Ghost Bc - Blog Posts
1. I'm laughing hysterically right now because Tumblr has determined this is too "mature" and thus hidden? ?
2ndly. NAMELESS GHOUL NAMES AND TOPHATS!!!!!!!!!!
Thanks @thenamelessfandom for this!
Ghouls! I need your help figuring out these costumes!
I need as many fresh references as possible to these 2 outfits so I can start recreating a *version* of them for my partner and I for July.
I gather these are some fairly basic Skeletons, and what appears to be an Edwardian/Victorian top hat on the ghoul. I freaking love the bat/butterfly (batterfly) wings on the ghoulette.
(I'm sorry, I'm terrible and didn't Reaserch band lore. That will change.) Are these the normal Ghoul masks, or are these new iterations?
Being larger and apron bellied, I'll probably wear a skirt or something sheer over my bodsuit to feel less. . . . Bodily.
Greatful for suggestions for Hotfix gems and how to build the Ghoulette's hat?
Ghost - Life Eternal (Palacio de los Deportes Concert Video)
I'm going to try and play nice and keep my Ghost Costuming journey in one post. Good luck, me.
Better res Ghoulette references
Notes:
Don't need to fully bedazzle the entire skeleton, thank you Papa!
? ? ? Cape collar? ? ?
Hat shape suggests the masks are infact the original horned ones?
Scaring on masks, is that original or newly added?
Ghouls! I need your help figuring out these costumes!
I need as many fresh references as possible to these 2 outfits so I can start recreating a *version* of them for my partner and I for July.
I gather these are some fairly basic Skeletons, and what appears to be an Edwardian/Victorian top hat on the ghoul. I freaking love the bat/butterfly (batterfly) wings on the ghoulette.
(I'm sorry, I'm terrible and didn't Reaserch band lore. That will change.) Are these the normal Ghoul masks, or are these new iterations?
Being larger and apron bellied, I'll probably wear a skirt or something sheer over my bodsuit to feel less. . . . Bodily.
Greatful for suggestions for Hotfix gems and how to build the Ghoulette's hat?
Ghouls! I need your help figuring out these costumes!
I need as many fresh references as possible to these 2 outfits so I can start recreating a *version* of them for my partner and I for July.
I gather these are some fairly basic Skeletons, and what appears to be an Edwardian/Victorian top hat on the ghoul. I freaking love the bat/butterfly (batterfly) wings on the ghoulette.
(I'm sorry, I'm terrible and didn't Reaserch band lore. That will change.) Are these the normal Ghoul masks, or are these new iterations?
Being larger and apron bellied, I'll probably wear a skirt or something sheer over my bodsuit to feel less. . . . Bodily.
Greatful for suggestions for Hotfix gems and how to build the Ghoulette's hat?
Seriously, am I going to be bedazzling a skeleton body suit now or what?
I'M GOING TO SEE THEM FOR MY BIRTHDAY AND I GET TO SEE THIS!
I FREAKING LOVE ALL OF THIS!
Must make Outfit! Only 4 months till concert!
GHOST FANDOM HOW THE FUCK ARE WE FEELING TONIGHT????!
I wanted to go a bit deeper into both the fact Dew WAS a water ghoul and that Copia is part of their pack.
This has ANGST! Only slight but it's there!
CW for a brief mention of blood
Dew was never really close to his first Papa, Terzo.
So-- seeing the others be heartbroken, distraught, ruined by the fact Terzo is gone was a foreign feeling for him. He couldn't help his pack-- what was left at least-- recover or relate to their pain.
He essentially decided to cast himself away from both Aether and Mountain for a while. At least until they felt ready to interact with him-- because they understood he didn't quite understand their feelings about the whole thing.
That was years ago now.
The clergy needed a new front man. A new voice. A new face.
A new Papa.
When Dew first met Copia. He saw him as this nerdy, awkward, clumsy, weirdo who tried too hard to fit in with everyone in the ministry and make Sister proud.
He didn't trust the new Papa. Thought for sure he'd sink this ship as quickly as it took off from its damaged docks.
Copia, however.. showed interest in the spicy fire ghoul.
He had heard of the painful transition the ghoul went through. How it had thrown him to the wolves. How it had made him change so fast he got whiplash.
Copia couldn't help but relate to that.
So when one night he heard quiet whimpers and growls in the practice room. He recognized them immediately as Dews.
He remembers opening the door slowly and quietly. Remembers seeing Dew on his knees, his guitar on the floor in front of him. Spots of blood smeared on the white face of it.
