Your Dash Has Been Blessed By Cardinal Copia Today. Reblog For Your Mutuals To Be Blessed As Well.

Papa(i cant decide what number 1-4) : angry at his lover, because she avoids him..

Reader in her bedroom: p-please love...kill me i have a fever

https://themidult.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/painting-woman-ill-sick-fluey-unwell2-800x500.jpg

(sorry for the link im too shy to send this ask as me, but i think its kinda funny)

ghosting | papa x gn!reader

I could not decide on a Papa either, so I kept it as neutral as possible and (I hope) you can all imagine the Papa of your choice :) and anon, you need not be shy, I am so grateful for your ask <3 (and pls let me know who you are, so I can thank you in virtual kisses)

summary: your papa thinks you're avoiding him but once he finally finds you, he realises that he got it all wrong.

content: 2.5k words, sick care, some suggestive remarks, fluff mostly

masterlist – Ao3 link

✦ ✧ ✦ 

Papa scoffs into his afternoon coffee, nearly spilling the hot liquid all over his papal robes. Still nothing. He’s staring at his phone, the screen cracked from when it slipped out of his pocket while he fucked you on his desk two days ago. And yet he can clearly make out the two blue hooks indicating that you’ve read his message from this morning.

What he also sees is that there is still no reply. Your silence, your absence, the uncertainty – it drives him mad. He is so used to having your undivided attention, seeing your name pop up on his screen with a frequency that keeps him from getting any work done as of late. Not your name, though, no. He saved you under “amore mio” a long time ago. Not that you’re aware of it just yet, but his feelings for you have long since surpassed mere lust and friendliness.

His mind constantly wanders to you. Knowing your schedule by heart, it is easy to imagine what you’re doing, what may have you so distracted. Right now, you should be helping in the gardens, sweaty and panting from the exertions in the warm afternoon sun. He knows how pretty you look like that, even more so when you’re sprawled out underneath him as he gets lost in the soft curves of your body. He yearns to lick the salty sweat off your heaving chest, to hear your whimpers as his lips leave not a single inch of your skin untouched.

Alas, he is stuck in his office, brooding over paperwork.

He’s trying hard to concentrate on the words in front of him, not to stare at his screen all day like a depraved, starving man. Impatient, he even set the phone to vibrate but despite knowing he’d get a notification if you texted him, he taps the screen every two minutes to check. Just to make sure he doesn’t miss it. 

Oh how he’s longing for even the most delicate touch, a simple kiss on his cheek as you tell him to take it easy today, your hand squeezing his across the table. You used to do that, visit him in his office at least two times a day. Not always innocent. Actually, very rarely innocent. He can almost hear the echo of you screaming his name for half the abbey to hear. And yet, you have not been anywhere near these four desecrated walls in almost two days. Not since the last time you were intimate with him.

Why won’t you reply? A flash of doubt and a pang of anger. Could you be getting tired of him? Did he come on too strong? If that were the case, you should tell him. He’s a busy man, you of all people know that, and yet here you are practically ghosting him, as the younger Siblings call it. By now it’s almost dinner time, you must have had a chance to at least type in a yes or no. Papa knows if he can’t see you tonight he is going to lose his mind. He needs the confirmation or he’ll be nervous and distracted for the rest of his day.

Generous as he is, Papa gives you another hour, finishing up the dreadful paperwork before he has a quick dinner of reheated pasta from the day prior. It tastes like nothing to him and the emptiness of his quarters only adds to his foul mood. His eyes are still trained on his phone, the battery still half full, unused with the lack of texting. The only time his screen lights up this evening it’s to remind him that his screen time has gone up by eighty percent over the past week. It seems like that’s an issue you’re solving for him right now.

Papa knows he cannot go another night without seeing you. He needs to confront you, ask if you really lost interest or if you just need more space. Whatever it is, having clarity will be easier to bear than silence.

Entering the dorms is always risky business. People gossip, someone is going to see where he’s knocking, and while everyone knows the two of you are… something, he’s not keen on everyone speculating about why you’re suddenly on cooldown.

But when he knocks, nothing happens. He repeats the motion, rapping his knuckles against the wood three times, louder now. Nothing. He hears music, some sort of electronic beats, the tunes wafting over from another dorm room. A party, surely. Yours however remains eerily quiet. In a last attempt to find out if you’re even home, he tries the door.

