Working Papas (Mall AU Headcanons)

The Hunter’s Blood Moon

Prologue

I gripped the very edge of the stage, unable to wipe the beaming grin off my slightly-sweaty face, my chest heaving as the audience and I belted out the lyrics to ‘Cirice.’ Hearing sensitivity be damned, I would have gladly gone deaf if it meant I got the closest spot to the stage—the closest spot to him—as possible. I looked left to right, still no security guards to be seen, and yet nobody took the opportunity to climb onto the stage and join the performance, especially when he, Papa Emeritus III, was the lead vocalist. My heels bounced up and down with each boom of Pebble’s drums, the heavy shredding of Omega and Alpha on their respective guitars—it was still difficult to tell which Ghoul was which without their instruments—but my eyes stayed completely focused on the main lead himself.

I had no idea what the hell happened, but when Papa Emeritus II disappeared from Ghost and Papa III took over, it was like a switch just flipped on inside me. Seeing Secondo in his full Papa regalia? Awesome, and kind of funny considering his resemblance to a certain canine-named American singer; he’s nicknamed Mr. Worldwide for a reason. But seeing Terzo? With his raven-black hair, his classy black coat, and his white button-down? My heart had never fluttered so fast before, I had never squealed so loudly or flapped my hands so hard whenever photos and videos of him cropped up online or on the news, and even though I had wanted to see Ghost live since ninth grade, as soon as I graduated with my two-year film degree and got my first job at a local bookstore, my motivation cranked up to an eleven as soon as I found out that they—he—would play live in my town.

Terzo had just become my newest celebrity crush.

I didn’t give a single shit about any of the concert recordings I’d seen on YouTube anymore, nothing could have compared to hearing him in person. Whenever he held his microphone and sang, from ‘Year Zero’ to ‘Mummy Dust’—especially ‘Mummy Dust’; fuck, I’ll never get his raw sexual energy during that song out of my head—the sheer amount of confidence radiating from him had me falling head-over-heels, my heart beating so fast I thought I might pass out, my cheeks heating up so much to the point where I probably looked like a tomato or a seedless strawberry. And judging by the comments I’d seen other fans post on the Internet, I wasn’t the only one having a reaction like that.

Some very eager fans shoved past me and squealed right in my ear when Terzo swept past his boyfriend Omega, and the reason why clicked in my head as soon as the music drastically stopped, his voice lowered to a near-whisper, and his gorgeous mismatched eyes scanned the entire front row of the crowd. My eyes widened, and I couldn’t stop the short scream that tore from my throat, my right hand among others reaching past the edge of the stage as the audience either screamed for Papa or belted out the important lines for that part of the song.

A lucky fan was about to get Cirice’d.

My heart practically stopped as soon as Terzo’s gaze landed on the rabid fans around me, his lips curling into a devious smirk, making my cheeks burn and sending the women surrounding me into an absolute frenzy. The anxious lump immediately grew in my chest, my knees trembled, and my shyness kicked in as I slowly drew my hand away from the stage. There were already so many hands reaching for him, I didn’t think he would notice one missing. Terzo glanced at each frothing member of his congregation, strolling up and down; I’m pretty sure some ‘Wet Floor’ signs would be put around the place once the area got cleared out, I’d have to keep my eyes on the ground just to be sure I don’t slip and fall and potentially break my neck.

He started to approach a fan to my left…

And stopped.

Right in front of me.

I felt my pulse begin racing throughout my entire body, the flush on my cheeks reaching down to the back of my neck as the audience members next to me kept their hands towards Terzo. He looked down, directly at my withdrawn hand as I held it against my chest.

No.

No, this wasn’t happening.

He looked back up at me…

…got down on his left knee…

…held out his hand…

…and his smile easily put an angel’s to shame.

Holy fuck.

I’m getting Cirice’d.

I’m getting Cirice’d.

I’M GETTING CIRICE’D!!!

