#Dancing with the Clergy

[antvnger]

Do you ever wonder if Kurt decided to branch out his circus skills to something like pole dancing for regular exercise? Everybody who knows about him already knows he's very promiscuous, so I wouldn't put it past him to try things like that... But also it's just really good exercise and it's relatively easy to install a stripper pole as compared to a trapeze in ones bedroom, so he could have fun exercising without breaking bank on something he's familiar with, ya know? He definitely has the grip strength for it, that can be seen whenever he fights and is hanging off a light post. He'd have the basic knowledge of how it works because of his time in the circus... Only think he's missing is experience walking in heels, which he probably won't ever get because of his feet being as strange as they are, but still... Odd question, I know, but you seem like you have enough ADHD to handle this thought process

Oh I can totally handle your thought process, Anon, and I can see what you’re saying. And it honestly wouldn’t surprise me if he did.

What I mentally can’t get past is if he did get into that and he was wearing his clergy collar while doing it. That’s where my brain jumped to.

God and Kurt, please forgive me.

[pastormike1976]

Sometimes there is so much going on in your head before, during, and after worship that you brain keeps jumping from thing to thing in rapid succession.

[halain]

didn't even know there was an eilistraeen temple in waterdeep. starweave event everyone get down

[eldritch-spouse]

Sometimes greedy gambits do work out.

Your typical greedy fiend may wax about their insatiable desire for the material, how satisfaction is the death of their nature and never shall they cease stretching their fingers towards the next shining trophy-

But they know limits.

They have that little bit of normalcy that tells them when it's time to drop something, even if it leaves a taste like curdled milk in their mouths.

Not Xiko.

Xiko grabbed onto something and he did not let go.

Not even when death came knocking at his door.

This celebrity of the Greed Ring was known for being the biggest, most successful human/monster trafficker of Hell itself. Xiko, a mere mid-ranker, yet clever and crafty enough to dethrone nearly everyone in his field of vile work.

Wanted humans and monsters worth owning? In mint condition? With some really rare traits? Leave it to him and his boys, you won't be disappointed.

With great skill and talent comes great danger, but Xiko didn't cower when he started to gain many an enemy, when he could no longer count them, when he spent most of his time hunting them down rather than hunting the poor souls he's supposed to sell. With each visit, he'd return home with a few trophies to remember his victory.

Things were going well.

His empire of fifth kept growing, enough so that it garnered the attention of the very Lord Rinx, a client Xiko both reveres and dreads, due to his extravagant tastes. Why, he ever earned himself a juicy deal with this strange, extremely popular establishment on the surface that constantly bulk-orders humans. The Clergy's Eye or something of the sort, he knows the Icons had been there before.

How impressive is that? Enough for prideful folk to eye him wantonly.

Xiko had the opportunity to grow in rank, to sit at Rinx's table and negotiate starting a little jewelry store in the heart of Greed to keep up appearances and branch out. What luxuries.

Unfortunately, all highs lead to lows.

His health starts deteriorating inexplicably. Xiko begins being unable to move properly without chronic bursts of pain debilitating him from doing much of anything other than lie and wait for the wave of torment to pass. He has no idea where it's coming from. The pain is so great he gets blinded and passes out in some episodes.

The best doctors he can find tell Xiko he developed something terminal. Not quite a cancer, similar, something only demonoids can exhibit.

But what did the name of it matter? His own monumental riches wouldn't save him from certain doom.

One might think Xiko would do some soul searching with the time he had left, as laughable as that sounds for a being as rotten as him.

Not even close.

You don't get this far without being stubborn.

Things can't end as they are. Xiko can't die, he has so much to do and so much to oversee, it's simply not an option. He can't.

In the midst of despair and hopeless solution-seeking, Xiko finds a possible answer to his impossible conundrum inscripted in his most favored trophy, a timeless chalice.

Between its jewels and lovely finishes, the instructions for a ritual sat written in one of the oldest tongues in Hell. Having a historian for a friend sure comes in handy, doesn't it?

Said acquaintance is there to witness it when Xiko grows mad enough to try it, at the hands of demons who perpetuate these ancient practices.

A mummification-like ritual.

Except, to avoid death, Xiko must remove the two organs which the soul is most connected to, the brain and heart.

He knew what he was getting into when he laid on that altar.

He knew that he would suffer physical trauma beyond anything he could ever have experienced in life. He knew he would come out of it looking like a completely different being. That he would no longer be a demon.

And he was ready.

He was ready when they started chanting.

He was ready when his jaw was stretched to absurd proportions.

He was ready when his chest was torn open.

When he danced in that barrier between life and death, looking down at himself while his figure withered and contorted.

Those memories are... Scratchy, to say the least.

Xiko recalls screaming at the top of his exposed lungs and feeling his skin rip from several sides all at once, as if rejecting him. He remembers when his skull was crushed and how he could hear it for a moment. He knows he twisted and shriveled like a bug on that marble.

And that he woke up.

Wrapped like a present.

Dead yet amongst the living.

To continue his work. To remain forever at the top.

So what if he was emaciated now? If he'd never get rid of the massive scar where his figure was torn open, if his eyes now reside inside his bizarre gaping maw and his arms are elongated? Xiko had made it.

And while death was unavoidable, it was not the end.

In fact, it was the beginning of something a lot more amusing for Xiko.

He found his new appearance frightened his competition. Rumors of him being an undead diety spread. No longer featuring a core name or even something as simple as a sigil, Xiko was freed of even more weaknesses.

He made no effort to hide what he had become the next time he was present at Greed's Conqueror's Spoils festival. His mangled, infernal undead form on the spotlight.

Some of them were smart enough to understand what he had turned into, knew to stop pursuing him. For when you take something from a mummy, it cannot rest until it retrieves its possession.

Others came to find that out eventually.

Perhaps the person Xiko feels most sorry for is, not one of his enemies, but you.

You poor thing, still trying to escape him, still trying to lockpick your cages and manipulate his men, trying to make it out at all costs.

You never think twice when you set foot outside his territory.

Unaware that he'll always instinctively know where to find his "stolen" possession.

[her-satanic-wiles]

October 30th

Body Worship, Papa Emeritus II x Catholic!Reader

Masterlist

Words: 4.1k.

Warnings: Body Worship (okay, turned out less body worship and more just worship in general but fuck it, I wanted to write it this way lmao); fingering; vaginal fingering; cunnilingus; marking; piv; vaginal sex; unprotected sex; praise kink; y’all this is soft soft, and I love it; religious symbolism; corruption kink; hair pulling; multiple orgasms;

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask @copias-sewer-rat @gehrmansbignaturals @deetz-ghuleh @onlyhereforghost @zombiesnips-blog @saturnhas82moons

Author's Note: This is a continuation of October 3rd, so if you haven’t read that, please go and do so before you read this! Thanks!

Recommended listening: Chase Atlantic with their self-titled 2017 album.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Under the cloak of night, he crept through the ancient cobblestone streets of Rome, heart pounding in his chest like a drumbeat of impending doom. The Vatican’s towering walls loomed before him, a fortress of faith and secrets. Driven by a love forbidden by both church and society, he had come to breach the sanctum’s impenetrable defenses.

His leather-soled shoes barely made a sound as he approached the towering stone wall that guarded the Vatican’s secrets. In the moon’s pale glow, he could make out the shadows of security guards patrolling the perimeter. He crouched low, his heart racing with each passing second, and carefully assessed their movements.

Timing was everything. With the precision of a cat, he found his moment when two guards turned their backs, engaged in hushed conversation. In one swift, heart-pounding motion, he scaled the wall, fingers gripping the rough stone edges, and muscles straining with urgency. His breath held, he cleared the top, dropping silently to the other side, where the hallowed ground of Vatican City stretched out before him. It was almost as if he could feel the soles of his feet burning as it touched the hallowed ground, and forced him to move forward quickly.

Silent as a whisper, he navigated the maze of corridors of the Vatican’s residential quarters. The opulence and history that surrounded him seemed at odds with the clandestine nature of his mission. Portraits of pontiffs from centuries past stared down at him from gilded frames, their judgmental eyes seemingly aware of his transgressions.

He moved with caution, avoiding the gaze of any servants or clergy members who might cross his path, clutching onto his Grucifix pendant in his thick hand in an attempt to shield his true identity. His knowledge of the Vatican’s layout was limited, but the urgency of his desire propelled him forward.

Finally, he found himself outside a front door, familiar to him only by the number he’d been given. He knew this was where you resided, his forbidden lover, a cardinal of the church with all the responsibilities but none of the titles or accolades. With trembling hands, he reached for the doorknob, his heart pounding louder than the sacred hymns echoing through the Vatican’s hallowed halls.

The room was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, casting dancing shadows on the richly adorned tapestries that lined the walls. He had finally found your apartments, and with a mixture of apprehension and longing, he pushed the door open, revealing the inner sanctum of the Pope’s daughter.

Inside, you sat at a writing desk, the dim light revealing the weariness etched into your features. Your modest dress hung off your frame just as pristine as you liked it. You looked up from your work, your eyes widening in shock and disbelief as they met his.

Time seemed to stand still as your gazes locked. Words failed you both, as the weight of your forbidden rendezvous hung heavy in the air. You stood from your seat slowly eyes fixed on the now cocky Secondo whose arms were outstretched as though he wanted you to run to him and welcome him into your home. Run to him you did, but no words of welcome were exchanged.

Your palms reached his shoulders and with a force, you pushed him, anger now taking hold of your body. “What are you doing here!?” You hissed, clearly livid by his intrusion. This was not how he wanted things to go. “My father will be here any minute! What do you think he’d do if he found a Cardinal of the Satanic Church in his daughter’s room?”

Secondo grinned, his black upper lip stretching into a lacivious smile. “Hopefully he’d understand my intensions and close the door behind him.”

Your hand connected with his cheek, a red mark forming instantly. Just as you were about to lay into him, you heard a familiar voice sounding from the entryway. “___?” Your father had arrived.

Secondo’s eyes widened, now understanding the gravity of the situation. Though the Catholic church was supposed to be a pinnacle of moral upstanding, it wasn’t uncommon for Popes to take drastic measures to protect their Papacy, even if it meant defying their God’s wishes. Thou shalt not murder - unless of course they pose a threat to your power and need to be eradicated. Secondo knew that given he was a footsoldier of the Devil, a Satanic rat sent to plague the people with “immorality”, your father would have no problem crucifying him on the steps of St. Peter’s Basilica.

“Hide!” You shout-whispered, your panic even greater than Secondo’s.

Secondo wasted no more time, diving into your bedroom and throwing himself under your bed, thankful that you didn’t use it as storage. He did so at just the right time, because while he couldn’t see your father from his position, he could hear him and he was right where Secondo had stood just thirty seconds prior.

“What are you doing in here?” Your father asked, his tone certainly suspicious. “Why didn’t you come when I called?”

“Sorry, father, I was doing some work. Correspondances.”

Your father hummed in acknowledgement. “There’s a meeting tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. We’re gathering officials to discuss how we’re going to remove the vermin.”

Secondo didn’t need to visit the Vatican often to know that the vermin your father was referring to was the Satanic Church. He rolled his eyes and contorted his face to childishly mimic and mock your father - though he knew no one could see him, it was a knee-jerk reaction and he thought it was funny.

You hesitated before you spoke. “Yes, father.”

“Something you want to say?”

There were, in fact, several things you wanted to say to your father and none of them were kind. After spending as much time as you did with Secondo, you had grown to understand that they weren’t the monsters you used to fear and that the way your father and other members of your church talked about them was terrifying. You wanted to yell at your father for not treating you as you deserved, as well. How you were always promoted within the church, but could never retain the title as “women didn’t hold powerful positions”. But he had no problem using you to benefit his politics and Papacy. But all your thoughts would fall on deaf ears, and so you settled on a, “No, father.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow.”

As the Pope finally left the room, you sank back against the door you had closed behind him, your emotions in turmoil. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. That was the moment Secondo had been waiting for. He emerged from his hiding spot, his presence a comfort and a promise in the midst of your forbidden… whatever this was. The silence between you was palpable, broken only by the flickering candles and the distant echoes of Vatican life outside your apartment. He watched as you composed yourself, trying to calm yourself of the anger your father had left you with only to feel it flare up when you saw the Satanic Cardinal standing in your bedroom doorway.

“Why did you come here?” You quietly shouted at him, anger ever present in your voice. “You know what would happen to you if someone saw you - what would happen to me, too!”

You stood there, lecturing him about his behaviour, hands flailing about the room in your frustration and a small amount of hatred dancing in your eyes. As you unleashed your fury, your words cutting through the air like a storm, he couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the raw beauty of your anger. Your eyes blazed with intensity, your voice resonated with passion, and your fierce determination only made you more captivating. In that moment, your rage seemed to enhance your allure, and he found himself irresistibly drawn to you. Never had he seen a woman before so beautiful than you in that moment.

He thought back to when he first met you, how your anger and hatred towards him had fuelled his lust, and how it forced him to act against his better judgement to take your virginity on a desk that didn’t belong to him in the bowls of the Ministry.

Caught between the tumultuous emotions swirling around them, he took a step closer, unable to resist the magnetic pull of your presence. Your anger had laid bare the depth of your relationship, and he knew that your illicit connection was a flame that refused to be extinguished. As you continued to vent your frustrations, he reached out, gently taking your face into his hands and pressing his lips against yours, silencing you, a fervent promise that he would stand with you against all odds, consequences be damned.

You pushed against him at first, not because you didn’t want to kiss him, but because he had the nerve to silence you when you were talking. But the more you melted into his arms, the less resistance you put up, and allowed yourself to be caught by him as you began to fall from grace. Though your descent from righteousness started when you gave yourself to him, it was that kiss that solidified your feelings, and made you realise that however much you loved your God, you were sure you loved Secondo more.

Passions grew when he pressed you against your door, trapping you between him and the wood. His hands moved from your face, down your arms, and tickled at the bare skin until he finally settled at your hips. Your hands gripped at his cassock, holding on tightly and pulling him as close as he could possibly be to you, but even then that wasn’t close enough. His kisses ignited a fire in you that shouldn’t have been lit in the first place, and had you submitting and bending to his wishes willingly. When his fingers tightened on your hips and began lifting your dress, you let him. When his tongue begged for entrance to your mouth, you let it. When his hand found the gusset of your panties, you spread your legs to allow him easy access. When he dipped below the waistband, and stroked a tentative finger over your clit, you moaned into his mouth to encourage him to do it again.

In this moment, he wasn’t a servant of Satan. He was yours. Your ardent and eager slave, a genie sent to grant all of your wishes even if you didn’t know that he had them. His lips travelled South from yours, roaming over vast expanses of your body in search of a single destination. He moved to your jaw, your neck, your clothed dress, your stomach, hips, thighs. He dropped to his knees in front of you, his glove-covered fingers pulling your panties down with him as he knelt before you. You watched him hesitate for a moment, before wide eyes stared up at you as if to plead with you to grant him permission. His eyes were mismatched and popped against his Cardinal paints, a gentle yet emblazoned fire in his eyes as he waited for you. You couldn’t say no; you simply didn’t want to. You needed him probably more than he needed you. You nodded.

