Terzo X Reader - Blog Posts

Agnellino

|Ghost|

Terzo/Papa Emeritus III x Fem!reader

Summery: You hoped the church wouldn’t find out about your little lie upon joining them…but evidently your papa is smarter than you think.

Warnings: nsfw, power imbalance, light body worship (f receiving), fingering, low-key manipulation…Terzo being a horny man.

Notes: this is a commission for @ethanhoewke and I do NOT speak Italian so if anything is wrong here it’s not my fault. I took creative liberty and called the church “Satanae Ecclesiae”.

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Nighttime was when you felt most vulnerable.

You were selfconsious when the sun disappeared behind the horizon.

It wasn’t that you were just shy, however. It was that you felt out of place…overly observed and scrutinized.

Stared at.

Picked apart.

It didn’t matter that you wore the same habit as every other Sister of Sin or that you recited your nightly prayers in any incorrect manner- in fact you recited them better than most.

It was that you were a latest addition to the flock.

You were new.

And new was interesting.

The edges of the grucifix clutched in your hand nearly began to draw blood from how tightly you grasped it. Your eyes grew glassy with tears that wouldn’t fall as you refused to blink; the sight before you too extraordinary to miss.

Rituals were in and of themselves a sight to behold, regardless of the papa delivering it, but since you had joined the Satanae Ecclesiae when you did, you had the sublime pleasure of being guided by Papa Emeritus III…or Terzo as he insisted most everyone call him. He was dramatic and perverted and commanding- a fair contrast, you had been told, to his predecessors. There were very few reserved or modest bones in his body.

As the man stood upon his pulpit and spoke down to you and your fellow brothers and sisters, his words seemed to muffle in your ears, though you still absorbed them. It was as if he was communicating to you on another plane of being. Like a sixth sense. You wondered if that was how your fellow children of sin felt, or if you were alone in your rapture.

“…bow your heads now my children, and let your eyes fall to the stone beneath your feet, for it is what lay beneath them that will be your forever home once you are freed from your life here. You are cursed and damned, may Satan devour your souls…Nema.” His voice echoed in the large stone hall, and following his words, you all bowed your heads, and the soft murmur of “Nema.” rippled around you.

You finally sucked in a deep breath that you had been meaning to for an hour, but simply hadn’t been able to lest you make a noise in the silent room. The last thing you wanted were more eyes on you. You had made a point of remaining as anonymous as possible ever since you had been initiated during your first ritual.

That night, you had been told to stand before the pulpit, and accept the ceremonial welcoming from your papa, just as everyone else had. However, as soon as he had knelt down to you, and extended his hand with a flick of his wrist for you to take, your mind had gone blank. Your papa had taken your hand, and pulled you to the edge of the pulpit where he leaned over to you, drawing you in as close as you could before your ribs ached from being pressed against the wood. Those mismatched eyes of his had bored into your soul and mind. You didn’t even remember reciting your vows, but evidently you had done well as the next thing you had known you were being pulled in for hugs and kisses to your cheeks from various children of sin.

They had welcomed you into their home with open arms, and you hadn’t looked back. But since then, you had indeed been the talk of the compound.

The sisters nearest to you began to shuffle out, or talk amongst themselves.

It seemed, however, that you had forgotten to lower your gaze from your papa; unfortunately for you, once you did in fact realize your error, it was too late. Papa continued to gaze across the crowd and seeing as you were one of the only faces turned up to him, he caught your stare quickly. You felt as if you had been gripped by his eyes alone; he gazed into your very soul like he knew it was fresh…young…not yet entirely sinful.

He smirked.

Actually smirked.

You felt a shiver run down your spine- you couldn’t look away. It was…it was almost as if he could tell you were still untouched.

But how could he know?

You had told them otherwise…it wasn’t as if he could find out. Your heart began to race at the idea of him knowing that you had lied…

The seats around you began to empty, and you took the movement around you as your escape. It made your chest ache to look away, but the longer you waited the harder it would have been.

The sound of shoes on the stone floors reverberated around the halls, as did the chatter- both lively gossip and sleepy grumbles. As you went to turn down your wing to reach your room, a hand gripped your shoulder and halted you.

“Pardon me sister.”

You turned and saw one of the senior sisters standing before you, a straight stare on her face. You wondered how they showed such little emotion sometimes…you knew that they were indeed capable of a great deal of feeling- you had seen them laugh and smile many times…but there came times where they looked like statues.

“Good evening, sister…can I help?” You replied, hands clasped neatly in front of you.

Your elder nodded.

“His Unholiness has requested your presence imminently.” She said, gesturing behind her, back through the dark corridors.

You felt all blood drain from your face.

Had you done something wrong? Cursed hell below…did he take offence to your staring? We’re not completing your daily duties correctly? Was there something wrong with your initiation-

You froze.

He knew.

When you had joined the welcoming arms of Satanae Ecclesiae, they had asked you whether or not you had been…taken. “Fucked” they had said to be precise. You had nearly choked, and to save your embarrassment, you had managed a “Yes.” Regardless of the lie.

That “Yes” had been one of the biggest lies that you had ever told. Hell, you barely even knew how to touch yourself let along be touched by someone.

“Sister y/n?” The elder asked.

You snapped out of your daze and stared back at her dumbly.

“I asked if you needed me to show you the way to his chambers.” She must have asked a few times to sound that cross.

You quickly shook your head. You knew where he was- you had walked past his door many a time, often blushing from the noises you would hear from behind the door- sometimes his voice, sometimes not. It was understood that Papa took care of his children, and he had his favourites. Said favoured brothers and sisters would…receive special attention from him. Not that you had gotten any sort of attention, and while you grew jealous from the stories you heard, you knew you wouldn’t know what to do even if you…if he…

You blushed.

You wouldn’t even know what to do if they found out your little secret…and now here you were. In that exact situation.

“I-I know where I’m going.” You whispered.

It seemed you stayed rooted to the spot a moment too long as the sister gave you an expectant look.

“Oh! Thank you. I’ll- Thank you sister. Goodnight.” You lowered your head and moved past her as a sign of respect, and scurried off. As soon as you were back in the main hall that split the compound into its various wings, you felt a cold sweat break out on your skin, and a tremor in your hands.

Only a few brothers and sisters passed by you, sending you simple greetings as their eyes devoured you. Then as their voices and footsteps faded away, all you were left with were the constant echoes of the souls who refused to leave the church- even after passing from this world to the next, decades or centuries ago; those who lurked in the shadows and sang to those who would listen…tempting them to join them in the afterlife.

Their mournful voices were addicting, and while it scared some, you found an odd comfort in them- even found yourself speaking to them. They kept you company as you began down the corridor leading to the Emeritus wing. Just as it’s name suggested, every Papa -past and present- lived there. The stones were a beautiful onyx, and gold torches lined the walls, as did various tapestries. It was considered an honour to walk down that hall, and should be treated as an act of worship.