Before I knew it, my fingertips met the soft fabric of Terzo’s gloved palm, and his fingers curled around mine, his thumb brushing the back of my hand as he tugged me closer to him. While my brain short-circuited and the ball of shyness threatened to explode in my chest, my other hand tried and failed to cover up and cool down the blush on my left cheek. My head was on the verge of overheating, but an airiness settled itself along with the heat as I looked up at Terzo. He knelt right in front of me, my hand in his as the Ghouls started playing again, his voice so clear and pretty as he sang the main chorus of the song. The corners of my mouth curled into a timid smile, and I could only look away for a few seconds before my eyes found his again, the anxiety wearing down and changing into a bubbly, giddy sort of shyness with a ton of suppressed excitement just short of bursting. My very first Ghost ritual, and I got to hold hands with Papa Emeritus III.

I couldn’t wait to gush about it to Elijah and Allison.

He pulled me closer, my stomach beginning to press against the edge of the stage, and I was more than certain that he, the Ghouls, and the audience could see the imaginary pink and red cartoon hearts floating around my head and popping like bubbles. Anticipation fluttered in my chest, and just when I thought things couldn’t get any better than they were right now, Terzo set his microphone down next to him, his voice still perfectly clear as day, and I felt a legitimate shiver—an actual honest-to-God shiver—run down my spine as he gently tilted my chin up with his other hand, like something straight out of a romance novel. His thumb brushed against my bottom lip, and I swear the ground almost disappeared beneath my feet, my breathing grew slightly heavier, and the noisy crowd behind me faded away into simple background noise.

Blood thrummed in my ears. Adrenaline rushed through me. My toes curled inside my shoes, the muscles in my shoulders ached the longer I tensed them, but I stayed rooted to my spot.

“…s… im…!”

What…?

“Ki… im…!”

The hell were they saying?

“Kiss him!!”

Oh.

OH.

Okay, I definitely did not hear that right. There was absolutely no way in hell that the entire audience started chanting “Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him!” nonstop, their screams loud enough to make the entire arena tremble. I clutched the fabric of my pants, my knuckles no doubt turning white, the muscles in my fingers twitching with how hard I was straining them. Most of my brain yelled at me not to do it, not to risk getting banned from another Ghost concert for life; so I just stood there, willing my body not to pass out from how close Terzo was, how the fabric of his gloved palms fueled the steaming blush on my cheeks and sent shivers down my back, how his fingers brushed against the…

…the hollow of my…

…my throat…

His eyes…

…his mysterious white eye that gleamed under the harsh stage lights…

…the way his furrowed brows enhanced his gaze to create the most beautiful pair of ‘fuck me’ eyes I’d ever seen…

…the only ones I’d ever…

And then it happened.

It finally happened.

A pair of warm paint-covered lips pressed against mine, stray locks of raven hair traced feather-light touches against my temples. My fingers clutched the left collar of Terzo’s coat as my knees threatened to buckle under my weight. The butterflies immediately erupted from my stomach and spread throughout the rest of my body. I couldn’t tell my own thundering heartbeat from the deafening roar of the crowd while the last few minutes of ‘Cirice’ had now become simple background noise. His fingers gently threaded through my hair, his thumb brushing over my knuckles as he tightened his grip on my hand. The steaming rosy blush on my cheeks spread down to my neck, my eyes fluttered to a close, and my heart threatened to leap out of my chest.

It finally happened.

I just had my first kiss.

-

My breaths were deep and slow as my eyes fluttered open, the Christmasy smell of fresh pine flowing through my nose as the gentle hum of the A/C met my ears. The thinnest rays of sunlight were just beginning to stream through my window, casting slanted orange-yellow patterns and shapes on the walls; a strand of hair stuck to my left eye, but at least I didn’t get a flash-bang straight to the face. I turned onto my back and sluggishly raised my left hand up, brushing my fingers against my dry and chapped lips. After making a quick mental note to apply lip balm later—Mom would definitely get on my ass about it—I clenched the blanket and threw my head back against the pillow, glaring at the ceiling like it owed me money and was too lazy to pay me back even a dollar. My cheeks puffed out as I added a childish pout to my little staring contest with the drywall or whatever it was above my head. I didn’t have a doubt that grabbing my pillow and punching it would have woken up my parents and my brother in the next room over, so I just sat there and pulled the blanket over my face, a warm flush coloring my cheeks as I willed the bed to swallow me whole and let me wallow in my own disappointment.