He gently lifted your leg in his hands and kissed it from ankle to knee. The higher up his lips went, the more passionately he kissed, and once more he played using his tongue. But now, in addition to kissing, he started sucking, leaving a trail of numerous dark brown hickeys on your thigh. No one would be able to see them here, but every time you caught a glimpse of your naked body, you would be reminded of them. Of him. Of what he did to you and the shame that was supposed to come with it. Shame that you refused to feel because that would imply you regretted letting him have his way with you. But even when you were worshipping your Lord, when you were in the confessional booth, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret your actions.

He immediately dove in and started licking and sucking at your clit. He forgot to take it easy and instead allowed himself to just take from you what he wanted because he was so desperate and needy for your taste. He was encouraged to continue his movements by the faint and low whimpers that escaped from your partially opened mouth.

“Yes! Just like that!” Due to the strong suction he applied, you whispered, ending your sentence with a particularly breathy moan.

One of your hands flew to his head, gripping onto his hat and throwing it to the side allowing you to rest your hand there, pushing his face into your heat. Your hips bucked in pleasure, riding his tongue and taking what you needed from him. “Secondo!” The hand that wasn’t resting on his head flew up to your mouth, covering your exceptionally desperate moans as you came on his tongue, silencing yourself as much as you could so the Clergy wouldn’t hear your pleasure from the other side of the door.

When your orgasm had completely subsided, Secondo released you from his suctioned hold, his chin glistening with your juices and a small grin on his face. That grin altered your brain chemistry and instilled a confidence in you that you didn’t know you had. You pulled him by his cassock back to his feet and crashed your lips against his, kissing him much harder than before. You could taste yourself in his mouth, your own essence moving onto your tastebuds and heightening your arousal. Your hand gripped onto his and pulled off the first glove, still with your lips attached to his, and once it was off his hand, you threw it somewhere in the room. The second glove met the same fate.

You pushed him away from you and pulled at your zipper, undoing the dress and letting it pool around your feet. Your bra was the next to go, falling to the floor and exposing your breasts to him. You stood completely bare in front of him, looking at his face as his eyes ran over your body, drinking in every part of you he could see and committing it to memory. You then took his hand and walked him to the bedroom.

Before today, all your secret meetings had taken place after or during official meetings between your churches, sneaking off while representatives met to discuss peace or something redundant that both sides would ignore. Your meetings had been limited, but over the course of that week had been frequent. Yet for each of your encounters together, Secondo had taken charge. Despite how much he degraded you, how disrespectful his words were, you had grown to trust him entirely. He would never push you passed your limits, or do something to deliberately hurt you that you hadn’t already asked for or expressed your wish to try. Though he always used his experience to heighten yours, you were very much the pace-setter.

This was never more evident by his willingness for you to push him down onto the bed once his cassock and underwear was on your bedroom floor. How he happily lay on his back and watched you crawl up his body, tongue laving over his hairy stomach and chest and driving you further upwards. In your hubris, as your mouths connected in a passionate kiss, you took his length into your hands and lined him up with your sopping entrance, preparing both of you for the stretch you were about to experience. You felt Secondo’s hands move to your hips, supporting you as you sunk down onto him, taking him inside you in one fell swoop. This motion had you both breaking the kiss, mouths falling open in a perfect ‘o’ and your eyebrows raising while his furrowed, darkening his eyes.

You sat up, taking him even further down, and when you bounced for the first time, you ripped a growl from his throat. His back arched, his fingers tightened their grip on your hips. “Fuck!” He gasped when you did it again.

Your inexperience made it difficult for you to find a rhythm, your hands falling to his stomach to support you but failing to give you both the pleasure you needed. Secondo changed your motions for you, instead of helping you bounce, he used his hands to move you back and forth. “No, grind on me, little lamb.” He told you. You found a rhythm pretty quickly. “Just like that. Good girl.”

This position had your clit rubbing against his pubic mound and his cock moving inside you perfectly. The slight upwards curvature of him meant that each time you moved back, he hit that sweet spot inside you and caused you to cry out.

The more you moved, the more confident you became in your ability and allowed you to relax and just feel him - feeling the way he felt inside you, hitting your walls with each movement, his hands gripping onto you tight enough to leave more marks for you to admire later. While your eyes were closed in pleasure, his were wide open, drinking in every inch of your body and admiring you from below. He got to see you in your full glory, breasts bouncing with each thrust, thighs jiggling, mouth agape in ecstasy. The placement of your bed in the room in contrast with the overhead light created an ethereal glow, almost giving you a perfect halo around your head.

An angel.

You were an angel - you were his angel. The once good, Catholic girl who he loathed to look at, who made his life Hell in all the wrong ways. The righteous child who preached to those who didn’t want it, who was so sure in her decisions being the right one, now warmly accepting her mortal enemy into her body without much of a second thought. Now giving into temptation and pleasuring herself, against the will of her Lord, with the very man her book warned her about. The daughter of God using the son of Lucifer to commit sin after sin within the walls of the most hallowed building. It was almost as if he could feel your soul tainting with each thrust of your hips, your purity disintegrating along with his willpower each time a moan fell from your lips.

“Please,” you whimpered, “talk to me. Like you normally would.”

Degrade you? Now? He couldn’t possibly. He couldn’t find it within himself to tear you apart when you looked as you did: red-faced, sweating, panting and gasping for air as you felt him all the way up in your stomach. “I can’t.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Why?” He didn’t answer at first, hoping you’d drop this crusade. But you were determined to get what you wanted and so, you stopped moving. “Why?”

“Little lamb, move.”

“Why?”

He lifted your hips a little more and tried to thrust into you, but you fought against him. “For fuck sake!” He sat up, his nose mere centimetres from yours, his eyes burning with anger and lust, pupils blown so far out the colour had disappeared entirely. His hand moved to the back of your head and pulled at the roots of your hair, lips brushing against your neck as he spoke, “Because you are divine. Move, please.” When he lay back down you picked the pace back up exactly how you did before you stopped, working towards your orgasm. His eyes remained on you the whole time. “You want me to tell you how sinful you are, hm? How much of a bad girl you are for defying your Lord?”

“Yes!”

“I won’t. I won’t use the same words that they do. Fucking shit! I can’t use those words when Lilith herself blessed you with ethereal beauty. When she placed her most beautiful creation on this Earth to walk amongst the mortals; art amongst the rats. I will not degrade one who was made to conquer men.”

You were breathless, both from the exertion and his words. “I c-conquered you?”

“Body, mind, soul,” he gripped hold of your hand and pulled it to his rest on chest, “and heart.” Your eyes met his in surprise, and your body shook as though electricity was running through it. “Conquered and enslaved. I will forever be yours, and worship you like the goddess you are.”

His large hand that had completely covered yours moved up your arm and began to rub both of his around your body, gripping onto pieces and stroking gently.

“Secondo!”

By the way your walls were fluttering around him, he knew you were almost at your peak. “Cum for me, little lamb. Bless me with your holy water.”

This orgasm was much more intense than your first, your body shaking and your eyes glazing over. Your back arched as it washed over you, your fingers digging into his arms and leaving half-moon prints in his skin. “Fuck!” You screamed softly, like your body had just been plunged into cold water.

“That’s it. That’s right. Give it to me.”

“Secondo! Oh my God!”

He pushed you off his cock and put you on the bed beside him, turning you to lie flat on your stomach. Your hips were lifted just enough for a pillow to sit below you, then you felt him mount you from behind, draping his entire body over you. His lips found their way to your ear as his cock lined up with your hole once more. “Your God doesn’t deserve you.” He told you as he entered you again, pressing you against the mattress. His hand found yours and interlocked his fingers with yours as he began to thrust into you, moving at a similar pace to when he usually fucked you. Hard, fast, dirty. But this time there was something new, something tender in the way he touched you, the way his other hand rested atop your hip.

“I will forever get on my knees for you,” he told you between grunts, “and worship between these hallowed walls.” He kissed your shoulder blades. “I will thank you for all that you give me. I am yours.”

“I’m yours, Secondo.” You turned your head to capture his lips and give him a deep kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth as his cock continued to slide in and out of your tight, wet heat.

He surrounded you, every inch of his body running against yours and trapping you between him and the mattress in a way you’d never felt before - making you feel safe. His words told you that you were loved, despite the violent speed they ran through your head as he occupied every inch of your mind. His scent, woody and musky, filled your nose. His grunts and growls swallowed by your mouth in your unbroken, needy kiss. He loved you. He’d risen to catch you as you’d fallen for him. In that moment, nothing else mattered. God and Satan be damned. They’d ruled your lives too much, you both deserved this.

“Cum for me.” You whispered into his lips. “Give it to me, give me everything.”

“Where can I cum?”

“Inside me. I wanna feel you inside me.”

“Fucking hell!”

His hips snapped faster and more erratically until eventually he pushed himself as far as he could inside you, painting your walls with his cum. His eyes were tightly shut and a growl escaped him. He could feel his heart in his throat. His fingers tightened around yours when he came, gripping onto you and never wanting to let go.

As he came down from his high, he peppered your skin with kisses, black Cardinal paints very much wiped away at this point and his body exhausted from the exertion. He stayed inside you, softening with each passing second but not wanting to leave the warmth of your body just yet. You didn’t want him to, either. But it had to happen eventually. He rolled off you, but kept his hand on your hip as he did and rolled you with him, wrapping you up in his capable arms and holding you close.

The later into the night it got, he knew he’d have to leave the Vatican and wait to see you for who knew how long, and that thought hurt him more than he could possibly. He did everything he could to commit you to memory; how you looked, felt, smelled. He needed something to see him through until the next time you managed to see him. And so, he held you close, doing his best to fight off sleep.

That was until your voice broke the silence. “How would the Ministry feel if I left with you tonight?”

Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

[writingjourney]

Unprecedented | Secondo x gn!Reader

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

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

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

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

Masterlist – Ao3 link

1 Voluntary Abstinence

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

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

“Papa?” you whisper upon closing the door.

“Office,” a steady voice calls back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✦ ✧ ✦ 

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, really?”

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

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

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

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

Not you, no, he thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

✦ ✧ ✦ 

2 Papa’s Personal Pasta Day

Wednesday is Pasta Day.

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

And yet your Papa is nowhere to be found today.

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

Which means he’s skipping lunch altogether.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“N-no…”

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

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

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

✦ ✧ ✦ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✦ ✧ ✦ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That he wants to feed you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✦ ✧ ✦ 

3 Seeing Red

He’s trusting you with a Crowley.

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened?” Secondo asks.

“I… I–”

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

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

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

“I’m so sorry, I– I didn’t–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, my dove. It happens.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Papa,” you whisper. “Did I–“

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

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

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

”Papa–“

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

“What is this?” you mumble.

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

✦ ✧ ✦ 

4 The Storage Closet Incident

Are you high on glue and paint solvent? Maybe.

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

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

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

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

“Humph.”

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

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

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

“Good,” he says. “You’re fast.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Papa–“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then why don’t you?”

He furrows his brow. “Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My dove–”

“Don’t call me that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not so bold anymore now, eh?”

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

“Please what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you ask it like that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Aha. And what is that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✦ ✧ ✦ 

5 Returning the Favour

A note.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

“È sufficiente?” Primo asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for the basil,” Secondo says.

Primo gives him a gentle, brotherly smile.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

A tentative knock. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, this is a dinner date?” 

“Yes.”

“A date date?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

“So you did guess my favourite.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ordinarily, it’s not.”

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

Fuck his plan. 

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

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

Oh, that mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stand in front of his bed shivering in anticipation. 

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

You nod. 

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

“Yes, Papa.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Papa,” you say.

He looks up. “Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Since you ask so nicely,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Masterlist – my Ao3

[dantesunbreaker]

Red Velvet Lines

(Dracopia)Papa Emeritus IV x GN!Reader

It's the Clergy's annual Halloween ball, and you're without a date. But its seems a certain pair of mismatched eyes are watching you from across the room.

TW: Alcohol, blood drinking, suggestive themes, implied hypnotism 2.3K words (There is potential to write a NSFW part two later? Maybe?)

GIF by preqvelle

All Hallows Eve is one of the most celebrated occasions amongst the clergy, and tonight is no exception you think as you find yourself mingling amongst your fellow siblings of sin. Every year a grand ball is held, siblings and ghouls alike invited to in or out of costume to drink, dance, and socialize. Many come with partners in tow, few getting a kick out of silly couples costumes, while others come alone. Whether it be in hopes to leave with a newfound bed mate for the night, or simply to have a good time by themselves. You aren’t sure which of those you would consider yourself.

Without a date for the night, you find yourself sticking to the outskirts of the room, mingling with your siblings and making a clear point to avoid the dance floor. But as the night drags on, you find yourself leaning against the bar, whiskey sour in hand. That’s when you feel eyes on you from across the room, a prickling tingle that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. Play it cool. Don’t draw any extra attention. Slowly, casually, you turn around, eyes making a wide sweep until they stop on a pair of eyes staring right back at you. Breath leaves you in a hot gasping huff. Cool winter mint and frigid white ice watches your every move. Something about his eyes both chills you to the bone and sparks a burning flame at your core.

Of course you know who he is, the former Cardinal turned Papa. But you can’t understand why his attention is on you of all people. There were plenty of other brothers and sisters of sin in attendance. Siblings that are far more attractive than your own plain features. Yet, you still feel his gaze on you even as you turn back to your drink. Why would he have any interest in you? You attempt to put the current reigning Papa far from your mind, focusing on savoring the last sip of your drink. But that turns out to be a little hard to do.

“May I have this dance, mio caro?” You spin around at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder. There is a flutter of your heart as you come face to face with the same multi-colored eyes.

“Oh, um... Papa?” You stammer nervously, wringing your hands and shifting from foot to foot. “Are you sure that you want to dance with me? I mean.. I’m sure there are plenty of beautiful sisters that are simply dying for the opportunity to dance with you. And well.. I’m just me.”

A warm, hearty chuckle is your response, dismissing your self depreciative comments as a gloved hand takes yours, whisking you away to the center of the dance floor. It amazes you how effortlessly he moves you, as if you were floating on air, pulling you to his chest with practiced ease. 

“I have no doubts that there are many siblings desperate for the chance to be in your place,” Copia hums into your ear, keeping your hand in his, while the other hand rests on your waist. “But, they all share the same flaw. None of them are you, piccolino.”

