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ghoulelegy · 8 months

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It Goes Down Smooth

Summary: In a chilling, eerie atmosphere within the abbey, you grapple once more with exhaustion and illness. You seek solace in the unexpected warmth and wisdom of Papa Emeritus II, who offers comfort and a remedy.

Pairing: Secondo x Sick Reader

Words: 2569

Contains:

Alcohol

Comfort

Safe for work

Gender Neutral Reader

Read It Goes Down Smooth on AO3 - If you prefer that

Note: thank you @em0bussy and @creatura-theanarchist for being wonderful Beta Readers <3

The evening descended with a palpable chill, its icy fingers clawing at your senses. The overcast sky hung like a leaden shroud, saturating the Abbey's hallway with dense, frigid air.

Gazing through a dewed-up window, your eyes fixated on the towering sentinels of trees. Their skeletal branches etched stark silhouettes against the ashen canvas of the overcast sky. Nature's symphony played a subdued yet haunting tune, punctuated only by the occasional rustling of leaves stirred by an ethereal, frigid breeze. This ghostly whisper sliced through the silence, casting the world into an uncanny realm, far removed from the familiar.

Throughout the workday, an unsettling aura clung to you. Your thoughts felt ensnared in a hazy limbo as if your very existence teetered on the precipice between reality and the intangible. Hours slipped by in a blur, tasks completed on autopilot, while you wrestled with this eerie detachment. A mere sneeze had now congealed into a stubborn blockade within your sinuses, punctuated by sporadic fits of coughing—a harbinger of the unwelcome guest known as a cold. However, you were acutely aware that a night of undisturbed rest held the key to recovery. Though not quite flu season, you had unintentionally overworked yourself, with your mental and physical health bearing the brunt of this relentless.

Hesitantly, you decided to skip the evening mass, opting for an early night's rest. You recognised the inevitability of burnout if you pushed yourself further. Thankfully, mass wasn't mandatory, though heavily encouraged. You enjoyed it, as it gave you time to unwind and bond with the other ghouls and staff members, while also providing the space for some more intimate fun.

However, simply put, you were just so fucking tired today.

You stood in the corridor, your gaze locked on the imposing door to Papa Emeritus II's office. Part of you longed to inform him about your planned absence, to ease his mind and ensure he knew you were taking care of yourself. The weight of the ministry, which he bore on his shoulders with unwavering determination, was no secret to you. You admired his dedication and the sacrifices he made daily. It seemed only right that you should reciprocate his concern by being transparent about your well-being. You knew that he valued the unity of the ministry, the bond between its members, and your absence, even from a simple evening gathering, might worry him.

Yet, another voice in your head whispered doubts and fears, like a relentless adversary seeking to undermine your good intentions. It questioned you, suggesting that he might see you as a burden, an inconvenience, or worse – as self-centred for bothering him with your trivial issues. The image of his stern exterior, the mask he wore in the face of the world's complexities, loomed large in your mind. You hesitated to disrupt that facade, worried that your vulnerability might chip away at the respect you held for each other.

Papa Emeritus II projected an image of sternness to the outside world, a man who brooked no nonsense and demanded excellence from those around him. He wore a mask of gruffness, a shield against the complexities of the world. It was an image that tightened further whenever his father was present, a testament to the pressures he faced.

But you knew there was more to him than met the eye. In the company of his ghouls, he allowed himself to be more authentic, revealing a side that few outsiders ever saw. He let go of some of the perfectionism that defined him, offering a glimpse into the complexity of his character.

As you lingered outside his office, doubt and anxiety swirled within you like a turbulent storm. Your fingers fidgeted restlessly; a nervous habit born from the internal struggle you faced.

"Is someone out there? You can come in" a silky voice beckoned you in.

Pushing open the oak wood door, you stepped into his office, where the warmth and inviting atmosphere stood in stark contrast to the chilly evening beyond. Despite the toasty air, it was rather old-fashioned, with an oak desk taking centre stage, littered with an assortment of papers and files. It was dimly lit, and the windows eloquently decorated with crimson curtains—a subtle, earthy scent wafted through the room.

You were surprised to see Secondo not in his iconic chasuble. Instead, he wore a simple black shirt and trousers, his face devoid of the customary skeletal paint. It was not a rare sight for a ghoul working in the ministry however it is one that emphasized the stark contrast between his public persona and the man you saw before you now. This version of Secondo felt more human and approachable. It reminded you that beneath the elaborate costumes and ritualistic facade, he was just another member of the ministry, someone who experienced the same highs and lows of life as anyone else.

