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tasty-ribz · 9 hours

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Bejewelled

Papa Emeritus II x Reader

It’s Papa Secondo’s birthday, and after spending the hole day working, he just wants to relax. But how can he when his favourite Sister of Sin is being a bad girl in front of everyone?

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by @inkstainedrat

Words: 5.6k.

Reading Time: 22 min.

Warnings: anal play, begging, breeding degradation, cock warming, creampie, dubcon, fingering, frottage, free use, groping, hair pulling, mentions of cunnilingus, mentions of fellatio, pain kink, PIV sex, positive degradation, praise, rough sex, spanking, spit as lube, underprepared, unprotected sex (Embrace safety - enjoy it greatly), vaginal sex,

Taglist: @inkstainedrat @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @socksandcr0cs @dio-niisio @duskspring @foxybouquet @likeloversentwined

Thank you to @da-rulah, @angellayercake and @tasty-ribz for workshopping some of these ideas with me and getting me on track!

🔞 MDNI 🔞

You settled into your space at the meeting table, notepad opened to the next available page and date written at the top of it in neat handwriting. You had taken on a more secretarial role for the Ministry, providing the reigning Papa with a helping hand as he went about his daily schedule. The other clergy members were already sat and settled like you, cardinal robes of black and red alternating the seats like chess pieces on a board, broken occasionally by the odd sibling of sin who’d, like you, joined to either take notes for their respective bosses, or provide insight on the general running of the Ministry where the upper clergy couldn’t assist. In short, everyone was ready and waiting, conversations slipping past your ears as certain cardinals spoke over you, not to you. But they soon silenced themselves when the door opened and Papa Emeritus II walked through the doors.

Papa Secondo, despite being a softhearted, kind man, oozed an intimidating aura that put men in their place just by his presence alone. Papa Secondo was not a man to be trifled with, played with, or undermined in any way. His word was law, even among his brothers, one of which outranked him in both age and experience. He took no shit, dished out as much as he could, and ultimately threw his weight around in a respectable, yet authoritative way. Just the mere look of his scowl would have your thighs clenching, and heat pooling between your legs - and you weren’t the only one affected by this.

Papa Secondo’s personality was much different to that of his brothers. Before he met you, he would almost never seek a woman out, he’d rarely approach her, rarely proposition her - in fear of making her uncomfortable mostly, but he also didn’t want to blend in with the other men in the Ministry, his younger brother included, who would approach and whine and beg for the ladies to spread their legs and invite him in willingly. Besides, there was something inside him that loved being chased rather than doing the chasing. The idea that a beautiful woman would want him so much, she’d run after him and coyly ask if he’d give her some company later on. That a beautiful woman would want him so much, that she’d face the fear of rejection in front of her friends and potentially embarrass herself, just to get the opportunity to hold him. He’d never approach a woman, but he’d also never reject one either. And, as he entered the room, your eyes darted to all the other sisters who were equally as squirmy as you, the mere proximity being too much for you all to handle.

It always made you feel smug knowing he had such an affect on the rest of the clergy, but would always come back to you no matter what.

Men feared him. Women wanted him. Somehow, the perfect man did exist, and he wore black, glitter paints and silenced a room just by opening a door.

“Buon pomeriggio.” He said, his deep voice quiet yet commanding. He kept his eyes straight in front of him as he entered the room, not bothering to spare a glance to his colleagues until he’d approached his seat at the head of the table and directly opposite you. You were the first person his mismatched eyes had landed on, reminding you that to him, you were the most important person in the room despite your low ranking among his peers. Once he’d registered your existence, he sat down and situated himself comfortably, gloved hands immediately opening his own folder to pull out the important documents for the meeting. Once he’d personally acknowledged everyone else in the room, he cleared his throat and began.

“Ora, we have many things on the agenda today, so I would like to start immediately, by Sathanas and the mother, Lilith, we thank and worship thee as we do ourselves. Nema.”

“Nema.” Came the chorus of the clergy.

“Cardinale Zhang,” he looked towards the man and you watched as Cardinal Zhang startled at the sudden attention. Papa Secondo noticed, and despite his face being emotionless and stoic, a flicker of amusement passed across his eyes, feeding on the Cardinal’s fear. “You have been visiting universities to de-stigmatise the Faith. Update me, how is that going?”

Cardinal Zhang swallowed and cleared his throat doing his best to hide his nerves. He failed, obviously. He began talking, detailing his efforts across the Atlantic in America and how he’d shown up for each of the universities along the East Coast, hoping to break through to the youth. But as a lot of that part of America were staunch ‘Red States’ and Christians, he was met with a lot of resistance.

Secondo, somewhat surprisingly, was understanding with his response. For once, he didn’t criticise the Cardinal’s failure, or what he deemed as such, rather the country’s unwillingness to be open to change. He quickly followed up that comment with another about Salem, and how they were always welcomed with open arms there thanks to the work of previous clergy members who’d moved to set up temples and places of worship.

He then moved on quickly to the next outreach programme, opening the Ministry doors once a month for visitors and tours of the historical building they all called home - another effort of de-stigmatisation that was under the watchful eyes of Cardinal Garcia. His tone softened when he spoke to her, his eyes never leaving hers as he listened intently to everything she had to say. “We get upwards of one thousand visitors per weekend, Papa.” She confirmed in an upbeat tone. “This is a 20% increase of last year. We’re still keeping our entrance fee at 20 Euros for now,” she handed a sheet of paper to one of the Ghouls standing behind her, who then brought it to Papa Secondo to browse at his leisure, which he did, “Last month alone we received approximately 20,080 Euros. Our finance specialists have worked closely with our social media team, and have worked out we may get roughly a further 500 guests next month, an additional 50% growth, which should tip us over the 20,500 Euro benchmark.”

“Can we quantify the impact of these tours on public perception and understanding of our beliefs and values?” Papa asked, not taking his eyes off the paper.

“I believe so, Papa. On average,” she handed another sheet of paper to a Ghoul, “30% of guests purchase a membership of the Satanic Church, and organise unholy baptisms. 10% actively apply to work and live here full time.”

“How many of these applications get accepted?”

“Recently, with all the moves and changes of our staff, around 50% got accepted last month. But usually, we only select from the most impressive, which is, as accurately as I can describe it, a handful.”

“Are any of our parishes around the world asking for more siblings?”

“I’m not sure, Papa. That’s Cardinal Smith’s jurisdiction.”

Papa’s eyes snapped to Cardinal Smith, another man who shivered beneath the weight of Papa’s gaze. “Well?” He snapped, expectantly, clearly annoyed by Cardinal Smith’s lack of initiative.

“W-we have had a few requests, Your Dark Eminence.” Cardinal Smith stammered.

“And how many siblings have been transferred?”

“Well, n-none.”

Papa’s eyebrows raised. “None? Questo è un cazzo di scherzo assoluto! Perché? Why are you not assisting our unholy siblings?”

“We couldn’t spare the people.”

“Sei stupido, Cardinale Smith?”

“N-no, Your Dark Eminence.”

“Then why do you not liaison with Cardinale Garcia and ask her to accept more applicants to send them overseas after their education?”

“I d-didn’t think.”

“Ah. Non mi sorprende, Cardinale. A brain as smooth as yours must be kept shiny and pristine, sì? Cannot be worried about trivial tasks such as thinking.” His tone softened again as he turned to - “Cardinale Garcia, work with Cardinale Stronzo in providing new applicants for our unholy siblings overseas, per favore.” He turned to another woman in the room. “Cardinale Kim, I would also like you to work on this with Cardinale Garcia and Smith to speed up our applicants education and send them out to their respective countries. When you have the time, of course.”

“Of course, Papa.” Cardinal Kim responded.

“I thank Lilith that there are two intelligent women on this job. Sathanas knows we’d fall apart if it was left only to the smooth brained of us in the room.” He cleared his throat. “Sorella ___,” he said addressing you, “are you getting all of this?”

You didn’t look up from your notebook, wrist aching from all the minutes you were taking. “It would help if you spoke slower, Papa.” You replied, insubordinately. You didn’t need to look at Papa to know he was looking at you furiously. “Either that or let me bring my laptop to these meetings.”

“Your laptop is too loud.” He protested through gritted teeth.

You finally looked at him, a small grin on your face. “Then speak slower. Please.”

He sighed and sat back in his seat, staring daggers into your soul. You were usually so sweet and polite to him - his little angioletta who respected him in front of everyone in the vicinity, who behaved so obediently behind closed doors and thanked him for all that he gave you. You were never bratty to your Papa, never rude or obnoxious. “You’re very audacious today, little one.” He commented, his tone commanding your obedience lest you face a punishment.

You persisted, the idea of dealing with your angry Papa later on too delectable to give up now. Papa would often take his frustrations out on you, an agreement between the both of you allowed him to take your consent and use you as he pleased, whenever he pleased. You would always spread your legs willingly for him, or bend yourself over and arch your back just as he liked without him uttering a single word, and depending on the kind of day he’d had, you’d either be worshipped, or bruised by his daily frustrations. You’d told him through bright red cheeks once that you thoroughly enjoyed him using you to deal with his anger, and so, he would have you whenever he felt even a little bit perturbed. But never were you the reason for his anger, not until today. And the way he looked at you now had your hole clenching around nothing, and a need to push him until he snapped and bubbled beneath your surface. You’d started now, you didn’t think you’d be able to stop until he put you back in your place.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be blamed for missing even a drop of your wisdom.”

The rest of the room shifted uncomfortably as the tension became so thick, you’d need a chainsaw to cut through it.

“I’d hold my tongue if I were you, angioletta.”

“But you’re not me, Papa.”

Papa dropped into a foul mood for the rest of the meeting, shooting you angry looks and constantly asking if he was being slow enough for you. But eventually, the meeting came to an end, and Papa pushed everyone out of the room, keeping you in your place. As soon as the door closed, in a harsh tone, he broke the silence. “Angioletta, what was that?”

“What was what, Papa?” You asked, feigning innocence.

“Don’t play dumb with me - you know what you did. Sathanas, ___. Since when do you have sass with your Papa, hm? Since when do you show your Papa such disrespect?” He sighed at your lack of answer. He stood and walked over to you, looking down on you as you remained seated in your chair. You weren’t looking up at him, instead keeping your gaze straight on the seat he was sat in before, and he didn’t appreciate this either. With his finger and his thumb, he gently pinched your chin and guided your face to look at him, forcing eye contact with you. “I expect you on your best behaviour tonight, angioletta. Capisce? No sass, no back talk. Just doting on your Papa on his birthday, sì?”

“Happy birthday, Papa.” You said, softly, a smile playing on your lips. Wholesome. Nonsuspect.

“Grazie, amore mio.” He bent down to kiss your forehead then left you alone in the room, seemingly unaware that you’d never actually agreed to anything.

That evening, you dressed in your finest for your Papa, choosing a dress gifted to you by him. It was just something simple, a body con black dress that hugged your curves in all the right ways, paired with a Satanic pentagram harness that he loved to see you in. It was really no effort at all, but your Papa would certainly enjoy you tonight. A feast for his eyes - at least you hoped.

You were one of Secondo’s earliest guests, besides his older brother Papa Primo, arriving at his quarters and knocking on the door before entering. Papa Primo greeted you warmly, and welcomed you in, placing a drink in your hand. You could already smell the dinner coming from Secondo’s private kitchen and felt your stomach growl in hunger. You were so ready for the feast to begin - and for your torture of your Papa to continue. You weren’t just ravenous for the food, especially when you saw him enter the dining room, not wearing his usual robes but still painted in his official paints. His suit was perfectly tailored, cut to each contour of his body, and made from a rich, cold, emerald green. Velvet. Accompanied by a deep green tie and his favourite black-painted fingernails. In his robes he was divine. In a suit? You were feral.

As soon he saw you, you watched as his glittery eyes darkened, and his chest reflected a deep sigh. The second he was beside you, his hands grasped onto your hips and pulled you into him, lips attaching to your neck. He didn’t care that he already had other guests - he didn’t care that he may be smudging his paints. He was too intoxicated by you to do anything other than dig his fingers into the meat of your flesh and inhale your seductive perfume, bewitching him beyond belief. He was ready to drop to his knees and worship you there and then, except you pushed him away.

“I haven’t forgotten how you spoke to me earlier, Papa.” You chided, keeping your voice as level as you could and holding back your giggles when his expression changed.

“Angioletta,” he practically whined, “you promised.”

“No,” you poked his chest, “you laid down the law. I never told you I’d follow it.”

“You want to make me suffer all night, hm? Embarrass me in front of everyone.”

“I never want to embarrass you, Papa. I’d like an apology.”

He frowned. “For what?”

You sighed. “Use that big, wrinkly brain of yours and think.” And with that, you walked away. In truth he had nothing to apologise for and you both knew it. But you enjoyed watching him stew away in his mind, greeting and welcoming guests and trying to maintain a semblance of composure. You were teetering on the line between enjoyment and cruelty, though. And you’d need to end this quickly so as not to actually spoil his birthday.

Secondo’s quarters had never been so lively, but even then, they were lively by Secondo’s standards. To celebrate his birthday, all of the people closest to him had gathered in his chambers, crowded around his long dining table (that he mostly used for work), and feasted on the delightful Italian delicacies hand crafted by the Ministry’s chefs, whom you’d paid extra to cook for everyone for the evening. Amidst the clinking of glasses filled with the Ministry’s own wine, and the aroma of garlic-infused dishes wafting through the air, the place was abuzz with laughter and conversation, but your attention was solely fixed on one man – Papa Secondo himself.

He sat beside you at the head of the table, his natural scowl creasing his glabella as he looked upon his guests and listened to their conversations, responding only when he needed to, but enjoying the atmosphere, nonetheless. His paints were perfectly worn, not a single line bent or crooked, or even smudged with the wine he’d drunk, or the food he’d so gracefully placed into his mouth as though he were the epitome of sophistication - which, to be fair, he was. His Roman nose making his profile so intoxicating, so powerful, you found yourself staring at him, drinking in the love of your life and appreciating him silently for the work of art he was.