It is unlocked, so you must be home. For a moment he considers leaving again but then a painful thought hits him: If you’re home, not opening up… it means you’re avoiding him. Clearly. 

What crime did he commit to deserve your ignorance? His anger propels him to enter, despite knowing he’s invading your privacy. But he cannot go back to his quarters without confronting you, not when he’s already in such pain. He’s feeling the anticipatory grief over losing you and it’s all because he let his guard down way too fast, leaning into your kindness, your loving nature. He always had a feeling that this was too good to be true, that despite thinking this time would be different, he’d end up in pain. Everyone just wants the sex, the fun, not the commitment that being with a Papa, maybe even loving a Papa, meant.

Fiddling with the doorknob, he feels awful for even thinking these things. You never gave him reason to doubt you, but it is just so easy to slip back into his old insecurities. Certain that he’s just seeing ghosts, Papa pushes the door open silently.

Upon entering the small antechamber that leads to your bedroom, he hears you moaning. He hears the rustling of sheets, the mattress creaking. A loud fuck.

Papa stops dead in his tracks, nearly toppling over as a wave of nausea hits him. For a second, his worst fears and his deepest insecurities melt into one big gooey ball of panic. He wants to be sure that what you have is special, but you never openly decided to be exclusive, that you wouldn’t see other people. He’s been meaning to ask, to tell you how he feels… too late, it seems.

But no. He soldiers on. If anyone else dares to touch you, they will receive all of his demonic, unholy wrath. He has a whole company of ghouls who would love to get a taste of human flesh again, if need be. Papa opens the door to your bedroom, anxious but driven, ready to face whatever lies behind. And he does find you in bed like he expected, only… you’re alone.

You don’t even look up. Are you sleeping? The room is stuffy, curtains closed and all he hears is your whimpering.

“Hello?” he asks quietly, his heart hammering in his chest.

“P-papa?” 

Your voice is barely audible. His anger turns into concern as he hurries to your side, sitting down at the edge of the bed. Immediately you reach for his hand in an attempt to squeeze, but it seems like you’re too weak to clench your muscles.

“Kill me, Papa. Release me from this torment,” you whine. “Please.”

“Tesoro, what is going on?”

You groan in reply, a sound only made more horrifying by the soreness of your throat. You sound like a dying animal and if he’s honest, you kind of smell like one too. He wonders how long you’ve been in this position.

“I am dying,” you whisper.

“What happened? Are you injured?”

He’s scanning your body but most of it is covered. Before he can pull away the duvet, you try to squeeze his hand yet again, this time with more vigor.

“S-sick,” you choke out. “The flu.”

“The flu?”

Papa ignores the bad conscience that’s settling in his mind and gives into his worry. He jumps up, opening the curtains and the window to let in some fresh air. You hiss like you’ve been burned, despite the sun already setting. Disregarding your complaints, Papa finds a thermometer and pain killers on your bedside table.

“We need to check if you have a fever, tesorino, can you open your pretty mouth for me?”

You giggle at his words. “I’m too sick for that, Papa.”

“You clearly have a fever if you think I’m going to laugh about this right now,” he states, removing his gloves and throwing them aside. His scowl is not in earnest, he’s not annoyed, of course, but he needs you to know your health is paramount.

“You’re so dramatic,” you whisper but you let him slot the thermometer between your lips anyway.

“I am dramatic? Who’s been locked inside their room like they have the plague without replying to my texts?” 

Papa presses the backs of his hands to your hot cheeks, acting like a mom who doesn’t trust the thermometer. You’re burning up, worrying him even more. Your skin is ashen, hair tousled, and he can see you shaking slightly.

At his words, your brow furrows. “I texted back,” you say, words muffled by the device in your mouth.

“You did not, amore. I have been wondering what I did to upset you so,” Papa admits. “I thought you were avoiding me. Ghosting me, as they say.”

Your eyebrows shoot up and as soon as Papa pulls out the thermometer, forehead scrunching up as he reads the 38.9°C, you start babbling.

“I was not, Papa. I would never. I was so sad I could not see you.” You swallow, groaning as the pain in your scratchy throat hits you. “Can you check my phone? I dropped it.”