Heat flushes your cheeks, eyes cast down to your feet with a wave of embarrassment while giving no resistance as Copia begins to sway you both in time with the song softly echoing around you. That feeling soon is all but forgotten though as suddenly you are being spun out from Copia’s arms, only to circle back in until your chests touch. You are far from being a dancer, more than likely to trip over your own feet. But Copia seems to know how to lead you well enough, swaying you both across the room with ease and skill that would make onlookers think you have been doing this for years.

As the song draws close to an end, Copia pulls you up from a dip and brushes his lips against the shell of your ear. “Let’s go outside, catch some air, si?” It’s a hushed whisper, only loud enough for you to hear, and you find yourself nodding in agreement before you have even processed what he said. Too caught up in feeling enraptured by the way he moves your body and holds you close.

The music fades, and Copia seamlessly transitions from dancing to holding your hand and leading you off the dance floor. Together you slip from the room unnoticed, a brisk walk through the corridors of the abbey until coming to a secluded balcony. It feels like a rush of adrenaline as you step outside into the crisp air, goosebumps rising as it feels like little pin pricks biting at your cheeks.

But that shoves to the back of your mind as you are spun around, back facing towards the beautiful gardens below. Something tells you that you should be afraid, ready to turn tail and run, but you are mesmerized by soft alluring eyes as Copia draws near. Under his spell, you don’t want to run. You would allow yourself to be devoured by the beast.

“Do you trust me, amore?” Your back presses into the cool stone of the railing, caged between Copia’s arms resting on either side of you. His voice is rich as honey, putting you at ease and leaving you wanting more. Even as he leans into you, breath tickling your neck, you can’t seem to resist the charm of his soft and sweet touches. No matter how much your brain screams no, your body succumbs and outweighs all rhyme or reason.

“Yes,” you whisper, breathless, eyes closing as your head tilts back at the feeling of Copia’s lips brushing the delicate skin of your neck.

You feel rather than hear the soft vibrations of Copia’s chest as he gives a pleased hum, a hand snaking around the back of your head and anchoring in your hair. Lips press against you, soft and warm along your neck, lulling you into a false sense of safety. For a moment later, you feel twin sharp pin pricks of pain from the very spot Copia presses against your neck. Eyes snap open, mouth dropping in a silent gasp as you clutch at Copia, fingers digging into one shoulder and grabbing a fistful of his hair. Tugging harshly barely has Copia moving even a fraction of an inch. 

Warmth spreads from your neck, you can feel something trickle down past his lips in the brief second you break the vacuum seal Copia has on your flesh. Blood no doubt. Your blood. Though it should send fear striking down your spine, there is something about the way Copia’s tongue soothes over the wound he has created that has you slowly returning to a lax state in his arms. The grip in his hair loosens, the hand clawing at his shoulder smoothing to a soft caress as you instead hold him to you.

A sudden rush of euphoria seems to drip through your veins, pleasure keeping your limbs heavy and compliant. Pain fades until all you have to focus on is the feeling of Copia’s plush lips, the soft lapping of his tongue as he greedily drinks up whatever you have to offer him. Carding your fingers through Copia’s hair, you focus on the heat that pools between your thighs. You feel almost suspended on air, as if Copia’s teeth at your neck were the only thing keeping you from floating away.

But through your haze of ecstasy, you notice the freckles of black that are closing in on your field of view, sucking in a deep breath becoming suddenly difficult. A spike of fear hits your chest, but lethargic limbs keep you from being able to struggle. All you can manage is a trembling double tap to Copia’s shoulder as your fingers tighten in his hair. You plunge head first into darkness, a feeling of peace washing over you.

“Tesoro,” through the dark silence, a soft voice breaks through, calling to you in a loving tone. 

Softly groaning, your heavy eyes gradually flutter open to find piercing eyes inches from your face, watching you with great intent. Your mind is foggy, but you recognize Copia’s gentle features. Though, the crimson that paints his bottom lip, bleeding into the once crisp white along his chin is peculiar. A lucid smile paints your face as a hand drops to cup his painted cheek.

“Guess I took a little too much this time.You were unconscious there for a few minutes” Copia gives you a sheepish look, arms around your back and supporting the back of your neck. “Mi dispiace amore mio. You taste so delizioso, I couldn’t help myself.”

“It’s okay, C,” the smile on your face reaches your eyes, regaining your senses the longer that he holds you in his arms. “Besides, it’s not all on you. I should have signaled sooner.... I may have also gotten a bit too carried away. Still haven’t quite learned my limits yet.”

Gathering your strength, you push up to crash your lips against Copia’s in a heated kiss that is all tongue and teeth. You taste the salty copper tang on his lips, a unique hint of sweetness that you’ve come to learn is entirely you. It doesn’t take long though before you need to pull away, gasping to suck much needed oxygen into your lungs. Copia of course has full composure, though his paint is a bit worse for wear. Black and white paint has mixed with your blood into a dull brown from lip to chin. 

“Give me a minute to get my breath back and I’ll fix your paint up,” you sigh between gasps, holding Copia by the shoulders as you work on supporting your own weight. There is a soft twinkle in his pearly eye that is full of adoration. "We can't have you going back looking like this, Sister Imperator would be livid."

Gentle lips brush yours, not quite a full kiss, but enough you feel their presence without being deprived of the room to breathe.

"Why bother going back?" Copia's nose touches your own, his cool breath fanning across your cheeks. "I can think of plenty of other things I'd much rather be doing with you back in my chambers."

You scoff, giving a playful swat to his shoulder. "Because a certain Papa is expected to give a speech, and I won't be taking the fall for the reason you are late again,” you fix him with a stern glare, recalling the reaming you received from Sister the last time.

At least Copia has the decency to give a flash of shame, like a puppy being caught being naughty. But it doesn’t last long.

"You can have me however you want later tonight,” you catch the look of mischief in Copia’s eyes and quickly amend your statement. “After! You can after you are finished with your expected Papal duties for the night."

Overly dramatic, Copia deflates, bottom lip jutting out in an adorable little pout. But he concedes. He is just as worried about the harsh lecturing you both would get for being late the second time in a row. It’s best not to play on thin ice. So Copia doesn’t fight it, your eyes locked together as you take the time to collect yourself, placing a firm hand at the center of Copia's chest when you feel you are able to manage on your own.

Knowing what to expect as the outcome from your game of cat and mouse, you have one of the emergency make up kits that would normally be used for when Copia was on tour stashed behind one of the statues in the corner of the balcony. While ideally you would want to clear his whole face of paint and start with a blank slate, that wasn’t an option. It would take too much time, and you would be late, which if that were to be the case you would rather skip it all and go to Copia’s room.

So you settle for scrubbing at the stubborn paint of his chin, only stopping once it gives way to pale white skin. Once patted dry, you dip into the white grease paint, slathering a thick layer across the bottom half of Copia’s face. When you have achieved a full and even coverage, you shift your focus to touching up the black of his lips. As you set about setting the paint, you think that it certainly isn’t your best work, but under the dim lights of the ballroom you doubt anyone will notice.

“All done,” you humm happily, giving Copia a light pat on the shoulder as you pack the supplies back into the kit. When you glance back up, Copia’s smile is practically radiant.

“So,” Copia takes a step back, giving an extravagant twirl before spreading his arms out as if to display himself. “How do I look, amore mio?”

“Handsome as ever, Papa,” you smile fondly as you tuck the paint kit back away in its original hiding spot, knowing one of the ghouls would later come by to retrieve it. “Come, let’s get back before Sister sends someone after us.”

Stepping in stride with you, Copia spreads an arm out across your back, tucking you close into his side as you enter the building. Music still filters down the hall, a quiet hum that lets you know Copia’s cue hasn’t been missed yet. You might just yet might be able to go without any suspicion being aroused.

“Amore,” Copia however, cuts your train of thought short just as you open the double doors to the ballroom. “My apologies..but you uh have a little..something dripping from your neck.”

Of course, you catch sight of the twin red velvety lines slowly dribbling down the side of your neck in the reflection of Copia’s white eye....Just as you hear Sister clearing her throat from beside you. Copia gives you a sympathetic smile, but you can see the mirth in his eyes. But in the end, you think that your fun is worth a little ass chewing from Sister.

[belle--ofthebrawl]

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.6k

Pairing: Ifrit/Rain, mentions of Ifrit/Dewdrop/Rain

Tags: Public Masturbation, Semi-public blowjobs, possessive behavior, Cuckolding, kink denial on Dew's part but it's fine he's fine it's fine they're all fine.

Summary:

"Dewdrop." He finishes stupidly.

Rain shrugs, a strap of his camisole falling down one shoulder with the motion.

"My Dewdrop…" he muses, tracing patterns on Ifrit's thigh. "I like the sound of that."

Ifrit doesn't remember how the night began and he's certain he won't remember how it ends but that doesn't matter right now. Right now he's got a nice buzz going, a nice grassy spot under a tree to stare at the sky and his hand wrapped around his cock because hey. Why not.

If he concentrates, he can hear the others by the bonfire, still whooping and hollering as they dance and fight and fuck. He could join them but that would mean moving more than just his hand across his dick and he's not really feeling it right now. More interested in feeling himself. Maybe one of the others will stumble across, offer their own hand or mouth or even more but for now, Ifrit's intent on a little self-love.

There's no point in saying he's not vain because he absolutely is. This physical form had been good-looking to start with and when he found out he could modify it? Just by moving around or getting inked up? Siblings were practically lining up at the gate for his, heh, personal attention in the gym as a trainer. He was completely focused and professional during classes. But once that session was up? They knew where to find him.

Wasn't just the human Clergy either. Mist liked it when he wrestled with her, winner take all. Alpha needed the occasional beatdown too and Omega was perfect for when he wanted his ankles by his ears and a fat cock pushing so far into his guts he could taste it.

Just thinking about it made a pretty pearl of cum bead up from his tip. He smears it over the ruddy head with his thumb, rolls his hips as he toys with the slit and thinks about the others.

Dew was so cute to rile up. He could get spitting mad over some teasing and all Ifrit would have to do was look down and see where all the blood went. Only made the little guy madder, but all Ifrit had to do to apologize was kiss it until it was all better and the flush on Dew’s face was from pleasure and not fury.

Been a while since they hooked up, Ifrit thinks. A little bittersweetness lies in the memories, how Dew had found himself wrapped up in a new role and a new pack while Ifrit was left behind but he doesn't hold a grudge. Just wishes they could meet up again, see if he still has a temper or he’s gotten it under control. Ifrit's seen the way that multi-ghoul needles him, nothing short of a masterpiece there. He’d love to team up with him to make Dew cry sometime and his cock throbs in agreement.

Then there's that pretty water ghoul. Rain. Ifrit's been dying to get to know him all kinds of ways. See if he gets as wet as Dew used to, before his transition. He saw the two of them earlier, before the party really got going and okay, they looked good together. Dew looked downright snappy whenever someone tried to lure Rain away and that was just adorable. Like a dragon angrily guarding the first shiny trinket of its horde.

Monogamy isn't really a thing to the ghouls. Why would it be? Still, sometimes they can get possessive over each other. Dew's definitely got the worst case of it Ifrit's ever seen over Rain. He'd curled himself tight around the water ghoul, scenting him something fierce. Ifrit could pick it up from halfway across the field. And okay, it was a little cute. New love, and all that.

He blinks. Right, that's how he came to be here pumping his dick. He got so caught up in the vision of Dew and Rain and their entangled limbs, combined with the noises of a few threesomes happening, his mind laid out a beautiful picture of himself sandwiched between the two of them. Maybe he could coach Rain on how best to rile up Dew, get his little cock as red as his face. What to say to make his brow furrow even as he huffs out a too-quick orgasm.

Speaking of…

His balls already tight, Ifrit lets himself go and sighs at the way it aches when he does. He's got better stamina but he's been here a while, whatever he drank is working its dirty little magic on him and the night is still young. Wouldn't want to wear himself out too quickly.

If he listens, he can hear Mist crying in that perfect way she does when someone's licking her cunt and someone else is doing her gills. Belial, she's cute. Maybe he just has a thing for water ghouls, but who wouldn't with all their sensitivities and tendencies to get so wet. Maybe he should get up and join them, attack her gills from the other side and really get her going, get a few fingers stuffed up her cunt, make her squirt like she always does. His hand wraps around himself again and before he knows it, he's got his tongue in Rain's gills instead, frenching him from the inside while he bounces on Ifrit's lap, claws digging into his shoulders. Feeling Rain gasp for air as he creams around Ifrit's cock, Dew’s eyes dark with fury.

“You look like you're having fun.” Comes a soft voice and Ifrit chuckles, squeezing the base of his cock.

“Just thinking about you.” He says honestly, cracking his eye to peer at Rain. He looks good tonight. Always looks good but this is the first time Ifrit's seen him in something other than his uniform, a pair of light blue shorts that skim the tops of his thighs and a sleeveless shirt with thin straps and thinner fabric. Ifrit’s eyes lazily slide up and then firmly look back down, no shame. Dew’s not here to hiss and snarl, Ifrit's going to take advantage. As much as Rain will let him.

“We’ve never been properly introduced.” Rain muses, coming closer. “I know your name though. Seen you around. Seen some footage.”

“Do you like what you see?” Ifrit asks, angling himself so Rain can get an eyeful of his body, toned muscles and cock on full display. Like before. He's not shy about his own vanity. He half expects his confidence to intimidate the quiet water ghoul but Rain…Rain laughs at him. No one's ever laughed at Ifrit before.

He doesn't know if he likes it or not.

“Dew said you were cocky.” He drops to his hands and knees, tail coiling behind him. His eyes narrow as he comes up between Ifrit's thighs and smiles with a little too much fang for comfort. “He wouldn't be happy if he knew I was with you.”

“Then why are you here anyway?” Ifrit asks bluntly, trying to regain a foothold in the strange shift that he's pretty sure just happened.

“Because sometimes it's better to ask for forgiveness than permission.” Rain tells him with a nip to his skin that sends Ifrit reeling. No way this is happening. He can still smell Dew on Rain's clothes, smoke and anger and lust. So much lust.

"Isn't Dewdrop your, uh…" Boyfriend is the first word that comes to mind but it doesn't feel right. Too human, too exclusive. Packmate would be the best option yet it still feels too casual for whatever the hell those two have going on. He and Dew were packmates and they were never so touchy-feely as he is with Rain. He vaguely remembers Dew getting a little weird about Aether when he was first summoned but it still had nothing on how he behaved now. Rain seems to humor it and continue to do his own thing when Dew's not looking but he still doesn't want to get on the little guy's bad side and ruin any possibilities.

"Dewdrop." He finishes stupidly.

Rain shrugs, a strap of his camisole falling down one shoulder with the motion.

"My Dewdrop…" he muses, tracing patterns on Ifrit's thigh. "I like the sound of that."

His fingers tickle dangerously high and Ifrit squirms against the tree.

"Well," Rain continues thoughtfully, casually wrapping his hand around the base of Ifrit's cock, hiding the sudden flare of his tattoos as he begins to stroke him slowly. "My Dewdrop said he didn't want you touching me. So don't touch me. And we'll be alright."

