#sorella imperator

[greyromanticghoul]

CICI MENTION‼️‼️‼️‼️

She is straight up KILLING it !! Go cici!!!

[da-rulah]

Rituale Septem - Day 6: Greed

Pairing: (Swiss x Dewdrop x f!reader)

Summary: Terzo takes a step back from guiding you in the ritual, but he fails to tell you why. He sends his Ghouls to you instead - luckily for you, those Ghouls know just what you need to forget about Papa Emeritus III. If even just for a moment...

Rating: Mature, MDNI 18+

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: Angst, threesome, fingering, oral (f receiving), squirting, p in v sex, double penetration, some m+m elements (potentially a sexual awakening...), double creampie, mind break, cum eating, multiple orgasms, overstimulation 

AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

A/N: Just popping here to say again, the Ghouls all have silver masks and are trainees under Terzo's reign for the time being. I don't know Terzo's Ghouls well enough to be able to write their characters. Thank you for understanding - Enjoy!🖤

Prev: Day 5 - Envy | Next: Day 7: Pride

October 30th 

What a fucking idiota. 

Terzo reprimanded himself as he stood in the doorway to his office. After a night of sleeplessness, tossing and turning with images of you screwing his half-brother or Satan-forbid, your tear-stained cheeks he’d missed when you watched him railing Christine in front of you, he was exhausted. It was karmic, and he knew that. He deserved it.  

He stared at the chairs in front of his desk, reliving the events of yesterday. He knew the mistakes he’d made, and he wasn’t sure how to make up for them. But Primo had been extremely useful and given him direction, at least for now. He would be taking a step back; you didn’t need him to complete your goal. 

“Good morning, Papa,” Christine greeted from behind him, somewhat hesitantly as if she knew of his fragile state of mind. Terzo jumped even at that, turning his head as if shaken from a dream.  

“Oh, uh... sì, buongiorno,” he dismissed her, stepping into his office and heading for his desk. Christine gingerly followed him in, standing between those damn chairs and the door.  

“Did, um... Did you talk to Sister ____?” she asked, worry in her tone.  

Terzo was instantly transported back to the moment he’d found you in Copia’s workshop, walking into... that. 

“Um... not exactly,” he sighed. Sister Christine rolled her eyes. 

“Papa, seriously? You can’t just hide with your tail between your legs, you should-” 

“She was a little busy,” he interrupted, sternly. “Don’t worry, Christine. I got what was coming to me.”  

Christine’s brows furrowed in confusion, her shoulders sagging in defeat. She saw the pained look on his face, how different he looked today. His face looked puffy with a lack of sleep, his paints thinly applied and not to the usual crisp standard. Even his hair wasn’t styled so neatly, parting in the middle and falling over his forehead. She wasn’t sure what had happened when he’d gone to find you yesterday, but she also knew she shouldn’t ask.  

“O-okay... Well, Sister Imperator left a note for you on my desk this morning,” Terzo didn’t hide the groan of disdain at the mention of Imperator, “I know, I know... She requires your assistance in setting up the Great Hall for the All Hallow’s Ball tomorrow. Apparently, your opinions on decorative party supplies are a necessity.”  

“Va bene, (Okay,) I’ll go soon. I just need to do something first... Would you leave me?” he asked.  

“Of course,” she nodded with a sympathetic smile, and left him to his own solitude.  

Terzo dug around his desk for his stationary set, pulling out a clean parchment and his expensive ink pen, and began to write...  

Sorella ______,  

I have every belief you can finish this on your own. You do not need my assistance, or my guidance. With just two sins left, I’m positive you can achieve what you wish for. 

Enjoy the Ball tomorrow evening.  

Papa Emeritus III 

He had hoped his belief in you would shine through his brief note. Apologies felt like an insult to your intelligence, and any kind of confession of feelings felt too distracting to your task at hand. This would have to do. 

He folded the parchment, sealing it with a fresh wax seal, and got up to leave, heading towards the Great Hall. He would hand the note to one of his Ghouls on his way and ask them to drop it off, leaving you to complete whichever of the two sins you chose today in peace, and without his interference. 

He owed you that much, he thought. 

The knock at your door that morning startled you, completely unexpected. A part of you, childishly, hoped that it was him... Maybe he’d come to apologise, giving you an opportunity to do the same. Hell, even if he showed up pretending nothing had happened and wanted to jump right back into the ritual, you’d let him. You just wished you’d see his face on the other side of that door; the rest you’d figure out.  

But you were sorely disappointed.  

Instead, Swiss and Dewdrop stood shoulder to shoulder, a piece of folded parchment in Swiss’ hand. 

“Good morning, Sister ______!” Swiss chirped, entirely too giddily for such an early call. Dewdrop remained as silent and stoic as ever. 

“Oh... Hi.” You sounded disappointed even to your own ears. Swiss’ signature smile dropped, and behind his mask his eyes squinted in suspicion.  

“Well... okay, then...” he shook it off, unsure if he should pry. “Got a thing for ya!” he held the parchment out to you, notably with the wax seal facing up and proudly displaying Papa’s crest indented into it. You stared at it for a beat too long, and Swiss shook it in front of your eyes, awakening you from your own analytical trance. You took it from him, stepping back into your apartment and dropping lazily with a huff onto your couch. Swiss invited himself in, sitting on the opposite end whilst Dew hovered in the doorway, shutting the door behind him.  

You popped the seal on the paper, unfolding it to see Papa’s handwriting in a short and frankly abrupt note. Your eyes skimmed it, reading and re-reading over and over, and getting visibly more annoyed with each read through. 

“I have every belief you can finish this on your own.” 

On your own.  

Was he fucking serious? He was just... abandoning you? No apologies, no explanations... he couldn’t even be bothered to show his fucking face today, getting his Ghouls to do his dirty work?  

“You fucking asshole...” you muttered, screwing the note up tightly in your fist and throwing it to the floor, slamming your back against the couch and folding your arms like a toddler in a tantrum.  

An awkward silence fell over the room, losing yourself in your own thoughts again. So, he was just going to leave you to perform pride and greed alone, with no guidance, not even a hint at what the hell you could possibly do for either one? He'd ruined it. He was spoiling the entire ritual, after you’d done everything you could to stay on task and with just two days left.  

Your mind worked itself into a dizzying array of possible scenarios you might be able to play out for the remaining sins, trying desperately to think of something, anything you could do today for either one. Nothing stuck, too complicated by the confusing mix of anger and disappointment in the pit of your stomach. 

You’d almost forgotten about the two Ghouls in your presence until Swiss spoke up. 

“Sister, are you alright? What did he do?” Swiss’ hand rested on your shoulder, bringing you back to reality.  

“He’s just... leaving me to it,” you spat. Swiss was even more confused.  

“To what?” he asked. “I don’t understand...” he looked up to Dew, who just shrugged with a shake of his head.  

And so, you explained. You told them of the ritual, of each sin you’d performed – conveniently leaving out of course the part where you were now harbouring some very confusing feelings about Papa Emeritus III – and what it was all for. To your surprise, Swiss and Dew listened along attentively, without judgement. Dew came to sit beside you on the armrest of the couch too, his attention on you and allowing you to vent. You’d half expected some clever quips to come from Swiss but no, they both just listened. 

“And now, for some reason, he’s just abandoned me and said ‘okay, ______, figure it out yourself’.” Of course, you had an idea what that reason was... clearly you’d pissed him off, but he’d started it when he dove dick first into your friend and laughed at you for having any kind of negative reaction!  

Reality set in, and tears welled in your eyes. You really were going to fumble this ritual, now. You wouldn’t get to hear the Dark One’s voice, you wouldn’t get the guidance you had been so desperate for and frankly, you were beginning to question once again your place in the Ministry. You may as well start packing your bags now... 

Swiss and Dew shared a look you missed; one of sympathy, like they both wanted to do something to console you. They didn’t want to see a sister lose her faith, particularly not one as kind to the Ghouls as you.  

“Well hey, maybe we can help think of something?” Swiss slapped Dew’s back from behind you to encourage him. He nodded vigorously, placing his hand on your other shoulder. “What sins do you have left?” 

“Pride and greed...” Your voice shook with unshed tears. “What the hell am I going to do?” 

Swiss thought for a moment, shuffling closer to you on the couch to wrap an arm around you and pull you to lay on his chest. He rubbed his hand up and down your arm while you burrowed your face into his neck, allowing yourself a moment to collect yourself, take some breaths.  

“Pride is a tough one, that’s about thinking of yourself before another, like being narcissistic or vain, but it can come down to something as simple as self-respect. How you embody that in sin, I don’t really know. I always thought it was a stupid one. What’s wrong with loving yourself, hm? Never got God’s problem with that. Think he just didn’t want people thinking they were better than him...” he scoffed. “Ironic that he made pride a sin when there’s never been a deity with a higher superiority complex.” 

You chuckled at that; he was right. But it wasn’t giving you much confidence in how to perform this... 

“But greed is easier. That’s about having an excessive, selfish desire to acquire something... Like power or money. Could be... pleasure...” he hesitated there, looking down at you through his mask. “I mean, you could... desire excessive pleasure?” he asked.  

You sat up, brain ticking over what he’d said. He was right again, of course. You could...  

“I think that, if you wanted to... we could help with that?” Swiss tested the waters, looking up at Dew who nodded slowly in agreement. “Only if you want us to, of course...”  

“You’d do that for me?” you asked, sitting up and looking between the two Ghouls. The idea of it far from horrified you. In fact, you had been a little disappointed after your encounter with Phantom that you were too exhausted to find out what Swiss and Dew could do for you. And let’s face it, you were running out of options and time. You had no doubt at all in their ability to enact this sin with you, and you trusted them enough to do so.  

“Sweetheart...” Swiss moved in closer, his lips hovering by your ear, tone deepening significantly, “Do you have any idea how disappointed we were when we realised our dear Phantom had exhausted you the other day?” 

Swiss’ breath was impossibly hot against your neck, spreading goosebumps over your skin where he moved your hair behind your shoulder with one finger. Dew slid onto the couch on your other side, trapping you between the two of them. He stayed silent as he always did, but his eyes sparkled with an interest that hadn’t been there a few moments ago.  

“I-I was disappointed... too...” you stuttered as you felt Swiss’ teeth nipping at your ear lobe, Dew’s hand coming to rest on your knee and drawing delicate patterns into your skin where the hem of your skirt couldn’t quite reach. This was moving fast, but frankly, you didn’t have time to hesitate – you'd only talk yourself out of it, and you didn’t want to do that. 

“We could... make you feel good, Sister...” Swiss teased, pressing his lips to the spot on your neck under your ear that sent a wave of arousal through your body. “Just say yes...” he whispered into your neck, drawing patterns with the tip of his nose while Dew’s fingertips travelled up your thigh.  

You had to admit, you were easily affected by the Ghouls and their small gestures of affection. At a time when affection was exactly what you needed, you weren’t all that concerned where you got it from. Clearly, it wouldn’t come from the one place you wish it would... And this served a purpose, didn’t it? A means to an end, if you will. Why deny yourself the pleasure? Why deny yourself all the work you’d already put in?  

“Fuck it...” you breathed, rolling your head back as Dew attached his lips to the other side of your neck, suckling softly at the skin where previous bruises had yellowed.  

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, we intend to...” Swiss promised, a new fervour in the way he kissed your neck, his hand coming to grip your waist where Dew was pressed against you.  

You were surrounded by them both, their hands wandering, their mouths working you to a heightened state of arousal. Dew’s hand began to squeeze at your inner thigh under your skirt, his nails scratching the skin and coaxing your thighs apart for him.  

You turned your head to face Dew, his eyes hooded and hazy behind the glint of his silver mask. You could see him biting his lip, searching your face for any protests while his hands squeezed and scratched higher and higher up the inside of your thigh but he found nothing. Instead, with a particular sharp scratch to the skin you found yourself whining and latching your lips to his, pulling him to you by his uniform. Dew groaned, shoving his palm against your clothed mound for you to rut yourself again.  

Swiss chuckled against your neck, sinking his teeth into the flesh just enough to cause a sharpness, never enough to burst the skin. You weren’t sure you’d mind if he did at this point, but instead he laved his tongue over the spot, gripping at your waist even tighter and grinding his crotch into your hipbone.  

If anyone had seen the three of you right now, they’d accuse you of being horny teenagers, dry humping and making out unrestricted and messy. Truth be told you allowed yourself to lose control, trusting that the two Ghouls entrapping you would take care of you.  

Dew’s hand pressed so tightly against your heat, pressing your panties into you and dampening them on your arousal. You ground your hips as you kissed him, tongues dancing together whilst shockwaves pulsed through your clit. Your whimpers were swallowed by Dew’s mouth, earning a low growl from deep within his chest. 

Swiss’ cock had hardened in his pants, still grinding into your hip from the angle he was sat beside you. He’d curled himself around you in a way that allowed him access still to your neck, stretched to accommodate Dew on the other side. He purred into your neck, his instincts taking over.  

“Sister, tell us what you want...” he pleaded, reaching to grope at your breast through your habit. You parted from Dew and turned your head to him.  

“Make me feel good... Until I beg you to stop,” you grinned wildly, grabbing him by his waistcoat and crashing your lips to his. Dew watched hungrily, his hand becoming more calculated and switching to his fingers circling your clit over your panties. Your body writhed where you sat, overwhelmed with the feeling of hands everywhere, pleasure tingling through every nerve.  

As your tongue swirled with Swiss’, he unbuttoned your habit, reaching underneath to push his hand under the cup of your bra – another matching piece that Dew was marvelling now he could see your panties under his hand. Swiss broke your kiss, getting a good look at your body now exposed to him. 

“Such a pretty set, sweetheart,” he practically sang, ogling the deep green embroidery of the set you’d put on today, still dressing up for whoever had been lucky enough to see them today. “You put this on for your Papa?” he teased.  

Now, logically you knew Swiss meant no harm with that question. He wasn’t teasing maliciously.  

And yet, somewhat illogically, the mere mention of his name was enough to rouse an anger in you that had you slapping your hand over his lips and holding him still in front of you.  

“Don’t fucking mention him. Just give me what I want, Swiss,” you demanded, resigning to your greed already. You pushed him with all your might, ignoring Dew for the moment and forcing Swiss onto his back. His eyes sparkled behind his mask with mischief, hands reaching for your bare thighs as you straddled him and ripped your unbuttoned habit from your arms, throwing it to the floor. 

Dew quickly moved with you, sitting himself between Swiss’ ankles and shuffling until his chest met your back. His hands gripped your hips and sat you down on Swiss’ bulge, controlling the way you ground your pussy against him. For all of his silence, Dew’s actions spoke volumes. He guided you as you rutted against Swiss, taking your pleasure while he nipped into your bare shoulder.  

With a rhythm created, Dew could focus his hands on your body, removing your bra and pinching at your pebbled nipples. Swiss groaned beneath you, the sight of you mixed with the grind on his cock an intoxicating cocktail.  

“Dew... Dew, get these off her, man,” he pants, pinging at the waistband of your panties. Dew complied, dropping his hands to them and ripping without hesitation, tearing into the material and flinging it elsewhere. “Hope you didn’t like them too much, sweetheart,” Swiss smirked, undoing the zipper of his trousers between you and hissing when you rubbed your folds over his knuckles as he did.  

As Swiss began to undress himself, Dew took it upon himself to make sure you weren’t going a second without stimulation. From behind you, he slid his hands under you, pushing his fingers forwards through your soaked folds until his fingertips circled your clit. Your back arched at the sensation, reaching behind you and around the back of his neck to pull his chest against you. He alternated between dragging his fingers through your slick folds and circling your clit over and over whilst you dug your nails into the back of his head, pulling his lips down to yours to muffle your moans in a desperate kiss.  

Beneath you, Swiss managed to remove his waistcoat and shirt and push his pants down enough to release his length. He stroked himself as he watched the display above him, seeing you get closer and closer to your first orgasm. He began to talk you through it, coaxing you more and more while Dew’s fingers took on a mind of their own.  

“Feels good, huh, baby?” he laughed after a particularly lavish moan escaped your lips and your hips bucked against Dew’s fingers. “Push ‘em inside, Dew. Let her feel you,” he encouraged. Dew did just that, slipping two fingers inside your heat from behind you. You cursed into his mouth, clenching around the intrusion that felt so fucking welcome you almost toppled over the edge just at that.  

Dew growled, curling his fingers as he fucked them in and out of you. The coil inside you was tightening impossibly fast, and within a minute you knew you were set to burst. 

“Are you gonna cum on his fingers, sweetheart? Come on... Give us one,” Swiss cheered you on, stroking himself and using his free hand to cup your breast, pinching your nipple to punctuate his words. When you bucked and writhed, orgasm finally hitting you he praised you, “There we go, hm? Good girl... Cum on his fingers baby, that’s it...” 

You whined and clenched on Dew, biting down on his bottom lip and he fucked his hand into you to get you through it. When the pleasure ebbed away, you leaned back against him, turning your head to look down at Swiss who was smirking, slowly stroking at his now leaking cock. Now able to see his chest, you realised just how built he was underneath his shirt and waistcoat. A thin layer of chest hair contoured his chest and abdomen, right down to where he was touching himself; it drove you wild. 

“Good?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.  

“Mhm. Want more,” you grinned, bending at the waist to hover over him, your hand swatted his away as you leaned.  

“More?” he teased, “Greedy little girl...” You giggled, beginning to stroke him and pushing your lips to his to silence him. Behind you, Dew was busy taking in the view as he sucked on the fingers he’d dove inside you, cleaning himself off. From where you bent over Swiss, he had the perfect view of your rounded and still bruised ass and your exposed, glistening cunt. Tasting you on his fingers ignited something inside him, growling as he licked every last drop.  

Swiss noticed his friend’s eyes trained on your core, hearing his growls and broke your kiss to nod in his direction and show you what you’d caused. You followed his gaze and watched the man who was hypnotised by your taste... 

“I think he likes you,” Swiss flirted, “why don’t you let him have a taste, sweetheart? I’m sure he can give you another with his tongue...” A deeper, louder growl came from Dew’s throat. “See?” 

Looking behind you, you saw Dew’s gaze had fallen on yours as if waiting for permission... “Don’t stop until I’m cumming, Dew,” you demanded, wiggling your hips in front of him.  

Like a man possessed, Dew shuffled back on the couch and bent down, shoving his masked face into your ass and laving his tongue over your core. You fell forward at the force, slamming to Swiss’ chest where he held you tightly against him. Laying against him you could do nothing to pump his length in your hand, but Swiss didn’t mind. Plenty of time for that later... For now, he was enjoying the look on your face as Dew dove into your pussy, sucking and licking and nipping at your clit.  

“Fuck, Dew... So good...” you whined; Dew’s grip on your ass tightened, his nails burning into the bruises still littering your skin. By now the pain of the bruises didn’t bother you so much, only heightening the depravity you found yourself in. Your mind wondered over the last few days, how you’d been used and fucked every single day in the filthiest ways. You’d tried things you never had before, surprised yourself with new kinks and confidence and allowed yourself the freedom to sleep with whoever aroused you at the time. You’d never felt so empowered... 

The memories served to drive you mad with arousal, wanting nothing more than to cum again on Dew’s tongue. Once again, you found yourself close to an end, rutting your hips against his chin. The movement of your hips created short, small ripple-effect moments through your body that were enough to give Swiss a little bit of friction, cock still wrapped up in your hand. He hummed in delight, pressing his lips to yours in a messy kiss.  

“How does she taste, Dew?” he called down to his friend, knowing full well he wouldn’t asnwer with words. Dew growled again, lost in his own greed. He needed more of you, all of you. Your taste was sending him on a straight road to insanity. “Good, it seems...” he smiled sadistically.  

Dew was becoming feral behind you as you rutted against his chin. His tongue dove into you, the nose of his mask adding to your pleasure and winding your coil back up once again until you lost it... You cried out against Swiss’ chest, your hand squeezing his length between the two of you earning a hiss and groan of pleasure. You felt your pussy convulsing, a wave of fresh arousal briefly squirting from you to land on Dew’s tongue as he slurped and drank everything you gave him. 

Dew delivered a spank to your ass as he sat up, licking his lips and wiping his chin of your mess.  

“Unholy fuck, did you squirt on him?” Swiss asked, amazed as you lay on him, catching your breath. You just giggled in response, words failing you. “Shit, I wanna make you do that...” 

“Then... you’ll... need to fuck me, first...” you taunted between breaths.  

“You got it, sweetheart,” he kissed you again, reaching between you both to take his cock from you, only to line it up with your entrance and slowly, begin to push inside you.  

Dew watched on from behind you, slowly undressing himself as he watched Swiss’ cock sink further and further into you. He was surprised at himself, so turned on watching another man sink into where he had just been burying his tongue and fingers. He thought he might feel possessive, jealous even, but he wanted nothing more than to see you fall apart on his friend. He was enjoying this...  

When Swiss bottomed out, he couldn’t help but whimper at the feeling. You felt so warm, so wet around him. Thanks to Dew’s work, you had been able to quickly accommodate him, slick enough to take him without any issues. You sat up, pressing your palms to his chest and rolling your hips against him. Immediately, pleasure returned and that spot inside you fluttered when he grazed it. You needed him, you needed more. Always more, more, more...  

Swiss’s hips met yours, rolling against you over and over. He watched where the two of you connected, seeing his cock disappearing over and over, glistening with your juices. In the space between your thighs and his cock, he could vaguely make out Dew behind you, now completely nude and stroking himself in time with his thrusts.  

“Fuck...” Swiss breathed, turned on at the sight. “Hey, hey baby...” he tapped at your cheek, getting you to open your eyes you’d closed in bliss and look down at him, “Think Dew needs a hand...”  

You looked behind you, seeing Dew completely nude save for his mask, and fucking into his fist much like Copia had been at your feet yesterday. And you got an idea...  

“This isn’t fair...” you whined, slapping a hand down against Swiss’ chest in protest. You stopped moving your hips but he continued for the both of you, refusing to stop. 

“W-what?” he asked.  

“Want more... Want you both,” you whimpered, reaching behind you to stroke at Dew’s cock. He shivered at the contact, and the thought of being buried in you like Swiss was. He wanted you too... 

“B-both of us? Like...” Swiss stuttered, now stilling his hips reluctantly.  

“Inside me, together. Fuck, I need it... Please?” you begged, looking between them both. The Ghouls looked past you and at each other, seeming to have a silent conversation while you waited impatiently. The thought of having both of them inside you; it both scared and excited you. Were you sure you could take them both? Would it hurt? Maybe they wouldn’t be comfortable with it? 

“Dew, if you’re not comfortable man, I get it...” Swiss reasoned; in his mind, he was more than happy to oblige. His cock even twitched at the thought, which came as a surprise to him. He’d never been in such close proximity to another man sexually but he wasn’t opposed to the idea in the slightest.  

Dew gave Swiss a look, paired with a slight twist of his head and started to slowly, once again, stroke himself; confirming that the idea was enough to interest him. 

“Shit, okay... okay, yeah. You think you can take us, baby?” Swiss’ attention came back onto you.  

“With the right prep,” you smirked, looking back at Dew. “Will you help, Dew?”  

He nodded in understanding, his hand sliding between your ass cheeks and further down, until his fingertips met where you sat impaled on Swiss’ cock. Swiss watched intently, his body twitching when Dew’s fingertips came into contact with his shaft. Slowly, Dew pushed in one finger as Swiss pushed himself in too, using the movement to aid the stretch of added girth. You saw fucking stars...  

“Sathanas...” you squealed, and the two stilled in panic. “No, no... don’t stop. It’s good... so fucking good,” you reassured, and the two men continued... In and out, over and over while you got slicker, messier for both of them like your body knew what was coming and wanted nothing more than to get you there. 

Before long, Dew attempted to push another digit in, and slowly but surely, he managed to do the same. Your body was accommodating them both nicely, nothing too rushed, still just slow and gentle. The look on Swiss’ face was a picture, screwed up in his attempts to remain focussed, to not burst into a fit of rutting as hard and fast as he possibly could with how good it felt to be sheathed inside you and have Dew’s fingers pressed against him. 

When you were ready, Dew added a third finger, stretching you to a point you most certainly never had before. His wrist ached at the angle, and so he pushed gently on your shoulder until you leaned over, hovering above Swiss and giving him much better access. The new position somehow made it easier on you too, spreading your legs further to accommodate both intrusions.  

“I... I think I’m ready,” you said once Dew and Swiss had made sure to slowly push inside as deep as possible while you shivered and spasmed at the feeling. “Please, Dew...” 

“He’s coming baby, just a little longer, okay? Wanna be sure...” Swiss reassured, peppering kisses to your neck where he lay. You nodded, letting them work you open a little longer, your slick gathering between them both and creating an easier glide as the seconds passed. Eventually, they were satisfied you were prepared. 

Dew looked over your shoulder to Swiss, checking in one final time that he was still okay with this. Swiss just smirked back at him, uttering a “Go ahead, Dew.” 

To make the initial entry easier on you, Swiss pulled himself out when Dew’s fingers left you. Dew used that same hand to coat himself in arousal, and finally, the two of them lined up beside each other, their tips just barely grazing and yet... Both of them gasped at the touch. The sound didn’t escape you; and by the look on Swiss’ face, it was certainly a pleasant experience. 

Slowly, the two of them pressed into you, sliding gently to fill you together. Dew’s hands gripped your hips, nails digging into the flesh while Swiss squeezed at your thighs, both having to restrain themselves. For you, the feeling of being stretched and filled to your limits was so damn good, you moaned so wantonly that it vibrated through your body and reached them both, tormenting them until eventually they bottomed out together.  

“Shit, Dew... You good, man?” Swiss cried, unable to tear his eyes away from where both their cocks pressed tightly against each other inside you. He missed Dew’s frantic nodding, but at the lack of protest he knew he was safe to continue.  

They began to build a leisurely pace, moving together in sync and dragging themselves over your g-spot in unison. All you could do was grip onto Swiss’ biceps for dear life, and try not to fall apart where you knelt. You’d never been pushed to this limit before, never taken so much at once but with their careful preparation they had managed to make it as easy as possible for you.  

“More... Please, want more,” you hummed, desperate for a faster pace, something rougher and more punishing. You wanted another fucking orgasm... Sure enough, greed had overtaken you.  

“Greedy girl,” Swiss growled, beginning to rock a little faster, mismatching his pace with Dew. Dew tried to keep up, but fell a little behind in rhythm. Surprisingly, that felt better than them both being in sync... Now, they were both hitting your g-spot, one after the other, in a similar rhythm to a heartbeat.  

You were crying out to both of them, expletives and wild moans between mutterings of their names filling the air around you to a backdrop of slick and sloppy noises as both men fucked into you, harder and harder... Dew couldn’t help his own moans, surrounded by you and Swiss at the same time, a whole new feeling he’d never experienced but unholy shit it felt incredible. He didn’t know another cock against his own could feel like this, never knew how much he’d love this.  

Swiss was thinking much the same, enjoying the drag of Dew’s hardness against his own. Both Ghouls were losing their minds inside you. Swiss released his grip on your thighs in search of Dew’s instead, pulling him closer, needing more of him in some form... Dew dropped one of his hands then, able to hold onto both him and you as the two kept pounding into you. 

“D-Dew... Oh, shit, why does this feel – ahhh – so good?” Swiss cried, throwing his head back into the couch. Dew roared behind you, curling his body to press against your back and sandwiching you between the sweaty bodies either side of you. You moved a little to the side, to give them room to get closer to each other, something you could sense they definitely needed while they rutted into you with reckless abandon.  

“C-can I kiss you, Dew? Fuck man, I don’t know, need more...” he pleaded through grit teeth. Dew pushed himself harder against you both and met Swiss in a bruising kiss neither man had seen coming when this all began. But it felt right, it felt good.  

Your head lay on Swiss’ chest, watching the two of them making out as their cocks filled and stretched you. It was all so much, a kind of bliss you’d never encountered. You could feel your end coming quickly, tearing through you as they resigned themselves to the mercy of the other. You gave them no warning, unable to fathom a sentence when a third burst of pleasure soared through your body.  

If Swiss wanted you to squirt for him, he’d certainly got his wish. You gushed on the pair of them, violently shaking at the force of your orgasm. The two of them broke their kiss and Swiss lost his mind, feeling your cunt flooding him.  

“Fucking hell, I gotta cum... I can’t hold this anymore. Dew, do you mind? Can I cum inside her?” You heard him babble as your brain clouded, coming down slowly while you convulsed and spasmed. You absolutely didn’t mind if he did, but would Dew? He was still buried in you too, after all...  

But Dew chuckled breathlessly and tightened his grip on Swiss’ hand, leaning in to kiss him again. He kept his pace up; a sure-fire way of making sure Swiss came inside you, and in turn, on him.  

It didn’t take him long once he got confirmation, stilling deep inside you, pressed against your cervix as his cum spilled from his cock and coated not only your walls, but Dew’s shaft too. He jumped and pulsed, desperate howls lost to Dew’s kiss. Dew kept going, slower than before but still rutting against Swiss and sending ripples of a dull buzz through you while it served to prolong Swiss’s end.  

Spent and exhausted, Swiss lay back, letting his limbs drop to the couch for a moment before he curled them around you, holding you to him still inside you. He wouldn’t remove himself yet, not while Dew was still plunging into you. He felt his spend dripping down his own length and gathering at the base of both his and Dew’s cocks and pictured what that would look like, smiling to himself dumbly as he enjoyed the overstimulation.  

Behind you, Dew had sat back up on his knees to get a better look and yes, Swiss had been right. Where Dew still rocked into you, Swiss’ spend was leaking and mixing with your own. It was the filthiest thing Dew had ever seen, and it shoved him violently into an orgasm of his own, stilling deep inside you like Swiss just had with a strangled roar. 

“Fuck, fill her up, Dew...” Swiss encouraged him, talking him through his orgasm as if speaking words that Dew couldn’t. “She needs you, Dew. Fill. Her. Up.” He spat through grit teeth, while Dew’s cock slid against his own and pushed him into oversensitivity. Dew did as he was told, emptying his load into you.  

The three of you lay atop each other, spent and exhausted. Neither Ghoul made a move to pull out of you just yet, regaining some strength and regulating their heart rates before they could even think of moving. So, you lay squashed between the two, blissfully floating in euphoria.  

“Well, uh... Satan be damned, that was... different,” Swiss laughed, still partially breathless.  

“Felt so good, guys... You’ve no idea,” you hummed, affectionately reaching behind you to pat at Dew’s hand on top of Swiss’.  

“For us too, sweetheart. Can’t believe you’re a squirter...” You swatted his chest weakly with a dumb smile, earning a chuckle from Dew. “Just wish I coulda tasted that... Dew seemed to enjoy you,” he sighed. He had hoped to taste you at some point, but things had moved in a different direction before he could and he was happy to just go with the flow, give you what you wanted.  

And then, he got an idea.  

“Hey, sweetheart?” he asked timidly. You raised your head from his chest with a quiet “hmm?”, waiting for whatever he wanted to ask. “Is that the most orgasms you’ve had in one sitting?” he asked, curiously.  

“Well, I’ve had three in one before but yes, never more than three. Gets kinda sensitive...” you laughed, settling back on his chest, content to lay there in peace with Dew. 

“Well... the first two were mostly just Dew. I never got to give you one of my own,” he pouted. “You think you could take one more?”  

Your head popped back up, looking into Swiss’ eyes and thinking over his proposition. You certainly did feel sensitive, but the idea intrigued you. Could you take another? You weren’t sure, but you’d be willing to let him try...  

“Um... maybe?” you questioned. Swiss smirked. 

“Hey Dew, would it be... just terrible... if I made sure our darling Sister of Sin was sufficiently cleaned up? I think we’ve made a mess...” he chewed on his lip, waiting for an indication from the silent Ghoul behind you.  

Dew sat up then, removing himself from you and taking a look at the mess the three of you had indeed made. He checked back in with Swiss, nodding. 

“Ah, so we did make a mess. Well, sweetheart, I'd like to offer my cleaning services,” he smirked cheekily.  

“I think that’s only fair...” you quipped.  

Swiss sat up, still holding you to him but transferring your weight back onto the couch cushion as he carefully removed himself from you too. You did your best to contract your walls, holding whatever you could inside you for the moment. Now, you sat upright, legs hanging over the edge of the couch and slouched lazily against Dew’s bare chest beside you. Swiss stood up, removing the pants that still clung to his legs by his knees, and then took up a position between your thighs, hooking your legs over his shoulders.  

He looked down at your core, and could see the mess they’d made; covered in slick, cum and puffed up from the relentless pounding. You looked delectable.  

Swiss dove in, gently at first, with his tongue lapping around your core instead of directly centre. You still writhed at the pleasure of it, enjoying the feeling as he tasted the mixture of the three of you on his tongue. Beside you, you felt Dew’s chest tense, his eyes intently trained on Swiss’ disappearing tongue. This was turning him on again, and he was yet to soften from the sex itself... With a little fuel left in the tank, he began to stoke his length, hissing at the sensitivity. 

As Swiss’ tongue dragged over your clit for the first time, you naturally clenched, a small amount of the cum you held inside you slipping out. Swiss dove in to catch it on his tongue, careful to make sure Dew saw it sat there before he swallowed it down. He’d never done anything like this before and part of him worried Dew would find it disgusting, to eat both his and Dew’s cum from you but now Dew’s hand moved quicker, he knew it was having the opposite effect.  

He hummed in satisfaction at the taste, continuing to assault your clit with his tongue and every so often having to clean up another small amount you’d involuntarily released when things got too sensitive. Dew kept stroking himself, his hips jumping if he spent too long on his sensitive tip. You wanted badly to help him, but there was no strength to lift your arms by your sides.  

Vaguely, the pleasure began to stack up again... you were no longer unsure if you could reach a fourth orgasm; you knew you could. Swiss would just need to be gentle – and somehow, he understood that.  

“Dew, I can’t lie, man... we taste good together,” he teased, watching as Dew bit his lip. “You wanna try?” he snickered. Dew nodded emphatically.  

Swiss brought his fingers up to your centre, pushing them easily inside given you’d not long had two decent sized cocks inside you, and gathered the rest of what you were keeping on them. Then he raised them to Dew’s lips, who bent to meet him halfway, and sucked the mess off them.  

Swiss held his fingers up for him as he dove back into your core, now focussing his attention solely on your clit. You whined tiredly at the sensitivity, but shit, you were close again after watching the display beside you. Dew’s hand sped significantly, making sure he sucked every last drop of cum from Swiss’ fingers. He groaned as a second orgasm came closer; he had wanted to wait for your last orgasm to cum with you, but that was looking unlikely now. He just needed a release again. 

He fell back against the couch as his cock spurted another load, clearer this time and far less than he’d emptied into you, but it felt good enough that he rolled his eyes back and had to drop his hand from the overstimulation while his hips bucked out of control.  

Swiss giggled into your core, suckling at your clit a little harder and enjoying the noises you were making. You barely recognised yourself, squealing so highly in overstimulation as your body went stiff, letting his tongue work you over and over until finally, you crashed for one last time.  

Dew caught you as your body slid to the side and into his chest, holding you and shushing you as you hiccupped in a much quieter orgasm than before, too spent and broken for anything too powerful. Your thighs pushed Swiss’ head away as they came together, shielding you from any more overstimulation. He sat back on his heels, pleased with his work as he licked the remnants of you, himself and Dew from his chin. Quietly, you came down again in Dew’s arms, your body jolting with short little bursts of electricity until you finally stilled.  

Four orgasms had taken its toll on you, and whilst the last of them hadn’t been as earth shattering as the first three, it still left you exhausted and weak. Swiss and Dew could see it in you, and allowed you to curl up into them for a while so you could relax, rest up, and get the aftercare you needed from them both. 

The Ghouls spent the rest of the day with you, having cleaned you up – properly, this time. With an actual shower... – and taken good care of you. Swiss had made you some food, something healthier for the three of you than the junk he’d thrown together last time, and the pair of them just stayed put all day, mostly in a relaxing silence as you watched whatever was on the TV.  