The further you went, the less you could hear as your mind spun. If it weren’t for sheer muscle memory, you would have missed the door to Papa’s chambers. Indeed, due to your youth and desire to please,you had been entrusted with the job of second messenger between Papa II and Sister Imperator- a result of which had you frequenting that very wing daily.

You had grown fairly comfortable after the first two months, though the butterflies never seemed to fully settle when you passed that particular door that led to the current papas chambers.

You stood outside the imposing, ornate door, and your arms felt too heavy to lift and knock on the wood. Your brow was scrunched in thought and worry as you wondered what life might hold for you if they did indeed remove you from the church…where would you go? What would you do?

Your head swam helplessly, and once you finally found your strength to knock, there was a gentle “Enter.” before your knuckles could even touch the wood.

Somehow him being aware of your presence before even hearing or seeing you terrified you more.

If he did know your secret…would you be cast out? Would you be deemed too pure?

Not wanting to keep him longer than you had, you turned the knob, and pushed on the door. The soft glow emanating from hundreds of red, melting candles enveloped you immediately, and you took a moment to gaze around the lush room. A stark contrast to your simple chamber. There were plush carpets, and beautifully woven tapestries on the walls, along with magnificent paintings. Bookshelves stuffed, and vases of black roses.

“Good evening, young sister, you found you way easily I see.”

You slowly looked to your right where a large desk sat infront of a circular window. Well, it wasn’t the desk that you were staring at- it was the man sat at it. Papa Emeritus III, still donning his painted face, tousled hair and white gloves. His black jacket was nowhere to be seen, and his white vest was unbuttoned to show his shirt beneath it- the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had his feet propped up on the top of the desk, and you noticed how much his shoes shined.

He spoke to you, idiot.

“Yes, Papa…Thank you. I was told you required my presence, your unholiness…is there someth-“

“Terzo.” He said simply, a slight roll to his “R”.

You blinked and forgot anything you were saying. “I’m sorry?” You asked, taking a few steps inside as the door closed.

“You and I are alone, little one. You will call me Terzo, yes?” He removed his feet from his desk and leaned forward onto his elbows, giving you his complete, undivided attention. His gaze was even heavier with no crowd to disappear into.

You could already feel a blush creep up from under your habit. “Yes Pa- Terzo.” You managed. You would be lying if you said this was your first time murmuring husband name; although most of the time it was you alone with your thoughts in your chambers when you said it…you nightgown bunched up around your hips and your hand between your thighs-

He smiled, and you nearly buckled at the sight of it. “Good! Now come. Sit. You and I have somethings to discuss.”

You nodded and quickly made you way to the chair in front of the desk, but just as you were about to take a seat, you heard him tut you.

“Ah, ah…” he patted his lap and held his hand out for you, “Here will do.”

For the third time that night, you were rooted to your spot. Immobile. Your eyes flicked to his lap, and the way his legs spread. You would have backed away if it weren’t for his calm face and steady gaze inviting you closer. It was as if his energy alone or some invisible force was beckoning you to him.

You wordlessly walked around the desk, and slowly lowered yourself to perch on his thigh. You would be lying if you said it didn’t feel nice.

“There’s a good girl…now, I hate doing these sorts of things…far too dull for me, but evidently it needs to be done…” he half murmured to himself, running his hand through his hair. You absentmindedly wondered what he used in it. But as soon as the meaning of his words registered in your head, you could feel tears start to well in your eyes, and a sob build in your throat.

This was it.

They were going to send you away, “Are you going t-to punish me?” You whimpered.

Terzo snapped his gaze to you and barked out a laugh; upon seeing your expression however, he schooled his face and thought for a moment. For the right words to comfort you. “I wouldn’t say that, no…I certainly hope you don’t see it as punishment.” His voice rumbled in his chest, and his breath fanned across your face.

You looked away from him, gripping the skirt of your habit, “But you’re going to send me away aren’t you?”

He was silent for a long minute. You assumed it was him thinking of a way to soften the blow, but then he gently turned your face to his, and he spoke so softly. “La mia dolce ragazza…what are you speaking of?” He asked.

You slowly rose your eyes up to meet his. What you were met with was a patient confusion, and you were reminded of the father figure position he held to you and your fellow children of sin.

“I lied.” You whispered, trying to ignore how close he was.

Terzo continued to stare until he blinked and looked away with a nod.

He sighed. “You lied to us…yes.” He nodded again as if to confirm your statement, but somehow the purse of his lips was lacking the seriousness you had expected for such a statement.

A feather-light touch to your hip made you jump. His hand came to settle there, respectfully but still somewhere that could be considered taboo . Then everything hit you all at once. You were in Papa’s chambers…sat in his lap, with his hand on your hip and his breath against your cheek and you could smell him so clearly…Satan he smelled good-

“But…” he sighed, “You know I like to think I am a fair papa…” he looked at you again, and this time his arm came to rest around your waist, cradling you. “Would you like to stay?” He asked.

Your eyes went wide. “Very much.”

“Yes?” He asked, his hand creeping back down to your hip; his grip a little less gentlemanly. Terzo’s touch, however, was so gentle you didn’t even notice him hiking your dress up; even as the cool air snaked up your ankles and calves.

“Please.” You breathed, hoping he’d see how badly you wished to stay.

Terzo’s chest began to rise and fall quicker.

“I think we are both very well aware that something needs to change, hm?” His hand was now under your skirt, at the soft crease between your thigh and your hip, gloved thumb stroking your skin.

It was then, that you finally realised that you were no longer the picture of sinful modesty.

“P-papa-?” You whispered, suddenly hyper aware of how he had been dragging you closer to him on his lap. Indeed, when you had originally taken your seat on him, you had begun on his knee, and he now had you firmly tucked into his hip- your rear against his groin.

Tsk. He clicked his tongue.

Your eyes widened at your mistake, “Ter-Terzo, forgive me.” You corrected yourself, “I’m…what are you-“ you couldn’t find the right words. You expected yourself to awaken at any moment- that this was all just another one of your dreams where you’d awaken with an ache between your thighs where you wished his head would be.

“You haven’t noticed have you?” He cooed.

There was nothing you could do but stare at him, and Terzo was more than happy to elaborate.

“You think I haven’t been craving to touch you since you lied so clearly that first day? You thought I didn’t notice?” His breath was against your neck, smoothing against your skin, down under your collar.

“I-I don’t-“ you couldn’t think as his hand dipped completely under your skirt and over your navel, just skimming the top of your panties; his hands steady as ever, as if he had no idea what he did to you.

“You don’t? Shame. You got me fucking hard tonight, you know that?…La mia bella ragazza.” His voice lowered into a husky rasp that sent shivers up and down your spine. “I knew you lied. I knew no one had been given the pleasure of having you…I could almost taste you…” his hands wandered even more, the other now pulling your habit to slip it inside and palm your breast, his gloved fingers pinching your nipple. “Will you let me have you, la mia piccola?”

Your breathing came in quick gasps and your chest rose and fell rapidly; every inch of your skin was on fire.

Who were you to say no to your papa?

You nodded, words escaping you.

Terzo clicked his tongue again, “No no no no, mia bella…tell your papa.”

