hey, welcome ♡ this is my little masterlist of all the stuff i’ve written so far! it’s a mix of fluff, smut, headcanons, and the occasional full length fic. i’ll keep this updated as i go, so feel free to check back or browse around.everything’s sorted by character/fandom for easy scrolling. hope you find something you like! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
⌯⌲ requests are always open ! OPEN INBOX ♡
⃠ mdni for any nsfw stuff !
⋆˙⟡ feel free to reblog any that you enjoy !
✦ ┆ Secondo ♡
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
₊⊹ Power Imbalance Secondo
₊⊹ Power Imbalance Secondo PT. 2
₊⊹ NSFW Secondo
₊⊹ Aftercare
₊⊹ Humiliation
✦ ┆ Terzo ♡
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
₊⊹ Terzo/Omega
₊⊹ Terzo/Omega (2)
✦ ┆ Nihil ♡
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
₊⊹ Young Nihil
✦ ┆ Perpetua ♡
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
₊⊹ Ascension to Papa
₊⊹ Vamp! V
₊⊹ Creature Feature
₊⊹ Creature Feature PT. 2 / ALTERNATE ENDING
₊⊹ Creature Feature Fluff
₊⊹ Post-Concert Comfort
₊⊹ Post Ritual Cuddles
₊⊹ It Feeds
₊⊹ Snow Storm
₊⊹ Umbra
✦ ┆ Ghouls ♡
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
₊⊹ Post Ritual Pillow (Mountain)
₊⊹ Five More Minutes (Swiss)
this umbra inspired fic is intended for adults only and leans heavily into dark erotic horror themes, religious imagery, and power dynamics within a fictional setting. please mind the content tags before reading and take care of yourself. all characters are depicted as consenting adults. thank you for reading, and for indulging my perpetua brainrot ♡
summary: drawn away from the congregation and into the depths of the ministry, a devoted sister of sin answers the call woven into umbra’s final notes.
contains: explicit sexual content, power dynamics, consensual domination, gothic erotica, ritual setting
MDNI. 18+. ADULT ONLY CONTENT BELOW.
the ministry’s deepest crypt chamber lay shrouded in perpetual twilight, where black candles burned with unnatural steadiness, their flames licking at the air like eager tongues. the scent of melted wax and myrrh hung thick. in the center stood the obsidian altar, etched with sigils that seemed to pulse in time with a low, throbbing bassline.
the devoted sister of sin who had caught his gaze during umbra’s final cowbell driven crescendo. she had not fled with the congregation. instead, she had followed the shadowed corridor down, down, until she found him waiting, gloves still on, belt unbuckled, cock already straining thick and heavy against the open fly of his trousers.
he did not speak at first. he simply crooked one leather clad finger.
she stepped forward on trembling legs, her black lace dress already hiked to her thighs from earlier desperate touches in the dark auditorium. her cunt ached, slick and swollen from the way his voice had curled around the lyrics like smoke in the shadows, death becomes your lover.. each word a promise of ruin.
perpetua’s painted mouth curved into something predatory beneath the stark black and silver mask of his face.
“you heard it,” he purred, voice low and theatrical, laced with that unmistakable menace. “the song was for you tonight. every filthy syllable.”
he closed the distance in two strides. one gloved hand seized her throat not choking but claiming, tilting her head back until her pulse fluttered wildly against his palm. the leather was cool against her fevered skin. his other hand dragged down her body, bunching the lace, exposing her breasts to the chill air. her nipples pebbled instantly. he pinched one viciously between thumb and forefinger, twisting until she gasped.
“look at these pretty tits,” he murmured, leaning in to drag his tongue along the underside of one, then biting down hard enough to leave teeth marks. “begging to be marked. to be owned by papa.”
her hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging into the dark fabric
“papa.. please”
he laughed, dark and approving, the sound vibrating against her sternum. in one fluid motion he spun her, bending her over the altar’s edge. cold stone kissed her belly, her breasts flattening against the surface as he kicked her legs wider apart. the dress rode up completely now, baring her ass and the drenched cleft between her thighs.
“no underwear,” he noted with theatrical disappointment, though his voice dripped satisfaction. “such a shameless little slut. you’ve been walking around the venue all night with this dripping cunt, haven’t you? thinking about my cock while i sang about death fucking you raw.”
she whimpered, hips rocking back instinctively. he cut off the noise by shoving two gloved fingers straight into her soaking heat. the leather stretched her deliciously, unyielding and slick with her arousal almost instantly. he pumped them hard, curling to stroke that swollen ridge inside her until her thighs shook and a gush of wetness coated his wrist.
“listen to how fucking wet you are,” he growled, adding a third finger, scissoring them wide. “this greedy hole is sucking me in like it wants to keep me forever. but it’s my cock you really want, isn’t it? thick. hot. stretching you until you scream my name like a prayer to the dark.”
she could only moan, forehead pressed to the altar, hips bucking shamelessly onto his hand. the wet obscene squelch filled the chamber, mingling with the faint crackle of candles. when he withdrew his fingers she sobbed at the loss only for the blunt leaking head of his cock to replace them.
he teased her entrance, smearing pre cum through her folds, bumping her clit with every shallow nudge. “beg for it,” he commanded. “beg your papa to fuck you.”