You appreciated that – your head was too busy for conversation, exhausted but still hurting. But there were no expectations to play hostess to the guests in your apartment, nor to divulge the mess of emotions in your mind. If you wanted to talk to them about it all, you would. They felt that.  

But you remained in your own head. You thought over the events of yesterday, of the whole week. You re-read Papa’s note in your mind over and over. You stewed over the thought of him caring for you much less than you’d thought, if his display in his office yesterday was anything to go by...  

It all hurt.  

It wasn’t until Dew wiped a tear from your cheek that you even knew you’d been crying. He gave you a look; one that asked what was wrong without having said the words. You weren’t sure why Dew was a mute Ghoul, but you were glad that it never seemed to be a problem for him. People understood what he was thinking quite easily; most of the time it was ‘what the fuck are you looking at?’ but they understood him all the same... He wasn’t a people person, but you were kind to him; a friend. And so, he cared when he saw you silently crying beside him.  

“N-nothing, Dew. I’m good,” you lied. Your voice caught Swiss’ attention then, who also saw the tears.  

“You can tell us, ______. I’m not gonna tell anyone and, well... neither’s Abu over here,” he joked, slapping Dew’s shoulder as he compared him to the silent, grunting monkey from Aladdin. Dew slapped him back on the back of the head. That earned him a smile from you; goal achieved.  

“I just... Have you ever thought of someone in a certain way, and then... they’ve proved you wrong?” you asked them. 

“Well, I thought Dew was straight. Think he proved me wrong today,” he laughed. You did too, appreciating that he was trying to make you smile when you needed it. “But that’s not what you mean, is it?” 

You shook your head no, smile slipping away. 

“You’re talking about Papa.” 

You nodded.  

“I suppose he just... maybe I got too wrapped up in all this,” you sighed, wiping another fresh tear away. Dew’s arm tightened around your shoulders. “Probably should have known that ‘the great Papa Emeritus the Third’ wouldn’t see me as anything more than a notch on his bedpost. Feel stupid now, thinking I’d actually started feeling something for him...” you laughed, no humour behind it at all.  

“Don’t shoo your feelings away just because he’s devoid of them. You’re allowed to feel whatever you feel, they’re no less real just because he doesn’t reciprocate. Feelings can be dealt with, Sister,” he assured. Strangely, his words felt quite affirming.  

“I just thought he cared...” your voice cracked with more tears, a lump in your throat forming you forced to swallow.  

“You’re part of his congregation, so I think he does care. But... maybe not exactly how you’d hoped, no...” Swiss took your hand and squeezed it. “Listen, you have one more day. One more sin to complete, and then you can figure out with the Dark One what your next steps are. Ask him about Papa, if you need to. I don’t know if it’s a ‘you only get three questions’ kind of situation, but I’m sure he can help. At the very least, I'm sure he can give you a purpose that will take your mind off Papa entirely.”  

You hummed in agreement. Just one more day. How you’d achieve what you needed in that one day, you weren’t sure, but you had the willpower and the tenacity to find something.  

“Big day for you tomorrow. Final sin, the All Hallow’s Ball, a date with Lucifer...” he smirked, winking down at you.  

“Oh, shit... the ball. I forgot about that,” you sighed.  

“Something wrong?” he asked.  

“Just... gotta see Papa,” and Christine, too... awkward. “I think I’d rather not.” Swiss nodded in understanding.  

“Non-negotiable though, isn’t it?” he asked, and you nodded back, “Don’t worry, Dew and I will be there. You can dance with us.” 

“Sure, I’d like that,” you smiled between them both.  

Whilst Swiss’ little pep-talk hadn’t exactly exterminated the sadness that welled up in you now that you’d admitted your feelings towards Papa weren’t strictly platonic, he had at least eased some of the anxiety in your mind about what to do with them.  

Feelings could be dealt with; that was his most important advice, yet. No matter how long it might take, they could be dealt with. You could get through that, and Papa essentially cutting you off here was probably for the best. At least you didn’t have to worry about more nights with him, and those feelings growing exponentially harder to ignore. What you needed to focus on right now, was completing this ritual.  

One more day. One more sin.  

And a date with Lucifer. 

Prev: Day 5 - Envy | Next: Day 7: Pride

A/N: And so, one more sin, and potentially only one more chapter... I'm working on writing it today - there's SO MUCH to put into it, so please bear with me. I may have to upload it in two halves if I can't finish it in time for tomorrow (I've been so busy with work, and Ghostcon over the weekend too!)

A huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles for beta reading, and @adinferix for fine tuning the Italian translations! 🖤

Tag list:

@call-me-little-sunshine84 @thew0man @zombiesnips-blog @ghuleh-recs @popiaswife @anamelessfool @enchantedbunny @haelithra @aslutforgreyhair @togetherasone @lilylovesdew @copias-sewer-rat @copiaspet622 @deetz-ghuleh @loudwombatmugkid @nimbusghoul @portaltothevoid @angellayercake @sodoswitchimage @siouxbauhaus @lydz1977-blog @bitchywitchygardener @sacrificialsake @the-did-i-ask @ghostfangirlsweden @the-hole-in-terzos-shoe @copiasprincipessa @gothicwonderlust @ladymer @ghulehunknown @onlyhereforghost @solluna00 @nijiru

[ficandkaboodle]

Vaginismus: Terzo x Fem!Reader

A/N: Stg if I ever see this purple fucking freak darken the doorway of my mind, I'm going for his kneecaps. He will never be able to slut about on the floor again, and then what will he do? Thanks, y'all, for being so patient as I almost daily had a meltdown over the structure of this. And HUGE thanks once again to @angellayercake for being my ever-patient beta with amazing input and ideas!! I hope I did our bastard boy some kind of service.

Word Count: 8.8K. Sorry, this bad boy is a hydra: For every sentence I deleted, more words would come in its place

CW: Reader has a vagina, hurtful comments from past relationships, reader's mental state is kinda fucked at a few points, hints at extremely uncomfortable interactions to "make the relationship work". Sooo...Vaginismus and its delightful conditions, I suppose. Oh, and a hint of Google Translate Italian. I'm sorry, I tried referencing @/foxybouquet's ever so helpful guide the best I could but alas, I am still a moron. MDNI

Papa III was a notorious flirt, even by the standards of the sexually liberated Church of Satan.

Everybody knew this, from the Clergy to Sister Imperator to the ghouls to his many, many lovers. And yet, when his sights finally fell upon you, everyone knew: Something in him had changed. At the very least, his methods sure had.

Secondo raised a brow when he first saw his brother lightly jogging up to you in the hallways, panting for you to wait up. Primo sported a knowing smirk when he watched the normally suave man sheepishly inquire about the meaning behind certain flower arrangements. Quite the departure from his usual bouquet of red and white roses, the older man couldn't help but note.

A startled Copia quickly became suspicious when the brother that tended to tease him the most came to his office one day, armed with top-shelf juice boxes and nutty chocolate bars – just the starting price for whatever info he was willing to give his dear old fratello about his new favorite Sorella.

The ghouls had a field day whenever they came upon the old man either sulking or even swooning over how a recent interaction had gone. One even swore they had scrounged through his wastepaper basket (don't ask, it’s not worth it) and found crumpled up drafts of sonnets. Sonnets!

It was the Siblings, however, who seemed to take the most notice of his antics. And, unfortunately, the most offense.

Certainly, plenty of the congregation had received a bouquet or two from their beloved Papa Terzo. Many had been wined and dined, and some were even whisked away for a night of passion and excitement in a glamorous metropolitan hub. Terzo had gotten around, and he would probably continue to get around until he either died mid-orgy or until his dick fell off. (And even if the latter did happen, it probably wouldn’t slow him down. Not until his fingers and tongue followed suit, anyway.)

It was cyclical: You would be an interest for a week or two before your time would be up, and you would part ways as he turned his attention to another, leaving you with memories of a whirlwind dalliance to reminisce about for years to come.

This was simply something that was understood and accepted without much of any animosity amongst Siblings. This was just how things were. Or at least up until now.

They must have noticed there was something about the way Terzo pursued you. For starters, nobody could ever recall a time when the man actually needed to really pursue anyone, let alone to the extent and care he currently displayed.

They could tell when a peer was actively trying to heighten the tension, turning their back to him but still glancing over their shoulder to shoot a heated stare. An invitation for him to keep it coming. Really putting the “play” in “playing hard to get”. But generally speaking, most of what Terzo needed to do was snap his fingers and whichever Sibling or ghoul he had his eye on would eagerly crawl into his lap and then into his bed.

Maybe they saw a shine in his eyes that wasn't there when they had him. Or maybe they thought he leaned just the slightest fraction of an inch closer to you than he ever did with anyone else. Or maybe they swore his voice sounded different when he spoke with you. Lighter, but not out of an upturn in pitch to sound friendlier. It was more like it carried less weight. Almost as though he felt less burdened by some unspoken thing. Some thing he never cared to share with them.

Granted, you didn't help matters by actually enjoying the odd conversation or two (or over a dozen) with Terzo. (And by "odd", this meant the animated discussions that borderlined two-person seminars on subjects like the Hays Code, or how viewing certain films through a gendered or queer lens could enhance the suggestion of the story.)

And anyone who spotted you alone on the quad sharing a snack would've been convinced you were on an impromptu picnic, rather than the fact Terzo had found you and offered you pickings from his secret snack pocket.

Sure, it was just a sandwich baggy of cheese doodles, but the point still stood: You had Terzo's full attention, his intrigue, his consideration, his snacks, and you hadn't done a damn thing to deserve them! Any interaction between the both of you, every awkward joke, every instance of eye contact, every exchange of a genuine honest to Satan smile, had the Siblings of the abbey biting and clawing at the walls in envy.

You did your best to appear unaffected by it, preferring to keep your head down and say as little as possible when around them. Nothing to suggest you felt superior to them (not that you did anyhow). Regardless, you were fairly certain that, if it were up to them, they would bring back human sacrifice for the sole purpose of getting you out of the picture.

Thank Satanas, then, that none were present to witness the latest event.

There Terzo stood, his normally focused and powerful gaze fighting hard to be maintained. It was abundantly clear that he wanted to look anywhere but at you. Still, he resolved to keep that nervous on his face. His gorgeous, paintless face.

It was startling to say the least. Actually, no, scratch that: To truly say the least would be to just stand there, gaping like a goldfish as you failed to find the right words – any words – that truly encapsulated even a fraction of what you felt. Which, for better or for worse, was exactly what you found yourself doing.

After all, almost nobody outside of his own family had seen Terzo without his papal paints. They may as well have been tattooed on him the moment he’d perfected the design all those years ago! Not even the paramours he’d collected since then had gotten a glimpse of his bare face, despite the many opportunities they’d had from the nights spent in his quarters. The mystery as to why this was left plenty of room for speculation and imagination, creating a juicy mystique that Siblings and ghouls loved to salivate and chew on.

Admittedly, you yourself occasionally wondered what his deal was, but you ultimately chose not to ponder on it. If Terzo liked how he looked in makeup more than he did without, then that was his business. Honestly, it never even really occurred to you to ask him about it even as the two of you grew closer.

But as you took in the visage before you, you felt you had a good theory going: If Terzo went about the Ministry like this, he’d never know a moment’s peace again!

"Is . . . Is it . . . okay?" he asked quietly. Okay? Okay!? Satan’s taint, if it weren’t for the very apparent tension, you might’ve thought the man was teasing you! The man looked like an old movie star, all debonair and dashing!

The fight to respond in a timely (and coherent) manner was difficult, but you managed to stammer out, “More than okay.” You gulped down some shakiness. “Y-you’re very . . .handsome.”

Internally, you cringed at how wobbly you’d come across but thankfully that seemed to be enough. The warmth in your cheeks intensified as the nerves in his smile carefully evaporated, along with a slight tension in his shoulders.

Unfortunately, the consciousness did not remain, and almost immediately you found yourself delegating focus to other things. Like the beauty mark that lay just beneath the right corner of his pleasantly pink lips. Lips that were saying, “— if you would be interested, of course.”

You blinked. Were you interested? Wait . . . Interested in what, exactly?!

“Y-yeah, sure. I’m down,” you chirped before you could stop yourself.

While you tried your damndest not to look mortified or embarrassed, Terzo looked delighted. Possibly even elated.

“Oh, eccellente!” he clapped his palms together before offering you a mix of a nod and bow. That sharp characteristic of his eyes returned once more, pinning your form as he purred, “I look forward to it.”

Oh, fuck. “Can’t wait!” you replied. Of course, now the concept of urgency settled in.

As you walked back to your room for the night, you knew three things to be certain: The first was that that face of Terzo’s would likely be making many appearances in your dreams tonight. The second thing, branching off this, him showing you his face was a sign you’d let things get far too far.

And the third thing? You had to put an end to your exchanges ASAP.

Sure, you’d peppered this into your thoughts many times before, but after this? This moment of extreme vulnerability on Terzo’s part? No more peppering: It was time to actually pile in everything you had and outright reject Terzo’s advances. No room for stuttering or bending or swaying or swooning and second-guessing!

You repeated this like a mantra over and over, praying that the resolution would still be there in the morning. And it was – but only after you took an icy shower. You’d been spot on when you anticipated that gorgeous, gorgeous face invading your dreams. What you hadn’t counted on, though, was the nature of what all went on:

Snowflakes catching on his lashes as you ice skated on a pond (the power of dreams erasing his waking world clumsiness); his lips smiling around a forkful of the pasta you’d just cooked together; his broad nose nuzzling lovingly into your hair during a quiet night in; those entrancing eyes focused on the movie playing before you as his arm settled warmly around you. It gave you further comfort as you pressed into his side, so perfectly slotted that it was as though you only ever belonged there, right next to him.

You regretted disregarding the alarm bells that blared at the start of this whole nonsense, and now look where that got you: You needed a cold cleanse just because you saw a man’s unpainted face! You were worse than a pent-up Victorian! Did you really want to prolong things until you’d start to "feel" those smirking lips pressed against the column of your neck, or “feel” those large hands skirt along your form, leaving a deliciously pleasant fire in their wake?

Certainly, that might’ve made for a good night’s sleep in theory. But in reality? It was a nightmare in the making!

It was bad enough just wanting to do all those dreamy things and more with the equally dreamy Papa. But that, of course, meant the "more" part would eventually come around. After all, your waking life already wasn't too terribly far off from the things that went on in the dream.

Your days weren't filled with skating on the pond or chatting over romantic dinners but at this rate, they very well could be a possibility. In an ideal world, the wait for these things to happen would be filled with anticipation. But the sad, shower-cold reality was that this wait was weighed down by dread and predictions of what was to come. After all, for all Terzo's patience and kindness, even he had limits. Sometime soon, his patience with your inexactness would run out and he would come to collect. Experience told you that was just how it was.

You may not have had a pursuer as passionate as Terzo, but you’d had enough instances that ran about the same: There was that high, that thrill in an almost honeymoon period-like chase. Then there came the actual vulnerability where you’d tell them of the conditions that came with a relationship – the conditions that came with you. And yeah, they’d start off insisting that nothing about that changed how they felt about you . . .  But then they’d realize your condition would outlast their gimmick.

You felt your face twist with displeasure as sentences of the past began slipping through the cracks and into the forefront of your mind.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Calm down already.”

“Just relax already.”

Then came the pain (both kinds); the giving up; and then you were right back where you started: Alone together, with a body that hated you that you hated right back. The only real difference would be how much your weariness increased, making you more and more reluctant to play along with the idea of any potential romance. Meanwhile, to them, it was a game: You were just playing hard to get, that was all. But you’d surely stop when they and they alone were able to conquer you, to cure you.

Did you really want to wait around and see Terzo become like that?

Your stomach twisted at the thought.

No. Absolutely not. You weren’t sure your heart could bear it, much less your body. Besides, if word got out that he’d shown you his face, then it’d be all over for you. You’d rather incur the wrath of rejecting what many would kill for than face what might happen if they learned how far you’d gotten by doing nothing at all. At least with the former, there was a chance the Siblings let you keep your bones intact.

You had a plan as you prepared yourself to step out and face the day: Keep calm and function as normal until the chance to say those simple words hit you: “Terzo, I am not interested in you in any way, shape, or form. While you are attractive, I am not attracted to you. Please leave me alone from now on.”

A devastating lie, perhaps, but a necessary one. One you would need to deliver by tonight.

But hey, the day was still quite young. There was plenty of time for you to find the courage, right?

. . . Well, you didn’t find it in the hallway when you heard that oh-so familiar, cheerful call of, "Buongiorno, Mia Sorellina !", prompting you to pick up speed and disappear down a different corridor. Nor was it there when you caught sight of a black flutter of robe. It could’ve been a wandering Cardinal’s cassock but you weren’t prepared to stick around and find out.

And even though you spent nearly the entirety of afternoon mass, head bowed, praying for the Dark One to simply grab the strength and shove it into you, you didn’t feel any more emboldened. Apparently, your body meant it when it didn’t allow for anything to enter it – intangible things included, it seemed.

You groaned inwardly from both disappointment and discomfort as you lifted yourself off the kneeler and back into the pew. There was also the added stressor of feeling sets of multiple eyes on you: From Siblings stewing in envy; from ghouls who wanted to take a gander at the Sister who had flirty Papa III wrapped around her finger; and, worst of all, from Terzo himself.

The one time you dared to look up at his seated form on the altar, you caught a hint of a small smile directed at you.

You tried to return it, at least enough to suggest to him you were fine and happy to see him despite your earlier actions, but the sorry attempt lost any pretense of pleasantness when your eyes got caught on something: Even in the sea of his dark robes, you could make out the dull shine of leather gloves poised in his lap. Helping them to stand out more, however, was how each fingertip was adorned with a golden nail.

Correction: A golden claw. The fine barbs would fit right in on the hand of a ghoul or perhaps some other dæmonic creature.

Normally you were fascinated by the accessories but in your increasingly unwell state, these gloves intimidated you. It was like you had been reduced to a fearful prey animal and all you saw was a threat.

A thought, sharp as those gilded talons, slashed beyond your imagination and into the walls of your most sensitive place. They pierced and drilled into the intimate area just long enough for you to know they were there – both in your mind and your body – shanking their way into a place nothing was meant to enter, let alone something so dangerous.

Although a primal need to defend yourself shot through your nervous system, you were too incapacitated to do much more than body-jolting inhale. Your only defense, you had long-since learned, was to freeze. Your brain buzzed in an unpleasant manner as you started to come down from the imaginary fingering.

“You’re overreacting,” scoffed the voice of a past partner. “It’s just a finger.” You hadn’t spoken to them in years, but the disregard in their voice remained fresh, further embittering you to the fact that that was what managed to creep into you rather than the bravery you so desperately needed.

You had to pray once more that Terzo hadn’t noticed anything. A change in your already shifty demeanor, the way your legs twitched inward but not out of lust (not when Primo’s sermon was focused more on wrath today), or how your body’s momentary lurch. Much like your prayer for strength, though, you suspected this plea went ignored. You didn’t need to look up and see Terzo’s smile falter to think that.

The moment Papa Primo dismissed the congregation, you made quick work of the camouflage offered by the uniforms of habits and lace.

When a quick glance back allowed you to catch sight of a confused-looking Papa Terzo, you forced yourself to swallow the pathetic truth: You were never going to find the courage to even say sorry, let alone that you no longer wanted to see him.

What you did find – or rather, what found you – was an overwhelming torrent of grief and frustration as you flung yourself into your room and back into the bed where your day had started with a massive hitch. You shoved your face into your flattening pillow and hoped there was just enough down still left in it to muffle up your screams. And tears. Belial, you told yourself you wouldn’t cry over this sort of thing anymore. Over anyone. You should’ve been used to this type of thing by now, so what was the use in wasting energy like this?

What was the point in dwelling on how nice it all was, how nice Terzo made you feel, or how you secretly looked forward to your conversations, no matter how bizarre or intellectual? You gained nothing but the label of immature whenever you indulged in the schoolgirlish feeling of letting Terzo accompany you in the halls. Indulgence might have been encouraged by the Church, but not when it hurt or disrupted the paths of others’ own pursuits.

There was absolutely no way what you had done wasn’t going to inevitably end in pain of some kind, be it physical on your part or mental and emotional on Terzo’s.

But then again, maybe . . . Maybe you didn’t have to do this after all? Maybe you could make peace with where things were headed. You wouldn’t be able to let him inside of you in the traditional sense, no, but surely that just meant that you would just have to . . . adjust things? Yeah . . . Yeah, maybe that could work . . .

Maybe I could earn his love in other ways? Prove that I’m not ungrateful and won’t waste his feelings? Intrusive visions of you “earning” that love projected onto the walls of your mind. Under more pleasant, more normal circumstances, some of the ideas would’ve been a delight for you in some way. Par for the course of a healthy relationship.

But the possibility that these might be the only ways to grant you worthiness, to allow you to deserve Terzo’s attention and love, to deserve Terzo . . . It felt tainted. It felt like an even worse lie to perform. It burned like a poison through your mind and heart before becoming incorporated with all the other pains rising to the surface.

The knock at your door was a welcome distraction, but only long enough for you to forget the possibility of it being Terzo on the other side.

You contemplated pretending that nobody was home before a muffled voice said, “I can smell you through the door, y’know.” Ah. A ghoul. Better in that it wasn’t Terzo, but worse in that you couldn’t avoid them. To your chagrin, the trek from your bed to the door wasn’t nearly long enough to look presentable or like you hadn’t been crying.

You could practically feel their eyes through the mask, studying your tear-stained ones as they smelled the salt that had settled on your cheeks. Nonetheless, they continued ever professionally with, “Papa III has sent me to come retrieve you.” From the way they barely contained their tail’s amused wagging, it was clear that they were getting a rise out of the insinuations of the invitation.

You may as well have been off to the gallows (or worse, Sister’s office) with how dour your disposition was. Being a part of the Emeritus line, Terzo’s chambers were further away from your humble digs in the Siblings’ quarters. Still, it felt as though there wasn’t nearly enough time from your door to his for you to concoct whatever it was you could say or do. Which, to be fair, wasn’t really much to begin with anyway. You were screwed, your fate sealed the moment the ghoul knocked on one of a pair of the large, wooden doors.

“Entrare,” the room’s occupant answered. Your heart beat icy pumps as you and your escort obliged.

You’d never been inside Terzo’s quarters before, not that you hadn’t been invited. Granted, the first few times had been in the very beginning, before he’d realized that his usual tricks weren’t going to work on an unusual suspect. He never brought it back up again, even as the two of you appeared to grow more comfortable with one another.

It was a shame, then, that you were too possessed with anxiety to properly take it all in: In another, more pleasant mental space, you would have adored the large, framed vintage posters that decorated the rich purple walls, or giggled at just how much purple and gold this guy actually used in one admittedly spacious but still single space.

You couldn’t properly see it, being in what appeared to be more of a lounging area (really, how big was the average Emeritus’s room compared to the lowly Siblings’ quarters?), but you could just make out what appeared to be a bedroom down a small coridor. From what little you could see, there was a bed made of rich, dark wood with a velvety canopy.

Dramatic, but fitting for someone like Terzo, you mused in a split second of clarity before the gravity of the situation returned with ten times the weight as before. After all, here you were, standing in the boudoir of the man whom you’d been avoiding all day. Avoiding because you’d failed to do your due diligence and warn him against pursuing you. And there was his damn bed right freaking there – !!!

That prey animal instinct from mass began to skitter back as you instinctively began to look for ways out of this. Maybe you could leap out that Satanic Tiffany glass window? You’d be killing two birds with one stone if you did: You could get out of a confrontation, and the action would surely unnerve Terzo enough for him to draw back, right?

However, the make-believe agility and will to do so quickly dissolved out of you the moment you heard the voice you’d been avoiding all day once more. “Grazie, Wisp,” he addressed the ghoul. From the sounds of it, he must’ve been in a room off to the side, away from view. Despite Terzo not being visible to them, the ghoul still offered a bow in respect before taking their leave (though not without their nosiness prompting them to sneak one last look into the room).

You winced in sync with the door clicking shut, the soft padding of footsteps on the plush carpeting thundered in your ears as Terzo made his appearance. Even though he made sure to keep some space between the both of you, you still felt increasingly like a trapped animal.

As much as you wanted to cast your eyes down and pretend to be intrigued by the fact that the flooring was black instead of some shade of purple, acting as though nothing was amiss was your best course of action. Even if you felt your breathing hitch both with uneasiness and infatuation over the fact that, yet again, the man’s face was bare of his usual paints. It did, however, carry a small look of concern. While you felt guilty, perhaps him being worried would be easier to work with than him being outright upset?

You tried to predict the sort of things a concerned Terzo might say and what responses would be appropriate when you noticed something else about him: His clothing. You didn’t expect Terzo to be lounging in his own living space in his robes but even then, he tended to favor going about in his suit. This was the first time you’d seen him in anything that could be considered casual and not relating to his position as a Papa. The first time you’d seen him in pants that were actually tailored, actually! It was questionable if a men’s blouse made from what might’ve been silk could qualify as “informal”, but your brain was currently unable to drum up that inquiry.

Instead, it was too busy focusing on how the top was being worn: With only the top two buttons undone, the edge of what was more likely than not an absolute thicket of black chest hairs was visible. (If you were a stronger person – a better, more functioning one – you would’ve absolutely braved that thicket like a safari explorer.)

You gulped, realizing that maintaining eye contact was going to be harder than usual. If you were quicker about keeping your wits, you might’ve tried to speak up first. Maybe with a “Hi, Papa. How ‘bout that afternoon mass, amirite?” But Terzo beat you to it.

“. . . How are you?” he inquired. Surprisingly, there wasn’t even a hint of accusation in his tone. “Are you doing alright today?”

I’m anxious to the point of sickness and contemplating vandalism with your window, you wanted to say.

“’M alright. Just tired, I guess,” you shrugged. Judging by the way Terzo’s lips pressed into a thin line, he probably didn’t believe you. However, if there was anything you’d learned in your time together, it was that Terzo wasn’t exactly the type to prod. It was easy to assume from the flamboyant persona that he was far nosier than he really was. But the unfortunate and lovely reality was that Terzo trusted you. Worse was that he trusted you enough to both see his true face, and to tell him how you felt when you were comfortable. Your stomach dropped when you remembered the fact you’d been crying before this. Were your eyes still reddened and puffy? Did he notice?

“Vedo,” he replied before slowly crossing his arms. "Well, if that is the case, then perhaps we must do a bit of a raincheck for the evening, yes?”

Your brows lightly twitched in a nonplussed fashion. It was then that you finally noticed the full scope of the room you were in. It was more like a den than an actual lounging area, complete with a TV on a DVD loading screen and a couch sat before it.

You forgot to blink as it hit you. This was what Terzo had been referring to during his face reveal yesterday: He was asking you to watch a movie with him! And you, in your lovesick stupor, had agreed wholeheartedly to it!

Logic (and a sense of cowardice self-preservation) would have dictated that you leap at the opportunity to leave. You needed time to regroup. Maybe make a sacrifice to Satanas in the hopes that that might win you some courage to do what needed to be done.

But before you could commit to it, you reminded yourself: You needed to act unbothered. You’d already aroused suspicion in Terzo as it was. If Terzo thought you really wanted to watch a movie with him, as you had outright stated, then you needed to watch a movie with him. All you had to do was sit down at a reasonable distance and appear completely invested. Too invested to possibly think about how you wanted to tangle your fingers into his chest hair. Or how you absolutely shouldn’t want to do that at all.

“N-no, I’m good!” you insisted a little too eagerly. “I can stay up, I’m not that tired.”

He quirked a brow but questioned no further. “If you insist. Come: I have a small setup.”

The setup being an oddly-shaped popcorn bucket (why . . . did it look kind of like a pope hat?) filled with cheese doodles and a bottle of red wine to be shared between two glasses. You took only the smallest handful of doodles to be courteous but turned down the wine under the claim that you were trying to cut back. The reality was you couldn’t risk letting alcohol lubricate you into either melting down or melting into his lap as you both settled in.

The Man Who Laughs, read the title card. A name just vague enough to sound familiar though you didn’t really know a thing about it. When Terzo briefly explained that its main character, Gwynplaine, had been the visual inspiration for The Joker from Batman, you expected some early horror flick. Perhaps being treated to an hour or two’s worth of a spiteful man seeking revenge and wreaking havoc on the innocent. Odd choice in what you could only describe as a movie date, but you were already in too deep and far too high-strung to comment.

But as the film progressed, you found yourself surprised. Not only because the plot was far from what you’d predicted, but also because you also hadn’t been expecting a sense of solidarity. Sure, you’d never been a stage performer whose disfigurement made him a laughingstock to the pauper and nobleman alike. But nonetheless, Gwynplaine’s plight resonated with you. Something about being an introverted, soft-hearted person who feared their worthiness of love was thwarted by something they had no control over.

When you’d settled on the couch that evening, your goal had been to merely pretend to take the movie in. But the tenderness exhibited by the film’s two main love interests made that all but impossible for you. You now existed in a strange and uncomfortable middle ground: Too invested to keep your wits, but too aware of how uncomfortable the relation was. If this were some vintage horror flick, there might’ve arguably been a chance to hide any visible anxieties as suspense-born fear.

But between the “smiling” man swooning into the beautiful Dea’s touch, to him hiding into himself when his insecurities got the better of him, you just kept being reminded of your own circumstances, and how Terzo had given you his full face when you couldn’t even give him the truth.

A wave of self-directed disgust began to boil in you, causing you to briefly tic. Otherwise, though, you remained stiff. It was a fair film, after all, and it was a shame that you were corrupting yet one more thing that was dear to Terzo by equating it with your own problems.

But inside you were the beginnings of a nor’easter of biblical proportions: Deluges depicted you forcing yourself through your fears in a pathetic effort to prove to him he could still love you; the voices of failed relationships past split through your mind like thunderclaps; even the howling winds sounded like your whimpers whenever you trapped yourself in the bathroom, determined but failing to conquer Q-tips and dilators and even your own pinky finger. The flood they all created sloshed and battered about your insides and squeezed at your lungs, brutalizing your mind.

Just relax already, they said.

You’re just being difficult! they had accused.

Quit holding out! they demanded.

The film became less and less visible to you as you tried to steady your breathing and cling to something inside. Please, Dark Lord, great Old One, you prayed once more. Did you want silence? Freedom? For the moment to end, or for everything to pause? You couldn’t tell with all this noise. Please –

Forget it.

Despite being born from the storm, it hung over it, breaking through everything and silencing all. Even your prayer felt muted compared to how deafening the command sounded in your head. The voice did not belong to the Dark One, however. It didn’t even belong to the other Big Guy. You knew this voice, actually. It had been years since you’d last seen or heard from its owner, but you still heard it nearly every day since. And they always said the same thing every time:

No one is going to put up with this if you can't fix it!

You fought to contain any reaction from reaching the surface, but you failed: You shuddered. Violently so. You had to quickly cover it up with an overcorrection of tensing, but you thought you’d managed.

You didn’t even have time to make up an excuse when you caught Terzo moving from the corner of your eye. He was getting closer – no: His arm was getting closer. Angling to wrap around you.

There shouldn’t have been anything intimidating about the idea of Terzo, coming at you with 30% of his hairy chest out, possibly aiming to get some over-the-shoulder action. Unfortunately for you, at this point, you were beyond intimidated. This was made clear with your reaction of jerking away, emitting a gaspy, yelpy whimper you never knew you could even make.

And for a moment, everything but the film froze.

It was an odd juxtaposition, the swelling orchestral music playing as you both just stared at one another without a single hint of romance. You truly were like Gwynplaine now, hands covering your mouth as your eyes stared wide. Terzo’s own eyes being wide was rather commonplace, but the way he stared at you now made you feel uneasy. It was almost as though those big eyes of his were suddenly seeing everything in high definition, able to see now see every crack in the structure that was you.

The soundtrack could’ve played on for an eternity before his low voice quietly spoke above it.

“Mia cara. . .? Are you okay?” He sounded even more uncertain than he did yesterday when he asked you about his face. When you failed to respond, he tried much softer: “(Y/N).”

Your breath hitched, icy and cold in your burning throat. You could count the times he’d used your actual name on one hand. Nearly all of them had been during the very beginning of your interactions. Back when he was trying to prove the extent of his interest. Otherwise, it was always a term of endearment: “Mia sorellina” or “Tesoro mio” or “Piccina mia” and so on.

Always “mio/a”. Always his, even when you had no right to be. But now, as he stared at you, having to resort to using your actual name, he must’ve been starting to realize that . . .

Even though it had done you no favors this entire evening, you let panic guide you to spring into action. You stammered and struggled for words as you tried to make yourself untense.

“I-I’m – I’m sorry, I was just so enthralled –” Did that word even fit here? “I was really into the movie, the sudden movement startled me and –” But it wasn’t so sudden, was it? “I’m really sorry, I just –”

But you just what? You did not know, and it was extremely apparent the more you talked.

“I thought you were cold,” Terzo gently reasoned once your words tapered off. At this, the arm you’d feared was coming to corner you shook gently. In his hand was the edge of a throw blanket you’d been leaning against. “I was going to offer you some cover. I thought you’d been stiff this entire while, and then you shuddered, so I . . .”

His movements were notably slower now. Felt the need to be more careful, even if all he was doing was reaching for the remote to finally pause the ongoing show.

His eyes were less wide as well, but what they left in their wake was a firm yet troubled stare. It wasn’t meant to make you feel so afraid, but the feeling was there regardless.

“(Y/N),” he stated carefully. “If you are not comfortable, then I need you to tell me. I am a big boy, I can understand boundaries. If I’ve been moving too fast or made you uncomfortable in any way, I –”

“The problem isn’t you, it’s me,” you interrupted. God. Satan. Whomever had stuck around to witness this travesty. Being the truth didn’t make it seem any less lame. And judging by how Terzo’s demeanor shifted into being unimpressed, he clearly thought so as well.

“To be brutally frank, Sorella, I was hoping for a bit more . . . honesty.” The delivery of that last word faltered somewhat, but it was more than enough to provide a healthy punch to your gut. Actually hearing Terzo express disappointment towards you was far more devastating than anything your mind could have concocted. He’d already implied on multiple occasions how he’d often found himself on the shorter end of a seemingly mutual trust. Now you were just another person who’d failed to uphold their end.

While true, something in you felt the need to still fight back.

“No, you don’t get it,” you hoarsely insisted against the tightening of your throat. Your fingers immediately set to biting into your arms as they crossed.

“Then help me to!” he finally demanded. “You’ve been acting strange ever since yesterday, so what? Is it me after all? My face? What?!” The frenzy, while warranted, made everything inside you curl inward. Everything suddenly felt too big, too loud for the decreasing space inside you. Your lungs couldn’t expand enough, and you could practically feel the hurricane inside you banging at your eyes to be let out. Your teeth sank into your lips just as your nails sank even more into your arms. Anything to bite back and fight back what was quickly becoming inevitable.

He must have realized what he’d done, or perhaps he just used his eyes to see you practically shrinking. His expression uncrumpled into something more tender and apologetic, but creases of quiet frustration remained.

“Cara. (Y/N),” he corrected, his more patient voice from before returning. “I apologize for my outburst. Really. I do. But . . . Please: What is going on?”

If you opened your mouth, you were fucked.

“I cannot fix things if you don’t tell me what needs to be fixed.”

Soft like dynamite. The dam splintered, it cracked, and then it collapsed entirely. Your body was never one to take things in or hold them, after all.

“You can’t fix me . . .” It was quiet and light and it weighed down on your insides like no other.

Terzo’s brows gathered. “. . . Perdono?”

“I said you can’t fix me, okay?!” you repeated, your sentence made jagged and uneven by its sobbing delivery. The sudden explosion left the normally calm Papa taken aback. His lips parted, surely about to question what you could possibly mean, but the flood was unrelenting as it poured from your eyes and lips.

“I’m sorry! I lied! I lied, I lied, I lied, okay!? My body doesn’t work, okay, it’s fucking broken, and I knew it all along but I couldn’t tell you because I’m a f-fucking coward a-and I’m s-s-elfish – And – !” But this point, though, your throat far too tight and painful to even try continuing. Besides, you’d said all of what mattered, right? That you’d lied to him by omission, that you were broken, and that you were a goddamn selfish coward for pretending otherwise.