He wanted to hear you. A simple nod would not suffice when he desired the joy of hearing your pathetic little voice telling him you were his to have.

But then he heard that little intake of breath, and before you even spoke he knew you were weakened for him.

“Take-take me papa…” you whispered.

Those words alone were nearly enough to break the great Terzo apart…but somehow he remained whole. Whole and completely unable to restrain himself.

“Satana aiutami…” he purred before his lips were on yours and his hand under your skirt was dipping under your panties. You could taste the makeup he still wore, and wine on his tongue but they only made you dizzier; melting even further into his touch.Something that evidently pleased him greatly.

His hand drew gentle circles around your clit, but after only a moment he pulled away; an involuntary mewl left you.

He chuckled and kissed your hair. You were already so helplessly needy for him.

Then, he nodded to something just past your face, and when you followed his gaze, you were met with his gloved hand, fingers now by your mouth. You looked from him to the glove, and after a moment, you leaned forward and took the tip of the index finger into your mouth and pulled. The fabric came clean off, but you kept it in your mouth.

Terzo’s lips parted and his eyes became heavy as he watched his pristine glove dampen between your lips. You thought he might kiss you again, but instead he ripped the fabric from your mouth and replaced it with two of his fingers, place on the top of your tongue like an offering. He could have just taken what he wanted but instead he watched you intently. Waiting.

You tentatively ran your tongue along them, and watched your papa for any guidance, but all he could offer was a “Sì…that’s it.”

His makeup was smudged around his mouth, and his tongue looked as though it might being to lap at you, but he restrained himself as you began to suckle and lick at his long fingers. Terzo’a chest began to rise and fall quicker and quicker until he was nearly panting at the sight of you. Until it was too much. “Cosa mi stai facendo, ragazzina?” He asked with no desire for an answer.

He ripped his hand from your mouth and covered it with his lips again as his large hands groped at the fabric of your habit; pulling and tugging at it until the skirt was completely up around your hips and you were bare to him. You instinctively wished to cover yourself, but you fought to stay good for him- he wanted you bare and that was what you would be.

“Forgive me, piccola bellezza…Ti prego, lascia che ti tocchi!” He panted against your tongue. Your head was so dizzy you didn’t even care what he was saying…he could have asked to drink your blood and you would have been helpless to say no. So you nodded.

The next thing you felt were his hands on your hips. One running across your stomach then the other dipped down your navel.

“Y-you’re not goi-ng to fu- um- ah!” You could barely form words as his ungloved hand crept to the edge of your panties again and snapped the elastic before rubbing down your mound over your clit to your slit where he dipped his finger over the fabric to toy with you a little more.

“Oh I will fuck you mi amor…but you know my brothers? They have been taunting me…telling me I might never taste you…and I think I will do just that…very unhurriedly…and very thoroughly.” He worked his fingers past the hem of your panties until he found your bare bundle of nerves, and began to stroke it so gently you almost wondered if it was happening at all.

His free hand came up your torso to your neck where he held your head to the side easier; his lips coming back to yours in a slow but biting kiss. His teeth nipped and he sucked at your tongue like it was an offering from Satan himself.Terzo hooked your knees over his, giving complete control over the spread of your thighs to him.

By the time your papa had finished with your clit, your hips were bucking as if you were coursing with electricity with each pet and touch. His hot breath fanned over your cheeks as his concentration began to slip from your mouth down to between your legs.

Terzo eased his finger down from your clit to the slick slit that was begging for his touch. You clenched your thighs automatically at the foreign feeling, but his legs stopped them. “Ah ah…you’re doing so well, mia dolce piccola vergine…so well for your papa.” Terzo’s breathless voice sent a shiver down your spine. His excitement was as evident in his tone as it was against your backside, pressing into you.

He stroked through your wet lips, slightly dipping in before retreating again- enjoying torturing you. And oh your sounds made it all worth it. Whining, whimpering, your needy little pleas; your hands gripping his arms as they held you and caged you.

Again and again he denied you- savouring the fact that he would be the first person to toy with you as such. He hoped he would be the last as well…though with his brothers and that cardinal who loved rats, he knew…it was unlikely he would be able to keep you to himself.

“T-Terzo pl-please- ah….” You cried, tears shining in your eyes as your body pulsed with need. You hadn’t even cum yet and you were nearly limp from arousal. Your thighs twitched with every breath of his on your skin. After so long of wanting exactly this, you were finally there and couldn’t even find the words to express what an array of passionate emotions you were feeling.

Until finally, he relented, and slipped his long finger inside you. There was a moment where all time seemed to stop as his finger filled you. It was thick, and he immediately seemed to find that spot inside you that had you gasping for air. He bullied it with the pad of his finger, over and over again he stroked it, adding a second finger to the sweet torture.

It didn’t take long before you were stalking your head. “N-no please it-it’s too much!” You managed to get out in a rush as a hot coil began to twist and turn in your guts; getting tighter and tighter until you were crying out for mercy, to which you recieved a low, pleased chuckle from the man behind you.

“Are you going to cum?” He cooed.

Your eyes drooped and your lips parted, “I-I don’t- I - ah…I’m n-not su-“ your own high pitched whine interrupted your admission.

He tsked you. “My poor sweet thing…you are going to cum…that’s what it feels like, precious. Just do as I say, yes?” His voice was a purr in your ear. You trusted him. This was your papa…and he would take cared of you.~

You nodded helplessly, knowing you couldn’t do anything but that.

“I’m going to count down for you. You will count with me, yes?” Terzo crooked his fingers inside you and your vision began to go starry.

You nodded again. “Y-ah! Yes!”

“Good…10.” He began.

“10.” You said.

“9…” He began to strike you more deliberately, and you repeated the number; albeit very shakily.

“8.” He murmured, steadily fingering you in and out, not wanting to rush a single moment.

“7.” Trying to remember the number he had just said was difficult, but again you managed to whimper out the number.

“6….you can do it.” His grip around your waist was growing tighter, and you briefly wondered if he might crush you.

“5.” Halfway there and you felt as if you were holding on for dear life. You couldn’t even form words any longer, and thus resorted to tapping your finger five times on his forearm.

“4.” His voice was getting rougher with each second.

“3…” You knew you were close. Your legs began to shake and your moans refused to calm.

“2……” Terzo licked a long stripe up your neck, all the way to your ear.

“1.” You both said one in unison and it was as if he could play your body like an instrument; the next moment your papa was holding you like a lifeline. It was all too much for you mind and body alike, and you had not choice but to come apart in his arms.

“Ahhh there you go…well done.” He praised you, slowing his movements down to stroke you through your orgasm- the first of many. The sheer thought alone had him nearly bouncing with excitement. He would be the one to make you feel so perfectly.

He stilled his hand inside you, your gently little sobs were enough to tell him you were finished and overstimulated.

By the time Terzo was done with you, you had asleep in his bed instead of retiring to your chambers like you were supposed to. Not that Terzo minded, in fact he was considering keeping you there permanently for his own enjoyment.

