiss manages, gentling the fabric of hot swollen flesh and dropping it onto the ground with everything else. "Hurts," Aeon says as Swiss looks at his shoulder--investigating without being asked. Aeon wishes Aether were here, he'd at least talk to him while he did this. He'd make Aeon feel better. Swiss just looks, shifts Aeon's arm this way and that like he knows what he's looking for. "I'm sure it does," Swiss mumbles. Then Aeon feels it--a tiny spark. Quintessence. Just a little. Tenative. Like Swiss isn't used to using it like this. "I'm not Aether, obviously. But I think it's a sprain. You'll be alright." Aeon feels those words somewhere at his core. Solid. True. Maybe it's Swiss' quintessence. The power of suggestion. But he believes him. Even as the pain rages, barely touched by what little quintessence Swiss has given him. He wants to beg for more, he almost does--but Swiss is still talking. "....get you dressed and back to the hotel. I'll take care of you." "You?" Aeon looks up at him. Swiss laughs, lopsided grin finally slotting back into place. "Yeah, me. Why you hoping for someone else to play nurse?" "No! No, I just mean--you're not--I figured you had better things to do. Weren't you and Dew going to go to that bar or something? I'll be ok--" "I know you'll be ok. But I want to help. So let me." Aeon wants to protest. He knows he's a part of this pack as much as anyone else--has never been lead to believe he isn't. But he's still new, still worries that he's one misstep away from being rejected. But Swiss has never given him a reason to think that, and he looks so earnest when he asks. Wearing his glamor. Looking so startlingly human with warm brown eyes and that crooked smile that always makes Aeon's stomach flip. Swiss grabs Aeon's t-shirt and holds it out to him--ready to help, and Aeon sags in resignation. He can do it alone--he can take care of himself and battle through this pain without any help. But why would he want to. "Will you even wash my hair for me?" Aeon asks, half a joke, grinning just for the opportunity to see Swiss grin back. "Maybe," Swiss laughs, helping Aeon into his t-shirt. "But, I might just dose you with enough quintessence to knock you out so I can go party with Dew." "You won't," Aeon says, sure. Feeling lighter despite the pain radiating down his arm and into his fingers. Swiss pulls him close, guides him out of the dressing room with a steady hand on the small of his back. "No," he concedes. "I won't."

[walaskart]

The Routine

1039 words

No warnings: just a simple comfort fic :)

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

And so this was your routine.

Copia, he always insisted you call him Copia instead of Papa, filled with anxiety as if he hasn’t performed multiple, flawless concerts before this has been bugging you all afternoon.

“Cara, what if I fall during a song.”

“You stand up, and continue singing.”

“Mio Cuore, what if the ghouls begin to misbehave?”

“You let them. The fans seem to like that, don’t they?”

“Amore, what if they decide they do not like me?”

“Copia, my dear, I don’t think that will be an issue.”

And with every comment and concern you rub his shoulders, kiss him on the forehead, and assure him that everything will be okay. Copia believes you as if you have the power to pull all the bad things out of the performance and make it perfect. He swears that you do.

After making your way around the city of that night’s performance, you and him both make your way back stage. He has to get ready early for the meet and greets so you go to his dressing room, full of flowers and plushes and gifts adoring fans have both thrown at him and given to him. Copia sits on the couch, back to worrying about what people will think about him when they meet him while you go through his outfits to find his black robes. You help him put it on, making sure his sash is in place and every snap is fastened. Lastly is his skull paint.

This is your favorite part of the routine, just you and him, in two chairs facing each other, perfectly positioned for you to lean in and paint his face. You’ve worked this out, he sits with his legs open while you sit, as close as you can, in between them. First is the white paint, covering most his face except for around the eyes and cheeks where you know the black paint will soon go. Copia keeps his eyes open, watching you while you focus on him. Next is the black paint, his least favorite part because that is when you stop and gently ask, “Copia, close your eyes.” Unable to see, he feels you move the brush around his eyes, getting lost in the sensation. He almost forgets he can open them again when he feels the brush on his cheek.

“Aspettare, mi angelo, wait!” Copia leans away from you, putting a pause on the task at hand.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” As if you don’t already know the answer, as if this doesn’t happen every time.

"How are you supposed to give me my buona fortuna bacio, if my lips are painted?” He smiles, face half-covered in skull paint.

And so you play into this, just like every other night. “I don’t know Copia, how much more luck do you need? You have Satan on your side and a sold out show to stand in front of, full of adoring followers.”

“And yet, Amore, I feel like I have nothing without your kiss.” Copia leans closer and you follow, knowing full well you could never say no to him. You take his face in your hands, not caring about the mess it will make and fully prepared to repaint his whole face if you have to, pull him close, and kiss him softly.

You pull away first after a moment to whisper, “Good luck, Copia.” He smiles, with the light of the stars in his eyes, quickly leans forward again to peck you before you have a chance to move back.

“Grazie, Cara.” You laugh and stand up to find the nearest sink to wash the smeared paint off your hands. After the paint is done, you send him off to his meet and greets, and decide to lay on the couch in his dressing room while you wait.

From there, you hear the first opening band begin their set, close your eyes, and drift asleep to the muffled music. ______________________________________________________________

"Mi amore! Angelo!”

Copia’s voice stirs you from your nap and as your eyes slowly open, you see him sitting next to you, wearing his commander’s outfit.

“Copia, how was it?” Before you get the chance to sit up, he lies next to you, getting as close and comfortable as he can on the small couch. He talks about the people he met, in awe of some of their outfits, makeup, and dedication to him and the band. While he talks, he puts his arm around you, absentmindedly rubbing your back.

After he finishes, you ask him what time it is, knowing full well the second opener is about to finish their set. He seems reluctant to check the clock, and honestly so are you. But you must, so you do what neither of you want to do and get up from the couch and go to check on each ghoul in their respective rooms to make sure everything is in order.

After hearing the call to have everyone take their place on the stage, there’s one last thing to do before you go to the crowd to find your seat. You find Copia, surround by the ghouls in the wings, grab him by the labels of his jacket, and pull him into one last kiss before the show begins. The ghouls smile, rushing on to the stage to take their places. They’ve learned the hard way not to comment or whistle, the first and last time that happened ended in them getting swatted at by you and cursed out in Italian by Copia.

“Good luck, Papa Emeritus the fourth.” This is the only time you call him that, knowing that right now, before he steps on stage, he is filled with confidence and no longer worries about the people who held that name before him. Right now, it is him and it is you and that is all that matters to him. You run away quickly before he can steal another kiss, hurrying to find your seat. By the time you do, Imperium is almost finished, the crescendo rises, and you see the silhouette of a ghoul as he begins to play the first notes of Kaisarion and the crowd begins to scream.

[autumnblooms]

Back on my MountainDew bullshit curtesy of @kroas-adtam ‘s Death of Peace of Mind 👀

[writingjourney]

how it feels | cardinal copia x reader

summary: You've been struggling with your body image lately, Copia notices and tries to comfort you.

content: 2k words, emotional hurt/comfort, tw for body image issues, reader is gender neutral with no physical descriptions, established loving relationship, Copia is an absolute sweetheart angel baby.

This is absolutely self-indulgent, but I kept it very vague so that it’s as relatable as it can be. It’s more on the emotional side for sure but (I hope) still ends with a positive message. Please don't read this if you’re acutely triggered by negative self talk.

Ao3 link – Masterlist

It happens by chance.

You have been avoiding the big, ornate mirror in your room for a few days now, pretending to wear blinkers. If you weren’t sharing a bedroom with Copia, you might have covered it with a sheet. But this morning, as your love gets ready for work, humming to himself in the bathroom, you can’t find your habit. Panicked that you can’t immediately cover yourself, you start a frantic search and your gaze gets caught by the reflection of your hectic movements. Your eyes meet your full-length mirror image, not the small one you’re used to seeing in the bathroom, and it’s like looking at a stranger. For a second you’re in shock, wondering who this body you feel so unfamiliar with belongs to. But then you realise that it’s yours. Instead of walking away, your eyes focus on every single part of it and the vile thoughts that enter your brain meet you like old friends.

You know the image in your head, the view in the mirror and your real body are three separate things. You know that what you’re seeing is distorted by the pain and self-loathing you’ve been harbouring for the past week. And yet no rational thought fully settles in. They pass, they don’t even puncture the disgust you feel.

You startle when you feel two strong arm wrap around your midsection, when the smell of freshly-applied cologne hits your nose. Copia pulls you into his chest and it takes you every ounce of restraint not to flinch back, not to fight your way out of his arms and hide like a wounded animal.

“Hmm, you look beautiful today, amore,” he whispers, then stamps a wet kiss to your cheek. “You always do.”

The disconnect between his reaction and your own perception is enough to make you frown. Copia’s eyes widen, like he’s afraid he said something wrong. He stares at you in the mirror and he must see the tears that colour your eyes red.

“Car-"

You slip out of his grasp, in search for the habit. It sits on a chair next to the bed, waiting for you, your saving grace. But before you can pull it over your head, Copia takes your arm, gently holds it in his strong grasp.

“I need to get ready.”

“Something is wrong, amore,” he states. “You are upset.”

“I need to get dressed, Copia.”

He shakes his head vehemently, nearly dropping his red biretta. “Is it about last night? You said you were tired, too.”

“I know. I was.”