Dew had gotten frustrated. Felt like he couldn't do anything right. Like his ship was sinking and he'd be sent back to the pit because he couldn't control his element right still, he couldn't control himself right.
He couldn't do anything right.
Dew never noticed the satanic Pope walking over to him. Barely noticed when he had knelt down and sat by Dews side.
He did notice when Copia wrapped his arms around him. In a warm, strong embrace.
That was the first time Dew let his walls down around the man.
It would not be his last.
A soft Sodo with a flower crown
Tip jar
Important.
Hello ghost Tumblr. Happy trailer day. I know we're all very excited to see the trailer today and looking forward to make theories and talk about it.
But today I want to ask you a favor, dear ghost community. It's not much.
As we speak, Rafah is under heavy attack. Over 500 000 people are right now in Rafah without a place to go to. Right now people in Sudan and Congo are suffering. In this moment people in Brazil face a climate catastrophe.
Please do not stop talking about Palestine. Don't forget about Palestine. Don't forget about Congo, About Sudan. Don't forget to spread information and donations for the people affected by weather catastrophes in Brazil. Don't forget about Ukraine.
We as a ghost community habe the responsibility to stay educated and not stay silent about injustice in our world. Let's be there for the people who need our help and speak up for them.
All eyes on Rafah. Free Palestine. Free Congo. Free Sudan. 🇸🇩🇨🇩🇵🇸
Don't forget.
this is BEAUTIFUL
Sinners' tango
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It wasn't just meant to be a small collection of Papa x Sister of Sin!Reader, but also to have a little interpretation key. So, as usual, I invite you to comment/like to show your support!
I really like the idea that the Ministry of Ghosts is a matriarchal pyramid, where even though Papa seems like the most important figure, Sister Imperator is the one who holds the reins of everything. Furthermore, I like that this isn't seen as a threat to anyone's masculinity within the clergy.
This series had a bit of this in mind. The woman isn't shown to allow more or less everyone to insert/identify themselves, yet her presence is so strong that even without ever seeing her face, you should be able to perceive her as the dominant figure in the composition. Sometimes she simply doesn't bother to look at those who are looking at the images, as if leaving the dirty work to someone else, other times she plays with her men, who allow themselves to be moved docilely.
There's also a certain sensuality, the idea of intimacy between the sister and the pope, and the various popes looking into the camera is like an awareness of their position. It's a submissive, almost devoted but still proud. Except for Copia, but not because he's not devoted to her, but because he, more than anyone, couldn't take his eyes off her.
Mummy Dust - Papa Copia 💚 Australia, Sydney 2023
okay but I literally loved this
Confessional - Cardinal Copia x F!Reader
Summary: As a sister of sin, it was your duty to confess at least once a month, to have your sins praised by a higher up member of the clergy. But you only ever chose Thursday nights, when you knew he was on duty. And tonight, you were working up the courage to confess your darkest sin - the dreams you had been having...
Rating: Explicit, 18+ Word Count: 5.5k
Warnings: Mutual masturbation, graphic description of oral sex and penetrative sex, corruption kink, shame kink, obviously sacrilegious themes (hello?? It’s ghost…), some nastiness akin to panty-sniffing… (you’ll see what I mean lol) PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3
Your shoes clacked on the solid flooring of the ministry, resonating on the marble to fill the silence. It was already late, the sun long gone and no longer illuminating the stained glass of the windows as you passed them.
You couldn’t help your hands nervously wringing as you walked towards the chapel, pace quicker than normal. Perhaps rushing there was doing nothing for your current nervous state, but idly walking was closer to torture, and any slower, you might miss him…
There were only a few minutes left of confessional, and whilst you knew it would be incredibly quiet this late into the evening, you had left it as long as possible for fear of running into anybody else.
Thursday night confessional was the quietest – after all, it was his night, and he wasn’t a Papa. Your siblings favoured their Papas, any chance for a one-to-one conversation with them but not you… You only wanted to speak to him.
The doors to the chapel at the end of the hall stood before you, your mind still toying with the idea of turning and running, maybe trying again next Thursday… It had taken you weeks to muster the courage to confess this evening, and the chapel doors were the furthest you had ever got without retreating to the safety of your dorm. Tonight, you were determined – you had to confess.
With a deep breath, your hands – which you had adorned in some very pretty black lace gloves – opened the doors to the chapel. The creak echoed along the intricate stone architecture, and with it you heard a smaller creak of a wooden door, followed by a tiny slam. Had you not been looking dead ahead at the confessional booth as you entered, you perhaps wouldn’t have noticed it was in fact the confessional door closing very quickly.