His sweet little pet.

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please, please, please elaborate on Terzo and consensual somnophilia 🥵 how would he go about telling his partner or what if his partner brought it up first? Or any of Terzo’s other bedroom interests- Or, god- anything TERZO, I love him so much thank you for this wonderful blog 🙏🏼❤️

Ghestie are you okay - Jez

Terzo and consensual somnophilia headcanons

First of all, I wanna get one thing clear. Terzo is extremely big on consent. And I mean really big.

If he notices you being slightly uncomfortable with any sort of touching, he reacts. If it's his fault, he apologizes and seeks out a different way if touching that you are comfortable with.

If someone else touches you in a way you don't like, he's your #1 defender. Won't hesitate to call that person out. He is capable of getting in a fist fight if needed.

That's how big he is on consent.

With that being said, he adores how cute and innocent you look while sleeping. And his mind can't help but wonder.

He'd never take advantage of you in a situation like this, though. He wouldn't dare.

No, he'd just carefully leave the bed and deal if it in the bathroom. It kinda becomes a regular occurrence until one day you wake up because he didn't realize he left the door slightly ajar, so you can totally hear him doing his thing.

You jokingly asked him what got him hard so early in the morning and this is one of the very few times you've actually seen him embarrassed.

He ends up explaining to you the thoughts that he was having and you honestly found it cute how he held his urges and masturbated just because he loved you too much to touch you when he wasn't sure if you were okay with it. We love a caring king.

So you end up coming up with a solution. You'd leave him a note in the evening that would say if you were okay with him touching you in your sleep.

And he's just... So sweet about it. So gentle.

At first he just limits it to gentle strokes of his fingers and kisses over your body, but as time passed, it wasn't uncommon for him to wake you up with sex, regular or oral.

And even if you never change the note that gives him your consent, he checks it every time.

BECAUSE HE IS A RESPECTFUL KING.

Hi hi!!! If requests are open, perhaps some headcanons on Terzo's first time with a virgin s/o? I love all the stuff you have so far 🖤🖤

Terzo's first time with a virgin s/o

When you two inevitably get to the sexy things while cuddling on his bed and you suddenly stop him, he's confused.

Did he hurt you? Did he misinterpret your intentions? What's wrong?

But then you look up at him with those big, anxious eyes and tell him that you've never done this before?

His gaze has never been softer than when he assured you it's okay. That he doesn't care and he wants to make love to you because he cherishes you so much.

Will cover your face with kisses, saying some silly shit in Italian. Anything to make you giggle. He absolutely adores your giggles and he will let you know it.

He also wants to ensure your comfort. He doesn't mind waiting if you're not ready.

"You want to cuddle with Papa instead, hm? Want Papa to hold you nice and tight?"

If you say you want to wait, he's cool with it. You're worth waiting for.

If you say you do want to have sex with him, but you're just nervous, he'll understand.

This man is absolutely feral and unhinged, but he's also respectful as hell. You take your time, babes, he'll hold you and talk to you about boundaries before anything happens.

Yes, you get a safeword. You get to decide everything. This is your first time and Terzo will absolutely NOT let it leave a single bad impression on you.

It will probably be a bit goofy, with him saying stupid things to keep you relaxed.

He'll seek your approval with everything he does. Every touch, every kiss, anything you haven't experienced before.

And don't worry about him not getting enough attention.

"Amore, being here with you and guiding you through something so incredible is enough for me. You'll have your time pleasing Papa, but right now this is all about Papa pleasing you."

Terzo is attentive. All the Emeritus brothers are. If he notices discomfort, he stops and gently confronts you.

He wants to know exactly what's wrong to fix the issue if he can.

And just so you know, you don't get to feel guilty about making him stop. If you want to stop, he stops. End of story. If you don't wanna tell him why, it's fine. He won't push.

Anything he does, he does with your permission. He loves you and he won't let you forget that, babes. He doesn't mind if it takes hours to get you comfortable enough to actually do the act.

He's so sweet to you, he holds your hand and assures you everything is alright. He takes his time getting inside you for the first time, holds you tightly and kisses your temple, letting you get used to it. He loves you. He really does. With all his heart. And he wants you to know it.

It's kinda like there's two of him. The wild innuendo making one that's on stage and the sweet, caring one with you right now. Usually it's a mix of both, but right now? You've never seen this man so tender.

It's all about you. Your happiness. Your pleasure. You, you, and only you.

He calls you the sweetest names as you take your time and get used to the weird mix of pain and pleasure. Gives you the sweetest kisses, too.

Honestly he's just so nice, you fall in love with him all over again.

Your first time together will be slow. Sensual. Loving.

You'll feel worshipped by him and you wouldn't be wrong. He subconsciously considers you giving him your virginity the sweetest sacrifice anyone can make.

And he will cherish that night forever. The sounds you made when he touched you. The cute expression after your first orgasm.

He loves it. He loves you. And he'll make sure you feel his love.

Ghost band headcanons

Terzo ~ Sfw

Terzo listens to early 2000s pop when he's alone in his office, he's a Katy Perry and lady Gaga stan.

Terzo likes to stare people down when he knows it unnerves them.

~ Nsfw

Terzo completely forgets english when he cums, he'll start to quietly ramble in Italian.

Copia ~ Sfw

Copia uses Duolingo in hopes of understanding english slang.

Copia has a collection of EVERYTHING he's gotten from fans, he feels bad getting rid of things, so they stay in a large box in the corner if his room.

~ Nsfw

While copia isn't very experienced, he knows how to use his mouth, and well, he'll have you coming apart in less than 5 minutes.

this is probably my favorite thing ever literally everything i've ever needed condensed into this perfect fic

Was It Worth It? (Cardinal Terzo x Reader)

Summary: Worth (n.) - the value equivalent to that of someone or something under consideration; the level at which someone or something deserves to be valued or rated.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Cardinal Terzo x AFAB reader / 6.2k words

Warnings: language, graphic description of piv sex, religious trauma, alcohol, poorly translated Italian, angst

aO3 link

Part One: What Goes Up...

Sometimes, when the sun was low in the sky like this, and you could still feel the occasional pitter of droplets dispersing against your skin, you took the risk of abandoning your responsibilities and popping outside for the evening. It was peculiar how the salmon rays of the sun peeked through heavy, sodden clouds. The beams heated the water in the air and made it sticky and heavy. “Hot rain” your Granddad had called it. It reminded you of simplicity. Of home. 

You stepped right outside the cloister on the farthest corner of the abbey to soak the weighted air and shafts of light inward as self-anointing. The grass was springy under your feet, verdant, and you lost track of your steps as you meandered out into the less-manicured side of the grounds towards the wooded border of the property’s boundaries. 

It had been two years since you decided to join the order. Your family, long gone at the prospect of you choosing a life of sin and vulgarity, and your friends feigning happiness that slowly dripped away as time wore on and contact faded into simple memories. You didn’t mind it. If being a part of the ministry had taught you anything, it was that change was normal - healthy, even - and that embracing and adapting was necessary to find self-fulfillment and true absolution.