You truly were. But if you’re being honest, exhaustion was not the reason you were glad that he didn’t initiate anything last night. There is no way you would be able to let go right now, to allow yourself any pleasure.

 “I know, I have been busy lately, we did not have much time for… for intimacy.” His thumb rubs a slow circle over your wrist. “But that does not mean I desire you any less. Ti amo, ti desidero, con tutto il cuore. Always.”

His words caress the wounds on your soul. But even so they can’t heal them, not after you ripped them open for days. “I know.” You try to force out a smile. “It’s okay, really. You did nothing wrong.”

“Che cos’è? You are almost crying, amore. I don’t believe it. You don’t even say you love me back.”

You desperately want to, you wish you could find words for him. But instead you vaguely shrug, not sure what to tell him for fear of lying, of abusing his trust. You stare at his hand on your arm. Even though his grip is loose now the black leather of his gloves makes it look almost violent. As if he has the same thought he moves his hand down in favour of linking your fingers together. You wish he would just let it go, that his touch wouldn’t make it all worse, even with the leather as a barrier. How is he not repulsed, how would he willingly be close to you?

“Maybe I am a little upset,” you admit, finally.

“With me?”

His soft voice breaks your heart. You look up at him and see the insecurities plainly written on his face. Of course he assumes that he is the reason. Even now, after being together for so long, he is still so scared of messing up.

You squeeze his hand. “No, not with you. Never with you. I do love you back, so much.”

His shoulders visibly relax and he pulls his brows up into a pleading look. “Can I hug you?”

Despite feeling so ashamed, so miserably vulnerable, you nod. You cannot refuse him, no matter how scared you are of what his touch will do to you. So you wrap your arms around his neck, feel him sink into you. The fabric of his cassock is stiff, hiding the shape of his body and making you feel even more naked. His hands rest on your bare skin, the leather warm as his fingers spread over the small of your back. You feel his warm cheek on yours, the only true skin contact, his sideburns tickling when he nuzzles your neck with a deep sigh.

“Tell me why you are so sad, amore,” he whispers. “Help me understand.”

You know you would never have told him if you’d had to look at his face. But here, hidden in his embrace, your senses busy taking in his scent, his warmth, you feel infinitely safer. Completely filled with the affection you don’t feel like you deserve, you whisper your question. “Copia, do you think I’ve changed?”

He lets go just enough to look at you. “Changed how?”

You shrug, averting your gaze as you fiddle with the buttons just below his neck. “Changed… physically?”

“Your body?”

“Mhm.”

He frowns and you regret the question. This must seem so trivial to him, so pointless. He may not be able to see any changes, he may not even have payed attention, so swamped with work and more important things to worry about.

“I don’t think so,” he finally says. “Did I miss something? You did not get a haircut? New clothes?”

“No. No, that’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean, amore?”

You fight back tears. Satanas, you feel pathetic, so embarrassed by the situation. How is he still asking? How is he not giving up and telling you to get a grip, that he needs to go to work? You cannot help but feel a bit crushed, undeserving of this love that he has for you, of his patience, all the comfort he offers. You wish you could love yourself like he loves you, be gentle and kind with your body.

Copia takes your chin between his fingers and gently tilts your head up. 

“You know I think you are bellissimo?” he asks. “That you are a gift, not only for my eyes but for my soul?”

You close your eyes, trying to let his words sink in. “Yes. Yes, I know.”

He clicks his tongue. “No, you forgot. I made you forget because I was so busy. I did not love you enough.”

You don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s not a lack of compliments or displays of affection, not when he seems so happy to have found a solution. How could you explain that you’re just messed up sometimes? Maybe it is unfair to let him try, to exploit his affections. You can’t let him think he’s lacking in any way.

“You did, you alway love me enough. You–“

“No, it is alright.” Copia shakes his head. “I will make it better, amore.”

His soft, plump lips press against yours. Before you can reciprocate, he moves them to your jaw, to your neck, featherlight touches that make you shiver. For as long as his body covers yours, they feel wonderful, but then he lets you go and you’re exposed again. Copia sinks down before you and his lips dance all over your chest, leaving a trail of black lipstick.

“So beautiful,” he whispers against your sternum. “Sono tanto fortunato.”

His words, as genuine as they may be, ring hollow. Your mind is telling you that he’s lying. That he can’t possibly mean any of it. He’s saying it because he has to, because he wants to cheer you up, because he is kind and generous like that.

“Tesorino, sei tutto per me. More than I could ever deserve.”

His hands trail down your sides as he kisses your belly, moving down to your navel. That’s when you tense up completely. You can’t take it, it’s like he’s trying to extinguish a flame by adding more fuel. His words, his kisses, his obvious display of his undying devotion, they are too heavy.

“Stop,” you say, barely able to breathe out the words. “Please.”

He looks up at you in utter confusion, chin resting against your stomach. “Amore?”

“I’m sorry,” you blubber out. “I’m so sorry, I don’t think I can do this right now.”

“Nonono.” He moves his hands up and down the backs of your thighs. “I am just trying to show you how beautiful you are. How much I adore you. We don’t have to do anything.”

“That’s not it. Its’ just…” You feel the first full tear rolling down your cheek. “I don’t think I can believe any compliments right now. They are wasted on me. You are wasted on me.”

You can practically see his heart break at your words and you cry silently – for yourself and for him. 

“What are you saying, tesoro?”

You know the question is rhetorical. He perfectly understands. “You deserve so much better, my love.”

He stands up and you watch as he takes off his gloves. With his now bare hands, he cradles your face, wipes the tears away. He’s too slow to catch them all and you wish he would not have to see you cry, he would not see you puffy and pathetic. But you are too weak to move, too weak to fight him when your whole body and your very soul are so desperate, so hungry for his love.

“Can you feel this?” he asks. “How my hands feel on you?”

You nod and he strokes your cheeks. He is so gentle, his fingertips massaging your skin like he’s trying to rub the sadness out of you.

“When I touch you, do you think about how it looks or how it feels?”

“How it feels.”

He brings his face closer, waits for you to flinch, to pull back. But you don’t. So he kisses you, firmly, tenderly, and beneath the salty tears you can taste his love for you.

Ever so patient, he doesn’t pull away. His lips linger, barely grazing yours, as he whispers against your mouth. “And when I kiss you, what do you think about, amore?”

“How good it feels.”

Copia smiles, a pained but beautifully heartbreaking smile. “What about when we make love? What do you think about then?”

“I think about how much I love you, how good you make me feel.”

“Me too. It’s all I think about when we’re together. But it is more of a feeling than a thought. You agree?”

Again, you nod and he nuzzles your nose, keeps his hands on your head. He pushes them into your hair, angles your head up just slightly so that he can kiss the tears from your cheeks. For the first time today you don’t want to leave your body, you want to stay exactly where you are.

“If you cannot believe my words, then maybe you can accept my affection? My love?” he asks. “Can you accept that it is not tied to your body but to all of you, even the things you cannot love about yourself?”

You take a shuddering breath. “I don’t know, Copia.”

“Let us try, amore. Let us try every day to love each other the best we can, sì? To focus on how good it feels?”

You hum in agreement and he hugs you again, pulls you so close that you barely even feel your body anymore, just him and what he does to you. Maybe you can accept his love, even if you are not always capable of understanding it. And maybe by loving him with all your heart you can find a way to extend that love to yourself as well. One day.

Thank you for reading! I hope you're feeling okay and that this story helped a little bit – and if not, my inbox is always open. Take care now, I love you, I like you. Get sleep, get well etc etc ♡

[darkhairedmenrule]

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO its tony

man

would you be oh so kind as to make an

papa's x gn reader with fluff :)))))))))))

pretty please with gay men on top

Comfort time with the Papas

These are just little comfort headcanons that I came up with, this should be gn! reader because I don't mention any pronouns. I hope you like them Tony <3 All of these are romantic but if anyone wants a platonic or spicy version let me know. Please be gentle, this is my first Ghost fic. Enjoy!