Papa finds it under your bed. He lets you unlock it and you’re right, you did reply, only you never hit sent. I am sick in bed, Papa. I miss you too, but I would not want you to catch the flu. ♥︎

“I would never avoid you on you purpose,” you whisper, looking at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

He bends down to kiss your feverish forehead, feeling the heat against his lips. “I know that now, amore, don’t worry about it. I’m sorry I ever thought such a thing.”

“Amore?” you ask, grinning through a thick layer of haze. “That’s new, Papa.”

He can practically feel his cheeks turning rosy under his paint. “You know I like you, gioia mia, that is not new.”

“But amore is not just liking, right? It’s–”

“You have a fever, dolce. I need you to take the ibuprofen. Where do you keep your glasses?”

You pout at his interruption and with one last look at your puckered lips, he jumps up, avoiding not only your question but also the intense urge to kiss you. You’re in no condition to have a deep conversation right now. He searches the cupboards in your tiny kitchenette until he finds a glass he can fill with water. By the looks of it, you have not eaten all day, it’s far too clean.

“I don’t know if I can swallow,” you whine upon his return.

“We both know you’re very good at swallowing, amore. Open up.”

You frown without any real intensity and it’s an adorable sight, even in your messy, unkempt state. “I thought we weren’t joking about this.”

“It is allowed when I do it,” Papa says, practically shoving the pill into your mouth. “Drink, amore. You need liquids.”

You manage to swallow and the water feels like honey but only for a moment before the pain returns and your throat protests wildly. Even so, your mind still clings to his words.

“Papa,” you whine, reaching for his hand as soon as he’s set down the glass.

His mismatched eyes flicker to yours, still worried. “Yes?”

“You never answered.”

“We should talk about this tomorrow, sì? When you feel better.” At your sad expression he gives your hand a comforting squeeze. “I will go find some soup for you now, some other medication.”

“But I don’t want you to leave.”

“I will come back, dolce, you don’t make that pretty head worry too much, eh?” 

You whimper dramatically. “But what if I am dead by then?”

Papa sighs but it’s followed by deep chuckle as he playfully rolls his eyes at you. “You win, amore, I will text one of the ghouls.”

As soon as the text is sent, Papa closes the window again and starts to undress. From your position on the bed you’re watching him like a hawk, pulling a fuzzy blanket over your mouth to hide your grin. He can’t help but find it endearing and suddenly he feels even worse for assuming the worst today. Once he’s in his briefs and undershirt, he crawls into bed behind you, pulling you close. You’re a little sweaty, not exactly smelling fresh, but he doesn’t mind. Feeling your warmth, having you tucked against him, it’s all he really needs. 

And as his heart does a flip, racing thanks to your proximity, he gently cups your cheek. “Do you think you can give me a kiss, amore?”

“But you’ll get sick,” you whisper, the protest dying as soon as he tilts your chin up.

His lips graze yours, softly pressing in more and more until you melt against him. Even your lips are warmer than usual and he keeps it chaste, breaking away to look into your eyes again.

“Papas don’t get sick, eh?” He gives a tender kiss to your forehead, gently running his fingers through your hair before they settle on your back. “Now, you wanted an answer.”

Your look is pleading and it’s like your shining eyes are trying to lure the words right out of him. He wonders how he ever worried you may not feel the same when it’s written all over your face. His nerves start showing then, fidgety fingers drawing tiny patterns on your back, and he can feel your hands pressing into his chest, gripping at the fabric of his shirt.

“I love you,” he finally says. “You are my amore, my love. Tieni il mio cuore in mano. Please, I want to ask you to be mine.”

“I love you, too.” A big grin spreads out on your face. You lean in to kiss him again, softly moving your lips against his, and you stay impossibly close as you whisper. “And I am yours, forever, if you are mine.”

Papa smiles against your mouth and for a moment he forgets that you’re sick and kisses you harder. When he breaks away, you’re breathless, coughing softly, but he can tell by the happy look on your face that it was worth it.

“I am yours, amore,” he says. “I am yours forever, if Satan allows me.”