The first year as a Sister of Sin proved a heady challenge. With scripture and philosophy to study, on top of a laundry list of new procedures and rituals and ways of living to memorize, you had your hands full. There were some nights where sleep was truly a blessing from below and you started to understand the pull of addiction as you filled your coffee for what seemed like the umpteenth time at breakfast before starting your shift washing the ministry’s linens. 

Uncertainty and impulsivity had inspired you to join. Desperation had encouraged you to stay. Like a mid-life crisis happening 20 years too soon, you clung to any open window to find purpose and opportunity. You longed for a defined path outlined in thick black marker on a map with an ‘x marks the spot’. 

It wasn’t until a year and a half into your tenure as a Sister of Sin, fresh out of novitiate, that you met a young Cardinal Terzo (as he liked to be called) and your outlook on this new life began to shift. You couldn’t exactly point to why he had chosen you out of all the other sisters. You didn’t feel as though you were the most attractive, or the most seductive, or the most educated or intelligent. You didn’t feel secure in any specific talents and you didn’t feel a drive to accomplish anything specific. If anything, your energy was spent on yearning for direction. 

Perhaps he had noticed your propensity to velcro into anything novel or interesting. Or maybe it was your enthrallment and willingness to engage. Whatever the reason, Terzo had chosen you to devote his time to. 

You had been assigned to his detail as a temporary member of his small team of siblings. Though your past experience noted a range of clerical skills and literary study, you had instead been chosen to keep his chambers. It had taken all but a few days to learn Cardinal Terzo’s particulars. His sheets, which were a stereotypical black satin, had to be positioned just right (heaven forbid the fitted sheet have a loose corner…one would think that Papa himself had been murdered). Because of their color and Terzo’s…life choices, both the top sheet and the fitted sheet had to be changed nearly daily to save them from resembling Pollock’s “Lavender Mist”. His clothing had to be organized by occasion and style (and as you quickly found out, by random personal preference that seemed to change on a whim). Terzo required his wine fridges (plural) to be stocked twice weekly (including the large collection of reds that rested atop each fridge at room temperature), and it wasn’t uncommon to fulfill last minute requests for antipasto, fruit, candles, or other carnal delicacies to be brought to his room for later that evening. 

Completing tasks was a nightmare. You never knew if your assigned shift would lead you into an empty (and disarrayed) room with Terzo having been up and out early in the morning, or an occupied suite that stayed inhabited up into the early afternoon. The latter still caught you off-guard and you made frequent mental notes to work on your stuttered apologies as you awkwardly left his bedroom to wait until it was empty to resume your duties.

However, one day that seemed all but special, you entered his bedroom to change his linens and refresh his wardrobe, only to find Cardinal Terzo hunched over the mantel in front of the fireplace. His head hung low, browbeaten, and a rocks glass of scotch was perched between heavy fingers while his fist was clasped to his right. If you listened closely enough, you swore you could hear his aggravated breathing laced with tears. You froze at the sight. 

“I’m sorry, Cardinal. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you eventually peeped out, trying your best to keep your tone even as to not portray any perceived judgment. 

Terzo hadn’t turned to face you, but was quick in his reply — his voice gravely and gruff. “It’s best if you go, Sorella,” he responded, gripping even tighter onto the glass. The air felt thick and you could feel your own sweat (whether from the heat of the fire or the anxiety of catching Terzo at an inopportune moment, you weren’t sure) pooling on your forehead. 

Despite his request, you stayed stationary. 

You couldn’t help but look over the way his hair hung down to frame his painted eyes, tracks of tears threatening to wash away the intricate circular design and painted bow, and how his lips pursed in the firelight. Do you dare overstep your professional boundaries to show a touch of common humanity? To show that despite his role as a prominent Cardinal in the church, he was still a human being that deserved empathy and kindness? It was then that you decided to be bold. You took a deep breath. 

“Do you need a hug?”

Your words seemed to catch Terzo off guard, and he suddenly raised his head and craned his neck to look at you, eyebrows furrowed. You gently set down the basket of clean laundry and took a step towards him, wringing your hands in apprehension as you approached him. 

Upon seeing you, soft-faced and vulnerable in the dim light, his own expression dampened and he turned his body to face yours. “I think I would like that, Sorella,” he replied. 

It was from the moment that your small frame enveloped him, your head tucking in against his chest while your hands moved comfortingly against the smooth fabric of his jacket that hugged against his back, that you felt your heart beam against his. And maybe, you reasoned, you weren’t crazy in thinking that you felt his beam back against your own.

Over the next week or so, your daily visits to his chambers began to change. You could almost bet on him being present for your visits now, and while it had made you nervous before, you had begun to look forward to seeing him lounging about in his chambers, coffee in hand as he greeted you with a warm, “Good Morning, Sorella.” Dinner in the refectory had been previously uneventful, but now was punctuated by stolen glances from (and to) the head table, with Terzo occasionally lifting his ever-present glass of red in your direction — a subtle, yet definite nod to your existence. You couldn’t help but internally swoon. 

The second week after your fireside interaction, after replacing the linens, replenishing the firewood, and restocking a few choice wines in Terzo’s chambers, you were met with a personal request from the Cardinal. 

Like many nights during weeks prior, Terzo had left his room with a special request for the evening. “A sensuous feast” he had called it, and having fulfilled his wishes before, you knew exactly the way it was to be done. 

Ignoring your disappointment (and the pang in your chest when you read the note), you worked with the kitchen ghouls to create a charcuterie board to remember, rife with various fruits, cheeses, nuts, and the homemade rosemary focaccia you knew he enjoyed at dinner. A bottle of prosecco sat on ice in a marble wine chiller on the low mahogany coffee table (and you made sure to stock a couple extra in the nearby wine fridge for good measure), and two glasses were perfectly polished beside it, waiting for eventual effervescence. A low fire was kindled and warmed the plush rug that lay in front of it as it waited for its future occupants. 

Swallowing the sharp spasms that assaulted your chest, you gave the room a small, unreturned smile and surveyed your work. 

“Beautiful job, Dolcezza.” Terzo’s silken voice frightened you as it broke the quietude in the room. You let out a breath, a chuckle laced between it and your words, and you replied with your same gentle smile. 

“Thank you. Will that be all, Your Eminence?”

You had been prepared for the Cardinal to shoo you away, possibly thanking you with another one of his thousand-yard smirks, but to your surprise, he didn’t. Instead, he wrinkled his brows in thought, walking slowly over to the velvet-tufted loveseat across from the mantel. His gloved hand stroked the back, fingertips brushing so lightly that they didn’t even leave a mark. 

“Actually, no, Sorella,” he said, eyes fixed on the raspberry-hued fabric. You felt your lungs tighten. Had you forgotten something? You’d be the first to admit that you’d been distracted in your work lately, and it wouldn’t have surprised you to see that you missed something crucial. Terzo interrupted your worried visage, his duochromatic eyes flickering up to you with a sultry gaze. “...would you like to stay?”