Primo- With Primo, I imagine you two often peacefully coexist in his garden. Whether it be that he is teaching you how to garden and the differences in all of his plants, or you already know about gardening and he trusts you to help. These early mornings or evenings allow you both to just spend time together without having to fill the silence. You always make sure that he actually takes breaks and doesn't push himself too far. You guys only work for maybe an hour or so, nothing strenuous, and after you walk back to your shared rooms hand in hand. After you guys clean up, sharing sweet kisses or hugs depending on what you are comfortable with, he asks you if you want a drink. If you are a tea person, he makes you an absolutely lovely cup of tea ( from leaves that he grew himself, we love a girlboss). If you aren't a tea person he will make you anything that you want, even learn how to make your favorite drink. With your drinks, you cuddle either in bed with a good book or watch a movie that you both like.  All in all, you both enjoy a sweet calm evening after your long often hectic days. He always is generous with his affection, whether that be kisses and cuddling or letting you talk and being there for you physically and emotionally. Primo just wants his darling to be happy and healthy and will do anything to make that happen( even if you have to convince him to get a TV or any new technology in his room). He is simply grateful and honored that he gets to share these sweet moments with you and to let his heart be full of love and affection. Primo is a sweetheart and I just wanna kiss his forehead <3

Secondo- With Secondo, I imagine that he is used to filling his free time with carnal acts of all kinds, which is perfectly fine but we are not focusing on that today. I think that like his older brother, Secondo would crave domestic normalcy and would never pass it up. I imagine you found out about his hobby after he realized that you were interested in more than one night with him. I can see you finding his paintings and asking him if it would be okay if you joined him, and of course, he would want you to join him. He may be more stoic in some aspects than his brothers, but this man has so much affection to give you. Regardless of your skill level, he is going to treasure any and every painting you make with him. I can imagine him either keeping them in your shared room or creating a little gallery that he keeps on his phone( yes he has one but you might have to help him with it sometimes). After you guys have decided to finish painting one evening, you guys clean up and he offers to make you a drink. If you aren't a big fan of alcohol, he has different mocktails, Italian sodas, or anything else you would like. You two would probably cuddle up on the couch or in bed, either enjoying each other's company with a good book, listening to music, or maybe even a movie. Secondo is happy to share the evening with you in any way that you want. He simply just loves to bask in the sweet affection that you two share and remind himself that he deserves this love <3

Terzo- I imagine that quality time with Terzo can be many things. Like his older brother, he enjoys carnal acts, but also just existing together. I imagine that you two would spend some of your free time baking together. Terzo may be clumsy at times but he enjoys baking, especially if he has a personal taste tester. He would love to have you help him or just simply watch him enjoy his process. He loves to fill the time by asking you about your day, what you are excited or upset about, and anything that you would like to talk about. During all of it, he just has a sweet love drunk smile on his face. When whatever he was making is finally ready for you both to eat, he makes sure to give you the first bite, and he wants you to be honest about the taste, texture, and overall experience. He is extremely interested in your thoughts and loves to hear you in general. He always makes sure to take note of your criticism or praise so that if he ever recreates or remakes anything it is the same quality or better. After you two have shared your little treat, he likes to make you a hot chocolate. I know he might not seem like the type, but I know in my heart that he enjoys hot cocoa. Makes it from scratch every time and uses the same recipe that Primo used when he and Secondo were little. Adds any toppings that you like to yours and insist that he made it with love. You both cuddle and enjoy your delicious hot cocoa with either him reading you a book, you reading him one, enjoying some music, or a movie that you enjoy. He adores these evenings where you both can be yourselves, with no expectations or chores to do. You both just get to be close and love each other and know that you are cherished by your beloved Papa <3

Copia-  With Copia, I just have to mention his beloved rat babies. If you are in love with Copia I just imagine you spending the little downtime he allows himself to be with his sweet fur babies. You two are just sitting with them all, giving them the love, treats, and attention that each little cutie deserves. He loves this, he gets to not only decompress and relax with his Amore but he also gets to be with his beloved pets. The rats all have their personalities and love to run around you both, so happy that you are home. If you wear hoodies or =clothing with bigger pockets they love to crawl in and take little naps with their beloved parents because congratulations you are the co-parent to these little rats. After they have their food, cuddles, zoomies, and a few snacks they go back into their cage to rest and cuddle with each other. With your kids all in bed, you both get ready for bed yourselves. You either help Copia with his Papal paints if he hasn't already taken them off or maybe take a quick shower together or separately. Either way, when you both are ready to relax for the evening you grab some of Copia's beloved Juice boxes and relax in bed. Whether your evening ends with playing some video games, watching him play or you both playing, watching a movie, or just cuddling in bed before you sleep, Copia reminds you just how much he adores you. This is where he can let himself be Copia, not just Papa and he is so grateful that you see the real him. He loves to spend his evenings with his favorite person, all cuddled up and cozy in bed, knowing that he is loved and adored.<3

[dewedup]

Hi dear friend 💙

How about..."if you could only see yourself the way I do, you wouldn't feel this way" with my sweet sweet Rulti boys.

Besos!😘

sorry this ended up taking me a little mac, i love how your brain works and i hope i did it justice 🖤

please enjoy 1k of sad, angsty rain and swiss breaking through the pain 🥰

Rain’s hands travel the skin of his neck exploratorily, fingers brushing over the slightly protruding gills on either side of his neck. They are a light-blue colour and stand out compared to the greyish-blue tone of his skin like a sore thumb. He knows that logically, Dew used to have the very same identifying features of a water ghoul. That you can still see the shiny, silvery scars if you look hard enough. 

Sometimes he even catches Dew being slightly oversensitive to the area still, releasing a soft gasp when they’re touched the right way, flinching when he’s grabbed a little too roughly around the neck. Rain sympathizes, and knows the feeling well himself. It’s an interesting flaw in the design of water ghouls, having such a vulnerable area highlighted like a bullseye for all predators to see. To be totally at someone’s mercy if they touch them just right.

That’s not the part that really bothers Rain though, just something he thinks of once in a while. If he one day had an audience with Lucifer, he’d probably bring it up. Workshop some ideas with the Unholy One. 

No, what bothers Rain is that he’s the only ghoul with these outward markings. Air ghouls get to walk a little lighter. Their hair floats perfectly around them, like they’re perpetually on a cloud. Quintessences have captivating purple irises that seem to glow in the dark. Dew’s eyes hold a similar power, coupled with the fact that he always runs hotter than any other being Rain has had the pleasure of getting close to. Even Mountain grows cute little flowers on his body, for fucksakes. Don’t even get him started on multi ghouls. They’re heartbreakingly gorgeous, taking every positive aspect of their mixed elements and crafting perfection. He’s almost positive that if he looked at Swiss too long, he’d go blind. 

And here’s Rain, with these stupid fucking gills. 

The ones that decorate his ribcage are fine, easily hidden and if that’s the only place he had them he wouldn’t complain too badly. But the neck? Impossible to casually hide. It’s the only thing he sees in the mirror when he’s brave enough to look, the bright tone catching his eyes immediately. He feels like a lesser ghoul, unevolved, unrefined in a way. 

When he’s feeling particularly hideous, he’ll exert enough effort to glamour the area. Coincidentally, it’s more work to disguise just one part of his body instead of a full glamour. But he’s stubborn, will spend the whole day on edge and fall into bed exhausted after trying to conceal the ugliest part of him from view. 

He’s still standing in front of his vanity, hands to his neck, when the door to his room is thrown open.

“Rain! Dew and Phantom challenged us to a…” Swiss’ voice trails off as he watches Rain grip his neck self-consciously. It’s too much, the beautiful golden eyes of the multi ghoul staring right at his most vulnerable area, his gaze calculating as he takes in the scene before him. Rain’s hackles rise. The surprise mixing with the self-hatred he’s been soaking in creates an explosive reaction inside him.

“Did no one fucking teach you how to knock?” Rain spits, venom lacing his tone as he drops his hands, quickly pushing a glamour out to cover his gills. Swiss flinches visibly at the words, his eyes narrowing as his gaze still lingers on Rain’s neck. Silence eats at him, unshed tears pushing their way to his eyes. No, he cannot cry right now. He’s just angry, he just needs Swiss to leave. 

“Rain,” Swiss ventures, taking slow steps towards him. He lifts his hands, palms raised towards the water ghoul like he would a wounded animal. Rain stumbles backwards, bracing his hands on the vanity behind him. 

“Get the fuck out Swiss,” Rain’s voice cracks on the multi ghoul’s name, the anger evaporating as quickly as it comes. A single tear trails its way down his cheek. Swiss is unfazed by the quickly shifting moods, taking the last few steps to close the distance between them. Rain stiffens as he’s pulled close by a hand wrapping around his waist, leaving the comfort of the sturdy vanity behind him. Swiss reaches up with his other hand, his thumb brushing against Rain’s cheek to catch the stray tear. 

Rain’s entire body slumps, the last few lingering impulses to fight dissipating. 

“Show me, love.” Swiss whispers and Rain feels completely exposed under the golden gaze burning into him. He knows exactly what Swiss wants, debates playing dumb, but Swiss’ face is earnest, affection carved into every faint line or wrinkle. With a heavy sigh, he drops the glamour, his eyes sliding shut as he tries to hide from his own wicked thoughts. 

He doesn’t see Swiss move closer, only letting out a soft gasp as his lips press light kisses along the gills on the right side of his neck. Never pushing too hard. If Rain wasn’t hyperaware of every single thing happening currently, he might even miss the soft caresses on his sensitive skin. Swiss switches to the other side, supplying the same gentle affection to the neglected gills. 

“You’re absolutely gorgeous Rainbow,” Swiss pulls back, waiting for Rain to open his eyes before he speaks next. It’s a battle, the water ghoul fighting back tears as he cracks his eyes to peek at Swiss. The love and adoration displayed blatantly on his face punches a soft sob out of Rain’s mouth. 

Swiss coos and shushes him, pulling Rain tight to his chest, guiding his head to nuzzle in the crook of his neck. His warm hands rub comforting circles into Rain’s back as he shudders, tears falling to stain Swiss’ white t-shirt. It’s a few minutes before Rain’s breath evens out, eyes sore from crying, body exhausted, using every bit of strength Swiss offers to hold him up. 

“If you could only see yourself the way I do,” Swiss whispers, pressing soft kisses to the side of Rain’s head as he squeezes the water ghoul a little tighter. “You wouldn’t feel this way.” 

And Rain thinks, for Swiss, maybe he could try. 

[serene-sun]

𝕴𝖙'𝖘 𝖆𝖑𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙

Pairing: anyone x reader

Warnings: SH, blood, cuts, your being doctored

“Are you ok? You’ve been in there awhile,” his voice says from behind the bathroom door.