Ifrit feels far from alright at this moment in time, but then Rain's bowing to dab his soft tongue to the underside and he can't find it in him to argue. The first gentle lap hits him harder than a punch, the second, somehow even worse. Rain entertains himself with Ifrit's cock like he's got all the time in the world; sliding the foreskin to and fro over the ridge, mouthing at the tip and going even lower to fit both of Ifrit's balls in his mouth. Going back up and rubbing his cheek against the head to smear the beads of pre cum all across his face.

"These are pretty," he remarks, so casual as if he was admiring a garden or a display of jewelry. Ifrit doesn't even know what he's talking about at first until Rain starts tracing the outline of his tattoos with his tongue. He got them done months ago, glyphs written and designed to further pleasure a partner. Maybe one or two thrown in so no matter how he thrusts, he always hits the best spots.

"Enchanted?" He asks, looking at Ifrit with his dark eyes, pressing a kiss to the shaft. Ifrit nods stupidly, fingers curling in the grass to keep from grabbing Rain's head and pushing him down again, make that pretty mouth drool with how Ifrit would fuck it.

"Thought so." Rain says with satisfaction. "I like the way it tingles when I touch them. Must feel good to get fucked by a cock like this."

"I've had no complaints." Ifrit gasps as Rain lays his tongue flat to slap his cock against it. He's such an active participant in his past flings that it feels off-putting to just sit here and let himself be…be toyed with. He doesn't even think Rain's blinked once since settling between his thighs and it's unnerving.

"When Dew calms down a bit," Rain starts, moving Ifrit's cock this way and that to admire all of his tattoos as they glow. "With this whole possessive thing. Maybe I'll ride it."

"Fuh-" Ifrit hisses as a large blurt of precum oozes out of his slit. Rain drinks it down then goes even further, opening his jaw for Ifrit to easily slide in without grazing any fangs. "Fucking, oh, oh that's good."

He's so pent up from touching himself earlier, thinking he wouldn't have to worry about stamina. Now he's got Rain making the sweetest, choked noises as he fucks his face on Ifrit's dick, nice and sloppy, getting his saliva all over Ifrit's balls while he gags on it. Ifrit's tearing up handfuls of grass as Rain brutalizes his own throat, moaning and trying to stifle his moans at the same time, lest Dewdrop catch them in the act and get royally pissed off.

Rain would probably just kiss him with a mouth of Ifrit's cum, his brain offers up and it's over.

He cums with a pained noise, faster than he'd like to but again he’d been working himself up decently beforehand and if he knew Rain was going to go to town on him, he would have saved his stamina. He tries to warn Rain with a stuttered exclamation as his body locks up. Rain just pulls away to tug at his cock and Ifrit starts praying Rain will put it back in his mouth and swallow but he keeps pumping his hand at first. Aims so the first spray lands thick over his eyelashes, the second glossing his full lips, smearing the head around before kissing it and pushing down to take Ifrit in, letting him finish directly down his tight throat.

“Fuck!” Ifrit shouts, hitting his head on the tree when he throws it back, trying to fuck Rain's mouth for the last few flexes of his cock. Rain keeps still, lets his jaw hang open as Ifrit pushes his cum back in as it drools out, relishing the slide of Rain’s tongue on his skin even as he slips into oversensitivity and the friction is too much. Rain lets him go with a final kiss and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he sits up tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. Ifrit's cum is dabbed off Rain’s eyelashes with his ring finger, also licked clean. There's something almost feline about him as he does it, looking so beautiful in the fractured moonlight coming down from between the branches.

"Can I," Ifrit starts. "Do you…anything?" He sounds stupid to himself and can't even imagine what he sounds like to Rain, staring down at him with a passive, unreadable expression.

"I already got mine." He says carelessly, flopping back and spreading his thighs to show off the wet fabric of his tight little shorts clinging to his cunt. Ifrit swallows thickly, eyes riveted on the way he drags his fingers softly over it. He can see the way they bump over the shape of his swollen clit and Ifrit moans right along with Rain when he rubs the tip of it.

"Swiss and Aether." He tells Ifrit, a subtle lift at the corners of his mouth. He raises a leg and uses the motion to flip himself over, lifting his tail to reveal another damp spot just underneath that's slowly drooled out enough cum to combine with the first one.

"Mountain."

Ifrit practically convulses with the longing stab of arousal the sight gives him, wheezing as Rain wiggles his shorts down to give him a better look at his well-used holes, swaying his hips and letting them gape for the briefest of moments, before shimmying his clothes back on and doing something elegant and twisted that results in him standing up, hand on his hip. Looking down at Ifrit with an amused little smile.

“Dew always forgives me if I confess everything. Helps to give him a demonstration too…So he knows what he missed out on.” It's said in such a blaisè tone for all the heavy implications in the words, Ifrit can't quite believe what he just heard. Just stares open mouthed at Rain with his soft cock wilting against his thigh and his ears ringing. Rain covers his laugh and leans close. Lets Ifrit get a nice view of his tits down his top as he takes two fingers, the two he'd touched himself with, and pets Ifrit's tongue. Before he knows what he's doing, he closes his lips around them and sucks, shivering at the faint taste of salt and sex.

“You're cute.” Rain says. “I hope I get to play with you again.”

He tries to say something but what exactly he wants to say he doesn't know. It just comes out as a stupid little uh-huh around Rain’s fingers as he withdraws them. He chases them but then Rain’s giving him a little head shake, wiping them on Ifrit's cheek and he falls back, defeated and stunned. Rain giving him that mischievous little smile the whole time.

“See you ‘round.” He says, tapping those same two fingers against his eyebrows, giving Ifrit a lazy salute. The fingers go from his temple to his mouth, where Rain spreads them and licks lasciviously in between with a wicked little wink before turning and walking off, leaving Ifrit to stare at the way his hips swing in well fucked and insouciant little half circles. How he's not limping is beyond anyone's guess.

“Damn…” he wheezes, head hitting the trunk. “Just… damn.”

What a night.

[smoke-and-silver]

The Ministry + The Divine Feminine

Expanding my headcanon of the clergy revering the divine feminine + how they treat the women in the ministry.

Yes, this is trans inclusive. 😊

A statue of Hypatia looks over the gardens, to honor those women killed for seeking knowledge.

The ghouls dip their heads gently to greet the women they speak to, and always address them with "ma'am" and "miss".

Every morning prayer to Satan also includes a prayer to the first human woman and rebel, Eve.

The ghouls learn how each nun takes her tea or coffee and serve it to them at meals. The ladies have their plates served first.

The library is filled with books about their philosophy and spiritual reverence of the feminine, womens history, and texts written by women that are older than anything you'd find in any public library on earth.

Sister Imperator has the ultimate say in decisions in the end. She has the deepest understanding of the ministry's philosophy and the Unholy Father communicates the most with her.

The clergy follows the pagan Wheel of the Year, with the spring holidays being especially important to them. The ghouls patiently allow the Sisters to adorn them with festive ribbons, flowers, and the like.

During one holiday you see the ghouls lined up, standing at attention to receive their orders for the day, with the adornments still hanging from their horns and tails.

The ladies have rituals and circle dances on certain holidays or important moon phases. The ghouls stand guard around the perimeter of the cathedral to make sure nothing interrupts.

Both the sisters and the ghouls take care of the land surrounding the cathedral and try to give back to it when they can.

The most exciting way of doing this is the bloodlettings the ghouls enact on those who have wronged the Sisters or the church, spilling their blood onto the ground to reinvigorate the soil.

[adini-nikolaevna]

"The great day came. It was April 16, the eve of Sasha's twenty-third birthday. In the morning there was mass, at one o'clock in the afternoon the official ceremony of dressing the bride in the presence of the whole family, newly appointed court ladies and three ladies-in-waiting. Marie was coiffed so that two long curls fell on either side of her face, a small diadem of diamonds and pearl pendants was placed on her head - under it was attached a veil of lace, which hung below the shoulders. Each of us sisters gave her a pin to attach it, and then a purple ermine-trimmed robe, so heavy that five chamberlains had to hold it, was placed over her and fastened at the shoulder with a gold pin. At the end, Mama also attached a small bouquet of myrtle and orange blossom under the veil. Marie looked grand and majestic in her outfit, and the expression of solemn seriousness on her childish face was in perfect harmony with the beauty of her figure. At three o'clock there was a solemn banquet, approximately four hundred people were seated in the Nicholas Hall of the Winter Palace at three huge tables. In the middle are the Royal Family and the clergy, who opened the banquet with prayer and blessing. At the table, ladies sat on the right hand, gentlemen on the left. They drank the health of the young couple, Their Majesties, the Tsarevna's Parents, as well as all loyal subjects, and each toast was accompanied by cannon salvoes. The highest ranks of the Court brought champagne to Their Majesties; we, the other members of the Royal Family, were served by our chamberlains. A military band played, and the best singers of the Opera sang so that the walls shook. At eight there was a polonaise in the St. George's Hall: Papa danced in front of everyone with Marie; at ten o'clock we returned to our chambers, here only the family dined with the newlyweds. Adini and I did not take part in this, but had dinner with our teachers in my rooms and looked out at the Neva, at the illuminated embankment, ships decorated with flags, a festive crowd, and behind it the spire of the Peter and Paul Fortress, rising to the sky, still gilded by the setting sun… this day ended with such a wonderful note.”

- Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna, Queen of Wurttemberg, on the nuptials of her elder brother, the future Emperor Alexander II of Russia and Empress Maria Alexandrovna (nee Princess Marie of Hesse-Darmstadt.)

[the-curator1]

Even in Hades | Copia x Witch!Fem!Reader - Chapter 1

Author's note: English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes, please don't hesitate to point them out to me.

Summary: Copia is gone. But he is not meant to remain in the realm of the dead. The Clergy asks you to bring him back to life as part of their grand plan for the future. You think your mission is over, but you find yourself dealing with a pope haunted by trauma, clinging to you like a lifeline. You can't leave him behind, can you? And after all, maybe you need someone to help you fight your own demons too. This whole situation leaves you with a haunting question: Who is the savior and who is the saved?

Tags and TW for the story: necromancy, heavy angst, mention of blood rituals, witchcraft, eventual romance, smut, fluff, the reader is a witch, betrayal, grief, manipulation, dealing with trauma, religious trauma

Chapter Summary: You bring back Papa Emeritus IV to the light.

Chapter 1: Moth to a Flame

You were kneeling on the cold floor, your face turned toward the ceiling of the chilling crypt like a wolf howling at the moon. Your hands pressed against the stone floor bore the stains of blood you had drawn from your own veins. The flickering flames of the black candles cast an eerie glow upon the floor, enveloping your face in their mysterious light.

“You need to bring him back.”

“If you wanted him to live, maybe you should not have killed him in the first place!”

The pain clawed its way through your body, a relentless torment that threatened to consume you from within. It twisted and writhed like a serpent, coiling around your insides with a merciless grip, gnawing at your insides like a greedy monster. It started slow, but you knew it was a matter of minutes until you felt like the pain was tearing your body and your soul apart.

“Watch your tongue, girl. You don’t know anything. He needs to come back. That’s part of the plan.”

You turned your head toward the cold floor again. Laying there among the candles and the ritualistic tools was the body of Papa Emeritus IV. You looked at him for a moment as the pain in your chest grew and grew. His body was naked apart from a white sheet you carefully placed upon his lower body when you prepared him. Your eyes fell upon the large stitched wound in his chest once again.

Did he ever know they were going to…

No time for thinking about that again.

“I’ll do it, but I’ll need to be alone.”

“Fair enough. Just don’t disappoint us.”

Ignoring the gnawing ache in your gut, you placed your bloodied shaky hands on his bare torso. His skin was cold as ice. Your fingers brushed at the 666 tattoo on his chest.

He needs to come back. You can't fail.

Your mouth fell open, and your lips started moving on their own accord. You began to chant an ancient melody. Your voice echoed through the chamber in a language long forgotten by mortal tongues. You made all the efforts in the world to keep your voice steady, fighting to drown out the rising tide of nausea that threatened to overwhelm you. The flames of the candles around you danced wildly, casting shifting shadows upon the walls as if they, too, sensed the gravity of the moment.

“It must be done tonight. Or he will be gone forever.”

The pain was more awful than ever. You felt your eyes rolling back in your head. You wanted to scream. To tear your hair out.

Hear me, Papa… Come to the light. you silently implored, your thoughts a fervent prayer echoing through the depths of your mind.

I’m not sure I can take it any longer…

In this liminal space between life and death, not quite in hell, not quite in the living realm, Copia lingered, suspended in the darkness that enveloped him like a heavy, dark cloak. Time seemed to lose all meaning in this strange realm, where the echoes of his past deeds reverberated in the silence, haunting him with their weight.

He had died only days ago, yet it felt like an eternity had passed since he last drew breath. Memories flickered through his mind like fragmented shards of glass, painful reminders of the life he had lived and the choices he had made.

Memories of his last moments too.

Their knives.

“Swiss, what are you…?”

The thundering pain in his body.

Terror.

Confusion.

"We're sorry Papa..."

Pain.

The feeling of hot blood running on his skin.

The scream of the audience.

PAIN.

And then nothing. Nothing but despair and loneliness.

As he reflected on the terror of his last moments, Copia saw it. It danced like a solitary star in the blackened void, casting its radiant glow upon the darkness.

A candle?

A gentle warmth blossomed within Copia’s chest. Without hesitation, he gravitated toward the light. As he drew near, a voice reached him, a soft murmur like a gentle stream in the woods.

“Come, Papa, come to the light…”

Hope bloomed in Copia’s chest. Someone was there. Someone was there for him.

With each passing moment, the light grew brighter and the voice grew more distinct. Eventually, Copia emerged from the shadows. There, bathed in the candle's warm glow, stood a woman. A soft smile spread upon her sweet face when she saw him. She looked calm and serene.

Slowly, as if not to scare him, she held her hand out to him.

He reached out almost immediately, his fingers trembling as they brushed against hers. It was as if a current passed between them, a surge of energy that pulsed with a life of its own. Suddenly, the darkness around them seemed to shift and warp, swirling like a tempest as reality itself began to unravel. Like the parting of the Red Sea, the shroud of darkness opened in a blinding flash of light. Copia felt himself being pulled back forcefully—back to the realm of the living.

The transition was jarring, his senses assaulted by a cacophony of sounds as he emerged from the depths. He gasped for air, his chest heaving with effort as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. Copia opened his eyes.

Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the bright darkness of the crypt he was in. The stone walls loomed large around him, their rough-hewn surfaces casting long shadows that danced in the flickering candlelight. Despite the initial assault of noise and confusion, he found the crypt surprisingly quiet. The only sounds that reached his ears were the rustle of his breathing and the faint crackling of the candles.