“please papa.. fuck me,” she gasped, voice breaking. “ruin me. fill me. make me yours.”
he slammed home in one brutal thrust.
she cried out, the stretch burning so perfectly it bordered on pain. he was impossibly thick, veins pulsing against her walls as he bottomed out, balls pressed tight to her clit. for a heartbeat he stilled, letting her feel every inch claiming her, owning her.
then he moved... hard. deep. relentless.
each snap of his hips drove the air from her lungs. the altar rocked beneath them. black candles flickered wildly. his gloved hands gripped her hips with bruising force, fabric of his dress shirt scraping her lower back like icy claws as he pounded into her. the wet slap of skin on skin echoed louder than any drum.
“feel that?” he snarled against her ear, one hand sliding up to fist her hair, yanking her head back so her spine arched beautifully. “that’s me fucking the sin right into you. every thrust claiming this tight little cunt for the darkness.”
her moans turned to broken sobs of pleasure. her clit throbbed with every grind of his pelvis. she was dripping down her thighs, slick coating his balls. when his free hand snaked around to rub merciless circles over her swollen nub.
her orgasm ripped through her like fire. walls clamped down hard, fluttering, milking him as she screamed his name, voice raw and reverent. slick gushed around his cock, soaking them both.
he didn’t stop. kept fucking her through the aftershocks, pace brutal, chasing his own release now.
“gonna fill you,” he panted, teeth grazing her shoulder. “gonna pump this pretty pussy so full of cum you’ll feel it for days. marked. owned.”
his rhythm stuttered. one final grinding thrust buried him to the hilt and he came with a guttural groan that vibrated through her bones. hot thick pulses flooded her, spilling out around his cock as he rocked shallowly, pushing every drop deeper.
when the last tremor faded he stayed seated inside her, softening slowly, one gloved hand stroking lazy possessiveness down her spine.
finally he pulled out slow letting her feel the warm slide of his cum leaking from her abused hole. he turned her gently, pushed her to her knees on the cold stone.
“clean your papa,” he ordered, voice wrecked but still commanding.
she obeyed without hesitation. tongue dragging along his length, tasting salt, musk, and her own release. she took him into her mouth, sucking softly, reverently, until he was clean and glistening only with her spit.
he threaded gloved fingers through her hair almost tender now tilting her chin up so their eyes met. paint smudged but his gaze burned with dark satisfaction.
he helped her stand, steadied her trembling legs, then pressed a surprisingly soft kiss to her forehead.
“next time the song plays,” he murmured, already straightening his shirt with casual arrogance, “you’ll be on your knees at the front of the stage. mouth open. waiting for your papa to feed you every filthy word and more.”
he turned toward the shadowed exit, his chrome half-mask catching the dying candlelight one last time.
she remained by the altar, thighs slick with their combined release, heart pounding with the afterglow of sin.
in the shadows, death had indeed become her lover.
a little fluff fic with papa v,, idea came to me after the cancelled shows / snow storm on the east ♡ not much,, but something after i've been gone for a bit
contains: soft! papa v perpetua, reader insert, established relationship, non sexual intimacy, shared silence
the snow had come down in merciless sheets, thick and quiet and relentless, until the world outside the tour bus windows had softened into something unrecognizable. roads closed. venues dark. schedules erased with a single weather alert. the cancellation hadn’t been dramatic, just a resigned sigh from management and a sudden rerouting to the nearest hotel that still had power and heat.
it was strange, she thought, how quickly chaos could turn into stillness.
the hotel itself was old but warm, all dim lighting and patterned carpets that smelled faintly of cedar and detergent. somewhere below them, a lobby fireplace crackled. the elevator ride up had been quiet, V standing close enough that she could feel the heat of him through her coat, his presence steady and grounding in that way she’d come to crave without ever quite admitting it aloud.
now they were tucked away on the seventh floor, the outside world reduced to a window streaked with frost.
she sat curled on the edge of the bed, boots kicked off, sweater sleeves pulled over her hands. snowlight filtered in, pale and blue, catching on the black paint of V's ringed fingers as he set his gloves aside. he’d already shed the more elaborate parts of himself; no robes, no regalia. just dark slacks, a soft shirt, and that familiar air of quiet command softened by exhaustion.
this was papa without the stage.
he watched her with that unreadable expression, the one that always made her feel like she was being seen more deeply than she was prepared for. she was aware, acutely, of the way her pulse quickened under his gaze, of how the tension of the road hadn’t disappeared so much as dissolved into something heavier, more intimate.
“come here,” he said gently. it wasn’t an order. not really. it never was.
she moved toward him without thinking, drawn by the warmth of his body, the faint scent of incense and leather and something unmistakably him. when he pulled her into his arms, it felt like the exhale she’d been holding in for days. his hand settled at her back, firm and reassuring, thumb tracing slow, absent patterns through the fabric of her sweater.
outside, the wind howled. inside, the world shrank.
she rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. it was grounding in a way that surprised her every time. papa v perpetua; frontman, icon, larger than life.. was painfully human here, shoulders relaxed, breath warm against her hair.