I wipe my face and quickly clear my throat of the tears and sorrow that filled it. “I’m fine, stomach just hurts.” I lie.

“You’ve been in there a long time though.” He draws out the ‘long’ part and it makes my heart ache.

How could I do something to such a caring person?

I sniffle as my voice breaks, “I’m fine.”

I continue dabbing at the deep cuts on my thigh with the wet cloth, I double-check to be sure the door is locked.

“What’s going on? Why are you on the floor?” He asks a little more concerned.

I stumbled to find the right words, I guess he can see my shadow, or maybe the edge of my socks is poking out from under the door. “Uh..”

It’s like every word I spit out makes more bright red blood surface my pale skin.

“Please open the door,” he demands as he raddles the door nob.

I panic and try to pull my pants back on with a hiss, I swallow the pain. After all, it’s what I wanted.

I open the door and hope the puffiness of my red cheeks and swollen lips from being picked won’t give off how horrible I’ve been doing.

He looks at me like his heart shattered as soon as the door so much as cracked

“Oh, what happened?” He asks as he places a hand on my shoulder, he wants to hug me, I can feel it.

“Nothing, what happened to you?” I try to play it off but his eyes dart down to my now bloody jeans.

Shit.

I want to cry, I want to drop to the floor and forget about this world. Maybe if I push him away he will get the idea but it’s too late as he pushed passed me to grab a towel.

His eyes see the smudged blood on the toilet seat and counter, his whole body stops as his shoulder relaxes after taking in the scene.

I start to cry.

“Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, please don’t be mad I never wanted you to see.” I blurt out a train of apologies as he looks back at me with low and sad eyes.

It sucks because of how beautiful he looks in the dim hallway light that fills the small bathroom. His eyes give off a warm feeling of protection. I started to cry harder, if he was mad he would start yelling already. Or maybe he's like the others and would get aroused at the pink strokes across my skin.

“Here, sit down and take your pants off.” He says as he grabs the alcohol from under the sink.

I don’t want to make him mad so I just do as he says and wait, he’s never been mad at me though. Not even when I mess up or talk too much, or even when I beat him in that band competition in middle school.

The way his whisky-colored eyes swell with tears makes my heart shatter, I know I hurt him and I know it’s my fault. It sends a wave of pain piercing down my body, but the feeling of a wet makeup pad dabbing the wound drowns it out as I’m brought back to reality

“I’m sorry,” I try to say, but it’s interrupted with another silent cry.

“No reason to be sorry, I understand that this is what helps you cope.” He says as he cleans the blood off of my leg.

I was shocked at his words, everyone else just looked at me disgusted or yelled questions at me. Why is he so forgiving?

“Promise me you will let me help you, and don’t make this a dangerous thing.” He adds as he grabs gauze.

I just nodded, I didn’t know what else to do. “Ok,”

“Alright,” he replies as my tears dry and makes my face raw.

“I’m sorry,” I conclude.

“No reason to be,” he flashes me an honest smile before carefully sliding my pants back on.

“I’m sorry.” I look him in the eyes this time as I’m overwhelmed with a sense of care.

“I know, I love you.” He hugs me

[ghulehunknown]

Clergy Headcanons - Proposals!

Rated G - Purely fluff! Gender neutral reader

How I think the head members of the Clergy would propose to you 😌

(inspired by Älva’s Papa engagement ring post!)

Primo

Very romantic

He asked a parental figure/someone important in your life for your hand (well, at least told your loved one(s) beforehand to give a semblance of traditionality)

Plans a picnic with all your favorite foods, and he brought your favorite roses and other pretty flowers from his garden. He actually secretly grew a special engagement bouquet just for you!

He doesn’t get down on one knee because of his arthritis, but proposes while you’re both sitting down

The ring is very traditional and likely passed down for generations in his family. He’s been waiting a whole lifetime to give it to you 🥺

Secondo

Whatever he has planned, it’s completely with your personality in mind - whether you are more inclined for something quiet or a something with a little more opulence

But it’s probably something a little more lowkey, like after a lovely dinner that he cooks for you. He may not be one for grand gestures but he does know how to make you feel very special

He has a very romantic, although not super long, speech before he gets down on one knee and hands you the most wonderful ring you’ve ever seen

The ring is beautiful, but dark - much like him. It’s probably got some black star sapphires in it or something, and the band is made from tungsten or titanium because it’s durable and lasting like his love for you

Terzo

He…may or may not have proposed impulsively one evening after a date because he got excited…then remembered he’s Terzo and vows to do better with a surprise later. (Eloping isn’t out of the question for him)

He plans a grand day out doing all your favorite activities before coming back to the Ministry which is decorated to the max and all your loved ones are there in attendance

He gets down on one knee and gives an elaborate, moving speech and promises you the world

The ring is GORGEOUS and extravagant and must’ve cost a fortune. But your love is priceless, so a silly little price tag doesn’t stop him (don’t worry, he paid full price and didn’t use the Papa discount; he makes sure you know that)

He definitely planned a flashmob for you with Siblings and Ghouls dressed in tuxedos and wedding dresses, but waves them off after he sees how overcome with emotion you are

Can’t wait for you to see the second part…alone in his room, because you have to “christen the engagement”

Copia

Oh god he’s nervous AF, he’s sweating and stumbling. He doesn’t want to mess this up because he’s been planning it for a long time. He knew you were the one the day he met you

He takes you back to the spot you had your first date. You can tell something is up because he’s acting a little funny

He definitely messes up his little speech he has prepared but he says something like: “You will never walk alone”

He’s so, so sweet and everything is perfect no matter how nervous you both are 🥺

He gets down on one knee and everything and you feel like the most special person in the world, because to him you are

He gives you a traditional, but absolutely beautiful ring. It’s probably got diamonds or your birthstone in it. He’s not a fully traditional man, but for things as important as this he doesn’t want to miss a beat

He’s ready to start planning the wedding!

Nihil

“Here,” and hands you the ring

He probably proposes immediately after you have an argument in attempt to makeup and show you he still wants you

The ring is simple, but durable. It’s probably solid gold, because to him you’re golden

Afterwards he takes you out to your favorite restaurant then a drive in movie (it reminds him of the good ol’ days)

Sister Imperator (bonus round!)

Very methodical and planned to a T

Lots of beautiful decorations

The speech is simple and to the point, as she often is, so there’s really no way to get lost in flowery language. You know what she wants, and it’s you and her forever

“We would be good together, don’t you think?” she’d say with her all-knowing smirk

She hands you a sturdy stainless steel ring and got herself one to match

[leezlelatch]

Comfort From The Eldest

This is something I've had in my drafts forever. It was written after I had a really harsh interaction with a coworker, and I hope that it provides the same level of comfort to you as it did for me when I was having difficulties. Female reader. Fluff, comfort, protective papas.

Primo 

You almost feel ridiculous for being upset. It’s not like you did anything. It was the other party. But you feel awful. Every part of that conversation is ringing in your head and won’t let go. Someone took their anger out on you because they were hurting, you realize that. You know they didn’t actually mean it, but you can’t help the hurt that’s sitting in your gut like a rock. 

You sigh as you sink into Primo’s preferred chair in his little observatory. His telescope sits mounted beside it, eye toward the heavens. Maybe you should take a peak. Look at something beyond you, bigger than you, to make your problems seem smaller than they are. 

“Petal?” Primo’s deep voice echoes through the space, startling you. 

You look up to see him standing inside the doorway. He holds a book to his side, his other hand carrying a cup of tea which steams into the air. His reading glasses sit perched on his hooked nose. He isn’t wearing his paints, his wrinkled and hawk-like features on display for your weary eyes. Primo’s beauty is a balm. 

“I am surprised to see you here, sweet petal, but nonetheless delighted,” he continues, sweeping into the room to set his cup down on a pretty flower doily on the surface of his desk. “It does an old man’s heart good to see his preziosa.”

“I like it here…this is your space,” you say softly. 

“You know you are welcome at all-,” he pauses as he turns away from his desk, his eyes sweeping over your form. 

“What happened?” His tone has changed immediately. It’s sharp, coiled, ready to strike. 

“What do you mean?” You try to laugh it off, your lips curling into a smile, but to your own ears it sounds hollow. 

Primo moves toward you in a way that sends a shiver straight down your spine. It’s quick, straight, so unlike his usual unhurried gait brought on by age. He kneels beside the chair with no more than a small huff and takes your hands, his eyes searching yours. The white of his left eye looks narrowed, as if it sees more than you can comprehend. 

“You look so sad, amore mio. Your Papa may be old, my darling, but he is not blind. I know every tick of that beautiful face.” 

Your eyes burn and you try to look away, but long fingers capture your chin, keeping your gaze. Primo’s expression melts into a soft smile, his fingers sliding up to trace the curve of your cheek. You immediately crumble and tell him everything, the former Papa wildly attentive. He squeezes your hand when you begin to choke up, he nods along with your words, and he never interrupts you. 

Primo pats your legs when you finish, “Up, petal,” he says, waiting for you to move so he can sink down into his chair with a soft groan. He holds out his arms and you gently fall into his lap. He nuzzles into the side of your head for a moment before reaching out toward his telescope. 