Secondo cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping across the room as he prepared to address his guests. “My dear friends, I want to take this moment to express my gratitude for your presence here tonight,” he began, his voice carrying authority and warmth. “Your loyalty and support mean more to me than you can imagine.”

You couldn’t resist interjecting with a sassy remark. “Oh, how touching, Papa,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “I almost believe you mean it.”

The room fell into a momentary silence as everyone turned their attention to the unexpected exchange between you both. Secondo’s expression darkened, his jaw tensing as he turned to face you.

“Sorella,” he said through gritted teeth, his tone a warning.

But you refused to back down, your gaze challenging. “What, Papa? Can’t handle a little honesty?” You retorted, your voice edged with defiance. You squirmed in your seat under the heat of his gaze, the unbridled anger that oozed off him like peach juice dripping down one’s chin. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest as you watched him become more and more enraged at your attitude, and you tried so hard not to let your enjoyment show.

Secondo’s eyes narrowed, a flash of irritation crossing his features before he regained his composure. “I expect respect in my presence, Sorella,” he replied, his voice low and controlled.

You took a sip of your wine and set your glass down. “And yet, you don’t always deserve it.”

“My room. Now.” He all but hissed. His grip on his glass was choking, and you could almost see it shattering in his hand from the force. You’d done it. You got him. Now was the time to obey. You stood and made your way to his bedroom as instructed, hearing him excuse you both and urge his guests to continue without him. The part where he was announcing that he was going to scold you for your behaviour was missing, but certainly implied, and within a few seconds you heard him chase after you and the guests murmuring in the background, only to be blocked by him slamming the door shut.

“What the fuck was that, hm?” He growled, his hand coming up to your hair and pulling it at the roots, making you look into his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Papa!”

“Sorry? Amore mio, it’s a little late for that, do you not think? Embarrassing me in front of everyone.”

You laughed.

“Che cos’è questo? Laughing at your Papa?” He stopped, a realisation dawning on him. “Ah. I see how it is. My angioletta is giving into sin tonight? Becoming a whore to anger her Papa.” He released you and gestured to the bed. “Hands on the bed. Now, amore.” You obeyed him for the first time that day, resting your hands on the bed and bending at the waist, exposing your ass to him. You knew what was coming, your core clenching in anticipation of feeling his hand come down on you at full force. You arched your back as much as you could, allowing your ass to pop for him, and hearing him groan in appreciation when you did.

“You wanted to play with your Papa,” he said coming up behind you, “so let’s play, hm?”

His hand came down on your left ass cheek, the sting you enjoyed so much muffled by layer of fabric still (barely) covering your body. The first hit was gentle, barely stinging at all. As angry as Secondo was, he still took his time with you, making sure he didn’t hurt you too much and too quickly. He mirrored this on your right cheek, back to your left, back to your right. Each hit gradually landed harder and harder, and you needed to bury your face into his sheets to hide your cries lest his guests hear what was happening. With each slap, your body jumped in response, as if it was shocked to receive the hits your mind knew was coming. You knew you were getting redder with each slap, which would only egg Secondo on more when he saw it for himself.

He lifted your dress up, exposing your black panties fully and bunching the hem around your waist, and, as predicted, groaned at the sight of you. Secondo was an artist, and you were always his favourite canvas. He began to slap your bare cheeks, revelling in the deep red that was forming on your skin, relishing in the dampened moans coming from you. “This is no punishment for you at all, is it?” He commented, punctuating his sentence with more slaps, now using both of his hands. “You love it when your Papa hits you like this, don’t you?” He slapped you much harder when you didn’t answer. “Do not be rude, angioletta.”

“Yes, Papa!” You responded, your voice coming out as a moan. “I love it!”

“I bet you’ve soaked through these slutty little panties, haven’t you?” He moved his left hand to the gusset of your panties, using his four fingers to rub against your cunt and his thumb rested against your asshole as an anchor.

Usually, he’d be met with your soft flesh and twitching hole, and would tease it over your panties, too, just to drive you wild. But today, his thumb met with something hard, and him putting pressure there caused you to moan out loud. “Che cazzo?” He asked, rubbing his thumb over the ridges. His hand, damp from the juices that had soaked your panties, came up to the waistband and roughly pulled them off you, hissing at the sight of him. Buried deep inside your twitching hole, was a butt plug, with an emerald resin gem sitting atop the metal base. “Puttana.” Though his words were degrading, the tone in which he said them was appreciative. He loved this little surprise, his cock growing harder and harder beneath his velvet slacks and begging to bury itself into one of your holes. “How long have you been wearing this?”

“All da-ay!” Your voice hiccuped when you felt his fingers hook around the base and jiggle it.

“No wonder you’ve been acting like a bitch today, amore. You’ve been in heat all day, hm? Did you want me to bend you over the table in the meeting room? Is that why you’ve been provoking me all day?”

“Y-yes, Papa. Want… wanted you to f-fuck me all day! Shit.”

“Wanted your Papa to ruin your holes, hm?”

“Yesss!”

He landed another hard spank on your right cheek with his right hand, much harder than the others. That, coupled with the way he was still playing with the plug, caused a moan to escape your lips, much louder than the others.

You heard him play with his belt, unbuckling it and then the buttons of his slacks, before you finally heard the zipper undo. “Hands and knees, ass in the air.” He ordered. You climbed fully onto the mattress, feeling his hand come down on you more and more as you got situated for him. “Gonna put this fuckhole to good use.”

You felt his girth rub against your folds, getting wetter with your slick with each movement. When he stopped and pulled away, you chanced a glance behind you and watched what he was doing, cunt clenching when you saw his head bowed, a thick glob of spit falling from his mouth and landing on his cock. He pumped himself a few times, spreading the saliva over his entire length before spitting again and repeating until he deemed himself wet enough. He plunged two of his fingers inside you, pumping only a few times to get you stretched out a little more before lining himself up with your hole.

You heard him chuckle darkly behind you. “I’m gonna enjoy this - but you won’t.”

That was all the warning he gave you before he pushed inside you, his considerable thickness stretching you out beyond compare. Usually he’d prepare you more, make you cum for him all over his tongue before he even considered fucking you with his cock. But not tonight. He didn’t have the time nor the will to. This was meant to be a punishment, after all. Prepared or not, you adored the initial stretch every single time he slid into you. He always burned so deliciously, but sometimes there was a hint of pain that sent shivers down your spine and had your toes curling and fingers digging into whatever surface you were being fucked on.

Secondo took his time bottoming out, enjoying watching your body tense below him from the pain of it, and smiling at your cunt clenching down on him. “There we go.” He said, gripping onto your ass cheeks as he bottomed out inside you, fingers rubbing over your raw flesh and causing a bigger sting to wash over you. He used your body as leverage to help him slam into you, setting a rough pace right away and knocking the wind out of you. He pulled gutteral moans out of you, deep, animalistic grunts that you had no control over as he fucked into you like a madman finally getting his fix.

The sound of your cunt taking him back in over and over again was so loud, you were sure his guests could hear you from the other room. It made Secondo want to bite you, sink his teeth into you like an apple, and feel your juices coat his mouth while he licked and sucked at your core. But he was pretending that this was a punishment for you - he couldn’t consciously do something that would make you cum. Well, maybe a finger or so later on. For now, you were his to fuck around with, and he could hear and feel just how much you enjoyed it.

“You’re so fucked up for liking this, amore.” He taunted, releasing grunts and growls of his own. “A pain slut for her Papa. Cazzo!”

He pushed your hips down, making you lie flat on your stomach, legs dangling off the edge and making you feel helpless below him. He put his entire weight on your body as he railed you into the mattress, rough, quick thrusts making your body bounce and your ass ricochet off his own hips.

“I don’t like hurting you, angioletta.” A growl ripped from his throat. “But you need to learn how to respect your Papa. Apologise for making me do this to you.”

“I- I’m so…rry, Papa-ah!”

“Brava ragazza.”

Every time you made a sound, he landed another hit on your ass, making you redder and rawer. He loved it - but equally, so did you. Even on the days when he was taking his anger out on you, he wouldn’t often be this rough. He wouldn’t laugh at your cries, or push into you without taking his time with you first. Each thrust drove you more and more insane, degraded you more and more to the point where you felt like nothing but his own, personal fuck toy. His own whore who spread her legs so willingly, she became a desperate slut for her master.

He pulled at the plug again, laughing when you jumped. “So much tighter with this thing in your ass.”

“Papa - it… it’s t-too much!”

“You should have respected your Papa, then maybe he’d treat you delicately, hm?”

“Papa, please!”

“You can take it, can’t you?”

He was met with a loud moan.

“Can’t you, puttanella?”

“Y-yes!”

“Of course you can. Only sluts can take a cock this big.”

You forced your hand in between your body and the mattress and found your clit, rubbing at it while Secondo pounded into you. It was a struggle, and made Secondo laugh at you as you tried. He put more weight onto your body to make it more difficult for you, but you were able to get there eventually and furiously play with that bundle of nerves and work yourself to the edge.

“I love looking at you like this.” He said suddenly, watching your arm move as you rubbed faster and faster. You looked so desperate for him. So needy. “You gonna cum for me?” He asked as he felt you getting tighter for him, the telltale signs making themselves present. “You gonna cum all over Papa’s cock like a whore?”

“Yes, Pa-pa!”

“Merda! Beg for it.”

“I n-need to cum s-oh bad Papa! Please! Pl-please let me cum on your f-fat cock.”

“Oh, just like that, brava ragazza. It’s okay, you can let go.”

Secondo could feel you getting tighter for him, working yourself closer and closer to an orgasm as he took you for his own pleasure, and for some of yours. He should pull out soon, he knew he should, but you were so tight for him in this position, so wet and pliant. He couldn’t control himself. He couldn’t bring himself to pull out and cum on your body. One particularly rough thrust had you finally tumbling over the edge, face contorting in beautiful agony as you came over him, creaming on his cock and screaming silently into the mattress. He didn’t let up as you came, instead, he used your body tensing as an excuse to go just a little harder, making your orgasm more intense the longer it went on.

Your orgasm had Secondo teetering on the edge himself, staving off his own orgasm to ensure yours felt good. But once he was sure you’d finished, he began to pull out of you, finally working the courage to escape from your clutches. It wasn’t until he felt your heels in his ass, where your legs had bent backwards to keep him there, he realised you wanted his cum inside you just as much as he did.

“Please, Papa!” You begged quietly, lifting your head off the sheets and turning to look at him over your shoulder. “Give it to me. I want your cum inside me so fucking bad. Please!”

“Yeah, amore? You want me to knock you up, is that it? So desperate for her Papa’s cum she wants him to breed her like a bitch. Been in heat all day, still acting like a fucking animal.”

“Give it to me, Papa! Cum deep inside me, please!”

“Okay, angioletta. Papa will give you what you want.” He pushed himself deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust. “Gonna fuck a baby into you, you ready?”

“Yes! Yes, Papa, like that!”

“Cazzo!” A string of expletives followed as you talked him through it, continuing to beg him for his seed while he pumped it deep inside you. He gripped hold of you, your skin and fat pinched tightly under his strong, masculine hands as he grasped onto you to keep him grounded while he reached nirvana. He bent forward more, his forehead rubbing against your shoulder blades and paints transferring onto the fabric of your dress, but you didn’t care about that, enjoying the feeling of his erratic thrusts as he fucked his cum into your sensitive heat until he eventually rolled to a stop, laboured breaths ringing in your ear despite his mouth being so far away.

“Sathanas, ___.” He groaned, keeping his full weight on your body, too exhausted to move. “Mi farai morire.” You felt his lips kiss your shoulder blades, the dull feeling bringing warmth and comfort to your adrenaline-filled body.

“Are you okay?” You asked, equally as exhausted as him.

“No.” He replied with a giggle, which you echoed. “I can’t move anymore.”

“That’s okay, we can wait here for as long as you need.”

“The guests, amore mio.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

He groaned. “I don’t have the strength.”

You laughed at his joke.

Somewhere inside him, he found the strength to pull out of you, both of you groaning at the loss of contact. He rolled off you, and lay on his back, allowing his body to flop into any position it deemed comfortable. You didn’t know how he did that, you could barely keep your eyes open.

He looked at you before rushing to the bathroom to get a damp cloth to clean you up, gently wiping at your sensitive centre to try and help you. “I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?”

“Nothing I didn’t want, Papa.”

“Are you sure?”

“I promise.”

He placed the washcloth on the bedside table and pulled you into his arms, finally kissing your lips for the first time.

“Happy birthday, Papa.” You whispered.

Before he could respond, a knock at the door sounded gently, pulling your attention to it. “Fratello?” Cardinal Terzo’s voice sounded from the other side. “Now that you two have finished fucking, we should let you know we’re all gonna go.”

You hid your face in embarrassment despite the fact the only person who could see you was Secondo, who was laughing at your reaction.

“See you later, fratellino.”

“Later, sluts!”

There was a silence for a little while before Secondo heard the sound of your breathing mellowing out, realising then you’d fallen asleep before you both had chance to clean up properly. But that was okay, he could treat you like a queen in the morning. For now, you both needed rest.

Translations:

Buon pomeriggio - Good afternoon.

Ora - Now.

Questo è un cazzo di scherzo assoluto! - This is an absolute fucking joke!

Perché? - Why?

Sei stupido, Cardinale Smith? - Are you stupid, Cardinal Smith?

Non mi sorprende, Cardinale. - That does not surprise me, Cardinal.

Angioletta - Little angel.

Capisce? - Do you understand?

Grazie, amore mio. - Thank you, my love.

Che cos’è questo? - What’s this?

Che cazzo? - What the fuck?

Puttana. - Whore.

Brava ragazza. - Good girl.

Mi farai morire. - You’re gonna kill me.