The truth hurt but you deserved this pain, having only yourself to blame that you were experiencing this on this man’s couch instead of in the privacy of your room. Everything in you screamed to get up and run back there, in fact, but you lacked the will to do anything other than stay put in a near-blinding fit of crying, probably fucking up the sofa with all the tears you were leaking onto it. You might’ve stayed that way even longer if it weren’t for a sudden nudging at your knee.

Apparently at some point during your pity party, Terzo had taken the opportunity to get up and . . . retrieve a box of tissues? Not leave? Or call for a ghoul to come and get you? Actually, that made a bit of sense: He was too much of a gentleman to kick somebody out while they were crying, no matter how awkward the circumstances.

As much as the punishing part of you wanted to reject it, the suffocation of your snotty nose was intolerable. You accepted the tissue box and dug in until your face stung with how much you had to wipe at it.

Terzo meanwhile resumed his seat, making sure to allow you space as you let out whatever nonverbal emotion you needed to let out. He didn’t force you to talk – not that you could, remaining a coughing, hiccupping mess even as the emotional tempest began to recede.

In fact, he himself didn’t say a word until you’d managed to work yourself down to pathetic, wet sniffles and tremors.

“. . . You know you’re not broken, right?” he asked. You almost didn’t hear it about you

You sniffled, perplexed. Terzo watched patiently as he continued, “Look: I don’t know exactly what’s going on. But what I do know is that you make me laugh. I like talking to you. I like talking with you. I just. Like you. So clearly, something about you must work, si?”

You shook your head. No. No, that’s what they all said. Maybe not like that, but they all said one of two things:

Either they claimed this didn’t bother them and that they could work with your condition, only to later realize they couldn’t keep up the lie; or they would ask to go your separate ways. He hadn’t done the latter yet, but after everything you’d put him through, he at least deserved specification to make that decision.

“No, I mean,” you took in a deep, shaky inhale. Mostly to calm the discomfort. “I mean. My body – It literally doesn’t – I have a condition, Terzo.” You paused just enough to let the words sink in – for the both of you. It never got easier to say no matter how many times you said it. “I can’t have sex. Not in a normal way, anyway. So, like. No penetrating or whatever. Not even, like, a tongue. Shit hurts so I don’t – I can’t bother with it. And like.” You twisted your fingers. “That feels kind of antithetical to the whole ‘living deliciously’ vibe or whatever you’re supposed to be promoting. So . . .”

So there. That was it. In a sick sort of way, you did feel somewhat of a weight lifted. The heavy, gross feeling of rejection still sat within you, but you had a familiarity with it. In time, it, too, would fizzle back into the recesses of your mind. You could . . . live with it there . . .

“. . . So what?” Terzo practically huffed, barely fighting back a smirk, one you couldn’t tell if it was from his own words, or in response to the stunned expression you now wore. “First off – and forgive me for missing any point – but you do realize that the whole of that whole ‘living deliciously’ shit comes from making choices, right? If sex is what you’re talking about, I don’t necessarily need sex. Is nice, yes, but. It’s not my whole fucking life, you know.”

. . . Well, no, but . . . To be fair, that rockstar persona certainly made that easy to not consider. Before you could argue this, he continued.

“Second off,” Terzo held up two fingers. “You do realize sex is more than just insert-dick-in-pussy, yes? Your Papa is . . . Well, he knows he is no blushing virgin, we shall say. No offense.” (At this, your expression blanked. Bemusement was superior to distress, though, you supposed.) “But do you really think that I think there is only one way to make sex count? Cara, per favore: Sex is sex! So long as everyone is having fun – and consenting! – then what is there to worry about?”

“E in terzo luogo,” he added a third finger before giving all three a wiggle, “do you really think that I would do all this if all I wanted was a quick fuck? I mean, think about it, piccina. Give me more credit.”

Well, when he put it like that . . . Your cheeks and ears burned less from humiliation, but from a much softer breed of embarrassment.

“Well . . . no . . .” you admitted. “B-but going back to the choice thing – I thought the idea was to make choices that don’t hurt anybody.”

He nodded with agreement. “Questo è vero. But here we are. And no one got hurt, si?”

You bit your lip, “But . . . I lied to you. I wasted your time, and – ” At this, Terzo’s hand rose, signaling for you to shut your yap.

“I’m gonna stop you right there, dolcezza,” he spoke, his features tame but stern. “You did not waste my time. Okay? I gave you my time. And I wouldn’t ask for a moment of it back. And do you know why?” He didn’t even allow you enough time to make a snarky response: “Because I chose to spend it with you. Even if I’d known, I’d choose you. And why would I not? Sei una bellisima compagnia, and I already love what we do together, even if it’s not fucking. Now, have I thought about us fucking? Yes! Often!” (You felt your blush deepening at his rather blunt confession.)

“But I have also thought about things we have talked about; things I would like for us to talk about; things I would like for us to do – besides each other, I mean. But it here’s a fourth thing.”

No fourth finger this time. Just him offering you his hand. You felt every particle in your abdomen squish and flip over the simple gesture, but curiosity made you pushed through to accept it. Even as his other hand came over on top of yours, any trapped feeling you might’ve had mere moments before never came forward. If anything, you felt . . . here? And for as buzzy as “here” felt, you didn’t want to run from it.

Terzo gave your hand a grounding squeeze as his eyes remained locked with your own. “I’m never gonna do something that hurts you. Alright?” he swore. “And if I do? Then I need you, I beg of you to tell me. Because if you don’t want to do anything, then we don’t do anything. We do nothing but enjoy one another’s company. That is plenty enough for me, dolcezza, I can promise you this. Do you understand?”

You gulped. You didn’t even realize your eyes had widened until you found yourself needing to blink back a fresh, much smaller batch of warm tears. You could practically feel your mind scrambling, trying to reference past experiences that could help you work off of this. Maybe proof he was lying, an argument you could present – something to make this all make sense!

But it found nothing of the sort. No one, in all those times, had ever offered a third thing, let alone one where you felt like you had an actual say in how things went.

Should . . . Should you nod? Could you be trusted to make the right decision here? You nodded. It was uneasy and uncertain, but the smile it gave Terzo seemed to be the proper answer.

“Good girl,” he affirmed. Oh. Yep. That was the right answer, you decided with a jittery exhale.

“Now!” Terzo exclaimed before giving the back of your hand a gentle pat and releasing it. “If it’s alright with you, I would like to finish our movie. Call me a firm nerd but I’ve waited all night to hear your thoughts on this, no joking.”

The change in atmosphere was dizzying as Terzo readjusted himself into a more comfortable position, as though you hadn’t just bared your soul and literal intimacies to him and had him respond in the most genuine and affirming way possible. Not as though it were nothing, but more like it was just not nearly as distressing as what you’d prepared yourself to face. With the storm settling and the fog of anxiety clearing, it became increasingly apparent just how discolored your thoughts had become by your past experiences. Of course Terzo wouldn’t be so rigid about sex: It went against everything he stood for, everything he was!

Of course, complete acceptance on your end wouldn’t be immediate. But you could work with this. Though, there was admittedly one last concern you had before movie night resumed.

“B-but.” You stopped short as Terzo turned his attention back to you. You had to remind yourself that the nerves you felt now were nothing compared to before. You could do this. “But . . . What if I . . . do want to do something?”

A bushy brow at the insinuation.

“N-not now! Not immediately,” you clarified. Suddenly the fringe of the throw blanket required your attention as you began fidgeting with it. “I just . . . You know.” You gave an awkward shrug and glanced up at him, a look of pleading twinkling in your eyes as you hoped he understood what you meant. Not any time soon, perhaps, but . . . Some day? You watched as the right corner of his mouth, the one where that darling beauty mark lay, rose up into a smile.

“Then, cuore mio, we talk about it,” he answered simply. “And, if you still want to ‘do something’ after?” He leaned in, the warmth of his smile heating into a devilish smirk.

“We do it. Whatever that may look like for us.”

You nearly blacked out when the bastard had the audacity to wink at you.

He then clicked play, shifting back into place as Gwynplaine and Dea came back to life. By the time you’d managed to regain your composure and refocus on the movie, Dea was cradling Gwynplaine’s tearful face in her hands. Assuming you hadn’t missed anything, this was the first time the poor soul had actually ever let her touch his face in all its deformed glory. And judging by her jubilant reaction, Dea couldn’t have been happier.

Good for him, you quietly delighted. It was absolutely what he deserved after all that time spent torturing himself over nothing. As you resituated yourself back into the cushions, you briefly noted how the voices from before, while still there, were much quieter. They lacked the power provided by the storm, and any time one of them seemed to try and get louder, you’d hear Terzo’s voice smother it out.

I’d choose you, he affirmed.

Good girl, he praised.

You know you’re not broken, right? he reminded.

It gave you goosebumps, though not the kind that the throw blanket could pat out. But you had a theory.

It seemed that the Old One had finally chosen now to put some courage in you. Better late than never, you supposed as you began to inch closer and closer along the couch until you could feel the heat radiating off Terzo’s body. The proximity in itself was thrilling enough, but the boldness didn’t stop there.

You tested the waters, leaning a little further into him, only for his arm to calmly come around you. Whatever space that remained was quickly closed as you felt yourself being tugged and cushioned into his side. You had only a nanosecond to catch the barely-contained smile on his face before you practically melted into place. Terzo’s touch, his scent, his warmth, his everything flooded into you, filling you with a simultaneous calmness and a vigor you hadn’t felt in years.

Your dream from before had been right after all: You belonged here, right next to your Papa.

[ghostchems]

devotion - cardinal copia x female!reader

the cardinal™️ doesn’t feel that you’ve been a good little sinner lately.

author’s note: this is just filth. he is such an evil little bastard, it makes me insane. there’s something so slimy about him. about 2k words, SMUT!!!! mdni! 18+! ao3 link.

“I do not see the devotion in your work.” The Cardinal hisses from behind his pristine desk. All of the papers are exactly where they should be, meticulously organized and he peers at you over the stacks of them, his hands clasped together in front of him. “It is concerning leadership. It is concerning Papa.”

You are dumbfounded. You’ve never heard a peep of this before. As far as you knew, you’ve been serving the clergy and Lucifer with all of your might, making sure to praise Him daily and work hard for the good of the clergy. No one has ever pulled you aside to tell you to work harder or to devote yourself to the cause even more. 

“I am so deeply sorry, Cardinal.” You hardly speak above a whisper, fidgeting in the chair across from his desk. The Cardinal doesn’t blink, his duochrome eyes piercing yours. “I will work harder, I promise.” You have never been so serious in your life.

“Hmm. A promise is not good enough, Sorella. I want to see your devotion.” He sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth and extends his finger, then curls it, beckoning you to come to him. You clumsily rise to your feet, the sound of the chair wobbling behind you, and you slowly walk around to his side of the desk.

The Cardinal has always made you nervous, perhaps even more nervous than Papa made you. There has always been something about him, something dark and devious that led you to stay away from him. But here you are now, in his dimly lit office with nowhere to run.

“On your knees.” He purrs as he positions his chair so he’s sitting directly in front of you. He sits back and spreads his legs. Your mouth goes dry but you do as he says, sinking down to your knees in front of him, practically between his legs. You feel his hand on top of your head and he gently pressed it down. “Bow your head, Sorella, and recite our Satan Prayer.” He removes his hand from you once you lower your head.

“Our father who art in Hell. Unhallowed be thy name.” You start, your voice shaky. The Cardinal hums in approval. “Cursed be the sons and daughters of thine Nemesis whom-“ You’re cut off by a groan and your eyes dart up to him. He is stroking himself through his tight pants, a wet spot already forming where he’s leaked. 

“Continue, per favore.” The Cardinal murmurs, his lips curling into a sinister grin. You blink a few times and try to remember where you had left off but your mind is blank. He continues to stroke himself before moving to unzip his pants and your jaw all but drops. Your eyes dart up to his face and he is clearly getting off on this. “Start over. Now.” He growls and gives his hard, leaking cock a few pumps while his other hand fondles his balls.

“Our father who art in Hell. Unhallowed be thy name. Cursed be the sons and daughters of thine Nemesis whom are to blame.” You fumble over a few of the words as you rush through the prayer, bowing your head again to avoid seeing him please himself. “Thy kingdom come. Nema.”

“Nema.” The Cardinal groans but you keep your head bowed. His gloved hand reaches for you, planting a finger underneath your chin to force you to look up at him. Precum has collected at the tip of his cock and you can see how it throbs. “The Unholy Spirit flows through me, Sorella.” He grabs you by the chin and tugs you sharply so that you are eye level with his length. The Cardinal tips your chin up and then drags his cock across your lips, coating them with his precum. 

The door to his office flings open and you are startled by the swiftness in which he shoves you under his desk. You hear your heart pounding in your ears as you try to quiet down your breathing. 

“Copia, have you gone through the irregularities with our accounts yet?” Sister Imperator questions, her heels clicking across the floor.

“A-ah, yes I have, Sister. I should, eh, have them reconciled shortly.” The Cardinal’s voice cracks and he starts to flip through a few papers on his desk nervously.

“They have to be done, Cardi. It’s imperative we clear this up before Papa embarks on tour again.” 

“Si, S-sister Imperator. I will finish up right away.” 

You can’t help but watch his cock and how it pulses as he tries to act normal. Part of you wants to take it in your mouth then and there, see if he can keep up the charade with Imperator still in the room. You hear the door close and the Cardinal give a loud sigh of relief before rolling away for the desk just enough so that he can see you.

“Open your mouth.” He licks his lips as he slips one hand down to rest on the side of your head. You swallow thickly and open up for him. The Cardinal very slowly slides his length into your mouth, keeping his eyes locked with yours. “Hold this for me while I wrap this up for Imperator, si?” It’s a question but you don’t have a choice. He leans over you and starts to do some work at his desk. “Don’t move, Sorella. Just… keep it warm for me.”

His cock is so heavy on your tongue. You focus on breathing slowly through your nose as saliva starts to pool in your mouth. It’s hard not to move, not to adjust your head to give yourself some relief for fear of making him angry. You can hear him working above you, scribbling away at his papers. After a while, one of his hands dips below his desk and he manages to push the top of your habit off your head.

The Cardinal continues working but he uses his one hand to play with your hair and his to stroke at your jaw. The affectionate touches are surprising given the way he has treated you since you’ve stepped foot in his office. His fingers knot in your hair and he slowly pulls you up his length with a groan. You hear his pen drop and he leans back to peer down at you. 

“Such a good girl.” He hums and rests his other hand on the back of your head. He guides you slowly down his length until his cock hits the back of your throat and your nose is pressed against his beat pubic hair. Your eyes water and you swallow around him, causing him to give a low moan. The Cardinal’s hips jerk shallowly into your mouth a few times and you gag on his cock. 

You plant your hands on his thighs for support as he starts to thirst himself into your mouth, his hands holding your head in place. You peer up at him through damp lashes and the look on his face sends a jolt of arousal through your body. His eyes are half-lidded, his lips quivering before parting and giving a soft sigh. His tongue darts out of his mouth to lick at his lips, smearing his black upper lip.

You narrow your eyes at him, then close them completely as you moan around his cock, running your tongue along the underside. The Cardinal’s breath hitches, his hips stuttering for a moment. He loosens his grasp on your head but keeps his fingers knotted in your hair.

“Th-that’s it, Sorella.” His voice is strained but his eyes never leave you. You start to bob your head up and down his length, your jaw already relaxed from having him in your mouth for so long. The Cardinal’s moans grow louder, his chest heaving and you feel his legs tremble beneath you. You dig your fingers into his thighs and you hear him whine quietly. 

You sink yourself down to the hilt, his cock hitting the back of your throat again as he moans deeply. You swallow around him once, then again and his hips stutter from the feeling.

“F-fuck, cara your d-devotion is - ah - apparent.” The Cardinal growls and he forces you down even further on his cock. “R-receive Unholy Communion.” Your throat spasms around him and a husky groan rumbles up from his chest as he cums. You feel his cock pulse and you swallow his seed diligently, drinking him down. 

He slowly pulls his cock from your swollen lips and looks down at you, his hair mussed and the paint around his eyes smudged. You start to slowly stand and smooth out your habit as he tucks himself away in his pants.

“I’m not finished with you yet, mia cara.” The Cardinal whispers coarsely and shifts in his chair, his eyes drifting over your figure. “Undress.” 

You know you don’t owe him anything, he even said that he could “see” your devotion now. But the desire that is surging inside you clouds your judgement. You slowly start to take off your habit until you’re down to your bra and underwear. 

“All the way.” He orders sharply and he narrows his eyes at you. You swallow thickly before unclasping your bra and sliding your panties down your legs. The Cardinal moans at the sight of you and quickly has you by the hips, pulling you down and settling you into his lap. He presses your cunt firmly against his thigh and you give a soft moan at the friction.

“Take what you need, Sorella.” He tugs your hips forward, grinding you against his thigh. Your ball your fists in the fabric of his suit and you whine as you start to rut against his leg. The Cardinal dips his head down and his mouth immediately latches on to your neck, pressing harsh kisses down the sensitive skin. His one hand rests on your back while the other fondles your breasts, his thumb brushing over one of your nipples before giving it a rough pinch.

You would be ashamed of the way you are moaning for him if what he is doing didn’t feel so good. He bites along your collarbone and you’re feeling feverish, your hips snapping recklessly as you chase your release. One of your hands rests on his head, fingers carding through his hair as he lowers his head even further, planting sloppy kisses down your chest. 

You tip your head back and a string of moans spill from your lips as you feel yourself start to teeter on the edge. The Cardinal growls against your chest and you can feel the vibration flow through you. His mouth finds one of your nipples and seals around it, sucking it into his mouth as his tongue teases it. 

Your nails dig into his scalp as you cum on his thigh, a sharp cry ripping from your throat. His hands fall to your hips and he helps ride you through your orgasm while his mouth stays firmly on your breast.

“Copia!” 

He freezes before his mouth pops off of your nipple and he presses your chest firmly against his. His arms stay around you to hide as much as your naked body as possible. The two of you had been so distracted you didn’t notice the door open.

“S-Sister Imperator, un minuto, per favore!” He peeks at her over your shoulder.

“My office. Now.” She snarls. You can’t see her but you can tell that she is pissed. Imperator slams the door on the way out and part of you hopes that the Cardinal may be in some sort of trouble. He relaxes against you, his grip on you loosening as you lean back with your hands on his chest. His fingers drift lightly over your bare ass and he sighs.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Sorella?” 

Your cheeks redden and you stare at him, eyes wide. The Cardinal gives your ass a harsh squeeze and you squeak, your eyes fluttering.

“Y-yes, Cardinal.” You say in a hushed tone and he grins wide. He leans in and kisses you hungrily, for the first time, his tongue invading your mouth. You sigh against his lips, pressing your body in close.

“Come to my quarters this evening.” He purrs once he pulls away only slightly. “We’ll have our own ritual. We’ll make Lucifer proud, si?” 

Before you can answer, he’s picked you up and places you on his chair. He grabs a few papers and a pen and heads out the door without casting you a second glance. He is most certainly heading to a meeting with a cum stain on his pants.

You give a loud sigh of relief.

The man is deranged.

And, well… you might be a teensy bit in love with him.

[ghuleh-witch]

Fandom: Ghost Rating: Teen Warnings: GHOVIE SPOILERS, references to death and grief Relationships: Copia x GN Reader Characters: Copia, GN Reader, unnamed Sister of Sin Additional Tags: gender neutral reader, comfort fic, slight dirty talk, no beta Chapter Word Count: 970 Summary: Copia is getting fitted for his new uniform and is having doubts about his promotion. Author’s Note: Ignore that the cover image is the cardinal uniform, I'm trying to make this part as spoiler-free as possible. Also, apologies for any spelling or grammar errors. I won't be posting this to Ao3 until after the ghovie is done airing in theaters.

He was being fitted for his new uniform when you walked into your shared chambers.

In the middle of the living room, he stood on a step stool in front of a mirror while a Sister of Sin knelt on the ground behind him pinning the hem of his trousers legs. You’d seen the woman before. She always did Copia’s tailoring, and it seemed now was no different. From your angle, the uniform looked similar to the black suits he wore as a cardinal—sleek, soft, and formfitting. You took the time to run your eyes over his backside, admiring the dips and curves that the fabric seemed to cling to before realizing that Copia’s eyes were on you in the mirror.

“Do you like what you see, il mio tesoro?” He asked, turning his head slightly to look at you.

You walked forward and around the stepstool to his front and gasped audibly. His uniform was tailored to perfection. The black, sparkling clerical collar sat at the base of his throat. On the sharply pointed lapels of his jacket were large rubies surrounded by small, gleaming onyx gems. The chains that hung from them led to an onyx-encrusted grucifix with a small ruby pendant hanging from the bottom. It was different from anything he wore before, but you could see the subtle nods to his prior outfits.

“Oh my god,” you said. You looked him up and down and marveled over the magnificent man in front of you. “You look amazing!”

A slight blush crossed his cheeks as he looked down at you. “Thank you, amore,” he said looking back at himself in the mirror. “It’s quite different from what I wore as Papa. But also not…” He was silent for a moment—lost deep in his own thoughts. You knew he replayed the events that led him here. You were at the hotel waiting for him to finish the show the night Sister Imperator passed. Swiss called you to tell you what happened and how you needed to get down to the venue right away. You knew you’d never forget how he looked when you found him sitting on a bench behind the Forum. He was still in shock; his paints streaked and smeared from crying and his red sparkling jacket was discarded on the seat next to him. Your heart broke for him. What should have been the best night of his life had become the worst. 

He told you about the letter Sister left him that named him head of the clergy. It wasn’t what he wanted though. You knew if he could continue on as Papa he would, but Copia had come to terms that his time on stage was over and that his purpose was now to help bring the dawn of the new era for the Ministry. You watched as he shifted his weight nervously on the stool and you felt your heartbreak for him all over again. 

“Sorella, can you give us a minute?” Copia asked as the sister returned her pins to the pin cushion on her wrist.

“No problem Pa—I mean Frater,” she said. Her face flushed slightly from the accidental slip-up. She bowed her head and walked out the front door of the apartment. 

Once the door had closed with a soft click, Copia carefully stepped off the stool and sighed. “I can’t do this,” he confessed.

“What are you talking about?” You asked brow furrowed with concern. 

“This,” he said, gesturing to his outfit and sighing. “I can’t lead the clergy. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m an entertainer. I’m a singer. I can’t do what she did.” 

“Baby,” you said gently as you stepped closer and cupped his face between your hands. His painted eyes were downcast and there was a slight tremble to his lip. “You can do this. I know change is scary. All this is scary for me too, but change is inevitable. We all must go through it. You, me, the whole ministry, and all the Ghost fans—We are all experiencing this change together. You are not alone in this, I promise. I will be at your side through it all.  If Sister…If your mother didn’t believe you could do this she wouldn’t have named you Frater Imperator.”

“Sì, I know,” he sighed. “Can’t blame a guy for being nervous though.”

“I know, I know,” you replied. Your hands left his cheeks and smoothed the lapels of his jacket. “If it helps, you look hot as fuck in the new uniform though.”

Copia chuckled as his arms encircled you and pulled you closer. “Thank you, amore. It does help.” He pressed a kiss to your lips, the paint of his upper lip now smeared slightly. His hands ran down your sides before they came to rest on your hips. “Wanna show me how hot this getup makes me?” He smirked.

You couldn’t help but smile as every filthy thought crossed your mind. You looked him up and down, noticing the growing bulge in his already tight pants. “I would, but we probably shouldn’t ruin these clothes just yet. They’re not even officially done,” you said as you glanced down at the colorful pins lining the fabric around his ankles. “I don’t want to mess up all that poor sister’s hard work.”

He let out an exergated groan. “Fine,” he said before he smiled at you. “But you owe me. I need to celebrate becoming Frater somehow.” 

“Oh once this is finished and you have a spare set, I fully plan on letting you bend me over the closest service and ravish me while wearing this.” You smiled and leaned up to kiss him. “Come on, let’s get this fitting finished up. I have a couple ideas of how we can celebrate once you’re done.”

[angellayercake]

the perks of working for papa

papa emeritus iii x female reader | NSFW | part one

the terzo brain rot continues. technically this comes before part one but you can enjoy it either way!

You watched as the second hand ticked closer and closer to ten o’clock, the time of his scheduled meeting with Sister Imperator. He was going to be late, again, and you were starting to run out of reasonable excuses to cover for him. You watch the blinking cursor, the beginnings of your email of apology for his absence waiting in your drafts, when the door finally crashes open. 

‘Sorella, buongiorno!�� He cries as he deposits a coffee for you onto your desk before crashing into his own office. ‘And what a busy morning I have had so far…’ he continues as he starts to bang around his office, seemingly oblivious to the time and the fact he should be on the other side of the Abbey in Imperator’s office. 

‘Papa?’ You attempt to interrupt but he pays you no mind carrying on with his story as if he couldn’t hear you. 

‘And then I said to Copia…’ He comes back into the room heading over to the full length mirror next to the door, completely unphased by anything around him. He admires his reflection, straightening an errant lock of hair, checking his freshly applied paint before smoothing down the barely visible creases in his jacket. Taking this as a sign he might be about to leave for his appointment, you try to interject again.  

‘Papa, you have a meeting scheduled,’ he barely even stops to catch his breath but does turn his attention to the pile of letters in his post box by the door. He flicks through them quickly, pulling faces as he skims the subjects before dropping the whole lot onto your desk without skipping a beat of his story.  

‘So it turned out that I didn’t even have time for breakfast Sorella! Can you imagine?’ He looks at you finally, clearly expecting some reaction from you and when you can only look at him in confusion he shrugs before continuing on. ‘So I said to Omega…’ The clock hits five past ten already and you can’t let this go on any longer. 

‘Papa!’ You finally shout loud enough to pause his diatribe. You have his full attention now and if the smirk pulling at his lips was any indication he had been deliberately ignoring your increasingly urgent interruptions. ‘Papa,’ you continue, tone more even and polite and he inclines his head towards you while perching on the edge of your desk. 

‘You have a meeting with Sister imperator that started five minutes ago,’ you inform him, reaching for your coffee and taking a sip. It’s exactly how you like it and it warms you that he has paid attention to such a small detail. Glancing up at him you realise he hasn’t reacted to your statement at all, and is simply watching you enjoy your coffee.

‘Well Sorella if you had listened to me instead of worrying, you would have an explanation for my tardiness.’ He raises his eyebrows and jokingly wags his gloved finger at you before standing and starting to pace up and down in the space before your desk. ‘You see my morning was so hectic, as I explained, that I had to skip breakfast!’ You try not to giggle at his exaggerated pout of disappointment but it is almost impossible. ‘And as you know Sorella, I can’t possibly go to a meeting without having breakfast.’ 

‘They do say it's the most important meal of the day.’ You concede wondering where he is going with this. He gestures towards you to emphasise his agreement with you, before holding his hands behind his back and making his way towards your side of the desk. 

‘Si, I agree, so could you help me with this Sorella?’ He leans back against the desk so close you could almost touch him and you wonder what exactly he is angling for. ‘Make sure I am well fed before I start my work for the day?’ The request has you rolling your eyes slightly, he had time to fetch you both coffee but not to get his own breakfast. You push back your chair but before you can get up he grabs hold of the arm of your chair keeping you from moving any further away. ‘And where do you think you are going?’ Confusion washes over you, his actions and the way he is looking at you making you feel as though you are missing something. His mismatched eyes sparkle and the corner of his lips pull up into a lopsided smirk. ‘What do you think I usually have for breakfast Sorella?’ 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was finally where he had been dreaming of all morning, between someone's legs and he was going to make the most of it. He took a deep breath, catching the scent of her arousal and his mouth started watering. He loved when his partners enjoyed his teasing, when they got as riled up as he did. Her thighs were shaking slightly in anticipation and he hadn’t even touched her yet, he was barely close enough for her to feel his over excited breathing. He couldn’t wait to find out how she will react when his mouth was on her. 

He slides off his gloves wanting her to feel his fingers rather than the soft gloves he favoured day to day. He started at her knees, sliding up the hem of her habit as he went, tracing abstract patterns into her skin, following her veins and criss-crossing to touch all the moles and marks that made her an individual. As he reached her sensitive inner thighs she tried to jump her thighs closed, the too soft pressure of his finger tips tickling and on the verge of unpleasant. He firms his grip spreading her legs even further so he is finally face to face with her pussy. 

This close he can see where the damp spot is already forming but he wants he sodden before he removes her panties. It’s the best way to keep her scent in them for as long as possible after he confiscates them. He gives into his temptation though and presses his nose to her through the damp fabric and inhales deeply. He groans, already feeling his will power for teasing slipping away as she subtly moves her hips against him, grinding her clit against the bridge of his nose. He follows her lead pressing the tip of his nose to her and pointedly circling just around where she really wants him.  

He can feel her getting wetter through the fabric, smearing the paint on his nose but he couldn’t care less. He pulls back, blowing gently against her until she shivers, taking in the way the material has begun to mould to the shape of her pussy. He wanted, no, he needed to taste her so he slowly peeled off her underwear so she was perfectly bare for him. He slips them from her ankles admiring the shape of her legs for a moment before slipping the now perfectly soiled panties into his pocket, for later. 

‘Please Papa,’ she whimpered above him half muffled by the desktop between them but he had to have a moment. Now her panties were removed he could take her in with no obstructions. A trail of slick beads from her entrance and he gives in for the both of them following it with the tip of his tongue until he can dip into her entrance. She gasps her whole body tensing as one of her hands weaves itself into his hair. She tries to guide him, encourage him onwards but now he hasher he wants to linger. As this is to be his first and favourite meal of the day he is going to savour it, nothing, no meeting was more important than this. 

He opens his mouth wide, losing himself in the taste of her, flattening his tongue so he can lick her from her entrance to her clit slow enough that they can both feel every inch of contact. Pulling back for a moment to breath he presses sloppy kisses to the creases of her thighs, sucking marks into her delicate skin. He follows her outline on his way to her clit where he starts working in earnest circling and licking and sucking, his moans vibrating through her. Her grip in his hair pulls and her thighs tighten around his shoulders, all working together to keep him close and bring her to her climax. She comes on his tongue and he fervently laps at her not wanting to waste a drop of her pleasure and already pushing her through her post orgasmic sensitivity.

Time is meaningless when he is here, seconds or hours could pass and all that he would know is the pleasure. He is hard, he always is when gets to pleasure someone this way but his pleasure is always secondary. The more lost he gets in her the less he notices going on around him. Her pleasured sounds filter through the furniture and his mental fog, encouraging him on. So consumed is he, he doesn’t register the angry footsteps in the hallway or the aggressive knock on the door.

[library-ghoulette]

day 9 // voice kink

Prompt list thanks to @kroas-adtam 💜

Pairing: Terzo x reader

Rating: Explicit, minors DNI

Words: 1048

Tags: second person POV, female reader, confessional booth, masturbation

Summary: You confess to Papa Terzo why you have trouble paying attention during mass.

A/N: At long last, another Ghostober fic! Written in a frenzy and barely proofread, so beware? The Hail Lilith prayer that I quote in its entirety is from the article "Praying the Satanic Rosary," uploaded to Scribd by jimhoward300380.

Read beneath the cut or on ao3!

All is quiet as you make your way to the confessional, stepping into the booth and pulling the door behind you with a muffled, satisfying snick. You settle on the bench, and the dim silence envelopes you, thick and expectant. It awaits your words and the violence of breaking.

You cross yourself—right shoulder, left, forehead, between your breasts—and say, "Bless me, Papa, for a I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession."

Then, you pause, letting the silence spool out between you. You can only catch a glimpse of a silhouette through the screen, the strong line of an aquiline nose in profile.

There is an impatient shuffling of vestments. "Go on, sorella."

A frisson of excitement runs through you at the words, at the familiar trill of the rolled r. You're not supposed to know who sits on the other side of the divider. You're certainly not supposed to memorize the schedule according to which the various Papas in residence—three retired from their public role, but still of service to their flock, and one still on active duty, as it were—hear confession, and plan your sojourns into the booth accordingly.

But isn't rule-breaking inherent to your faith, you rationalize? Did Lucifer not rebel before His creator? Is it not the nature of the brightest stars to fall?

And fall you have. You're not unique in this—every Sibling in the Abbey would be happy to line up and wait their turn with Papa Terzo. Who could resist his clever hands, his easy charisma, the transfixing power of his unholy gaze?

But for you? It's all about the voice. You have been known to linger outside of the music room, sweeping the hallway extra carefully as he warms up his vocal chords, running through scales and nonsense exercises. During mass, you let your eyes slip shut in the semblance of religious ecstasies, letting each syllable of his homily wash over you, meaning more felt by your body than absorbed by your mind.

But nothing compares to sitting here with him in the secretive dark, where each word rings with a special gravity, rendered huge by the small space.

You rack your brain for something to confess, searching your soul for the most exquisite sins you've committed. You run through a small litany of everyday transgressions—indulging your slothfulness, lying to Sister Imperator and saying that you weren't feeling well to get out of cleaning the sanctuary, envying one of your Sisters the expensive new pair of shoes she just bought and won't stop showing off every chance she gets.

Each sin you recount gets little more than a grunt of acknoledgement. This is no good. He's barely spoken the entire time you've been in here, and you're running out of sins, running out of opportunities for approval, for comment.

You decide to be bold.

"And—" your voice falters for just a moment before you press on "—and I've been having— impure thoughts. During mass."

"Oh?"

"Yes, Papa. I find that I can't focus during the readings, because I'm so distracted by— by your voice."

"My voice, sorella?" It comes out deep and rumbling, and you swear you can feel the words low in your belly as surely as if he were murmuring against your skin. You press your thighs together, seeking friction, seeking any relief you can find.

"Y-yes," you sigh. Your fingers twist in the hem of your skirt.

"Well, that is a problem." A pause, and you wonder whether he's going to continue. "You come here to hear my voice, but I think that I need to hear yours."

"Papa?" you ask, confused.

"Say a Hail Lilith for me," he commands. "As your penance for failing to listen to the words of our Unholy Father."

You take a deep breath, collecting yourself as you recall the words of the prayer. "Hail Lilith, full of the Serpent's seed, Satan be with you. Blessed are—"

"Slower," he interrupts.

You begin again, taking your time. "Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, the Demons."

As you speak, you become aware of the rustling of cloth, as though he has reached beneath the robes of his office, as though—but surely not—he has taken himself in hand. It surprises you so much that you stop mid-prayer.

His voice is husky, breathy, when he prompts you, "Keep going. Please."

Emboldened, you snake your hand up under your skirt and down your panties, suppressing a gasp as your fingertips find your swollen clit and begin to trace desperate circles. You strive to keep your voice steady as you continue to pray.

"Seductress Lilith, m-mother of— mm— mother of S-succubi—"

You can still hear the motion of his hand, the huff of his breath as he gets closer, as he whispers, "Yes, that's it…"

"Pray— pray for— for us." The words have to fight your quickening breath and lust-muddled brain, now, and you're so close to coming that you're barely aware of what you're saying, or how loud you're being. "Pray for us that are serving You! Now and— fuck— now and in the— in the—"

Your release carries the rest of the prayer away, and you bite your lip hard enough to taste the coppery tang of blood, desperate not to scream your pleasure loud enough for the entire church to hear.

Beyond the partition, you hear his muttered swearing, the gentle knock of his head falling back against the wall of the confessional, and a deep, barely suppressed moan that you know you'll be replaying in your head tonight, and for many nights to come.

"Pray for us that are serving you," you repeat, slightly out of breath, "now and in the time of our Fornication. Nema."

For a few moments, the booth fills with the sounds of your breath as you both recover, heartbeats slowing. And then he asks, "Do you have anything else to confess?"

"This is all I can remember," you say, falling into the rote script of confession. "I revel in these and all my sins."

"Very good. When you leave, say three more Hail Liliths and an Our Father. And sorella?"

"Yes, Papa?"

"Come to confession the same time next week."

[circle--of--confusion]

Wip wednesday!