You settle against his solid chest, warm cheek pressed to the skin just above the neckline of his shirt. After today, your Papa vows to take better care of you, to trust you fully and cast any doubts aside as soon as they arise. And so he wraps his arms around you even tighter, whispering soft praises  into your hair until you’re finally asleep again, the only sound in the room your soft and even breathing.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

non vedo l’ora di baciarti – I can’t wait to kiss you

tieni il mio cuore in mano – you hold my heart in your hand

And y'all, the new ghouls are fucking awesome, give them the love they desire. The others have stuff going on so they couldn't make it.

ain’t an ounce of ass on that ghoul

Been thinking some thoughts

About a Ghost AU....where Sister Imperator basically gives Copia to the ministry after he was born, instead of raising him herself until the point where he's old enough to start mentoring him into becoming Papa.

Of course she's lying about it, saying she "found him outside the gates". So he's raised by the sisters and brothers of sin.

Primo, Secondo and Terzo all knew what Sister did(it was quite obvious, one day she's very pregnant and the next day she's not but coincidentally she finds an abandoned baby who's also part of the bloodline? Not sus at all.) and they give her the side eye whenever they see her.

At this time Nihil is still in his prime, touring as Papa and Kiss The Go-Goating women so he could give two fucks about his sons or the fact that he has a new one.

The brothers don't meet him until he's around 5 because even though they're aware of his existence, there are a lot of children in the ministry and Sister made sure to keep him(and his identity) hidden, so one fateful day they bump into him with a sister and realize who he really is.

They decide from that point on to take his parenting upon themselves(well mostly Primo does, it's not his first time raising a brother of his afterall) and try to give him a better life than what he had so far.

The other brothers are all cardinals at this point, with Primo waiting to become Papa.

(It's really just me wanting to draw some emeritus brothers bonding and loving eachother so don't mind this post and the upcoming ones if that's not your cup of tea.)

It also needs a name or a tag I guess? So I can keep track of them and put them all in one #

Next

Ghost fans:

The reason why I feel this way:

Can’t say I feel bad about it..

(The actor seems very sweet tho)

Happy Spooky season!!

Commission. Do not use!

"You look like you need a hug...And that you've needed one for a long time."

Receiving Papa of your choice.

very short lil drabble for my main man (terzo)

Terzo’s immediate reaction is confusion. He’s used to people asking him for hugs, his adoring fans wanting to be blessed by his touch. That has subsided since he’s been retired but he was still getting some physical attention. Not this kind, though.

“Che cosa?” He crosses his arms and looks you up and down. “Are you flirting with me, cara?”

“What? N-no, Papa, it’s just…you look like you need a hug...And that you've needed one for a long time." You fidget with your hands as you gaze back into his mismatched eyes. His brows furrow and he opens his mouth, only to immediately close it again. You extend your arms out to him and hold him there.

Terzo’s eyes flit from your arms to your face and back again. He is so unsure — this kind of touch seeming so foreign to him. He moves to you, slow and calculated, and allows you to wrap your arms around him. He is incredibly stiff, his body rigid as he hugs you back.

You start to rub his back gently, moving your hand in slow circular motions. It takes some time but Terzo finally starts to relax against you. He nestles his face in the crook of your neck and you give him a squeeze. You hear a small sound come from him and he buries his face even deeper into your neck, his grip tightening around you.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Papa.” You whisper to him. He trembles in your arms and you can hear him softly cry into you.

You hold him as long as he needs.

Ghoul tails and puppy paws

age regression is a coping that can be both voluntary and/or involuntary it is entirely safe and reccomended by therapists if they believe it would be effective for said person but as mentioned for some people it is entirely unpredictable, if this makes you uncomfortable please carry on elsewhere thank you <3

1000 words on the dot!

Depressed phantom? Phantom is age regressed, phantom uses they/them pronouns, swiss uses he/him but thats only this one, we love our swiss gendered ghouls

Happy ending of course cause im a man of hurt comfort 🤠

Based on the pictures of phantom with little sunshine 🐶

"Buggy you know the answer, i want to appease your wishes but what about the clergy, the other ghouls" a shiver runs down his back at the thought of sister imperator "and seestor" he mumbles her title not wanting to give it a second thought.

♤

Papa can we keep little sunshine? " phantom who was all but big right now pleaded, following papa copia around like a lost puppy themself, their hands behind their back holding their own tail just under the spade.

The quintessence ghoul nodded dejectedly "yes papa" they mumbled wandering off.