"Tell me, what's wrong with you?" The words, delivered in Secondo's distinctive gruff Italian accent, hung in the air. Despite the harsh implications of that sentence, you couldn't help but admire the way he rolled his Rs, a distinctive feature of his speech that had become familiar, almost comforting. His manner of speaking no longer jarred you, it's just the way he communicates.

"I'm not feeling too well," you finally admitted with a slight sniffle. "I think I've caught a cold, and I've decided to skip evening mass tonight. I need some rest."

"Va tutto bene, but the mass was cancelled for the evening either way, ghuleh" he rumbled, his voice soothing. "Or have you forgotten?"

"Oh – uh – yeah, sorry."

"Don't apologise. Please take a seat." Papa Emeritus II's deep voice resonated through the dimly lit office, casting a warm and inviting aura. He gestured gracefully at the leather chair in front of the desk, its rich mahogany frame gleaming softly in the ambient light. Settling into it, you couldn't help but notice how the chair emitted a slight, reassuring squeak as you did, but it was surprisingly comfortable. The plush upholstery cradled your body, a stark contrast to the unease that had been gnawing at you.

As you took your place, you caught yourself glimpsing at the office's decor. Intricately framed paintings adorned the deep green walls, each a testament to a bygone era. The antique desk before you, polished to a high sheen, bore the weight of years of meticulous use. The Satanic Pope, in his characteristic manner, reached over and carefully moved a stack of files to the side of the desk, creating a bit more space. The desk was adorned with tiny, carefully arranged trinkets—a silver inkwell, an ornate letter opener, and a delicate porcelain figurine—that hinted at the personality of the man behind it.

"Now," Secondo began, rubbing his chin, "a cold is very similar to an infection, a virus in the body. That virus needs to be killed off and eliminated. This is the job of your white blood cells, which attack the virus and destroy it." He leaned forward, his expression solemn, as he continued to explain. "But sometimes those white blood cells can't effectively battle the virus. So you need a helping hand."

“Right, yes, I paid attention in biology class, you know," you replied with a weak grin, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Papa Secondo nodded in acknowledgement, "Ah, good. You remember the material well."

"For the white blood cells to effectively destroy the virus, they need to be stimulated, activated," Secondo continued. "The body does this by raising its temperature. The fever is designed to be slightly debilitating. However, a fever helps the white blood cells kill off the virus quicker, reducing the duration of the illness and speeding up the recovery process significantly."

“Are you patronizing me?"

"Not at all," Secondo replied, his tone earnest. "Apologies, my tone is... well, the way I speak. I can get a bit carried away sometimes uhh – please do not be offended."

He paused, thinking for a moment, before continuing, "Now, how about I bring you a drink? It'll keep you nice and toasty, as your body does its thing and works to eliminate the infection. I know just what will make you feel better," he said softly. As Secondo reached for the bottle of whiskey, the glass clinked softly against its siblings, the warm amber liquid swirling within, capturing the soft light of the room. A faint, smoky aroma wafted from the bottle, its scent a heady blend of aged oak and hints of spices.

With a practised hand, Secondo poured a small measure into a crystal glass, the liquid gliding into its container like liquid gold. As he did, the room was filled with the rich, intoxicating scent, carrying notes of vanilla and caramel that seemed to hang in the air.

"I'm not good with alcohol." You sigh.

"You don't have to take it, but the offer is there." Despite your hesitation, you decide to accept the gesture, putting your wholehearted trust in his intentions, even though you are aware of its potency. You downed the whole thing like a shot.

As the fiery liquid touched your throat, regret washed over you immediately. The whiskey burned, igniting a fit of coughing that felt like a wildfire in your sinuses. "Sathanas, that's so strong," you groaned, desperately attempting to quench the fire. It left an unpleasant taste in your mouth, making your stomach churn, especially since you hadn't had dinner yet.

"Stai Bene? I'll get you some water. Mi dispiace." He handed you a glass of lukewarm water. Sipping it, it felt like heaven as you attempted to rid your mouth of the unpleasant taste of the shot.

To your surprise, you did notice that breathing became a bit easier, though the discomfort of nausea still hung over you.

“I'll stick to tea next time," you chuckled slightly.

As you sit in the office with the remnants of the fiery concoction still tingling in your throat, Secondo, ever attentive, watches your reaction with a mixture of concern and amusement. His eyes, a stark contrast to his stern exterior, reveal a softness that you've come to cherish, holding it deeply in your heart. You take a deep breath, trying to quell the lingering coughing fit and the unease that still gnaws at you.