“strange,” he murmured, almost to himself. “how silence can be louder than any crowd.” she smiled faintly, fingers curling into his shirt. “i don’t mind it,” she admitted. “not when it’s like this.”
his hand stilled for a moment, then tightened just slightly, as if her words had struck something tender. he tilted his head, pressing a brief, reverent kiss to the crown of her hair. it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t hungry. it was careful, deliberate, full of a quiet affection that made her chest ache.
they ended up tangled together on the bed, shoes forgotten, coats abandoned. the tv played some forgettable movie neither of them paid attention to. she lay half draped over him, her legs warm under a shared blanket, his arm around her shoulders, holding her close as if the storm outside might try to steal her away if he didn’t.
she traced the lines of his rings, the familiar shape of his hands. he let her, watching her with that soft, knowing smile that never failed to make her feel both seen and safe.
“you’re warm,” she said sleepily.
he chuckled under his breath. “so i’ve been told.”
time blurred. the road, the stage, the personas.. all of it felt distant, unreal. there was only the quiet room, the steady hum of the heater, the sound of snow tapping at the glass. her thoughts slowed, drifting lazily, until even worry seemed like too much effort.
V adjusted slightly so she was more comfortable, careful not to wake her as her breathing evened out. he looked down at her then, truly looked, memorizing the softness of her expression, the way her trust rested so easily in his arms.
shows would resume. the storm would pass. the world would demand him again.
but for now, in this small pocket of time carved out by snow and chance, he allowed himself to simply stay. held by the quiet certainty that wherever the road led next, this moment was real, and it was theirs.
Creature Perpetua crawling over you in the pitch black room, his eyes luminous. He wants to snuggle with you. He starts purring loudly as he gently pulls you against him.
in the pitch black of the room, something stirs.
a low sound hums through the dark first, almost too deep to place. then comes the soft scrape of claws against stone as perpetua shifts forward, keeping his body low, moving with a careful patience that contrasts his size. the only visible part of him are his eyes, luminous and steady, glowing faintly like twin moons as they fix on the shape of them curled beneath blankets.
he pauses halfway across the floor, head tilting as if listening. their breathing is slow, familiar. safe. that seems to be all the permission he needs.
he continues on, climbing up onto the bed with deliberate care. the mattress dips under his weight, but he moves slowly enough that it does not jolt them. his presence alone changes the air. warmer. heavier. protective. when he reaches them, he lowers himself close, chest hovering for a moment before settling beside them.
the sound starts then. a deep, resonant purr that rolls through him without restraint. it vibrates against the bedframe, against their ribs, against the quiet of the room itself. it is not subtle. it is the sound of contentment earned.
one large hand reaches out, claws flexing once before he tucks them in and hooks his fingers gently at their waist. the pull is slow, coaxing rather than demanding. when they shift closer, the purr grows louder, more insistent, like he has been waiting for that exact response.
he curls himself around them next, long limbs folding in until they are tucked against the solid warmth of his chest. his other arm settles across their back, heavy but careful, palm resting between their shoulder blades. he presses his forehead to the back of their neck, breathing them in, and nudges closer until there is no space left between them at all.
the glow of his eyes softens as he relaxes, lids lowering as his purring evens out into a steady rhythm. it vibrates through them both, grounding and soothing, as if he is anchoring himself to them just as much as he is holding them safe.
every so often he shifts slightly, adjusting his grip, tightening just enough to remind them that he is there. that he chose this. that he sought them out in the dark not to hunt or haunt, but to curl close and be held as much as to hold.
in the quiet, with nothing but the sound of his purr and the warmth of his body wrapped around theirs, perpetua settles fully. content. watchful. unmoving. and the darkness no longer feels empty at all.
Hey! I love love LOVE your fics/headcannons for creature V with fem reader. The filthy ones as well as the cute romantic ones. I've bookmarked them so I can go back and reread them. Just know Ill always be eagerly waiting here for when you post more creature V <3
im so glad you like my Creature V.. i've been needing to write more for him and this gives me the perfect opportunity to do so ♡
this one leans a little darker than usual, dipping into creature horror and blood heavy imagery. i wanted to explore perpetua’s more feral instincts and the tension between hunger and devotion. the scene is suggestive but not too explicit, focused more on atmosphere and the unsettling intimacy of feeding. please take care while reading and feel free to skip if horror themes are not your thing. thank you for being here and for enjoying my strange little monster fics with me. so here is my (very strongly) Lachryma inspired creature V !
bc as we all know... In the middle of the night it feeds.
Content Warning !!
horror elements, intense atmosphere and fear responses, injury to the neck, blood drinking and vampiric feeding, close physical proximity in a threatening context, mild fear kink vibes. not explicit but heavy tension
the chamber was dim, lit only by the red glow of candles that flickered whenever perpetua breathed. his eyes nearly glowed when he looked at her, like a nocturnal animal's reflecting upon light, pupils blown wide with restraint he had held for too long.
she spoke softly, not letting herself show the slight fear that washed over her to see him like this.