He found himself lying on a cold, stone floor, the chill seeping into his bones. But then, despite the frigid surroundings, he felt a sense of warmth emanating from the soft hands resting upon his chest.

Then he heard it: the voice that guided him toward the light. Soft, like a melody despite the weariness that emanated from it.

“Welcome back...Papa."

[yuesgirlfriend]

of birds and honey

(simon "ghost" riley x reader) medieval AU

part 1/part 2/part 3

warnings: canon typical violence, masturbation (afab)

A week passes without much happening.

Excitement over new knights has died down, and the people go back to their regular routine. Wool is spun, gardens are weeded, new straw with sweet smelling sprigs of rosemary is spread over the floor. Peasants in distant fields begin planting and tilling as spring slowly settles into the dreary air. 

 She feigns reading when her father discusses defenses with the Knight Commander Price, hears gossip of French ships breaching southern shores by the kitchens, and overhears one of the knights (Garrick, she heard his name was) express worry about leaked battle plans and French spies. 

She does not see the man called Ghost again, until one afternoon she is practicing embroidery while balanced on a windowsill overlooking the courtyard. 

Shouts sound out from down below- when she glances down, a small crowd has gathered around two figures circling eachother.  

She rushes to the scene when sounds of steel striking steel begin to ring out. Down the stairs, past the hall, through the kitchens, and there he is- Ghost- swinging a blade towards another knight.

 A duel, a duel! Sir Graves and the Ghost!

Says one of the stable boys as the other man- Graves- dodges another strike. She pushes her way to the front of the crowd, needing to see every line of Ghost’s armored body as he grunts and dodges. He moves like he is dancing, brutal and calculated. 

Duels are vicious, bloody ordeals- very few have ever happened under her fathers watch, the clergy under his thumb finding the merciless bloodshed godless. But now her father watches from his balcony as Ghost parries Graves thrust and, with one fluid motion, takes his head. 

Something wet and warm splatters across her face. She doesn’t flinch. 

While Ghost holds the mans head by the helmet and roars warnings of what happens to traitors to the rest of the watching, silent knights and crowd of stunned servants, she stares at the red hot blood splattered across her shoes and silken surcoat and tries to put a name to the feeling coiling in her stomach. 

The sky is streaked with red as the run sets into the horizon, as if God saw the blood in the courtyard and took inspiration. Every sound and color seems muted, unable to break through the buzzing in her ears. She spends the rest of the evening picking flecks of blood off her face, feigning a headache and skipping dinner. 

Her hands don’t stop shaking, and she’s filled with the need to run, to move. Once the sun sets, she slinks out of her room. Favoring the shadows and moving only when sentries are turned away, she makes her way to the highest peak of outer wall. The stars peek over the horizon, the moon hanging above them like a pearl. 

A shiver runs through her when her eyes land on the hulking form standing over the parapet. She moves on soundless, slippered feet towards him. 

“Lady.” He says as if in greeting. How he heard her, she’ll never know. 

“It must be true, what the cook says.” She steps up beside him, overlooking the dark his surrounding the castle, the plains muddled together under the blanket of night. 

“And what is that?” His voice is gruff, his hood up over his masked face. 

“That you have got eyes in the back of your head.” 

That’s the abridged version of what the cook had said; she had overheard the old man telling the maids of rumors he had heard- that the Ghost was the spawn of the devil, a witches son, a biblically deformed creature hiding 9 eyes and countless heads beneath the mask.

Something vindictive and admittedly childish had rose up in her and led to her placing several handfuls of nettles in the cooks bed. 

She refused to feel guilty, even when she spotted the irritated welts on the mans skin the next day- was it not the prophet Amos who said to let justice roll on like a river, and righteousness like a never-failing stream? 

He lets out a huff. Something tells her this is as close to a laugh as he will give her. For a long moment, there is only silence broken by the occasional scurry of a rat, as they stand watching the night where it’s unfolded before them. 

“There’s a storm on it’s way, lady.” His gloved fingers tighten where they grip the stone. She wishes he would turn, so she could see his eyes. “It’d be wise if your father sent you somewhere far.”  

“I’m stronger than I seem- have faith, I can weather any storm, sir. And the stronghold is well defended.” 

“‘S not the stronghold I worry about. It’s the people.” Finally, he turns to face her- in the moonlight, his eyes look like moons themselves, haloed by a dark night of greasepaint. 

“Be careful who you trust, lady.” In one fluid motion, he takes off his cloak and wraps it around her shoulders before bodily turning her away. “Get back inside. You’re father would have my head if I let ya freeze.” 

She follows his orders without question. Maybe he really is a witches son,  she thinks as she slinks back into her quarters. 

The fire is nothing more than a collection of dim coals, now. Wrapping the Ghost’s cloak tighter around herself, she tosses another log onto the fire and crawls into her bed. 

The feeling from earlier that day is back- the tensing, the coiling in her stomach, the heat in her abdomen as if someone is churning her chest over hot coals. Usually venturing out at night cures her of this incessent, shaky need to move, but this time, it had only exacerbated it. 

Squirming around, she buries her nose in his cloak. Ghost’s cloak. It smells of lye soap, wood ash, cold night air.  

Some kind of hot and heavy pressure hangs in her stomach- her thighs rub together, twisted around her sheet, and that seems to help for a moment, but then it gets worse. 

Without thinking, she sends a trembling hand down between her legs- to her womanhood, as her old governess would have said- and adds more pressure. And, oh-  that is new.

She hesitantly moves this wetness around, up and down, until her back arches off the mattress, until she masters this new feeling and she has to bury her moans in the rough frabric of Ghost’s cloak.

[portaltothevoid]

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

a/n: i was giggling and kicking my feet at the interest in part one so i hope you all enjoy part two of this lovely little angsty break-up scenario. many many thanks to everyone who read part one!

song inspiration: you're losing me & it's time to go by taylor swift

warnings: some angst, some fluff, a breakdown, hurt with comfort, inferred cheating, flashback

word count: 3.8k

read part one here

There was something about the spotlight you used to love. Maybe it was sharing it with your equal, your partner. The changing of the seasons meant lavish parties at your Ministry. You used to be filled with excitement to plan, to see the decorations change, to set intentions, even to socialize. Now, these celebrations filled you with nothing but dread and misery. 

The Mabon Ball was arguably one of your favorites and you vowed you would at least try to get back to your old self. Maybe you used it as an excuse to distract yourself from everything going wrong in your relationship. Maybe you were using it as a way to help its smoldering embers reignite. 

There were moments leading up to the ball that were reminiscent of the beginning, when you knew Terzo was so smitten with you. And only you. It was enough to fool yourself into thinking things could work and everything would be okay again, as it once was. When Mabon finally came, as you both were getting ready, he even commented on your shift in demeanor, how you had softened. You only glared at him because of loving annoyance at his antics and teasing. He liked this side of you. Of course, this all happened in the privacy of your living space. Your attitude blazed like hellfire every time you saw his touchy flirting with another. The storms in your eyes returned as you glared at him.

No matter what happened tonight, you braced yourself. You wanted to talk to him. You wanted to bare your feelings. Every instinct told you to wait until after Mabon. Your offering would be to reveal why you would had been lashing out and then distancing yourself. There was nothing you hated more than confrontation, no matter how civil it was. Well, maybe except for being lied to.

The feast had your hopes up high. You both talked to those around you as a unit. You were included in the conversations. There was laughter, there were shared looks and smiles between the two of you. 

The butterflies in your stomach whispered to you that there was hope. You wanted to believe the glisten in his distinctive eyes was for you. It wasn’t just from the wine or because of the stolen glances he took of certain others near him… repetitively. No. Things had been going so well. This old, familiar ache in your body was left over from unaddressed past wounds. It wasn’t from when you had felt your heart and soul break before. They couldn’t be calling out to you now, warning you, whispering to you the pulse had faded. No. This was to be a wonderful night, a joyous celebration.

Digging your nails into this delusion, you savored every moment of the first dance of the evening. The one he always saved for you. The first dance, arguably the most important one, was customary for Papa and his beloved. Just the two of you on the dance floor. His contrasting eyes never strayed from you, never faltered. You saw how they shined with love and affection. At least, that was the first half of the dance. During the second part higher members of The Clergy were invited to dance with you both. Even then, he never took his eyes off you. 

He wasn’t putting on a show. That smoldering gaze wasn’t just for the tradition of the evening’s starting dance. He would make his way back to you. Now that you both were to go off and mingle amongst your Brothers and Sisters, he would make his way back home to you. He would find you. Wouldn’t he? 

As he bowed to you and moved throughout the crowd, you watched him for as long as you could. You felt yourself start to slip off the precipice of this delusion. 

You mingled. You smiled. You laughed. Almost every person in attendance could never have guessed that your soul, your heart, was breaking as you looked to the outskirts of the room. Time slowed when you caught sight of him. You saw his telltale smirk, his hand wandering down a fellow Sister’s back. You knew exactly what that meant. As you turned back to your conversation you ignored the snaps from the breaks, from the wounds, that were calling out to you. No. It wasn’t time to go, not yet. The pulse grew even quieter, but it was still there.

But even so, it happened again. You saw that same smirk from across the room. This time, a gloved finger traveled sensually across another Sister’s shoulders then trailed down her arm, until he grabbed her hand to pull her through a different side door. That smirk turned into a devilish grin. One you knew all too well. 

You felt the breaking of your soul. The snaps, so much louder this time. Your face faltered. Whoever you were listening to drone on about something frivolous, missed it. They didn’t know you, not the real you. Unbeknownst to you, there was someone who saw, who also heard the snapping sound. The only other person in the room who you had let in, who truly knew you.

Excusing yourself, you left. You went to catch your breath in the restroom, which praise be to Satan, was empty. The person you saw staring back at you, this current version of yourself, was so unfamiliar. It was as if you could see the breaks, the wounds that had been torn open. They covered you. They were beyond repair. You shook your head, trying to rid the thoughts from your mind. 

No. It wasn’t time to go. Not yet. You held your head high as you went to return to the party. You dug your nails so deep as you clung to the edge of your delusion, you could have sworn they were bleeding.  

You scanned the crowd, in search of him. A light tap on your shoulder stopped you. You never found him. 

“May I have this dance, Sorella?” Your face softened when you saw who vied for your attention. 

“Certo, Cardinale,” you nodded, smiling tenderly as you took the hand he held out to you. You would never know how storms erupted in Terzo’s eyes when he stopped in his tracks on his way back to you. You would never know how he knew exactly what it meant as your face relaxed into a wistful bliss as you looked in the eyes of someone else. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen that look on your face. It made his heart ache.

As the Cardinal held you as you danced, you were barely hanging on to the edge of your delusion. You fought not to let go being this close to him, intensely aware of every centimeter of his touch. Letting go, falling into the arms of the Cardinal, felt like the right thing to do, but no. You couldn’t. It wasn’t time yet. There was a chance after tonight, you could save what you once had with Terzo. The pulse may be faint, but it was still there. Wasn’t it?

“Is everything alright, tesoro?” he asked softly.

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Why wouldn’t it be?” you laughed. You didn’t mean for it to come out as cold as it did. 

He sighed. “Must you always hide the truth under lock and key?” This was the one person you couldn’t lie to. Hiding your emotions here was nothing but a fruitless endeavor. 

“I have to…” you told him, letting the pain flash on your face for just a moment before you stuffed it away as you averted your eyes from his and turned in time with the music.

His only response was to pull you closer to him. You knew exactly what he was telling you. It’s okay. I’m here, I’ve got you. A sad smile perched on your lips. You held him tighter to let him know that you heard his actions, loud and clear. 

You turned once more. A good amount of guests had left the party, so it was even easier for movement along the perimeter of the banquet hall to catch your eye. A door opened and of course you just had to look as you saw him. He was pulling a ghoul by their belt loops into this room of secrets. You had a sudden, sharp intake of breath. You swore you saw his white eye lock with yours. A challenging look dawned on his face, but he slyly directed it up at the ghoul in front of him. 