I huffed, crossing my arms. I should have known it was too good to be true. Kissing Terzo immediately after getting Cirice’d? I mean, come on. No way. I would give all the money in my bank account for that—consensually, of course, I’m not a total creep—but the chances of a kiss on the lips during that part of the song are practically zero. He probably has a girlfriend, or boyfriend, or gender-non-confirming date friend or something; if I were his partner—God, I wish—I’d be pretty pissed if he made out with every fan he Cirice’d. Besides, security would have definitely stopped that from happening.

A girl can dream, though.

Ok but getting overwhelmed and hiding in secondos bed until you calm down,,,, like I just wanna get wrapped up in his blankets and pillows and take a nap

-🦑

HEHRHEISOAOXWIWOAPA YEEEEESSSSSS

okay so I’m autistic and getting overwhelmed is somewhat common. So like I’m thinking:

Getting overwhelmed bc of sensory issues or routine changes or whatever and sneaking into Secondo’s room. Putting on an Albert Hitchcock record and burying yourself in his blankets and pillows. You made sure to stop by your room to get a stuffed animal, the small item tucked safely in your arms with papa’s blankets all around.

You raided his closet for a White Sox hoodie that was at least two sizes two big for you. Getting swaddled up in his sheets, your face pressed into a pillow as you slowly drifted off.

You wake up to papa entering his quarters, muttering multiple Italian swear words in rapid succession. You sat up in the bed, his hoodie still swallowing you up, your stuffie clutched in your arms. “Papa?”

Papa jumps damn near out of his skin and then he’s like “awwww is someone sleepy? Napping all by yourself, little one?” And teasing you.

You just glare and whine, not unlike a petulant child. Papa kicks off his shoes, sheds his robes, and then he’s in your blanket nest. He’s got you pressed into his chest, his fingers stroking over your hair, his body heat spreading to you, making you feel so relaxed. Papa coos, gentle and loving, “go back to sleep little one. Papa is here now.”

Best Folk Album

I was thinking about what would’ve happened if Copia and the ghouls had attended the Grammy’s and I came up with this cracky little story.  I hope it makes you smile or laugh (or both)!

1,100 words, Gen, Fluff and (maybe) humor.

AO3 Link

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Most of the time when things went wrong in his life Copia could blame tequila.  Or Dewdrop.

This time he could blame both.

Keep reading

Okay-okay-okay. Just listen to me...

Papa Secondo continues to fuck you, even after his next orgasm. He himself has already lost count, of how many times he has finished, he has even stopped counting your orgasms. He's already in pain, he's already empty, but he keeps hammering into you, like a frenzy. He may have a heart attack from such overstimulation, but he does not stop. He can almost not even see you under him, there are only sharp, white sensations in front of his eyes, but he remembers, how beautiful you are. The blood is throbbing loudly into ears, but your sweet moans, dear cry, are also audible, albeit muffled. Secondo has nothing to cum with, but he continues to push into you. It hurts, but it's so good.

Everyone should know, that you are his. That the child in your womb is his. And if it doesn't work out today, you have a lot of time ahead.

You can't do this to me at 4AM. This is illegal.

Papa Secondo is getting absolutely target locked onto you after popping a pill. He thought to himself, 'Surely this thing Primo made isn't that big a deal?' and now he's got your hips in a vice and in a full nelson as he gives sloppy and uneven thrusts with his hips.

Fuck. Yeah. I can work this.

If It Lasts For More Than Two Hours (Secondo x Reader)

Secondo x Reader, Papa Emeritus II x Reader, Creampie, Marathon Sex.