“you need to feed. come here.”
the words hit him like a physical touch. he took one step, then another, circling her like something starved and afraid of breaking its own restraint. his breath shuddered. “i do not want to hurt you,” he rasped, voice layered and feral. she reached out and touched his jaw. his entire body went still, heavy breath catching in his chest. then he leaned into her palm like he had been waiting for that gentleness for far too many nights. “i trust you,” she whispered. that was all it took until his resolve snapped.
he pressed her against the wall, careful but desperate, bracing his hands on either side of her. his forehead dropped to her shoulder as he inhaled her scent, shivering with how deep it hit him before his lips brushed the sensitive skin of her throat first. a test. a plea.
“may i?” he murmured, voice almost human.
“yes.” the word left her mouth and his control unraveled. his mouth opened over her pulse, breath sliding across her skin, fangs dragging in a way that felt like a promise. he sank them in slowly, almost reverently, a low groan vibrating against her throat as her blood touched his tongue.
his whole body pressed closer, chest rumbling with relief and hunger. one clawed hand slid to her waist, pulling her into him while he drank in slow, shivering pulls. not violent. not rushed. like he was savoring her. her breath hitched as she sucked in a few hisses before the pain began to dissolve into an almost comforting warmth. her noises made him grip her tighter, claws twitching against the stone as he fed in deep, shuddering pulls. no reluctance. no restraint. just hunger made flesh. he groaned against her skin, low and wild, each sound vibrating through her body. her blood hit his tongue and he pressed even closer, breath turning ragged, as though her taste was dragging him deeper into some instinct he had tried to bury.
he fed until her knees buckled. until she had to brace him with shaking hands. he tore himself away from her throat with a snarl that sounded like pain. his face lifted. crimson on his lips. eyes glowing like something unholy and monstrous. “do you have any idea,” he panted, “what you do to me.” he was trembling violently, fighting the urge to bite again. “i could devour you,” he whispered, voice shaking with want and restraint. “and i swear i would beg forgiveness even as i did it.” he pressed his forehead to her neck, breathing ragged, nostrils flaring, tasting the metallic warmth in the air. his eyes fluttered closed, as though the sight of her alone was too much to bear.
“you make it unbearable,” he murmured, voice low, raw. “every heartbeat, every pulse, i can feel it calling to me.” he lifted his head slightly, gaze locked on hers. there was hunger there still, undeniable, but now tempered with reverence. the creature within him softened, curling closer without crossing the boundary she had given.
“i am yours,” he breathed, voice trembling, “even when i cannot control myself.” he pressed another featherlight kiss to her pulse, just grazing the skin this time, letting the heat and tension linger without consuming her.
his forehead lifted slowly from her pulse, eyes still glowing faintly, pupils wide and untamed. the feral tension in his body did not leave, but something softer flickered in them now, something raw and desperate for closeness. he leaned forward, jaw tight, lips barely brushing hers at first. the contact was electric, trembling with hunger and restraint at once. she tilted her head, pressing closer, letting him explore the line between danger and trust.
his hands moved to cradle her face, careful but possessive, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones as he deepened the kiss. it was hungry, urgent, yet deliberate, like he wanted to feel every inch of her without letting himself lose all control.
she parted her lips slightly, matching him, feeling the warmth and pulse of him, the feral vibration in his chest, and the subtle tremor that ran through him whenever she didn’t pull away. he groaned softly into her mouth, the sound low and almost animal, and pressed her closer against the wall, letting his body anchor hers while the kiss grew, fierce and intimate all at once.
when he finally pulled back, just slightly, his forehead rested against hers again. his breath was heavy, uneven, and his voice came out in a low, trembling murmur: “do not leave me… not tonight.”
she smiled against him, heart hammering, and whispered,
“i am not going anywhere.”
the glow of the candles reflected in his eyes, feral, untamed, and completely hers.
As a shiper of Terzo and Omega I think Omega is still around the ministry and helps with the expo to feel close to his beloved. How do you think Copia and Perpetue would react to this? I also think Omega has a very strong opinion about Perpetua wearing purple.
I LOVE THIS SO MUCH OMG
if you want super in your feels while reading this and thinking about terzo/omega listen to 'Guiding Lights'.. trust
• • • • • • •
omega feels terzo in every corner of the ministry and cannot leave because if he does, he fears the last traces of his beloved will fade. i feel omega's attitude is not hostile or volatile. it is just… layered. charged. it's simply just quiet grief brushing against new authority.
• • •
copia is soft hearted and observant in a way people forget. he does not say anything outright at first, but he absolutely notices omega hanging around more than he needs to. especially by the expo. especially where terzo used to stand. especially with that air of someone trying to breathe old memories like oxygen.
he gets it. he really does. but he also feels… conflicted.
copia does not want to push omega away because he respects how deeply the ghoul bonds, and he knew terzo's relationships were never simple. but he also senses that omega is clinging to something that hurts. that the ministry’s new era might be salt in an open wound.
if omega ever gets too close during official duties, copia just gently clears his throat and steps between them. very polite. very sweet. but firm. the same way one might redirect a cat that is about to knock over a ceremonial chalice.
he might even pull omega aside privately and say something soft like,
"i think it is good that you are here. but… do not lose yourself trying to live in the past, si."
he means it kindly. he really does. but he doesn't want omega to haunt the ministry like a memory with legs.
and there is apart of copia that wonders if sodo would act the same way if anything ever happened to him.