His words had hit you square in the jaw, which you were sure was now hanging open just slightly at your surprise. You swallowed and stammered out, “I-I don’t want to intrude on your company, Cardinal.”

“I was hoping you would be my company tonight, Dolcezza.”

It was the first of many evenings spent with Terzo. The debut of your time together, if you will — and it was not at all what you had expected. 

Tentatively, you agreed to the invitation, only doing so because you knew that his room was the last on your list to freshen and you were now technically done with your duties. You had watched as Terzo held his hand out to motion towards the seating by the fire, and you hesitantly moved to take a seat on the plump leather couch across from the loveseat. 

To say that you had been nervous would be a gross understatement. Your senses drank in the stimulus around you — the pop of the bottle of sweet wine, the fizz of the bubbles blooming in the glass, the spicy, floral musk of Terzo’s cologne drifting through the air as he held out the flute for you to timidly accept — they all became cataloged in your mind as sensory memories of this first excursion. 

If Terzo’s smooth, charming attitude hadn’t calmed you down, the prosecco surely had. Not long after you’d taken your first sip, Terzo had sat on the other side of the couch with his own glass in his gloved hand, his cardinal cassock floating down over his crossed legs like sin, and he had struck up a conversation. His body was turned towards yours, eyes always drinking in your form like it was the preferred spirit of the evening, as he asked you more about who you were. 

He was easy to talk to (far easier to talk to than you’d expected). You divulged your history with the church and briefly described your one and a half year commitment with a peaceful pride. As a Cardinal, you were sure he spent the majority of the time discussing the intimacies of the ministry and you didn’t want to bore him. 

“And what led you to the light bringer, Sorella?” he had asked you, fingertips stroking the stem of the champagne flute delicately, tenderly. 

Even though you’d initially fabricated walls to guard you from revealing your past, Terzo’s soothing yet fascinating energy knocked them down almost instantaneously. You explained the falling out with your parents over your decisions for your career and lifestyle, how they’d refused to support you following your passions as it didn’t seem “financially prudent” to do so. With forlorn fondness, you recalled your relationship with your Granddad that had ended abruptly with his unforeseen death and how it had cracked your mother’s inward countenance and plastered it back up with vodka and Valium. The final straw, you explained, was your decision to openly renounce your faith and begin the exploration into different forms of spirituality. Terzo had listened intently, his face bleeding sympathy and compassion as you unraveled your past in a way you hadn’t since joining the order.  

But despite the heavy conversation, the night turned to one of true connection as you both polished off the first bottle of prosecco (and eventually, most of the charcuterie). Laughter frequently permeated the air after the second bottle had been opened, and you giggled over shared stories of gossip about the ministry — Terzo even letting a few more secretive and scandalous pieces about the clergy loose after his fourth glass of bubbles. 

By the end of the evening, you began to see Terzo in a new light. Before, he’d been the suave, debonair Cardinal with a reputation of philandry.  But now, Terzo felt like a true kindred spirit. As you’d gotten up to leave (sea-legged from the alcohol, you might add) the Cardinal had offered you his hand to steady you. After helping you up, he continued holding onto your hand, his body advancing closer to you with a half-step.

You remember the light of the fire reflecting off the yin-yang black and white eye as he took in your features. You remember the notes of apple and pear on his breath. Most of all, you remember the words he purred out in a low, dulcet hum. 

“I’m going to kiss you now, Dolcezza.”

And he had. Searingly slow, his lips lingered on yours for countless seconds before he pulled away completely. 

It was the beginning of the downfall.  

🜏🜏🜏

A mere two days after your memorable night with the Cardinal, you arrived at the workroom connecting the laundry to the housekeeping stores in increased anticipation to start your duties. Yesterday was your day off, and as such, you hadn’t had the opportunity to see Cardinal Terzo. 

As soon as you set down your coffee thermos, Sister Teresa, a senior Sister of Sin, approached you with a jollied clap on her hands. She explained that the sister you’d been covering for had healed quite nicely from her surgery and was returning to work early — today, in fact — and your services in housekeeping would no longer be needed. With a chuckle, she reached out to touch your arm, saying, “It’s a blessing of timing from the Dark One. We have been running behind ever since you left!”

Outwardly, you nodded and thanked the sister for letting you know before heading through the connecting door to the laundry. Once out of sight, you sighed, turning to make your way down the walkway towards the oncoming chutes, closed fist lightly pounding against a pile of folded bedsheets as you passed. You weren’t exactly sure when you’d get to speak with Terzo again, which of course disappointed you, but you were arguably more disappointed that you’d spent the time shaving your legs and fussing over the exact flavor of lip balm before leaving for work today — all for naught. 

That evening, you took your usual seat in the refectory with a slogged posture. Your hands smelled of bleach and detergent, and your skin felt dry from the dryer sheets you’d spent the afternoon picking from the dryer vent. After pouring yourself a healthy glug of table red from the decanter, you sighed and leaned back, watching as other siblings filled the room. After a few lengthy sips and more disassociation than you’d care to admit, you saw a flash of a black cassock from the corner of your eye. Towards the front of the refectory, seated at the clergy table, was Cardinal Terzo. He was mid conversation with one of the bishops and looked surprisingly pleased as he took a seat and accepted a glass of red similar to yours. His glance turned to your direction by chance and he met your eyes, smirking before raising his glass as he had so many times before. You raised yours back. 

And on this went for the remainder of the week — you, successfully seeking out his gaze and him acknowledging you with a raised glass, a smile, or as of the night before, a wink. Each time made your heart patter so high in your chest that you could taste it in your throat (or maybe that was the pinot noir). 

This particular night, after placing your napkin on the table and sipping the last drop of wine from the globe of the drink ware, you realized that this week put you into a state of melancholy. You’d felt trapped (an odd feeling in a church based on free will) and you craved a break in your monotonous routine. A walk would do you good, you'd decided. You breezed past a group of siblings and out the refectory doors so quickly that you hadn’t heard the voice calling your name from the other end of the room. 

Down the cloister and to the gravel path your feet traveled, and just after you felt the crunch of the rocks beneath your shoes, a hand reached out to cup your shoulder. You’d turned with an inward huff, nearly frightened, but each muscle seemed to relax when you’d seen that it was just him, just Terzo, and a smile crept across your cheeks.

From an outward observer, the walk would have seemed ordinary. It wasn’t out of character for siblings to peruse the gardens in the evening, and members of the clergy indulged too, of course. But as you made your way through the carefully pruned rhododendrons and lilac-lined pathways, Terzo admitted something that made the stroll all but ordinary. 

“I miss seeing you in my chambers, Dolcezza. I hope our kiss did not frighten you away.”

And of course you had assured him that it was anything but, explaining the predicament that brought you to the housekeeping staff in the first place, along with the reassignment to the ministry laundry earlier in the week. 