I got a sudden Idea from a @ficandkaboodle post about the cardinal and his mysterious, evil vibes.

So here I give you, my attempt at a reader fic where a mysterious and evil Cardinal Copia seduces Reader into helping him rise to the Papacy. [i literally just started writing this in the past hour lol]

~enjoy

The clock ticks by slowly, sluggishly you think. Your job as Sister Imperator’s assistant is important and exciting but it comes with its lulls. Papa Emeritus the Third is off on a tour of the various ministries that your Satanic clergy are connected to. He along with a few ghouls and cardinals have packed for a month-long trip. Your Papa is away and Sister can come in now to actually work.

You’ve been sent off to grab lunch for the two of you and upon arrival, your desk outside of her office has a visitor. A cardinal, waiting rather impatiently as he stands in front of the vacant desk.

“Cardinal. I’m so sorry, I hope you haven’t been waiting for long,” you attempt to soothe, setting down the boxed lunches and give your full attention to who you’ve discovered is the Cardinal Copia. His intimidating white and green gaze watches as you fumble for a response. “She’d mentioned a meeting around this time but insisted on eating before it started, and the kitchens were backlogged, and it’s such a long walk here and back I-“

“No need to apologize, Sorella.” Copia responds, taking off his biretta and smoothing down his hair. He smiles down at you. “She can have her, ah, moments I hear.” He winks.

You sigh, “Yes you can say that.” You spare a glance back to her closed office door. “I’m just going to check and see if she’s ready for you.”

Copia nods, letting you walk over to knock softly a couple times and peek your head through the door when she responds. He watches the scene of you leaning into her office through the small crack of the open door, speaking softly. You’re too nice, he thinks. You’d probably believe an angel gets it’s wings every time a bell is rung, he chuckles to himself. Copia wonders how someone like you has lasted so long as Sister Imperator’s assistant. Maybe you can be of use for him with what he’s been planning.

You turn back around, closing the door. “She still wants to eat. Very sorry, Cardinal.”

Copia waves his hand, settling in a chair in front of your desk. “Not a problem. I can wait, I’ve done enough of it so far.” He grumbles.

“What’s got you frazzled, Cardinal?” You ask, opening your box of food.

He laughs to himself at the concern. “Nothing you need to worry about, dolcezza.” Copia turns his head, propping his head up on his fist to stare into your eyes as he rests his elbow on the armrest.

You blush at his endearment and attention, lowering your head to hide the red tinge to your cheeks. “Shouldn’t I? If it pertains to Sister, shouldn’t I know?” Your head rises back up to look directly into his eyes, meeting his intensity but in a playful way.

Copia grins, clicking his tongue as he moves his gaze elsewhere. He rolls his eyes and leans back into the chair. “Oh, I suppose you’re right,” he sighs. “Our dear Papa has left me with his leftovers when it should’ve been finished before leaving for a month.”

Your eyes go wide and you gasp. “How much?” You’ve been missing a couple forms.

“Enough to keep me busy for a week,” Copia scoffs, turning towards you. “One of the budget forms will be delayed now, cara mia.”

Another endearment, another blush. He smiles softly as your eyes look off anywhere but his face. “Noted. Thank you for letting me know, Cardinal. Is that why you’re here? Ratting out our dear Papa?”

Copia frowns, glancing to the side with disdain. He turns to look straight ahead with a blank face, hands clasped together in his lap. “You could say that.” Copia sneers.

Oh. You stumble, blinking a few times towards him. “Well, I’m sure that’s the correct thing to do in this case, right?” He turns towards you. “You can’t just ignore your duties!” Copia smiles and you almost let out a breath in relief. An upset Cardinal Copia, however brief, felt wrong to you in some way.

“Thank you, dolcezza.”

“Oh, don’t worry about i-“

Sister Imperator emerges from her office, adjusting her jacket as she stands there. “I’m ready for you, Cardinal Copia.”

He stands, holding out his gloved hand for you to take. Slowly, he lowers to press a small kiss to the back of your hand. “Until next time, cara mia.” He mumbles, looking into your captivated eyes.

All you can do is nod. Sister beckons Copia inside and closes the door behind him. You sit back against your chair, in a slight daze from your interaction with the Cardinal.

---------------------

Anyway! I have no idea how long it'll be or when i'll have it posted but I will definitely be rotating this idea in my mind

[ramblingoak]

how about being caught kissing with the cardinal?

Ooo yes, wouldn't that be nice! I wouldn't mind getting caught doing worse with him to be honest... Prompt is from this list of Kiss Prompts!

Yay Satan Day

Cardinal Copia x Female Reader ~ Copia does his best to distract you from your job

Warnings: Copia being a smug shit, vaginal fingering, nsfw, 18+ only, MDNI, 1600 words

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

He was doing that stupid thing with his eyebrows again.

You and Cardinal Copia had been stuck in a meeting with Terzo for close to an hour now.  Sister Imperator had instructed you all to create an event to try to bring the local community closer to the church.  ‘Something to show them we don’t spend our days sacrificing babies and having orgies’ were her exact words.  At least the baby part wasn’t true, but you knew of at least four orgies that had taken place in the last week alone.

“We should call it ‘Yay Satan Day’.”

“Can we focus on actually creating the event before we name it?”  You pretended you didn’t see Terzo rolling his eyes.  “And for the last time we’re not calling it that.”

Copia sighed and his chair creaked as he leaned back in it.  You gave him a quick glance but then forced your eyes away.  Most days you had a hard time keeping your eyes off of him, but it was always harder when he wore the white suit.  The bastard had to have worn it on purpose today judging by how he waggled his eyebrows every time he caught you looking at him.  You had no idea how this man had become a Cardinal, let alone win all those stupid employee of the month awards.  He wasn’t listening to a damn thing Papa was saying.

Terzo himself didn’t seem to be focusing that much either.  You really didn’t blame him, you were the one technically in charge of all the event and party planning at the abbey.  Usually Terzo’s main job at these things was to show up and look pretty.  The only thing he seemed interested in helping with today was naming the event, but he kept pouting after you shot down all of his ideas.  You weren’t naming the damn thing ‘Yay Satan Day’ no matter how many times he’d suggested it.

“Sorella?  Do you agree?” 

Fuck.  You focused back on Terzo who was looking at you expectantly.

“Yes sorella, I would like your input as well.  On his idea.”  

That son of a bitch.  You looked down at your notes to buy yourself some more time.  All you had on there was a small doodle of one of Copia’s rats.  You looked over at him, narrowing your eyes at the stupid smirk on his face.  When he raised an eyebrow you gritted your teeth and glanced away.  You were going to shave both of his eyebrows off when he fell asleep tonight.

“I think that as long as we uh, well as long as we stay under budget that should be feasible.”  

You wrote a quick note down like the responsible event planner that you were and smiled up at Papa.  Now he was raising one of his eyebrows at you, but you kept the smile on your face, refusing to back down.  Terzo chuckled and then popped up from his chair, straightening his clothes as he made his way around his desk.

“Well this has been great fun, but I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere.”  You hid your notes when he stopped by you and tried to give him an innocent look.  “I’m sure you two can handle everything else, si?  Cardinal make sure my banner gets ordered.”

“Of course, Papa.”

When you spun in your chair to glare at Copia he was ignoring you and picking imaginary lint off his suit.  What the fuck had you agreed to?

“Ok, you two have fun, but not in my office.  Ciao!”

“Okie dokie, Papa.”

Copia caught your eyes as he called out to Terzo before the door shut behind him.  

“Copia, what does this banner say?”

“Nothing special.”  He bit his lip for a moment before continuing,  “Have you kissed me today?”

“Yes, several times this morning.”  You threw your pen at him, laughing when he squawked as it hit his suit.  “Have you forgotten already?”

“Ah well, you know.  Silly me.”

He held out your pen but as soon as you reached out to grab it he took your hand and tugged you out of your chair.

“Copia, no, I don’t have time.”  You sighed in exasperation when he successfully pulled you into his lap, not that you had put up much of a fight.  He wrapped an arm around your waist and held you tightly against him, smiling smugly at you the whole time.  “Are you happy now?”

“Mmm, si.  Very happy.  But…”  He stuck his bottom lip out a bit and you sighed.  “I wish we were kissing.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Very much so.  I think I deserve at least one for helping during the meeting.  Maybe two.”

“I’m sorry, how did you help?  All you did was make stupid faces at me!”

“I said I’d order this banner, didn’t I?  That’s very helpful.”

You wiggled around in his lap so you faced him, ignoring the little pleased grunt he made.

“You’re not ordering anything, Copia, what does this banner s–mmph!”

A hand in your hair and his mouth on yours stopped your question.  Normally you’d be annoyed at this tactic, but it had been a while since you’d kissed him last.  You settled against his chest, deciding to just let him win this time.  He made a pleased sound in the back of his throat and deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping in to tease yours.  After a few minutes he pulled away, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before leaning back to give you a lazy smile.

“We should put you in a kissing booth for this thing.”  You groaned and tried to get up, but his arms stayed firm around you.  “No, no I’m serious!  You’re very good.”

“Copia, come on.  I’ve gotta go.”

He sighed and loosened his arms.  You immediately got up before he changed his mind, spinning and stepping back to lean against Terzo’s desk.  You watched as he rose from his chair, grunting a bit as he straightened up.  He reached down to tug at the crotch of his pants to give himself more room.  You felt endlessly pleased that he was already half hard just from a kiss, but when he noticed your smug look he raised that damned eyebrow again.

“Something to say, sorella?”  When you shook your head he stepped closer, resting a hand on either side of you against the desk.  “Do you like getting me all riled up?”

“Yes, I do.  It’s great fun.”

Copia muttered ‘brat’ under his breath before moving in to take your lips again.  This kiss was much more intense, your mouth opening under his immediately.  You buried your hands in his hair while his came down to your hips, his hands squeezing your flesh and urging you up.  Without breaking away from his mouth you let him help you onto Terzo’s desk, ignoring the sound of things clattering around as Copia shoved them out of the way.  Once you were settled he placed a hand on your knee, slipping it under your habit and up your leg.  The leather of his glove was warm against the skin of your thigh and you moaned into his mouth when he reached the hem of your panties. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against yours.

“Are you wet for me?”  You gasped into his mouth when he ran a finger over the silk covering your cunt.  “If I take my glove off will I feel how much you want me?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Copia growled, bringing his hand up to his mouth and tugging the glove off with his teeth.  Another growl rumbled in his chest when he tasted you on the leather.  When he was done he tossed it behind you onto the desk and leaned in to kiss you again.  His bare hand quickly found its way back under your skirt and you gasped when his fingers slid under your panties.  He rested one right at your wet entrance and you both broke away again, panting into each other's mouths when it easily slipped inside.  A smug grin broke out on his face, but before you could snap at him the door opened and Terzo waltzed back in.

“What are you two still do–ai!  No!  What did I say?!”

You shoved Copia away and jumped down from the desk, frantically straightening your skirt.  Terzo had switched to Italian as he and Copia began to snap back and forth at each other.  You grabbed your pen and notebook from the floor, freezing when Terzo turned with a finger pointed at you.

“Sorry Papa!”  He waved a hand at you and then stomped over to his desk.  Muttering under his breath as he straightened up the things you and Copia had knocked over.  You glared at Copia when he snickered as he walked towards you.  “Stop that!  You got me in trouble.”

Copia grabbed your hand, grinning as he tugged you towards the door.

“Far worse things have been done on that desk.  He’ll get over it.”  

“Hey!”  Both of you turned at the sound of Terzo’s voice, you watched warily as he glared at you with his hands on his hips.  “We’re calling it ‘Yay Satan Day’.”

“Ugh, fine!”  You ignored Terzo’s triumphant grin and turned back towards the door.  “I hate you both.”

“Si, I know.”  Copia opened the door for you and squeezed your hand when you went into the hall.  “Let’s uh head back to your room to clean up a bit, okie dokie?”  

More shouts from Terzo stole your attention away and you peered around Copia to see Papa poking something on top of his desk.

“Cardinal!  Come get your glove!  Satan, where has this thing been?!”

You looked at Copia and smiled before squeezing his hand back.

“Okie dokie.”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

my masterlist

my ao3

[honeyynymphh]

| Freshly Squeezed |

Cardinal Copia x Fem!Reader rating: E word count: 10k tags/warnings: dom copia, voyeurism, masturbation, teacher/student (sort of)praise kink, dirty talk, glove kink, choking, dom/sub, google translated italiano

A secret passageway. A far too ditzy curious reader. And a very naked Cardinal.

Hmm.

read on ao3 part two

“Where is it!?”

“Shh.”

You raise your hands apologetically at the ghoul currently glaring at you. The library is full of the muted sounds of turning pages, sporadic coughs and then the squeak of the old trolley as another ghoul returns books to the towering shelves. Maybe you should ask the ghoul if there is a spellbook full of incantations to help you remember where you left your belongings. You huff out a breath, you were certain that your prayer book had to be in here. It had been only an hour ago that you had been in here studying and there was nowhere else it—

“Fuck,” you say, voice echoing in the large chamber of the library.

“Shh!” The ghoul glares at you again, its eyes burning in the sockets of its mask.

Guiltily you scurry out of the library, wincing as the door clangs shut behind you. You hurry through the warren of halls and towards the old rooms along the eastern wing of the abbey. There were many rooms along this part of the old building, most empty and filled with dust. But many of the lessons taught by the Clergy were held here. The large rooms were filled with rickety old desks and large chalkboards. Once upon a time, they all would have been in use, but not these days. There were definitely more new members as of late—a testament to Papa Terzo and his charming nature—but there were still too few students.

You make your way down to the second door on your right, the room where you had your demonology lesson earlier this morning. Darting in, you head to the back of the room and find your desk.

There’s no prayer book.

Another curse leaves your lips and your brow furrows in annoyance as you stare at the wooden desk, as if you could bring it into existence through pure frustration. You couldn’t ask for another one. You had already lost three. Sister Imperator said if you misplaced another one she’d have it nailed to your hand.

You were pretty sure she had been joking. Fairly certain. Most likely…

“Are you looking for this?”

Fuck. Turning, you find Cardinal Copia standing there in his neat black cassock with his gloved hands in front of him. And they were holding—

“My prayer book!”

Rushing towards him you go to take it gratefully but the man raises it above you, cocking his head to the side as he watches your face frown in confusion. Standing so close to him makes you realise how tall he actually is. It was customary to see him hunched over books in the archives, his desk, and or even the pulpit during mass—leering down at the congregation as he talked of sin and destruction. Most times you’d seen him, he was always scribbling away, taking his meticulous little notes. Not now though, right now he loomed over you.

“Can I have my book?” You hold out your hand expectantly.

“This may be a satanic church but you are still expected to have manners, Sorella.” He tuts at you, the look in those odd eyes gleeful. “You are meant to be saying, ‘please, Your Eminence’, si?”

“Can I please have my book, Your Eminence?” you say, trying to keep your voice respectful.

He smiles. Sort of. His lips quirk up at the sides but it makes him look slightly demonic. It makes your stomach flip. The book is placed in your outstretched hand.

“Good girl, was that so hard?” he says.

Okay, you were going to completely ignore how that made you feel. The man should not be allowed to make your skin prickle or have the power to make you flush with sudden arousal at a few words. What in the name of Lucifer was with this man? And why were you suddenly having very inappropriate thoughts about Copia. Copia?

What he did next surprised you more than anything else he’d done so far, he suddenly strikes out a gloved hand and lightly grips your throat just under your jaw. His thumb nestles below your ear. You must be staring up at him like a stunned idiot.

“Lucky your head is attached to your neck, eh?” He gives a light squeeze and looks at you with another one of those off-putting smiles. “Otherwise it would fall off and you would lose that too, Sorella.”

He chuckles as if he’s just heard a rather amusing joke and then sweeps out of the room without another word.

What. The. Fuck.

It’s a few days later when you find yourself back in the library. You’d been assisting Cardinal Giorgio with some archive work—well more that you’d been sneezing violently away surrounded by the thick layer of dust while he hastily moves any ancient texts out of your path. It was always interesting seeing some of the old texts, and you’d been so careful while leafing through them with your soft cotton gloves. But the dust was everywhere.

After a while, the hot stuffy room makes your skin begin to itch underneath your wimple. It wasn’t a requirement that you had to wear it, but most siblings did. The church only expected full dress during mass and special unholy days. It made you feel like part of a family wearing it, united with the other siblings in this strange world—besides, it saved having to figure out what to do with your hair every day.

You want to take it off but you just knew you’d misplace it. Begrudgingly you did have to admit that Copia had a point: you would forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your body.

Your fingers go to your neck at that thought and you idly touch the skin where he had held you the other day. It was strange. You’d never really given him much thought before, he was just The Cardinal. And it was completely warranting of the capital T. There were a few other cardinals that floated around the abbey, old men with their faded paints and tired faces. But Cardinal Copia didn’t float, he stalked through the building as if he owned it. He was Nihil’s right-hand man, yet he managed to keep to the fringes of the abbey and stay in those shadowy corners. He wasn’t frightening. Well, perhaps he was a little frightening. But more in an “if I do this wrong he’s going to embarrass me in front of everyone and then assign me some horrible back breaking task”. When other siblings grumbled under their breath about a cardinal, it was always Copia. Nobody wanted to get on his bad side, but it didn’t stop everyone from wishing him ill health at any chance they could and comparing him to the rats that he seemed to favour. You just found him utterly unfair, strict and so…dry. Like the books he always had his large nose buried in.

Admittedly for the past few days, you’d been thinking about that nose buried between your thighs.

Which was a horrifying thought. Admittedly, the man was attractive. You would sit there during lessons, idly admiring him, until he made everyone repeat all their prayers perfectly—in Latin!—before leaving class or, hell forbid, assigned homework. Any feelings of admiration would immediately evaporate. Homework? What were you, twelve? Sometimes being part of the Clergy felt like you were back in your snobby Catholic school but instead of Sister Lavinia making you repeat bible verses you were being bored to death by demons and debauchery. How was that even possible?

The man talked and talked and talked. His pleasing voice combined with your attention span like that of a goldfish just made you zone out. You had fallen asleep during mass once because it was some unholy day and Copia had spoken for nearly an hour. Sitting there in the dark church with the unholy candles lit, the incense burning and the echoing vibrations of his low voice, how could you not slide away into the glorious embrace of sleep?

Sometimes, it was clear Copia wasn’t going through the motions and was truly excited to teach—though, the rest of the class was clearly not interested and only listened out of fear of being reprimanded.

He was such a strange man.

“Sister?”

You glance up from the old tome you staring at unseeing for the last five minutes. Cardinal Giorgio is looking at you expectantly, his overgrown moustache and large eyebrows always made you feel like you were talking to a rather large muppet. Except Cardinal Giorgio was about as fun as a wet paper bag.

“Sorella, I am having a meeting. I will be returning in one hour.” He pointed a withered hand at a small stack of books. “Please be returning these.” You sneeze, knocking some empty ink wells to the ground, and he sighs wearily. “Carefully, per favore.”

He shuffled out of the room. Shouldn’t a satanic church be exciting? Yes, the ghouls were fun and there was the old magick with its ancient rites and rituals. But after a while it just became normal. Lessons were still lessons and church was still church. The most exciting thing that had happened recently had been Copia wrapping a hand around your neck.

Maybe you needed to get a pet. Or a hobby. You sigh and pick up the little stack of books and wander down the aisle. Perhaps if you happened to forget something again in one of Copia’s lessons he might touch you again. You were too busy daydreaming about what he’d do if you left your knickers in his classroom (probably nothing, you were certain he had no interest in anything unless it was in a book and involved a lot of suffering and sin) when you tripped over the uneven stone and went flying, the books in your hands dropping to the ground with a thud. Your hands fling out desperately as you try to grab anything to stop you from face planting onto the floor. Surrounded by shelves in the dim room, your fingers find the corner of a book, which shouldn’t have saved you yet somehow does. The book tilts forward, a click sounds out and you are left hanging from it as a bookshelf next to you swings open on well oiled hinges.

Now, that was interesting.

Righting yourself, you pry the shelf open further and peer into the small passage behind it. Cardinal Giorgio and your task forgotten, you step into it without a second thought. It's not very wide and there is little light so you keep your hands in front of you as you shuffle down. It isn’t very long until you see a small beam of light shining through a small gap in the stone and hear the sound of muffled voices.

Closing the distance, you peek through the small hole and can just make out the corner of a large table and someone’s head.

“Where is Papa?” someone asks.

“He will be late, as usual,” someone else mutters.

There is a snicker and then a reedy voice says, “I saw him talking to some belle ragazze earlier. He will be busy hearing their…confessions.”

There is the tittering of old men laughing and you roll your eyes.

“Si, si, si,” says a bored voice. You recognise that one immediately. It was Copia speaking. “We do not need Papa here to get to business. Besides as treasurer, I feel we must address his spending habits. He’s been wasting half of this church’s money on those ‘belle ragazze’.”

The reedy voice man laughs though it sounds more like a wheeze. “Jealous, Cardinale?”

“Pah.” Copia sniffs. “I am not jealous of Terzo Emeritus.”

The man wheezes again.

“Perhaps,” says Copia, his voice suddenly a menacing purr, “Father Mancini, you can tell me why there has been a—quite frankly—indecent amount of money spent on a certain blue pill?”

Now you could hear the reedy man, Father Mancini, spluttering. You try to get a better look but the view is incredibly limited. There were so many members of the clergy but you were pretty certain that Father Mancini was about as old as Papa Primo, maybe even Papa Nihil. You could picture him in your head with his vulture-like appearance and watery eyes.

“Copia—”

You hear Copia clear his throat pointedly.

“Cardinale,” corrects Father Mancini hurriedly in low whisper. “The brother in the hospital wing assured me it was confidential.” There was a snicker from another clergyman. “It’s for my health! He prescribed it!”

“Mmm.” You knew that low hum. For a moment you felt a wave of pity for Father Mancini, but not much. Copia’s needle-like venom was always fun when it was pointed at someone else. “You must know by now that I am all eyes and all ears, brother.” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.”Were you hoping it would help you rise within the ranks? How long have you been a priest for now, Father?”

Strained laughter broke out after that and they resumed their bickering over the money that Papa Terzo had been spending. Wishing to explore further, you left the clergymen behind and followed the passageway along.

As you idly wandered through the tight passage, you couldn’t help but wonder about the lives of those that instructed and guided you and your many siblings. It was quite clear from the way they all spoke that none of the others liked Copia. But it was also evident that they had no choice in having to do as he said.

It was fascinating.

You keep walking, stopping every so often to peer through a gap in the stone. Most are hard to make out details through the tiny gaps but the last few had all looked like bedroom chambers and sitting rooms. You don’t even know how long you’ve been walking but you stop when you hear a shout and a loud knock. Ahead of you, a small beam of warm light is piercing through the passageway and you shuffle up to it.

“Torna qui!”

It’s Papa Terzo’s voice. You press your face against the cold stone and look through. From what you can see, you’re peering into a small sitting room. You could see a small settee and a large wingback chair in a deep red across from it, the corner of a worn-looking writing desk where a lamp sits and ahead in the distance a closed door. Perhaps it is Papa’s room but nothing in here screams Terzo Emeritus. It’s all dark wood and everything you can looks neatly organised—not something you would ever associate with dear Papa.

“Copia!”

Oh. Of course. The closed door ahead of you snaps open and Cardinal Copia stalks past, out of your field of vision. You hear a door click open and press closer to try and hear—but there is no need as Papa’s voice carries with ease toward you.

“You can’t restrict me!” he says.

“Si, I can,” you hear Copia reply in a bored voice. “I just did.”

“I am Papa, Copia, and you can’t be doing this things,” Terzo says.

“Andrai a lamentarti con tuo daddy come un ragazzino?”

A growl leaves Terzo’s throat. “Che cosa? No!”

It was utterly fascinating listening to them argue. Papa Terzo was always so smooth and charming when he spoke. He never raised his voice! And Copia was always so respectful when interacting with other clergymen. You’d never heard him speak so flippantly toward other members of the church before—and certainly not to a Papa.

“You can’t keep wasting this church’s money on women, Terzo,” says Copia irritably.

You can’t see the door from where you are, you can only see part of the cardinal and one of his gloved hands. The fingers flex, as if wanting to grab hold of something—and you have a feeling that something is Papa’s neck. You idly touch your own.

Papa snorts dismissively. “It is never a waste of money to lavish the beauties in this world, Cardinale.”

“You do not need to spend thousands of dollars on bottles of champagne.”

“But my tesoro is deserving the best!” says Terzo, his voice becoming angrier with each word he utters.

You’d never heard a Papa so angry before and while you can’t see Terzo right now, the sound of him is a little frightening. It was very easy to forget what he was capable of. But it’s clear Copia isn’t phased at all.

“Stop wasting money,” Copia snaps and then you see him come back into the room.

He comes closer toward you and your hiding spot but he keeps walking past until you can no longer see him. He must be close to the other side of the wall. You can hear him pouring a drink and you see Terzo stride into the room, his face set in a deep frown as his papal robes flap behind him.

“You’re just jealous I have those ready to kneel before me,” growls Terzo, coming to stand just in front of where you are hidden. “You wish you had them all kneeling before you!”

“Of course, they must kneel,” replies Copia smoothly. “How else are they to be eye to eye with you, Terzo?”

It’s impossible to tell with the paint but you’re certain that Papa’s face has gone red. The scowl on his face deepens and you hear him snarl.

“Vaffanculo! Sei uno stronzo, Copia!” Terzo throws his hands in the air and storms out. You hear the door slam shut but then there is a click as it opens again a second later. There are footsteps and you see Terzo angrily stride past and hear a rustling clink before he walks by again, now holding a bottle of wine in both hands. “You are not wanting me to be spending the money? I’m taking these!” The door opens. “Ciao!”

The door slams shut again.

“That little shit.” you hear Copia mutter. “Quando sarò Papa, gli farò ricucire la bocca…”

You press closer, trying to see further into the room. Copia comes back to where you can see him, his gloved fingers flexing as he mutters words you don’t understand under his breath. You nearly gasp when he walks right up to you and instinctively you hold your breath. He is merely a few inches from your face, and all you can see are the tiny neat buttons on his cassock and his jewelled grucifix as he peruses the wall you are hidden behind.

You hear a few squeaks in the distance and realise it must be Copia’s rats.

“Si, Rigatoni?” he says pleasantly. “I will feed you soon, piccolino mio.” He chuckles when another soft squeak fills the room. “Ah, you too, Fettuccine!”

The rustle of fabric as he moves and the gentle clink of his grucifix against those tiny buttons are oddly soothing. And this close you can smell him, the scent reminding you not of sleepy lessons in a warm classroom or echoing words of the unholy during midnight mass but instead of the delirious arousal imbued by a hand around your throat.

You suck in a breath. And Copia freezes. As quietly and as quickly as you can you duck down and cover your mouth with your hand, heart pounding in your chest. He must dismiss it and you hear him walk away, talking to his rats in Italian.

It is definitely time to leave, so you hurry back to the library hoping that Cardinal Giorgio hasn’t noticed your absence.

With luck, you made it back to the library archives and continue with your task, head still full of thoughts of Cardinal Copia. You want to explore more. The unending curiosity is making your skin itch. Not really thinking, you’d stolen a key to the archives when Cardinal Giorgio hadn’t been paying attention to you.

And it’s now that you sneak through the abbey’s silent halls on light footsteps until you are slipping back into the library. Making sure to close the door carefully, you then make your way to the back of the library where the depths of the archives lay. You unlock the large padlock before tucking the key back into the pocket of your habit, it clinks gently against your rosary beads as you step into the dark room. You flick on a small lamp and then make your way past the towering shelves to the little nook at the back, your eyes scanning the shelf as you approach.

Which one had it been? Your hands reach and tug at the worn corners until you finally have the secret passageway before you once more. Quickly you shuffle through, heart racing with anticipation. Why? You aren’t sure. Earlier today had been fairly boring—well, not completely. The little glimpse into the world of the higher clergy and their lives had been fascinating. The polite facade they projected to the siblings hid a boiling pot beneath.

As you finally reach the little gap in the stone that peers into Copia’s room, you let out the breath you had been holding. Face pressing against the stone, you drink in the details. The single oil lamp that sits on the old writing desk casts its warm glow over the room. You could hear the rats, Rigatoni and Fettucine, scurrying away on what must have been a little wheel in their cage. And then there was the rustling of pages and the occasional irritated grunt as Copia sat in the large wingback chair; one hand holding a pencil while the other balanced a book on a knee. He had a small side table next to him where he would scribble something down, brow furrowing in concentration as his lips moved soundlessly. You aren’t sure how long you watch him. There must be a clock on the wall you spied through as the gentle tick is close to your ear, the sound and vibration of it lulling you into something of a stupor.

With a heavy sigh, the man closes the book. The snap of it shutting makes you jump. His head glances in your direction and you hold your breath, hastily pulling your head back from the cold stone. But he merely stares a moment before he must dismiss you as nothing but the settling of old abbey walls. You shut your eyes in relief—Lucifer below you needed to be careful if you didn’t wish to be caught. Copia’s hands smooth his hair back and he stands, walking out of your sight. You hear him say something in a low voice, and with a smile, you realise he is once more speaking to his pet rats. The sound of answering happy squeaks and a cage door opening and closing signalled that it must be dinner time. You hear the cardinal laugh, a low pleased rumble that you had never heard before. It makes your stomach flip.

He walks past your hiding spot once more, heading towards the closed door. It opens and you can see a bed in the distance, the tension in your stomach tightens even further when you realise he’s undoing the buttons of his cassock, shrugging out of it before carefully folding it and leaving it on top of the bed. He wears a pair of suit pants underneath and a neatly pressed black button down. Your hands are either side of your face as you press up against the wall, trying desperately to get as close as possible. Those gloves that you’d been thinking of for the past few days join the cassock on the bed and you’re hypnotised as you watch him unbutton and then shrug out of the shirt. He has a white undershirt underneath, the sight of his bare throat and the dark hair that curls out from the underneath it has your mouth hanging open. Sometimes, it was so easy to forget that Cardinal Copia was merely a man and not just some looming entity that stalked the abbey halls and made your tongue trip over itself in an effort to not irritate him.

His hands rub at the nape of his neck while your eyes roam over the bare skin of his arms, shoulders and throat desperately—as if you were to be tested on the placement of every freckle and hair. But you are suddenly deprived of the vision when he moves further into the bedroom and then out of sight. Your ears strain to listen, and then above you a pipe clangs before the loud sloshing of water surging through comes hurtling above you. You can just hear the running sound of a shower in the distance and your mind is so busy imagining him naked and wet that you forget how uncomfortable and stuffy it is in the cramped passage.

When he finally emerges, your face flushes anew and you suck in a breath, your throat immediately filling with dust. You try to cough silently and clear your throat as Copia wanders back into the sitting room. You had never seen a member of the clergy without their paints. It was just like another part of their face. Seeing the cardinal without the darkened lips and hollowed eyes felt so strange and yet it sent a thrill down your spine; had anyone ever seen him like this? But it wasn’t just the bare face that held your attention, his wet hair that he’d slicked back was dripping down his naked chest and disappearing into the towel wrapped snugly around his hips.

Your nails were already digging into the stone as you watch him come closer to your hiding spot. He was once more a few inches away and you could see the droplets of water on his chest and smell what must have been his soap. How you want to reach out to him. Of course, you don’t—you can’t. You merely swallow back the delirium and try to keep your breathing even as you hear him move about. A clink of glass and then liquid sloshing before he walks away from you and slumps back into the armchair with a glass of wine in hand.

He sips at it, a sigh of pleasure escaping him as he relaxes in the chair. He takes a few more sips and you decide to call it a night but you pause when he places the half-drunk glass on his little side table and relaxes further into the chair with a moan. One of his hands reaches for the towel and you have to cover your mouth as he unties it and exposes himself completely.

You can’t look away as you watch him gently palm his cock, utterly entranced at the sight of it swelling beneath his languorous ministrations. Copia has his eyes shut and lips parted as he works himself with slow strokes. You really should leave. But nothing could have pried you away as his breathing starts to become uneven. The sight of his swollen head, precum already beading at the tip, has you licking your lips. How you want to be there on the floor between his legs, your hands gripping his thighs as you lick and suck along his cock. His hips snap erratically and you wonder if he would fuck your face with such abandon. Would he have the free hand that was currently gripping the armchair tightly around your throat? Or would he wind it tightly in your hair as he forced you to take more of him down your willing throat? That thought had one of your own hands reaching under your habit and hastily rubbing at your own sex as you watch.

“Cazzo!“ he growls, the sound sending a hot shock of arousal between your thighs. “Sei così bella in ginocchio per me come una brava sgualdrina.”

His hand was furiously working and before he can utter another word, he comes; the white ropes splattering over his stomach as he moans. The sight and sound of him losing control has you over the edge and you come hard and fast, legs shaking as you try to keep yourself upright.

You must have been too loud as he’s looking in your direction again, his brow furrowing. But he’s distracted when a knock on his door reverberates through the room.

“Pah!” He snatches the towel and strides toward the bedroom, your eyes glued to the sight of his naked body.

Another knock on the door.

“A moment!” Copia yells out.

After a moment, the man walks back out, hastily doing up the buttons of his cassock as he walks to the door. You hear it open and the demonic drawl of a ghoul speaking fills the room.

“Papa needs you urgently.”

“What in the name of Satanas does he need at this hour?” snaps Copia. “Tell me quickly, ghoul.”

A huff. “He just said it was urgent.”

Copia grumbles, striding back into the room and grabbing his biretta before the sound of the door shutting signals he’s left.

You try to collect yourself by taking a deep breath. Pushing off the wall, you go to leave but your fingers graze against something. A snick sounds out and suddenly the wall is moving and you’re falling forward as you are thrown off balance.

With a thud, you’re on the ground. Sitting on your knees, you rub at your elbow and look behind you to watch the wall swing around to reveal a bookshelf before it clicks shut. Your eyes dart to the door you can now see. But nobody comes running in.

You see the archives key has fallen out of your pocket, you grab it quickly and shove in back in. Really, you should probably leave. However…

Getting to your feet, your eyes soak in the details of the room. It smells like wood and incense here, reminding you of chapel. But the scents overlap with the leather from the books lining the wall you’d just fallen through and the scent of the man that has just left. You stare at the chair he has just vacated, and as you come closer you can see little teeth marks on the arm which makes you laugh.

A little squeak catches your attention and you wander over to an overly ornamental rat cage—well, rat palace. A furry face peers up at you and you smile.

“Your home is more decadent than the entire abbey!” you say to the little rat.

It just squeaks at you again before disappearing into its gilded home.

Really, you should be trying to open the passageway again and not heading into the cardinal’s bedroom. But it’s too late. You’re here, and you may as well take the chance to learn more about this illusive man. Most of the furnishings in this room are old, as if from another time. But everything has a worn quality to it; nothing in the cardinal’s rooms was for show.

When your eyes land on his bed and see his black leather gloves you pause. Staring at them for what feels like an eternity before you throw all reason out the door and pick one up.

Fuck. The leather is insanely soft on your fingers and the lingering warmth is there. You aren’t thinking when you place your hand in it and then wrap your own fingers around your neck. Was that insane? Perhaps. You hear someone shout something in the distance and you jump and stack it against the bedpost whacking your elbow in the process. Blinking back tears, you hastily taking the glove off and throw it back on the bed, only for it to fall to the floor. But there is no time to grab it and put it back. You run to the hidden passage, rubbing your arm and nearly stumbling again on a rug. When you reach the bookcase, you start pulling at books in a frenzy as your heart races. The door unlocks just as the wall opens and you slip in, scurrying none to gracefully down the narrow passageway and back to the library.

The next morning during chapel you realise you don’t have your rosary. It doesn’t occur to you that you might have lost it in Copia’s rooms. Losing things is just your usual state of being. So when chapel ends, you sigh and go walk up to the front where Papa Terzo stands talking to another sibling.

“Excuse me, Papa?” you say.

The man smiles at you and you try not to blush, but it’s impossible not to be affected by his charm. It’s hard to believe you’d seen him so angry and flustered the other day.