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#it was so delicious

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tasty-ribz · 5 days

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Hello my dear. Lots of love and hugs to you. And lots of positive thoughts and vibes your way. I hope things will get better for you. ❤️

I've been going through some tough times as well, but your stories always brighten my day! So I am here to ask for a little Secondo drabble from the rivals to lovers prompt. Would you please consider the what if we fall in love prompt. That boy is so grumpy on the outside, but we all know he just needs to be loved and cared for. Let us love you Secondo, that's all we ask!

Anyways, please know that we love you too @bethbruttenholm ❤️. Please take care and I hope things look up for you very soon!

I hope you're doing well, my love. At the very least, I hope better ❤️

Please enjoy arranged marriage Secondo and reader. I know it's not quite rivals to lovers BUT DAMN. GOTDAMN. I am in the mood for arranged marriage Papas.

Extra soft and sweet and nervous Secondo. Cut for space!

I hope you like.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask, gnawing on your lip - trying to keep the panic attack brewing behind your sternum at bay. Papa Primo had gifted you a bag of calming tea and you’d made it extra strong. Secondo had added a bit of his own calming extract: a dash of brandy and a wink which, admittedly, was helping.

“It is not so easy to explain,” Secondo says, staring out the window, eyes looking past the rivulets of rain running down the panes - he isn’t seeing anything, really; his thoughts consuming him, his jaw working overtime. He opens his mouth and then shuts it, “No one has ever asked me that.”

“Asked you what? What you’re thinking about? Well, I’m a pretty nosy gal, so get used to that.”

Secondo stares at you for another moment before returning to his raindrop, window gazing.

You’re cupping your mug of tea in both hands, sitting in his chair - wondering if it’s supposed to feel this mundane. His desk and chair - his throne - dwarf you but, that’s all you feel. Small. Hardly significant in the grand scheme of things but, you wonder if any other person has been allowed to sit here; shoes toed off, feet tucked up underneath you. You stare at Secondo, watching him as he watches nothing - far too lost in the dark, icy depths of his mind, “Papa?” you call to him and he gives you a gentle, albeit, long suffering look. You stifle a grin, “Secondo,” you correct yourself and his shoulders drop a little. He moves to lean against the edge of his desk, your knees against his thigh. You reach out and give his arm a gentle, encouraging squeeze, “We should be able to talk to each other,’ he continues to stare - that Secondo stare - and you rustle up a little more courage, lean into the comfort and closeness you feel with him, “I want to know what you’re thinking.”

You pull away and he stares at the spot on his arm that your fingertips had last touched, “You do not deserve to be married to an emotionally stunted, half-crippled, old man.”

You snort, “And you don’t deserve to be stuck with an anxiety-riddled, anti-social hermit but,” you sigh dramatically, flashing the fancy, new gold band on your left ring finger, “Here we are. Betrothed. Married. Wedded.”

“Thank you,” he exhales before finishing off his drink. Thunder rumbles in the distance and the rain and wind pick up, “I had forgotten.”

“Of course,” you nod, staring into the dark tea in your hands, “After all, we’ve been married for so long. What is it now? Hour? Hour and a half?” you grin, sliding your eyes up to Secondo who is staring at you, unreadable, “Did I mention I am a bit sarcastic? Anxious, sarcastic hermit.”

“It has been noted,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. He holds out his hand and you slip yours into as he helps you to your feet. He kneels down and, between the table and his shoulder - very strong and broad and, ahem, nice - you manage to balance as he helps you put your shoes back on. He stands, groaning a bit as he returns to full height, “We have hidden for far too long. They will come looking.”

“Can’t we just order a pizza and call it a wedding? Oh, no. Wings. Let’s order wings,” you say as Secondo leads you to the door.

“You like no bone or bone?” he asks and then stops and turns slowly to you. You’re sucking your lips in to avoid snorting but, the snort comes anyway followed by a giggle, “Do not answer.”

“I like the bone in,” you laugh as you pass him, he holds open the door - eyes following you as you walk by, “Lots of sauce.”

He looks handsome in his formal robes - sans mitre - glittering in onyx and emerald - the lowlight of the hallway does nothing to stifle the gems he’s decorated with. Your own wedding dress is a soft, off white thing that clings to your curves and invites the eye to follow; though beautiful, it seems awfully mundane next to the leader of the Satanic Church. Papa Emeritus the Second. Your husband. The sound of that is just as foreign as the wedding dress you wear. You hadn’t had much of a choice and neither did he. But here you were, standing outside the doors of the great hall, marriage arranged… and then signed, sealed and delivered. And consummated.

It was terrifying and your hands were shaking, again. Your heart pounding in your stomach, you want to call it butterflies but it’s more like nausea and, another, impending vomit session. You swallow down the tang of fear and clear your throat, “What if it doesn’t work out?” you ask and it comes out as a whisper, your voice trembling, “What if we hate each other?”

“What if we fall in love?”

Your face snaps up to stare at Secondo and he’s doing his best to look encouraging, hopeful - eyebrows raised, something of a grin on his face. It’s his eyes, though. Those usually unreadable, ice cold, mismatched eyes are sparkling and wrinkled up at the corners. They’re happy. You think. He might be drunk, “I didn’t peg you as the romantic type,” you say, catching his smile - it’s contagious.

It’s Secondo who tries not to laugh then and you elbow him. He catches your arm and slides his hand down to take yours, giving it a squeeze, “You are shaking.”

“I’m scared.”

It’s quiet for a moment longer, “Me, too.”

You gaze up at him - he’s staring ahead, again, “Promise me something?”

“Was love, honor and obedience not enough?” his eyes slide over to you and he nods.

“Promise me we’ll fall in love?”

He squeezes your hand and nods, again, “I promise. But you must also make me a promise.”

“Oh? Was vowing to spew forth sons to carry on your name and bloodline not enough?” you poke at him and he arches an eyebrow, “Sorry. Anxious, hermit, smart ass, remember?”

“Promise me you will let me put on your shoes after I have a drink and you’ll wait for me to calm my mind, drink your tea and sit in my chair while I try not to go crazy and you’ll,” he clears his throat and looks down at your hand in his, “Promise me you will hold my hand and I will promise you that we will fall in love.”

The doors open and you’re greeted by thunderous applause and happy, loud cheers - somewhere someone announces Papa Emeritus the Second and his Prime Mover. You smile up at him - beaming - and you give his hand a reassuring squeeze, “I promise.”

#yas arranged marriage au #my beloved #papa emeritus ii

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tasty-ribz · 5 days

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Napping in the Clouds

This is for @megachaoticstupid who wanted a nap in my Steampunk Verse between little Copia and his big brother Secondo 💙

Huge thanks to @tasty-ribz for the art and to @ghuleh-recs for my steampunk dividers!

This technically takes place after Building A Family but it can be read on its own. There are also two other fics in this universe: Capitano Copia and Clockwork Friends.

Warnings: angst pertaining to Copia's time in an orphanage and Secondo's feelings towards his family otherwise it is very soft and fluffy, sfw, 2,600 words

They were running out of clocks.

Secondo brushed the toe of his boot against some of the debris on the floor. The delicate metal parts scraped against the polished wood and he winced briefly at the scratch left behind. Not that it mattered, Emeritus Manor had countless rooms that hadn’t seen a soul in years. No one would care about the condition of the floor in some dusty study. Secondo couldn’t even remember if he’d been in this room before. Copia however had clearly been busy exploring.

Busy doing other things too.

“He’s up to three rats now.” Alpha’s voice preceded him as he appeared out of the shadow in the doorway. “And some toys.”

“Aren’t the rats toys?”

“No.” Secondo turned with a raised eyebrow at the sharp quality of the ghoul’s voice. To his credit, Alpha lowered his head briefly in apology before looking back up with a smirk on his face. The red eyes of the demon glowed with mischief as he answered. “They’re not toys at all.”

Copia was singing when he finally tracked him down.

He had a strong voice for his age. Strong and bright Italian words drifted down the hallway and Secondo felt such an intense moment of something that he had to pause before he turned the corner to confront the boy. Music hadn’t traveled the corridors of the manor for a long time. Not since Terzo had decided he’d rather spend his time in the sky.

Or, as was the case lately, in prison.

Secondo turned the corner to find Copia hunched over something in the middle of the hall. Parts and tools were spread out around him as well as what he assumed were the little clockwork rats Alpha had watched him build. He was content to stay back and listen to his song but one of the rats twitched and turned his way. Copia instantly quieted down, his head snapping back and his eyes widening as soon as he saw Secondo.

“I’m sorry! I’ll put it back together!”

Copia stumbled onto his feet, grabbing an armful of parts and quickly going over to the quiet clock. The rats were right at his heels save one. This one went right for Secondo, pausing at his boots and gazing up at him. There was a blue glow right below its chest, bright enough to illuminate the little creature’s eyes. It was something that had Secondo holding his breath, memories of his own childhood here springing to his mind.

Memories of what he used to be able to build.

“What’s his name?” His little brother turned his way, a small screwdriver clamped between his teeth. Secondo crouched down slowly, not wanting to scare the rat away. “Your friend, does he have a name?”

“Brizio.” Copia timidly walked his way, the other two rats never straying far. Only one of them had the same glow as the one Secondo was studying. “I named him after a friend.”

“Friends are important, where is this friend now?”

“I-I’m not sure? He was at the orphanage with me and got adopted…” He dropped to his knees and reached a finger out to gently touch the rat’s back. “I miss him.”

Secondo stayed silent as he watched the boy fidget, his little fingers tapping along his knees. He could see a bit of himself in the boy’s features, the eyes being the most obvious thing. The Emeritus family having had the white eye for generations at this point. Nihil always claimed it was a gift but most of his sons at some point had considered it a curse. Primo had hated it enough to replace it with one of his “enhancements”.

A tiny hand on his knee pulled Secondo from his thoughts. Copia was looking up at him, his eyes wide and his face unsure.

“It’s ok to miss friends and loved ones.” He bit his lip for a moment, a memory from his own life here as a child coming forward in his mind. “I used to have a pet rabbit, she was a gift from my mother.”

“What was her name?”

“Snowbell. Because of her fur. All white, beautiful and soft.” He couldn’t help but smile softly, thinking of that first day he met Snowbell. When his mother brought her into his room in her arms. It was one of the last times he saw his mother healthy, before everything in his life changed. He was so lost in his memories that he missed Copia saying something. “What was that fratellino?”

“Fratellino?” Secondo found himself staring into a familiar set of eyes. They shimmered in the gas lamps in the hallway, unshed tears threatening to drop. “Are you…you’re one of my brothers?”

“Si, I am Secondo.” He smiled when Copia reached a small hand up and Secondo gamely shook it. “Primo is here as well, although he is rarely seen. He likes to spend his time in his lab.”

“Do you have a lab?”

Secondo placed a hand on the floor to brace himself and then moved to sit cross legged. Copia stayed close, his hand never leaving Secondo’s leg, almost like he was afraid that if he let go he’d lose the older brother he just found.

“I do, although I don’t use it as much anymore. My study is where I spend most of my time, usually reading or designing things.” Copia cocked his head and guessing the question he was about to ask Secondo continued, “Designing things for my airship.”

“You have an airship?!”

The sheer joy on Copia’s face was infectious and he couldn’t help but match it, “I do! Secular Haze is her name. She’s the fastest ship in the skies.” Secondo made a show of looking around to see if they were alone, “But don’t tell your brother Terzo that, ok?”

“Is Terzo here too?”

Secondo winced and gave a slight shake of his head, “Unfortunately Terzo has landed himself in prison.” Copia’s eyes widened comically, but he moved his head closer when Secondo leaned in. “Piracy.”

“Wow!”

Of course to a child that was exciting and Secondo tried not to let his face fall and ruin the mood. But Copia didn’t know what it was like dealing with the worry of how long Terzo would be gone this time. About what sort of damage his ship Mummy Dust had taken. Mostly though he was worried about what the city would find in the airship.

And what that would mean for the whole family.

He cleared his throat, taking a quick look around the hallway before leaning in close to Copia once more, “I have an idea.”

“We ride around in your airship!”

“We will fratellino, I promise you that.” Copia beamed up at him, following Secondo and standing up as well. “But first we should clean this up, find something to eat and then maybe have a little tour of the manor, yeah?”

“Oh, yes! Per favore! Alpha showed me around a little but Papa Nihil caught us and made him take me back to my room.”

“Nihil is a dickhead.” Copia’s little gasp had Secondo chuckling and he knelt down before the boy, his hands resting on his tiny shoulders. “I will show you all the secret passageways, all the hiding spots. I will show you how your brothers and I avoided him when we were your age.” He stood up again, winking when he held out a hand for Copia. “We still use them even now.”

He squeezed Copia’s hand when the boy reached out and then led him over to the silent grandfather clock. Without direction Copia knelt down and began to put the old thing back together, his fingers quick and precise. The little rats whirred at his feet, Brizio even picking up small gears and bringing them over to the boy right as he needed them. Secondo chimed in whenever Copia held up something with a questioning look, helping the boy find where the part belonged.

When Secondo saw Copia’s triumphant grin as the clock came to life and a series of chimes rang out in the hallway he knew then and there that the boy was where he belonged as well.

From that day on Copia, and his rats, were rarely away from Secondo’s side.

Alpha and a few of the other ghouls had cleared out a space in Secondo’s study for the boy. An area where he could work on whatever he desired, where he could build whatever he wanted, and Secondo was there to watch. To lend a hand whenever Copia needed it. It was amazing to witness the ease in which his fratellino could create things. Amazing to see the familiar blue glow in each creation. It was a special kind of magic the world didn’t see much of these days.

Secondo took a sip of his drink and continued to stare into the fireplace. His study was quiet today save the crackling of the fire. It was strange how fast he had gotten used to Copia’s chattering, to the sounds of the boy working as well as the sounds of his rats running about. Copia loved to sing as well and Secondo found it hard not to join in when he did. They made him ache for a home he had barely known but one he hoped to build here for himself and Copia.