• • •
perpetua does not fully understand the depth of what terzo meant to the ministry. he never knew him. he only sees the ghosts that people carry when his name is mentioned, especially omega’s. so when he notices omega lingering around the expo, hovering over details tied to terzo, perpetua does not insert himself. he watches from a respectful distance. he knows devotion when he sees it, even if he cannot name its shape.
perpetua did not choose the color to replace anyone. it was assigned. a symbol. a role. something expected of him. he wears it because leadership demands it, not because he wants to echo someone else's story.
but omega definitely has thoughts. the first time perpetua walks in wearing that deep royal purple, omega’s ears probably flatten like an offended cat. he looks perpetua up and down with that barely concealed look of "that was terzo’s color. you do not get to wear that."
when omega looks at him with that wounded flash in his eyes, perpetua lowers his voice and asks carefully,
"is this color upsetting to you." not accusatory. not challenging. just a gentle question from someone who does not want to step on a grave accidentally. and when omega bristles, not quite admitting anything, perpetua softens even further.
"i am not trying to imitate anyone."
he never pushes further. he does not press for details. he respects that omega’s grief is private and old and tangled. perpetua simply adjusts the way he carries himself, carries the purple a little more solemnly, a little more aware.
and if omega continues to linger in terzo’s old spaces, perpetua never confronts him. he allows it. he steps aside. he understands that some ties do not vanish simply because time has moved on. perpetua is not threatened by omega’s devotion. he is simply… humbled by it. careful around it. careful not to take anything he has not earned.
Absolutely FERAL for your pregnant Copia headcannons, do you happen to have any for Perpetua? 👀
ofc ofc !! here's some with pregnant! reader and a small snippet of post-birth as well :3
・・・・・・
i feel like he would not see it as a simple stage of life- to him, it would be an omen, an unholy blessing, a ritual unfolding in the body of the person he adores
› he becomes even more attentive. there is a quiet fierceness in the way he hovers, always one step behind or beside. if they stand too quickly, he is there. if they sigh, he asks what hurts. if they smile, he looks at them like they’ve created a new sun
› perpetua is not loud about how protective he gets. he simply places himself between his spouse and anything he perceives as a threat or strain. a crowded hallway becomes suddenly empty. a heavy box is somehow already moved. no one upsets his pregnant spouse. ever.
› not controlling but protective to a fault. he calls them "my unholy vessel," "my beloved," "my grace."
when they’re stressed, his voice goes low and soothing, almost hypnotic. “you are not alone. not now, not ever.”
› his gloved hands rest often on the small of their back, guiding them gently. he whispers to the child, not sweet nonsense but soft latin prayers, promises, and blessings
› perpetua catalogs every symptom, every craving, every shift in mood. he is calm on the outside, but inside he worries endlessly. he does not sleep well unless he’s holding them. if he wakes and they are not there, he nearly panics
› if they so much as say “my back hurts,” perpetua responds like a booktok boyfriend.
“then rest, amore mio. the world can wait. i can wait.”
and he means it. he cancels things for them without hesitation
› gentle in a way he lets no one else see. he presses tender kisses to their shoulders, their forehead, their palms. he holds them in robes and linens, like a quiet cocoon
“you are my heart, and now you carry another. let me adore you properly.”
› he becomes deeply emotional in private moments. seeing them tired makes him ache; feeling the baby move nearly brings him to tears. he keeps a hand on their belly each night until he falls asleep
› he prepares warm baths, brings blankets, reads to them, strokes their hair until they drift off. he insists on being part of every quiet nightly routine- brushing their hair, massaging their hands, helping them settle comfortably
・・・・・・
› there are no theatrics and no showmanship when the baby is finally born. the moment the baby is placed in his arms, he holds them like the world just became smaller and brighter at the same time. he looks down at them with this soft, stunned expression, like he cannot believe something so tiny belongs to him
› he talks to the baby constantly in a low voice. just gentle rambling. little things like telling them what the weather is like or how their hair feels like silk or how they already have a stronger grip than some of the ghouls. he laughs when the baby curls their hand around his finger. it is this warm, breathy sound that feels like it comes from somewhere deep
› he gets very good at holding the baby against his chest while doing everything one handed. adjusting blankets. pouring tea. flipping pages of a book. the ghouls joke that he never puts the baby down and they are not entirely wrong
› but the moment his spouse starts doubting themselves, he notices. even if they try to hide it. even if they try to smile through it. he always notices. he sits beside them, baby tucked against his shoulder, and just looks at them. not harsh. not disappointed. just this quiet, steady concern that makes everything slow down. he reaches out and touches their knee or their shoulder and asks, very softly, "what is worrying you, amore."
and when they finally admit it, when they say they do not know if they are good enough or if they are doing any of this parenting thing right, perpetua just shakes his head with this small, patient smile. "you are already more than good enough. look at our child. they are calm with you. they relax when you speak. they sleep better when you hold them. that is not an accident. that is love."