It's another negative. The both of you had eagerly waited in the bathroom for the results, and the third time is the charm, but it still comes out negative. You were frustrated. You told him that you were starting to feel like a failure, as both his wife and his Prime Mover, but he quickly dashed away those insecurities with a hug and sweet kiss.

"Just mean we need to keep trying, mia tesoro."

He goes to Primo because, of course, he does. His father figure brother was his go-to when asking for a damned miracle.

Primo had hummed and smiled at him before fishing through his apocathary cabinet and pulling out a small bottle of hand pressed pills.

"Take one of these before. If this doesn't knock her up, I don't know what will."

And he waits for the mood. A full moon and lavish dinner, and he has you back into your shared room, leading butterfly kisses down your neck. He had subtly taken the pill during dinner, a sour thing that left fur on his tongue, and now... now he was starting to feel hot. There was a bubbly fizz in his loins, and his dick very quickly stood erect, he could feel his heart beating through his cock as the rush of blood had it painfully pressing against the seam of his jeans, yet with every shift it brought sparks of pleasure.

You didn't know about the medicine. Too lost in his soft touches as he guides you out of your clothes.

Then he gets on his knees, pulls at your labia with his thumbs, and gets to work. The man pops his jaw with how wide he opens his mouth to encompass your quim. Kissing your pussy until you were a wet and begging mess. Then he shoves in his tongue. He flexes it. Corkscrews it. Closes his mouth around your entrance and sucks, causes sounds so utterly obscene. His thumbs pry your lips apart so he can all the more devour you.

He wrangles your thighs around his head. Lips work sloppily over your pussy as he lashes his tongue relentlessly. He sets a speed record for how quickly he gets you to come. Then he licks it all up. Every. Last. Drop. Eating you out like tonguing the cream out of a snack cake. You squirmed, holding onto his ears as you moaned loud enough to reach across and wake the whole damn Abbey, shuddering like you had caught a cold and stood in Arctic winds.

Then he fucks you like your unbreakable. An obnoxiously hard and fast dicking, turns into a wrecked and painful hyperfixation that wraps his brain, switches off common sense and turns him into a baser animal with only the need to breed.

Several long strokes that reach deep inside of you as he makes you shake and shake, body wracking with sobs as you're overwhelmed and filled.

He groans, pressing his lips to the back of your neck and inhaling the finest scent of your soap and shampoo, your sweat, just simply you. Your back and his chest stick together in sweat, and your legs hoisted in the air under his arms as he wraps his fingers together just on the back of your head. It takes him everything not to dig his nails in. There's accidental nick here and there, and shallow scratches that'll take a week to heal.

Your trapped with no way to move other than to bow your head forward and accept his brutal assault on your pussy.

He's losing control of himself. Mindless of everything that isn't driving his cock as deep into your pussy as possible and as often as possible. His heels dug into the mattress as he slices his hips up and his balls clench. Fuck, he can pratically feel his blood in his dick, fat and swollen. It's nearly painful and only the rapid cuts of his dick pounding into your cunt is enough to satisfy it.

You're so obscenely wet that the room echoes with the sounds of squelching and smells of musk, sweat, and sloppy sex.

Secondo licks his mouth and needs to wipe the trail of drool going down his chin because he can't stop salivating. He's thirsty for more than just water. You next orgasm, your cunt strangling him, the prospect of seeing you pregnant. No matter how many times it takes. He'll do it. He can't wait to see you round and swollen with his kid, that was there is no room for arguement. You're his. If that ring around your finger wasn't proof enough. Those bitemarks on your neck. No one will be able to look at you without seeing his shadow looming over you. You're his. HIS.

He's fucking you hard enough to make your guts gurgle. Long since have you started to cry, loud sobs and tears track down your ruddy red cheeks. You can't shift, you can't move, any kind of fight would have him slipping out of you and you can't... You're so close. Bordering on a fourth and rapidly approaching the next little death.

He had shuddered as his second orgasm gums the inside of your cunt, splashing your walls and womb with his watery white seed.

His lashes fluttered from that first hit if relief. But the endorphins flared, turning his blood to the boiling point, and he didn't... He could keep going. He needed to keep going.