As time wore on, you kept to your work in the laundry and he to his in the clergy, but both you and il Cardinale continued your joint traditions — the hushed glances at dinner, the occasional stretch through the church’s gardens. You shared the stories of your respective days, with the conversations always morphing into a mishmosh of memories or past experiences, with the occasional smattering of theological conversation. Sometimes you sealed the evening with a kiss, sometimes you didn’t. However, regardless of how the night ended, you always thought of the taste of his lips on yours (wine-bathed and smoky and soft). 

Luckily, on occasion, the senior Sisters of Sin pulled the laundry staff to help out with housekeeping duties in the event of someone falling ill or needing to take time off. Each time this was proffered, you quickly volunteered, buttering the situation with the explanation that you had already filled in before and knew the routines and procedures, including the particulars of the clergy members. It made you appear as if you were flexible, hardworking, and willing to help the ministry in any way needed. Deep down, however, you knew that your real motivation was the off-chance that you’d get to see your raven-haired Cardinal. 

One of these days you had all but physically jumped at the opportunity to help out with housekeeping. Your enthusiasm was nearly crushed when you found out that not only were they short staffed, but they had fallen behind due to a fairly extensive disaster left behind in an upper clergymen’s room by what appeared to be an entire pack of ghouls. In spite of your utter exhaustion at the end of the day (and shudders at the recollection of all the oddly sticky surfaces you had to wipe down while tidying up the ghoul pack’s aftermath), you found yourself 

making the familiar trek to Terzo’s chambers. Ghoul juices aside, you had a slight jaunt in your step. The day’s unfortunate proclivities wouldn’t put a damper on your excitement of seeing the Cardinal. As soon as you entered his room, however, you noticed something felt strange. 

Hoping to finish your more formal duties quickly, you beelined into the bathroom to replace the towels and gather the dirty laundry before passing through to his bedchambers. Removing and replenishing his sheets was like child's play now, and after a couple of minutes you had already balled up the used linens and placed them in the basket with the other laundry before turning to exit his bedroom. 

You heard the crackling of the fireplace in his living space before you saw the dim flames, and the occasional scribbling sound of a pen against paper was even more of a telltale hint that you were not alone. Setting the basket down, you padded over to the leathered couch that reminded you of your first visit with the Cardinal and rested your hands against the back of it. Terzo was sitting against the rug, feet outstretched by the fire, with a notepad in hand. It had indeed been him slugging the fountain tip across the page, and from the balled up sheets of paper littering the floor, you gathered that whatever he was getting at was not a success. 

“Your Eminence?” you rasped out softly, so quietly that he didn’t hear you. “Cardinal?”

With your slightly louder inquest, Terzo’s head shot up and his pen dropped against the paper pad with an audible clunk. The delighted expression on your face dimmed, though, when you noticed his own. 

His usually slicked-back hair hung down in messy strands across his forehead, barely covering the lines that had formed there undoubtedly from a frequently furrowed brow. His eyes looked a little glassy, and although the paint around his eyes and upper lip didn’t seem to be tear-scathed, you could tell that he had rubbed at his face more than once by the blurry edges of the black makeup. In sum, Terzo looked doggedly stressed. 

“Dolcezza,” his voice perked up with a hint of surprise, “What a treat it is to see you here.” 

You could feel the color creeping into the apples of your cheeks like ripened fruit. “They needed a little extra assistance and I offered to help,” you explained, your voice calm and surprisingly steady at the scene in front of you. 

“Ahh, bene.” Terzo threw the notepad down to the floor with a little more oomph than you expected, stretching his feet out in front of him. You noted that they were dangerously close to the fire.

“Is everything alright?” you asked as you came closer, rounding the couch to sit down next to him on the floor, “you seem a little —” you paused, unsure of whether to continue lest you come off insulting, yet decided to risk it, “ —stressed.”

The Cardinal sighed. “SÌ,” he breathed out, slipping his hand through his hair for what had to have been the dozenth time that evening. “I am to give the sermon at black mass tomorrow.”

Your lips curved into a proud smile. “Black mass? That’s…well, an honor, really.”

Terzo nodded. “SÌ… however, I have yet to finish it. I keep coming to a stop, like a eh—” he paused, his hand motioning in circles as if to demonstrate that he was searching for the correct word, “ —barrier, in my mind.”

Folding your legs underneath you (and being careful to adjust the skirt of your habit), you turned to face him. “You have writer’s block?”

“If I am to be completely honest, I have never delivered a sermon at Black Mass before.” He sighed again and you noted that there was a lot of weight in that sigh. He looked down, flipping the pen to and fro between his slender fingers. “A lot is riding on this performance and I fear I will be nothing but a disappointment.”

At this, your body stiffened. Terzo had always seemed so confident, so demure, and you were taken aback by his insecurity. “Cardinal,” you began, inching just a bit closer, “you are anything but a disappointment.”

At this, the painted man beside you laughed. “Ahh, yes, il stronzo, perhaps…”

You rolled your eyes at his self-deprecation. “Based on our conversations during our walks, I think you will do beautifully. You have quite the mind for theology, and you speak eloquently and with conviction.” You licked the curve of your lips, craning a bit to try to see his downtrodden eyes. “Maybe it’s yourself you should have some faith in?”

At your kind words, Terzo raised his head, his hair partially hiding the milky white eye that you had never quite become accustomed to. “I’m afraid I will just disappoint you, cara. As well as the congregation.” At this, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his fist clenching as he softly pounded the ground in frustration. “Figlio di puttana…”

The way he looked right now reminded you of the first moment you approached him: vulnerable, closed in on himself, raw, and before you knew it, you reached out your hand to gently touch his left arm, your own fingertips brazenly trailing up and down the wool-covered limb. Your touch surprised the Cardinal, and his eyes  met yours once more — this time, the widened emerald one peering straight through you. 

What you didn’t know was how touched Terzo was by your compassion at this moment. Of course, he knew how much you cared and sacrificed for others, but you never ceased to amaze him with your empathy and tenderness. His heart beamed in a way he hadn’t felt since childhood, and as he drank in your alluring stare, he couldn’t resist the urge to study your beauty in the firelight. He noted the way the flames etched against the contours of your cheeks and jaw, shadows drawn across bone. 

Putting his gloved hand on your own, he found himself leaning towards you, his fingers squeezing yours as his breath stilled in his throat. Warm lips — one painted and one bare — pressed against your own and you felt at home again. Your kisses with Terzo had always felt this way, and although they were a bit of an unconstant, you relished in the moments you’d get to feel him like this. 

Your eyes fluttered closed. Head tilting ever so slightly, your body mirrored his own as you melted into the touch. Faint wine and the bitter tang of paint touched your tongue while you moved your lips against his, the slower series of pecks diverging into something a little more heated, urgent, needy. 

As you sat like this, all you could hear was the crackling of the fire in front of you, the light smacking of your lips moving in unison, and the intakes and exhales of shared breath. It felt much more intimate than you were used to with Terzo. But most of all, it felt right. 