Some era 2 terzomega cause I don’t explore this starting point in their relationship.
Terzo summoned Omega in 2010 but they didn’t started dating until 2014. (Note that 99.9% of what I’m talking about is made up and from my own fantasies 👍)
i can't get RHRN copia out of my mind after rewatching while i was folding laundry.. so here's a little fic abt him >w<
(Copia X GN! Reader)
contains lots of romantic/domestic themes
word count: 1,184
the noise of the crowd still echoed faintly backstage, muffled by thick curtains and walls humming with vibration. copia stood in front of the mirror, chest still rising fast beneath his stage jacket. a few strands of dark hair clung to his temple, the paint near his eyes smudged from sweat and stage lights.
they moved quietly behind him, hands steady despite the chaos. every few minutes, someone would call out instructions or hurry past carrying cables and instruments, but in that small pocket of space, it felt like only the two of them existed.
“mio caro,” copia murmured, voice low and warm. his eyes met theirs in the mirror, tired but still sparkling. “do i look a mess?”
they smiled softly, reaching for a clean cloth. “a little.”
he chuckled, head tipping forward obediently when they began dabbing the paint from his cheek. the gesture was routine, but it carried a kind of gentleness that neither spoke about. their fingers brushed against his jaw, lingering just a little too long.
“careful,” copia said quietly, though his voice was anything but stern. “you touch me like that, i might forget i have one more song.” they laughed under their breath, pretending to focus on fixing the edge of his collar. “you’re impossible.”
“mm, yes,” he said, leaning closer. “and yet, you stay.”
their reply was lost when he tilted his head just slightly, catching their lips in a quick, soft kiss. it was the kind of kiss that felt like a promise, barely there but enough to make the air around them shift.
they blinked, surprised, as he grinned- boyish, proud of himself. “for luck,” he said, already pulling away before they could scold him.
but when he turned back to the mirror, their hands found his shoulders, adjusting the folds of his jacket. it was quiet for a moment, only the muffled sound of the crowd and the quick rhythm of both their breaths.
“you’ll be brilliant,” they said softly.
copia’s hand reached back, finding theirs and giving it a squeeze. “i am only brilliant when you’re here,” he murmured. someone called his name from the stage entrance. he took one last look at them, eyes softer than any spotlight.
“save me another kiss for later, eh?” he whispered, and before they could answer, he was gone again- all glitter and charm, disappearing into the roar of the audience.
they stayed a moment longer, fingertips still tingling from the warmth he left behind. somewhere beyond the curtain, copia’s voice rose in song- and even with thousands listening, that smile of his felt meant only for them
・・・
the crowd was relentless.
the walls shook with it- that chant, rising like a storm from every corner of the arena. encore, encore, encore. then laughter, then another wave. three more songs. copia’s name echoing like a hymn.
backstage, they could hear every word.
they stood near the edge of the curtain, heart thrumming in rhythm with the crowd. somewhere out there, copia was laughing into his mic, the sound of it raw and giddy. he always came alive when they called for more- when he could stretch a night just a little longer.
but when he slipped offstage between sets, he was already searching for them. his breathing was heavy, his gloves half-off, sweat glittering along the edge of his jaw.
“madonna mia,” he gasped, stumbling toward them like he’d been running for miles. “three more songs! they wish to kill me, i think.”
they laughed, reaching for a towel and catching his shoulders before he could sink to the floor dramatically. “you love it,” they teased. “you always do.”
“ehhh,” he hummed, leaning forward until his forehead rested against theirs, “i love the music, si… but i also love my little helper waiting for me behind the curtain.” their hand came up to smooth back his hair, fingers tracing gently through the messy strands. “you’ve got about thirty seconds before they start chanting again.”
“then i must make good use of it,” he murmured, and before they could answer, he kissed them again.
this one wasn’t rushed or teasing. it was slow, tender, the kind of kiss that melted the edges of the noise around them. the crowd could have been on another planet- all that mattered was the way copia exhaled against their lips, trembling slightly from adrenaline and affection all at once.
when he pulled back, his thumb brushed their cheek. “you keep me human, you know,” he said softly. “all this glitter, this fire, this madness… it is nothing without you waiting here.” they smiled, though their heart ached a little at the sincerity in his voice.
from the stage, someone called, “papa! they’re ready!”
he groaned, pressing one last kiss to their forehead. “they will not forgive me if i keep them waiting. but after…” his lips curved into a grin, wicked and soft all at once, “after, you do not escape me, capisci?” they nodded, and with that, he turned back toward the lights, fixing his jacket in a flurry of motion. just before he stepped into view again, he looked over his shoulder and blew a kiss.
then he was gone, the curtain swallowing him whole, the crowd erupting as his voice soared once more.
・・・
the final chords still echoed in the rafters long after the crowd had gone quiet. the stage lights dimmed to a soft gold, leaving the room warm and hazy. copia slipped backstage last, jacket half-open, breathing hard from the final song.
they were waiting by his dressing table, helping crew clear away stray cables and costume pieces. when he saw them, the exhaustion on his face broke into something softer- something that looked a lot like hunger, but wrapped in tenderness.
“you heard them,” he said, voice low and a little rough, “they wanted three encores. i thought i might die out there.”