He can't help the growl, almost demonic, as your nails dig into his hot skin, and he works your thoughts on the lashes of another orgasm.

He's running a fever, has to be with how cold and clammy he suddenly feels, and the roller coaster sensation of his legs falling from underneath him. But he can't stop. Won't stop. He needs to make sure it takes even if it kills him. Needs you swollen with his children. Needs to coax another moan from you. Need to make you tremble again. He needs to pull one more orgasm.

He's gulping air like it's water in a desert. His sticky skin clings to yours as he rolls his hips hastily, pounding into you with delirium. Chasing after the high as though it's his last orgasm as a free man.

His dick twitches inside of you. He can't see it all sticky and swollen with the amount of orasgms he's given you. And the froth, the white bubbly cum he's stirred into you that filled over and coats your lips and the shaft of his cock like a white wedding band. In a half-minded haze he considers in investing in a mirror to see your wrecked and cock dumb visage.

Heat roars into an inferno in his stomach doused with kerosene. A hard knot behind his navel that corkscrews his intestines into a revolting kind of pleasure. It's horrid. A melting gooey warmth in his already hot and feverish insides that's hardly even felt.

He pounds into you with hiccuped shambles. What started strong has deteriorated into half thrusts but nevertheless desperate and manic. His dirty talk has dilapidated into hoarse groans and growls like a monster. His promises of fucking a baby into you has him now whispering for a mercy he denies himself. He doesn't have to keep going. He has to keep going. His balls long since draining dry and with every follow-up dry contraction of his dick nearly painful as he twists a knife into his loins, and still he keeps going.

"Nng. Hha-haa." He groans as though someone had just murdered him. Your walls tighten around him again, miniscule, the smallest flutter of your muscles that tells him he's managed to get you to come a fourth time.

Finally, finally he's given all he has. His cock sore and nerves frayed that with that with his last dry oragsm there is no point. He's spent all he has into you and has no more left to give you. He groans, stilling, and catching his breath.

He doesn't whimper when he pulls himself out, unplugging the dense load of creamy hot cum. He feels far away. His skin is oversensative, and as he finally releases you from his grip, his finger pops at how hard he had been holding you in place. He slides the pad of his fingers over your flesh, stunned and amazed and just how soft your skin feels.

He sets you aside and turns over to give you a scan and watch his copious and nearly ridiculous amount of seed as it oozes down your lips. Dribbling down your inner thigh. A gob of it fallen and stains the already wet sheets underneath you.

Secondo watches with heavy eyes. His breathing hard enough to split metal. His whole body hurts but his cock thankfully going soft.

He curls his arms around you in a hug and holds on as he tries to catch his breath and pants into the crown on your head. He traces his thumbs against your cheeks, catching your tears and sighing contently.

One of you should clean up and drink some water, but he can't move. He can barely ask you in your okay before falling asleep, and a loud snore vibrates from his throat.

You're not far behind him.

You can clean up and complain tomorrow, on top of taking another test.

no mom you don’t understand, that autistic geriatric satanic pope is my soulmate

I love y’all’s blog, it’s amazing! How do you think the papas would react to reader calling them an “Italian stallion”?😏

This is one of the most hilarious ones so far. And thank you ♡ - Jez

Papas being called an Italian stallion by their s/o

Primo

"A retired one, perhaps, sí?"

He chuckles softly, finding it absolutely adorable.

Primo was the least sexually active out of his brothers, not just because of his age, but mostly because he didn't find as much fun in it and preferred to keep it intimate.

But now that he has the right person by his side, he lets himself be a bit more playful with it.

Secondo

Chokes on his drink and looks at you, genuinely confused.

You were supposed to be the innocent one in this relationship, hello?

Genuinely bamboozled.

Don't get me wrong, he likes the compliment (and he is well hung, we've all seen Year Zero), but he didn't expect you to say shit like that.

Once he gets past the initial shock, he chuckles with a small smirk and pats his thigh.