Perhaps for Primo and Terzo as well if they wanted.

His ghouls had taken Copia out to see Secular Haze, something that the boy had been begging to do ever since he found out she existed. He had also begged Secondo to come with but he couldn’t bring himself to go. It had been so long since he had seen her, since he had last sailed through the skies on her, that the guilt for leaving her dormant was too heavy.

He wasn’t even sure he could sail her again. Wasn’t even sure if she’d let him.

“Papa?” Secondo startled at the old honorific from Alpha, a title no one had bothered to use for years. “We’re back. Copia is in his room, he wanted to see you but he was asleep on his feet.”

“What did he think of her?”

“He was amazed, running around to study every part of her. Asked a million questions.”

“I’m sure he did, I’ll have to dig out her plans so he can look at those.”

Alpha stepped into his line of sight, the tall ghoul moving close to the fire and staring right into it. He was far too close to the fire than most could handle but each ghoul had a specific element they called their own and fire was as natural to Alpha as breathing. There was a tenseness to the ghoul’s shoulders, like he was debating whether or not to say something. When he finally turned around Secondo set his glass down and crossed his arms.

“Is there something else?”

“Some of those questions were about you.” Secondo shrugged, not really surprised at that. The boy always had lots of questions for him. Recently he had been mostly focused on the story Secondo told him of his rabbit, Snowbell. “About what you were like at his age.”

“Too smart for my own good and desperate for someone to notice.”

He froze after the words left his mouth, surprised he had said something so personal. Although it didn’t really matter, Alpha had been there when he was young and angry at everyone. Lost in the Emeritus Manor without another Emeritus in sight. Nihil annoyed that Secondo even existed and Primo gone all the time for whatever reason.

“I told him you were lonely.”

Secondo couldn’t shake Alpha’s comment.

The old ghoul was right, he was lonely. It was just an odd thing to think about considering he’d felt that way most of his life. While Primo had eventually warmed up to him, and Terzo had moved into the manor not long after Secondo did, they never truly felt like brothers. Each was different enough in their attitudes and abilities that it had been hard to bond.

It didn’t help that Nihil always tried to make things a contest between the three of them. Who could develop something better, who could build something faster, who could propel the family further? Those were the things Nihil cared about and if one of them failed at any of those aspects, or anything else, he was quick to lose interest and ignore them. That in turn made the brothers quick to ignore each other, something that was easy to do in such a big house.

He got up to throw a few more logs into the fire, easing back into his chair as the loud popping sounds from the wood filled the room. It was funny how quickly he had gotten used to Copia being in here because it already felt strange not to hear him tinkering away at something. Ever since he had visited the airship he had been spending more time in his room. Alpha said he was fine, just busy working on something. The ghoul wouldn’t elaborate any further and when Secondo had finally decided to go to the boy himself Copia refused to even open the door.

Perhaps Copia had already grown tired of him. The thought hurt and Secondo quickly took a swig of his whisky, wanting to bury that idea as deep as he could before it started to hurt worse.

“Fratello?” Copia’s little voice had Secondo coughing mid swallow, the whisky burning his throat when it went down the wrong way. He leaned forward with his arms on his legs, trying to catch his breath. A small hand started to pat his back, the boy’s voice frantic when Secondo continued to cough. “Are you ok? Should I get Alpha? Please don–”

“I’m ok, I’m ok.” Secondo turned and placed a hand on top of Copia’s head, lightly ruffling his light brown hair. “You just startled me, that's all.”

He turned and set his glass down on the nearby table before looking at Copia again. The boy had something in his arms, an object made of gold metal with a familiar blue glow shining bright in its chest. At first Secondo thought it was Brizio but when he looked closer he realized the ears were much longer than what he was used to. The body shape was different too. Secondo straightened up in his chair abruptly, his eyes widening when he realized what it looked like.

“I made you something.”

It felt good to be in the sky again.

It felt good to have his ship under his feet, his ghouls at his side and the Secular Haze racing through the clouds. This is where he belonged, the sky had always felt more like home than the ground. The hum of his ship resonated through his bones and he didn’t realize how much he had missed it until now. This partnership between him and the machine he had built.

The body next to him shifted and he looked down at a familiar mop of brown hair, his fratellino fast asleep at his side. A small fist was latched onto his shirt, machine grease tucked under his nails like always. Nearby Secondo could hear the familiar sound of small metal feet running about, the gentle whir of Copia’s creations ever present.

When he looked over he met the gaze of one such creation Copia had made for him. A gift that Secondo would cherish always, just like he planned to always cherish the small boy who made it. Snowbell’s ears clicked as they moved around, the mechanical rabbit rearing up onto its hind legs when two of Copia’s rats ran by. It soon dropped back down onto its feet, chasing after them around Secondo’s cabin.

He leaned back and closed his eyes, soaking in the sounds of his ship around him. Soaking in the warmth of being with his family, both old and new, as he began to drift off to sleep.

He didn’t feel lonely anymore.

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

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#awww my heart is full #i love this bond between big bro secondo and lil copia #and i love you oaaaak #this was so sweet #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus iv

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tasty-ribz · 9 days

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🩷 pretty in pink 🩷

#precious baby boy

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tasty-ribz · 11 days

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In Cold Blood - Terzo x f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

Read on AO3 | Masterlist | Leave a tip

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

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

“What’s the catch?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A pentagram.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That sounded like what you’d heard from upstairs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There he was again.

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck that. No. Enough of this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“None of your business-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You slept with that knife under your mattress that night.

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

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

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

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

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

But then you saw him every evening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He really was here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just had to be quick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is my house…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You expected to see him again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was he dangerous?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who was he? A murderer.

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

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

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

The box under the floorboards.

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

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

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

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

Twelve items.

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

“I should have hidden them better, eh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No one deserves that…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I… I don’t understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stared down at you for a moment, until realisation finally settled and his lips curled into a devilish grin.

“Tu sei una tentatrice, amore mio… (you are a temptress, my love…)” he whispered, lowering himself to your lips once again.

As you both lost yourself in another steamy kiss, you couldn’t help rolling your hips up to meet his. He hummed into your mouth, understanding that you wanted him completely, and reached between the two of you to grip himself. You spread your legs a little wider to make it easier for him, feeling how he prodded at your entrance once he’d lined himself up.

“Are you sure, amore?” he stopped to ask, and you nodded, biting your lip to contain the smile as you cupped his cheeks. With your permission, he slowly pushed forwards, filling you slowly as he glided through your slick. You fought to keep your eyes open, if only to watch the look of bliss that overcame his face – and boy was it worth it.

He looked so ethereal, like his pale skin had been carved by the finest of Greek sculptors in marble burdened with the curse of perfection. The chill of his skin did nothing to quell the burning heat of yours, finding the perfect balance.

“You’re so… warm,” he moaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck while he enjoyed the feeling for a moment. “Sembra fottutamente incredibile. (feels fucking incredible.)”

Given a moment to compose himself, he began to slowly rock his hips back and forth, gritting his teeth from the sensation alone. You would be the first to admit that he, too, felt incredible inside you, reaching places his fingers had only moments ago and sending waves of a dull pleasure through you once again at the embers of your last orgasm were being stoked.

His hand gripped your thigh and lifted it around his waist, obtaining a better angle and something for him to grip onto to stop his mind spiralling into sheer madness. Already, you were so difficult to resist; temptation was calling to him in the form of your steady, yet thundering pulse where his face lay against your neck. But if he lost himself, lost control like he was so terrified to, he was afraid resistance would fail him.

It was like torture. How could he feel so incredible pumping his length inside you while simultaneously experiencing the physical strain of holding his thirst back. You were his, he’d decided that long ago. But to truly make you his, all he would need to do was to give in, to sink his fangs into the skin he was peppering with kisses. He felt like a recovering addict desperately trying to resist as someone waved a hit under his nose. In some ways, that was exactly what he was.

But not yet. It was too soon. He had to resist for now, to let you make up your mind without ancient ritual influences before he allowed himself to truly make you his. He couldn’t bind himself to you, only for you to walk away when it all became too much, or hell forbid, you found someone more human to settle down with.

Instead, he focussed on the pleasure filling his cock as he pistoned in and out of you. He focussed on your pretty moans, and the way you clenched around him. He focussed on kisses to your neck instead of bites, groaning against your skin as he indulged in you. But too easily he lost himself, and soon he couldn’t help but drag his tongue from the bottom of your neck, to right underneath your ear.

You loved how it felt, completely oblivious to just how close you were to becoming a meal to him. To you it was simply another thing to drive you wild, and when you once again wrapped your fingers in his hair, your other arm pushing down on his back to pull him against you, you had no clue you were making it so much harder for him.

He kept suckling, licking, even nipping so gently at your neck – so fucking close to what he truly wanted as his instincts began to take over. He fought them as hard as he could snarling at himself in warning but still, you were oblivious to his internal fight and mistook his anguish for noises of pleasure.

Truly, he hadn’t meant to let it get this far; but when the sharp tip of his fang grazed just a little too close to where your pulse thundered against his tongue, and you writhed under him with a targeted hit to your g-spot, he nicked your skin just enough to draw the tiniest spec of blood… He hadn’t even noticed, your scent already filling his nose that he didn’t sense it intensify just a fraction until it was too late, and he’d laved his tongue over the graze.

It all happened too fast, then.

You were mid-moan when you felt an excruciating pain where his tongue had just been, the noise catching in your throat with a sudden choke. Your fingers naturally tightened in his hair, and your nails dug into the cold flesh of his back as a scream travelled its way through your ribcage and you couldn’t help but let it out. Your back arched and your muscles constricted, but Terzo’s hips never stopped and now that he’d got a taste of you – a real taste – he growled a visceral growl that you felt rumble in the pit of your stomach.

If he thought you’d tasted good between your legs, this was the most intensely delicious thing he’d ever had the pleasure of tasting. Such pure, untainted blood coated his tongue, dribbling down your neck as he ravished it. He’d known this was dangerous, that one bite would bind him to you for eternity after the first whiff of your scent when you moved in. But now that he’d tasted you, he couldn’t for the life of him remember why he’d fought so hard to stave off.

“T-Terzo, you-“ you tried to stop him, remembering how pained he’d looked when he explained why he really couldn’t do this, but it truly was too late. All it took was one drop. He cut you off with a hand clamping over your jaw, his other holding your hip in place with bruising force.

His hips never stopped, every sensation he felt only pushing him to fuck into you harder like a rabid monster. In that moment, that was exactly what he was. In that first split-second, he frightened you. You saw the side of him he’d tried so hard to hide, and coupled with the pain in your neck, your body flooded with adrenaline – which of course, only added to the sublime taste of your blood.

But like he had promised, the venom acted fast. The pain ebbed away into nothing but a sensation of being prodded and sucked at. Still you held onto him tightly, unable to deny that this was possible one of the most intimate feelings you’d ever felt, and the pleasure started to stack up.

Even to a point, where the rush of blood through the two puncture wounds in your neck became a pleasurable experience. You’d have trouble explaining just how, but it felt unbelievable, like a massage that tickled and sent endorphins flooding your mind. Little did you know, that was also the venom coursing through your body. But it didn’t matter, because coupled with Terzo’s cock thrusting against your g-spot it was the most glorious feeling in the entire world.

As you barrelled closer to a second orgasm, Terzo ripped his fangs from your neck and looked down at you beneath him. He had a look in his eye that was so predatory that you knew immediately you belonged to him now, whether you liked it or not. As luck would have it, you did like it; very much. That obsessive look, that ownership turned you on to a point that had you squealing for him beneath his hand.

Quickly, you reached your peak for a second time, holding him so tightly you thought that maybe even you would draw blood with your nails in his back. Just as that second burst of pleasure coursed through you, Terzo reattached himself to your neck, drinking in the newly sweetened blood that a rush of hormones created for him. If you could imagine the most expensive, and decadent wine you had ever tasted, it wouldn’t hold a candle to the taste of your blood to him right now.

Suddenly he lurched back again, this time removing his hands from your body and holding himself up, only to dive in and sink his fangs into the swell of your breast as it bounced with the force of each of his trusts. Again, you were met with pain the flooded your body but mixed with the high of your orgasm, you could only scream in pleasure. He drank from you again, kneading at your other breast as he too hurtled towards an orgasm.

The pain subsided quickly thanks to another dose of his venom, but he continued to drink from you, prolonging your euphoria just long enough for him to finally and violently reach his own high.

He erupted inside you, his head throwing back as he growled and lost his rhythm, pounding sloppily into you with each twitch of his cock. In your post-orgasm haze, you witnessed the look of bliss on his face, seeing for the first time the distinct red that coated his lips and dripped from his fangs down to his chin. He looked manic, but holy shit it was intensely erotic.

With the small amount of strength left in you, you sat up just enough to push your lips to his. You don’t know why you did it, or even that you had until you could taste the metallic twang of iron on your tongue. Terzo collapsed into you, wrapping his arms around you as he rolled to the side, taking you along with him. With the mess he created of your core, he slipped from inside you, now simply intent on holding you close while he processed that you were kissing him, despite being tainted with your blood. But it grounded him, and slowly, his orgasm subsided and his mind cleared of its fog.

Your kiss came to a natural end, the pair of you exhausted, and without a word you lay yourself on his chest, not bothering to wipe away the smears of blood around your own mouth as you caught your breath.

“I’m so sorry…” he whimpered, pulling you tighter against him and obscuring your view of his face so you wouldn’t have to witness the shame that settled there. You didn’t have the energy to speak, instead hoping that the circling of your thumb over the cool skin of his chest was enough comfort for now to show him you didn’t mind, that you’d wanted that as much as he had.

You let some time pass, calming yourselves down in each other’s arms. His grip on you lessened as the minutes passed, and eventually, you were able to look up at his face. To your shock and heartbreak, you noticed his cheeks were wet with something other than blood – Terzo was crying.