“You can interrupt anytime you are wishing, bella!” he says, spreading his arms wide so that his papal robes swish and catch the light from the many candles bathing the chamber.

You smile in response. “I need a new rosary, I lost mine,” you say sheepishly.

“Ah, these things are happening,” he says with an understanding nod. “I am always losing my er panties?” You hold back a laugh and so does the other sibling while he just frowns softly. “Though I am thinking this is not losing but the stealing…it is not matter.” Terzo points behind him. “You can get one from the Cardinale—he is in the vestry.”

The Cardinal. Your face falls and Terzo just pats you on the shoulder.

“Do not be worrying,” Papa says jovially, “he can help you, Sorella.”

On heavy feet you trudge to the vestry, knocking on the door before opening it. Copia is there, his hands busy with refilling the wine in the large silver decanter. He glances up at you with a scowl.

“Terzo, I said—” He stops, frown fading away to be replaced by a raised brow. “Yes, Sorella?”

You stand in the door and hesitate. All you can think about is his cock and the noises he had made last night. Your whole body flushes.

He snaps a finger at you. “Sorella, I am busy, what is it?”

You stumble. “I—um. I need a rosary. I lost mine. Papa said you can give me a new one.”

His whole demeanour changes, going from irritated disdain to a strangely gleeful smile. He puts the wine down with a deliberate thunk and rummages in a small chest, pulling out a set of rosary beads.

“Come in, please, dolce.”

You walk toward him and stand there awkwardly. The vestry is strong with the smell of old relics of silver and brass, and the heady incense that is always burning in the unholy rooms of the abbey. But in the midst of it all, there is him. That magnetic and tempting scent that you had basked in while in his rooms.

“Closer, per favore.”

You take another step and he instructs you to put your hands out, palms facing up so that the necklace can lie against them—the silver grucifix heavy on one palm. He briefly turns away to grab a small bottle of unholy water.

“Keep still.” He uncorks it. “They need to be blessed.”

You just nod, staring at the small purple beads as he sprinkles some of the water over them. It splashes against your hands and wrists, goosebumps breaking out against your skin.

“Alvengeful Lucifer,” says Copia in a low voice, “we seek out your divine grace and ask that you offer your unholy blessing to this rosary which the Church has sanctioned for the honour and praise of the Most Unholy of Lords.”

One of his gloved hands reaches out and presses the grucifx into your palm with his thumb, his other fingers curling around your hand. You are not thinking about his hands anywhere else, not at all. You are not going to think about it. He presses harder as he continues to speak. You surreptitiously try and squeeze your thighs together.

It feels too hot in the small vestry. And he is too close—yet somehow not close enough. It was torture.

“Let it be filled with such power of your unholy spirit,” Copia continues to speak, low voice wrapping around you, ”that whoever carries this on her person or devoutly recites it may be protected by you.”

You swear you feel his fingers move against your hand in a gentle caress but he removes it before you can focus on it. It’s an effort to keep your breathing normal but you try as Copia continues with the blessing.

“Let her share in all the glories, indulgences and pleasures granted by the darkness that you offer in comfort.” He sprinkles more of the water onto the beads before he utters a final, “Nema.”

“Nema,” you repeat softly, still staring at your hands and the beads upon them.

Before you can move, Copia snatches the beads and places them over your head. The leather of his gloves grazes against your throat as he carefully drapes them over the collar of your habit. It forces you to look up at him, those odd eyes watching you far too intently with that little smile still playing around his mouth.

“Make sure you don’t lose these,” he says, fingers trailing down the length of the beads before he suddenly wraps it around two fingers and tugs you forward.

You can’t speak, he’s brought you several steps closer to him. His scent envelops you and you can feel the hem of his cassock against your shins. Any words you would’ve tried to speak are stuck in your throat.

“You wouldn’t want to find yourself lost without a prayer.” He tugs on the rosary again which brings you even closer—you were nearly pressed up against him. His face was hovering right in front of yours. This close you could see his one white eye was more of an eerily bright blue. “Would you, Sorella?”

You shake your head dumbly as you unstick your tongue, heart pounding in your chest. “No, Your Eminence.”

He lets go and you suck in a shuddering breath, stumbling back as you try to regain your footing. You can still feel the way the beads had been digging into your neck.

Copia chuckles. “Bene, bene!” He prods your shoulder. “Off you go, Sorella.”

You give it three days before you head back to the little secret passage. Last time had been far too close, but the desire to see the cardinal—possibly even see him come undone again was far too tempting. Today during your lesson, you hadn’t been able to remove your gaze from his hands. Your eyes fixed on watching him gesture as he explained all about the proper way to summon a lesser demon. You hadn’t heard a single word he’d said. The entire lesson had been spent thinking of those hands, imagining them over your skin. How would the leather feel running softly against you? Would he be gentle? Or rough? The throb between your legs had you on edge the entire hour until the shifting of your fellow siblings signalled the end of class.

When you had grabbed your prayer book and shuffled out of the room, you had turned to look back at your desk to make sure you hadn’t left anything and simply been met with Copia’s mismatched stare. The shiver that had run down your spine had you hurriedly leaving and walking as fast as you could toward the greenhouse.

Lying in your bed, your mind had been full. Tossing and turning, all you could think of was Copia’s hand around your neck or the immense heat of him when he’d pulled you close the other day in the vestry. The man was haunting your thoughts just like the abbey halls. So, you’d thrown back the sheets and snuck off back to the archives.

Tonight, he’s again sitting in his wingback chair. In his red cassock, he looks like the Lord below. He rarely wore the red, instead opting for the black. But you preferred it��mostly because it was easier for you to spot him. Lurking in the shadows in all black had Copia sneaking up on unsuspecting siblings with ease far too often.

He scribbles notes down occasionally, pen scratching and tongue clicking whenever he crosses something out. You stand there for what feels like forever, your eyes getting heavy as you lean against the cold stone wall. It is cooler tonight, but the passageway is clammy, the air thick and making your habit stick to your skin. Maybe you can come back tomorrow night. Or maybe this was just fucking madness. You were spying on Cardinal Copia—of all people! You sigh.

Copia’s eyes snap toward you, meeting your gaze. There is no way he can see you; the gap is too small and you know you're hidden behind books. There is no way in heaven that the old man can see you! Luck must be on your side because he shakes his head and just stands up, wandering over in the direction of his rats.

“Sento il nostro topolina nei muri, Rigatoni,” you hear him say. “Hmm. Un topolina che evidentemente non capisce una parola di quello che dico.”

There are some happy squeaks as the cage is opened and then closed. You strain to listen however there is nothing but the clock ticking rhythmically by your ear and some more soft little squeaks. You press closer.

Maybe you press too hard or accidentally knock the little lever, but suddenly you’re falling; a scream of surprise leaving your throat as the wall moves beneath you. It sends you out of the cramped passage and has you toppling onto the soft carpet. You suck in a quick breath through your nose, those strangely familiar scents assaulting your senses. You glance up and see Copia standing by the bookshelf as it slides back into place with a click of finality. He has a gloved hand on the nondescript book that triggers the passage and the other taps his chin thoughtfully.

While you do realise you are in Big Trouble with The Cardinal, you can’t help but stare at his leather-clad fingers as they rest on his chin. You needed to get a grip.

“Ah, it was a lost little mouse,” he says with satisfaction, eyebrow raised as he regards you.

Fuck. As soon as he speaks you realise you’re absolutely fucked. There was no safety of the passageway between you, and no next lesson to scurry away to. You had fallen into the spider’s parlour, very much uninvited.

He lets go of the book and it slowly slots back into place. You stare at him, mind racing as you try to come up with some sort of explanation. You’ve been sleepwalking? You’ve been possessed? You’ve gone insane? Actually, you were pretty sure you had gone slightly insane and—

“Good evening, Sorella.”

You blink at him owlishly as your thoughts fizzle away into nothingness.

“Er…” You try to clear your throat. “Good evening, Cardinal.”

The reality of where you were and who you were with is starting to seep in. Your breath hitches. In theory, it really should be so much easier to breathe in this room than the little passageway but it’s not. You’ve been caught in a clergyman’s room—spying on him nonetheless—in the middle of the night. And out of all the priests and bishops and all the other members in this abbey…you were with The Cardinal.

It simply would be a better time all-round if you’d just snuck into a cage with a starving tiger. At least it would be over quickly.

Hurriedly you get to your feet and your mouth loosens—never good.

“Your Eminence!” you squeak. Lord below, you sound insane. But the panic is taking over. “I’m so sorry, I was just exploring. Cardinal Giorgio is always talking about the abbey and the history of it all and working in the archives is so interesting, you know? And, um, I found this passageway tonight—yes, tonight—and so I had to learn more. And I was reading books…yes books! There are so many books, do you like books? It’s just so fascinating how the walls—“

“Sister.”

“—and I think I was just so caught up in the history so I was walking in my—” You stop talking. “Yes?”

“Don’t lie to me, you’re about as interested in this building as I am in ornithology.”

That takes some of the panic away as you frown at him “What’s ornithology?” Oh, Lucifer was that some kind of ancient magick? Did he talk about it today? You should have paid attention!

The man gives an exasperated sigh. “It doesn’t matter.” That mismatched stare eyes you carefully, his moustache twitching as his lips quirk. “You’ve been spying on me, topolina.”

“No!” you say desperately, hands rising rapidly as if worried he was going to bite you.

He takes a few steps toward you, entering your personal space and making you freeze. Lucifer, he smells good. Focus! You stare up at him, looking like a lost idiot as your brain tries to think of a way to escape.

“Do you still have your rosary?” asks the cardinal.

That throws you off. You frown and then rummage in your pocket, fishing the beads out and holding them up to show him.

“Yes?”

He tuts. “‘Yes, Your Eminence.’”

“Yes, Your Eminence,” you repeat dutifully, still staring at him wide-eyed as your heart beats rapidly in your chest.

“Good girl.” He grins. “You’ll at least have a prayer, if nothing else, dolce.”

What in Satan’s name did he—

You cannot finish the thought as he snatches your wrist and drags you further into his room. Your feet trip over his fancy rug and you stumble, nearly colliding with him but he holds your arm in a steady grip. He swings you around to face him and you hold your breath as he looms above you.

The look on his face is hard to read but there is hunger in his hypnotic eyes. Oh fuck, what if he actually was a vampire like some of the other siblings said? Maybe you were going to be eaten.

“What are you going to do to me?” you ask. You want to sound brave. You don’t.

“Me?” he says, prodding you back, the back of your legs hitting his armchair, causing you to fumble and fall into it with a soft thump. “I am not going to do a thing to you, dolce.”

Your bewildered gaze follows him as he sits across from you on the low settee. The race of your heart in your chest has you trying to take a breath to calm yourself. No matter what he says, you knew he was going to punish you. It was Copia after all. And you’d been caught. In his room. Spying. The tension was driving you insane. Your stomach was in knots. Whatever he does you hope it’s quick.

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he places his chin on his clasped hands. The leather creaks in the heavy silence and you do your best to not look at them, trying to just focus on a point by his ear. Now was not the time for horny thoughts.

“It is a little unfair that you have been spying on your cardinal, don’t you think?” he says pleasantly.

“Um, yes?” you say, shifting awkwardly in the seat.

An eyebrow raises in question. “You don’t seem so sure, Sorella.” He taps his chin thoughtfully on his hands. “I would think it isn’t very polite to spy on someone…especially when they are having a—” He leans back and waves a hand, your eyes following it somewhat hypnotised. “—private moment.”

Oh. Oh no.

Fuck.

Your cheeks burn. He knew. How? How did he know?

“I—”

He wiggles a finger at you. “Now, Sister, don’t try and lie again.”

It’s strange you think. Despite your embarrassment and utter dread, he doesn’t seem angry, or upset. He rummages in the depths of his crimson cassock and pulls something out.

It’s a rosary. Yours, to be precise. Oh no.

He smiles when he sees understanding bloom on your face.

“It isn’t very nice of you to spy on me and then snoop in my absence, dolce.” He swings the rosary idly, still speaking to you as if you were a naughty child. “It also isn’t very nice to go through my things.”

“I didn’t touch your things, Cardinal!” you blurt out.

His head cocks to the side and he pockets the rosary.

“Ah, but you did, dolce.” With quick movements, he tugs off a glove and throws it at you. You catch it and stare at him. “You seem rather enamoured with these.”

Was it possible to die of embarrassment? You hope so, you really do.

“Put it on,” he says.

You stare at him dumbfounded. The leather still feels warm in your hands and it is just as soft as you remember it being. Maybe you’d fallen asleep in the passageway and this was all some weird dream.

You swallow. “Why?”

“‘Why, Your Eminence’,” he says, a sly grin unfurling on his face. “I said, I am not going to do anything. You are going to do it for me. It seems only fair.”

The room is silent as you just sit there fiddling with the glove.

“Do it now, Sister.” Copia’s voice is sharp and it sends a jolt down your spine. You quickly put the glove on. “Brava ragazza. Lift up your habit.”

You manage to only let out a shocked squeak at that, your heart racing.

He grins at you like a tiger. “You heard me. It’s only fair, dolce. You’ve been watching me. It is my turn. Quid pro quo.” Your confused expression has him waving the hand still wearing the other glove. “Maybe should join my Latin class and learn something. I am sure that mouth of yours can handle it.” He gestures at the glove you now wear. “Besides, this way, you can just pretend it is me, si?”

You bristle at that. While you so desperately want him to touch you, he had no right whatsoever to know that! But then again, you had no right to spy on him.

“Why would I want to do that?” you say, though there is little conviction behind the words.

The man doesn’t say a word, he just watches you with that infuriating all-knowing look on his face. You sigh and lift up the hem of your habit until it’s on your knees.

“Higher.”

You lift it a little higher, exposing your legs as it bunches around the top of your thigh.

“Higher.”

Your eyes are fixed on the rug beneath your feet as you grip the fabric tightly and pull it all the way back, exposing your knickers. What were you even wearing today? You sneak a glance—black lace. Well, at least it wasn’t the frilly white pair with little cats on it. You really should throw those out.

You’re snapped out of your lingerie musings when Copia speaks again.

“Now, remove your underwear,” he commands.

It’s like he’s merely giving instructions in class. But a part of you is so used to obeying that voice that you simply do it without thinking. The hand wearing his glove touches your skin and you shiver; how you really wish it was him doing this but you ignore it and try to remove the garment as gracefully as possible. You hear a pleased hum from him when they hit the floor.

“Spread your legs for me.”

You didn’t think you’d be able to sit there with your thighs pressed together as they are now. With a tight grip on the fabric of your habit bunched around your waist, you lean back a little—body still tense—and part your legs slightly. The feel of his eyes on you makes your skin prickle as you stare at his shoes. You know you are already wet, you can feel it. Fuck, you can smell yourself.

“Now, now, dolce,” he chides. “You can do better than that. Wider.”

With a shuddering breath, you let your legs fall completely open. Now you’re completely exposed before him, pussy glistening in the lamplight. The arousal is seeping through you, you’re humiliated that you’re sitting there with your habit around your waist and your legs spread wide. But there’s an undeniable thrill at being like this before Cardinal Copia, having him tell you what to do and hearing his little hum of approval when you do as he pleases.

“Look at me,” he commands and your eyes flick up to his face. The way he regards you makes your body flush; your body tense and cunt aching.

“Touch yourself—lightly—with the leather,” he says in a low voice, those strange eyes boring into yours.

For some reason, you can’t look away, your cheeks are red—of that you’re certain—but you can’t put it all down to embarrassment. It’s the way he watches you as your gloved hand lets go of the grip on your habit and drifts between your legs. The intense stare only seems to fuel you, making your skin sing when your leather-clad fingers graze against your wet folds. You suck in a breath through your clenched teeth and drag your fingers through your slit to then lightly circle your clit.

You’re aware you’re breathing heavily, but the feel of soft leather and Copia’s deep gaze has you aching. It’s like he is touching you, though he sits a few feet away.

“Does that feel good, dolce?” he asks. His tone has shifted, the deep rumble vibrating through you and settings your nerves on fire. “I imagine it must, you’re soaking already—I can see from here”

It’s an effort to keep your touch light but your body is already begging for more and so you try and press a little harder. A moan tumble from your lips as you greedily take what your body gives, though it demands so much more. Muscles tensing as your fingers work the bud of your sex, you can feel the sweat starting to bead on your forehead. It feels too damn good as the friction feeds your ravenous excitement.

“Keep your eyes open, Sorella.”

You hadn’t even realised you’d closed them, and when you open them you let out another moan. The man has lifted the heavy fabric of his cassock so you can see the tight pants he wears—they’ve been undone so his cock juts out as he lazily pumps it with his still gloved hand.

“Brava,” he says, a smirk on his face at your half-lidded expression. “Now, be a good girl and slide those wet fingers into your pretty pussy for me.”

It’s embarrassing how quickly you obey him, letting the leather glide through your slit before you sink a finger in. The feeling is deliriously satisfying after the light teasing and you sink a second finger in, your palm grinding against your clit.

“Guarda la tua piccola fica bisognosa,” he purrs. “Do you need more, dolce?”

You nod. You can barely think right now. The leather feels exquisite, you truly feel like it is his hand though your hand is nowhere large enough. But it’s enough to make your heart race even further and cause the lust to rage. How you wish it was his fingers! But he is in front of you, the sight of him touching himself and that stare aimed at you making you whimper as your fingers dance within you.

“You have a tongue, dolce, use it.”

Fuck, how you wish he would let you use it; all you want is to lick his cock. You just know if told you to crawl to him, you would. Instead, you pant out a barely discernible, “yes,” as your thumb gently circles your clit.

“Ah?”

“Yes,” you hiss out, “Your Eminence.”

“Good girl.”

Fuck! Those low words of praise are far too addictive and they make the tension low in your stomach tighten in delightful anticipation. You spread your legs even further, desperate for more as you thrust your fingers within your soaking cunt. You want to close your eyes, to relish in the feel of the leather sliding against your flesh. But you can’t. His cock is leaking as he continues to slowly stroke—you can’t help but marvel at his control. You’re too needy, too desperate. Your movements aren’t controlled but greedy. There is no embarrassment or shame anymore, just the franticness that comes with being lost to chasing that pleasurable high. You know you are close, it feels as if you’ve been on edge ever since that day back in the classroom when he wrapped his hand around your throat.

“You can’t come until I say, Sorella,” he says.

A needy whimper trembles through you and your fingers continue to work, chest rising and falling rapidly with each panted breath you take. Copia never wavers as he watches you, though you can see his pupils are blown wide. He is so hard and you are so desperate for more than fingers—desperate for him.

“Cardinal.” If you weren’t so insanely overcome you’d be embarrassed at how pathetic his title sounded falling from your lips. But you are way past that. “Please!”

You’re impressed you can even utter a word, let alone two, as you try to keep the orgasm at bay.

“What is it, topolina?” he asks, the sound of his voice wrapping around you. It simultaneously relaxes and strengthens the tension within your body.

You can’t utter another word, instead, more whimpers and moans leave your mouth as you grind yourself down on your hand.

“Do you want my cock?” His words make you shiver. Fuck. Yes, you do. You watch the head disappear into his fist as he gives it a slow stroke. “Hmm? Tell me.”

Your head just nods as you arch your back, shoulder blades digging into the leather back of the chair making the fabric of your habit cling to your sweat covered skin.

He shakes his head in response, a small chuckle vibrating around the room as he does. “You have to use your words, remember?”

“Yes, Your Eminence,” you manage to say.

“Good, but no, tell me.”

Release is so close, your fingers are stroking that sensitive spot within you while your palm presses against your clit. You need to come. It’s so close. You want him so badly.

“I want your cock, Your Eminence!” You nearly yell it out, a whimpering plea that only makes him grin.

“Bene.” He stops his own ministrations and pats his knee. “Come here, then.”

You fly out of the chair and scramble into his lap, knees sliding either side of his thighs. The heat and scent of him assaulting all your senses as he pulls you into him, your hands grasping at his shoulders to try and steady yourself. The thick fabric of his cassock is soft under your hands and all you want is to bury into him. But Copia snatches the wrist of the hand wearing his glove, his mouth engulfing a finger as your pussy slides against the length of his cock. The look in those hooded eyes makes your skin prickle. You grind down against him as you watch his mouth and tongue lick your essence from the leather. His teeth then graze against your finger before he removes it from his mouth.

“How sweet you are, Sorella,” he murmurs, tugging the glove off, along with the one he still wears, and throwing them to the side.

Copia grabs your hips quickly, lifting you up so he can then bring you sinking down onto his cock. The sob that leaves you has you nearly screaming with pleasure. The stretch and fullness have you in a state of rapture as you take him completely. But then he doesn’t move—your eyes lock with his and he merely gives you that familiar smug smile.

“You need to move, dolce,” he whispers. “Sii una brava sgualdrina e cavalca il tuo cardinale.”

You don’t need to be told twice, your hands greedily grip his shoulders as you let your hips undulate above him. It’s too much and your eyes slip shut as you let the feel of him filling you take over, the tension building all over again. The wetness between your legs is obscene, making it far too easy to move as fast as you can while desperately chasing release. You feel him twitch within you, and then fingers are wrapped around your throat. That makes your eyes fly open, his face is so close to yours that you can see that the paint around his eyes and on his top lip has started to smudge with sweat. His hair, always so tidy is starting to fall into his eyes. Cardinal Copia was always so neat but now, he looked so unkempt—it makes you ache even more. Those fingers he has around your neck squeeze and a wave of ecstasy surges through your body, your cunt clenching around his cock.

Copia grips your hip with his other hand, fingers surely bruising, as he holds you down against him before he thrusts up. It makes your head spin.

“You said you wanted my cock in that needy cunt of yours, dolce,” he growls, pulling you closer. His breath skitters against your cheek. “You should hold on.”

You have half a second to readjust the grip on his shoulders before he is thrusting into you at a fast pace, somehow hitting even deeper than before. You cry out, overwhelmed by the scent and feel of him. Everything is just the cardinal and the agonising desire he is building within you. The hand on your neck lets go and you suck in a breath.

“Come for me,” he commands.

You can’t disobey. The tension within you finally snaps at those words and you break apart around him, waves of unrelenting pleasure hitting you. You ride out the orgasm with him—his growled words in Italian against your ear as his cock swells and kicks within you. He doesn’t stop as he comes, still pumping up into you as you twitch above him and wrench everything he has to give.

When he finally slows, you slump against him. Your body tingles and your chest heaves as you suck in breath after breath. Copia’s arms are around you, holding you close as your face presses into the fabric of his cassock. When your breathing finally evens out, you slip from his lap on shaky legs. You go to pick up your knickers but he moves fast, snatching them off the ground. He looms over you once more, moustache twitching in amusement as you glare at him.

“I will hold onto these,” he says as you watch the black lace disappear into the depths of his cassock. He smoothes his hair back. “You can collect them after class tomorrow, dolce. Perhaps you will also consider joining my Latin class, hmm? It seems you can follow instructions well enough, perhaps we can put that tongue of yours to proper use.”

“Perhaps.” You adjust your habit. “Your Eminence.”

PART TWO the title is taken from the instrumental track "Freshly Squeezed" by Angelo Badalamenti from the Twin Peaks soundtrack! it sets the tone of the start of the fic when she first goes into the passageway.

thank you to Sucharide for beta-ing - any other errors are my own.

Torna qui! - Come back here!

Andrai a lamentarti con tuo daddy come un ragazzino? - Are you going to complain to your daddy like a little boy?

Che cosa? No! - What? No!

Piccolino mio - my little one

Topolina - little mouse

Vaffanculo! Sei uno stronzo, Copia! - Fuck you! You’re an arsehole, Copia!

Quando sarò Papa, gli farò ricucire la bocca… - When I’m Papa, I’ll have his mouth sewn shut…

Sei così bella in ginocchio per me come una brava sgualdrina - You're so beautiful on your knees for me like a good slut

Sento il nostro topolina nei muri, Rigatoni. Hmm. Un topolina che evidentemente non capisce una parola di quello che dico - I hear our little mouse in the walls, Rigatoni. Hmm. A little mouse who obviously doesn't understand a word I'm saying

Guarda la tua piccola fica bisognosa - Look at your needy little cunt

Sii una brava sgualdrina e cavalca il tuo cardinale - Be a good slut and ride your cardinal

[da-rulah]

Rituale Septem - Day 1: Lust

Pairing: (Terzo x f!reader)

Summary: You agree to partake in the Ritual of Seven, devoting yourself entirely to a sin each day. And Papa Emeritus III is there to guide you, starting with some harmless flirting to build up to day one...

Rating: Mature, MDNI 18+

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Teasing, brief footsie, pent up lust, aggressive but consensual, lingerie, fingering, hair pulling, minor choking, fishhooking, p in v sex, squirting, creampie 

AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Prev: Prologue | Next: Day 2 - Sloth

“You’re sure?”     “Yes.”  

“Double sure?” 

You sigh. “Yes!” 

“...Triple sure?” 

“Papa, yes! I’m sure. We’ve been over this. Just tell me what the rules are, how do I make sure I do this correctly?”  

You sat in another private meeting with Terzo, this one just over a week before the ritual was due to begin. You needed more information, you needed the rules and the quid pro quos ahead of time. No way were you going to mess this up... No silly little slip ups, nothing to derail your devotion. 

“Okay well, from my research I’ve figured out that it is one sin per day, beginning on October 25th. October 31st, you perform your final sin. They don’t need to be in any particular order, and you can either embody the sin yourself, or make somebody else perform the sin as long at it's with you. So uh, if you were to make someone else angry at you and then act on that – to His taste, of course – that would count towards wrath.” 

“Understood. Do we... plan these things?” you asked, wondering if it might be easier to map out which sin you would perform and how. Terzo looked up at you from the notes he’d created, sprawled out on his desk. He’d done extensive research; solo, to keep the prying and judgmental eyes of the clergy unaware of what was to come. This was your shared secret. 

His research had been difficult. There wasn’t a lot of readily available material on such a ritual. But then, there rarely was when it came to the rituals that invited Lucifer himself to talk directly to the subject. Still, when he found himself ready to give up on the matter he would remind himself of the desperation in your eyes, your tiredness, your devastation. And he’d remind himself of Sister Imperator’s doubt in him.  

It was plenty fuel to the fire. He would not give in. He would not let you down. 

“A plan, cara? Boring.” He smirked in your direction, “I shall plan a few things, I suppose, but I think it might be more fun if I surprise you. After all, who schedules sin?” 

You supposed he was right – for the ritual to work, the sins need to be genuine, to be authentic. You couldn’t simply force them. And Terzo was certainly more experienced in sin that you... Strangely, you trusted him. 

“Y-yeah, okay...” you mumbled in agreement.  

“Bene, then we will begin when the moment feels right on October 25th.” He stood from his desk, gathering his notes into a neat pile. He looked down at you, his eyes darkening and a smirk settling on his face. Before he dismissed you, he left you with what you could only imagine was a promise... 

“I’ll see you around, Sorella ...” 

October 17th  

Terzo had been making up excuses to have meetings with Secondo – which of course, you had to attend as his assistant. But there was a purpose for this, one that he considered to be an important one. 

He had no idea if you were attracted to him or not, if you had ever even looked at him in that regard. Usually it was fairly obvious to him, but with you... Secondo had kept you to himself, he hadn’t spent a whole lot of time around you to know if your eyes had ever wandered, if your thoughts were ever slightly impure towards him. And so, he needed to use the time he had left to woo you, essentially.  

He had eight days before the ritual was due to begin, and he was going to use every opportunity in those eight days to wind you so damn tight that when the 25th did roll around, neither one of you could keep yourselves apart for long.  

It was all in the anticipation. The chase. The temptation.  

In today’s meeting – a pointless endeavour that Secondo whined about, complaining this could have been a phone call or an email – Terzo refused to tear his eyes from you. Even when speaking to his brother, he would be staring at you. You tried to ignore it, to remain professional but you could feel his eyes burning into you, as if scorch marks were being left in trails over the skin he imagined exposing. 

Secondo noticed. There was no way he could not. But knowing his brother, Terzo had just decided you were the new object of fascination to him. He had no idea of the upcoming ritual, the agreement you’d made. He assumed his fratellino was just interested in pursuing you, the latest in a long line.  

“Terzo, if you could concentrate...” he grumbled. 

“I am concentrating, fratello,” he quipped, eyes still never leaving yours. You gulped and looked nervously between the two men.  

“On me, piccola merdina (little shit),” Secondo demanded. Terzo tore his eyes from yours slowly, inhaling through grit teeth as if it pained him to do so. “Grazie. ” 

Secondo continued to talk mindlessly about colours for drapery at the All Hallow’s Eve ball while you squirmed in your seat. You knew Terzo’s eyes kept flickering back to you, watching you, studying you. His gaze was heating your cheeks, setting your teeth on edge. He looked at you as if you were prey, like he was waiting for the opportune moment to pounce.  

You almost wished he would.  

Eventually, the meeting had to end. And by the time it did, Secondo was in a foul mood, annoyed at his brother’s actions. You must remember to thank Terzo for that later...  

As you were heading out of the door behind him, Terzo gripped your elbow, pulling you back against his chest as his brother stepped outside. Your gasp was muffled by a white glove slapping over your mouth to keep you quiet, avoiding suspicion.  

“I just wanted to tell you,” Terzo whispered into your ear, the warmth of his breath tickling your lobe and exposed neck. The hand on your elbow now dancing with the hem of your short skirt, the fabric of his gloves tickling your bare thigh underneath. “You look deliziosa (delicious) in this habit, sorella. Potrei mangiarti per intero se solo tu me lo permettessi (I could eat you whole, if only you would let me.)”  

And then he let you go, running on unsteady feet to catch up to your grumbling Papa ahead. 

It was now clear what he was doing. And not being one to back down from a fight, you silently took on his challenge. 

Game on, Papa.  

October 20th  

The monthly clergy dinner. This was your chance.  

Once a month, the clergy and papas – along with their assistants – would sit down for a meal together. After Papa’s little games in the last few days, teasing and gawking at you wherever he could, you figured this was the best time to get your revenge, to put the wheels in motion, so to speak. 

Because Papa had to be on his best behaviour here. 

You’d waltzed in with Secondo and sat in your seat opposite Terzo’s own assistant, Sister Christine. Papa sat at the head of the table, to your left. Secondo, to your right. You felt his eyes on you immediately, and you were almost certain you’d heard a ‘cazzo’ under his breath when his eyes fell on you.  

The monthly clergy dinner was an opportunity to wear something nice, other than your habits, as long as you kept your veil on to show your standing. So you picked something you figured Terzo may have a hard time ignoring. 

There was nothing wrong with the length of your dress, past the knees and quite conservative. But the way it exposed your shoulders, your collarbone and your breasts... That was where the struggle lay. The sleeves – more like separate gloves – began halfway down your bicep and hooked around your middle finger in a point, a deep red material to match the wine you were drinking. The neckline was level with the sleeves, your cleavage pushed up and on display, grucifix nestled nicely in between. Only when you walked in could he see the tight material clinging to your curves – once you were sat, he had nowhere to look other than your exposed shoulders and chest. 

When you had gone to Secondo’s office that evening to ‘pick him up’ for dinner, even his gaze had lingered a little too long. That’s how you knew this would work.  

“That’s a beautiful dress, Sister _____,” Christine pointed out, smirking as she noticed the look on her boss’ face. “That colour is sublime on you.” 

“Thank you, Sister. I’ve had it for a while and the occasion never really called for it, but I just thought to hell with it,” you toyed, leaning forwards on your elbows and subsequently pushing your breasts together to torment your poor Papa further. 

When the Ghouls brought out the meals, you took another opportunity. Making what you would call ‘yummy noises’, except... exaggerated. Wanton moans and little gasps with every new flavour as your painted lips wrapped around your fork.  

Papa’s hands tightened around his own cutlery, his jaw clenching as he glared at you.  

Secondo beside you was aware you were doing more than usual, but rolled his eyes and focussed his attention on Primo beside him. Perhaps he could have a mature discussion with him, instead.  

Terzo was struggling beside you, trying to remain professional, to keep up conversation with the cardinals and clergymen at the table. Cardinal Copia had tried to ask him what his plans for this Sunday’s Black Mass were and if he needed any help at all, but Terzo couldn’t think straight, claiming he hadn’t thought about it yet.  

Dessert nearly killed him.  

“Sorella, what do you think you’re playing at, eh?” he whispered to you when the Ghouls took your empty plates.  

“What do you mean, Papa?” you asked sweetly, right as you began to raise your heeled foot to graze against his inner calf. His eyes widened in shock – he'd never known you to be this bold, this provocative.  

You felt his legs part as he sat back against his chair, his eyes lingering on you, daring you to continue. And you did, raising your foot to the inside of his knee, able to manoeuvre your way to graze his inner thigh to about the halfway point before you could reach no further at the awkward angle.  

His gloved hand gripped your ankle under the table, tightly squeezing in warning before he pushed it away. You subsided, knowing you had won this one.  

You left him alone for the rest of the night to his sinful thoughts and dark glares your way. 

October 22nd  

You’d stayed out of Terzo’s way since the clergy dinner, hoping to build a little tension between then and when you would have to see him again at Black Mass.  

The Mass itself was uneventful. You sang the hymns, partook in the prayers like a good Sister should. And then came communion. 

You’d planned this already, and as you waited in line on your knees on the chapel steps beside your Siblings, your eyes homed in on Papa.  

You’d never noticed before, perhaps because you’d never really looked, but he looked incredibly powerful in his robes. Thinking of the way you were teasing your Papa recently, building the anticipation towards that first night together... it sent a pang of heat between your legs, and you shuffled in your spot. 

He came to you and remained professional. He was surrounded by siblings, cardinals, clergy... he couldn’t slip up. Not now. He had to remain stoic, no matter how torturous it was to have you on your knees before him... 

You stared up at him through your lashes, opening your mouth and laying your tongue out for him to place the little cracker on. As he did, you closed your lips around his thumb, sucking a little on the leather of his glove, the cold gold nails tasting like old pennies. His eyes hardened, and he retracted his hand quickly as if you had bit him.  

Around his thumb you could see the remnants of your red lipstick, and you smirked in triumph. He wiped his thumb on his robes before taking the chalice of wine from Cardinal Copia behind him – who whilst assisting him, had also noticed your little tease and gulped to himself at the sight – and tipping it against your lips.  

A droplet spilled from the corner, dribbling down your chin which you quickly caught with your finger and licked off, all the while holding eye contact.  

Terzo filed that image away for later of the red wine dripping down your chin. Information he could store for the future...  

But for now, he ignored you – and the aching hardness beneath his robes.  

October 24th  

He hadn’t anticipated you would be as feisty as you were, that you would play his little game with him and more so, end up winning. He couldn’t allow it. He had to try and get the upper hand.  

But he was already so pent up, refraining from indulging in any of the other Siblings or Ghouls since your agreement had been made. He hadn’t even jerked off, although that was getting more and more difficult to fight...  

The amount of teasing, of flirting and being downright obvious that you were both riling the other up was starting to get to his head and now even the slightest thing was enough to drive him wild about you. He felt like a caged animal.  

And so who could really blame him when he walked past you, alone in a hallway where you had smirked and avoided eye contact with him, and he had turned on his heels and dragged you by your elbow into the nearest alcove... 

He shoved you against the wall, his body covering yours and trapping you in the confined space. Before you had time to register what was happening or utter a single syllable, his mouth crashed against yours. 

His hands were on you, holding your hips against the wall as he pressed himself against you. You didn’t fight; frankly the willpower to fight it had dwindled days ago, and here he was giving you what you both wanted, what you’d both been working up to.  

You kissed him back with reverie, your fingers threading through his dark hair and pulling him impossibly closer. The need between your thighs grew incredibly strong with every roll of his hips against you. You were drowning in him, finally ... 

Terzo let out a low growl, fighting a battle in his head. He wanted you now. But if he could wait one more day... He had to wait one more day. 

With a grunt and a loud smack to the wall beside your head he pulled off you, smoothing his hair and walking off down the hall with a scowl on his face, as if nothing had happened. 