"I appreciate the gesture," you say, your voice now steadier. "Even if it does feel like a dragon's breath in my sinuses."

A faint smile tugs at the corners of Secondo's lips, and he leans back in his chair, his posture relaxed.

"Well, it might not be for everyone. But it's an old remedy, passed down through the generations in our ministry. Sometimes, the old ways have their merits."

“Sathanas! You’re telling me NIHIL used to do this?”

He nods “Oh yes, all the time. Not with me though, I wasn’t allowed any alcohol – Sister had me banned from alcohol because I kept stealing the chapel wine”.

“Iconic” you chuckle.

You both sit in companionable silence for a moment, you notice Secondo's fingers drumming softly on the armrest of his chair. His gaze occasionally drifts towards the window, where raindrops gently trace their paths down the glass, before returning to you with a reassuring look. Your fingers fidget with the edge of a tissue, twisting it into a small, delicate spiral.

After a while, Secondo breaks the silence, his voice softening. "You know, you don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. We're a team, and I'm here to support you, just as you support me."

You meet his gaze, appreciating the genuine concern in his eyes. "I know, Papa. And I appreciate that more than you know."

“Oh no, please, Call me Secondo.

You fidget with your hand once more, your eyes darting away.

“Okay.” you found yourself mumbling.

Secondo, ever perceptive, notices the lingering unease in your eyes. Without a word, he rises from his chair and steps closer to you. In a simple and genuine gesture, he opens his arms wide, inviting you into a warm embrace.

The effects of the whiskey still linger, making your thoughts feel a bit fuzzy around the edges, but the sincerity in Secondo's eyes reassures you. His gaze is a lifeline during the moment of uncertainty, a beacon of understanding that cuts through the fog of anxiety that has settled within you.

He wraps his arms around you, as you settle against Secondo's chest, the warmth of his body enveloping you, dispelling the chill that had clung to your skin. Secondo's arms, strong and reassuring, encircled you, creating a shield against the anxieties that had plagued you all day.

In that silent embrace, you felt a soothing connection, a lifeline to a world where you didn't have to bear the weight of your worries alone. The gentle rise and fall of Secondo's chest synchronized with your own breath, grounding you in the present moment.

With a subtle, affectionate stroke, Secondo's hand traced small circles on your back, a wordless reassurance that you were not alone. It was as if he understood the tangled mess of emotions that had swirled within your heart, and he was here to untangle them, one comforting touch at a time. As the seconds stretched into minutes, your unease began to ebb away, replaced by a profound sense of safety and trust. You closed your eyes, savouring the moment, and allowed yourself to relax fully into Secondo's embrace.

There were no grand declarations, no need for elaborate words. In the quiet of Secondo's office, the hug said everything that needed to be said.

“We all need to rest occasionally, do you understand?” he rumbles soothingly while he holds you.

“Mhm,” you nod, your voice barely above a whisper, gratitude softening your features.

With a gentle squeeze, Secondo eventually releases you from the hug. You meet his gaze, your eyes locking for a moment, and in that exchange, an unspoken connection deepens. It's a connection that transcends titles and formalities, rooted in the shared experiences and support that define your relationship.

"Io sono Secondo," he reiterates with a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "And I'm here whenever you need me, Ghuleh."

You return his smile, a weight lifted from your shoulders. "Thank you, Secondo. I appreciate that more than words can say."

“Now, I shall escort you back to the Ghoul’s wing. I heard the others are having a movie night there. I would quite like to join, though I understand if you’d want to go to your room early.”

“Oh n-no that sounds perf-“ you manage to hiccup out before turning away to sneeze.

“Ah, satana ti benedica” Secondo smiles, his eyes filled with amusement, before handing you a tissue from the tissue box. “I shall take that as a yes. I shall make you something else to drink though, since you did not seem to like my concoction.”

“I did like it! You’re conspiring against me!” You whined, mockingly, a hint of playfulness in your voice.

Secondo leaned in slightly, his eyes glimmering with mirth. his tone conspiratorial. "Ah, you've seen through my nefarious plan, Ghuleh," he whispered with a dramatic flair, "How about something else this time?”

Secondo, still smiling, led you out of his office and towards the Ghoul's wing where movie night awaited. The scent of popcorn wafted through the corridor, signalling a cosy and familiar gathering.

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