“Hey…” you soothed, shuffling further up the bed to hover above him. He covered his face with his hand, hiding himself but you pulled it away, cupping his cheek and swiping at the tear tracks. “No, no no… Stop this, it’s okay.”

“Mi dispiace tantissimo, (I’m so sorry,)” he cried, “I hurt you. I did the one thing I should never have done…”

“Shhh,” you hushed him like a newborn who couldn’t sleep, “I wanted that, remember? I told you you could.”

“You don’t understand, I… I have bound myself to you, and now, when you leave… it will devastate me,” he sobbed, staring straight up at the canopy of the large bed, unable to look you in the eye.

“What makes you think I will leave?” you asked him gently, still gently swiping his fresh tears away whilst fighting your own.

“Amore mio, I have lost everybody I have ever cared about,” he told you, finally looking you in the eye. “I have either outlived them, or watched as they turned their back on me. And now I have selfishly bound myself to you, knowing that I cannot ever let you go.”

His admission broke your heart. You certainly had no intention of going anywhere, the bond you now shared with him feeling strangely cemented and more intimate than any you’d had with another. But in the end, time would come for you just as it had the rest of his family, lying under the earth of your own back garden.

“How does someone… become like you?” you asked tentatively, absentmindedly, playing with the chest hair the covered his pecks.

Terzo’s brow creased in confusion. “Why would you ask such a thing? I couldn’t condemn you to a life like this…” After all he’d been through; the killings, loss, isolation, and even the exile he’d faced decades ago when the townspeople discovered what he was… He couldn’t put you in a position like that. He didn’t want you to become part of the dark legend of the Emeritus house, another spooky story passed from generation to generation to tell around campfires for years to come.

“Just tell me, how?” you pressed. He sighed, laying his head back on the pillow and staring back up at the canopy.

“You would need to drink the blood of my kind,” he stated simply, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “I could not ask that of you. The process is not an easy one, and to become like me is to be condemned to a life of heartache.”

You thought for a moment, acknowledging his concerns but deciding that whilst that had been his experience, it didn’t need to be yours. Not with him beside you – neither of you would need to be lonely ever again.

“I’m so sorry you’ve felt that heartache, but I believe that the two of us together could avoid that.”

He raised his head to look at you again, examining your face for a moment while he contemplated what some kind of future might look like with you.

“Perhaps not yet, I understand. But Terzo, I will prove that I intend on going nowhere. And when you feel like you might be ready to trust that, I’ll be waiting,” you promised him, cupping his jaw and stroking your thumb gently over his cheek. “Until then, I can be your very own personal supply, hm?” you smiled, “You won’t need to take a life, so long as you have me little and often, right?”

“You… would do that? For me?” his eyebrows creased together in question, truly in disbelief you would offer him such a thing.

“Mhm,” you nodded, “I mean as long as every time feels as incredible as that,” you giggled. “And besides, you’ll get a decent meal at least once a month,” you joked, lightening the mood a little with a cheeky smirk.

Terzo rolled his eyes with a laugh that vibrated his chest beneath you. He shook his head at the absurdity of your offer, no matter how technically practical that sort of arrangement would actually be to a man of his kind.

“Oh, amore… sei davvero una tentatrice (you really are a temptress)…” he grinned, leaning up to capture your lips in a sweet, blood-stained kiss.

A/N: Huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles for beta reading! If you'd like to leave me a tip, you can do so here.

If you'd like to read any of my other works, you can find them here.

#you’ll get a decent meal #hooowling in horny #the band ghost #ghost band #papa emeritus iii x reader

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tasty-ribz · 11 days

Text

Peanuts and Cracker Jacks

Secondo x Female Reader

Still lusting over Secondo in the ghaseball uniform so here's a sort of sequel to Sliding Home (which you don't have to read first) and some amazing art by @tasty-ribz. Happy late birthday Ribz! Love you bby 💙

Warnings: baseball talk, smutty fun in a locker room, nsfw 18+ only, mdni, 1600k words, not really beta read forgive me

“Why am I doing this again?”

“I told you,” You slapped his hands away when he reached up to adjust his ball cap. “It’s good pr, gets people curious about the chur–”

“You misunderstand. Why am I doing this again?” Secondo stood up and turned to look himself over in the mirror. “Couldn’t Terzo have taken a turn?”

“Well, I tried Terzo. Had Copia take him out onto the abbey grounds for a game of catch and everything.” When you were silent for a few moments Secondo turned your way with a raised eyebrow. “He, uh, broke one of the windows of Primo’s main greenhouse.”

“Ah. That’s why the old man was screaming the other day.”

“Yes. So that was a whole…thing. Imperator told me to send you again and well, here we are.”

You stood up with a flourish, your arms wide and a big smile on your face. It was clear Secondo wasn’t buying it. He clicked his tongue at you as he took a few steps closer.

“Imperator chose me, eh? Not her golden boy?”

“Copia was uh, busy. You know,” When Secondo closed the distance between you even further you gulped and started backing up. “Papa stuff.”

“Si, I do know of this ‘Papa stuff’.” He grinned when your back hit the wall and you let out a little yelp. “I think I know why I’m here and mio fratellino isn’t.”

“Terzo would’ve nailed someone in the head with a ball.”

“No, not him. Copia.”

“Copia was busy, as I said.”

“Wrong. Copia has been posting pictures of his rats on his private Instagram all morning.”

“Wait, he has a private Instagram? No one told me thi–”

Secondo’s finger on your lips shut you up. You couldn’t help but hold your breath as the man shifted even closer, one arm bracketing you. Like usual, having him so close overwhelmed your senses. His demeanor, his words, even his smell was pulling you in like always. You were absolutely enamored by him.

Especially with him in that uniform.

“I think, cara mia, that you asked Imperator to send me. Specifically.”

“That doesn’t seem like something I would do.”

Secondo flashed you a grin that had your stomach doing a little somersault. He leaned in close, his lips just barely flitting across your own before he moved them close to your ear, “You wanted to see me in this costume again.”

“It’s not a costume, it’s a uniform.” He snorted, the quick exhalation of breath on your ear making you jump. “And so what if I did,” Secondo pulled back far enough for you to see his face, an eyebrow once again raised as he regarded you. “Want to see you in this again? Is that so bad?”

“Non c’è male affatto. It’s bene. Good. But,” His lips were back on your ear, his body now pressing up against you. Your hands moved to grasp at the uniform top, your grip tightening when his tongue ran along the shell of your ear. “Next time just ask me, eh?”

You stumbled a bit when he abruptly backed away, your grip on his top the only thing keeping your wobbly legs from collapsing under you. There was a brisk knock at the door to the room and a voice called out that Secondo had ten minutes. He covered your hands with his, the black leather warm and soft like it always was. You suddenly felt like apologizing and opened your mouth to do so but he seemed to sense it. He shushed you while bringing your hands to his mouth and pressing kisses to each of your palms before letting them go and walking towards the door.

“Papa, wait!” He stopped and turned back towards you, his eyes darkening a bit when you began to slink his way. You reached towards him and straightened his sleeves, smoothing your hands down his chest next until your fingers rested on the buckle of his belt. “Mi dispiace, Papa. Shall I make it up to you?”

“If it pleases you.” His eyes focused on your mouth when you bit your bottom lip, your tongue immediately peeking out to soothe the sting. “It would certainly please me.”

“Let’s make it interesting. How about I reward you based on how you do out there?”

“How I do?”

“Yes,” You ran your hands back up his chest to rest on his broad shoulders. “Let’s say if you go out there and completely screw up you’ll only get a kiss.”

To demonstrate, and because you really wanted to kiss him, you pressed your lips to his, quickly pulling away when he tried to deepen it.

“Or?”

“Or, you could get the ball close to home plate and earn some kisses down here.” Secondo groaned when your hand massaged his cock through his pants. You were quick, not wanting to get him too riled up so he couldn’t even walk out there. His growl when you let go of him had you smiling and reaching up to kiss the tip of his nose. “Does that sound fair so far?”

“I suppose.” When another brisk knock and shout for Papa came at the door again you winked and pulled away. “What do I get if I throw it across the plate? A strike, yes?”

“If you manage a strike, Papa, I’ll let you do whatever the fuck you want to me.”

You stared at each other for a handful of seconds, both of you breathing a little heavier. Secondo was the first to break eye contact, swiftly turning and striding towards the door. When he yanked it open he looked back your way, a small smirk playing at his lips. The stadium assistant trying to usher him onto the field was making worried noises but Secondo ignored him.

“Be ready.”

With that he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him. You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding and sank down to sit on a bench. The distant roar of the crowd had you smiling and you began to pick some lint off your top.

“Play ball.”

“I don’t fucking believe it. Oh, oh right there.”

His thumb circled your clit again while two of his fingers curled inside of you, dragging along the spot that had you grinding down into them. Your clothes were already soaked from the warm water of the shower, sticking to both of you. Secondo’s cap was on the floor somewhere, along with his belt and your shoes. You couldn’t bring yourself to care that you didn’t have a change of clothes to leave the stadium in. All you cared about was that he kept doing that.

“What’s not to believe?” He pulled back far enough so he could take one of your breasts in hand, thumbing at your nipple through your top. “Didn’t think I could throw a strike?”

“No, no I did—oh, yes. Yes, please.”

“Which is it, dolcezza? No?” He smiled, tilting his head as he watched you lose your mind. “Or yes?”

“Yes, you bast–ah!”

Two fingers inside of you became three and he started to pump them in and out of you faster. Even over the falling water you swore you could hear them move through your wetness. In truth you had been wet all damn morning, the anticipation of seeing him in the baseball uniform again was too much. Your head fell back against the wall with a thunk and you watched him through half-lidded eyes. He looked equally a mess as you, the paint running down his face and disappearing down his neck. When he caught you looking he grinned and you were glad the wall was there to help hold you up.

“I’ve been practicing. Knowing you as I do I figured it was only a matter of time before you’d drag me to one of these stupid games again.”

“Baseball isn’t, ah fuck, stupid.”

“Demanding souvenirs and singing that stupid song about pretzels and Cracker Jacks.”

“It’s peanuts and Cracker Jacks you absolute snob–fuck, Papa please. I can’t—”

“You can. You can take this, my fingers fucking you.” He moved in close, the water dripping off his head onto yours, streaking your hair and face in black and white. “You’ll come on my fingers and then you’ll get on your knees and suck my cock.” He was grinning when you looked up at him sharply. “Whatever I wanted, remember?”

“Y-yes.”

“Bene. Molto bene.” He gripped your chin and dragged a thumb across your lips. “I want to come inside your pretty mouth before I come inside your cunt.”

His words coupled with his fingers knowing exactly what you needed had you coming almost immediately. The orgasm rippled through your body and you clung to him as his fingers continued to move inside of you, slower and slower. The water continued to beat down on you both as you took a few moments to collect yourself, eventually looking up to meet his eyes and to see him grinning once more.

“What is it?”

“On your knees, dolcezza.”

You took a quick breath and then obediently dropped, wincing when your knees touched the tile. When you glanced down to his belt quickly Secondo nodded and you went to work undoing it and opening his pants. His thick cock sprang forward, eager for your mouth. As your lips began to close around him he rested his hands on your head, stopping you from going any further. Confused, you pulled away, looking back up at him.

“Papa?”

“Just trying to think of the phrase. Ah,” He bit at his bottom lip like he was trying to hold in a laugh. You huffed, narrowing your eyes because you knew what he was going to say and you both loved and hated him for it. “Play ball.”

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

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#thank you loveee #i could play ball with him anytime he wants #papa emeritus ii x reader #papa emeritus ii #i love you oaaak

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tasty-ribz · 19 days

Text

Peppermint Oil & Kisses

You only have to take one closer look to see exactly what the reason for his foul mood is. The makeup around his temples is smudged, as is the paint around the bridge of his nose when he regards you under droopy eyelids. “Headache again?” Or: Secondo had a long day– you're ready to take care of your Papa.

content: 1.6k words, gn!reader, hurt/comfort, non-sexual intimacy, showering together, established relationship, domestic fluff, lots of pampering for your papa ♡

Masterlist – Ao3 link

A swell of Italian curses, muffled by the heavy oak door. The keys jangle as he misses his target multiple times, the wood groaning painfully as he leans against it before trying again. When the lock finally springs open, Secondo enters your shared quarts with a sigh that seems to carry the combined weight of every burden in the world.

“Hello, my love,” you greet him from the couch, pulling your legs up to make room for him.

He grumbles what seems to be a greeting as he pulls at his robes with impatient, unusually clumsy fingers. When he misses the hook on the coat rack the fabric falls to the floor, emerald green and black pooling at his feet. He heaves another sigh.

“Oh, you’re especially grumpy today, hm?” You only have to take one closer look to see exactly what the reason for his foul mood is. The makeup around his temples is smudged, as is the paint around the bridge of his nose when he regards you under droopy eyelids. “Headache again?”

“Hmph.”

“Oh, heavy is the head that wears the mitre,” you mumble when he sinks down on the sofa beside you, weighty like a rock sinking into the ocean. “Is it very bad?”

“Hmph.”

“That’s because you’re too stubborn to take your meds in time before it gets like this,” you chide, even though your voice is still gentle, wrapping a supportive arm around his shoulders. “You always think you can push through by sheer force of will.”

“Hmph.”

You press a soft kiss to his temple and he leans against you, resting his weary head against your lips. “It’s okay to need a little help, my love.”

“I have you for that, no? You always take such good care of your Papa.”

“Well, not even I can just magically rub away your headache.”

He tuts, squeezing your thigh with his gloved fingers. “That depends on where you’re rubbing, hm?”

You chuckle, cradling his head against you and peppering his skin with more kisses. “I don’t think you’re up for that tonight, darling. But I can rub some of Primo’s peppermint oil on your temples if you would like?”

“Per favore.”

More kisses and he grows heavier by the second. His black eyelids are closed now, long lashes tickling the skin just below as they flutter with every gentle touch. “Let’s get you cleaned up before you fall asleep. I will take care of dinner today and you can take a little nap.”