You leaned back against the wall panting, mouth agape in shock. He didn’t look back at you once, just rounded the corner leaving you with heart palpitations and a pooling feeling in your core... 

Tomorrow could not come soon enough.   

October 25th  

Today, it began.   

Your schedule was busy, which concerned you. You had work with Secondo, several meetings in the diary. But your evening was free, and you assumed that Terzo would find his way to you then. With just a few hours left until you gave in to him, until you could finally have him, you were incredibly on edge.  

It had taken you entirely too long to roll out of bed that morning, needing to hurry getting ready and haphazardly dressing in your pre-thought-out habit and veil – with a sneaky little surprise underneath... When you’d rushed to Secondo’s office, you barely made it in time for your first meeting of the day; a Latin curriculum debrief with Cardinal Copia you were due to take notes from. 

You liked the Cardinal, he was the kind of man who put you at ease. Mostly because he was so timid himself, a very sweet man who would try to brighten anyone’s day he could. You were glad when you’d been told he was your first meeting with Secondo, thinking maybe he could ease your anxiety. Alas, he seemed a little on edge himself, refusing to look you in the eye for too long at all. You couldn’t entertain it today – you focussed solely on your notes and the meeting at hand. 

The morning passed painfully slowly, drab meetings with bishops and cardinals alike dragging on as if the earth had slowed on its axis. When Secondo dismissed you for lunch, you let out a breath of relief.  

“I need you back before 1pm, Sorella. We have a meeting with Terzo at one o’clock sharp,” he stated plainly as he scribbled on some documents.  

Shit. This would be torturous.  

This had been a good idea at the time, an easy way in, to tempt you into coming back to him that evening. But Terzo had misjudged his decision wildly, not knowing when he’d put this meeting in Secondo’s diary that he would be down so fucking bad for you that every tiny little thing you did made him swoon like a touch-starved Victorian gentlemen. He was simply grateful he’d asked Sister Christine to run some errands for him today, and she wasn’t also present to witness his agony – she would have picked up on it immediately. 

He noted how uncomfortable you looked, squirming in the chair in front of his desk next to Secondo. He noted how you refused to look at him, busying yourself with a notebook and pen as Secondo droned on and on about the All Hallow’s Eve ball and the preparations. He noted how fucking beautiful you looked, with flushed cheeks and anxiously bitten lips.  

His composure was waning, eyes raking over your form as you bounced your leg nervously. Your thigh wobbled under your short skirt and with every bounce his muscles tensed in his body just a little bit more. You twirled your pen in your fingers, and he imagined what magic you could possibly do with them. You fidgeted in your place, hips circling to find a comfortable position to sit, and he wondered how it would feel if you’d been sat in his lap.  

Every. Tiny. Little. Thing. Was driving him to distraction.   

You’d never been so uncomfortable in your life, knowing Papa was watching you very closely. In your haste to get ready this morning, you hadn’t quite dressed yourself properly. The zipper at the back of your habit was digging in between your shoulder blades where it had been done up in haste. Your tights felt uncomfortable around your behind where they hadn’t been adjusted comfortably. Your veil kept slipping back on your hairline, not properly pinned to hide your hair.  

And with Terzo’s eyes scanning over you, a thick tension between you, you noticed these things even more.  

You sighed quietly to yourself as Secondo droned on about the menu options for the ball, reaching up to your veil to push it forwards on your head, covering your hairline again as you had at least six times in the last twenty minutes. It just would not stay. 

“Sorella, are you alright?” Secondo asked, noticing your exasperation.  

“Oh, sì, papa. Excuse me...” you smiled awkwardly, willing him to continue and pay no mind to you. He did just that, continuing his waffle. Terzo ignored him, eyes trained on you as the veil slipped again.  

This time you reached up, pulled it from your head, figuring you would just start a fresh. Your hair fell around your face, draping over your shoulders. Terzo would swear blind it happened in slow motion, like a scene in a shitty made for TV movie. But he couldn’t help the feeling of being punched in the gut, seeing you unveiled and exposed. How beautiful you fucking were...  

“Get out.”  

Both you and Secondo looked up at Terzo, his eyes dark and heavily lidded, staring you down.  

“Fratello, don’t be so rude. She is just adjusting her veil, she means no disrespect. I need her to stay,” Secondo protested, annoyed at his brother’s tone. How dare he speak to his assistant like this? 

“Not her. You.” His eyes never moved. His voice deepened. 

“Scusi? ” Secondo seethed.  

“Get. Out.” Terzo punctuated the words through grit teeth, annoyed that his brother hadn’t just disappeared in a puff of smoke like he so wished in that moment.  

Secondo looked at you, finding you staring back at Terzo with wide eyes and parted lips, holding your veil in one hand that was still raised by your head where it had paused as you’d slipped it off. His eyes darted between the pair of you, seeing that neither one of you moved, neither one looked in his direction.  

“Per l’amor di Satana (for the love of Satan),” he muttered and rolled his eyes, slamming his own notebook shut in his lap and standing quickly. The noise made you jump, suddenly looking up at your Papa. You wanted to speak, to ask he stay and apologise but Terzo’s hungry gaze stopped you.  

Secondo stomped out of the room, but not before turning back to the pair of you to find you looking at him like a scared little puppy dog and Terzo still staring only at you. 

“I need her back by 3:30pm, Fratellino. Or I will have your balls in a jar,” he warned, before slamming the door behind him.  

The silence that fell on you as you stared at the closed door your boss had just left through felt eerie, as if static electricity was building around you before a lightning strike.  

And strike, he would.  

He stood from his desk with a startling scrape of his chair. Your head snapped back to him, only to be met with a glare that should have terrified you. Except, it only excited you... The embers of arousal that had been simmering on a low heat for the last week since he’d first caught your elbow and whispered sweet temptations to you were being stoked – by a simple glare.  

He didn’t move though. Instead, he lifted his hand, curling his finger and beckoning you to him. Wordlessly, you rose from your seat slowly, laying your notebook and pen on the chair behind you and playing nervously with your veil you still held as you watched him.  

“Here,” he pointed at his desk, prodding his gloved finger on the wooden surface before him. You stepped around, squeezing between him and the desk – he hadn’t left much room to work with intentionally, enjoying the way you tried hard to evade brushing your chest against his with a smirk etching into his paints. You leaned against the wood, waiting for further instruction. 

“I’m sure you’ve been intentional, Sorella. Well played,” he congratulated, his voice dark and lower than usual. He pressed himself against you, leaning both his fists on the wood either side of you, trapping you. “But perhaps you have done too well in tempting me, eh? Because I simply cannot hold myself back any longer...” 

“I...I...” you stuttered, wanting to reply and fumbling any kind of sense. 

“We begin with lust,” he announced, and that was when the static in the room came to a head, and lightning struck. 

His lips were on you in a suffocatingly heated kiss, hands gripping onto your habit at your hips and shoving you against his own. You too were so pent up from the week of teasing and flirting with each other you matched his ferocity, allowing the lust you’d built to spill over. Your hands were in his hair in a flash, pulling him to you by his roots and he groaned into your pliant mouth. 

You were under no illusion that this would be particularly romantic, nor that it would last particularly long, but what you hadn’t expected was Terzo’s desperation for you to match your own. 

He crouched slightly, picking you up by the swell of your backside and shoving you onto the desk to step between your thighs. You could feel his erection against your core, and already you couldn’t help the mewl that fell from your mouth. He chuckled as he disconnected his lips from yours for a moment, allowing you to breathe and for more little whimpers to escape as he ground himself into you again.  

“Sorella, would you like to know a secret?” he asked as he sloppily kissed the corner of your mouth and under your jaw... 

“Mhmm...” was all you could muster. 

“Since you agreed to the ritual, I haven’t had another sibling,” he admitted between kisses, “haven’t touched myself once.” 

His confession swam in your mind; he’d saved himself for this. Sure, it had only been a little over a week, but you thought for sure he would have taken his frustrations out on another sister if he couldn’t yet have you.  

“All I wanted was you, Sorella. Was this...” he growled as his hand dove between your thighs to what he’d truly wanted for the last nine days. Somehow, he’d found his way under your habit, cupping his palm against you and grinding it into your clit, still hidden by your tights and underwear.  

“Papa...” you moaned, unwilling to stay quiet at all. “I need you.” 

The dark laugh that vibrated against your neck where his trail of kisses ended raised goosebumps on your skin.  

“And whose fault is that, hm?” he quipped. “You rile your Papa up and then beg him for release?” he straightened up, smirking down at you. “Is that how this works?” 

“I’m... I’m sorr-” 

Before you could finish his lips were back on yours, his hand retracted from your core much to your dismay but now unzipping the back of your habit and dragging it down over your shoulders. He exposed you to him, although with his eyes shut as he dragged his tongue across your bottom lip, he was yet to see just what you’d worn for him. 

But he was an impatient man after what you had put each other through, and to rip the rest of your habit from you he would need to see what he was doing, lift you to slide it from around your ass. But when he laid eyes on you, his stopped dead, fabric sitting at your hips instead. 

"Shit ...” 

You weren’t sure if Terzo was a lingerie kind of man, but then again, what man was not a lingerie kind of man? Your suspicions were proven when he saw what you were wearing for him.  

A deep purple bra, made of mesh to leave nothing to the imagination, with an embroidered snake on each of the cups. The exact same purple as his Papal robes, hung up in a glass cabinet against the back wall of his office.  

“Is this new, dolcezza ?” he asked, running a finger under one of the straps.  

“Sì, Papa... The purple-” 

“Matches. How sweet of you...” he grinned wickedly. “Is it part of a set?” he arched an inquisitive eyebrow. His spare hand lifted the skirt of your habit, running his glove along the top of your thigh and pushing the material higher and higher until he got a peak at more purple fabric, darkened by your sheer black tights.  

“Do you like them?” you teased, leaning back on your hands and spreading your legs to give him a better view of the purple mesh that did nothing to hide your glistening folds, meant for tempting and not for practicality.  

“Oh, but Principessa, I can’t see them properly...” he pouted, when suddenly his hands gripped the material of your tights on your inner thighs and ripped.   

The fabric didn’t stand a chance, a large hole tearing around your inner thighs and crotch to expose the rich purple of the mesh that covered you. You let out a squeak in shock, the feral nature of it forcing your walls to flutter in arousal. 

“Better. Now...” he held his fingers in front of your lips, horizontal, “bite.”   

You did as instructed, biting gently on his fingers. He started to retract his hand, his white glove stuck between your teeth as he shimmied his fingers out of it. Then, he rolled the sleeves of his pale pink long-sleeved shirt up his to his elbows, exposing the dark hair and veins of his strong arms. 

“Brava ragazza, keep it there. You drop that, you’re in trouble...” he booped you on the nose playfully, and suddenly that very same bare hand dipped between your thighs, pushing the mesh to one side and dragging a line through your folds with his middle finger.  

The moan you let slip would have been pornographic if not for the glove you kept tightly locked in your jaw, your head lolling back and eyes fluttering shut. Terzo leaned into your now exposed neck, sinking his teeth into the flesh and sucking as his fingers continued to work you over, circling your clit in just the way you liked.  

“I had plans for you, Principessa,” he mouthed against your neck as he spoke between each deep bruise he left, “but I’m afraid I can’t control myself much longer.” 

The way his fingers felt against your entrance as he began to tease your quivering hole was euphoric, you wanted nothing more than to sink down onto the digits and take your pleasure from him where you sat. But he had other ideas. 

“Still, you will cum on your Papa’s fingers first, sì? I will be sure of that,” he promised, finally sliding two fingers inside you. With how soaked you were, you took them with ease, back arching and pressing your chest against him. His lips mouthed wet and sloppy kisses from where the purple bruises had formed on your neck – prettily matching your chosen lingerie – down to your sternum and over the curve of your breasts.  

Terzo began curling his fingers inside you, manoeuvring in search of that spot inside you that could make you see stars. Having never been with you before, he didn’t know what made you tick, what made you feel good. But he was going to find out and take mental notes. When he found it, you sure let him know... 

“F-fuck, Papa...” you whined, stuttering as your head flew forward to look down between you, seeing his hand buried deep within you. You kept his glove tightly between your teeth still. 

“There she is, eh?” he smiled smugly. Now he knew where, he began his vicious assault between your thighs. Over and over again, he curled his fingers and hit that same spot. You couldn’t help the moans, the way your fingernails dug into his bicep beneath his shirt, the way your forehead fell against his shoulder. And when his thumb began to work over your clit in smooth, calculated circles... You lost your damn mind.  

“Papa!” you cried, glove long forgotten by both of you as it dropped to the floor. Your hips bucked wildly against him where you sat against the desk. He grunted as he bit the mesh of your bralette, pulling it down to expose your nipple to him and latching his lips around it. As he began to suck, laving his tongue over the nub intermittently, he couldn’t help but rut his bulge against your knee. He was so desperate for you, but he wanted you cumming on his fingers first, with good reason.  

He knew that to have you cum before he sank into your heat would make you so much wetter, filthier, tighter. And the second orgasm on his cock would warp your mind completely.  

Yes, that’s what he craved.  

Your thighs began to shake, vibrating your knee against his clothed cock as his fingers worked furiously to drag an orgasm from you. His sloppiness as his mouth engulfed your nipple grew tenfold at the sinful noises you made for him, a litany of profanity and his title rolling from your lips. He could feel your walls clenching around his fingers, fluttering and producing a seemingly never-ending slew of slick he could use to his advantage, particularly on your clit as his thumb gathered it to use against you.  

“Cum for me, Principessa,” he barked as an instruction, “NOW!”  

As if you had given him the control over your body, you obeyed. The coil in your abdomen snapped, walls clenching Terzo’s fingers so tightly he could barely drag them out of you, only able to curl them to keep up his stimulation. Your hand flew to his wrist and squeezed, terrified he might retreat too soon, but he wouldn't dare.  

“Brava ragazza, la mia Principessa... (good girl, my princess),” he growled, still rutting himself against your knee, just slower in time with his hand slowing to a stop as you came back down. He stood up straight in time to catch you slumping against his chest, nuzzling into the soft fabric of his shirt.  

When he slipped his fingers from you, he tilted your head up to look at him from below, and slipped his slicked digits into his mouth, holding eye contact with you as you watched him clean your essence from him.  

“Così dolce, (so sweet...)” he hummed. You giggled, breathless. He’d knocked the wind out of you, for sure. But you knew he wasn’t done with you yet, as whilst he had stilled his hips against you, he was still pressed against your leg. And you could feel his thickness, waiting... 

“Papa... You haven’t seen my favourite part of my outfit,” you teased, words forming slower than normal in your hazy state.  

“Oh?” he was confused, until you gathered yourself, standing from the desk and shrugging your habit off you completely to the floor. You pushed him back with just one finger, his confusion making him pliant and intrigued, following your instruction. You smirked, and turned around, laying your chest flat against the wood of his desk.  

You heard a gasp from behind you.  

The mesh panties you were wearing as part of your set were not simply just mesh across your backside. Instead, two embroidered purple snakes – much like the ones on the bralette – faced each other, one on each cheek of your ass.  

The view Terzo had was impeccable, ripped tights allowing only some of the purple to be as bright as the rest, but he could clearly see where your panties were still pushed to one side, your glistening and swollen folds on display for him. You were presenting yourself to him, to use as he deemed fit.  

“Cazzo, Principessa... Look at you, eh?” He bit the end of his remaining glove on his middle finger, pulling it off in one quick motion and dropping it to the floor so he had both of his hands bare. He stepped towards you then, both hands ghosting over the roundness of your ass. He pulled more at the tights, ripping a bigger hole to expose more of you.  

He was taking too long for your liking, lost in the sight of you but you needed him so desperately. You couldn’t deny the ever-present lust brewing once again inside.  

“Papa, don’t you want me?” you whined, wiggling your ass in his hands to tempt him further. You heard a dark chuckle behind you.  

“Just enjoying the view, Principessa...” you felt his hands retreat, heard a zipper and fabric rustling.  

Then you felt him... Slicking himself up between your folds, his head teasing where you needed him. You pushed back a little against him as his head caught on your entrance, barely pushing onto him when he decided he couldn’t fucking wait any longer. He needed to feel you on his cock. 

His bare hands gripped your hips and his pelvis pushed against you, his length sinking inside you in a swift motion, knowing you were ready for him. You heard his grunt, imagined him biting his lip behind you as he stilled and struggled to remain composed, muffled whimper following his initial grunt.  

Lucifer, you felt incredible. Had he known your pussy could feel this good, he would have claimed you as his long ago.  

Slowly, he began to thrust inside you, filling you over and over again. He drove his hips down, knowing now where that damned spot inside you was and driving his cock home with every thrust.  

Terzo was a very vocal lover, usually. He liked to talk his conquests through it, loved to praise them, degrade them, anything to make them squeeze around his cock but right now? He could barely form a sentence, wordless grunts and moans all he could manage.  

“P-Papa...” you cried, “f-feels... so good.” His hips quickened their pace, the force becoming enough to slap his skin against yours as his pelvis met the flesh of your ass. He watched your cheeks ripple with every thrust, committing the motion to memory in case he never got this chance again.  

He knew your first orgasm would do this to you... make you sopping wet for him, tighter, more sensitive. He would have smirked smugly if his face wasn’t permanently carved in a look of pure pleasured anguish. His plan had worked a little too well, his own lust for you too much and rendering him frankly animalistic. With all the teasing, all the flirting leading up to this moment he almost couldn’t believe he was here, and yet, your walls clenching on his shaft and creaming at the base of his cock was the stark reminder that yes, he had won his prize.  

As much as he adored watching his cock disappearing into you over and over, he needed to see your face again. He needed you closer.  

He slid a hand down the curve of your back. Running his fingers through your hair before wrapping it around his fist and pulling you up, chest leaving the desk. You grabbed his wrist for added stability, the sting of your roots being pulled adding a delicious toxicity to the moment. He pulled you back until your shoulders met his still clothed chest, and your face was exposed when your head lay back against his shoulder.  

The look in his eyes should have frightened you, the lust clouding them over and what could easily be mistaken for anger etched into his face. But it wasn’t anger, it was restraint. He was desperately trying not to cum too soon, savouring every second.  

“Look at you, eh?” he growled, “you look so fucked out, Principessa...” You couldn’t reply, just whimpered as the free hand on your hip slid up to rest over your neck and squeezed. You gasped at the pressure, not enough to make breathing a struggle but enough to excite you and earn Terzo another squeeze on his cock. He smirked at the feeling, knowing now that you liked that ... 

That very same hand reached up a little further, pushing two fingertips to your lips and opening your jaw up for him. He hooked them both past your teeth, holding your jaw open slightly while he mouthed at the corner of your lips, hips so furiously fucking into you your whimpers came out as little screams.  

Frankly, Terzo had lost control. The need to cum, to make you cum again was visceral and his brain wasn’t functioning, too much blood flowing to his cock. Lust had taken over the pair of you entirely. 

At this pace, his assault on your g-spot was violent but so welcome, and when your orgasm hit you again, your eyes rolled back into your head, body going slack and convulsing in his arms. Tears dripped down your cheeks, eyes tightening shut as you screamed for him around his fingers. You didn’t know you possibly could, but your pussy squirted as he continued his stimulation, pace never slowing, but the noise that came out of him...  

It was like a demon had crawled into him from hell itself.  

When he felt the wet splash on his thigh, he lost what sliver of composure he had left and roared as he too climaxed, your walls contracting and dragging him back in with every thrust. His seed spilled inside, mixing with the mess you’d both already made and dripping from between you, hitting the floor between his feet.  

Whilst his thrusts slowed to keep his and your orgasms prolonged, the strength of them didn’t waver. And with each, he punctuated it with a noise that sounded something between a whimper and a grunt. His arms had tightened around you, grip on your hair pulling at your scalp with each final thrust. 

When he finally stilled, he didn’t let go immediately, scared that if he did you may slam onto the desk below you and him to the floor, completely boneless.  

You both caught your breath for a moment, and when he did finally loosen his grip it was to slip out of you and pull you back against him when he slumped in his chair behind him. Wordlessly and still panting, he pulled you to sit in his lap curled into his chest. He didn’t care about the mess still seeping from your ruined cunt. He knew you’d need him close, comforting you. 

And you certainly did. You nuzzled into his shirt, damp with sweat and now, your tears. Terzo wrapped his arms around you, hand stroking your hair as he whispered how good you’d been for him in your ear.  

Given a few minutes, you were coming around again to being yourself. You sat up in his lap, looking back at his face – his makeup was ruined with sweat and smudged particularly around his lips where he’d mouthed at your skin. You couldn’t help the giggle that came out. 

He chuckled with you, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his thumb and finger into his eyes as if to clear them. His head rolled back to lay against the high back of his chair, eyes on you.  

“Well, I would say that was to the Old One’s tastes, eh?” You nodded in agreement, smiling shyly.  

“Thank you,” you mumbled, biting your lip.  

“For what, Principessa?” Ah, so he was still calling you that. Well, good. You quite liked that. “Orgasm number one, or orgasm number two?”  

Smug bastard.

You swatted his chest, hiding your blush. “For helping me. Y’know... with the ritual.”  

The smugness of his smirk faded into a softer smile, hand coming to pinch at your chin lightly.  

“Prego, dolcezza... (You’re welcome, sweetie...) ” he winked. “Could you reach into that drawer there, for me?” he asked, pointing at a drawer to the left-hand side of his desk. You did as asked, opening it up to find a clipboard and a pen under the clip. When you looked, it was a list. 

A list of all seven sins you were to perform.   

You handed it to him, shaking your head in a silent laugh. He grinned stupidly and unclipped the pen, biting the cap off before spitting it to the ground and crossing off the first of the seven – Lust.   

His eyes flicked up to you once more, and he flipped the board around so you could see.  

“One down, six to go...” 

Prev: Prologue | Next: Day 2 - Sloth

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[anamelessfool]

Ribbons & Ties (AO3 Link)

GEN, M/M

Terzo x Omega, Terzo & Family, Cardinal Marian is in there for like ten minutes

Tags: Domestic Fluff, Commitment, Rom Com Energy, There's a Wedding, Secondo is Papa Emeritus, Gift Giving, I can't have Fluff without some Angst sorry

For reasons beyond Terzo's understanding, he wants to give Omega a present for the ghoul's "birthday". It proves to be a lot more complicated than Terzo realizes.

Art by @kabukiaku used with permission

Chapter 1 Below the Cut! (We like Reblogs, Comments and Kudos omnomnom)

2006

I was an impossible case. No-one ever could reach me... But I think I can see in your face there's a lot you can teach me...So I wanna know what's the name of the game?

1

Papa Elect Terzo tried to look busy. He attempted a regal sigh, a pace. Killed time with what he hoped was a thoughtful, intelligent stare out his office window. He did everything possible to bide time while he collected his thoughts in a way that would hide his true intentions.

This was all about Omega.

He had called Cardinal Marian, Sister Imperator’s Personal Assistant not due to any sort of friendship or confidence. His brother Papa Emeritus Secondo barely considered him as human these days and with his wedding a week away he had bigger things to fuss about.

Terzo’s other two ghouls Earth and Alpha could not be trusted to answer honestly. And Brother Copia was, well…Copia.

So then that left Marian.

She was obligated by her job description to interact with him as he needed. For business purposes, of course.

And buying the right birthday present for Omega Ghoul was definitely a high stakes business venture as far as Papa Elect Terzo was concerned.

“Thank you for your time,” Terzo said, pressing his hands together and slightly bowing.

“Hey, anything to give me a break from planning my ex-partners’ wedding,” she replied with an indifferent shrug, although her eyes looked bleary. “How yinz doing on musical entertainment for that, by the way?”

“I have a few choir selections, and I have been working with Papa’s ghouls and my own on some light entertainment during the dinner. Copia has been fussing with finding the right wedding march on the organ for about six weeks now.” And Terzo had been locking his office doors to keep Copia from talking his ear off about it for about six weeks as well. “So…all coming together.”

“Great. Want to be perfect. For them.” She didn't sound too enthused. "But don't worry, I'm completely fine about it." Marian froze, then patted her sides. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Please don't, it gets into the curtains,” said Terzo.

Marian slumped in her chair slightly. “Ok, now you have to tell me the real reason I’m here.”

Terzo closed his eyes and collected himself. “I need some help picking out a gift. For a friend. I'm having trouble,” he said.

“Don’t you give people shit all the time? Flowers, erotic notes, pornographic photography, whatever…” Marian raised an eyebrow. “People talk. In the Dining Hall. A lot.”

Terzo winced and then gave her a defeated shrug. “This is em…different.”

At that Marian’s face immediately switched into a wicked grin. She leaned forward on his desk, hand on her chin with such force her biretta hat went crooked. “Why? Why is it different, huh?”

“Because…” And then Terzo threw her a haughty scowl. “I don’t need to tell you. You work for me, sorella. This is a business meeting. A consulation.”

“Fine, suit yourself.” She glanced at the clock. “But If I’m your employee you’ve got like ten minutes to spit it out before I leave for the day. So…what is it?”

“Omega…is an important friend to me. I want a gift that is…worthy of him.” Terzo started to pace again. “Something that is special, but ghouls are difficult to shop for! They don’t need to eat, or drink. Omega doesn’t seem to want to visit anywhere or do anything beyond whatever I want to do…”

“Well, isn’t he…basically you?”

“Yes but also, no.”

“And you’re psychically linked, right?” Marian thoughtlessly played with her pen, clicking it idly. “So, even if you wanted it to be a surprise, he’d already sort of know about it.”

“Cazzo, you see now why this would be so difficult?!”

Marian shrugged. “It’s the thought that counts, at the end of the day.”

“I know that,” Terzo snapped. It was definitely the thought that counted.

Except, he had never truly sincerely thought about someone else when giving a gift before. And that is what made his hands clammy and his mind race.

Terzo decided he needed to gift something really important. Something that reflected how much his heart pounded when Omega held him. Something that was big, essential, eternal. Just like his ghoul.

“A…a diamond! Yes.”

Marian smirked. “A diamond? For your very best friend?”

“Yes…” Terzo began weakly, but then remembered Marian's status as his minion. He frowned into her. “Yes, a diamond.”

“Whatever,” she replied, then opened her steno pad. “Although you know purchases over a certain amount I got to run through Treasury Director Brother Copia.”

“Then forget the diamond,” Terzo backpedaled.

Marian checked the clock on the wall again and snapped her notepad shut. “Ok, fine I've dated quite a few guitarists over the years and they like practical stuff. Like, for their instrument. How about um…a guitar strap, huh?”

“How about a guitar strap?” suggested Terzo.

Marian frowned. “What's his favorite color?”

“Erm—black.”

“Second favorite color?” Marian sighed.

“Violet, he likes violet!”

“Violet and black guitar strap, coming right up,” Marian intoned. “And look, you got ninety more seconds until I go home, is there anything else you need, your Eminence?”

“No, that would be all.” Terzo returned to staring out the window with an extra dramatic flourish of his black cardinal cassock. He took a breath, feeling his nerves start to settle as he heard the squeak of Cardinal Marian's chair as she exited. All of a sudden he had a thought. "Oh, and Marian?"

"Twenty seconds left, your Eminence." Marian's hand was already on the doorknob.

"You're certain he'll like that?"

Marian's brow furrowed, but then it seemed like a thought passed through her, and her expression softened. "Of course," she said, "Who wouldn't like a gift?"

My AO3 | Tumblr Fic List | My Terzo/Omega Fics

Chapter 2 here

[dreamalittledreamofcopia]

rain -- cardinal copia x reader

the weather was gloomy, rainy, and cool today in northeastern illinois and it was the perfect condition to write about warm and cozy cuddles with copia ☺️

this takes place during his cardinal days because i cannot get enough of the sweet gentle careful copia // 2.7k words, slightly nsfw banter

The forecast called for days worths of showers after a time of relative drought. The abbey was shrouded in overcast skies and the windows reflected the rain drops on the marble walls. The consistent pitter patter of rain, the constant howl of the wind, and the occasional clap of thunder and flash of lightning dominated what could be heard in the totality of the ministry. Even the click of your heels against the tile floor was hidden within the sounds of the storm.

You made your way down the halls of the ministry, smiling and waving at some of your acquaintances as you passed by. You had your reasons for joining the ministry, for leaving your old religion behind and following the Dark One. You didn't know quite what you expected, but you certainly did not expect an interesting partnership to develop between you and the Cardinal. If people wanted to meet with the Cardinal, they knew they had to speak to you, which is why you were going to his office today. Sister Imperator had blessed you with the task of showing Copia how to access the ministry’s shared hard drive, both because she didn’t want to and because she knew he would receive the tutorial better if it came from you.

You gently knocked on the door to Copia’s office, not wanting to disturb him despite the task you were given. After a few beats, you heard his chair move and his boots tread across the floor beneath the rain before the door slowly creaked open. Copia looked out above your head before turning to look down at you, a way he loved to tease you about your height. Before a word was exchanged, you huffed and crossed your arms in front of your chest. Copia was validated in your response and smirked, his mismatched eyes shining down affectionately at you.

“Ah, sorella,” he almost cooed, his voice thick with relief, as if he was expecting someone else, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

You blushed and bit the inside of your cheek to hide a smile, “Sister Imperator wants me to show you something on the ministry I Drive.” You knew your words meant nothing to him, this was confirmed by the gentle cock of his eyebrow and his confused expression. But he did enjoy listening to the sound of your voice. “Don’t worry,” you began to reassure him, “it’s easy computer stuff, you’ll get it.”

Copia let out a long sigh, as if he didn’t quite believe you, but stepped aside to let you into his office regardless. He was secretly happy to get to spend time with you, an observation you were able to glean from the rising blush on the shells of his ears. You smiled sweetly up at Copia as you walked past him into his office. He caught a whiff of your scent as you glided below him and he sighed softly, imaging what your hair looked like beneath your habit. He shut the door gently and turned towards you, “So this computer thing…?”

You nodded and began to walk towards his desk, beconing him to follow. He obliges, sitting down in his chair whilst looking up at you like he was a child waiting for his parent to do their math homework. You shook your head, amazed at how the Cardinal could be so technoligcally inept at his age. Maybe it was the years of seclusions in the Italian Alps, or his aversion form the general marketplace of ideas that kept him offline. Either way, in his new role he would have to learn how to work a computer. That was unavoidable, and you had spent hours attempting to convince Copia of this. At this point you were genuinely unsure if his ineptitude was real or if he was faking it just to have a reason to keep you around.

You leaned over his shoulder to watch his computer screen as he logged on. “Wow, Cardinal! Look how good you’re getting.” you teased, your voice dripping with sarcasm and fake praise.

“Grazie, mio cara.” Copia looked up at you with a smug look on his face. He laid his hand on your bicep and ran his thumb along your arm. “There’s better things we could be doing than fussing with a computer, eh?”

You rolled your eyes and grumbled at the growing blush on your cheeks. “No, Copia, I’m teaching you how to get to the goddamn I Drive.”

“Okie dokie,” he said, a huff in his voice as he moved his hand from your arm and turned back to his computer. You leaned over his shoulder and instructed him, your cheek radiating by his, and he found it difficult to follow your guide as your sweet smelling voice wofted across his face.

Your relationship with the Cardinal was funny, to say the least. You were the only one in the abbey who could keep him on track and focussed on the task at hand. Professionally, you complimented him well. His productivity had gone up since you two had gotten closer, and you certainly made his transition and settlement into the role of Cardinal easier. There was talk of appointing you as his official assistant, as of now you remained in your role as a Sister of Sin with no changes sanctioned by Sister Imperator or Papa Nihil. It didn’t quite matter to you as you resolved to stay faithful to the Cardinal no matter status or position in the ministry. You saw how much he needed you after your first few days of randomly helping him, and it was beyond you how anyone could do the job alone.

Personally, you complimented him well. He enjoyed being around you. You had quickly became his best friend and your presence always put him at ease. He didn’t know if it was your aura or your personality or what, but something drew him to you and he began to depend on you to get through his day. He thought about you at night, when the bathroom was steamed over him his shower and he leaned his flustered head against the wall, low groans mixing with the sound of water falling down the drain. Unbeknownst to you, the Ghouls had a bet going to see when Copia would crack and confess his all-consuming feelings for you.

The dynamic and banter you shared wasn’t just confined to his office, but people were beginning to take notice all across the abbey. The lost look in his eyes when he was without you, the gentle smile that came over him when you sought him out. You made him feel special, adequate, whole, and the adroation that was born out of that was evident in the air around him.

You noticed it. You basked in it, reveled in it. His reliance on you made you feel important. You nursed the fallacy in your head that the papacy would fall apart without you, but the truth was it very well could have. Imperator knew that, so she avoided discussing the potential romance with you completely. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, and she didn’t want to know what was going on until it became a problem. You assumed that Imperator was assuming that you and Copia were together and you never bothered to correct her. Nothing ever did happen though, despite a few close encounters, but it was nothing that a few cold showers couldn’t fix.

After a frustrating twenty minutes, Copia knew how to access files in the drive that was shared on all of the ministry computers. He could access anything he had to, and he promised you that he would review the documents Imperator wanted him to see in the first place. He tucked his nose into your hair and kissed your cheek in thanks, a gesture that always left him satisfied and left you flustered.

Today was no different. You rolled your eyes to act like that little kiss didn’t mean anything to you, but you knew Copia knew you well enough to tell it was an act.

“Sorella,” he spoke softly, turning in his swivel chair to face you, “the rain’s reflection in your eyes is absolutely captivating.”

“Thank you, Cardinal,” you blushed as he moved to hold both of your hands in his, “you’re far too kind.” That was your default response to his flirtation and compliments. It drove him quickly.

“Do you think the abbey is cold today?” Copia tilted his head to the side and kept smiling, soft and sweet. “I think it’s cold today.”

Copia’s office had a few giant windows on the same wall, all of them letting in a tender glow from the rain and allowing the cooler air seep in through the glass. The pseudo wind did chill you to your bones and you moved to sit on the Cardinal’s desk to gaze down into his pretty face.

“I think the rain is throwing off the heat, yes. Why?”

Copia wore a mischevious grin on his face as he lazily wrapped his arms around your waist. “You’ve helped me so much today, I should give you something in return, yes?”

“Cardinal, no, whatever it is no.”

“Oh, come on now. Trust me,” he cooed as he stood up, keeping his arms around you. He was considerably taller and he looked down at you affectionately, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Fidati di me.”

Hearing him speak Italian always gave you butterflies and you couldn’t help the smile that lit up your face. You kicked your feet gently as they dangled off the desk, humming softly as you pretended to consider his offer. “Trust you with what?”

“Let me hold you,” he spoke softer, lower, as he leaned down to your level more. His voice and his breath fanned across the apple of your cheeks, causing your face to flush adorably. Copia smiled as he contineud to speak to you. “Let me wrap you up and hold you in my arms. Holding you is the only thought that puts me to sleep at night, and there’s nothing better than cuddles and a nap in the rain.”

“You’re very wise, Cardinal,” you smiled, tilting your chin up to meet his precious gaze.

He grinned, gently laying his hand on your cheek. You leaned into his touch and the movement melted his heart. “I’m the Cardinal for a reason, cara.”

“I suppose so,” you smiled and laid your hands on his arms.

“Let’s take this veil off, yeah? Cuddling wont be very comfortable in that.” He mused as he gently moved his hand beneath your veil and into your hair. You sighed softly and shut your eyes as he gave your scalp a gentle massage your with the pads of his fingers. After a moment he slipped the bobby pins out of your hair and laid your veil on his desk, smiling as he watched your hair settle around your face. He ran his fingers through it for a moment and you smiled sweetly up at him when he tucked it behind your ear. He was still too shy to kiss your lips but he wasn’t too shy to gaze down at yours longingly, causing your cheeks to burn.

Copia grinned wickedly and picked you up, holding onto your bottom as you squeaked and wrapped your legs around his waist. You felt his lips turn up into a smirk seconds before his hand squeezed and smacked your ass.

“Cardinal!” Your voice was somewhere between a shriek and a laugh as you started to wiggle, trying to break free of his grasp.

“Oh please, I’ve read your mass notes,” Copia smirks, nuzzling his nose into your cheek, “So che lo volevi, so che mi vuoi.”