On his side.
‘He thought he was done for the evening’, you thought.
You stayed put for a moment, contemplating just running back to your dorm and allowing his evening to end here – maybe he was disappointed that a sibling had come to confessional at the very last moment.
“Sh-should I come back next week?” you asked to the open room.
“Oh, uh… no, no. Please, sister. I was just, uh… stretching my legs. Por favore, come. Sit,” he invited.
You couldn’t help but smile a little at his sheepishness, like a child being caught with his hand in the cookie jar, protesting his innocence.
Quickly, you shut the chapel doors behind you and clacked your way over to the confessional, taking a seat across from his side and sitting awkwardly on the plush leather bench. The screen between the two of you kept a comfortable separation, forbidding you from having to look him in his wonderfully mismatched eyes.
You weren’t sure you could do this without that luxury…
“When you’re ready, Sorella.”
You took a deep breath, your hands playing with the fabric of your habit at the knees.
“Cardinal, I… I have sinned,” you began.
“Which of the sins have you committed, Sorella?”
This was harder than you had anticipated, the fear of judgement so prevalent in your mind you thought of making up something far less than that you had planned to express.
Of course, you would not be judged for your sins – but praised. Confessional was not to be absolved of your sins, rather to celebrate them. You were supposed to sin, and at least one confessional per month was mandatory as a Sibling of Sin at the ministry. But this one felt like one you perhaps should have kept to yourself…
“Sorella?” he urged again, gently attempting to coax your sins from you.
“I’m sorry, Cardinal, this is… embarrassing.”
“Take your time, but know that no matter what, the dark lord will be pleased with y-“ “Lust, Cardinal. It’s… it’s lust,” you interrupted.
“Oh…” he seemed taken aback, almost awkward himself. “Well, uhh… In your own time, eh?”
You looked up from your hands where you had been staring at the lace that adorned them, taking a look through the lattice screen and barely seeing his outline across from you. You could only just make out the red of his cassock, not so bright in the dim lighting of the booth. The red was your favourite…
“Cardinal, I’ve been having these dreams…” you began, “well, the same dream. Always the same… and it follows me. I can’t think straight anymore, it’s… affecting my days, my work. My siblings are starting to notice my mind wanders and I can’t explain it to them. I’m trying to continue my duties, but I find it so hard to focus after having this dream.”
In the booth beside you, Cardinal Copia listened intently. “Sorella, is this a… dream of a, uh… sexual nature?” he asked tentatively, shy himself.
Copia was perhaps the most awkward of the higher ups, nothing like his brothers in their blatant sexuality and charm with women. Perhaps that had been where this started; a curiosity of sorts. Perhaps his somewhat goofy persona is what had caught your eye, made your thoughts wander during seminars and Black Mass.
Whatever had sparked this, it had only grown.
“Yes, Cardinal… They are,” you shuffled on the bench, the leather squeaking beneath you, “I dream I’m studying late, in a seminar room and… well, I’m not alone. One thing leads to another, and… I’m sure you can imagine what happens next.” You hurried to finish your sentence, praying to Satan himself the Cardinal didn’t press the subject of your dream much further and this may be enough of a confession to please the dark lord.
But imagine is exactly what the Cardinal was doing.
Had he not seen it was you who opened the chapel doors at 10:56pm on a Thursday evening as his confessional duties were coming to an end, perhaps he could have remained professional, listened to your confession without issue.
But you were exactly the issue. His sweet, most innocent Sorella…
The Sorella who smiled at him in the hallways, no matter who she was walking with.
The Sorella who never misses a seminar he’s hosting.
The Sorella who only ever confesses on a Thursday, during his duty.
The Sorella who keeps stealing glances at him as his brothers perform Black Mass.
His heart ached a little at the prospect you were dreaming of someone, of anyone other than him. But whilst his heart ached, his crotch twitched… Already, the picture you had painted for him was enough to be the focus of his imagination long into the night.
Copia coughed once to rid the thought from his mind as best he could.
“And these are dreams, you say?” he asked, hoping to drag your confession out just a little longer, to see if you would let any more information slip.
“Well, they started that way…”
The Cardinal’s head snapped to look at the screen between you both as if he were looking directly in your eyes, but he could only see the silhouette of your side profile in the dark.
“Please, explain...”