He gives a dissatisfied hum. “Amore, we are making Cacio e Pepe tonight.”

“So? I helped you prepare it many times and it’s not that difficult.”

You can immediately tell that the idea displeases him. His brows pull together even more than in their relaxed state and his lips curl ever so slightly at the edges. This is the closest you will ever get to an actual pout from him and you have to fight off an amused smile.

“You don’t have to worry that I won’t need you anymore,” you whisper. “I will always prefer being your kitchen helper, my love.”

“I’m not wo–” You shut him up with a proper kiss and he practically melts into it. The smudged make up tastes bitter when you lick along his full lips. Secondo sighs, teasing your tongue with his for a moment before he pulls away. “Va bene. But you will join your Papa for his nap.”

“I will join you until you fall asleep.”

He frowns again but you don’t allow him to complain. Instead you stand and pull him up with you towards the bedroom. Darkness wraps around you, blinding you until you turn on the lamp on his bedside table that he uses for his late night reading. Two hefty tomes reside there with his reading glasses folded neatly on top, though you assume he won’t have any need for those tonight.

“Let’s get you showered,” you say instead, noting that he’s already removing his clothes.

You help him with the buttons on his black dress shirt when his fingers, usually so dextrous, start to fumble unsuccessfully. It feels intimate every time, to help him when he is truly in need of you, a man so proud of his independence and autonomy allowing you to see his vulnerable moments.

Once you reveal his chest, you permit your fingers to feel him. Combing through the dense hair, you lightly scratch his skin in the way you know he enjoys before you you push the fabric from his shoulders. Placing your lips over his clavicle, you leave a trail of featherlight kisses along the sensitive skin that stretches over the bone.

“Amore,” Secondo whispers.

“I love you.”

He smiles, tilting your chin up so you can see the softness in his eyes. “As I love you, my dove.”

You steal a tender kiss and finally lead him to the bathroom. Before you send him into the shower you remove the bulk of his face paints with make up wipes, then rub some of the cleansing oil into his skin to loosen the rest from his pores. For once he allows you to pamper him without much fuss, without insisting on giving back or complaining that he can do it himself.

“Join me, amore,” he says when you turn on the water, setting it to a medium temperature.

You don’t question him, instead your heart swells with love. You’re willing to do whatever he asks of you when he is like this, when you feel so needed and loved.

While he rinses off the rest of his paints you undress and then join him, the water immediately relieving all of the tension in your body. You begin to lather each other gently, washing off the remnants of your respective days. When you reach his shoulders you begin to massage him with gentle hands, making sure to adjust the pressure to his liking. His body feels stiffer than usual, the tension of a day spent working through his pain only slowly kneaded from his weary muscles. Every so often he moans in relief, closing his eyes when you reach a particularly cramped spot and you make sure to press a kiss to every single one of them.

Back in the bedroom, you put on some comfortable clothes and drag Secondo’s old Iron Maiden shirt over his head that is littered with more holes than you can count. He refuses to get rid of the old piece out of sentimentality as Primo got it for his thirtieth birthday decades ago. Secondo snakes his arms through the designated holes before they wrap around you, pulling you in for a deep kiss that he sinks into with a sigh. His body weighs heavy against yours. You have to use all your strength to stay upright but do your best to provide him with all the comfort he needs. It is rare that he so openly seeks it, that his guard is let down all the way.

You’re grateful that he lets you see it all now – how he can’t sleep through the nights anymore, how he winces and holds his lower back after getting up in the morning, the way he squints without his reading glasses and the frequent headaches after hours of paperwork. It doesn’t come easy to him. He used to try and hide it until you slowly wormed your way beyond his walls with a heating pad and ibuprofen at hand. He is not even close to accepting that he can’t stay young forever but at least he allows himself a few simple comforts by now. The rest will come in time.

“Now sit. I’ll fetch the peppermint oil.”

He squeezes your hip, raising a brow at your commanding tone. You smile cheekily and press a kiss to his jaw, noting that the corners of his mouth have lifted as well. While he sits down on the bed you retrieve the vial of oil from your bedside table. Dabbing some of it onto your fingers you begin to rub it into the skin of his temples, then his forehead. Secondo’s eyes close and he hums with relief at the gentle massage. You continue even after the oil has fully sunk in, revelling in the way his features relax as the pain recedes. He looks better now, but still incredibly tired.

After you thoroughly wash your hands, you join Secondo in bed, finding that he’s already half-asleep. He rouses enough to notice you and reflexively pulls you close, dragging you halfway across the mattress. You shift onto your back with him in your arms, allowing him to rest his head on your chest. As you gently run your fingers over his scalp, he releases a heavy but content sigh that tickles your skin. Quiet settles in the room and you can feel your own tiredness overwhelming you with every calm breath you take.

“We could always eat the Cacio e Pepe tomorrow,” you suggest. “I know you’re not a fan of take out but–”

“A splendid idea, amore,” Secondo grumbles. “We will order the take out.”

You smile as you close your eyes, continuing to stroke his head to help him fall asleep a little faster. In return, his fingers draw a circular pattern over your hip, never straying from your body for more than a second. Soon he starts to snore, his soft and steady exhales lulling you to sleep as well.

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

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#awww a grumpy baby #i want to take him in my arms #and kiss this dumbass bald head.#papa emeritus ii x reader #secondo x reader #papa ii x reader #papa emeritus ii

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tasty-ribz · 21 days

Note

Can I also ask for Primo and „whispering in-between kisses“? You know what types of kisses 👀

I know the exact kind of kisses you want. It's time to worship that old man.

What You See I Primo x gn!reader

~ Primo needs you to tell him what you see when you look at him ~

(1800 words, fluff, angst, body worship, some spice, nsfw, 18+ only, not beta read)

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

“Amore, what do you see when you look at me?”

You set your brush down onto your vanity and turned sideways in the chair to look at Primo.

“I see someone that was supposed to be dressed ten minutes ago.”

Usually Primo enjoyed your teasing and he often teased you back. It was an easy banter between two people that had known each other for many years. Looking at Primo right now though it was clear he was not in a teasing mood. He sat down heavily on the side of your bed, a long sigh exhaling out of him.

“That is not what I mean.” There was a tone to his voice you didn’t normally hear and it made you get up to head his way. You held your bathrobe together and quietly padded over to stand before him. Primo was staring down at his hands in his lap, wringing them together nervously, so you dropped to your knees and slipped your hands into his to stop the movement. “Tell me the truth.”

You pulled his hands towards you and placed kisses into each of his palms before looking up at him. He met your gaze now, his eyes searching yours for an answer.

“I see the man I’ve admired for many years and loved for many more.” Primo snorted and pulled his hands away with enough force you fell back on your butt. “Hey, what’s going on with you?”

“That is not what I asked.” He stood up and then reached down to you, gently grasping your elbows and pulling you to your feet. You let out another ‘hey’ when he tugged you over to the windows that overlooked his garden. Primo squeezed your hands and then let go of one to grasp your chin. “Now, look at me and tell me what you see.”

You pulled away from his hands and then placed yours on his shoulders. With a firm shove you got him to fall into the chair behind him and climbed after him. You straddled him, your knees on either side of his legs. He wouldn’t meet your eyes so you used his own move on him and took a hold of his chin.

“I see someone that is tired from all of his years of working hard for this church.” His mismatched gaze met yours then and your heart clenched at the look in his eyes. You leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on his forehead before moving down to kiss the soft, puffy skin under each eye. “You never get enough sleep because you’re up too late worrying about your brothers.”

The only answer you got was a soft nod and you smiled at him before kissing the tip of his nose. Your lips trailed from there to where the skin next to his mouth where he had wrinkles from smiling and then further down to where it had begun to sag.

“My Papa is getting older and his face shows it. His body shows it.” You kissed along his chin and then made your way down his neck, whispering into the wrinkled skin there when you stopped again. “Can I keep going, Papa? Can I show you what else I see?”

You felt him nod above you so you slipped your hands into his robe and pushed it off his shoulders. He was bare underneath and you took a moment to admire the body you had been intimately familiar with for many years now. When you started kissing him again you made your way from his neck across to his shoulder.

“Your skin has seen too much sun, Papa. Look at all these freckles.” To illustrate the amount he had you made sure to kiss each one you saw. You made a mental note to be more forceful with sunscreen next time he went out in his garden. Down his arm you went, finally holding his hand up between you so you could both look at the rough skin on the back. A few of his knuckles were misshapen, arthritis having begun to set into his joints many years ago. “I can tell that these hands have done so much.”

“Like what?”

Primo’s voice was quiet and shaking slightly. You were afraid to look into his eyes because if you saw tears there you would end up crying too. He needed you to be strong right now and you refused to let him down.

“Your hands have held onto so many others here, guiding them onto their path within the church…leading them in prayer…pulling them from the lake during their unholy baptism.” A thought crossed your mind and you couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I’ve seen this hand slap Secondo on the back of the head when he misbehaved as a child.”

“Or as a grown man.”

It was good to hear Primo laugh and you chanced a look at his face. His eyes shone with unshed tears and he sniffed when he saw the same in your eyes. He brought his free hand over and caught one when it started to trail down your cheek.

“I remember you holding Terzo’s hand when his mother passed away, how you carried him around the garden so he could pick flowers to take to her grave each week.” You grabbed his other hand when he tried to wipe your tears away again. “And I remember when you stormed up to Nihil and took Copia from his arms.”

“That old fool wasn’t cut out to be a father.”

“No he wasn’t, but you were.” You placed his hands on the arms of his chair and leaned forward to place a kiss on his chest over his heart. His chest hair was more white than blonde now, much like the hair on his head before he had begun to shave it, but it was still soft to the touch. For a moment you rested your ear against him, listening to his strong heartbeat. “You’ve been there for all of your brothers and helped them to become the men they are today.”

He took a deep breath under your ear and you could tell he was trying very hard to control his emotions. You weren’t done though, because deep down you knew what his biggest worry was when he started this conversation. Very slowly you turned your head so that your lips were against his skin and you kissed a trail to his nipple. You flicked your tongue against it before pulling it between your lips and nipping at it softly with your teeth.

“Amore…”

“Hush Papa, I’m not done.” You moved to his other nipple and gave it the same amount of attention before going lower to where his skin had started to pull down with age. The wrinkles here were larger, the skin soft and warm against your lips. Primo jumped when your tongue left a wet trail across his chest. “When I look at you Primo, when I touch you, I see a man that has aged beautifully.”

Your mouth moved to the center of his chest and you slid off his lap to rest on your knees before him. The robe was easy to pull off his lap and now he was completely bare before you. His cock was still soft, but that didn’t surprise you. It didn’t bother you either. You placed your hands on his knees and then slid them up his thighs, resting where they met his waist. Primo abruptly dropped his hands to cover yours and gave them a squeeze.

“Not tonight, I don’t think, amore. Too much going on in this old head.”

You smiled and moved closer to him, shouldering his legs further apart.

“It doesn’t make a difference to me either way. Do you know why?” Primo shook his head, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp as you leaned forward and started to mouth along his soft cock. “Because I still see the man I love no matter what is happening here.”

Even soft his cock was long and you took it as deep as you could, the tip reaching well into your mouth. You tongued the underside, pulling back so you could press it against his slit. His thighs had begun to shake under your hands and you heard him groan above you. As you bobbed up and down a few times you let out a little moan when you felt him finally twitch in your mouth. With a smile you pulled off, a string of saliva lingering from your lips to the tip as you moved away. Primo pulled a hand out from under yours and rubbed his thumb against your bottom lip, smearing your saliva around.

“Shall I keep going Papa?” He gave you a quick nod, taking a deep breath as you mouthed along the side of his cock. It twitched again, slowly filling out as you gave it attention. You licked the drop of precum that started to leak at the tip and then looked up to see him watching you. “Will you tell me now? Will you tell me what you see when you look at me?”

He brought his hands up to cup your face, smiling softly as he pulled you close enough to slip his cock into your mouth once more.

“I see someone that is more beautiful than any flower in my garden.” Primo grunted as he began to thrust in and out of your mouth, his cock nearly fully hard. “Someone that has never left my side, that ah! Cazzo. Someone that…someone that I love more than anything.”

His moans started to mix with your whimpers as he moved faster, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat with every thrust now. There was so much more you wanted to say. So much more that he needed to hear but you didn’t want to stop him. You wanted him to fill your mouth with his cum, you wanted to swallow everything he gave you.

Primo’s fingers began to dig harder in your hair as his cock started to kick in your mouth. It wasn’t long before he nearly doubled-over as he came. Your mouth filled with his release and you did your best to swallow it all, lapping at his cock to clean off what you could. When he pulled out you kept your lips wrapped around him until you pulled off with a soft pop. He was looking at you like you were the only other person in his world and you found your eyes filling with tears again when he spoke softly to you.

“In you, amore, I see someone that I will worship until my final days. If you’ll let me.”

“Forever, Papa.”

He chuckled, wiping the mixture of saliva and his release off your chin before leaning in to press his forehead against yours.

“Forever.”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

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#hes a soft baby #and i love him #and youuu

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tasty-ribz · 22 days

Text

cemetery stroll - werewolf!secondo x reader - part 3

a/n: belated birthday gift for @tasty-ribz!! werewolf secondo is back baby and he is HUNGRY.

about 2.5k words. sexy smut. mdni. 18+! part one / part two. ao3 link.

“Jeff! Shut the fuck up!” Shauna elbows him in the ribs. He laughs and shrugs her off, placing one hand on her shoulder and giving her a strong push. She falls off the tree stump where they were sitting on onto the wet leaves. “Dickhead!”

“Can you guys relax?” Colin huffs from the other side of the fire. They do not relax, instead Shauna launches herself into Jeff’s lap and starts to tickle his sides. “I’m trying to tell a spooky story!!” Colin whines in protest then angrily throws his marshmallow on a stick into the flames. Jeff forcefully removes Shauna from his lap and sits her down beside him.

