I’m Fixed - Blog Posts

Gentle Hands in a Time of Discomfort

Papa Emeritus I x Reader Word Count: 2,249

Summary: Confronted by a lingering backache, you turn to Primo, discovering unexpected comfort in the simplicity of opening up.

(Or: Primo gives you a back massage.)

Tags: chronic pain, gender-neutral reader, comfort, fluff, briefest nsfw mention, primo gives you a massage, really self-indulgent A/N: I was sad and experiencing a flare-up from chronic back pain, which resulted in this. Enjoy. 🥺

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The sharp pain radiating from your lower back (or maybe your hip; you couldn't quite place it) made each step toward Papa Emeritus I's quarters as painful as the last.

You had been assigned to the library a few days prior, and while kneeling to return a book to a lower shelf, you felt, and heard, a sudden pop as you rose to your feet.

It hadn't hurt too badly at first, just a nagging discomfort as you continued to hobble around and carry out the remainder of your tasks. You made sure to avoid any and all shelves that were below waist height, getting one of the younger, more limber Siblings to do it for you. But by the time you returned to the confines of your room, you could barely stand.

Holding onto the edge of your desk for support, you fished through the drawer for the last of your painkillers and quickly downed them dry. It wasn't something you would typically do, but you didn't wish to retrieve your water bottle from the other side of the room. 

Sucking in a deep breath through gritted teeth, you limped over to your bed.

You knew that the most sensible course of action would have been to consult with the abbey's physician. However, your irrational thoughts had you convinced that the problem would magically resolve itself by morning.

It hadn't, of course. Which is why, after explaining to Sister Imperator (or rather, explaining to her personal ghoul, who would then relay the message to her), the reason for needing the day off, you now found yourself standing at the door of Papa Emeritus the First.

Who better to confide in about aches and pains than an elder with the wisdom to understand your discomfort and empathise with your experiences?

As your knuckles rapped against the old oak door, the sound echoing in the stillness of the night, you could feel the anticipation building. In all your time at the ministry, you'd, unfortunately, never actually spent any one-on-one time with him.

But based on your distant observations—whether it was watching him interact with the other siblings, attending one of his masses, or even as he tended to his plants in the abbey’s garden—you found him to be a gentle soul, despite his somewhat eerie demeanour, especially when he was dressed in his robes and papal face paint. 

It was why you decided to approach him rather than one of his other brothers.

After a short period of quiet, you began to consider the possibility that he had already retired for the night, a reasonable expectation given his age. However, as you started to withdraw, you heard what appeared to be the shuffling of slippers, followed by the gradual creaking of the door as it opened.

Emerging from the obscurity behind it, the face of the eldest Emeritus came into view, with the dimly lit hallway casting shadows that accentuated his weathered features. Though subtle, you noticed remnants of smudged black paint in the creases of his mouth and nose, suggesting he must have conducted mass earlier in the day. You couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment for having missed it.

"Sibling," he greeted you with a warm smile that forced the corners of his eyes to wrinkle. You found it incredibly endearing. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You opened your mouth to reply, to explain your situation, when another twinge of pain in your back stifled your words. Instinctively, your hand reached around and rested on the source of discomfort. The tablets you’d taken earlier must have been starting to wear off. “Sorry, I—”

Worry etched across Papa's face as he swiftly moved to accompany you by your side, snaking an arm around you so you wouldn’t have to bear too much weight on the side that ached. Before you could protest, he was already carefully guiding you through the door and into his quarters.

"It seems that I have already unravelled the mystery of your presence here," he quipped as you both approached a set of welcoming armchairs draped in red velvet by an impressive fireplace. The warmth radiating from it touched your face even before you sat down.

As you sank into the plush chair to your left, you breathed a sigh of relief. The pain seemed to ease somewhat—perhaps comforted by the enveloping atmosphere of the room, or maybe by the company within it. The eldest Emeritus, having released his hold on you, offered a brief, comforting rub to your shoulder before taking the seat adjacent to you. A quiet groan escaped from him on the descent, which only reaffirmed that you had come to the right person.

"Now," he began, hands casually smoothing out the wrinkles in his robe, "is this a new development, or something that has been bothering you for some time, hm?"

You explained your situation, confessing that you’ve had the occasional ache in the past, but nothing so severe that it hadn't resolved itself after a solid night’s sleep. However, this? This felt different. The fear that it might be permanent was the real reason you hadn’t sought out help yet. You didn’t want them to confirm your worry—that you would have to endure it for the rest of your life.

“I only wish I could take the burden of this pain from you, amoruccio.”

“Papa—”

“Primo, please,” he corrected you, his voice filled with a gentle insistence, “and believe me, I understand what you are going through. It has been quite some time since I experienced a life untouched by pain. However, there are ways to manage it; you do not need to suffer.”

There was a brief pause during which his gaze met yours before he continued. “But firstly, you must promise me you will speak with our physician—tomorrow, preferably.”

You gave a reluctant nod.

“Use your words. Promise me.”

How could you refuse those kind, mis-matched eyes? “Okay, yes, I promise.”

Satisfied with your response, Primo gave a content hum. 

A comfortable silence filled the space between the pair of you. You opted to shut your eyes and immerse yourself in the comforting sounds of the wood crackling in the fireplace.

You weren't completely sure how much time had passed, as you had become so engrossed that you failed to notice Primo getting up from his chair to fetch something from the kitchen. It was only when he gently nudged your arm that you snapped out of your trance.