"Well, amore? Come on in, let Papa give you a ride."

Terzo

Like his older brother, Terzo's shocked, but he reacts by laughing.

"Well, baby, you know what they say. Save a horse, ride a Papa."

He's gonna almost demand you ride him, now that you called him that.

And he's not letting it go, either.

He will randomly call you and say your Italian stallion is lonely and needs your company.

Or he's gonna wrap his arms around you from behind, his erection presses against your ass as he whispers that your Italian Stallion needs attention.

He's menace and he's not living it down, you brought this upon yourself, love.

Copia

If you did that when he's a cardinal or when his facepaint is off, the noises he makes would be the audio equivalent of a keyboard smash.

He's just so, so confused and needs coddling. Especially if he's still the cardinal.

As he gets more confident in his role as Papa, he might react more confidently, though the initial awkward chuckle is always there.

If he's very confident, he'll just kinda squeeze your hip and say he's gonna let you take a ride later, since you're such an eager cowgirl/cowboy.

Old Nihil

Bro puffs his chest so much he's like a fucking peacock.

He's very happy to know you're still impressed with his Seven Inches of Satanic Panic.

And considering his age, he doesn't really have much energy to take charge anymore, so you're usually riding him anyway.

He's just so eager to make you ride him, too!

"Come to Papa, sweetie. Papa wants to you ride him."

Young Nihil

He's even more eager than he is when he's old.

Similarly to Terzo, he's willing play into it and mess with you because of it.

He's much more likely to be loud about it, though.

Will call out to you in public and talk to you about how your Italian stallion needs someone to ride him so he doesn't feel neglected.

He's also very likely to just randomly pull you into him and give you a very clear look that he wants to take you somewhere private.

"Come on, babe, you want a stallion, you gotta take care of him.*

Uno Night

Primo x teen, sleepy reader (Platonic)

Primo finds you asleep, listening to his album.

/ / /

yeah. no explanation. it's 2 am and zoo has sleepy bitch disease (again)

. . .

"Where's the kid?"

A silence fell over the room. Copia looked to his brothers. "Haven't you seen y/n? Surely they're running around here somewhere."

"You know teenagers," spoke Secondo. "You know, when I was their age-"

"We know, fratello. Let's hope they're not following in your footsteps," Terzo interrupts. "They don't cause trouble, generally. Unless they're with the ghouls; then we should have need for concern."

"Oh, lord below, I'm sure they are fine. They're nearly an adult you know. But if you are that concerned, Copia, I will go look for them. The three of you can continue without me."

"Thank you, fratello. I do appreciate it. It is not like them to miss Uno night."

Primo rolled his eyes before walking out the door.

His footsteps echoed loudly throughout the empty hall. There was not a soul in sight; no ghouls, siblings, or even Sister Imperator. He wondered what everyone could be up to; it was most likely that everyone had their own things going on. He imagined siblings in their own private quarters, partaking in their own individual activities. A bit of light reading, perhaps; or watching TV, drawing, writing, working, sleeping.

He wondered what you could be up to. It was possible you were with the ghouls; or maybe you were in your own bedroom, having forgotten about tonight's game. Maybe you were in the kitchen, making a late night snack. Maybe you had elected to spend the night with another sibling. No matter what you were doing, he was determined to discover your whereabouts. He just hoped it wasn't mischievous or dangerous.

As he approached your bedroom, he listened for any signs of life. He heard none, even after he knocked on your door. Opening the door, he discovered your still-made bed; he supposed you hadn't been in there yet for the night. He continued to ponder where you could be.

Next he tried the kitchen. Though he discovered a small group of ghouls that were absolutely up to no good, he didn't find you. He rolled his eyes as Aether swallowed a banana whole with the peel, turning to leave.

"Have you checked the commons?" Called Swiss.

"No, I have not. Is that where they are?"

"They were earlier. 'Dunno if they still are though," Aether manages with a mouthful of banana.

"Ah, well- thank you. I will stop by." He starts walking out the door once more. "Please stop eating the bananas whole!" He calls.