“Fine, man. Relax” He shrugs and shoves his hands into his sweatshirt pocket. “Tell your story and quick so we can get back to having fun.” Shauna giggles behind him while Colin gives an exasperated sigh.

“There’s supposedly creatures that roam these woods. People go missing all the time. They tried to build houses just outside the woods but the structures would end up rotted out as soon as they were put up.” Colin sounds almost uninterested, his gaze drifting to look at the darkness behind them. “Legend says that witches inhabit these woods… the creatures are their pets and they abduct people and use their bones for the brews.”

“Psh. Boring.” Jeff throws a stick into the fire.

“It’s not witches, though. You know that old building right at the edge of the woods?”

“The Satanic Church?” Shauna asks.

“The… I mean yes, but it’s not… it’s not actually a satanic church is it?” Colin is thrown off.

“No, that’s true.”

“What? No way.

“Yeah. It is a Satanic Church or something but they’re nice, ya know. They, like, donate food to the homeless and stuff. They’re good people.” Shauna kicks a few leaves at her feet.

“Oh.” Colin sinks into his folding chair. “Well never mind then.” He crosses his arms and sits in silence.

This is a bummer of a camping trip for all of them it seems. They don’t last much longer, with Shauna and Jeff retiring early to the tent while Colin stays in his chair to watch the fire go out and having to listen to the two of them screw around. He’s not particularly happy with being the third wheel but this time alone makes it all the worth it. He starts to doze off as the night drags on, the fire taking its time… or is something keeping it alight? No, no… that’s Colin’s creeped out brain talking. It’s definitely because they put an ungodly amount of lighter fluid onto the firewood.

A twig snaps in the distance that makes Colin’s hair stand on end. His surroundings are pitch black except for the fire. Wide awake now but he’s sure it’s nothing. That is… until he hears more rustling that only grows closer and closer with each passing second.

“Hello?”

Dead silence.

Colin sinks further into his camping chair and returns his gaze to the fire. A few peaceful moments pass.

And then he sees it. A pair of glowing eyes from the darkness right by the tent. He blinks and they’re gone, only for his attention to be diverted to the tent rustling with the wind. Or so he thinks. Colin watches as the tent is ripped open in front of him, blood spattering onto his glasses. His chair tips over as he screams, the sounds of flesh tearing and his friends’ gurgles filling the night air around them. He scrambles to his feet and makes the mistake of looking behind him.

He’s never seen anything like this. True terror.

The creature roars, its claws and snout bloodied from eating poor Shauna and Jeff. Their bones crunch beneath the beast’s feet, fur blowing in the gentle wind of the night. Its eyes are fixated on Colin, stalking closer to him. It’s on hind legs Colin chokes on his own breath, his chest tight and he turns on heel to run. Despite having a head start, he can hear the monster’s thundering paws against the ground growing closer and closer. Tears run down his face, taking frantic breaths and babbling prayers to save him from the certain doom that is gaining on him.

This is so fucked up.

You angrily stomp onto a branch, crushing it beneath your heel. It’s been hours of you shouting and wandering throughout the woods, completely off the beat and path that you are used to. The usual comforting sounds of the forest at night send chills down your spine. He’s out there. Hunting. Stalking his unknowing prey. You think back to when you were his prey and how that night changed your life. It’s hard to think that it’s already been a month since then. The time was spent getting to know Secondo, fitting yourself into his busy life as Papa and yet — the two of you have never discussed what brought you together.

The Beast.

It had lept off the roof like it was nothing and tore off into the night with inhuman speed. Mid-transformation and all. Perhaps what struck you the most is that it did not even look back at you. Unfounded jealousy could not be contained. Shouldn’t he want to be with you? Even as a bloodthirsty beast? Worst of all, he could be eating someone right now and not in the fun way.

You’ve searched for hours but haven’t come across anything. No tracks, no fur — certainly no screams for help. Hope dwindles. Last ditch effort. You plant your feet on the ground and bring your hands up to your mouth as you howl. You feel foolish but there is nothing else to try. The woods are too large for you to search alone and you are starting to feel the chill of the night in your bones. Another howl explodes from your throat, sounding desperate and raw. You just want him back home with you so he doesn’t hurt anybody. Yes. That’s the main reason. Not that you keep getting cockblocked, this time by the MOON, and if you don’t get to fuck Secondo soon you might explode. Not that at all. You lean against a nearby tree and give it one last shot, one more yowl from deep in your chest.

The monster’s ears prick up, eyes widening and pupils dilated while still remaining fixed on his prey. Colin runs directly into a tree, smashing his nose in the process and stumbles to the ground. He gives a pathetic screech, scrambling backwards but he backs against the solid tree trunk. It snarls and gets on all fours, its cackles raising and snarling deep in its throat. This is it. This is the end. It opens its mouth, bloodstained teeth glistening in the dim light of the moon, and he can feel the foul stench of the beast’s breath in his nostrils. Colin squeezes his eyes shut and presses himself into the tree as far as he possibly can, bracing himself for his fate. There’s more howling off in the distance that makes his blood run cold. He can’t believe he’s going to die on this miserable camping trip — he didn’t even want to go, but was convinced half-heartedly by Jeff. Oh, poor Jeff and Shauna… Colin is babbling crazily to himself when his own morbid curiosity forces him to peek open one eye.

He’s alone.

The wind changes, whipping and whistling. The hair on the back of your neck stands up straight. You shudder but force yourself to walk into the nearby clearing, a full view of the moon. There’s eye on you, you can feel it. Bushes rustle, twigs snap, and something rumbles behind you. Turning around — it’s there and it looks worried. Brows are knitted, head tilted and one ear up while the other is flopped down. It’s almost cute… until you notice the blood smeared along its snout and down its chest. Guilt twists in your stomach. You are too late.

The monster… Secondo inches closer, giving a dramatic huff to pull you from your thoughts. Blinking, you reach out to him, offering your hand. Is this even a good idea? There’s always a chance he could… even after him claiming you. Always quick to assume the worst, you offer a sigh of relief as he presses the side of his face into your palm. His fur is impossibly soft, fingers combing through down his thick neck. The Beast moves in closer, affectionately pressing his head against your chest. You’re overwhelmed with a sense of love for him as your arms curl around him, buried deep in his fur.

“Stay with me tonight. Please.” The words spill out of you, a desperate plea. You’re nearly trembling now that he’s here in your arms and you won’t let go. Not now. Not ever. Secondo whines against your chest, huffs and sweeps you off of your feet. You tumble against his chest as cradles you in his arms and sinks down to the ground. He has your back pinned against his chest, fuzzy arms curled around you and your head tucked beneath his chin. “Ohhhh.” You can’t help it, an immense feeling of comfort and safety washing over you. Warmth spreads deep in your core, face flushed and you wiggle further into his grasp. His heartbeat starts to slow, breathing growing deeper until the snores start.

Sleep takes you both.

You wake up in Secondo’s strong arms wrapped tightly around you, his hips sleepily rocking into you, his half hard cock against your backside. This is new. A soft sigh leaves your lips as you stir beside him. He growls in your ear, his teeth just grazing your lobe and he grinds into you. Hands press against your chest, fingers tips just at your throat as his tongue slithers along your neck. Fuck. You huff, arousal growing deep inside you, and wriggle in his grasp, turning your head to see him. His eyes still glow a faint yellow but that’s all you’re able to see before he crashes his mouth against yours, one of his large hands cradling the side of your face. It’s frantic, messy, like he can’t get enough of you and your taste. There’s blood on his lips and you taste it on his tongue, moaning into the kiss as you continue to squirm your body in his tight grasp. He pulls away, his eyes wide once your chest to chest with him but his hands roam all over your body, grabbing and pinching as his hips continue to cant forward, cock throbbing against your stomach. Secondo’s paint is smeared with red dried blood around his lips and more trails down his thick chest hair. There’s nothing but love and lust in his eyes behind the yellow glow.

“Little bird…” Ragged breath, almost a whine. “Need you so badly.” Secondo buries his face in your neck, biting you hard enough to leave a bruise. Hurts so good. A jolt courses through your body, his bite igniting something primal within you. His hand drops from your face and grabs your hip, fingers pressing hard into where he marked you beneath the fabric of your sweatshirt. You shudder beneath him and start to feverishly tug your shirt up. An animalistic growl rips from him as he pins you to the soft, wet ground and lowers himself to mouth along the scars from his jagged teeth on your newly revealed abdomen. Arching your back, you push your sweats and under down while he trails kisses along your stomach, hungry eyes meeting yours. Secondo rides your sweatshirt up even further, nipping and licking up your stomach and moves his large hands to cup you by the ribs.

“Fuck.” You gasp as his mouth closes around your nipple, sucking the tender flesh with a groan. Pants around your ankles, you kick them off and part them so he can slot himself between you, his cock angled to slide along your slick folds. Blood and paint smears along your breasts as he buries his face between them, his groan vibrating through your chest. Secondo tips his head up to look at you and he’s completely wrecked already, eyelids heavy and eyes glazed over in pure bliss. Your one hand rests on his cheek, thumb wiping away some of his paint and he essentially purrs, shifting up your body so he can look into your eyes and settle himself between your legs. “Fill me. Fill me, please.” You pant into his ear then nibble on the shell of it with a whine.

Secondo can hardly contain himself, a husky groan pouring from his chest. He guides the tip of his cock to your entrance and moves his hand to dig into your ass as he pushes himself inside. Your walls flex around him, fingernails digging into his shoulders, your eyes squeezing shut and lips parting in a silent moan as he deliciously fills you. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s him but he’s in **some sort of in between, not quite Papa and not quite the Beast — but all passion. Even when the Beast took you, he didn’t have this look in his eye like you’re all that matters, all that ever mattered. Devotion. You’re high off of it. Every thrust is a step closer to oblivion. You bury your face against him, drinking him in as you plant wet, open-mouthed kisses up and down his neck.

This is where you’re meant to be. This is where you were always meant to end up. Your destiny.

You climax rips through you, crying out as you see stars and clench around his thick cock. A savage growl and Secondo’s right there with you, filling you up just as you asked him to. He turns to you, his forehead pressed against yours and a hand cupping your cheek as he pants. A moment passes, the both of you catches your breath before he gives you a tender kiss and climbs to his feet.

You sit up and run your fingers through your hair to brush the leaves out of it. There’s a chill in your bones but you instantly warm up as he reaches out to you to help you off the ground. A sleepy smile on his face, content in a way you’ve never seen him before. You can’t help but smile as you take his hand and he tugs you to your feet with ease, draping his arm around your waist.

“Eh… next time we will use the bed, si?”

“Yeah… yeah, next time. Like later today?”

#thank you babygiiirl #i love werewolf secondo so much #i would pet him in 1000 different ways #if you know what i mean #win wink

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tasty-ribz · 22 days

Text

Give Me Your Best Copper Kiss Chapter 2

AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Dark Cardinal Copia x Dark Reader

You have been invited to meet the Cardinal in his office and you will finally be able to show him that you are everything he needs.

(Please check the tags on AO3 if you aren’t sure about darker themes. No one comes out of this story looking particularly good. You have been warned)

You wake up the next morning more content then you can ever remember. During the night you had been gifted more visions by the Dark Lord of you by your Cardinals side. Him leading mass in papal paints and vestments you by his side, all the other siblings bowing and scraping at your feet as you lead the Ministry to ever greater heights. You rise quickly eager to get the day underway. The sooner it starts the sooner the time of your meeting will arrive.

You pass through the day in a haze barely paying attention to anything or anyone around you. After tonight all this will all be beneath you. Never again will you be banished to the draughty corner of the library. Never again will you be forced to engage with the prattle of the siblings. At dinner your attention is caught by the sister from the previous evening. Her little gang is crowded around her in an almost protective manner. She looks meeker than usual and you can't help a shiver of satisfaction at seeing her and knowing what had brought her so low. Your Cardinal is absent from dinner this evening but you can see her looking around as if expecting him to approach her again.

As if that was likely. Your Cardinal had taken what he wanted from her and with your meeting imminent he would hardly have a use for that sister again. You try to distract yourself but dinner seems to drag, just an obstacle keeping you away from your Cardinal. But you persevere so as not to give him an advantage over you. Arriving at his office early would not give the impression you desired.

A few minutes before the designated time you begin to make your way to the clergy offices. You keep your steps measured but purposeful. You are going to meet your destiny and anyone who should see you should be able to tell. You approach his door filled with a sense of calm. You raise your hand to knock but the sounds from within stay your hand. Sister Imperators voice is distinct but what she is saying lights a fire inside you.

'Everything is set in motion Cardinal. You must be ready to ascend as soon as …' The rest of what she says is drowned out by the buzzing sound in your ears. If he is to ascend that could only be to the role of Papa. You couldn't believe how easily things were falling into place. You were the Dark Lord's chosen companion for the future Papa Emeritus IV.

Their meeting must have ended while you were lost in your thoughts and you fail to notice the door opening until you are face to face with Sister Imperator.

'It seems you have a visitor, Cardinal.' You snap back to attention, bowing your head to the Sister. Aside from your Cardinal she was the only other person in the ministry that had earned your respect with her dedication.

She gives you a cursory glance, one eyebrow raised in question looking between yourself and your Cardinal before stepping through the door allowing you to enter the office. She closes the door behind her but not before giving the Cardinal a look that makes him roll his eyes. In that moment he almost looks like a teenager being scolded by a parent.

He was sat behind his desk slouched in his chair. His usually perfectly smoothed back hair is falling out if place as through he had been running his fingers through it in frustration. You can sympathise. He must be eager to take control to set the clergy on the right course. So little had changed since he first arrived despite his efforts but now you would be able to help. Help him fulfil the Dark Lord's purpose, help him bring the rest of the Ministry into line, but also help ease his tension.