As you looked upward, you observed him extending a glass of water and some tablets to you. You graciously accepted and promptly downed them. While you drank, Primo couldn't help but watch as droplets of water traced a path down your chin. Despite the impulse to wipe them away with his thumb, he exercised self-control.

“These are likely stronger than whatever you have. You will want to sleep shortly after taking them, which is why I offer you my bed tonight.”

“Papa—,” you quickly corrected yourself, “Primo, I couldn’t.”

“I would be deeply insulted if you refused,” his tone was playful, but you got a sense that there was truth to his words.

With a defeated sigh, the painkillers appeared to act swiftly, just as Primo had cautioned. They left you feeling too tired to muster any resistance—not that you had the inclination to in the first place. Setting the glass you had still been holding down onto the side table, you steadied yourself by gripping the arms of the chair to stand up once more.

However, Primo wouldn’t have that. He signalled for you to let go and, instead, interlaced his fingers with yours. Simultaneously, his other hand rested on the middle of your back, aiding you in rising to your feet. You were relieved to find that the pain had mostly subsided for now.

“Come,” he led you past the kitchen and towards what you assumed was his bedroom door. As you enter, your eyes are immediately drawn to the oversized bed in the centre of the room. The frame is solid and impressive, but it's not too over-the-top; it has a laid-back elegance and just the right touch of sophistication.

You couldn’t resist gliding your hand over the burgundy silk sheets as you sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Is it to your liking?” Primo asked, reaching down to retrieve something from the drawer of the bedside table closest to you. He slipped it into the pocket of his robe before you got a chance to see what it was.

“This is probably the fanciest bed I’ve ever sat on if I’m being honest,” you remarked candidly.

“Is that so?” Primo chuckled with genuine warmth, returning to your side and maintaining his stance. “You should see Terzo’s then,” he suggested offhandedly. However, in that brief moment, a shadow of regret crossed his face, as if the realisation of the impact of his words had just dawned on him. "On second thought, maybe it is best if you do not."

“Nevertheless," he carried on before you could inquire about his previous remark, "before we retire for the night, there is one last thing I would like to do for you.”

“You’ve already done more than enough,” you protested, genuinely touched by his thoughtful gestures throughout the evening. In a surprising display of boldness and wanting to outwardly express your appreciation, you reached out and held his hand with both of yours, gently rubbing your thumbs across his skin.

In response, Primo rested his other hand on top of yours. “Allow your Papa to massage your troubles away, mio dolce.”

Admittedly, the idea of indulging in a massage from the most senior Emeritus was undeniably an enticing one. While the gesture itself was not inherently sexual, it carried an intimacy that evoked a delightful flutter in the pit of your stomach and a subtle flush across your cheeks.

Yes. You would allow yourself this.

"Lie down for me then,” he instructed once you agreed, “on your stomach."

You complied, settling comfortably onto the cool sheets with your arms crossed in front of you, chin resting on top. Primo circled around to the opposite side of the bed, shuffled across, and repositioned himself beside you.

As you turned your head to face him, your lips curved into a smile. "If I may...?" he asked, his question lingering in the air as his hands hovered just above the small of your back, right at the hem of your top. In response, you not only raised it but also chose to remove it altogether—a gesture that not only made things more convenient for him but also reflected the profound sense of security you felt with Primo, a space free from any concerns of judgement.

He reached into the pocket of his robe once again to retrieve what he had placed there earlier—a small glass jar. You couldn't make out the label, if it even had one, but you assumed it was an ointment meant to soothe aches. At least, that's what you hoped for.

Primo deftly unscrewed the lid and scooped out a small heap of its contents. With a gentle touch, he began at your shoulders, his fingers moving in slow, circular motions. To your delight, each stroke was accompanied by a soothing warmth provided by the ointment. As the stress of the day melted away, you couldn't help but relax even further into the soft embrace of the bed.

He continued down your spine, focusing on a notably sensitive area in your lower back, the origin of your unease. To your horror, an involuntary moan left your lips upon contact, causing Primo to tense momentarily. Unaware to you, his body nearly gave away his reaction; beneath his robes, his cock stirred at the pleasing sound he’d unintentionally drawn from you.

"Careful,” Primo chuckled softly, “I may not possess the youth I once did, but I am still a man."

You buried your face in your arms, a mix of embarrassment and the realisation that your entire face was turning red. "’I’m so sorry," you mumbled with a muffled voice.

He waved off your apology. "Such reactions are completely natural. I consider it a compliment, my dear."

After a few minutes, the tension on your end had eased as he finished the massage, completing the final circles into your back. "There," he declared. Leaning in, he softly kissed the top of your head. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," you sighed.

Primo gave a satisfied hum and briefly stepped away from your presence to cleanse his hands of the lingering ointment. Granted, it had proven advantageous for him and the ageing joints in his fingers too. The two of you were swiftly reunited, and he passed you an additional pillow.

“Lie on your side and put a pillow between your knees; you will find that your pain will not be nearly as intense come morning.”

“Thank you, Primo.”

"Now, let us get some rest."

Repositioning for added comfort following Primo's suggestion to place a pillow between your legs, he dimmed the nearby lamp, creating a gentle and welcoming glow.

The conversation gradually faded, replaced by the rhythmic sounds of deep, steady breaths as sleep began to claim you both. The room became a haven of tranquillity, a sanctuary where the weight of the world lifted, if only for a little while.

You never wanted to leave.