As he heads towards the common room, he wonders what you could be doing there. Sometimes the ghoulettes host game nights, which may explain the halls' emptiness.

Pushing open the heavy oak door, he is met with an empty common room. A fire is roaring in the fireplace, the only defense against the bitter chill that plagues the Ministry at this time of year.

He walks to the center of the room, making his way around the giant couch. Once he does, he spots you.

You're fast asleep, tangled up in a thin green blanket within the soft confines of the couch. You're curled up slightly, chest rising and falling with steady rhythms. He spots your phone, clutched tightly in hand, a pair of earbuds connected and in your ears.

With a sigh, he steps closer to your figure. He carefully removes the earbuds and phone from your grasp, turning it on to pause whatever you had drifted off listening to. He smiles, chuckling to himself when he sees.

You had fallen asleep to Opus Eponymous.

His album.

He leans down to your height. Brushing the hair out of your face, he decides to rouse you.

You stir, a deep whine escaping your lips as you crack your eyelids open. "...Primo?"

"Ah, good evening," he greets, "are you ready for bed, dolce?"

"What?" Your voice is rough with sleep, confusion on your face.

He chuckles. "Let's get you to bed." He reaches out to pull the blanket off of you; you whine, burying your face in your arms. "Come on now, don't be difficult. Bedtime, let's go." You don't move, breaths steadying once more. He sighs, using his hands to shake you gently. "Bambino, wake up. Bedtime."

Finally, you awaken. You open your eyes fully, brows knitting together in confusion as you use your arms to lift yourself slightly. You suck in a deep breath, unable to form words quite yet.

"Hello sleeping beauty," he teases, "are you ready for bed?"

You rub your eyes, pushing yourself to sit up on the couch. The remaining part of the blanket falls from your form, ending into a pile around you. You sleepily nod.

He helps you stand, smiling at the way you press yourself against his side for warmth. He picks up the blanket and wraps it around your shoulders, then returns your cell phone.

"My dear, I saw what you were listening to. How on Earth did you fall asleep to my album? It is not, eh... very soothing."

"Missed you," you mumble, still too drowsy to think.

"'Missed me?' I am right here."

"Busy."

"Ah, well. Would you miss me a little less if I took you to bed?"

"Mhm."

"Very well. But first we must meet with my brothers. They are very worried about you."

"Huh? Why?"

"It is Uno night. Have you forgotten?"

"Aw... I wanna play Uno..."

"Nope. Bedtime."

"Please?"

"No."

"Can I at least watch for a bit?"

He sighs. "Fine. You may watch one round, but then it is off to bed."

. . .

The others cheered when you entered the room.

"Child, we thought you no longer loved us," Terzo yells dramatically.

"Where were you?" Questions Secondo.

"You, eh... look drowsy," Copia chimes in.

"Napping in the den," Primo says, taking a seat at the table. "They wanted to say hi before going to bed. Isn't that right, y/n?"

You nod. "I wanna watch for a bit though." You sit on the couch a few feet away from the table.

"Just watching?" Terzo whines. "Come on, the games are always more interesting when you join!"

Primo shoots him a glare. "No. They're going to bed after this round. Now who's shuffling the cards?"

You quickly lose focus once the game starts. They're oddly quiet; there's no yelling, no throwing of cards. Instead they talk quietly, calmly explaining their complete and utter rage when being handed a thrice-stacked draw four card. You're still sleepy, so you decide to lie down on the couch for a moment. Only for a moment; after all, the game would be ending soon, and Primo would be putting you to bed.

You curl up, using one of the couch pillows to rest your head on. You toss the blanket over your legs, watching the brothers play with half-lidded eyes. Over time, those eyes begin to close; before long, you're fast asleep.

. . .

Primo sighs. "I knew I should have taken them to bed."

"What?"

"Look."

The four men pause as your sleeping form is noticed.

"Poor thing," Copia mutters, "they must've had a rough day."

"They fell asleep to my album," gloats Primo. "They said they missed me."