'You seem frustrated Cardinal.' He looked up at you where you stood on the opposite side of his desk. You glanced at the chair just vacated by Sister Imperator but decided against taking a seat. Instead you slowly moved to his side, opting to lean against the desk between his splayed legs. He had pushed his chair back so far that there was almost an appropriate amount of space between you. You hoped that wouldn't be the case for long.

Your intention had been to just talk with him this evening. You wanted him, desperately, especially after what you had witnessed the previous evening but you had wanted show him you weren't like the others. So caught up in their petty sinning they lost sight of the greater purpose. But being alone with him for the first time, it is affecting you more than you anticipated. You have been aroused since the door was closed and a hook in your chest was pulling you to get closer and closer to him. It could only be the influence of your Dark Lord so you allow yourself to succumb. Who are you to disobey his will?

Your Cardinals eyes followed you but he didn't respond yet. He did enjoy making you work for him but you were up to the task. 'Perhaps you should have made more use of that slut yesterday. She would have done anything you asked, begged for it in fact.' You can see your words affect him as he shifts in his chair and the corner of his mouth pulls up in a cruel smirk.

'I think I used her well enough. She didn't deserve to receive anymore from me then she did. She didn't take her punishment with grace but perhaps you can help relieve me now si?.' You hadn't been prepared for the intensity of his mismatched gaze. He has you entirely enthralled and you can't help moving closer at his suggestion.

Before you really register you are standing over him as close as you can get without crawling into his lap. You look down hardly believing that you are finally here and you can see the outline of his hard cock straining to be released from his already tight trousers. You knew he felt the same as you and it is gratifying to see the physical evidence.

You reach forward and slide your fingers into his hair, smoothing the out of place strands back into place and he shivers subtly at the contact. You kneel either side of his legs straddling his lap but not quite resting against him fully yet. You can't take your eyes off of his as you lean down and bring your faces closer and closer. You are so close now you are breathing each other's air and the tension is so thick you can't move. So he does and something in you snaps.

He bites your lip. Hard. And your mouth fills with the taste of copper. You seal your lips over his and let him taste it too. You feel entirely base in this moment, only moving on animal instinct. You rip his shirt open to get access to more skin and drag your nails across his chest and feel him hiss into your mouth only pulling away to admire the criss cross of red lines you left behind. While you're distracted he gets a hold on your hair pulling your face back level with his.

‘You're a wild little puttana, eh?’. He slaps you. Hard. And you feel another break in the skin of your mouth. You think about what you must look like, blood stained teeth bared in a part snarl part grin. You stare into his wild eyes sure he must be feeling this too. Like you are finally whole, like you can finally fulfil your potential.

‘You want me to fuck you si?' You saw the Sorella getting my cock and you want some for yourself?’ He’s trying to make you beg like that pathetic girl did. But no, you do not beg and he will give you what you want and it will be so much more than what he gave to that pathetic little sister.

‘You are going to fuck me Cardinal and then we will become one.’ He pulls back from you slightly but you are already zeroing in on his erection and trying to free it from his trousers.

Your hands reach for the fastenings as he lets go of your hair to try and grasp your wrists and halt your progress. ‘You think you have earned it? The Sorella begged for me.’ You twist your arms and manage to free one hand to continue your progress. You laugh at him, like there are any similarities between you and her.

You have never felt so exhilarated by a partner before. Every time you push he pushes right back in a constant battle of wills but it is just causing the heat inside of you to burn hotter and hotter as if your impending union was taking place in the fires of Hell itself.

‘I need to earn nothing. I am not some simpering sister and I will not beg. I take what I want, Copia.’ His trousers are open finally and you pull him out. His cock looks even better up close and you can’t wait any longer. You use your hand to work him quickly, spitting into your palm to help ease the way. A part of you wants it to hurt though you had always found a certain amount of pain made the pleasure all the sweeter.

He is fighting you again for control. The wrist still caught in his grasp ends up twisted behind you as he pulls you against him trying to limit your movements but you still have enough leverage to sink down onto him using your free hand to line his cock up to your entrance.

Once he is buried to the hilt he relinquishes your arm but moves his biting grip to your hips in an attempt to control your movements from there. You resist his guidance as much as you can trying to adjust to the stretch and relish in the intense pleasure and pain you are experiencing. You lean down to press a bruising kiss to his mouth as you start to move half expecting him to resist you but he opens up pushing his tongue into your mouth.

The tussle for power sends you into a frenzy. This is why you were brought here, why the Cardinal was brought here, what the Dark Lord had planned for you all along. To find your equal. Equally as powerful, equally as devout and equally as ruthless The way you were instantly drawn to him it was the only possible explanation. The things you could achieve together. If any could achieve the lofty goals of the Clergy it was the two of you. Successfully dominating the world in a way you were unable to dominate each other.

While your mind had been racing you had been riding him slowly, deeply feeling him rearrange you from the inside. The only way you would ever submit to him. You see the frustration building behind his eyes and you want to break his control.

‘Move’ he growls. It’s not going to take much so you don’t bother to reply. You stare at him, definitely maintaining your slow steady rock. It’s not enough for you either but you are not going to be the first to crack. He lets out another guttural sound and you know it won't be long now.

And then he is pushing up from the chair slamming you back into the desk. You feel all the books, pens and trinkets digging into your back, the discomfort makes you writhe but then he has found his feet and he is fucking you so hard you can’t focus on anything else.

It’s brutal and it’s perfect, your orgasm is building slowly but you feel almost past that floating in an ecstasy you had never experienced before. You call out to Satan as you reach your peak. No one but Him deserves your praise in this moment, having brought you everything you’ve ever wanted. You are so wrapped up in your bliss that you barely notice him finishing and pulling out of you before you are already completely empty.

You pull yourself upright to see him already righting his clothes. He is muttering under his breath about the state of his shirt buttons before giving up on it and pulling it off, replacing it with another from the cupboard in the corner. After a few moments he turns back to you but all the wild emotion is gone. There is a shuttered expression on his face. That was not what you were expecting.

‘You may leave now,’ he says without looking at you, starting to right the mess of items on his desk.

You laugh, he must be joking. Perhaps he does have a sense of humour after all. ‘Of course I’m not leaving. We have so much to discuss now that we have finally found each other.’

‘I am unaware what gave you the impression I wished to know anything more about you but let me disavow you of this notion.’ He still hasn’t looked at you. You feel a pit opening in your stomach. Surely he had felt it too. ‘You were just another willing hole for me to use for my pleasure and now your use has been fulfilled, si?’ He is looking at you now, no mirth in his expression.

‘No that’s not what happened,’ you are so confused. ‘Didn’t you feel it?’

‘I feel nothing because there is nothing. I have no interest in your pathetic fascination with me and I have no need for a disobedient puttana who acts above themselves.’

‘But the Dark Lord brought us here so we could bring about his accession. As soon as I saw you I knew. We were meant to do this, together.’ Why can’t he see it? Why won’t he listen?

He just laughs at you. ‘You think the Dark Lord has a special role for you? A washed up sibling who reached their highest potential the day they joined the church? The Clergy, they speak of you often, you know. About what a disappointment you are to the Church. Why do you think they banished you to that awful little corner of the library?’ He was smirking at you. Why was he looking at you like that? You felt a pain twisting in your heart like every word he spoke was a stab wound. But no he was wrong. They were all wrong.

‘The Clergy don’t know shit! They would have us wither away into obscurity while they argue whether Papa winning a Grammy was a good thing or not. They are the ones not living up to their potential, failing Him!’ You had to make him see.

He slapped you again, knocking you to the floor this time. ‘You should watch how you speak, you ignorant fica. You think anyone in your position would be privy to the plans of the Clergy. Now get out of my sight before I have a mind to punish you properly. And don’t think to approach me again, ever. I should not have even given you this much.’

You start to shake. How could he say such things? The Dark Lord has made you for each other. A perfect match for everything either of you needed. You had known since you had first met, the certainty settling into your gut as you had locked eyes on that fateful day. He would defy the Dark Lord himself. The entity you were sworn to serve. No you could not accept this.

‘Copia,’ you start, feeling sick to your stomach. Maybe this was just part of his game. A way to get you to finally beg. You can’t let it end like this, not when you know with every fibre of your being that you are meant for each other.

‘You address me as Cardinal. If you must address me at all. And I’m sure I said GET OUT’ He slammed his fists against the desk, all the items he had began tidying falling into disarray, some even tumbling to the floor. His eyes are so hard and cold you suddenly feel doused in icy water. How dare he after what you just shared. Why can’t he see the truth? You have to make him see.

‘You shouldn’t speak to me that way you will regret it.’ You want to stand up, to challenge him eye to eye but there is no strength in your limbs.

‘Hah regret, si. I am feeling regret now that I ever acknowledged your existence. If I knew it would cause these delusions. In fact I will be speaking to Sister Imperator about having you removed from your position immediately. This may be the Church of Satan but we have no need for the likes of you.’ He stares down at you and there is nothing. He means it. Why is he being so cruel? Why doesn’t he see? You look down, not able to bear the look on his face any longer. The glint of something catches your eye under the desk. A letter opener must have dropped in the frenzy.

‘Patetica.’ He spits down at you and something in you breaks once more. You’re up on your feet in an instant but he moves to push you aside about to make good on his threat to go to the Clergy. And you can’t have that.

The blade pierces his throat and he ceases all movement, eyes going wide and round. He tries to speak but can only choke on the blood bubbling in his mouth. You put your hands on his shoulders and guide him back into the chair behind him. He looks at you in shock and awe, you think, finally seeing your truth. One of his hands is cupping his throat, a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood while the other grips the blades handle. You lean forward and place a gentle kiss on his forehead but he jerks back away from you.

Even now with his life draining out and choking him he would defy you, deny your bond. You grab the hair at the back of his head and force him to look up at you. He lets out a pained gurgle protesting the movement with the blade still buried deep inside him. There are tears streaming from his eyes now, black streaks forming on his cheeks and mixing with the blood gathering at the corners of his lips. You can’t decide if he looks pathetic or beautiful.

You hear his breathing change, becoming more laboured. It sounds wet and shallow and you wonder if he is drowning in his own blood. His hands have finally dropped, having lost the strength to hold them up. You give him one last copper kiss while there is still light left in his eyes.

‘I’ll see you in Hell, Cardinal,’ and then he is gone.

You sit yourself in his lap and wrap your arms around him pulling his lifeless head to your chest. Perhaps this is what the Dark Lord intended you to do. Send one of his most faithful servants to him directly. Perhaps Copia wasn’t ready to give himself over as you were. You did not know his reasons and you did not need to. His unholy will had guided you on this path and you were content.

And content you stayed wrapped around the remnants of your soul's other half until you felt the first rays of the morning sun greet you through the window. You left him then knowing it would not be long until he was found.

You met no one as you walked the quiet corridors to your room. You made no effort to hide the evidence of your act and it was only a matter of time until they discovered your involvement in the Copia's fate.

Once you arrived you slowly disrobed leaving your soiled clothes in a pile at the centre of the room before moving to the bathroom. You had to be at your post in the library soon so you would have to wash away the evidence of your activities but as you look at yourself in the mirror you want to enjoy it a while longer. His come was still seeping out of you and his blood was covering your hands and face. Even though you knew his soul was already in Hell you felt so close to him with so much evidence of his life displayed on your skin.

You wet a small towel and ring it out then slowly run it over you wiping it all away. By the time you were finished the water was dripping pink from the towel and you felt a twist of grief that you no longer bore his marks. You completed your morning routine so you would be fit to leave your room as normal.

It all started with whispers. You could hear them as you toyed with your breakfast. The Cardinal. He’s been found dead in his office. The morning was frantic, siblings running back and forth to spread the news, or huddled in groups scared to be caught alone with a murderer lose in the Abbey.

You left then unable to stomach anymore, of the food or the talk. They did not know what had truly been lost, the potential destroyed by his own ignorance. If only he would have listened to you. Things could have been different. But there was no use dwelling on it now. You knew you would be reunited when you eventually arrived in Hell, just as the Dark Lord had intended.

Imperator found you not much later in your usual spot in the back of the library, flanked by Copia’s ghouls. They were angry. You could tell, so there was little point explaining yourself. And you certainly weren’t going to deny your involvement. Her hands and her usually pristine white shirt were still covered in his blood and from the look on her face you thought you may be joining him in Hell even sooner then you had anticipated.

'Why did you do it?' She was shaking with barely contained emotion. You had known her and Copia were close but as you look at her face now you suspect there was a lot more than anyone ever knew. Her eyes are red and puffy, tear tracks evident on her cheeks. As you take her in you see black marks amongst the red covering her shirt as though she held his body to her chest as you did.

You feel some kinship with her then, almost sorry that you were putting her through such pain. You had both cared for Copia in your own ways. 'He wouldn't listen Sister.' You had more of an explanation you could give her but you won't.

'He was the brightest hope for the Ministry and you killed him. Why?' She was choking on her emotions as she spoke. No one understood. He was your other half but you still didn't regret what you had done. Not with the Dark Lord guiding your hand.

You try one last time to make her understand. 'I know Sister but he wouldn’t listen. He …' She raises her hand to stop you and you know her emotions have got the better of her. You almost want to role your eyes but stop yourself at the last minute. Why are you the only one here who is willing to look at the bigger picture? Who was truly dedicated to your Dark Lord?

You tire of the conversation now picking up your book. You notice Sister Imperator turn to leave but the ghouls stay where they are, eyes still fixed on you. You turn a page and then they are on you. Before you can react you are on the floor, pinned to the ground. You feel sharp claws digging into your throat cutting off your air flow but they don’t stop there. The pressure steadily increases and you feel your skin break, tearing open your throat. The pain fades quickly as you feel your blood filling your lungs and it is fitting that you would leave the mortal realm in the same way as Copia. Your vision slowly blacks out and your last thought is of your reunion at the side of Lucifer himself and you smile.

#tw;darfic #yaaaaaaaaas best darkfic eveeer #you know how much i love this oneee

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