“Let’s see,” he murmurs. He peaks into the lens, adjusting it here and there before a satisfied “ah!” leaves his lips. “There we are, petal, look here.” 

You look at him for a moment, his smile encouraging, before you look through the lens. You see a beautiful star, shining in the sky, likely thousands of light years away. 

“It’s beautiful,” you say, smiling at him. 

“It’s you,” he says. “I named it after you. After my brightest star, who brings me happiness beyond anything I could have ever imagined. Who is kind, loving, and clever. Unfortunately, she has to put up with un vecchio coglione.” 

“Oh, hush,” you laugh through a fresh bout of tears. “Primo…” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing his lips. 

“I love you,” you say. 

“And I love you. Now…tell me who this…bastardo was again?” 

Secondo 

Secondo sits wearily at his desk, gazing down at the report from the recent restoration project of artifacts found within an abbey in the mountains of Italy which possibly point to an early Satanic organization the current institution can draw roots from. The name Emeritus appears on a portrait of a man dressed in a bastardized version of medieval Catholic vestments, and Secondo is heading the preservation and research project to determine whether the man is an ancestor of the Emeritus line or if the name merely signifies the man's retired position. 

A hesitant knock on his door tumbles Secondo from his thoughts and he gazes with a heavy brow at the dark oak, willing it not to open, but after several seconds, the knock comes again, and he blows out a breath between his teeth in frustration.

"Enter." 

The door creaks open, and Secondo need only see the sleeve of your sweater before his body is relaxing, a pleased smile crossing his features as you come further into view, peeking behind the door with those eyes which captivate him wholly, and that mischievous little smile the man greatly enjoys kissing from your face. 

"Enter? That tone says otherwise," you tease, slipping into the room and shutting the door firmly behind you. 

Secondo harrumphs, tilting his head back a little, pinning you to the spot with his heavy gaze that never fails to send a thrill shooting from your heart to...well, other more enjoyable places.

"Perhaps I do not wish to be disturbed, la mia piccola interruzione," he says.

The shining look in your eyes is snuffed out in an instant, your body growing taut with anxiety. He watches with muted horror as you practically curl into yourself, your feet already moving you back toward his office door, your hands wringing fretfully in front of you.

"Am I really disturbing you? I'm so sorry, Papa," you say in a tone Secondo never wishes to hear again. Full of diffidence and self-doubt.

His chair hits the wall behind him when he stands up, his robes fluttering around his form as he quickly rounds his desk. Fingers desperately reach for you, a panicked look in the usually stoic Papa's eyes as he draws you into his embrace, his hands cradling your head to his chest for a moment before he's tilting it back, his palms smoothing back your hair while he searches your gaze for any hint to your distress. Your façade quickly crumbles, tears springing to your eyes, and you attempt to turn from him, but Secondo's hands hold fast, not allowing you to break from his gaze, from his hold. 

He would hold you forever. 

"Tell me. Tell me, il mio tutto. What has happened? You know I would never," Secondo pauses and sighs, closing his eyes. "I must be more mindful of my words. You are not just a Sibling or a member of the Clergy, you are my life. Perdonami." 

"It's okay, Seco, I'm just being ridiculous," you say with a tearful grimace, shrugging your shoulders as you look to the side. 

Secondo makes a low hum, drawing you even closer, wrapping the heavy cloth of his chasuble around you. You are immediately enveloped in his warmth and his scent, your head resting in the crook of his shoulder. He keeps you near, quietly, for a moment, gently swaying as a torrent of thoughts passes his mind. He sighs softly and shifts so you are looking into his eyes once more. 

"You, amore mio, are not ridiculous. You are the very joy in my heart. You are the warmth of the sun on my skin. I should not speak to you in any manner but that of love," he says.

Your brow furrows for a moment and then clears, realization dawning in your eyes, "Oh, Secondo, I'm not upset over what you said. I mean, yes, I was afraid I was disturbing you, but that's...someone upset me earlier. I was already feeling unwanted anyway, and..."

Secondo's pupils narrow and he cocks his head to the side, a cold smile spreading his lips as he presses a kiss to your forehead. 

"Come, dolcezza," he guides you to sit in the chair before his desk. "Sit here, and tell your Papa exactly who hurt you and where to find them."

“I love you, but that won’t solve anything,” you sigh, settling into the chair. Secondo sits on the arm, towering over you and creating a blanket with his presence. He reaches out a hand to idly play with your hair while gazing down at you with an unreadable expression, his jaw clenching. 

“What I need to solve is this issue you have brought to my attention. That you believe you are unwanted,” Secondo shivers at the thought, his hand falling to your shoulder and gripping it as if to keep him anchored. “I have done you a great disservice, and I have failed you as a partner in not addressing this sooner.”

You surge forward to protest, but Secondo silences you by cradling the back of your head and pushing you into his lap, resting your head against his thigh as he continues to speak. “I love you. Perhaps I do not say it enough, but I have never known such happiness other than the precious moments we have spent together. You have given an old man hope. I want you. I need you. I think about you and crave your touch when we are not together. I ache to hold you, to look into your beautiful eyes, that sweet face. Please, amore mio, my everything, do not think you are unwanted. I am nothing without you.”

You take in a shaky breath, your fingers gripping his chasuble, as you whisper your love to him in a voice thick with tears. Secondo cups your chin and lifts your head from his lap, his smile soft, but eyes sharp as a knife. 

“Now, be a good girl and tell your Papa where to find the fool who hurt il mio tesoro?” 

“What if it’s my own brain?” You ask with a weak laugh. 

Secondo leans down to place a featherlight kiss to your lips. “Then I will fight it with patience, love, and the stubbornness of an old man.” He winks. “I’ve been fighting mine for years.”

[iamthecomet]

mometttttt

can we get some fluffy phantom swiss??

feeling sad and wanting some comfort 🥺

maybe trans phantom dealing with painful cramps and swiss being there and being the amazing boyfriend he is and comforting phantom through the cramps?

Of course, Chase! I'm sorry that you're feeling sad. I hope this helps. Sending you lots of hugs too.

Just under 1k words of Trans!Aeon/Swiss. SFW. Just mentions of period cramps. ♥

Aeon wakes up in agony. Pain lancing through his belly, down his thighs, through his back. He curls in on himself. Knees drawing up tight to his chest. He wraps his arms around them, holds on tight as the wave of pain intensifies. Digs it’s claws in. 

It’s so early. The sun is barely up. Streaking pink into the hotel room. Aeon had hoped for a day to sleep in. For the opportunity to luxuriate in bed next to Swiss on an off day. Peace. Comfort. 

He should have known better than to hope for anything. 

He breathes a little easier as the pain eases. He doesn’t loosen his grip on his legs though. He knows it’ll be back before long, it always is. He thinks about stumbling to the bathroom–at least to make sure he hasn’t made a mess of himself. But it feels impossible. More work than his aching limbs can handle. 

He lays there for awhile, listening to Swiss’ soft snores. Feeling the warmth of him radiating from the other side of the bed. He opens his eyes and looks around the pre-dawn hotel room. Shadowy, still a mess from when they fell into bed last night. Half-eaten room service near the door. Their bags thrown on the other side of the room. Aeon thinks about the medicine stuffed in there. Some tea Mountain made for him that always seems to help. 

He makes a plan. If he’s fast enough he can at least get to the bathroom and grab the tea before the next cramp hits. He can probably just rip the bag open with his teeth and eat the contents right? That will do the same thing? The idea of waiting for hot water from the weird coffee machine is impossible. Besides he barely knows how to work them on a good day. 

Humans really do make everything needlessly complicated. 

He could ask Swiss, but the multighoul is sleeping so soundly next to him, he doesn’t want to disturb him. They’ve been traveling so much, barely sleeping. Aeon doesn’t want to be the reason Swiss doesn’t get enough sleep. 

He starts to push himself up, to uncurl. He gets as far as straightening his legs and pushing the blanket off before it hits him again. He swears he feels it in his bones. Dull insistent fire crawling through his body. He bites his lip until he tastes blood and even that isn’t enough to bury his whimper. 

He bites down on his tail to try to muffle it, but Swiss wakes up anyway. Making a low groggy noise, confused as he rolls towards Aeon’s body. Curled up tight on the edge of the bed. Swiss’ hand is warm and broad on his back. A grounding weight. Swiss eases himself up, folds himself over Aeons’ body to look at him. 

“Bug? You ok?” 

Aeon looks up at him, Swiss’ eyes are sleep lined, barely open. But his dark brows are twisted in concern. The hand is on his hip now, heavy. Solid. Aeon swallows, he intends to nod, to tell Swiss to go back to sleep. But his body betrays him, he shakes his head. 

“Cramps,” he mumbles in explanation. He doesn’t want Swiss to worry–there’s really nothing to worry about. He’s fine. 

He crumples beneath another cramp. Tears pricking at his eyes. He turns enough that he can cling to Swiss. Now that he’s here and awake, Aeon can’t do anything else. He buries his face in Swiss’ chest and inhales the smell of him. Sweat and weed and sandlewood. He closes his eyes tight and tries not to cry as Swiss pulls him close, cradles Aeon’s little body against his. 

Swiss kisses him between his horns, runs a comforting hand up and down his spine. Tangles the other in his hair, runs his fingers through it. He scratches at Aeon’s scalp until Aeon’s body goes lax as the cramp ebbs. 