You shuddered and held onto his shoulders as he carried you over to the couch in his office, sitting down with you still on his lap. The friction between your bodies was delicious but Copia’s goal right now wasn’t sex, it was cuddles, no matter how much his body betrayed his mind. He swivled your hips off of his as quickly as he could, covering his groin and his hips with a blanket, but the damage was already done. You knew what was happening and your cheeks burned at the thought.

His hands moved to your shoulders as he laid down on his back, turning his hips to kick his feet up on the couch, cradling you with him as he held you flush against his side. You were tucked between the Cardinal and the back of the couch, your head nestled between a throw pillow and his shoulder. He sighed, probably exagerating the relief he felt when he laid back.

You looked up at him shyly but smiled after a moment, watching the reflection of the rain on his face. His eyes met yours and they were rain soaked and beautiful, the palor of his skin turning blue in the light from the window.

Copia turned towards you gently, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Oh, I’ve made a mark,” he chuckled absentmindedly as he swiped his thumb across your skin to pick up the black lipstick left behind. You giggled and rolled your eyes playfully, your brain a flustered mess of electicity and lust and affection and passion.

“What if Imperator finds us like this?” You asked softly, reaching to take your black heels off and dropping them behind the couch. When you thought it was safe, you intertwined your stockinged legs with his, and arm wrapped behind you and his hand subconsiously moved to rest on your thigh.

“She wont. And if she does she has nothing to complain about, yes?” He stroked your cheek with his other hand. Nothing yet, at least.

You just smiled and nodded, leaning into his touch. “Okay, I trust you. Even though I know I shouldn’t.”

Copia chuckled, a low rumble that complimented the thunder outside. In a quick moment of remembrance, he took off his hat and placed it haphazardly on your head before turning to look up at the ceiling. He kept his eyes on you and smiled as your cheeks changed color to match the fabric hue. “Sei così carino,” he cooed softly, thankful that you let him speak his mother tongue to you.

You just smiled like Mona Lisa and nudged your nose against his cheek before kissing it softly. The Cardinal hummed happily and shut his eyes, leaning his head towards yours as you settled in besides him.

The warmth that radiated from Copia was trapped in by the blanket, and your body relaxed as you soaked in it. His gentle hands never stopped moving completly, either he would be rubbing your back with his palm or dragging his thumb across your collar bone as his fingers rested on your shoulders. He would find tiny ways to remind himself that he was still holding you, a preoccupation that continued even as little snores rose up from both of your lips.

Loving him would be so easy, you thought.

A few hours later Copia was consious enough to return to sentience. His eyes darted around the room but he was careful to keep his body and his head still as not to wake you. His hat had fallen onto his stomach, and there were some new papers and files littering his desk, evidence that Imperator did stop by, but his hypothesis was correct. For the time being, as long as you kept the Cardinal on task and continually adjusting to his unfamilliar postition, she would maintain that she had no idea what was brewing (or more affectionately, blossoming) between the fresh Cardinal and the Sister of Sin.

Copia stroked your cheek softly and smiled at the way your cheek was jello beneath his touch. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss on the corner of your lips, close enough to feel your mouth against his but still far enough to leave the title of First Kiss open for the taking.

“Amore mio, sei il mio angelo,” he whispered before snuggling your sleeping form a little closer and tucking his face into the crook of your neck.

Outside, rain was still falling. The room was still cold and sounds of droplets hitting the abbey and thunder echoed off the walls. After one particularly loud boom, you stirred, clinging to the Cardinal for safety. He cooed your name into your ear, turning onto his side and pulling you closer. He brought the blanket closer to your heads, rubbing his cheek against yours as he protected you from the storm raging outside.

[ghostchems]

gloves - cardinal terzo x female!reader

you are the resident glove maker at the abbey and cardinal terzo comes to you with a curious request.

a/n: glove maker is a real job. i said so. i mean, at least at at the abbey. so there is violence and blood here. terzo is not very nice, ya know. we got some smut too!!! so mdni! 18+! this is about 2.7k words. ao3 link :) it has been a long time since i've been able to post something and i am feelin proud of this!

“This won’t do, Sorella.” Terzo scowls and throws the glove at you, narrowly missing your face as you duck. “They are far too loose!” He throws the other glove, this time hitting his target (your face) with a soft “pfft”. You snatch the gloves into your hand, balling it up into a first. He has been so difficult about these damn gloves, so particular even though most of his requests would make his day to day work uncomfortable. 

“If I make them any tighter you won’t be able to bend your fingers, Cardinal.” You slap the gloves onto your workspace and flop on your stool, hands running through your hair. “Is that what you want, Cardinal? To not be able to move your fingers when we both know that is something you do frequently?” The way you’re speaking to him is bound to get you in trouble but the man is being completely unreasonable. He growls and moves so quickly into your space, his hand slamming right in front of you.

“Do you want to be punished, Sorella? Or do you want to feel my fingers for yourself?” He rasps leaning closer to you as he bares his teeth. You’ve never been this close to him before and you take in his appearance. His usual neat, raven hair is spilling into his face and the black paint around his eyes is somewhat smudged from his sweaty frustration. Still, you can’t help but look at his pillowy lips and then into his mismatched gaze — it’s always hard to resist the Third.

“I would like neither, thank you.” You aren’t about to give him what he wants after disrespecting you, despite heat spreading underneath your skin. “What I would like is for you to be realistic about these gloves. I am really doing my best.” You sigh and pick up the gloves, looking over them in your hands. He had requested golden stitching to accent black leather gloves and you are pleased with the work you’ve done so far, despite Terzo’s protests.

He growls deep in his chest and plants his hand on your shoulder as he slinks behind you. A chill runs down your spine as his hand grips your other shoulder, feeling his hot breath on the top of your head. Terzo digs his nails into your skin through the fabric of the habit, causing you to give a small squeak. You try to wriggle out of his grasp but he’s not letting you go, only pressing his fingers even harder into you. He lowers his mouth right to your ear, taking a moment to take in your scent before giving a gravelly hum.

“You will create exactly what I am asking, Sorella.” Terzo hisses, his lips grazing your ear. “If you do not do what I ask, I will have no choice but to punish you, hmm? This has taken far too long already.” His mouth travels down your ear to where it meets your neck. “I feel you might be a glutton for punishment, Sorella. Do you desire being sliced into for the upcoming harvest ritual, hmm? You desire to be beneath my blade?” You suck in a sharp breath, your hands clutching onto the dismissed gloves. 

Even though he could seem aloof about his clerical duties, Terzo is extremely talented with ritualistic carvings of the flesh and always flaunted it. He is also able to convince Papa Emeritus the Second on who exactly should be given the “honor” of laying upon the altar beneath him, usually having either his most devoted followers or those that have wronged him and you can guess what he does to the latter. Even after a strong “talking to” from Sister Imperator each time, he gets away with it.

“I’ll make the gloves to your specifications, Cardinal.” You say in a hushed voice. His grip on your shoulders loosen and he drifts one hand to lightly caress your neck, his sharp nails grazing the sensitive skin. “I do not desire to be beneath your blade.” Your voice is even quieter this time, giving a sharp gasp as his nail scratches against your neck. His one finger pushes your cheek and forces you to turn your head to face him. 

“Va bene.” His lips curl into a cruel smile. “I look forward to what you have for me next time, bella.” Terzo is back to his charming self, one hand leafing through his perfect black hair. He gives you a wink that makes your skin crawl and leaves you to your work.

***

You stare down at the new gloves you made for the Cardinal. They are not what he asked for but divine inspiration had taken you over. They are not stitched with gold but they are as tight as he had asked for, almost perfectly fitting your own hands. Instead of the stitching, shiny gold nails had been affixed to the tips of the fingers. Terzo had given you wounds from his nails the last time you saw him and you thought of them each time you went to work on his gloves. That thought worked into your brain and took on a life of its own.

And now, here they are. Gloves that Terzo did not ask for that are seemingly teasing you. You run your finger along one golden nail, resting at the top and you press down, pricking yourself from the sharpness of it. You bring the finger to your face and watch the blood drop form, then you quickly lick it off. So many scenarios run through your mind but they all end the same way: on the altar beneath Terzo while he glares down at you, a mischievous sparkle in his green eye.

He will be arriving soon. Maybe you could delay the inevitable some way. You could tell him that now is a bad time, that you’ve fallen ill… perhaps you could even “disappear” for a few weeks before resurfacing with the requested gloves. But your heart is set on the golden nails. They are so him, even if it’s not exactly what he wanted. You take a seat behind your desk, your eyes unable to break away from the gloves, the tips of them twinkling in the dim light. 

You must have lost track of time because suddenly the door to your office is creaking open and he is there. Your eyes snap up to him, a blank expression on your face. Terzo’s cassock is unbuttoned enough that you can see the top of one of his pecs, speckled with dark chest hair. You’re too nervous to notice. His eyes dart to the gloves in front of you and he stalks closer, flickering his attention from you to the gloves and back.

“They aren’t what you asked for, Cardinal, but they are you.” You surprise yourself by how strong your voice sounds. Terzo licks his lips and reaches for one of the gloves, tenderly picking it up and running his fingers over the smooth texture. He examines the glove, his expression confused but curious, his eyes glossing over the sparkling, gold nails. He looks to you again as he knits his brows together.

“Let me, Cardinal.” You stand slowly and walk over to him, tender hands taking the glove from him and starting to slip it on. There is something intimate about your fingers running over his strong hands as you slip the glove on, making sure to pull it as tight as possible. You zip them up, the zipper being located on the back of the hand next to his thumb to ensure maximum tightness. A soft sigh escapes his lips, seemingly due to the glove fitting incredibly tight, too tight for him to form a fist. 

“This will do, Sorella.” He purrs, examining the sharp gold nails. Dark eyes meet yours as he looms closer to you. “But, ah, this is not what I asked for, as you said.” Terzo leans forward and takes a gloved finger to rest underneath your chin. “Do you enjoy disobeying me?” A breath catches in your throat as he tips your head up to look at him. 

“I set out to give you what you requested but inspiration took over, Cardinal. I stand by them.” You suck in a breath, his hand moving from your chin to your cheek and he presses a nail to the skin. “Careful, they’re sharp.” He nicks you and you give a yelp, causing a small cut on your cheek. A low growl rumbles up from Terzo’s chest, his hand moving to the back of your neck as he leans in and kisses the bleeding cut on your cheek. The ache that had been slowly building between your thighs is almost unbearable now, your breath hitching and your face growing hot beneath his lips.

“They are, as you say, me. I’ll leave you, if you would like. Or… I could stay and give you a reward and perhaps a punishment for the work you’ve done.” He purrs against your cheek then pulls away enough that he can look into your eyes, his hot breath against your flushed face. “The choice is yours, Sorella.” 

He isn’t giving you much of a choice, is he? You’re aware of his reputation among the clergy and there’s a reason why despite being a cardinal he has a horde of siblings coming and going from his quarters, following him around the abbey and indulging him in whatever he wants. You would be lying if you said you haven’t thought about his face between your legs or his cock between your tits before. Terzo has this way about him that brings something fresh, dangerous and sexy to the Abbey, which is why people are so drawn to him, yourself included, even after all the trouble he’s given you about these damn gloves. 

You don’t respond, instead you reach for his already unbuttoned cassock and tug him into you, crushing your lips against his. Terzo falters, caught off guard for a moment until he regains his composure, his gloved hand feathering into your hair and scraping against your scalp. Your tongue tangled with his and you can’t help but moan at the taste of him, a spicy cinnamon with a hint of sweetness. He uses his free hand to cup your ass and force you to move backwards giving a small yelp at his sudden strength. You stumble backwards as he takes control of the situation, still clutching your hair tightly in his gloved hand. 

Terzo bites at your lower lip, dragging his sharp teeth against it and you whimper against him, your hands digging into the fabric of his cassock, pulling it apart even more. He practically tosses you onto the small couch in your office and climbs on top of you. You gasp, your eyes wide and your lips parted as you stare up into his devilish eyes. Terzo presses his hips firmly against yours and starts to slowly circle his hips, feeling him rut against you through your habit. 

“Fuck, Terzo.” You whine as you struggle in his grasp. His chest rumbles with a low growl, letting go of your hands and beginning to claw at your habit with his gloved hand tearing through the fabric with ease. Terzo dips his head down, his tongue laving over where your neck and shoulder meet with a soft groan. You have wriggled your habit off of you and you’re now working diligently on the rest of his cassock, shoving it off his shoulders. He sits up, his hips keeping you pinned beneath him as he rips your habit completely off. Your eyes are wide, cheeks flushed while he hovers above you, his eyes roaming your naked body hungrily.

Terzo grabs you by the wrists and pins them above your head with his ungloved hand. The feeling of being in danger rings out in your brain, the look on his face different than you’ve ever seen it before. He presses the gold nails to your stomach, his wild eyes focused on your face as he rakes them down to your abdomen. Tears spill from your eyes and you cry out in pain, feeling blood seep from the wounds. He moans deep in his throat and lets go of your wrists only to reach for your panties and frantically tears them off of you. You’ve hardly come down from the pain you’re feeling when he pushes into you with one quick thrust.

You aren’t able to adjust to his size before he starts fucking you, his arms curling around your body to hold you close to his chest, panting into your ear. You grip onto the back of his shoulders, your own nails digging into the skin as you sob, the pain and pleasure mixing in a way that feels delicious. His hips snap into you at a brutal pace and you feel your muscles tighten, the building pleasure causing heat to spread through your body. He growls into your ear, his mouth dipping just where your earlobe and neck meet to bite and suck at the flesh.

In an instant, he sits up and pulls you with him, situating you on his thighs and resting both hands on your waist. His hips jerk, his cock massaging your inner walls as he uses your hips to slam you down onto him with every thrust. You’re able to finally get a look at him – his hair a mess, falling into his face and his cheeks flushed. Terzo’s eyes are blown wide with lust, his chest rising and falling with breathy moans. Speaking of chest, his is smeared with your blood that you’ve forgotten about by now but the very sight of it causes you walls to flutter around him.

“Oh, Sathanas.” He rasped, his grip on you tightening as he floods you with his cum. Terzo’s head drops to your shoulder, his body slumping against you. You are panting heavily, your heart racing. He slips his hand between the two of you, his lips finding your shoulder as he presses against your swollen clit. Your back arches from the contact, a deep moan rolling from your lips. He works his thumbs in quick circles on your bud, his teeth biting at your shoulder with a low growl. Your body tenses, holding onto him so tightly as you whimper, your head feeling light and your eyes fluttering open and shut. 

Your vision blurs and a shockwave grips your body, his name screaming from your lips as you reach your climax. You slump against him, your skin glistening with sweat and your body quivering while you come down. He carefully lifts you off of his cock, some of his speed spilling down the inside of your thighs. You lean against the back of the couch, your eyes glassy as you gaze back at him, a light smirk playing on his lips.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it, sister?” He moves forward, a hand grabbing you by the back of the head and pulling you into a hungry kiss. You let him take you, his tongue probing every inch of your mouth. Terzo pulls away about an inch, only to give you a playful nip to your nose and then stands. You slump against the couch, feeling like a complete and total mess, your body still tingly from the sensation and there is a dull burning pain on your abdomen from his scratches.

He saunters over to your desk and reaches for the other gloves, tucking it into his pocket. You are still catching your breath, your hair tousled and your busy flushed read. Terzo’s eyes studying you, still smirking because he likes what he sees. 

“Grazie, sorella. I will be sure to come to you if, eh, they ever need repairing… or if you want to play again.” He waggles his fingers at you, the golden nails that are now stained with your blood shining in the dim light. You lay down on the couch and give him a lazy wave. Terzo gives a low chuckle, amused by your response and leaves your office, his chest still covered in your blood and his cassock left on the floor.

You exhale slowly, finally able to get your bearings now that he is gone.

The punishment really wasn’t that bad.  

[bupia]

Love letter: Chapter 8 - Cardinal Copia x Fem!Reader

Summary: Cardinal Copia's sudden departure the previous night left you feeling adrift as his uncharacteristic action cast a cloud of uncertainty over your heart. With no explanation in sight, you found yourself in the middle of unanswered questions, eagerly anticipating your eventual return to the ministry later today.

Words: 7.227

Warnings: This chapter has a lot of dialogue.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

A/N: Look, I know I said this was going to be the last chapter, so I'm sorry, because it's not the last one, not yet.

A knock on the door roused you from your sleep, and as you slowly woke up, the events of the previous night flooded back into your mind. Copia had left without any explanation, and the sadness and emptiness in your heart lingered. Sleeping without him by your side yesterday, felt so cold and lonely, and you couldn't shake the feeling of confusion and hurt.

You mustered the strength to get out of bed, wearing his white shirt from the previous night that he left behind, your hair disheveled, and your face probably showing the traces of your emotions. With heavy steps, you made your way to the door, feeling groggy and weary from the restless night.

As you opened the door, you were surprised to see a man standing there, holding a breakfast tray. It took a moment to register that it was Secondo, and for the first time, you saw him without his Papa face paint. His expression was serious as he looked you up and down, taking in your appearance.

"You didn't show up at breakfast," he said, his tone guarded.

"Secondo... I..." you started, not sure what to say.

"Terzo asked me to bring you breakfast," he said, offering the tray to you. "May I come in?"

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in. He walked into the room, and you closed the door behind him. As he set the tray on the bedside table, you took a moment to observe him without the Papa face paint. He looked different, more vulnerable.

"Vieni, you have to eat," he said, gesturing to the bed.

You sat on the bed, watching Secondo sitting in front you, and there was a moment of silence between you.

"I wanted to talk to you, sorella," he finally spoke, his eyes meeting yours. "You see, mio fratello,"

"Copia?" you asked, interrupting him.

"Sì," he replied, his voice steady. "Mio fratello, has been facing the arrive of a new era."

"A new era?" you asked, hoping to understand.

Secondo hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Sorella,” he began, his voice carrying a weight of consideration, “ever since Terzo was stripped of his position, mio padre and Imperator have taken the helm of the ministry. We’ve been grappling with what lies ahead, anticipating the impending changes. Copia, in particular, bears a significant burden in these times. He loves you, deeply, but he's afraid of what it means for him, for both of you. It's not an easy situation for him."

"What do you mean, Papa?"

"He's afraid," Secondo said. "He loves you so much that he doesn't want to bring problems into your life, he doesn't want to loose you."

You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. "But Papa, he will not loose me."

With a pause, Secondo fell silent. His gaze shifted for a different direction, as if he were pondering the words that were about to leave his lips.

"He's just struggling with his own 'demons' right now," he let out a silent chuckle scape his mouth, but rapidly composed himself. "But I hope he'll find the strength." Secondo smiled with the corner of his lips. "What is happening with Copia now... I think he is the one who should tell you or show you."

"Show me?," you asked confused.

"Sì, sorella," he confirmed. "But for now, we believe he is under Imperator's gaze."

Your confusion deepened. "Imperator? Sister Imperator?"

"Sì," Secondo confirmed. "Their relationship is strained, and Imperator holds some power with the clergy. She's been part of the ministry for a long time, but her intentions and actions are not always clear."

"Strained? Why?"

"You don't know?" He arched an eyebrow.

"What?" You looked at him confused.

"She is his mother." He confessed.

Your eyes widened in shock and disbelief. "His mother? How is that possible?"

"Sì, she is his mother," Secondo's expression turned somber. "Their relationship, well, let's just say it's complicated. Imperator is always strategic in her moves, but Copia is aware of it and he's trying to protect you."

"Am I... in danger?" you asked, whispering, your voice barely audible.

"I wouldn't say you're in danger," Secondo said somberly. "But Imperator is cunning and ruthless. She wants control over everything and everyone in the ministry."

"Y-You think she could possibly do something with him?" You stammered, nervously.

He took a deep breath, crossing his arms. "I don't think she would do something to him. I think she has bigger plans for him."

"I hope you're right," you replied softly. "I trust Copia, and I know he's doing everything he can. But it's just... It's hard not to worry, you know?"

"I understand," Secondo said, his expression sympathetic. "But you have to remember, you're not alone in this. Copia loves you deeply, and you have our support. We won't let anything happen to you or him."

You nodded, grateful for the reassurance. "Thank you, Papa."

"Of course, sorella." He reached for the tray on the bedside table, placing it in front of you on the mattress. "Now, per favore, eat and whenever you feel ready, join us downstairs."

You smiled appreciatively at Secondo and picked up a piece of toast from the tray, taking a small bite. "I will, thank you," you said.

Secondo hummed, watching you eating. He placed his hand in your head for some seconds, it felt like if he was trying to comfort you in some way. As Secondo turned to leave, you turned your gaze to him.

"Do you think Copia is okay?" You asked.

Secondo paused, turning back to face you with a small reassuring smile. "Mio fratello is strong, and he's faced challenges before. He's been through a lot, but he always finds a way. Also, he loves you, so I wouldn't worry about it."

You nodded. "I won't."

"Molto bene," Secondo said with a nod. "Now, finish your breakfast. We'll be downstairs whenever you're ready, sorella."

He reached for the doorknob, opening the door. But before he made his exist of the room, he turned his body towards your direction again.

"Ah! Before I forget, we are leaving after lunch, sorella, it will be better if we want to arrive there at night."

You nodded, watching him leaving the bedroom. You comforted yourself on the bed, eating your breakfast slowly. But your mind was acing with thoughts about Copia. You retrieved your phone from beneath your pillow, checking for any notifications from him, but found nothing. Should you call him? Probably best not to. He likely wouldn't answer your call at this moment.

As you finished your breakfast, you took a deep breath, attempting to calm your racing thoughts. Swiftly, you got up from the bed and dressed yourself.

You got the tray from the bed, leaving the bedroom. You made your way downstairs, where you could hear the soft murmurs from the living room. But before you could join them, you decided to leave the tray at the kitchen.

As you entered the kitchen, you saw Terzo, clad in a purple robe with lace that appeared to be too short and tight, likely borrowed from his wife. He turned his gaze to you, giving you a warm smile.

"Buongiorno, sorella," Terzo greeted, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Did you sleep well?"

You offered a small smile in return, trying to hide the lingering emotions from the previous night. "As well as I could," you replied. "Thank you for the breakfast, by the way."

"Prego. I thought you might need some energy after the long night, so I asked Secondo if he could do the honor." Terzo chuckled.

"Energy? What do you mean?"

"Oh, I think you know what I mean. The walls are, you know," he gesticulated with his hands, giving you a mischievous grin. "But don't worry, sorella, I just didn't know mio fratello was still in action."

You blushed deeply, feeling slightly embarrassed by Terzo's playful teasing. "Papa, p-please, I deeply sorry, I-" you stammered, trying to find the right words to respond.

He laughed heartily, seeing your reaction. "Mi dispiace, I couldn't resist to bring it up," he said, still grinning. "Ma seriamente, I'm glad you two have each other." He looked at you. "Where's the bestia affamata, I mean, mio fratello?"

"He left yesterday at night, without saying why." You took a heavy sigh.

Terzo's expression softened with understanding. "Did he?" he shook his head. "Don't worry, sorella, probably something urgent came up."

"Papa," You put the tray on the counter. "Do you think something is happening at the ministry?"

Terzo's expression turned serious as he nodded. "Sì, and Imperator is probably part of it. She always is."

"But," you looked at him, confused. "What is her deal?"

"Imperator has her own plans, and I think that she wants to exert more control and influence, and she's not afraid to use whatever means necessary to achieve her goals."

"I'm sorry, Papa, but I don't understand what you're trying to say."

"What I'm trying to say is," Terzo turned his body in your direction, taking a sip from his mug. "I believe that she removed me from my role as a Papa, using a mere excuse to make Copia a-"

"Sorella!" Primo interjected, as Terzo was interrupted by his sudden entrance into the kitchen, glancing at both of you. "Per l'amore di Satana, Terzo, I already told you to put on some clothes."

You turned to see Primo and then quickly averted your gaze. Terzo looked somewhat unconcerned as he laughed.

"My apologies, fratello," Terzo quipped, a playful glint in his eyes. "It appears I may have forgotten to properly get dressed after a very delightful morning with my Ann," he added, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "Now, if you'll excuse me, sorella and fratello." A chuckle escaped him as he bid his departure from the kitchen.

Primo's gaze trailed after Terzo's departing figure, his expression thoughtful. "I trust he didn't cause you any discomfort, sorella," he mused, releasing a sigh and giving a slight shake of his head. "Terzo has forever been one to throw caution to the wind," he continued, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

"Oh, absolutely not, Papa," you reassured him, your smile carrying a soothing warmth. "We were just talking."

"About Copia, sì?" He asked.

You confirmed with a nod followed by a hum, a hint of affirmation in your tone. As Primo moved towards the sink, your attention remained focused on him.

"Copia must be missing you deeply," he said, his voice softening. "We see how happy you make Copia," he continued, a genuine smile gracing his lips. "And that means the world to all of us."

Primo stood before the sink, his attention focused on the delicate task of removing dead leaves from a bunch of flowers held in his hand. Each leaf was carefully plucked, his fingers moving with a practiced grace as he ensured the blooms would be at their best. It was as if he was engaged in a silent conversation with the blossoms.

"Papa," you called softly, approaching him.

He turned to you, offering a warm smile. "Sì, sorella?"

"Copia, does he-" you began, only to be halted by Primo's intervention. His hand found yours, a firm grip that spoke volumes.

"I can tell you what I know, bella, but certain matters even I am not fully informed about," Primo conveyed, releasing your hand with a gentle touch before resuming his task at the sink. "The ministry holds many secrets." Primo sighed. "It's all about power and control."

"Power and control?" you inquired. "From Imperator?"

He nodded. "She wants to reshape the ministry in her image, to make it more aligned with her vision. Copia seems to be the easiest way for her to do it. At least this is what we believe."

"But if this is the case, what can I possibly do to help? I'm just an ordinary person," you wondered aloud.

"Ordinary to you, maybe, but to Copia, you're everything," Primo said with a reassuring smile. "You're the one who brought light into his life, who showed him love and understanding. You changed him. She could sees it as a threat, something that can influence Copia and potentially disrupt her plans."

"I never wanted to be a threat to anyone," you murmured, feeling a weight on your shoulders.

"You're not, sorella," Primo said firmly. "You're a source of strength and love for Copia. Imperator may be cunning, but we have each other's backs."

"But, what about Nihil?"

Primo's expression hardened at the mention of Nihil. "Nihil is... complicated," he said, furrowing his eyebrows together. "He does look like he have always been a powerful figure in the ministry, and he holds a lot of influence, but he doesn't. He is just a terrible father."

Before you could reply, Terzo returned to the kitchen, now properly dressed.

"Mio fratello is right, Nihil may be our father, but he has never been a true parent to us," Terzo spoke up. "He was more concerned with his own ambitions and power than with raising us as a family."

Primo nodded in agreement. "He has never shown us any love or affection. It was always about appearances, about maintaining his image in the ministry. He cared more about the perception others had of him than the well-being of his own sons."

"I'm so sorry," you said softly, feeling a pang of sympathy. "It must have been incredibly difficult growing up in such an environment."

"It was, especially for Copia." Terzo said.

"Why?" you inquired, your gaze shifting between them, seeking understanding.

Secondo interjected, entering the kitchen, his voice filled with bitterness. "In Nihil's eyes, Copia was a constant reminder of his mistake. He always treated Copia differently from us, with even less affection and consideration. It was evident that Copia was never truly accepted as a part of the family, and he carried that burden with him throughout his life."

"And then, Imperator made Copia vulnerable to manipulation and control," Primo added. "She used it as a mean to keep him in check, to remind him that he could be discarded at any moment if he didn't obey."

Your heart ached for Copia, realizing the weight of his upbringing and the emotional scars he must carry. No one should have to go through such cruelty.

"Excuse me, Papas," Terzo's wife entered the kitchen, beaming with a bright smile. "What's the topic of your hushed conversation?" She giggled playfulness.

"Cara!" Terzo exclaimed, taking her hands and drawing her close to him. "You look stunning this morning," he showered her face with kisses. "But you look amazing every morning," he smile, enveloping her in his arms and holding her close. "We were just having a talk, cuore mio."

“We were discussing some ministry matters,” Primo smoothly replied.

Secondo nodded in agreement. “Sì, just some things that need our attention.”

"Nothing too serious," Primo assured her, his warm smile comforting. "And I have a little surprise for you. Sorella, could you grab that jar for me?" He nodded toward an empty jar placed in the corner of the counter.

As you nodded, you walked towards the jar, picked it up, and brought it to Primo. He filled it with water and delicately placed some beautiful flowers inside. As Primo arranged the flowers with care, you couldn’t help but admire his skill and attention to detail.

“It’s lovely,” you said, watching the flowers come together in a beautiful arrangement.

He smiled warmly, a hint of pride in his eyes. “Thank you, sorella. It’s a passion of mine.”

Terzo’s wife stepped closer, her eyes sparkling with admiration. “It’s a wonderful surprise, Primo. I love fresh flowers, and this bouquet is simply enchanting.”

Primo gave her a gentle smile. “Anything to bring a smile to your face, cognata,” he said affectionately, lending her the jar.

As she picked up the jar, her gaze shifted from it. She looked around the kitchen and then at you, a hint of curiosity in her voice. “Where’s Copia?”

“He had some urgent matters to attend to,” you replied, trying to keep your tone neutral.

“Oh, I see,” she said, her concern deepening. “Is everything alright?”

You exchanged a quick glance with Primo and Secondo, unsure of how much to share. “There are some things he had to deal with,” you said carefully, “but yes, everything is alright.”

Terzo’s wife nodded understandingly. "Terzo," she slowly turned her body into his direction. "What are you not telling me?"

Terzo hesitated for a moment, looking at you, Primo, and Secondo before turning back to his wife. “It’s… it’s nothing, cara,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “Just some family matters and things related to the ministry.”

She looked at him, walking in his direction. "Terzo, you know we promised each other to be open and honest, no matter what.” She stopped in front of him, cupping his face with one of her hands, gently caressing his cheek with her thumb.

He sighed, realizing he couldn't keep anything from her. "It's about Imperator," he admitted, turning his face to her hand on his cheek and kissing the palm of it. "Mi dispiace, cara, I just didn't want to worry you again. I just didn't want to make you angry or sad again." He held her hand, gently rubbing his cheek against it, seeking comfort in her presence.

“Imperator?” she asked, her brows furrowing.

"We always knew she had plans for the ministry," Secondo chimed in. "And that she is not afraid to use whatever means necessary to achieve them. We believe that Imperator will..."

Terzo's interruption cut through Secondo's words. “We believe she’s trying to gain more control and influence, and Copia looks like the easiest way for her to get it.”

Terzo’s wife looked from one brother to another, trying to process the information. “So, Imperator and Copia are at the ministry now and we are all here?"

"Well, I've already told them that they should all leave because they are bothering our honeymoon, but they don't listen to me." Terzo shrugged.

"Terzo!" She giggled shyly. "This is not what I meant, my love."

Terzo got his face close to her, rubbing his nose on hers with a soft smile on his lips. "Ma non ho neanche mentito." He chuckled, pressing a peck onto her lips.

She blushed slightly, giving him a timidly smile. "You're unstoppable sometimes, aren't you?'

Terzo grinned mischievously. “Well, only when it comes to showing my love for you,” he replied, pulling her into a warm embrace. “Non riesco a controllarmi.”

“I love you too, Terzo,” she said softly, her arms wrapped around him. “But don’t think you can distract me that easily." She turned her face to your direction. "Do you think she knows about you two?"

This question made you freeze in your place. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. The truth was, you didn’t know if Imperator was aware of your relationship with Copia, and the thought of her finding out filled you with fear.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice soft.

Terzo’s wife nodded. “If she doesn’t know, it’s probably best to keep it that way for now,” she said gently. “For now, why don't we enjoy our time together as a family?"

"Hai ragione, cognata." Primo interjected, with a sincere smile.

“Alright!” Terzo’s wife clapped her hands together, smiling. “My love?” She turned her gaze back to Terzo.

"Sì, mia amata?" he replied, gazing into her eyes and then down to her lips, giving them a gentle peck.

"Why don't you and your brothers go to the living room, while we," she paused, walking towards you and intertwining her arm with yours, "prepare the lunch?"

"Cara, if you feed them, they will stay." Terzo said dramatically.

Secondo clicked his tongue, glancing at Terzo, "cretino." He smirked.

"Mi scusi, what did you say?" Terzo walked towards Secondo.

"I said you're a cretino," Secondo grinned playfully.

Terzo and Secondo laughed, looking at each other. Primo joined them, laughing. You couldn’t help but smile. It was heartwarming to see them teasing and laughing with each other. But, you were still worried about Copia.

Terzo's wife noticed the concern in your eyes and gently placed a hand on your arm. "Don't worry too much, dear," she said softly, offering you a reassuring smile. "Copia is strong."

"I know," you agreed.

"And so are you," she replied, her voice filled with understanding. "Now you three," she pointed at them. "Go there and enjoy each other's company. We still have some wine from yesterday, feel free to open it."

"But cara! That's the fancy wine!" Terzo protested with mock dismay.

"Cretino," Secondo echoed his earlier sentiment.

"Don't start with it, Secondo," Terzo scolded him, a touch of seriousness in his tone.

"Terzo," Ann addressed him, her steps carrying her closer as her hands settled on his chest. She pressed a tender kiss to his lips. "Your brothers deserve the fancy wine."

His gaze lingered on her, his eyes half-lidded after her lips parted from his. He nodded in concurrence, drawn into her allure as he leaned in for another kiss, drawing her nearer to him.

"Your persuasive charm, cara, that's what does it," Terzo murmured, a reluctant chuckle escaping him as he reluctantly distanced himself from her embrace.

The three brothers exchanged appreciative glances with Terzo's wife and, without hesitation, made their way to the living room. As the three brothers left the kitchen, she turned her attention back to you, her eyes filled with warmth and concern.

"Come here," she walked to the kitchen's table, taking a seat. "Talk to me," she said gently, pulling a chair for you right beside her. "I can see that there's something bothering you in your eyes."

"I'm just worried," you said, taking the seat right beside her. "I want to be there for him, but I... I'm feeling guilty now, I didn't want to put him in danger."

"Dear, you didn't!" She reached for your hands, holding them together. "He is fine, he is not in danger."

"I'm just scared about what could possibly happen." You said, your voice resolute.

"When Terzo and I left the ministry," she paused for a moment, a flicker of sadness crossing her face before she spoke. "We were scared too. Leaving the ministry was like leaving a part of our identity behind. He had dedicated so much of his life to the ministry, and suddenly, it was all gone, and just because of me. Terzo had been on that stage for so many years, and to see him dragged away like that... it was heartbreaking." She drew a deep breath, gathering her emotions before resuming. "But we knew that we had to leave, it was no longer our home," she gave you a small smile. "It wasn't easy at first," she continued. "But we had each other. And that made all the difference. I may still carry a burden of blame, but why should we cast aside our chance at happiness? I can imagine how tough it must be for both of you," she said softly. "But trust me, he needs you more than ever right now. He might not say it, but having you by his side means the world to him."

You nodded, smiling at her. She drew you into a close and comforting embrace before eventually rising from her seat.

"At what time will you go back to the ministry?" she inquired, her voice gentle.

"I think we will go after lunch," you replied. "So we will arrive there at night."

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Just remember, dear, you're not alone in this."

You offered her a grateful smile. "Thank you, Ann."

"Well, we've got a lunch to prepare. Are you up for helping me?" Terzo's wife inquired.

"Absolutely, I'd love to help," you replied with enthusiasm. "Just tell me what you need, and I'm here."

She clapped her hands together. "Perfect! Let's get to work then."

You nodded in agreement and she started pulling out ingredients from the fridge and cupboards while you offered to help. You two started to work together to prepare the lunch with the tantalizing aromas of fresh herbs, garlic, and simmering sauces filling the air. You stood side by side at the kitchen counter, your hands deftly moving as you chopped tomatoes.

Terzo sneaked in, with a mischievous smile playing on his lips, wrapping his arms around her waist and placed a tender kiss on her cheek.