“you loved every second,” they teased, smiling as they handed him a towel. he didn’t take it. instead, he reached for their hand and pulled them close. “perhaps,” he whispered, “but this... this i love more.”
the room was quiet except for the distant hum of amps cooling down. copia’s gloves were gone, his hands warm against the back of their neck as he kissed them- slowly, deeply, as though he had been saving it all night. it wasn’t frantic, not yet, but it carried the pulse of something unspoken, something waiting to unfold.
their breath hitched when he pressed his forehead to theirs. “you make me forget i am still painted like a ghost,” he murmured, thumb tracing their jaw. “stay with me tonight? just… stay.” their nod was enough. he smiled lazily and wrapped them up in his arms, burying his face against their shoulder. for the first time all night, there were no lights, no eyes on him, no roar of applause- only the soft hum of the dressing room and the warmth of the person he trusted most.
outside, the last of the crowd filtered away. inside, the world had gone still, sweet, and safe.
The Weight Of His Crown
( Terzo / Omega )
terzo carries the weight of faith, power, and loneliness in equal measure. the robes feel heavy, the paint heavier- but omega’s steady hands and quiet devotion remind him he’s still human underneath it all
( i love them so much. i will write about them until my hands fall off. )
the abbey was quiet in the late hours, the kind of quiet that pressed down on the chest until even breathing felt like a confession. terzo sat at the altar, elbows resting on his knees, the weight of his new robes draped over him like chains disguised as silk. gold and deep purple shimmered in the candlelight, but to him they felt colorless. the air still smelled of incense and melted wax from the evening ritual, a reminder of every pair of eyes that had looked up at him- papa terzo, the new grand image of faith.
but now, alone, the title tasted bitter.
he tugged off one glove, pressing his fingers to his temples. the stage makeup still clung stubbornly to his skin. underneath, he felt raw, unmasked, and exposed. a quiet sound broke the silence. soft footsteps. he didn’t have to turn to know who it was.
“omega,” he said quietly, a small smile ghosting his lips. “you always walk like a sinner trying not to wake the saints.” omega’s voice carried warmth, gentle and low. “maybe i just didn’t want to disturb our unholy papa.”
terzo laughed under his breath, though it lacked its usual playfulness. “unholy, yes. perfect, barely.”
omega moved closer, stopping just behind him. “they all think you are.”
“that’s the problem,” terzo murmured. he finally turned, eyes heavy with exhaustion. “they see what they want to see. they see the paint, the robes, the power. but not the man. never the man.”
omega hesitated only a moment before reaching out. his gloved hand brushed the side of terzo’s face, tracing a streak of smeared black near his cheekbone. the touch was steady, reverent.
“i see you,” omega said softly. terzo closed his eyes, leaning into the touch like it was something sacred. his voice trembled slightly when he spoke again. “you shouldn’t.”
omega’s thumb paused, just beneath his lip. “maybe. but i do.” the words hung between them- quiet, dangerous, true.
terzo’s hand came up, catching omega’s wrist. his grip wasn’t commanding, only grounding, like he was afraid to let go. “you don’t understand what it costs to love me,” he whispered. “if they ever found out...”
“they won’t,” omega interrupted gently. “you carry enough alone. let me carry this with you.” terzo looked at him then, really looked- the way omega’s mask caught the candlelight, the way his posture stayed patient and open. something in his chest cracked, slow and inevitable.
he rose, robes rustling around him, and reached for omega’s mask. “may i?” omega nodded. terzo’s hands were careful as he lifted it away, setting it aside with a reverence usually reserved for relics. omega’s eyes were steady, unguarded.
for a moment, neither spoke. terzo brushed his thumb along omega’s jaw, the faintest tremor in his hand. “you make me feel human,” he admitted. “and i’ve forgotten what that feels like.”
omega smiled softly, leaning forward until their foreheads touched. “then remember,” he whispered. “just with me.” terzo exhaled, the kind of breath that shakes something loose. he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to omega’s knuckles, his lips warm against the fabric of the glove.
in that quiet space, between candlelight and shadow, papa terzo let the weight fall from his shoulders. just for a moment.
and in the safety of omega’s hands, he was not the mask, not the title- only a man, tired and loved, learning how to be human again.