The Cardinal turned you away from the scene as soon as he saw the look on your face. His face darkened when his similarly mismatched eyes saw what you had. That was the moment that you let go. You couldn’t hear the pulse anymore; it was gone. That final blow crushed any glimmer of hope, any chance you thought you had at saving your relationship with Terzo. That was when you knew. Yes. It was time to go.

~~~~~

Furiously you wiped the tears away from your face. You had to stay strong for just a little bit longer. If you started crying now, you feared you wouldn’t stop and the last thing you needed was to crumple in the middle of the hallway where the seniors members of the church lived. 

The Cardinal only lived one floor down from you, but the walk to the elevator alone felt excruciatingly drawn out. The whole time, a part of you hoped you’d hear someone running behind you shouting your name. This had been a long time coming. You had been searching for a pulse for far too long in that relationship. Your heart had been torn out and shredded too many times to count. You gave him everything you had, while he gave you nothing.

Still fighting back tears, you bit your lip as you raised your hand to knock on the door. You paused to hear the commotion coming from inside.

“Ow! Questo è il mio dito, non un giocattolo di masticare!” he yelped. “Basta! Torna nella tua gabbia. Ow! Cannoli! Brutto topo!” (That’s my finger, not a chew toy! That’s it! Back in your cage… bad rat!)

You shook your head as you lightly chuckled. Somehow he could always make you laugh. Finally you knocked on the door. 

“Sei fortunato ad essere carino, eh?” you heard him mumble as he made his way to the door. (You’re lucky you’re cute.)

When he opened the door to find you standing there, his eyes lit up. As he took the sight of you, your eyes brimming with tears, your lip quivering from trying to hold back sobs, the bag over your shoulder, concern flooded his features. Without a moment’s hesitation he ushered you into his room. 

Gently, he grabbed you by the wrist to pull you inside, guiding you with a strong hand on your shoulder. Just as the door clicked shut, you let your bag slide off your shoulder, hitting the ground with a thud. He placed both hands on your shoulders now, looking for a sign of what exactly happened, if there was any physical damage. You could only look up at him through your watery eyes. “I-it’s over. It’s o-over,” you managed to get out before sobs wracked your entire body. This… this was the moment when the floodgates truly opened. 

Months and months worth of tears you had held back started to pour down your face. All you could do was reach your arms around his waist and hold on to him tightly, like he was your only lifeline, the only thing left tethering you to this world. Burying your face in his chest, you finally, finally allowed yourself to drown in the waves that had been threatening to take you down. 

Guilt. Betrayal. Remorse. Regret. Fear. Pain. Loss. One after the other, crashing down on you like you were in the eyewall of a hurricane. 

“How could he do this to me? Why did I ever love him? Why didn’t he ever just choose me? Why did I let it go on for so long?” you lamented brokenly through your breakdown.

He gave you time to feel, to let out as much as you could. He knew how much you bottled up everything inside. The only thing he could do for you at that moment was hold you tightly and tenderly stroke your hair while choking back tears of his own. 

You would never, ever let anyone see you cry. Displaying this level of emotion in front of anyone was unknown to you. The only time you ever did it was when you were alone. Terzo had never seen you cry like this and you had been with him for a few years at this point. Granted, the only times you ever cried this much recently was because of him. 

Even when you had first found him with someone else, you managed to pull yourself together when the Cardinal… when Copia had offered you a safe haven for the first time. In front of him you immediately transmuted your sorrow into rage. But here? Now? Sorrow took center stage.

You couldn’t do this alone anymore. You couldn’t fight your battles without anyone by your side. You couldn’t fight for anyone else. You needed someone to fight for you. You just needed someone to hold you, someone that loved you, truly loved you.

After every fight, after everything you had gone through, you rose from the ashes. You were exhausted. All you wanted was to lay here in the ruin of what once was so you could process what happened, so you could mourn. You were finally ready to let someone else in, to let someone else take care of you.

Eventually, he stepped in when you were sobbing so much you couldn’t catch your breath. He adjusted you so you were looking at him. His hands moved to cup your face. “Breathe, cara. You need to breathe. Breathe with me,” he instructed as he over exaggerated his breathing in order for you to mimic it. Soon enough, you had calmed down. Wiping your tears away with his thumbs, he nodded. “There, that’s better. We sit now, si?”

Sniffling, you brought your hand up to cover his, leaned into his touch, and nodded. He led you to the couch. You took a seat on one end, your back up against its arm as you hugged your knees up to your chest. He motioned he would be right back while your eyes drifted around his small apartment. They landed on Cannoli’s cage. You swore the little rat was staring at you, it’s little paw holding the bars as if he also wanted to make sure you were okay. You couldn’t help but crack the slightest smile.

Copia rushed back into the room, juggling a bottle of wine in one arm, a box of tissues in the other, a glass of water in one hand, and two wine glasses in the other. You let out a breathy laugh through your nose at the sight of him. Reaching up, you took the glasses from his hands, placing them on the coffee table in front of you, keeping the glass of water as you chugged half of it. Then you grabbed a tissue, not realizing how badly you needed to blow your nose. 

After pouring the wine, he placed himself right next to you. You sighed as he handed you your glass. Once you downed half of it, you set it in front of you. Already, it had felt like a massive weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You curled up into his side, swinging your legs into his lap and nuzzled your head into him. He wrapped his arm around you. The two of you stayed like that for a few moments just listening to the sounds of each other's breathing and the chirping crickets coming through the open window behind you. 

“Do you, uh, want to talk about what happened?” he asked quietly, breaking the silence. 

You hesitated for a second. “I… I’m sorry for what I said when I was, um, wailing. I didn’t mean to–”

He shifted to look at you. “Sorry? Sorry for what?! There is nothing you have to be sorry for,” he scolded. He sounded more taken aback that you even felt it was a necessary thing to say. 

“I just… didn’t know if that put you in an awkward position… You know, me sobbing over my now ex to you even though we have this thing…”

“Dolcezza, we’ve had this talk before. You’re allowed to feel what you feel. I… I’ve been here the whole time. Waiting for you, yes. But… you had to reach this point on your own. You knew I’d be here waiting for you when you did, hm?” he said adoringly as he brushed stray hairs away from your eyes. You nodded as you wrapped your arms around him as you nestled your head against him. “So now will you tell me what happened after the party?” he whispered affectionately as he traced the tattoos covering your forearm.

“He acted like nothing had happened. He asked about how great the party was. Completely casual. Just the sight of him alone, never mind him trying to hold my waist, was just… revolting. So. I was a sarcastic bitch to him,” you paused and let out a dry chuckle. “And then he had the nerve to ask me why I was being like that. So I snapped. I told him everything. How the spotlight changed him,” Copia couldn’t help but scoff at that, “how I went on the backburner… How I just wanted him to see me...”

“Does he know about… about us?” he questioned cautiously.

“He threw it in my face that he knew why I didn’t go home some nights. I told him I went where I actually felt wanted and loved. And I made sure to point out how you’ve kept everyone’s secrets.”

“So you… told him it was me you were with?” His question sounded more like a statement.

You held back a wince as you felt his body tense. You nodded. “When we were dancing… and we saw him go– I know he saw me… saw us… He already had his suspicions.”

“And now he has confirmation. You know more than anyone else that he can't be trusted!” he spoke harshly.

You moved so you could look at him. You placed your hand on his cheek as you made him look at you. “And we have the upper hand. We know he knows. There’s no way he can bring us down without bringing himself down too.”

He knitted his eyebrows with worry as he took your hand away from his face, but he never let go of it. Silence fell between you both once more. You couldn’t stop replaying the memories in your head. The flash of jealousy in his face when he saw you dancing with Copia. The broken look on his face as you confessed everything. Tears started to pool in your eyes again. He did love you. He still did. He was just incapable of showing it. Then you remembered how you looked in the mirror of the bathroom during the party. When you saw yourself in the closet mirror before you left. A shell of your former self. He turned you into something you didn’t even recognize. There was no use holding back the tears.

Your sniffles got Copia’s attention. “Cara? Oh, non, non, I’m not upset with you! We will figure–”

“I just miss who I used to be. I miss being… happy,” you said, your voice cracking. “How could I have l-loved someone who– who turned me into… into a monster?” you asked, your voice dropping into a whisper of disbelief.

“A monster?! Cara mia, how can you think that?” Copia was appalled that you would even dare think something like that of yourself. If he didn’t see red before, he was now.

“Because I’m just like him! I cheated on him too! Not even Lucifer would pardon–”

Copia shot up and turned you to him. Your tear stained face broke his heart. “Listen to me. Lucifer would celebrate what you did. You didn’t do it out of malice. You didn’t do it because you couldn’t help yourself. Your relationship had ended long before we were together. And you accepted that tonight. You stood up for yourself. You even said it yourself, you needed what he stopped giving you. You are no monster. He’s the monster for making you think these things about yourself. And I will do whatever it takes to make sure that… that dickhead knows it.”

You looked up at him as he defended you. As he spoke the truth you needed to hear. This was the love you not only needed, but deserved. 

You reached your arms up around his neck and pulled yourself into his lap. You held his head between your hands and you leaned down to kiss him with nothing but passion and love. As the kiss deepened, you realized this was exactly where you meant to be. Everything that had happened led to this point. Every moment with Copia was one you would cherish. You would do anything for him as he would do anything for you. 

When you parted to catch your breath, you leaned your forehead on his. You stared into his two-toned eyes. “I love you,” you said softly. For a brief second, Copia looked shocked at your sudden confession, but he knew you meant it with every fiber of your being. “Sei la miglior cosa che mi sia capitata,” you added breathlessly. (You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.) And without another word, he whisked you away to his bed.

It wasn’t long after you arguably had the best sex of your life, that you had drifted off into a blissful and peaceful slumber. Copia’s mind, on the other hand, was reeling. He reached for his phone on the nightstand beside him, careful not to wake you. He went to his messages and found Sister Imperator. 

It is time we take care of the Terzo problem. Immediatamente. He typed and hit send.

He put his phone back and watched you sleep, softly stroking your hair. You stirred, but only to snuggle closer to him. He was going to give you the world. And he was going to stop at nothing to avenge you.

tag list: @ivycasket @da-rulah @water-ghoulette @fishwithtitz

part i | part iii

[her-satanic-wiles]

October 18th

Olfactophilia, Cardinal Copia x Reader (Dracopia edition)

Masterlist

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: Olfactophilia; public; mild cardiophilia; hickeys; cunnilingus; hair pulling; praise kink; cumswap; piv sex; vaginal sex; unprotected sex; biting; blood drinking; blood play; creampie;

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

This is a favourite of mine, so I hope you love it just as much as I do.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

In the shadowy realm of the undead, where immortal creatures roamed the night in search of sustenance, there existed Copia. He was a creature of both elegance and darkness, cursed with eternal life and a thirst for human blood that gnawed at him ceaselessly. For centuries, Copia had roamed the earth, silently feeding on victims who were fully aware of just what he was and mewled for him to take them as he pleased. His existence a never-ending cycle of desire and despair.

But one fateful night, under the glow of a blood-red moon, Copia’s unquenchable thirst lead him to a discovery that would consume him like no other before. To you.

It was at a masquerade ball, one of Terzo’s many elaborate and luxurious parties he adored throwing, where the decadent scent of human lives filled the air, that he first laid eyes on you.

You were an enchanting beauty even behind the mask you wore, your hair cascading like a waterfall of silk, your skin glowing radiantly under the dim candlelight. Your scent, however, was what ensnared Copia’s senses. It was unlike any he had ever encountered, a heady, intoxicating aroma that beckoned him closer with each passing second. Your blood sang to him, a sweet and alluring melody that seemed to promise unparalleled ecstasy.

Copia found himself drawn to you like a moth to a flame. He watched you from the shadows, his crimson eyes fixed upon you as you danced gracefully with other members of the Clergy. His sharp fangs tingled with anticipation, and his heart, though undead, raced as if it were still alive. He had never felt such a powerful pull before, and he knew he could not resist the allure of your blood.

Your blood was unlike any other Copia had ever encountered in his centuries-long existence. It was an olfactory masterpiece, a symphony of scents that intoxicated his senses with each passing breath. Akin to human perfume yet intoxicating to vampires, scents usually varied and had genetics to them as well as other cultural factors, such as diet or exposure to sunlight. To describe it required delving into the intricacies of your unique essence.

The first note that wafted to Copia’s sensitive nostrils was a delicate floral fragrance, reminiscent of the rarest and most enchanting blossoms that only bloomed under the light of the full moon. It was as if the very essence of a midnight garden had been distilled into your veins, creating an aroma that was both ethereal and intoxicating.

Beneath the floral undertones, there was a hint of something deeper, something earthy and grounding. It was as if your blood held the secrets of ancient forests, the scent of damp soil and the rich decay of fallen leaves, creating a harmonious balance between the ethereal and the primal.

As he inhaled more deeply, another layer of your scent revealed itself—a subtle sweetness, like the nectar of a thousand flowers condensed into a single drop. It was a sweetness that tantalized his senses, promising unparalleled pleasure and satisfaction, while at the same time reminding him of the forbidden nature of his desires.

But there was more to your blood than just these exquisite layers. It held a hint of warmth, a comforting aroma that spoke of hearth and home, of safety and sanctuary. It was a scent that stirred a longing in Copia’s cold, immortal heart, a longing for a connection that transcended the boundaries of his cursed existence. You were kindhearted and comforting - and somehow your blood gave it away.

As Copia continued to breathe in the intoxicating fragrance of your blood, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the most exquisite wines, aged to perfection, each sip a journey through time and flavor. Your blood was like the rarest vintage, a treasure to be savored and cherished.

Yet, it was precisely this exquisite aroma that made Copia’s struggle all the more torturous. The temptation to taste your blood, to lose himself in its complex and irresistible scent, was nearly unbearable. Tonight he would indulge and partake in you, with your consent of course. He gave himself a silent promise, and he hoped that you would allow him the pleasures of your body as he needed them.

As the night wore on, Copia’s self-control waned. His senses became overwhelmed by the scent of your blood, and every beat of your heart echoed in his ears like a hypnotic drum. He knew he was on the brink of losing himself, succumbing to his primal instincts, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from you. He sneered quietly at anyone who dared approach you and ask for a dance, and glared daggers into any men whose hands drifted far from where they should be on your body.

Finally, unable to restrain himself any longer, Copia approached you, his movements like a predatory dance. You looked up at him, your kind eyes locking with his, and in that moment, you too felt the undeniable connection between you both. It was as if fate had brought you together, two beings on opposite sides of the living and the undead, bound by an inexplicable attraction.

You danced. You were both enthralled by one another, hypnotised by an invisible force that forced a need to strengthen and bubble up inside you. With each dance step, your bodies got closer, and closer, and closer, until eventually not even a sheet of paper could be wedged between you. It was all too much for Copia. He was thirsty for you in more ways than one. Your scent overpowered him to the brink of insanity and he knew he had to taste you in every way he could. When the music was over, he took your hand into his gloved one and walked you both off the dance floor and away from the Clergy’s prying eyes.

In a secluded corner of the ballroom, Copia’s lips brushed against your neck, his fangs dangerously close to your tender skin. He could feel your pulse quicken, your breath hitch, and he knew you understood the perilous situation you were in. But neither of you could resist the magnetic force that drew you together. His gloved hand came to the other side of your neck, the leather rubbing against the front of your throat. “Not yet, bella. I wish to savour you first. Will you allow me the honour?”

