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onedaughterofman · 1 year

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That classic "getting sold to" fic (Papa Emeritus IV x g/n reader)

Summary: You get kidnapped and sold to a band. No, not One Direction. Ghost.

A/N: LISTEN. You know when you're struggling with writers block and decide to write something really weird and dumb to try to fix it? This is that fic. It's humor, it's satire, it's not meant to be taken seriously. Please, don't laugh at me on Tiktok, Reddit or any other place.

However, you can laugh at me on Tumblr. That's it.

“Can I, uh, help you?”

The man standing right in front of you seems uncomfortable, maybe even more than you. He’s odd, that’s all you can conclude. The way he’s dressed in sport clothes doesn’t match the intricate, gothic design of the place that surrounds you.

Hell, you’re even certain there’s some sort of private cemetery to your right. “I…” You begin, shifting the weight from one foot to the other. “Where am I?”

“The Ministry?”

That reveals nothing. You huff softly, chewing on your lip as your eyes inspect the building. It’s ancient, the decoration is questionable and the air is cold, so frigid. Apparently, you’re in some sort of church, somewhere far away from home.

Great. Getting kidnapped and sold was bad, but being trapped in a place like this with a man like him is beginning to be worse. He’s clearly nervous, fidgeting with his gloves and looking anywhere but your eyes. This man looks like he’d rather be anyplace but here, and you agree.

Still, why is he so uneasy, if he’s the one who bought you?

“Bought you?” The man takes a step back, brows creating a deep furrow on his forehead. He’s confused, almost half tempted to slam the door in your face and just go hide back inside the Ministry. “I didn’t buy anything. I think so. Did I?”

“Listen, I don’t know. I barely heard my kidnappers talking about someone buying me in the auction and then I was left here at your door. That’s all.”

This time, the man sighs profoundly. The air exits his lungs slowly, causing a cloud of condensation to form. Fuck, it’s so cold outside you almost wish he would let you in. Rubbing your arms does little to warm you up, and it sucks the kidnappers didn't give you at least a few minutes to grab a coat.

Listening to your silent prayers, he steps aside. “Dai, entra.”

The hallways are long and empty, and the windows are made of stained glass. Overall, the building in beautiful, but you can’t allow yourself to enjoy it. These past weeks have been crazy, to say at least. Another legitimate impending reason to go to therapy, probably.

Following this strange man through the halls, you finally reach an open space. There are more people there, either sitting on the couch or standing by the bar counter.

Oh, well, they have their own private bar. This church is not as bad as you initially thought. Except maybe this isn’t a church. Everybody is wearing some kind of bizarre mask, completely concealing their faces. Is this a cult?

Great, you were sold to a cult.

“Who did this?” Your companion asks, stopping in the middle of the room. A couple of heads turn to stare at you, but no one speaks up. The man insists, voice in a commanding tone, until he obtains an answer.

“Did what?”

“This…” He hesitates, pointing in your general direction as if he’s only just now realizing he never asked for a name. “This person says they were sold to us. Does anybody know anything?”

For a long moment, no one mentions anything. Then, slowly, a few fingers rise to point at what you determine is a man. He remains silent, only shrugging his shoulders when the stares become extraordinarily intense.

“What? So that’s all it was? A regular human?”

The silence is deafening. If it possessed any weight, you’d be crushed into the ground. Yet, no one seems to be genuinely surprised, as if this wasn’t the first time something like this has happened.

Honestly, you don’t really want to know.

“I thought it was something more interesting. They really hyped it up during the auction.” The man stands up, long hair falling around the mask. He begins walking away, putting as much space between himself and the two of you as he can without leaving the room.

“You bought a person on the dark web?”

A few laughs reverb against the walls before getting lost in the long halls. Sadly, the man next to you is not as amused as the rest. “You little devil!” He yells, causing you to flinch. “What did I say about online shopping?!”

“You never let me do shit.”

The screaming match attracts even more people. At this point, you wish to shrink and disappear somewhere small and dark. An old woman walks in, followed close by an even older man who looks like he could have been buried outside a few minutes ago. He smiles upon seeing you, waving a hand as a salute, and you find yourself returning the wave.

Shit. These people are bizarre. Maybe this is all a drug induced dream, a hallucination.

No, no way. Your imagination is not this good.

Pupils locked on the ground, you allow the voices to become nothing but background noise. From the corner of your eyes, you see how some of the masked ones begin to get closer, in an attempt to get a good look at you, but you ignore them.

"Where's that website? Is there a return policy? Can we get the money back?" The woman yells, arms wildly gesticulating towards you.

"Seestor, we're talking about a person."

"And I'm talking business. That was hard earned money. We'll have to cut costs if we can't get it back. No more fancy robes, pizza nights or theme orgies. And say goodbye to the heating system."