five papas, five different kinds of love. a glimpse into how each papa would care for their beloved during pregnancy
( no explicit content, just gentle pregnancy and comfort headcanons )
・・・・・ ・・・・・ ・・・・・ ・・・・・
✦ ┆ Primo ♡
primo is gentle and endlessly patient. he treats the pregnancy like a small miracle, always resting a hand on his love's belly with quiet awe. he hums softly to the baby every morning, old melodies from his youth that he swears soothe them both. he insists on preparing herbal teas and warm baths himself, often fussing over details others might miss. he speaks to the baby as though they can already understand him, promising them peace and music. his presence turns the whole abbey calm
✦ ┆ Secondo ♡
secondo pretends not to be sentimental, but everyone can tell he is completely undone by it. he becomes fiercely protective, his usual sternness sharpening into worry whenever his love so much as sighs too hard. he talks little about it, yet his hands linger at their back when they walk, his voice softens when he tells them to rest. at night, when no one else can see, he’ll rest his head against their belly and grumble something about wanting the baby to be strong. he will deny it later, of course
✦ ┆ Terzo ♡
terzo is over the moon from the start. he announces it far too early, beaming to anyone who will listen. he kisses his love constantly, talks to their belly in italian endearments, and insists the baby will be born fabulous and dramatic just like him. he takes them to every appointment, holding their hand and making jokes to keep the room light. when they’re tired, he’ll quietly cancel his own obligations and stay in bed with them, whispering sweet nothings until they fall asleep. beneath all his theatrics, his love is pure and devoted
✦ ┆ Copia ♡
copia is nervous but completely devoted. he hovers constantly, wanting to help but second-guessing every move. he reads every book he can find, scribbling notes about baby names and nursery ideas. he starts carrying snacks everywhere, just in case. he talks to the baby with a shy smile, voice soft and accented, as if the little one might recognize him already. when his love feels uncomfortable, he’ll play music for them and sit close. he may cry the first time he feels the baby kick
✦ ┆ Perpetua ♡
perpetua treats it as both sacred and terrifying. he sees it as something holy, something meant to be guarded fiercely. he becomes more serious than usual, almost reverent whenever he touches his love's belly, whispering small blessings in latin. he takes over their care entirely, insisting that no one else comes near unless he allows it. still, in quiet moments, he softens — tracing circles against their skin, murmuring how strong they are, how proud he is. there’s a tenderness in him that few ever get to see
The Color Comes Off Easy
(Terzo X Omega blurb)
terzo can barely keep his eyes open long enough to take off his own paint. omega steps in to help, but what starts as a simple act of care turns into something far more tender
no explicit content, just soft intimacy and comfort
terzo sat slumped in front of the vanity in his private chamber, still in full paint, robes hanging open at the collar. the black around his eyes had smudged where sweat and exhaustion had claimed him. he looked at his reflection, the smeared white paint and the tired eyes underneath it, and sighed quietly. the crowd had roared for him, the clergy had bowed, and yet now, under the soft flicker of light, he just looked… tired.
a soft knock came at the door. he did not answer, but it opened anyway. omega stepped inside, silent as smoke. his mask was gone, revealing the inhuman grace that lingered even in stillness. his dark eyes caught the candlelight, soft and concerned as they fell on terzo. “you should be resting,” omega said quietly.
“si si,” terzo murmured, waving a hand that fell heavily back to the desk. “i was just… thinking.” omega stepped closer until he stood behind the chair, his reflection appearing over terzo’s shoulder. “you look like you’ve been thinking for hours,” he said, voice warm and low. terzo let out a small laugh, though it was more breath than sound. “and yet, nothing worth saying comes out.”
omega hesitated for a moment, then reached for the small bowl and cloth left on the vanity. “let me help.”
terzo blinked up at him, caught off guard. “help with what, tesoro?”
“your paint,” omega replied simply. “you’ll fall asleep like this and wake up looking like a ghost of yourself.” terzo wanted to argue, maybe make a joke, but he was too tired to do either. instead, he nodded.
omega dipped the cloth into the warm water, wrung it out carefully, and brought it to terzo’s cheek. the first touch was gentle, so gentle that terzo’s breath caught in his throat. the warmth spread through his skin, chasing away the cool stickiness of the makeup. omega’s movements were unhurried, deliberate, the cloth gliding over the planes of his face with quiet precision. neither of them spoke. the only sound was the soft rustle of fabric and the faint drip of water. terzo’s eyes fluttered closed as omega wiped the black from his lashes and his top lip. the motion was tender, reverent almost.
“you do this for all the papas?” terzo murmured, voice barely above a whisper. omega paused for a heartbeat, then shook his head. “no. only you.”
terzo opened his eyes at that, meeting omega’s gaze in the mirror. something passed between them. small, wordless, and fragile. omega’s thumb brushed just under his eye, wiping away the last streak of black and white. his fingers lingered there, tracing the curve of terzo’s cheekbone before falling away.
“there,” omega said softly. “the man beneath the paint.”
terzo smiled faintly. “is he so different?”
omega looked at him then, really looked. “he’s softer,” he said after a moment. “and maybe a little more honest.” the words settled in the air between them, heavy in their simplicity. terzo turned in his chair, reaching up to take omega’s wrist before he could pull away. “you make me sound like someone worth seeing,” he whispered.
omega’s expression didn’t change much, but his tail gave a small, nervous flick behind him. “you are.” the candlelight wavered, and for a moment everything felt suspended, the warmth of the room, the closeness, the quiet heartbeat between two beings who had spent too long pretending not to see each other.
terzo rose from the chair slowly, his hand still holding omega’s. the ghoul didn’t move, just watched as terzo stepped closer, their foreheads nearly touching. “thank you,” terzo said softly, eyes half-lidded, voice full of something that sounded dangerously like vulnerability.
“anytime,” omega whispered.
and then the candles burned low, the air grew still again, and the tired old abbey seemed to sigh with them, as if even its ancient walls could feel the quiet tenderness of the moment they finally stopped pretending they were alone.