Before you could change your mind, you nodded. “Yes.” Your voice came out as no more than a breathy whisper, which was fortunate given that just round the corner, Terzo’s party raged on.

He allowed himself to take another inhale of your scent at the pulse-point in your neck, eyes rolling back at the flavours that combined so perfectly it made goosebumps appear on his pale skin. He licked at that pulse-point, teasing himself with your taste and allowing him just a snippet of what was to come, his cock growing ever harder under his formal Cardinal robes. He allowed his lips to travel the expanse of your skin, following the flow of your veins and groaning as his nose hovered above your heart. He could hear it beating, sped up at your nervousness. He was so close to you and it made your heart skip many a beat, rushing your delectable blood around your body in anticipation of what was to come. That rhythm, that melody that proved just how vibrant and alive you were was only for him to hear - like a secret no one else needed to know. He placed a tender kiss on your chest above that hard-working, beautiful heart, before continuing down the length of your arm.

Your wrist was his next port of call, your natural perfume emanating strongly from the prominent blue veins that you relied upon. He pressed open mouthed kisses to it, again teasing himself with the smell and the taste of you. Yet the longer he hovered, the more tempted he became, and pulling himself away was so difficult he could hardly stand it.

He dropped to his knees in front of you, his leather-clad fingers playing with the hem of your dress that had been puffed out by a large hoop skirt, giving you the appearance of a 17th century princess. You watched him hesitate for a moment, before wide eyes stared up at you as if to plead with you to grant him permission. His eyes were mismatched and popped against his Cardinal paints, and the baby bat eyes had your heart skipping a beat. You couldn’t say no. You moved your hands from the waist of your dress and began pulling your skirts up, granting him access to your legs and eventually your panties. He took your left leg in his hands, lifting it gently and placing delicate kisses from your ankle to your knees. Those kisses became more and more heated the higher up his lips traveled, and once again his tongue came out to play. Though now, instead of just kissing, he also began to suck, marking your left thigh with not one, but many dark brown hickeys. No one would see them here, but you would be reminded of them every time you caught a glimpse of your naked body. The thought alone drove Copia crazy. “Ti voglio così tanto.” He confessed from below you, his deep voice soft and filled with desire for you. I want you so much.

As soon as he reached your panties, he hooked his fingers over the waistband and pulled them off, placing them in one of the deep pockets of his robe - not before giving them a deep inhale. They would serve him well for a few nights at least. But now he had total access to your most intimate part, and he was dizzy with your scent. Your arousal had flooded your cunt with blood and Copia could no longer control himself. His fangs didn’t come to play yet, but he dove straight in and began licking and sucking at your clit. He was so desperate and needy for your taste, he forgot to take it easy and instead allowed himself to just take from you want he wanted. The small and quiet whimpers that escaped from your partially opened mouth were enough to spur him on, and encourage him to continue his ministrations. You had, of course, spoken to him before this moment - your voice as melodic as your scent, but now your voice was more than a song. It was a calling from below, from Satan himself, rewarding Copia with praise and glory for his centuries of faith. “Right there!” You whispered, punctuating your sentence with a particularly breathy moan due to the harsh suction he performed.

One of your hands let go of the hem of your dress to clutch onto his hair, your own neediness manifesting in the form of a tight grip around his brownish-blonde locks. Copia’s corresponding hand came up to hold the dress still needing it out of the way to please you as much as he possibly could. The harder you pulled meant the better you felt, and that got Copia impossibly hard. He needed the relief. So, as his mouth worshipped you like the gift Lucifer had sent, his other (free) hand came to his own clothed cock, and began to rub over it to relieve some of the pressure building. The size of your skirts meant you couldn’t see exactly what Copia was doing to himself, but his shoulder was moving as though it were a ripple of disturbed water, and that somehow was even hotter. You saw nothing, but the implication of him touching himself because he simply couldn’t wait anymore had you gasping for air. The hand tangled in his hair released him and flew up to your mouth, covering your exceptionally desperate moans as you came on his tongue right as the music had stopped and the dancers were clapping.

Copia didn’t release you from his suctioned grip until he was sure your orgasm had ebbed away, his moustache and chin glistening with your wetness and a small grin on his face. “Bella,” he said gently, “you are exquisite.”

He stood from his knees and kissed your lips, his tongue begging for entrance which was granted. You could taste yourself on his tongue, your cum now entering your mouth and sending another wave of arousal down to your pussy. “Will you allow me entrance, dolcezza?”

You nodded.

“Grazie. Turn around for me.” You did as you were told, pressing your breasts against the wall and arching your back slightly to grant Copia easier access once again.

Each of his moves were calculated ensuring your modesty would still be intact in case someone passed by and witnessed him defiling you. He only lifted your skirts enough to grant him access. His cock rubbed against you twice before you felt his cold, bulbous tip at your entrance, slowly pushing in and forcing your jaw to drop at the sensation. He was much larger than any other man you’d taken, and while the stretch burned it was delicious. Your nipples hardened beneath the material of your underwear and every one of your hairs stood on end. Your entire body was sensitive, feeling his cock in every inch of you from your head to your toes that were curling in your heels. All the while, Copia buried his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent once more and trying to drown himself in it. With the head of his cock now pressed up against your cervix, his hands moved to grope your body, his desire for you becoming completely unbearable. You were soft beneath his touch, pliant, blood and adrenaline circling in all the right places to keep you warm. He tested the waters, tentative thrusts allowing him to make sure you were ready for him to move before he let his lust take over and call all she shots for him. And thankfully, you were ready.

Bracing his right hand against your hip and the left wrapped around your stomach, he began to move in and out of you, long, thoughtful, deep strokes that set your walls on fire with each one. All the while, his face never left the crook of your neck, his tongue coming out to lick and suck at the pulse-point and every inhale filling his nostrils like a drug giving him the energy he needed. After your first orgasm, your blood had gotten sweeter, the Oxycontin released into your blood providing a more honeyed note, the wine turning into mead. Intoxicating, truly.

Your moans were much louder now than they were moments ago, confident in the loudness of the next song in shielding you both from detection. Your left hand rested atop Copia’s that was wrapped around your stomach and you interlocked your fingers with his, the passion proving too much for you to handle on your own. You needed him to ground you despite the fact that he was the one sending you directly to nirvana. “C-Cardinal!” You called out to him and you couldn’t describe why. You needed him closer, moving faster, though he already felt glorious inside you, each ardent thrust ensuring the head of his cock hit your cervix deliciously. Your eyes were closed, and your right hand began traversing down beneath your skirts to play with your sensitive clit. You had no idea when Copia planned to drink from you, but the apprehension had you reeling.

Copia’s grunts were so close to your ear they practically vibrated throughout your entire body. “Sei così fradicia per me, bella.” You’re dripping wet for me, beautiful. “It is a wonder why I never took a bite from your sumptuous fruit before.” He gently began nipping at your skin, and nibbling at your ear. “Tell me, bella, did you want me to?”

“Yes!” You gasped at a particularly breathtaking hit.

“You touched yourself at the thought of this, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Cardinal!”

He chuckled lowly before going back to your neck. “Tell me what you thought about.”

“This… you… oh, Lucifer! I thought about how much you’d fill me - how good you’d feel inside of me. I…”

“Go on, dolcezza.”

“I thought about you biting me and drinking from me. I thought about feeding you.”

He released a deep and gutteral groan at the thought of it. He hadn’t known who you were before tonight, he’d never crossed your path, but knowing that you’d desired him for a while had his hips snapping much harder than before. His undead body revived by you and the lust for your lifeblood and cunt, your words and desperate pleas lighting a fire in his stomach making him even more ravenous for you. He intended on tormenting you further, but the image of you laying in your room with your legs spread and the image of him drinking from you as you came did more for his impending orgasm than he wanted to admit. “I need you to cum for me again, bella. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Cardinal.”

“Good girl.”

With a few more flicks of your fingers, and your breaths becoming more and more laboured, you tipped over the edge once more. Copia had picked up the exact point where your lungs briefly halted as you began to cum, and sunk his teeth into you. This earned a deep, breathless moan from you as your orgasm heightened at the sensation. Still thrusting as hard as he wanted, still pulling you as close to his body as he could, he began lapping up the crimson blood that poured from the two open wounds in your neck. He wasn’t as fast as he wanted to be, and when he opened his eyes he saw two trails of deep red spilling down your neck and over your breast, pooling between your cleavage at where your bra sat flush against the skin. He groaned at the sinful sight, and as he took his final gulp, he released his seed inside of you, cumming the hardest he ever had. You tasted as good as you smelled, he knew you would. But now there would be no letting you go. It was so difficult for him to stop, he’d realised when it was too late that he’d taken a little more blood from you than what he’d intended, and so he pulled back and out of you, and closed up the wound as best as he could with his saliva. You were on the verge of fainting, now covered in your own blood and had his cum dripping out of your cunt, there was no way you could go back to the party now. Instead, he helped you back to his room where he could keep an eye on you and feed you until your blood and strength had replenished.

He watched you sleep as you lay in the bed he never used, and gently caressed your smooth cheek. You were so peaceful and divine. It was truly a gift from Sathanas. He would spend the rest of his days thanking the Dark One for sending you to him.

Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

[yamayuandadu]

Mai, Satono and their peers: a look into the world of dōji

Okay, look, I get it, Mai and Satono are not the most thrilling characters. I suspect they would be at the very bottom of the list of stage 5 bosses people would like to see expanded upon. Perhaps they are not the optimal pick for another research deep dive. However, I would nonetheless like to try to convince you they should not be ignored altogether. If you are not convinced, this article has it all: esoteric Buddhism, accusations of heresy, liver eating, and even alleged innuendos. As a bonus, I will also discuss a few other famous Buddhist attendant deities more or less directly tied to Touhou. Among other things, you will learn which figure technically tied to the plot of UFO is missing from its cast and what a controversial claim about a certain deity being a teenage form of Amaterasu has to do with Akyuu. 

Mai, Satono and the grand Matarajin callout of 1698

An Edo period depiction of Matarajin and his attendants (via Bernard Faure's Protectors and Predators; reproduced here for educational purposes only)

As indicated both by their family names and their designs, Mai and Satono are based on Nishita Dōji (爾子多童子) and Chōreita Dōji (丁令多童子), respectively. These two deities are commonly depicted alongside Matarajin, acting as his attendants, or dōji. Nishita is depicted holding bamboo leaves and dancing, while Chōreita - playing a drum and holding ginger leaves. ZUN kept the plant attributes, though he clearly passed on the drum. In the HSiFS interview in SCoOW he said he initially wanted both of them to hold both types of leaves at once, so I presume that’s when the decision to skip the instrument has originally been made. We do not actually fully know how Nishita and Chōreita initially developed. It is possible that their emergence was a part of a broader process of overhauling Matarajin’s iconography. While initially imagined as a fearsome multi-armed and multi-headed wrathful deity, with time he took the form of an old man dressed like a noble and came to be associated with fate and performing arts. The conventional depictions, with the attendants dancing while Matarajin plays a drum under the Big Dipper, neatly convey both of these roles. The group was additionally responsible for revealing the three paths (defilements, karma, and suffering) and three poisons (greed, hatred, and desire) to devotees. 

In addition to being a mainstay of Matarajin’s iconography, Ninshita and Chōreita also had a role to play in a special ceremony focused on their master, genshi kimyōdan (玄旨帰命壇). This term is derived from the names of two separate Tendai initiation rituals, genshidan (玄旨壇) and kimyōdan (帰命壇).

Genshi kimyōdan can actually be considered the reason why Matarajin is relatively obscure today. In 1698, the rites were outlawed during a campaign meant to reform the Tendai school. It was lead by the monk Reiku (霊空), who compiled his opinions about various rituals in Hekijahen (闢邪篇, loosely “Repudiation of Heresies”). Matarajin is not directly mentioned there, and the polemic with genshi kimyōdan is instead focused on a set of thirteen kōan pertaining to it, with mistakes pointed out for each of them. Evidently this was pretty successful at curbing his prominence anyway, though.

By the 1720s, even members of Tendai clergy could be somewhat puzzled after stumbling upon references to Matarajin, and in a text from 1782 we can read that he was a “false icon created by the stupidest of stupid folks“. He ceased to be venerated on Mount Hiei, the center of the Tendai tradition, though he did not fade away entirely thanks to various more peripheral temples, for example in Hiraizumi in the north. Ironically, this decline is very likely why Matarajin survived the period of shinbutsu bunri policies largely unscathed when compared to some of his peers like Gozu Tennō. 

“Nine out of ten Shingon masters believe this”, or the background of the Matarajin callout

Dakiniten (Metropolitan Museum of Art)

Tendai reformers and critics associated genshi kimyōdan with an (in)famous Shingon current supposedly linked with Dakiniten, Tachikawa-ryū. This is a complex issue in itself, and would frankly warrant a lengthy essay itself if I wanted to do it justice; the most prominent researcher focused on it, Nobumi Iyanaga, said himself that “it is challenging to write about the Tachikawa-ryū in brief, because almost all of what has ever been written on this topic is based on a preconceived image and is in need of profound revision”. I will nonetheless try to give you a crash course. Recent reexaminations indicate that originally Tachikawa-ryū might have been simply a combination of Shingon with Onmyōdō and local practices typical for - at the time deeply peripheral - Musashi Province. Essentially, it was an ultimately unremarkable minor lineage extant in the 12th and 13th centuries. A likely contemporary treatise, Haja Kenshō Shū (破邪顕正集; “Collection for Refuting the Perverse and Manifesting the Correct”) indicates it was met with at best mixed reception among religious elites elsewhere, but that probably boils down to its peripheral character. Starting with Yūkai (宥快; 1345–1416) Shingon authors, and later others as well, came to employ Tachikawa-ryū as a boogeyman in doctrinal arguments, though. Anything “heretical” (or anything a given author had a personal beef with) could be Tachikawa-ryū, essentially. It was particularly often treated as interchangeable with a set of deeply enigmatic scrolls, referred to simply as “this teaching, that teaching” (kono hō, kano hō, 此の法, 彼の法; I am not making this up, I am quoting Iyanaga); I will refer to it as TTTT through the rest of the article. These two were mixed up because of the monk Shinjō (心定; 1215-1272) who expressed suspicion about TTTT because of its alleged popularity in the countryside, where “nine out of ten Shingon masters” believe it to be the most genuine form of esoteric Buddhism. However, he stresses TTTT was not only non-Buddhist, but in fact demonic. The description of this so-called “abominable skull honzon”, “skull ritual” or, to stick to the original wording, “a certain ritual” (彼ノ法, ka no hō) meant to prove the accusations is, to put it lightly, quite something. 

Essentially, the male practitioner of TTTT has to have sex with a woman, then smear a skull with bodily fluids generated this way over and over again, and finally keep it in warmth for seven years so that it can acquire prophetic powers. This works because dakinis (a class of demons) live inside the skull. The entire process takes eight years because Dakiniten, the #1 dakini, attained enlightenment at the age of 8. Shinjō himself did not assert TTTT was identical with Tachikawa-ryū, though - he merely claimed that at one point he found a bag of texts which contained sources pertaining to both of them.  Ultimately it’s not even certain if TTTT is real. It might be an entirely literary creation, or an embellishment of some genuine tradition circulating around some marginal group like traveling ascetics. We will likely never know for sure.