"Mmm, something smells amazing in here," he murmured, his lips brushing against her neck.

"Behave, Terzo." she chided, but her smile betrayed her.

"I just thought someone could need a taste taster, tesoro!" he grinned, stealing another kiss before leaving the kitchen.

As you two worked together to complete the meal, Terzo intermittently came and went from the kitchen, each time stealing a quick kiss or a playful exchange with his wife. By the time the meal was ready, the kitchen was filled with mouth-watering aromas from each dish that was prepared—the fragrant pasta sauce, the perfectly al dente pasta, the colorful salad.

You and Ann proudly brought the dishes to the dining table and you all gathered around enjoying the lunch with glasses of wine sparkling like liquid jewels.

As the meal progressed, your thoughts turned to Copia. You couldn't help but miss him and worry about him. Your concern was palpable, even amidst the cheerful atmosphere. Terzo's wife noticed the change in your demeanor and offered you a reassuring smile.

The conversation flowed and the dished gradually transformed into empty plates. The final bites were savored, and you gently placed your cutlery down. With a soft clearing on your throat, you excused yourself from the table, feeling the need for a moment of solitude. With a final appreciative glance at them, you rose from your seat, and left the dining room, retreating to the bedroom.

As you reached the bedroom's door, the sound of your phone ringing caught your attention. Swiftly opening the door and stepping into the room, you made a beeline for your phone, where Copia's name illuminated the screen. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight, and without hesitation, you swiftly answered the call.

"Copia!" you exclaimed.

"Amore," his voice flowed through the phone. "I'm so sorry for leaving without explaining. Sister Imperator called me and I had to take care of something important."

The weight of worry that had been resting on your shoulders seemed to lift slightly as you heard his voice on the other end.

You leaned against the edge of the bed, clutching the phone tightly to your ear. "Copia, I was so worried. Is everything okay with you?"

"Sì, amore! Everything is okie dokie," he chuckled. "How are you?"

"I... I'm worried about you, Copia. I'm fine, but I'm worried." You sighed.

"Cara..." his voice softened. "I'm fine, everything is fine." He reassured you. "I can't give you all the details right now, but I need you to trust me, sì? I promise I will explain everything soon."

"Copia, I do trust you. It's just... hard."

"I know, amore," he sighed. "And I'm really sorry for making you worry about me. I shouldn't have left you like I did yesterday. Please, forgive me."

"Of course I forgive you." You replied. "But, Copia... I-"

"What is it, amore?"

"Nothing, I'm just worried."

"Believe me, cara, I wish I could tell you everything. But for now, please know that I love you, I miss you."

Tears welled up in your eyes. "I love you, Copia. I miss you too."

"Oh, cara, every moment away from you feels like an eternity," he confessed.

"I feel the same way," you admitted.

"I'll se you soon, amore," he said, his voice gentle and reassuring. "And when I do, I promise we'll have all the time we need to talk, to be together."

"I can't wait to be with you tonight," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"I can't wait to see you tonight, cara," he replied.

"Take care of yourself, Copia."

"Always, amore. Ti amo."

"Ti amo," you echoed.

"Eh!? Again, cara?" He giggled.

"I told you that I'm learning." You said playfully.

"Molto bene, amore," he praised.

"Thank you, Copia," you said, slightly blushing. "I'll see you tonight."

"Looking forward to it, amore. Take care now."

"Goodbye, Copia." With a contented sigh, you ended the call and placed the phone on the bedside table.

As you looked around the room, your heart felt lighter than before. It was good to hear his voice, it made you feel a lot better. With a sigh of relief, you let yourself sink onto the bed, Copia's voice had a way of soothing your worries.

The room felt cozier, the worries that had been clouding your thoughts now pushed to the background. You took a deep breath, letting yourself rest for a moment. However, the ticking clock reminded you that you only had some few hours before you and Secondo go back to the ministry.

Thus, you rose from the bed, beginning the task of gathering your belongings. Your fingers deftly gathered your belongings, carefully folding clothes and placing them into your luggage.

You zipped up your luggage and glanced around the room one more time to ensure you hadn't overlooked anything. With your luggage securely zipped up and organized, you hoisted it up and made your way out of the bedroom.

As you made your way down the stairs, a startle ran through you when you heard Secondo clearing his throat beside you. He was close to the doorway, standing at the foot of the stairs.

"Where are you going, sorella?" he inquired, his gaze fixing on your luggage.

"Just making sure everything is packed and ready," you replied, offering him a small smile. "I want to be prepared when it's time to go."

"Good, good," Secondo nodded. "We'll be leaving soon. You can wait for me outside if you want."

"Thank you, Papa. I'll be outside."

As you left the house, you took a moment to breathe in the fresh air, letting the sunlight warm your skin. You heard voices drifting from inside the house. Curiosity piqued, you turned your attention toward the open windows, where the lively conversation of the three brothers reached your ears. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you listened to their banter.

You sat on the stair, your gaze fixed on the front garden, allowing the beauty of the surroundings to envelop you. The gentle rustle of leaves, the distant chirping of birds, and the warm embrace of the sunlight painted a peaceful feeling. Leaning forward, you rested your arms on your knees and let your forehead press against them, savoring the tranquility of the moment.

Time seemed to stretch as you lost yourself in the quiet ambiance, but soon, the soft rhythm of footsteps reached your ears. You lifted your head, watching as Secondo, Terzo, Ann, and Primo joined you outside. Terzo's arm was lovingly draped around his wife's waist.

"Ready?" Secondo asked.

You nodded. "Yes, let's go."

Terzo stepped forward, his eyes warm as he looked at you. "Take care, sorella," he said, his voice sincere.

Ann stepped up beside him, a soft smile gracing her lips. "Please make a safe trip back to the ministry," she added.

"Thank you, both. I'll be careful."

Terzo's hand found its way to your shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze. "Everything is going to be alright, sorella."

With a determined nod, you made your way over to where Secondo and Primo were busy loading the bags into the car.

"Need any help, Papas?" you offered.

Secondo looked up, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Appreciate it, sorella. You can put your bags in the back seat."

Primo, who was focused on arranging the luggage, glanced at you and grinned. "We're becoming quite the efficient team, sì?"

You chuckled softly. "Seems like it."

You helped load the bags and with everything securely stowed away, you took a step back and admired your handiwork.

"Looks like we're all set," Secondo remarked, giving the car a final once-over.

Primo closed the trunk and turned to you. "Grazie for the help, sorella."

With that, you all climbed into the car, settling into your seats. As the engine purred to life, you and the two brothers settled into the car. The gentle hum of the engine was accompanied by a sense of anticipation. You cast a final glance toward the front of the house, where Terzo and Ann stood. Terzo's eyes met yours, a soft smile on his lips. It was a silent farewell, followed by Ann waving.

As the car pulled away from the curb, you watched as the house grew smaller in the rear view mirror. You were ready to go back to the ministry and see Cardinal Copia again.

The road stretched out before you, and with each passing mile, the worries that had weighed on your mind seemed to lessen, replaced by a growing sense of optimism.

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting a warm and golden hue over the landscape, you leaned back in your seat, feeling a sense of contentment settle in.

"Bella," Primo called out for you. "Is everything fine back there?"

"Yes, Papa," you smiled, looking at his reflection on the rear view mirror. "I'm just relaxing."

Primo chuckled softly. "Bene, bene. It's important to enjoy the journey."

Secondo glanced at you from the driver's seat. "We still have some hours ahead, sorella, you can take a nap if you want."

"I think I will take you up on that," you admitted with a yawn. "A little nap sounds wonderful."

You found a comfortable position, and closed your eyes. The gentle rocking of the car quickly worked its magic, and before you knew it, you were drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

Amidst the soothing embrace of slumber, a distant voice gently roused you from your nap. It took a moment for your drowsy mind to register the sound, and as awareness seeped back in, you realized it was Secondo's voice.

"Sorella," he called, his tone soft but insistent. "We've arrived at the ministry."

Blinking your eyes open, you yawned and stretched, feeling the slight stiffness from the nap. The car had come to a stop, and you could see the familiar surroundings of the ministry's entrance through the window.

"Ah, sorry," you mumbled, rubbing your eyes and straightening up in your seat. "I must have dozed off."

Primo turned around, a gentle smile on his face. "No need to apologize, bella. Are you feeling rested?"

You nodded, a faint blush dusting your cheeks. "Yes, thank you. I feel much better now."

Secondo opened the door and stepped out of the car, giving you a moment to gather your belongings. As you exited the car and stood on the familiar grounds of the ministry, emotions washed over you. You were back home, so close to see Cardinal Copia again.

You turned to Primo and Secondo, a sense of gratitude in your gaze. "Thank you both for everything. Especially for bringing me here."

Primo placed a hand on your shoulder, his eyes warm. "It was our pleasure, bella."

With a final wave of farewell, you watched as Primo and Secondo drove away, leaving you standing at the entrance of the ministry. You took a deep breath and prepared to step forward.

The heavy door creaked slightly as it swung open, revealing the familiar interior of the ministry. The grand hallway stretched before you. You took a step forward, the soft sound of your footsteps echoing through the hall. The hushed ambiance of the place enveloped you.

The quietness of the hallways felt unusual, a stark contrast to the usual bustling activity that filled the ministry. The soft echo of your footsteps accompanied you as you ascended the stairs, each step taking you closer to your dormitory.

You reached the door to your dormitory, pushing it open, you stepped inside, expecting to be greeted by the sight of your room and the presence of your friends. However, as the door swung open, you were met with an unexpected emptiness. The room was dark, illuminated only by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window. Your heart sank as you realized that none of your friends were there.

With confusion creeping over you, you closed the door behind you and moved further into the room. Making a beeline for your bed, you dropped your luggage beside it. At least, with no one there, you wouldn't have to deal with their imaginary as you excuse yourself to see Copia.

Without a second thought, you swiftly retraced your steps back to the door, exiting your room. Patience had grown thin; the desire to see Copia was almost a palpable force pushing you forward. Down the hallway you strode, your footsteps purposeful as you made a beeline for the end of the corridor—his door awaited you there. Your palms felt clammy, betraying the fluttering excitement within you. It was as if you were reuniting after years of separation, but the truth was that you simply yearned for his presence.

Standing before his door, you rapped your knuckles gently against the wood, your anticipation barely contained. Silence met your attempt. You knocked again, a broad smile gracing your lips. Still, no response. The smile waned, replaced by a solemn expression. Once more, you knocked, each rap echoing in the quiet hallway, yet the door remained steadfastly shut.

"Copia?" you called out, your voice carrying a note of nervousness as you pressed your ear against the door.

Silence prevailed; not a single response, nor a hint of sound could be discerned from within.

"Copia? It's me!" you reiterated, your words infused with concern, accompanied by another firm knock on his door.

"Hey, you!" A voice hailed from behind, drawing your attention away. "What are you doing here?" the voice inquired.

Startled, you turned around to find an individual draped in a shroud of black attire, a helmet adorning their head. The entirety of their ensemble, from head to toe, boasted shades of black with delicate, golden accents sprinkled throughout.

"Me?" you questioned, your confusion evident. "I'm actually searching for Cardinal. Who exactly are you?"

A measured pause lingered before the response came, "There is no Cardinal there. I am Swiss."

"What? I've never crossed paths with you before."

A faint hint of bemusement crept into their voice. "Ah, so you must be a fresh face around here."

"I am not!" You rested your hands on your hips.

"Yeah, ok," he walked in your direction, holding your arm. "Follow me." He started to walk, bringing you with him.

"No way, where do you intend to take me?" You tried to match his steps as he held your arm.

"To our Papa."

"Papa? Nihil?" You looked at him confused.

A chuckle laced their words. "As I suspected, you're indeed new here. By the way, where's your habit, sister?"

"I've just arrived at the ministry!" you rolled your eyes, impatiently. "Where are the other siblings?"

"They're all at the chapel."

"Doing what?" you inquired.

"Waiting for the Sunday's Black Mass. Our Papa intends to address the siblings today."

The revelation left you intrigued and slightly bewildered. This enigmatic Swiss figure appeared to be a recent addition to the Ghoul ranks, or something like that, and their mention of a "Sunday's Black Mass" and Papa's address only added to the mysterious atmosphere.

Walking through the ministry's corridors alongside this enigmatic companion, your thoughts raced like wildfire. Could it be that Nihil was reassuming the role of Papa? But that didn't seem right, did it? He had been Papa before, surely it was time for someone new to take the mantle, but who?

You and your enigmatic guide reached the door to the Papal apartment, where two additional mysterious figures stood sentry.

"We've come to see Papa," the Swiss individual declared.

"Swiss!" One of the figures addressed the newcomer before casting an inquisitive glance in your direction. "Who's she?"

"I stumbled upon her in the hallway, searching for a 'Cardinal'," Swiss explained.

"I wasn't looking for just any Cardinal! I was searching for Cardinal Co-"

"Anyway," Swiss interjected, steering the conversation. "I thought it wise to bring her to Papa. Is he still inside, Phantom?"

"Yeah, he's still in there. Seems a bit on edge," the figure named Phantom responded, extending a hand to the doorknob and ushering you both inside.

With Swiss by your side, you crossed the threshold into the Papal apartment. The surroundings had undergone a transformation since your last encounter here, during Terzo's dinner months ago. The ambiance exuded a softer, lighter atmosphere, a departure from what you once remembered.

"Wait here," Swiss instructed before walking towards one of the doors.

He rapped his knuckles on the door, then clasped his hands behind his back as he stood in wait. After a brief pause, the door swung open, and Swiss entered, the door shutting behind him. A muffled murmur was the only audible trace of what transpired within.

After perhaps a minute or even less, the door creaked open once more, and Swiss emerged. He beckoned you over with a gesture, prompting you to step toward him.

"Papa is ready to see you," he announced, holding the door open, inviting you to enter.

You exchanged a parting glance with Swiss before stepping into the room, the door clicking shut behind you. The space appeared unoccupied, urging you to take a few steps forward and explore further. Crossing through a doorway, you caught a glimpse out of the corner of your eye—a figure standing by a window. A sense of recognition coursed through you; it was unmistakably him, your Cardinal Copia.

"Copia...?" you breathed, your voice barely more than a whisper as you approached him, each step deliberate and unhurried.

"Cara?" he responded, his voice soft as he gradually turned towards you.

Your heart swelled with emotions, and without a second thought, you closed your eyes and hastened towards him. His arms enveloped you in a tight embrace, and you nestled your face against his chest, taking in a deep breath, basking in his familiar scent. It was as if a sense of belonging had been rekindled, your reunion an affirmation of being where you truly belonged.

"Copia, I missed you so much," your voice quivered, your words spilling out as you clung to him, your emotions pouring forth. "I went to your room, but you weren't there, and then this new Ghoul—well, I think he's new—he came and told me there was no Cardinal, and I-"

He interjected, placing a tender peck on your lips that momentarily silenced your flow of words. "Amore, I missed you even more, in ways words can't encompass," he confessed, his voice a gentle whisper. "And yes, Swiss was telling the truth. There's no Cardinal anymore."

You gradually blinked your eyes open, turning your gaze towards him, drinking in the sight of his face. And there it was, as clear as day—the distinct black and white skull face paint that was unmistakably.

"I'm a Papa now," he disclosed.

Chapter 9

Grammar ⸻

Vieni - come Sorella - sister Mio fratello - my brother Mio padre - my father Per favore - please Molto bene - very good Buongiorno - good morning Prego - you're welcome Mi dispiace - I'm sorry Ma seriamente - but seriously Bestia affamata - hungry beast Per l'amore di Satana - for the love of Satan Bella - beautiful Cuore mio - my heart Cognata - sister-in-law Ma non ho neanche mentito - But i didn't lie Non riesco a controllarmi - I can't control myself Hai ragione - you're right Sì, mia amata - yes, my love Cretino - asshole Mi scusi - excuse me Tesoro - treasure Amore - love

[molly-ghuleh]

Camellia: Copia x f!reader - Chapter 5

Camellia: n. - A flower which symbolizes a deep desire or longing.

Summary: When it rains, it pours, but the drops wash away the uncertainty swimming in your mind.

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: Thank you all for your patience!! I usually try to keep updates going every 10 days or so, but this one's a little late, so I apologize. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!! <3 If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know!!

Warnings: possible descriptions of anxiety, you and Copia being idiots, mutual pining.

AO3 / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

You hadn’t known it was supposed to rain this morning. But now that you tilt your face up towards the gray-blanketed sky, you remember that it had been rather dark when you and Copia stepped out of the kitchens. The breeze around you feels sharp and the birds have gone quiet since you emerged from the flower labyrinth. The leaves—small and sparse after having just budded for spring—turn over to reveal their pale undersides. A sure sign of a rainstorm. 

As you hold your finger in front of your face to observe the rain drop that had landed on your nose, another falls on the top of your head. Beside you, Copia also lifts his head to look at the sky. He squints and flinches a bit when a drop lands in the middle of his forehead. “Ah, cazzo,” he mumbles, and uses his free hand to swipe it off. The raindrops are fat and heavy, and they scatter the tiny stones of the gravel path under your shoes when they fall. 

Another drop lands on your shoulder. “Should we go inside?” you ask. Immediately you realize that it is a stupid question. Of course you should go inside, crétin. It’s about to rain and you have no idea how long you’ve been outside for. 

That nagging thought tugs at the back of your awareness. The thought that you shouldn’t be taking up so much of Copia’s—Papa’s—time. He’s a busy man, and he probably doesn’t have time to walk the entire garden path during working hours. 

But… he had offered. And if you could, you’d walk the entire loop just to spend more time talking with him. 

“Yes… that is probably a good idea,” Copia answers with a small smile. 

He doesn’t want to go inside. He wants to keep holding your hand, keep walking on the secluded garden path until the sun goes down and it grows too cold to stay outside. And even then, he wants to take you back to his office, light a fire, and share a kettle of tea with you and talk some more. Maybe kiss you once or twice, if you’d be willing. Satan knows he would be. 

But you can’t spend what could very well be your last full day at the Abbey just killing time. He knows he should take you back and walk with you to the library. Copia knows he should encourage you to keep trying with Elizabeth’s diary until Sister Imperator is literally pushing you out the door, but he wants more time. He needs more time with you. This can’t be over yet, it can’t. It hasn’t even started, this thing that exists between you. 

The trees begin to shift a little more, a soft whooshing sound blowing with the breeze as the leaves and coniferous needles brush together. 

You blink once, twice, and then it’s pouring. 

“Diable ci-dessous!” you curse, swiping your free hand over your face as if that would help keep the water out of your eyes. The rain very quickly soaks through your habit and the wind bites at your skin. 

Copia squeezes your hand. “Sorella, come, come!” He tugs you into a run along the path. The gravel crunches and moves under your feet, making you both stumble every few steps. Your hands clutch together like a lifeline. 

Through the sound of the ever-growing rainstorm, you can hear the shouts of Siblings working in the garden who had also been caught in the weather. You can’t discern any words. The wind and the rain and the sound of your soaked shoes drowns out anything else, except for the bright laughter bubbling up from the man beside you. 

The rain falls in sheets, and you find yourself laughing with Copia. It’s ridiculous, this situation you’ve found yourself in. Like the sky had heard you speak to each other about your less-than-ideal childhoods, and decided to provide you with the clouds over your heads in a more literal sense. 

It takes you a moment to realize that Copia isn’t leading you back up the path towards the Abbey. You’re still running on the gravel past the greenhouses, which are teeming with Siblings hiding from the storm. Looking up through rain-soaked lashes you see the approaching silhouette of the tiny, sort-of-abandoned chapel in the far corner of the Abbey grounds. You can’t make out any details through the rain except for the small spire with its inverted cross. 

Your heart jumps at the thought of being cooped up in the small space with Copia until the rain subsides.

“Here!” Copia calls. He surges forward to the door of the chapel and almost loses your hand in the process. It takes him two tries before he can shoulder the door open, and then he’s practically dragging you over the threshold. His leather gloves are soaked and slippery, but his grip on you tightens until you’re both inside and safe from the rain. He closes the door behind you and it slams against the threshold with a creak and a loud rap of the ancient brass knocker. 

Then, you’re alone. It’s quiet inside the chapel, save for the storm pelting against the old, warped panels of stained glass along the side walls and the frantic beating of your heart in your ears. 

You wonder why a chapel has a knocker. 

You also wonder why such a pretty, quaint little chapel isn’t used anymore. The inside is lined with dark wood pews on either side of a carpeted aisle. The door is made of the same wood, as is the modest pulpit stationed at the front of the room. It stands on a raised platform, and behind it is another, higher platform with what looks to be a long table sheathed in a black cloth which reaches down to the floor. On either side of the pulpit are elaborate iron candelabras empty of any candles. 

The windows on either side of the chapel aren’t elaborate like that of the main Abbey. They each depict a single inverted cross of clear glass, with red stained glass filling the negative space of the arched windows. The walls are thick and built of stone, and each window lines up with a pew. Several books, which you infer are unholy prayer or hymn books, are perched on each windowsill, and you’re very suddenly reminded of Marseille. The stone walls, the tall, narrow windows, the old wood, the books on the sill. 

For a moment, you’re home and you’re very near to tears. 

“Cara,” Copia says softly from behind you. In your reverie you’d turned around to take in every little detail and your back is now facing him. His hand still holds yours, although you’re sure the soggy leather must be making your (and his) fingertips prune. 

Copia had watched you, watched your eyes flit around the chapel as you turned on the spot. He remembers what you told him about your home and realizes that this little building must remind you of it. He had watched your face alight in unrealized comfort and he had watched as your eyes grew glassy when you made the connection. He calls out to you. Cara, he says, and he means it. You are dear to him and it surprises him just how quickly you’d managed to become that way. 

You turn back to him, trying very hard not to let the tears building in the corners of your eyes slip down your already-wet cheeks. But then you see his face. Oh, your poor Papa, his face. 

One might think, for a Ministry with worldwide influence and many, many resources, they might be able to afford waterproof, smudge-proof paints for their esteemed leader, but they hadn’t. 

“Oh, no,” you giggle. It bubbles up in your chest and escapes your lips without your intent. And then your giggle turns into a rather unattractive snort and a full laugh, because your poor Papa looks like Hell. His paints are running down his face and dripping onto his leather vest. The black rings around his eyes have been tracked down his cheeks so that he looks like an overdramatic actress with terrible mascara. The pigment on his lips and beside his mouth have smudged so badly with the rain that he looks as if he’d drank a gallon of black paint. The white paint has almost completely run off, except for where it settles in the creases beside his mouth and between his brows. 

All together, he looks like a rather soggy zebra. 

Copia pouts at you. “What?”

You wish you had a mirror to show him. Part of you feels horrible for laughing at Papa, but you know that the man behind the paint will also find it rather funny. Slightly embarrassing at worst. “Your–” you try to stifle your giggles. “Your paints, they’re…” 

Copia’s eyes widen in realization. “They’re… not waterproof, no,” he says flatly. “Satana, devo sembrare uno stupido.”

He peels his sodden gloves off his hands and stuffs them in the front pocket of his pants. He swipes a finger under his eye and brings it back to find that his fingertip is gray and patchy. 

“No, you don’t look like an idiot,” you try to soothe him, although you’re still slightly laughing. “You simply… look like a man who was caught in a rainstorm with a full face of paints.” “Sì, so, like an idiot.” 

Copia begins trying to wipe his face with his sleeve. It does nothing to actually remove the paint, instead just smudging around his damp skin. Though, you’re beginning to see that his cheeks burn a pretty red through the streaks of whitish-gray paint, and his ears are nearly completely red. You guess that his face might feel just as hot as your own. 

He huffs in frustration, flicking his wet sleeve and causing water droplets to smack against the stone floor. “Dannazione,” he mutters to himself. “Shitty paints making me look like a…”

You remove your veil and bandeau—which are nearly plastered to your head from the torrential downpour—and wring them out. “Sit,” you command gently. Gesturing to one of the pews nearby, you fold your veil into a neat square. 

When Copia continues mumbling to himself and fruitlessly wiping his face, you reach out and tug his sleeve away. “Copia,” you say again, “Asseyez-vous.”

Copia reluctantly obeys. He knows his face is completely red now, for multiple reasons. It’s cold, for one—the rain had felt like tiny daggers of ice even through his shirt, and now that the two of you are in a drafty little chapel with soaked clothes, the air feels even colder. He’d also made a complete and total ass of himself, thanks to the rain. He’d spent so long this morning leaning against his mirror, going over and over the black paints to make sure each line was crisp and clean and perfect in the off-chance he might see you today. It had made him late arriving at his office, but it had led him to bump into you just minutes after his paints had dried, which is when they look their best, in his opinion. 

But the primary reason his face is practically glowing is because you’d commanded him in French. The language sounds sinful on your tongue. And spoken in that gentle but insistent tone… oh, he could come apart from just your words. You could string him along forever if you only speak like that. 

He sits on the edge of a pew with a sigh. Copia knows he’s being ridiculous—it’s only paint—but he’d spent an embarrassingly long time on it in the hopes it might impress you, and here he is, looking like an idiot. 

You approach him. You’re taller than him like this, so he has to tilt his face up to meet your eyes. Before you can overthink, before you can begin to question yourself, you gently reach out to place a finger under his chin and lift his head up a bit more. “Let me,” you say, almost a whisper. Your finger remains on his chin, keeping his head in place as you place your damp veil against his brow and begin to wipe. 

Surprisingly, the fabric of your veil is much more effective than his shirt, and the paint comes off easily. “Oh,” you say, lifting your brows in mild surprise. “It’s working.” 

You notice that Copia’s eyes slid closed at some point. “It feels nice,” he tells you softly. 

“It’s French,” you say with a little huff of laughter, which Copia echoes. 

Yes, he had meant that the fabric of your veil feels nice against his skin. But mostly he had meant that your finger gently tipping his head back feels like so much, all at once, and he doesn’t have words for any of it. It feels like it belongs there. He wants to touch you back, but where? And would you be okay with it, his hands on your hips or your waist or the backs of your thighs? 

So, he settles for shutting his eyes and clenching his hands on his knees to resist pulling you closer. You’re standing between his knees, which are spread wide enough to accommodate you without touching the sides of your legs.

He wants something. Something innocent, not presumptuous, because he really doesn’t know how you feel about him at all. He lets his legs fall closed a bit more, until the bends of his knees just barely brush against your legs. His pants and your habit are absolutely soaked but he can feel the warmth of your skin through the fabric, and oh, he’d never guess that leg-to-leg contact could feel so intimate. 

Copia opens his eyes when you gently drag your finger over his hairline to brush back the hair stuck to his forehead. You’re so focused on your task, as you always are. Your hands are cold and gentle as you wipe away his ruined paints. He wants to take your hands and kiss every finger until they’re warm again. 

Slowly, carefully, you uncover new expanses of Copia’s face with each pass of your veil. You press a little firmer into the lines along his forehead and between his brows to completely clear his skin. His eyes are closed again, and you’re partially grateful because if he had looked at you like that any longer, you might have leaned down and kissed him. His freckled cheeks or his strong nose or his lips, you don’t know. 

Somewhere between wiping the paint from his mustache and chuffing your veil under his chin, you begin to shake. 

“Tesoro.”

“Hm?”

“You are cold,” Copia says, his voice barely above a whisper. You can feel his warm breath on your fingers as you drag your paint-ruined veil over a spot of white you’d missed. 

“I’m alright,” you say. It’s partially true. Yes, you’re cold, but you don’t want to think about it or else you’ll really be cold and there’s nothing here to warm you up. Realistically you know it’s your habit; it’s soaked through and so are your socks and shoes. But it’s also the realization coursing through you that you have feelings for this man. 

Lucifer, they had developed quickly. It had been so easy for him to push past the barriers you’d set up around your heart and mind. He’d just walked right in, lit a cozy fire within your soul and asked you to call him Copia. And you let him. He’s carving a place in your life that you’d gladly have him occupy, and it scares you. 

He makes you forget why you try not to get attached. He looks at you and you forget the pain of leaving everything behind when you were eleven, which you are deathly afraid of having to do again. 

You’re brought out of your thoughts when Copia’s ungloved hand gently takes yours. You cringe at how clammy your hands must be compared to his warm ones, but you don’t pull away. “Sathanas, tesoro, your hands are like ice,” he says. His other hand comes atop yours to sandwich it between his own. 

You feel like you need to run. Your heart kicks against your sternum as your eyes meet his own. 

Copia’s face is bare now. His freckles stretch across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose, with a few scattered on his forehead and chin. You want to rip your hand out from between his own and tumble out the door into the rain. You want to bring him closer and trace little patterns into his freckles. Satan, you don’t know what you want. 

You want to protect yourself from hurting again. 

Copia, on the other hand, knows exactly what he wants. But he can practically see your mind working, churning back and forth between whatever turmoil is going on inside your head. As he sits in front of you, he can see the exact moment when you begin to panic. He can feel your hand begin to shake in his. He knows you’re not blind, or ignorant. He knows that you both know there is something happening, that it has been happening since you met, that it’s big. And he knows you’re scared of it, what it could become, what it could mean. Darling, he knows.

So, he stays silent. If he says anything or does anything, you’ll flee. This thing between the two of you is delicate, so delicate and new and foreign that any sudden movement will shatter the careful balance you hold in the little chapel. Anything but silence will cave the roof in and drench you all over again. Copia stays silent and holds your hand through your own tempest, and lets your eyes explore his face in search of answers he hopes you’ll find.

“I don’t want to go,” you whisper after another moment. “I want to stay and figure it out.” 

Copia doesn’t know if you’re talking about Elizabeth’s diary, or this thing between you and him, or both. Honestly, neither do you. 

He squeezes your hand tenderly. “Let’s get you back to the Abbey then, eh?” 

“It’s—” your eyes dart to a window, “it’s still pouring, Copia.” Copia simply smiles at you, leaning in as if to tell you a secret. “What’s a little rain going to do, cara? Ruin my paints?” 

~~~

By the time you make it back up the hill, to your dorm, to the shower, and into dry clothes, the lunch hour is long gone. You hadn’t realized how long you’d spent with Copia that morning. It had been just past nine when you left Sister Imperator’s office, and now it is well past two in the afternoon. Somehow it felt like only minutes had passed in the cozy little chapel, and in that chapel you made the terrifying realization that no matter how long you spend with him, it will never be enough. 

You can’t think about that right now. 

Right now, you need to get to the restricted room. You’re halfway out the door of your temporary dormitory, slipping on your only spare pair of shoes as you desperately hold onto the idea you had when you and Copia were about halfway up the hill. 

With your shoes already soaked through, you and Copia had struggled to find traction on the sodden grass. With each step you found yourself slipping backwards, hands flying through the air until you regained your balance, or until Copia firmly grasped it in his own and didn’t let go. The two of you trekked your way up the hill, slipping and sliding and giggling at the absurdity of it all. Your hand would find his own whenever it would slip from his grasp, like they were magnetized. It felt natural, seeking his hand. Even if it was only for balance. 

As you slowly made your way up the hill, soaked and shivering, one thought prevailed in your mind. You only have today, you kept thinking. If you don’t figure out the diary, you’ll only have today. 

It was true of two situations. You have one word of the diary—Today—and you have only today if you can’t decipher the rest. 

You took a step forward, and slid back slightly. Copia’s hand steadied you. 

Only today. Elizabeth. Today. Copia. Today. 

Today. 

You’d stopped completely, just standing in the near-freezing rain. Copia had looked back at you like you were insane (which you might be), and tugged on your hand again. “What is it?” He’d shouted over the rain. 

You’d begun to climb the hill with a renewed vigor. “Today!” 

Copia had no idea what you’d meant by today, but he couldn’t question it when you were pulling him up the hill. It was like you’d suddenly found your footing in the wet grass, and he was glad of it. His shoes were completely drenched and he was shivering nearly as violently as you were. He didn’t need to understand what you were talking about right now. All that mattered was getting you (and himself) out of the cold. He can ask you later. 

Later, he’d thought. Would there be a later?

Yes, there would. As he watched you climb the hill towards the kitchen door, still clinging to his hand and helping him up, he’d decided there would be a later. Sister Imperator may control every other aspect of the Abbey and his life, but not this one. Not you. 

The Siblings working in the kitchen had looked at the two of you like you were crazy when you burst through the door, sopping wet and dripping onto the tile. Perhaps it was a mix of confusion and surprise—you’d wager that none of them had seen Copia without his paints before. You feel immensely privileged that you’d been the first, that you’d been the one to take them off. You’d been the one to strip away Papa. 

“Eh,” Copia had said, looking back and forth between you and the Brother who had smiled at you earlier, “We— I— sorry. We’ll be going, yes—”

He’d grabbed your hand again and pulled you through the kitchens the way you came that morning. Once you both had stepped out into the refectory, which was thankfully empty at this time of day, Copia stopped again. The sounds of his ruffled shirt and your habit dripping on the floor echoed in the large room. “Be honest with me, cara. How bad is it?” 

You’d struggled to hold in a laugh. “It’s… not as bad as you think,” you’d told him. In truth, it wasn’t. But you realized then that you’d missed a spot of paint in his hairline, which now trailed down his forehead in a distinct white line. Without thinking twice, you reached up to swipe it away with your thumb. “I can’t imagine I look any better.” 

Copia huffed a laugh through his nose. “We… should probably go get cleaned up,” he’d said. “I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.” 

“You either, Papa,” you said, and Copia had mourned the loss of his name on your lips. He understands—within the walls of the Abbey, he is Papa and you are Sorella. But perhaps he could make an exception for you. 

You and Copia had parted ways then, to wash up and resume your duties. All the way back to your dorm and through the time it took to shower and change, you’d recited the word today in your head like a prayer. Even now, as you quickly walk through the corridors on the path you've taken every day for the past week, you repeat today, today, today as if you would lose the thought if you didn’t.

If Elizabeth is the key to the first word, perhaps today is the key to the second. Two steps forward, one step back. The hill in the rain. You must look back before you can forge ahead.

With practiced ease, you open the diary’s lockbox and place it onto your usual desk. Having donned the pristine white gloves again, you unfold the linen and the gold embossment on the cover catches your eye. You smile. Soon, you promise to Elizabeth, you will live again in these pages.

The familiar string of letters greets you as you open to the first page of writing. You write the sequence again on a blank sheet in your notebook, the letters flowing from your pen with ease after having written them hundreds of times already. 

LzlhelzhkxbgwfqmnJkcfolBfbalBoiovtsheq.

You already know that the first five letters translate to today, so you cross them out. Underneath the next letters, you write hodie again and again, as you’d done with the word Elizabeth the first time. Your hands are shaking. Please, please, please…

You trace your finger over the letter grid, quickly mapping each letter of the cipher to its partner in the key. L of the cipher and the H of the key map to an E on the grid. You jot down a messy E. Z of the cipher, o of the key, l on the grid. And so on, until you’re confident you’ve found the next word when the deciphered letters stop making sense. 

The second word in the line reads electus. Chosen. 

Without translating the whole sentence, hodie electus could mean a number of things. Word order does not matter in Latin—hodie could be the subject of the sentence, or the object, or an arbitrary time frame. 

Your heart is beating hard in your ears. You continue, using electus as the new cipher key. 

The next word is sum. The Latin word for self, or I. 

Hodie electus sum. Today I was chosen. 

Sweet Satan, you think. Your breath comes shallow and quick. Holy Hell, I’ve figured it out.

You continue, your hands flying back and forth between the corresponding letters of each new key and the grid, double and triple checking to make sure you map the correct letters. Your head feels light, your chest heavy. Like if you dared to look away from the diary or your notebook or the grid, you’d find that you were wrong. You must translate this first sentence before it shifts and your idea doesn’t fit anymore. 

It’s easy to find where the first sentence ends, because it is isolated in its own paragraph in the diary. That also tells you that it’s an important statement; important enough to be separate from the rest of the text, which is a continuous flow of letters down the page. 

The final word of the cipher confirms your suspicions that Elizabeth wanted to keep her diary a secret for a long time. The final word deciphers as Papae, the Latin possessive form of Papa. 

Hodie electus sum ut Primus Motor Papae.

Today I was chosen to be Papa’s Prime Mover.

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