Theme orgies?

What is this place?

"But we're freezing in here! We'll die from the cold before the worst part of winter arrives!"

"Great. You'll be warm when you're burning in Hell."

Step after step, you back away until your back hits something firm. The bar counter lays behind, now completely devoid of people. Without an invitation, you sit in one of the stools, wondering if it would be terribly challenging to simply sprint out of this place. You don’t think they will chase you but then, where will you go? You’re not even sure where you are.

A hand appears in your line of vision. The man who opened the door for you is behind the counter, leaning on the surface with a strained, polite smile on his lips. “So… What do you want to do?” He asks, waving an arm to gesture at the bottles.“Do you want a drink? Are you old enough to drink?”

“I’m an adult.” You reply, letting your head fall on the wood. This can’t get worse.

“Vabbè. Red wine?”

“It’s ten in the morning.”

“Oh, right. Let’s get white wine, then.”

The wine is cold and fragrant. Your fingers toy with the cup, twirling the liquid inside. This is good, probably one of the best drinks you have had in a while. It makes you want to strike a conversation. “What’s your name?”

The question takes the man by surprise. He takes a big sip of his wine before replying. “Cardinal,” he states, but then shakes his head. “No. Uh, Papa?”

Papa?

"I'm not calling you that."

“Not like that! I mean, you can call me Cardi C?”

This time, it’s impossible not to let out a chuckle. You try hiding it behind the palm of your hand, but he sees right through it. “Cardi C? Like the rapper?”

“No.” A gloved hand runs through his hair, fixing a few strands of hair. “Copia. My name is Copia.”

“Are you sure?”

“I hope so. Do you have a name, or do you want one?”

“I already have one, thank you.”

“Si, right. Sorry.”

Copia seems even more uncomfortable than before. Gulping the last of his wine, he sets the cup back on the counter before gathering a deep breath. A part of you feels sorry for him, because he’s obviously awkward and anxious, clearly not too used to interacting with people outside this place.

It’s endearing. He’s a bit cute, too, in a rat kind of way.

Or not. The alcohol must be starting to affect you, considering the fact you haven’t had anything substantial to eat in a while. Upon noticing your stare fixed on his face, Copia swallows hard before focusing his gaze on the wall.

Okay, yes. He’s attractive. You can’t continue with your train of thoughts, because suddenly a woman appears next to you. The severe look on her face is practically impossible to decipher.

“Sister, we can’t let them go alone. They already got kidnapped once,” Copia pleads. His eyes are big and round on his face, and it should be illegal for a grown man to look like that.

Sister is not immune to it, but she stands her ground, nevertheless. “Well, we can’t keep them. There are no even tax benefits from having them here.”

“I’m pretty sure we can find them something to do. At least for a bit? Please?”

There is that pleading look, again. Sister tries resisting it to the best of her abilities, but then she gathers a deep breath before nodding. “Primo said he required help with the garden. Do you know anything about gardening?“

Behind her back, you see how Copia nods his head, in an attempt to urge you to agree. “Yes?”

“Great. They can stay, at least until we discover how to send them back home.”

Without sparing any more words, Sister and the older man disappear through the door. Your fingers uncurl from the cup, ultimately placing it on the wooden counter. Copia pours a bit more of wine, that you accept eagerly.

Fuck. It’s been a long day, but it’s not even noon.

"Thank you,“ you whisper, barely audible over the mumbling from outside the room. ”For a moment I thought I was going to get used as a human sacrifice."

Swaying his head, Copia hurries to reply. "Oh, no. Do you have an idea how hard it is to clean liters and liters of blood off the white stone walls? And the smell, hell, it impregnates everything. Mixing aceto and bicarbonato di sodio helps a bit, but it certainly doesn't do miracles."

This time, the silence is louder than before. Your eyes are big, lids completely open. He detects the sudden change in your demeanor, but doesn’t show any indication of his words being a joke.

"Don't ask me how I know all that." It’s all he mutters, before gulping another sip of wine. “Anyway, the gardening. I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

“I can’t guarantee I’ll be of much help.”

“Don’t worry. Everything Primo touches dies, ” Copia comments. He looks in your direction, deep in thoughts. Then, his shoulders shrug. “Wear long sleeves and gloves, just in case.”

Aw, fuck.

Ps: take this as an apology for the angsty Antichrist Copia fic I updated yesterday. If you are struggling with writers block, give up your desire of perfection and write something dumb like this. It helps.

#ghost band #shitghosting #ghost band fanfic #the band ghost #papa emeritus iv #nameless ghouls #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #cardinal copia #my writing #my fics #the author is sorry #this is a shitpost #i have no excuse #sister imperator

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