Regardless of that, Tachikawa-ryū became synonymous not just with incorrect teachings, but specifically with teachings with inappropriate sexual elements. By extension, it was alleged that the songs and dances associated with Matarajin and his two servants performed during genshi kimyōdan similarly had inappropriate sexual undertones.

ZUN seems to be aware of these implications, since the topic came up in the aforementioned interview. The interviewer states they read that “during the middle ages a lot of Tendai and Shingon sects end up becoming obsessed with sexual rituals and wicked teachings, leading to their downfall” (bit of an overstatement). In response, ZUN explains that these matters are “interesting” and adds that he “did prepare some materials with that, but that would make [the game] too vulgar.” No dialogue or spell card in the game actually references genshi kimyōdan, for what it’s worth, but seeing as this is the only real point of connection between Matarajin and such accusations it’s safe to say ZUN is to some degree familiar with the discussed matter.

As in the case of the Tachikawa-ryū, modern researchers are often skeptical if there really was a sexual, orgiastic component to the rituals, though. A major problem with proper evaluation is that very few actual primary sources survive. We know the words of the songs associated with Matarajin’s dōji, but they are not very helpful. They’re borderline gibberish, “shishirishi ni shishiri” alternating with “sosoroso ni sosoro”. Polemics present them either as an allusion to sex or as an invitation to it; as cryptic references to genitals; or as sounds of pleasure.

None of these claims find any support in the few surviving primary sources, though. Earlier texts indicate that the dance and song of the dōji was understood as a representation of endless transmigration during the cycle of samsara. When sex does come up in related sources, it is presented negatively, in association with ignorance. Bernard Faure argues that the rituals were initially apotropaic, much like the tengu odoshi (天狗怖し), which I plan to cover next month since it helps a lot with understanding what’s going on in HSiFS. The goal was seemingly to guarantee Matarajin will help the faithful be reborn in the pure land of Amida. However, the method he was believed to utilize to that end can be at best described as unconventional.

To unburden the soul from bad karma, Matarajin had to devour the liver of a dying person. This is essentially a positive twist on a habit attributed in Buddhism to certain classes of demons, especially dakinis, said to hunger for so-called “human yellow” (人黄, ninnō), to be understood as something like vital essence, or for specific body parts. In this highly esoteric context, Matarajin was at once himself a sort of dakini, and a tamer of them (usually the role of Mahakala), and thus capable of utilizing their normally dreadful behavior to positive ends.

The true understanding of these actions was knowledge apparently reserved for a small audience, though. Keiran shūyōshū (溪嵐拾葉集), a medieval compendium of orally transmitted Tendai knowledge, asserts that even monks actively involved in the worship of Matarajin were unfamiliar with it.

Beyond Mai and Satono: dōji as a class of deities

You might be wondering why an article which was supposed to be an explanation of Mai and Satono ended up spending so much time on ambivalent aspects of Matarajin’s character instead. The ambivalence present in the aforementioned liver-related belief was a fundamental component of the character of many deities once popular in esoteric Buddhism, and by extension of their attendants too. Therefore, it is actually key to understanding dōji. As I already mentioned in my Shuten Dōji article a few weeks ago, when treated as a type of supernatural beings, the term dōji implies a degree of ambiguity. The youthfulness of these “lads” means that in most cases they were portrayed as unpredictable, impulsive, eager to subvert social order and hierarchies of power, and prone to hubris. Some of them are outright demonic figures, as already discussed last month. Simply put, they possess the stereotypical traits of a young person from the perspective of someone old. They initially seemingly developed as a Buddhist reflection of Taoist tongzi, in this context a symbol of immortality and youthfulness, though a case can be made that youthful Hindu deities like Skanda (Idaten) also had an influence on this process. Many Buddhist deities can be accompanied by pairs or groups of dōji, for example Jizō, Kannon, Fudō, Dakiniten or Sendan Kendatsuba-ō. In some cases, other deities could manifest in the form of dōji. In Chiba there is a statue of Myōken reflecting such a tradition, for example. There are also “independent” dōji. Closely related terms include ōji (王子), “prince”, used to refer for example to the sons of Gozu Tennō and the attendants of Iizuna Gongen, and  wakamiya (若宮), “young prince”, which typially designates the youthful manifestation of a local deity.In the second half of the article, I’ll describe some notable dōji who can be considered relevant to Touhou in some capacity.

Gohō dōji: the generic dōji and the legend of Myōren

A gohō dōji in the Shigisan Engi Emaki (wikimedia commons)

The term gohō dōji (護法童子) can be translated as something like “dharma-protecting lad”. It’s not the name of a specific dōji, but rather a subcategory of them. Historically they were understood as something like the Buddhist analog of shikigami. The term gohō itself has a broader meaning, and can refer to virtually any protective Buddhist deity, even wisdom kings or the four heavenly kings. The archetypal example of such a figure is Kongōshu (Vajrapāṇi), who according to Buddhist tradition acts as a protector of the historical Buddha. A good example of a Gohō Dōji is Oto Gohō (乙護法) from Mount Sefuri. He reportedly appeared before the priest Shōkū (性空; 910–1007) before his journey to China, and protected him through its entire duration. Afterwards a temple was built for him. Curiously, this legend actually finds a close parallel in these pertaining to Matarajin, Sekizan Myōjin or Shinra Myōjin protecting monks traveling to China - except the deity involved is a youth rather than an old man. From a Touhou point of view, the most important example of a gohō dōji is arguably this nameless one, though. He appears in the Shigisan Engi Emaki, an account of the miraculous deeds of the monk Myōren, who you doubtlessly know from UFO. The section focused on him is fairly straightforward: a messenger from the imperial court approaches Myōren because the emperor is sick. Using his supernatural powers, he summons a deity clad in a cape made out of swords to heal him without having to leave his dwelling on Mount Shigi himself. He obviously succeeds. Afterwards the court sends a messenger to offer Myōren various rewards, but he rejects them. While the emperor is not directly shown or named, he is presumably to be identified as Daigo. While the supernatural helper is left unnamed and is often simply described as a gohō dōji in scholarship, it has been pointed out that his unusual iconography seems to be a variant of that associated with the fifth of the twenty eight messengers of Bishamonten. A depiction of a similar figure is known for example from the Ninna-ji temple in Kyoto. This makes perfect sense, seeing as the connection between Myōren and this deity is well documented, and recurs through the legends presented in the Shigisan Engi Emaki. Needless to say, it is also the reason why Bishamonten by proxy plays a role in the plot of UFO. Given these fairly direct references, I am actually surprised no UFO character borrows any visual cues from the gohō dōji, seeing as the illustration is quite famous. It was even featured on a stamp at one point.

Zennishi Dōji (Princeton University Art Museum; reproduced here for educational purposes only)

Yoshiaki Shimizu has suggested that the connection between Myōren and his Gohō Dōji is meant to mirror that between Bishamonten and his son and primary attendant, Zennishi Dōji (善膩師童子), and highlight that the monk was an incarnation of the deity he worshiped. He also argued that Myōren’s nameless sister (not attested outside Shigisan Engi Emaki) - the character ZUN based Byakuren on - is meant to correspond to Bishamonten’s wife, Kisshōten/Kichijōten (presumably with spousal bond turned into a sibling one). I am not sure if this proposal found broader support, though - I’m personally skeptical.

Kongara Dōji (and Seitaka Dōji): almost Touhou

Fudō Myōō, as depicted by Kyōsai (via ukiyo-e.org; reproduced here for educational purposes only)

Kongara Dōji (衿羯羅童子, from Sanskrit Kiṃkara) and Seitaka Dōji (制多迦童子, from Sanskrit Ceṭaka) are arguably uniquely important as far as the divine dōji go - a case can be made that they were the model for the other similar pairs. They are regarded as attendants of Fudō Myōō (Acala), one of the “wisdom kings”, a class of wrathful deities originally regarded as personifications and protectors of a specific mantra or dhāraṇī. In Japanese esoteric Buddhism, they are understood as manifestations of Buddhas responsible for subjugating beings who do not embrace Buddhist teachings. Acting as Fudō‘s servants is the primary role of Kongara and Seitaka. As a matter of fact, both of their names are derived from Sanskrit terms referring to servitude. This is not reflected in their behavior fully: esoteric Buddhist sources indicate that Kongara is guaranteed to help a devotee who would implore him for help, but Seitaka is likely to disobey such a person. Interestingly, both can be recognized as manifestations of Fudō. This seems to reflect a broader pattern: once a deity ascended to a prominent position in esoteric Buddhism, some of their functions could be reassigned to members of their entourage. ZUN arguably references this in Mai and Satono’s bio, according to which “their abilities (...) are nothing more than an extension of Okina's.” Despite the aforementioned shared aspect of their nature, Kongara and Seitaka actually have completely different iconographies. Kongara is portrayed with pale skin, wearing a monastic robe (kesa) and with his hands typically joined in a gesture of respect. Seitaka, meanwhile, has red skin, and holds a vajra in his left hand and a staff in the right. His characteristic five tufts of hair are a hairdo historically associated with people who were sentenced to banishment or enslavement. He’s never portrayed wearing a kesa in order to stress that in contrast with his “coworker” he possesses an evil nature. It has been argued the fundamental ambivalence of dōji is behind this difference in temperaments.

While the pair consisting of Kongara and Seitaka represents the most common version of Fudō’s entourage, he could also be portrayed alongside eight (a Chinese tradition) or uncommonly thirty six attendants. The core two are always present no matter how many extra dōji are present, though. Appearing together is essentially their core trait, and probably is part of the reason why they could be identified with other duos of supernatural servants, like En no Gyōja’s attendants Zenki and Gōki (who as you may know are referenced in Touhou in one of Ran’s PCB spell cards, and in a variety of print works).

As for the Touhou relevance of Kongara and Seitaka, a character very obviously named after the former appeared all the way back in Highly Responsive to Prayers, but I will admit I am personally skeptical if this can be considered an actual case of adaptation of a religious figure. There are no iconographic similarities between them, and their roles to put it lightly also don't seem particularly similar. Much like the PC-98 use of the term makai (which I will cover next month), it just seems like a random choice. At least back in the day there was a fanon trend of treating the HRtP Konngara as an oni and a fourth deva of the mountain, but I will admit I never quite got that one. In contrast with Yuugi and Kasen’s counterparts, Kongara's namesake actually doesn’t have anything to do with Shuten Dōji. The less said about a nonsensical comment on the wiki asserting Kongara’s status as a yaksha (something I have not seen referenced outside of Touhou headcanons, mostly from the reddit/tvtropes side of the fandom) explains why his supposed Touhou counterpart is present in hell, the better.

Uhō Dōji: my life as a teenage Amaterasu protector of gumonji practitioners

Uhō Dōji (Metropolitan Museum of Art)

Uhō Dōji (雨宝童子), “rain treasure child”, will be the last dōji to be discussed here due to being by far the single most unusual member of this category. Following most authors, I described Uhō Dōji as a male figure through the article, but as noted by Anna Andreeva, most depictions are fairly androgynous. Bernard Faure points out sources which seem to refer to Uhō Dōji as female exist too; this is why I went with a gender neutral translation of dōji. In any case, the iconography is fairly consistent, as documented already in the Heian period: youthful face, long hair, wish-fulfilling jewel in one hand, decorated staff in the other, plus somewhat unconventional headwear, namely a five-wheeled stupa (gorintō). Originally Uhō Dōji was simply a guardian deity of Mount Asama. He is closely associated with Kongōshō-ji, dedicated to the bodhisattva Kokūzō. The latter is locally depicted with Uhō Dōji and Myōjō Tenshi (明星天子), a personification of Venus, as his attendants.Originally the temple was associated with the Shingon school of Buddhism, though today it instead belongs to the Rinzai lineage of Zen. A legend from the Muromachi period states that Kongōshō-ji was originally established in the sixth century, during the reign of emperor Kinmei  by a monk named Kyōtai Shōnin (暁台上人).The latter initially created a place for himself to perform a ritual popularly known as gumonji (properly Gumonji-hō, 求聞持法, “inquiring and retaining [in one’s mind]”).The name Kongōshōji was only given to it later when Kūkai, the founder of the Shingon school of Buddhism (from whose traditions gumonji originates), received two visions - one from a dōji and then another from Amaterasu - that a place suitable to perform gumonji exists on Mount Asama. After arriving there, he stumbled upon the ruins of Kyōtai Shōnin’s temple, so he had it rebuilt and renamed it. Subsequently, Amaterasu appointed Uhō Dōji to the position of the protector of both this location and Buddhist devotees partaking in gumonji in general. Most of you probably know that gumonji pops up in Touhou as the name of Akyuu’s ability in Perfect Memento in Strict Sense. ZUN describes it simply as perfect memory, but in reality it’s an esoteric religious practice focused on chanting the mantra of Kokūzō 1000000 times over the course of a set period of time (either 100 or 50 days). The goal is to develop perfect memory in order to be able to memorize all Shingon texts, though it is also believed to increase merit and grant prosperity in general. The oldest references to it come from the eighth century, and based on press coverage it is still performed today. ZUN actually never mentioned gumonji in a context which would stress the term’s Buddhist character. In Forbidden Scrollery Akyuu prays to Iwanagahime rather than to any Buddhist figures. I get the idea behind that, but I will admit I liked the portrayal of her religious activities in Ashiyama’s Gensokyo of Humans much more.

Gumonji aside, the second major point of interest is the connection between Uhō Dōji and Amaterasu. In the legend I’ve summarized above, they are obviously two separate figures, with one taking a subordinate position. This changed later on, though. At some point, most likely between 1419 and 1428, the two deities came to be conflated. As Bernard Faure put it, Uhō Dōji effectively came to be seen as the “Buddhist version of Amaterasu”. To be specific, as Amaterasu at the age of sixteen, presumably to account for the fact that a dōji would by default be a youthful figure. The treatise Uhō Dōji Keibyaku goes further and asserts that that Uhō Dōji manifests in India as the historical Buddha, Amida and Dainichi; in China as Fuxi, Shennong and Huang Di; and in Japan as Amaterasu, Tsukuyomi and Ninigi. In his astral role, he represents the planet Venus, but he can also manifest as Dakiniten and Benzaiten, in this context understood as respectively lunar and solar. He is also the creator of all of these astral bodies. The grandiose claims about Uhō Dōji, Amaterasu and other major figures were not exactly uncontroversial. It seems that especially in the eighteenth century the Ise clergy objected to them, presumably because they effectively amounted to their peers at Kongōshō-ji promoting their own deity to make the temple more important as a part of the Ise pilgrimage, which at the time enjoyed considerable popularity. The association between Amaterasu and Uhō Dōji nonetheless persisted through the Edo period, and despite protests voiced at Ise among laypeople Mount Asama was widely recognized as the third most important destination for participants in the Ise pilgrimage, next to the outer and inner shrines at Ise themselves. It is also quite likely that there was no shortage of people who would imagine Amaterasu looking just like Uhō Dōji. Ultimately the Uhō Dōji controversy was just one of the many chapters in Amaterasu’s long and complex history, and there was nothing particularly unusual about the claims made. There were quite literally dozens of Buddhist or at least Buddhist-adjacent figures she developed connections to (Bonten, Enma and Mara, to name but a few), and the Ise clergy took active part in this process. Buddhist reinterpretations of Amaterasu flourished especially through the Japanese middle ages. It was only the era of Meiji reforms that brought the end to this, cementing the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki inspired vision of Amaterasu as the only appropriate one. However, this is beyond the scope of this article. Worry not, though: the very next one I’m working on will cover these matters in detail. Please look forward to it. Bibliography

Anna Andreeva, “To Overcome the Tyranny of Time”: Stars, Buddhas, and the Arts of Perfect Memory at Mt. Asama

Talia J. Andrei, The Elderly Nun, the Rain-Treasure Child, and the Wish-Fulfilling Jewel: Visualizing Buddhist Networks at the Grand Shrine of Ise

William M. Bodiford, Matara: A Dream King Between Insight and Imagination

Bernard Faure, The Fluid Pantheon (Gods of Medieval Japan vol. 1)

Idem, Protectors and Predators (Gods of Medieval Japan vol. 2)

Idem, Rage and Ravage (Gods of Medieval Japan vol. 3)

Nobumi Iyanaga, Tachikawa-ryū in: Esoteric Buddhism and the Tantras in East Asia

Gaétan Rappo, Heresy and Liminality in Shingon Buddhism: Deciphering a 15th Century Treatise on Right and Wrong

Idem, “Deviant Teachings”. The Tachikawa Lineage as a Moving Concept in Japanese Buddhism

Yoshiaki Shimizu, The "Shigisan-engi" Scrolls, c. 1175