"That is such bullshit. They probably had a playlist going and that's the song they were listening to," Terzo tells him.

"I went into their music library to pause the music. They were listening to my album."

The arguing is interrupted when a yawn is heard from your direction. "Whadya talkin' about?" You ask, words slurring from sleep. Your eyes open, and you sit up slightly.

"Don't worry baby, just go back to sleep," Copia says. "We're sorry to wake you."

"Wasn't sleeping," you rub your eyes, "Jus' bored."

"Alright," Primo stands. "That's enough. I should have tucked you in long ago. Come on, time for bed dolcezza."

You whine. "What about the game? Aren't you gonna finish?"

"We already did, long ago," Secondo chuckles. "You've been asleep this whole time."

"Was not."

"Were too."

"Alright, enough. Come on, kiddo. Bedtime." Primo hovers over you now, and helps you to your feet. You're wobbly, still sleepy, and press against him. He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "Ah, don't forget your blanket." He picks it up and hands it to you. "Okay, sleepy-time. Come on."

A chorus of "good night, sleep well!" can be heard from throughout the room. Unable to form a coherent thought, all you can think of to respond with is a soft-spoken "Night night." The room goes silent.

You hear Terzo giggle, followed by a loud smack, then; "ooow! What the Hell was that for?!"

Copia stands to bid you goodnight. "Pleasant dreams," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your head. "I would tell you to sleep well, but it already seems that you will." He winks at you. "Good night."

Primo acts as your support as the two of you walk down the hallway. When you yawn for the millionth time, he asks, "Kiddo, did you take something to make you this tired?"

You nod. "I had hives again, so I took three benedryl."

"Ah, now it makes sense."

. . .

"Comfy?" He asks, smirking at the way you're pressed up against him. You're curled up in his bed, half asleep with your head pressed into the crook of his arm. You've only been here a moment, but the drowsiness has already taken over.

"Mhm," you mumble, nuzzling further into him. A few moments later, you're asleep yet again.

"Sorry for keeping you up, kiddo. I would have put you to bed a lot earlier if I'd known." Your only response is light snoring. "Poor thing." He hadn't even been able to keep you awake long enough to make a trip to your bedroom for pajamas; he was thankful you'd dressed yourself in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that day. At least you weren't sleeping in jeans.

It hadn't taken him long to coax you onto the bed. You'd laid down first without him, waiting as he got dressed. When he'd returned a moment later, you were already on the verge of sleep, clutching his pillow and laying atop the covers.

Now he's got you cozied up to him, watching as your chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. He leans over to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Night night, little one."

Subtle Pride Flag Masterpost

All my subtle pride flags so far compiled into one post.

Lesbian

Gay

Bisexual

Pansexual

Transgender

Non-Binary

Genderfluid

Demisexual

Aromantic

Asexual

AroAce

Progress

Remastered, better quality versions now available.

It took me maybe a week or two but I wanted to design Ghoul/Ghoulettes from this current era! Hope you like them all!

Aether and Phantom headcanon

Phantom is Aether's little brother.

He always adored his big bro, so when Aether was summoned to play for Ghost, he was absolutely thrilled to see his brother on the stage! He was and will always be his biggest fan. He even started to play instruments himself to be more like his big brother.

He learned all the Ghost songs just to impress Aether. And his brother was so proud he refused to stop hugging him! It was just so cute of him to learn all that just for his brother!

And then, as Aether was getting ready for the Re-Imperatour, Phantom mentioned something about how cool it would be if he could be in a band as well. And so Aether had an idea. After a surprisingly serious discussion with Papa, he got Phantom to replace him as the rhythm guitarist for the band.

Does Aether miss messing around on stage? Yes, absolutely. But it's all totally worth it so see how happy and excited his little brother is to perform.

You could say that tables have turned for them, because now it's Aether who is his brother's biggest fan. ♡

~

Taglist: @mybotanicaldemise @copias-fluffy-asscheeks (send an ask if you'd like to be added! read the pinned post before asking!)