“What can I do?” Swiss asks, lips brushing over the curve of Aeon’s horn. 

“The tea Mountain made me.” 

“Where is it, baby?” 

“Front pocket of my bag.” 

Swiss untangles himself from Aeon. Aeon lays back on the bed, flat on his back. Tears burning against his cheeks. He hears Swiss rifling around in his bag. Hears the water run. Hears Swiss messing with that weird coffee maker. 

“I hate this,” Aeon says softly. 

“I know.” 

“Just wanted to sleep in with you,” Aeon mumbles, voice cracking. 

The coffee maker hisses, Aeon hears it spit water out into the styrofoam cup. Swiss is back right away. Helping Aeon sit up and pressing the overly hot cup into his hand. The smell of the tea alone makes something in Aeon’s back loosen. 

He sips at it–it’s too hot but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t want to wait any longer. 

“We can still sleep in,” Swiss promises. Leaning over to kiss Aeon’s temple. “Sleep all day if you want.” 

Swiss curls one big arm around Aeon’s waist, pulls him close. The little ghoul leans against him. Eyes closing against another cramp. Swiss takes the cup from him so Aeon doesn’t spill. He presses his lips to the side of Aeon’s head, holds him close as the pain ravages him. 

When it’s done, Swiss hands the cup back to him. “Drink up so we can go back to sleep.” 

“I–” Aeon looks away, lilac blush coloring his cheeks. “I think I should take a shower first..” 

Swiss shrugs, buries his nose in Aeon’s hair and inhales. “Fine. Shower first. Sleep after. All day. No excuses.” 

Aeon turns his head to catch his lips on Swiss. It’s chaste, as easy as breathing. “Too good to me,” Aeon mumbles as he brings the cup back up to his mouth. Swiss grins down at him. “No such thing.” 

[saruman-the-silly]

can we get some angst/fluff where terzo was just dragged off stage and fem reader comforts him and cooks him his favorite food and makes him all better?

ABSOLUTELY god I love this idea, thank you!!!! I could not resist adding the reader being a part of the confrontation, I'd imagine any of us would beat their asses for dragging Terzo off the stage so violently. I tried to make it with a fem!reader in mind but this is probably very gender neutral anyway, sorry :D (I probably should practice writing gendered characters more lol)

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

A Bitter Finale

tags: terzo x fem!reader, hurt/comfort

They dragged him off the stage.

You were fuming, when you pushed your way through the crowd to the back. Heart racing and heavy, you rushed backstage, and you heard him yelling. You quickly threw your hair up in a ponytail, getting it out of your face.

You silently sneaked to Omega's dressing room and grabbed the baseball bat you had taken with you. (You were supposed to go playing with the ghouls after the tour, but looks like it would have other uses now.)

"What are you doing, I have to get back on stage, you cannot do this-"

"You had your final warning and still, you did not listen. This cannot continue, Terzo." The cold voice of Sister Imperator was heard.

You had enough.

You emerged from the shadows, and struck the man holding Terzo by the arms. When he tried to get up, you kicked him in the guts. You swept the other guy off his feet with the bat, and when he hit the ground with a thud, you swung the bat at his knees, hearing a cracking sound when it hit.

"Hands. Off." You sneered at them, before kneeling beside Terzo.

He squeezed your hand and smiled weakly, "Il mio salvatore, grazie amore." You helped him up, and faced Sister Imperator.

"The public has been riddled with rumours of a new Papa, and we cannot have your performance tarnish the reputation of the Ministry." Sister said coolly.

"What abou-" Terzo tried to interject, but Sister held up a hand.

"You are done. You were given one task and you could not do even that, so, your time is up." Sister smiled coldly.

"It is time for a new era."

When Sister left, Terzo crumbled to the ground and started sobbing. You kneeled down beside him, rubbing his back and hugging him.

"They cannot do this, I was in the middle of a show-" He sobbed, clinging on to you. You shushed him gently, "I know, I know, but we gotta get you home now, we can discuss this more then and there, not here."

You helped him up and led him out of the venue, hearing distantly Nihil getting on the stage.

When you got home, Terzo just collapsed. He couldn't even get a word out through his sobs so you held him tightly, running your fingers through his hair gently and whispering reassuring words into his ear.

When Terzo had calmed down enough, you tried to get up and he held onto you, not wanting you to go.

"Amore, you need to take your paints off," You said, running your hands through his hair. "Will you come with me to the bathroom so I can take care of you?" He nodded, getting up and letting you lead him to the bathroom.

You got out all of the skincare he used (which was a lot but hey, the paints were quite intense and wouldn't disappear with just water) and started gently wiping his paints off.

Terzo looked at you, eyes red and glossy from crying, and asked: "..Are you going to leave me?"

You dropped the moisturizer on the floor, shocked. You gently cupped his face, and looked at his eyes.

"No. Never. What they did tonight was wrong on so many levels I cannot even begin to describe it, and it makes me enraged they would treat you like this." You gently kissed his forehead, Terzo closed his eyes and gave a sigh of relief.

"Grazie. I thought- I thought that-"

You put a finger to his lips. "No more of that now, we will discuss what we need to do tomorrow." You finished by washing his face gently with warm water, and patting him dry with a fluffy towel.

"Now, you, my darling will go and pick a trashy soap opera to watch while I make us some food, okay?" Terzo tried to object, but you kissed him to make him shut his mouth.

"I'll bring it out when it's ready, just turn the volume high so I can hear what's happening." He smiled, kissed you on the top of your head and did as he was told.

The rest of the evening was spent by eating some great food and watching a trashy soap opera. Omega came by to check on Terzo, and was relieved to see he was doing okay. (Well, not okay but with the situation at hand? He was doing a lot better than most would.)

When you had eaten and finished the soap opera, you were laying down on the couch with Terzo beside you. You gently drew some shapes with your fingers on his back, while he breathed in your calming, sweet scent.

"I still cannot believe it.. Why would she do this.." Terzo whispered, tearing up slightly. You continued to trace circles on his back with your fingers, and contemplated a response.

"Honestly? I don't know. For all I know that old hag deserves to have her nose broken." Terzo snorted at that, and you grinned.

"But listen, we don't know what made Imperator do this, but the most important thing now is to stick together." You sat up beside Terzo. "We don't know what she has planned so we need to tread carefully." Terzo looked serious.

"I won't let them do anything to you. I'll kill them myself if they touch you." He said, frowning, while holding your hand.

You smiled, and cupped his cheek. "I know darling. And I'll bash their skulls in with my trusty bat if they plan to do something with you." You flashed him an angelic smile.

Terzo laughed, and hugged you tightly. You kissed his cheek. "I mean it. You're stuck with me, amore." He smiled, eyes bright.

"And I wouldn't have it any other way."

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

there ya have it, some angst/fluff with Terzo :D I apologize, the reader's gender isn't really specified that much, I just struggle to write gendered characters soo I hope thats okay!

anyway thaaank you for reading and enjoy <33

[writingjourney]

Hiiii! I was wondering if you could maybe write about copia struggling to do his makeup and asks (y/n) for help?

let me help | copia x gn!reader

Thank you for your suggestion anon, it inspired me to this little fic. It may be a bit different from what you had in mind but I hope you enjoy it anyway :) @leezlelatch here it is ♡

summary: your papa is overworked and tired, too shaky to do his own make-up, so you offer to help. content: 2.1k words, some mild hurt/comfort, established relationship

masterlist – Ao3 link

✦ ✧ ✦ 

A strong gale blew thick and heavy snowflakes against your window all night, leaving a plump white pillow on the sill that’s now covering half of the glass pane. You woke up multiple times as the wind howled in the cracks of the abbey’s old stone walls like a wolf calling to the moon, only ceasing in the early hours of the morning. As you get ready for the day now, the sky has cleared up and the soft glow of a rising sun paints your quarters in warm hues of orange. You lift your hand and let the warm rays of sunshine dance over your fingers.

It’s all quiet at this time of day and you’re sitting on your shared bed, pulling on some warm socks while Copia does his make-up. He’s perched on a wide, upholstered stool in front of the vanity he got when you moved in with him. Anything so he wouldn’t occupy the bathroom all morning, so he can share some more time with you while getting ready. 

The sunlight hits the back of his head, his hair still tousled and sticking up at odd angles. You love observing him as he gets ready. While clumsy at first the process of painting his face has now gone over into muscle memory and watching his nimble fingers get to work each morning is a sight to behold. His brow is always furrowed in concentration, deepening the adorable wrinkles on his forehead as he draws precise black lines onto his features. His lips stay tightly pressed together through the whole process right until he finally has to relaxe them to apply his lipstick. 

It’s the same procedure every single morning.

Well, except for today.

“Ahhhh, cazzo.” 

His sudden curse makes you look up and you catch him furiously scrubbing at his cheek, almost violently wiping away some of his black paint. A blotchy gray rim remains around the red patch of skin he just rubbed raw.

“What is it, my love?” you ask, worried he’s going to seriously hurt himself.

Copia sighs in defeat, setting down the black paint in frustration only to stare at it in mild disgust. You observe him over the mirror but he doesn’t look up at you, a heavy air of sadness hanging over him.

“Ugh… I feel a little shaky today,” he finally says, staring at his trembling hand. “I cannot get it right.”