Heat crept onto your cheeks, a blush spreading as you recounted the dreams in vivid detail that had turned into daydreams.
“My mind wanders during the day… I can’t help myself.”
The Cardinal hadn’t realised he was squeezing his own knees with his hands until he heard the leather of his gloves squeak from the pressure. He quickly shook them out, ridding his mind of the thoughts you had placed there without intention.
“The subject of these desires – is it always the same person, mio cara?” he asked bravely.
“Yes, Cardinal…”
He took a deep breath, a part of him so hoping this wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass.
“Do you wish to tell me who, mio cara?” He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t praying to Satan himself that the subject of your fantasies was him. He wouldn’t know what to do with the information if he had it, but he needed to know, he had to pry…
“This is why I’m embarrassed, Cardinal… I-“ you paused. Were you really about to do this? Were you going to confess to this?
“This is a safe place, Sorella. Speak your truth, tell me your sins…” he urged, verging on desperate as he tried to keep his voice composed.
In your booth, your mind swam with the images of your dreams… Slow touches over your habit, gentle caresses of your cheek turning into ravenous kisses and manhandling until you were bent over your dear Cardinal’s desk with your rear on display and core soiling your panties. Just the images were enough to make you squeeze your knees together in an attempt to still the pulsing you felt between your legs…
“Cardinal…” you almost whined in a hushed voice. The poor man beside you had to bite into his leather-clad fist to stop himself from reacting. That whine; it sent a shiver down his spine that rippled across his whole body, the blood seeming to drain from the top of his head to one focal point below his waist… It took all the strength he had not to palm himself through his cassock.
Instead, he remained quiet. The only sound was the noise his leather gloves made as he squeezed his hands into fists. But he needed to give you the chance to speak, he wasn’t going to force you into admission…
“I-I’m sorry, Cardinal… but… it’s you.”
And there it was. Two little words that put his mind in a tailspin.
It’s you.
“Sweet sorella…” he whispered, “don’t apologise…”
But how could you not? You had been mortified the second the admission left your lips. You didn’t have to tell him it was him, but something had forced it out of you, some tiny little bit of hope that he would show an interest, or at the very least, that he wouldn’t chastise you for such dirty thoughts of him.
“Do you think less of me, Cardinal?” you asked in a hushed tone, tears almost threatening to creep up on you.
“Mio cara, as if I ever could… Your sins are celebrated here, you know this, eh?” The cardinal sounded as if he was pleading with you, begging you not to be disgusted or angry at yourself. Truly, that was exactly what he was doing; because he was more aroused by your admission than anything he had ever seen, heard or felt before.
Because it was you.
“But...” “No, Sorella, I won’t hear it. You are free to sin, we… we encourage sin,” he stumbled a little over his words, trying to be decent and professional but his resolve was quickly crumbling.
A beat of silence passed between the two of you, the only sound the creak of the wooden booth as the Cardinal shifted on his bench. The mere thought that the Cardinal might encourage this behaviour, that he might encourage your filthy thoughts about him had you biting your lip to save the whimper that had crept up your throat.
“May I ask something, Sorella? A question you don’t have to answer,” he asked, leaning slightly closer to the lattice between you and lowering his voice as if others could hear.
“Mm-hmm,” was all you could manage, still holding back that whimper as your thighs squeezed together a little tighter.
“Do you ever… act on those dreams?”
It was unprofessional, and he knew it. It was invasive, and he knew it. But he could never forgive himself if he didn’t at least ask.
In the tiniest voice, barely audible even in the silence of the chapel, you replied, “Once…”
But he heard you. Oh, he heard you loud and clear.
And the thought of his cara, his sweetest sorella fantasising about him to a point of arousal where she simply cannot help herself but to reach under her habit and… Well, it was driving him wild. His already wildly engorged erection was almost painful, begging to be touched. In a battle between his mind and his body, his body had won – his palm pushed against himself, slowly as to evade suspicion from just his shadow alone.
The guilt he felt as he crumbled… If you knew how filthy the old man was being, how he couldn’t help himself when it came to you, how he just had to touch himself as you confessed in confidence to him, you would surely despise him. He knew that.
And yet, at this point he was close to risking it all for just one moment of bliss.
“Cardinal, I’m so sorry… this was too much. I shouldn’t have come tonight, should never have said anything,” you panicked. He’d been quiet for a beat too long, and it was driving you insane. You needed to go, to run back to your dorm and lock yourself away to take care of yourself and the heat pooling between your legs whilst simultaneously avoiding any and all encounters with the Cardinal for the foreseeable future.