His hand trailed from yours and danced across the flesh of your neck to your jawline, cupping it gently as he tilted to deepen your connection, tongue tasting your lips (for self-gratification or permission, you weren’t sure). You also weren’t exactly sure how you ended up lateral on the thick rug, or how your hand had found purchase in his slicked back hair, or how his own had pushed the fabric of your skirt up around your bare thigh, or even how your bodies had been pulled so impossibly close. Nevertheless, you found yourself wrapped in air thickened with firewood and his cologne and the humid heat of your kisses and exhales, and Satan below the way his trouser covered leg had parted your own to tangle you both into one being had your mind swimming.

“Let me take you,” he had whispered to you, his breath warm against the corner of your lip and the curve of your cheek, “let me have you here, like I’ve always wanted to.”

That was all it took. The look in his eyes had been flooded with desire and it overcame your ability to do anything but completely submit to his request.

He moved over top of you, his arms lifting up criss-crossed to pull his jacket and button up off his slender, muscular frame. Flamed illumination danced across the ridges of the muscles of his chest, the smooth, lightly tanned skin that still seemed so deliciously pale for an Italian man, and your eyes took in stills to catalog in your memory while he slid his hands up and under your dress uniform. 

Terzo mimicked the action with your dress, pulling it over your head quickly before tossing it casually to the side. His hand slipped underneath you and before you realized it, the tension of your bra loosened and the garment was quickly abandoned. As cool air pricked the skin of your breasts, the Cardinal’s eyes wandered down to stare at them in the dim light. He bit at the tips of his gloved fingers to loosen the silken material, pulling them off to reveal slender, strong hands that reached for your soft skin. 

He must have noticed he look of insecurity that painted your face, of shyness, because he began to trace your curves with his fingertips, just barely, butterfly wings against the surface, and murmured out “Cosi bella…” as they shimmered across the peak of your nipples. 

Far back in the recesses of your mind, you felt dips of worry. Was this something that he said to everyone he was with? Was this how he treated all the women he’d brought back to his quarters — the quarters that you’d cleaned and prepared? But each time your mind wandered there, you pulled it back with a yank of a leash to the present. You were here, this was now, and you were going to enjoy what was happening in this moment. 

Your mouths connected again, this time more wantonly, and all you could taste was the uniqueness that was simply Terzo — the wine, the smokiness, the dark face paint. A groan escaped his lips into your own and he moved to box you in with his thighs on either side of your body. One hand found room just by your head against the ground and held him above you, while the other clutched to your left breast, kneading and squeezing at you with a mix of adoration and longing. 

When he brought his hips down to press against your own, you let forth your own series of moans into his mouth, and he all but combusted as he ripped your lips apart, hands hurriedly unbuckling his pants to shimmy them down his legs. Your reaches crossed one another’s as you both grasped at each other’s undergarments and tandemly pulled them down over hips and skin, revealing your bare forms in communion. 

From there you lie naked on the rug, Terzo on top of you, with sweat-slicked skin osculating as tongues and teeth gnashed passionately. Veil and shoes were long forgotten. You could feel his hard length pressing against the space between your sex and your thigh and it made a chill wash over the expanse of your body. As his hips rutted against your pelvis, he slid between your folds, slick coating him with delicious friction, and your arms wound under his own to curl around the strong muscles of his back and shoulders. You broke the kiss with a whimper and crooked your neck to the side. 

“Cardinal,” you hummed out, a little more needy than you had intended to, “don’t make me wait any more.”

He lifted his head to look in your eyes, a chuckle reaching past his lips as his hair nearly dripped across your forehead. 

“The virtue of patience isn’t something we celebrate in our faith, Dolcezza,” he purred as he brought his face close to yours, breath pricking across your lips and cheek as he moved his mouth to ghost your earlobe, “ —and I think you’ve waited long enough.”

With that, he pulled his hips back and you whined at the brief loss, your breath stilted as he pushed forward almost immediately, his cock pushing past your folds and into you firmly. You let out a choked groan and your eyes ripped open, watching the darkness of his pupils overtake his unmatched irises as he sank into you to the hilt. 

Your leg came up to hook around his hip and thigh as he pistoned in and out of you. Your hand gripped the furry fibers of the rug below, the other still curved around his back to hang onto his shoulder like he’d disintegrate if you let go. With every thrust you found God, and every retreat you went searching for redemption. 

Your Cardinal found solace in the arch of your neck, teeth nipping at skin and tendon as he grunted along with each forward movement. 

“Così buono con me. Sei così buono con me.”

Tension built up inside of your core, tugging at the muscles of your abdomen, and you felt your grip tighten around Terzo. Despite the stricture, you could feel your core blooming, softening taking everything he had as he worked himself inside of you, hips rolling and grinding. 

The smell of the sweat on his skin and the burning wood of the fire lit your own flames deep within you and you could feel your impending release begin to blossom. “More,” you cried, the noise so sweet in taste and sound to Terzo that he couldn’t help but obey. 

He pressed his lips to your neck in a series of wet marks. Your hand abandoned the rug and came up to card through his air, fingertips winding around the strands with a needy tug as you felt your pussy begin to contract around his thick cock. He knew you were close because he kept going, never faltering in his pace or touch, moaning little praises into the skin of your clavicle until lightening rushed through your veins. 

You came and it felt like everything and nothing all at once. You weren’t sure if you’d made any noise at all, but as your jaw hung open, eyes fluttering back into your skull, you were certain that within the Cardinal’s arms was the only place you were meant to be. Here, now, releasing yourself to him completely, with the firelight plaguing the walls as a reminder of your devotion to him, your Cardinal, and to the flames of hell and the one below. 

Terzo was soon to follow with his own orgasm. You could sense him tensing, his length twitching as his hips began to jolt against your own unrhythmically, throaty growls punctuating his movements. And as he filled you, you trembled against him from the fiery char of your release, your own inner muscles twitching as you welcomed his spend as sacrament.

Breath stilted and waned as he lay collapsed against you, skin slick with the proof of your union, and your fingertips found purchase soothingly stroking against his scalp. A beat passed and you relaxed in the aftermath of just the two of you. Terzo was the first to speak. 

“Was it worth it?” he hummed out, eyes peering up at you from his head that rested against your soft breasts. 

You furrowed your brows with a small smile. “What do you mean?” you asked.

He tittered and brought his hand to trace along the line of your jaw. “The wait,” he clarified, thumb rubbing sweetly over your chin, “Was it worth it?”

You felt warmth course through your chest and leak into your limbs. It was different than before. It was new, yet oddly familiar — like remembrance, uncovering a dusted memory. Your hand came up to clasp over his own on your chin, and you brought it to your lips, pressing them slowly, repeatedly against his skin. 

“You’re always worth it.”

🜏🜏🜏

Yet now, as you soak in the humidity that paints your skin while you move across the courtyard and to a lesser occupied area of the Ministry gardens, your mind replays your words from that night. “You’re always worth it.” Always. So finite, so absolute. 

You continued to walk, searching for a prayer, a sign from the one below that everything will click into place and the grand plan will be revealed over time. And as you settled down onto an earthen stone bench overlooking an old statue of the Emeritus family, eyes cast towards the statue that partially formed the man you’d fallen from grace for, you realized that there was no hot rain.

Only tears. 

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