You’re aware Copia has dealt with a rough few days – sleeping restlessly, feeling unwell from all the stress, skipping meals in order to get more work done. It’s hardly surprising that he’s shaking, already overworked and worn out with another long day looming ahead of him.

You scoot off the bed and make your way over to your exhausted Papa. His eyes find yours in the mirror as you approach, and he makes space for you on the stool. It’s a tight fit but you sit down sideways, facing Copia instead of the mirror.

“What are you doing?” he asks as you take his hands in yours.

“Helping.” You bring them to your mouth, gently kissing each individual knuckle. You can feel his tremor, feel his tension against your lips. He slowly eases up as you continue to kiss him, running your thumbs over the backs of his hands. Copia sighs softly and when you look up, he’s smiling weakly at you and you already know what he’s going to ask next.

“Amore… how do I even deserve you?”

“You deserve all my love, don’t you ever question that.“ You give him a playfully stern look, followed by a pout, and his cheeks turn all rosy. “Now let me do your make-up.” 

“You– you want to–“

“I’ve seen you do it a hundred times. I think I should be capable by now.”

“That’s not…” He swallows, softly shaking his head. “Not what I meant.”

His tone is enough to tell you exactly what he did mean. Do you really want to do this for me? Painting my face, something you’ve never done before, to help me when I feel so vulnerable right now?

“Yes, I want to.” You let go of his hands to reach out for his face, slowly rubbing your thumbs over his cheeks. “My love, I know I cannot shoulder your burdens, I cannot paint my face and be Papa for you, but I can try to give you as much love and support and care as I can. And if that means packing you lunch to make sure you eat, rubbing your back when it’s sore from sitting all day, popping in to help you with paperwork or even doing your make-up because you’re too worked up over the day ahead, I will happily do it.”

His eyes close and he takes a deep breath, smiling as a single tear rolls down his cheek. “I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much, amore. You are my everything.”

It pains you to see him like this, so bone-tired, so defeated, really. He is your everything too and to admit that you can’t simply make all of this go away hurts. You lean in to kiss away the tear, add a few more kisses to his cheeks for good measure and an especially soft one to his lips. “I love you, too, Copia. More than you can imagine.”

You break away and he opens his eyes, huffing out a slightly embarrassed laugh. “Uhm, yes… so… should we start?”

“Mhm.” You reach for the white paint and decide to fix the spot he had been rubbing raw earlier. The redness is mostly gone but you’re still careful as you apply the face paint with a beauty blender. At first Copia watches you, still with that hint of disbelief in his eyes that you’re actually willing to do this for him, but then he slowly closes them and relaxes into your gentle care. Once his whole face is covered in an even shade of white, you pick up the black paint again. You find a brush and dip it in, trying to get a feeling for how much you need.

“Do you… uh…” Copia looks around, probably searching for his phone. “If you need a picture, for reference…”

“No, I don’t think so.” You chuckle, reaching for his chin to make him look at you. “I’ve been staring at your handsome face so many times, I’m sure I could do it in my sleep. Just relax, amore, I will get it right, I promise.”

“I know you will,” he immediately says, ears turning red at the use of his pet name. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to doubt you, tesoro. It’s just…”

“I know, it’s okay. Just relax, please.” You give him a genuine smile, raising your eyebrows until he finally returns it. Of course it seems a little forced, he’s still anxious, still tired, but it’s better than nothing. He takes a deep breath and finally relaxes his features, allowing you to start with the black paint.

It takes you a while to get his whole face done since you’re trying to be as careful as possible. Admittedly, you’re a little shaky too, but with the help of the brush and working very slowly, you get the lines straight anyway. Copia tries very hard not to flinch or move his face, but he does blink a few times as you draw the lines around his eyes. You’re doing his eyelids when he blinks yet again, the timing unfortunate as his lashes hit the brush and some of the paint gets into his white eye. He hisses and tears up immediately, squinting hard in pain.

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry,” you mumble, pulling away as fast as you can.

He raises a hand to your arm, the hurt eye still tightly screwed up. “Don’t, please, it happens.” 

Copia hands you a tissue and you gently dab at the tears before they mess up the rest of his make-up, waiting until his eye stops leaking. An agonising minute later he manages to keep it open, the white iris surrounded by a now very red sclera. It looks worse than it probably is but it still scares you and you take a few deep breaths before you decide to continue with your finger instead of the offending brush.

“Is it okay now?” you ask.

“It is. Thank you,” Copia whispers. “You’re doing so well, amorino. Don’t worry about it.”

You smile at his praise, though you’re not sure if he’s being quite truthful about the pain. Nevertheless, you apply the rest of the paint, even more cautiously now, until it’s almost done and only the lips are left.

It’s not the first time you see his whole face covered in make-up with only his lips bare, it’s basically a slightly cleaner version of what he looks like after a good make-out session – once all of his lipstick has transferred to your face. And he does have very beautiful lips, so plump and pink and practically begging to be kissed. They always feel so soft against yours and when he’s gentle–

Copia must see you staring at them because his fingers find your chin, slowly lifting your gaze until your eyes meet and he smirks. “Are you distracted, tesorino?”

You fight a smile. “What if I am, Papa? Are you going to fire me?”

“Oh, I could never do this, no.” He smirks knowingly. “Your Papa enjoys having all of your attention way too much, amore.”

That’s enough to make you close the gap and finally kiss him. He smiles into it and before you can pull away, his hands find your cheeks, keeping you exactly where you are. His fingers gently move into your hair, tilting your head up before he deepens the kiss. You sink against him with a sigh, hoping this won’t do too much damage to his paint. But that thought is forgotten as soon you feel his teeth grazing your bottom lip, asking for more. You let him kiss you breathless as you taste the remnants of minty toothpaste on his tongue and it’s enough to make you crave him so badly. But he’s tired enough already, you can feel him losing his energy as the kiss gets more sluggish and he takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“Promise me to take it easy today,” you whisper against his mouth. “I’m so worried about you, Copia.”

He lets out a sigh, the exhale ghosting over your tender lips before he whispers back. “Ti voglio tanto bene. For you I promise anything, anything. I try my best to get home early tonight, sì? We can continue this without hurry.”

“Yes, please.” You smile, running your thumb along his jawline. “And I love you too. Don’t you ever forget that.”

“How could I? Whenever I look in a mirror today I will be reminded, eh?” He presses a wet kiss to your cheek before he pulls away. “Now, I think I’m already late.”

He’s right, you’ve taken way too long. So, you reach for the black lipstick and carefully follow the curves of his still kiss-swollen mouth, trying to ignore the tingling sensation in your belly. You blot his lips with a tissue after you’re done and fix some of the white paint your kiss messed up again. Once you’re done, he looks just like always. The only difference is the warm, affectionate smile that now graces his features, the twinkle in his eyes that belongs to you and only you.

“Thank you, amore,” he says, inspecting himself in the mirror. “È veramente perfetto. You did so well. I want to kiss you again so bad, but I would ruin it.”

Instead, he blows you a bunch of kisses and you giggle as you pretend to catch them. Copia gives you the first enthusiastic smile you’ve seen on him all day and it doesn’t leave his face as he combs his hair back, smoothes out his black dress shirt and tugs at the sleeves.

Then he suddenly jumps up, raising his hands. “Tada!” He does a little spin, almost stumbling over the leg of the stool. “How do I look, eh? Tell your Papa what you think. Be honest.” 

“You look bellissimo!” you say, clapping your hands as you grin at him. “The most handsome Papa to ever grace these halls.”

“Ha! And it’s all thanks to my very talented amore. I am so lucky, molto molto fortunato!”

You stand up as well, let him pull you into a tight embrace. He’s solid and his arms feel strong as they squeeze you to his body. He’s not quite recovered, and you know it will take more time, will take you a lot of convincing to get Sister to reduce his workload, but you can tell he’s feeling better for now.

And that’s what truly matters.

thanks for reading :) if you want more comfort fics check out this fic, this fic or this fic hehe ♡

[ghostieagere]

Request if the inspiration strikes, no pressure to fulfill if not <3

New bug finds out he gets very motion sick if on the busses for more then an hour or so, and ends up slipping small because he feels so icky and it scares him

He doesn't want to bother any of the pack because hes sacred about being broken because he's feeling so icky and doesn't know why

But one of the pack finds him and gives him lots of reassurance, cuddles, and tummy rubs to try and make him feel better -🌧️

absolutely !! sick aeon coming right up :) i hope this is what you were after, anons <3

cw: aeon feels nauseous, slight emeto warning (no vomit though), dew feeds aeon some food once he feels better. little aeon, caregivers swiss and dew

~

Something feels… off. In the beginning, Aeon didn’t know exactly what, but with every bump in the road, and with every corner the bus turns, he thinks he’s starting to get an idea.

It had begun once the ritual had ended, the regular queasy excitement building in his stomach during bows, only to disappear again once he’d gone backstage. But unlike every other time, once he’d settled himself onto the bus, after about an hour or so of travelling, the feeling came back. He’s usually asleep by this time, so worn out by the performance and subsequent excitement that he can’t help but drift off, but today something’s keeping him awake. Something in his stomach feels wrong, and as time goes on, the feeling grows and grows, spreading up through his throat and into his mouth. 

As soon as he’d started feeling like this, he had retreated to his bunk, not wanting to annoy the pack with the weird feeling in his stomach, but the longer he stays awake, the more he wishes he’d stayed with them. If he tries to get up and wander over to them now, he thinks the gross feeling will spread even more and something bad will happen. He’s just not sure what.