They're not exactly sure why they felt so distraught after such but something in them felt sickeningly cold, a longing for a friend or companion, the warmth of a little sunshine.

They'd been slower more downcast, especially for a little ghoul who was bouncing off the walls 24/7 when they realized their own presence in the church wasn’t as truly temporary as previously stated.

It may had not been noticed by the crowd but the other ghouls even with their glamor up could feel a deep frosted alone feeling eating its way into phantom, the way their mind had ate at itself when they had first been summoned under the terms of temporary, their friendship with this puppy was deeper seated than just wanting a cute pet, this was a longing for someone who felt like them, for a puppy who radiated the same dejected cold feeling when people would pick up her litter mates not even giving her a second glance, how she stayed to the back of their little fenced in area keeping herself away from the puppy cuddle pile.

They were lost, almost stumbling over their own feet and the music at their fingertips, their glamor almost slipping at the same time as them almost into their headspace as their mind ate away at them.

By the time the show was over all they wanted to do was pick up their little friend and hold her, it wasn't a want it was desperation, they*needed* to hold her.

Papa was nowhere to be found, of course he wasn't, why would he be when he has a regressing ghoul begging for a companion that no one here understood the connection between, it was surreal, all stumbly and depressed they helped or at least tried helping pack up the equipment, trying to keep their mind occupied.

"bug, hey little quint- go say goodbye to your puppy friend, the people are packing up and letting us say goodbyes, c’mon baby-bug" swiss had come up behind them with his chest to phantoms back, giving them sorta a hug where swiss' left hand came around patting phantom in the center of their chest while swiss craned his neck to look somewhat through the mesh peripheral vision areas on the goggles.

Oddly enough this statement felt like it was being burned into their being, having a chance to say goodbye hurt so much more than the empty feeling of no second chance to see her, but they couldn't help it, thats supposed to be their best friend.

Their feet aimlessly trace them in the direction of the people with the puppies and kittens, swiss following them closely already aware.

Phantom walking over to the puppy-pen their little friend nowhere to be seen, their breathing picks up and their mind becoming spotty, looking around at all hands in the area for the sunshine, where is she, why does it feel like they're a planet quickly falling out of revolution of its sol, shes nowhere, maybe they're giving her another bath?

Their mind going a million miles an hour, they longed for their friend, one of the lovely ladies from earlier walking over noticing phantom by the black horns of their mask, "you here to say goodbye to the critters?" She smiled

Without caring if their voice came out how it does when they are little they mumble out "sunshine?" It sounded like a beg if you could see their eyes they would be big and full of agony and they're on a collision course with the abyss.

"Im so sorry, she was just adopted maybe five minutes ago" she says with sympathy

Their world us shattered, send them back to hell for all they cares, they cant breathe, the pits would do nothing to thaw the now set permafrost in their chest.

"Is there any other that you'd like to say goodbye to?" A careful smile with the absolution of sorrow painted in her gaze, he stumbles back into swiss' chest "hey buggy, its okay, come on baby" swiss whispers to deaf ears.

They're devastated, but alas theres nothing that can be done, for once they’ll let themself feel this, let it sink in, it's not like there was much of an option to begin with.

Once back to the tour bus they don’t even bother taking off their boots or helmet, all the buzzing commotion can wait, everyone can continue as their world sits in a slow muddled pause, they climb into their bunk curling up into a ball, hiding away from the potential ghoul piles, taking them self out of the limelight, the clergy would pay no second glance, maybe this is what it actually feels like to be temporary.

Their glamor fallen and little mind soaked in sorrow, the spade of their tail pressed against the muzzle, the only thing keeping them from crying out.

The curtain to the bunk being slowly opened and yet little bug squashed by the world they payed no mind to words or hands or little puppy paws.

Puppy paws? Gloved hands reaching over phantom putting the sunshine between them and the wall of the bunk, all senses are lit a blaze a revolution, of shared happy whimpers between to two little friends, their mind warm, safe, permanent because forever is only as ling as it needs to be, and this little ray of sunshine is his clarity "my sunshine" they smile

No one:

Absolutely no one

Me at three am, violently snatching my phone: I wonDer if Pinterest haS picS moRe of CoPia's Cake.

Yea..when I'm bored I look up the most horrendous and insanely unorthodox things at 3am..most things being a mix of the papas and ghouls.