He curls his arms more tightly around his favourite plushie, burrows further down into the blanket he’s wrapped around himself and whines softly. He’s annoyed at himself for not being able to figure out what’s happening to him; his head is getting progressively fuzzier as he feels worse and worse, and although he’s sure the brain fog is a familiar feeling, he doesn’t know what’s causing it. The bus hits a particularly large dip in the road and Aeon feels even worse than before. He has to swallow the funny burning liquid that appears in his mouth when the bus jolts.

He must be making some kind of noise in his discomfort because almost immediately, Swiss is pulling back the curtains surrounding Aeon’s bunk and kneeling beside him. “Hey, baby bat. What’s going on?”

“I– I don’ know,” he whines, but as soon as the words leave his mouth. “...Ough, ‘m liddle…?”

Swiss laughs softly. “You didn’t know, baby?”

Aeon shakes his head slowly and hugs his plushie closer to him; maybe if he holds them close enough, they’ll help him feel less weird.

“Hey, that’s okay. I know it’s hard to tell sometimes,” the multi ghoul reassures him. He reaches a hand out as he’s speaking and strokes Aeon’s hair off of his face. Swiss’ hands are cold against his forehead, it’s nice. “Do you know why you feel all little, bat?”

Aeon shakes his head again, and immediately lets out a whine. His stomach feels like it’s mixing everything up inside it and bubbling it up into his throat. He tries to move further down into his blanket cocoon, but while the weight of the blanket is comforting, it’s so hot laying underneath it and Aeon feels like he might just explode if he gets any warmer.

Swiss stops stroking Aeon’s hair and instead rests his hand on the little quintessence ghoul’s forehead. “Oh, baby, are you sick? Is that what this is?”

Swiss’ words seem to click everything into place. His foggy head and his overheating body, as well as his queasy stomach and that funny burning liquid that came up his throat when the bus jolted all make sense now. “F– fink so…” And, oh, he must really be small if he’s talking like that. He hadn’t even realised.

Swiss frowns down at him sympathetically, and leans down to press a kiss to his overheated forehead. “Where do you feel sick, bug?” When Aeon doesn’t answer because the bus has hit a really bumpy stretch of road and he’s sure that if he opens his mouth, something very bad will come out, Swiss tries again. “Is it your tummy, baby? Right here?” He pokes Aeon’s stomach very gently and Aeon gives him a small nod.

He can’t manage anything other than a tiny nod at the moment, he really doesn’t feel good. He rubs his plushie’s ear between his fingers to calm himself down; it’s a trick that Rain taught him to focus himself when everything feels like too much, and he’s happy that it seems to be working a little bit now as well.

“Okay.” Swiss smiles down at him gently. “Thank you for telling me, baby bat. You’re being so super duper brave right now, you know that?”

Aeon manages a tiny smile in return, still holding his plushie’s ear in his fingers. “I– I’m a… A b– brave ghoul!”

“Yes, you are, baby!” Swiss grins widely and gives Aeon a kiss on the cheek, nuzzling his nose into his face gently. Aeon smiles a bit wider, even when Swiss pulls back. “Now, bubba, I have a question for you, okay?” Aeon nods and Swiss continues. “I’m going to get you some things that will hopefully make you feel a bit better, but I need to know if you want me to stay with you and get someone else to get the things for you, or if you’re gonna be okay if I leave for a bit. What do you think, bug?”

Aeon tilts his head and considers his options. He doesn’t really want to be left alone, but he knows Swiss will be back before he can even register he’s gone. “Secon’ one. You t– tan go, Swissy.”

“Alright, baby. I’ll be back real soon, okay? You just stay here with your plushie, they’ll keep you nice and safe.” With a quick kiss to Aeon’s forehead Swiss is gone, but true to his word, he’s back almost before Aeon notices he’s gone, his arms full of things.

“Okie dokie, little bat.” Swiss tips the contents of his arms onto the floor beside Aeon’s bunk. “You ready to see what I have?”

Aeon nods, bringing his plushie up to his mouth to chew its ear as he tries to peer over the side of his bed from where he’s lying down.

“First things first…” Swiss begins, organising his big heap into smaller piles. “Let’s get you sat up, baby.”

Swiss helps him up into a sitting position, holding him up and letting him rest when his stomach overwhelms him every few seconds, and before he knows it, Aeon is sat up against some pillows a sick bag and a water bottle next to him, with a sippy cup clutched in his hands and a cold wash cloth pressed to his forehead by Swiss’ big hands.

“You feel any better now, bug?”

Aeon nods happily, taking a small sip from his cup—his favourite apple juice with some of Mountain’s special medicine mixed into it to make him feel all better, Swiss had told him. “Good an’ bedder, Swissy,” he smiles.

“Awh, I’m so glad, baby bat,” he says. “You need anything else?”

“Mmm,” Aeon considers. “Jus’ cuddles, p’ease?”

Swiss grins and assures him that of course he can have some cuddles as he climbs onto Aeon’s bunk and wraps his spare arm around him while keeping the other against Aeon’s forehead with the cloth. “This good?”

Aeon hums and nods. “Uh huh, ‘s good.” His stomach still doesn’t feel normal, but the medicine is slowly helping to calm it down. Maybe he won’t even need the sick bag; Swiss had said he only brought it just in case anyway, that hopefully Aeon wouldn’t need it once he’d had some medicine, and he’s right.

Swiss rests his head against Aeon’s and the little quintessence ghoul can feel him smiling against his scalp. “If you’re feeling better later on, bug, Dew said he was gonna make your favourite for dinner.”

Aeon’s mouth drops open. Dew never makes Aeon’s favourite.

“He’s going to bring it in in about half an hour, okay?” Swiss lowers his voice conspiratorially before continuing. “He even said he’d use your favourite bat bowl and fork, and maybe he’ll even give you some more special apple juice…”

Aeon didn’t think his mouth could get any wider, but somehow it does, and he has to look up at Swiss to make sure he’s telling the truth.

The multi ghoul chuckles at his shock. “It’s true, baby, I promise,” he assures him. “But that’s not for a while yet, little bat, and someone looks like they’re about to collapse from exhaustion. Being sick is very tiring, hmm?”

Aeon hadn’t even noticed his eyelids drooping, so caught up his excitement, but now that Swiss has pointed it out, the little quintessence ghoul can’t think about anything except his tired eyes and sore head. He nods slowly.

“How about we have a quick little nap then, bug? If we sleep for too long, Dew will be happy to heat your dinner back up, okay?”

Aeon nods again. “Uh huh,” he slurs. “Am s’eepy, Swissy…”

Swiss kisses the top of his head. “Such a sleepy little bubba, aren’t you, bug.” It’s not really a question, but Aeon nods anyway. “C’mon, little bat, snuggle up with me. And when you wake up, we can try and feed you some dinner, ‘kay?”

Swiss gives him another quick kiss—on his cheek this time—and Aeon nods his agreement. That sounds nice, and Swiss is so comfortable to snuggle with that Aeon can’t help his eyes from falling completely closed as the beginnings of a purr rumbles up from deep in Swiss’ chest.

He’s not sure if ends up falling asleep or not, but soon enough, his eyes crack open at the sound of Dew sliding the partition between the bunk area and the rest of the bus open and his soft footfalls as he makes his way over to Aeon’s bed.

“Hi, starlight,” he smiles. “How’s your tummy doing now?”

“Good!” He exclaims without thinking, but as he takes the time to think about how he’s feeling, he realises it’s true, he feels a lot better than he did earlier.

“Well, that’s very good to hear,” Dew begins, “because I’ve brought you something…” He shows Aeon the contents of the bowl in his hands—the little quintessence ghoul’s favourite bat bowl and fork as promised—and Aeon lets out a shriek of happiness at the sight of his favourite meal so loud that it jolts Swiss awake.

Dew laughs loudly at Swiss’ sleepy confusion as the fire ghoul climbs over the bed onto Aeon’s other side. Once Swiss registers what’s happening and that Aeon has another caregiver here to look after him, he flops back asleep, wrapping a protective arm around Aeon’s waist. Dew helps Aeon sit back up against the pillows behind him and helps him drink a sip of water from the bottle beside him to help wake him up enough to stomach his dinner. “Want me to help feed you, bubba?”

Aeon nods, hugging both his plushie and the water bottle tightly against his chest. “Am hung’y, Dewy.”

“Oh, I can imagine, starlight. You haven’t eaten anything since lunch!” As he speaks, Dew mixes the contents of the bowl around, cooling the warm food down enough for Aeon to tolerate without too many troubles. “C’mon, open up for me, bubba. Yeah, that’s it.” He smiles down at Aeon as he chews his food happily, giggling in delight when it doesn’t upset his stomach. “Not too hot?”

“No, ‘s good! Super yummy, t’ank you, Dewy,” he rocks back and forth happily as he swirls the taste of his comfort food around in his mouth, doing his best not to jostle the sleeping multi ghoul next to him.

“You’re welcome, Ae,” Dew smiles. “We’ll get you fed and then the three of us can go to sleep, okay?”

“Yeah, okay!”

“Perfect. Ready for your next bite?” Dew scoops another mouthful onto Aeon’s bat fork. “Open up, starlight.”