You stood up to leave when…
“No, no, wait, per favore…”
His tone stopped you in your tracks – the distress, as if he were the one in the wrong out of the two of you, as if he were the pervert.
“Mio cara, I don’t want you to feel embarrassed. And I don’t want you to feel like what you have thought or done is wrong.”
At least, not wrong enough that you should feel any shame. Sin was indeed the point, after all...
“And I certainly wouldn’t want you to leave without a sense of climax, eh?”
His chosen words felt cryptic, as if he himself were testing the waters but you couldn’t be sure. Yet the slight possibility was enough to make you sit back down and wait for him to continue.
Did he mean confessional? That you hadn’t heard his usual ‘celebration of sin’ speech he did for every confession before you had left? Or did he mean it in the literal sense?
Oh, Satan, you hoped for the literal sense. The one and only climax you had ever allowed yourself with thoughts of him running rabid in your mind had been the single most religious experience you’d had since joining the ministry.
“Dolcezza,” he began, “If… if you so wish, you can tell me about your dreams. I’ll think no less of you, te lo prometto (I promise you)…”
His tone was so soothing, as if he had morphed into the very serpent that tempted Eve to the apple. Was that what he was doing? Tempting you? You had no time to ponder the thought, your mouth betraying your mind as you began to recount the parts of the dream you had hidden from him before.
“I’m studying… Latin translation, Cardinal – your specialty,” you spoke with admiration, “you offer to help me, standing beside the desk as I translate a text for you. It’s about… sins of the flesh, and how they can be used as an offering to Lucifer.”
The Cardinal beside you listened intently, his palm slowly resuming the pressure he’d put on his length over his cassock before.
“I… tell you I’d never committed that sin before. At least, not with another… that’s when you crouch down beside me, and tell me it’s the most wonderful feeling. How… important the female orgasm is, and how… I should try it sometime. With someone I trusted, of course. And then, I…” just thinking of what you say to him in the dream had you squeezing your eyes shut in embarrassment, cringing at yourself but your cardinal beside you… he was so desperate to hear what you do next.
“I tell you I trust you… And you tell me you’ll take good care of me,” you divulged.
Oh, he would take good care of you, he thought, gripping his cock through his cassock hard to stifle the groan that rumbled deep in his chest. The shame that washed over him as he gave in to his own selfish desperation weighed heavy on his shoulders, and had it been anybody but you he wouldn’t even dare to indulge. But it was you – his sweetest sorella…
“Sorella, I would take good care of you...” Copia tested the waters, relieved to hear the tiniest of whimpers from your side of the booth as his words settled in the air. You squeezed your thighs tightly together, your knees raising as you twisted in your seat to feel as much friction as possible without having to reach down between your thighs.
“Please, continue mio cara…”
You took a deep breath, “you lean in to kiss me, gently at first but… your hands push my veil back from my hairline until it drops, and wind their way into my hair. I just… I can’t help myself then. Before I know what overcomes me, I’m gripping onto your cassock and pulling you as close as possible, Cardinal. I get… so desperate,” you breathed, your hand snaking to cup yourself between your legs, unable to stand the lack of pressure any longer.
“Tesoro…” he moans beside you. His hand effortlessly unbuttons his cassock, pushing its way past the waistband of his pants to grip himself bare underneath. He’s too far gone to worry about you catching on. Hell, he almost wished you would.
Like a bolt of electricity, a shock shot through your body to your core at the sound of his moan. It was better than you had dreamed, far deeper, the timbre of his voice vibrating through you. It only served to push you into confessing more…
“You lift me to sit on the desk and stand between my knees, your hands disappearing from my hair to under my habit,” your hand began to rub against your core, the other bunching your habit up around your knees, pulling it higher and higher to expose your legs beneath.
You felt utterly mortified at yourself, so eager to relieve yourself beside your cardinal. But you wouldn’t dare stop, not when you could still hear his breath deepening, slowing as if trying to control himself also.
“You touch me, and… it feels incredible,” you whine, your own fingers replicating his in your dream, now able to push your panties to the side and slowly drag through your soaked core, the lace of your gloves dampening. Copia could barely drag his fist over his length from under his pants but it sure as hell didn’t stop him as he envisioned getting to push his gloved fingers into your beautifully glistening pussy…
You don’t wait for any kind of response, your fight or flight instincts kicking in. To give him an opportunity to interrupt and scold you for your dreams would be a grave mistake on your part and one you may not recover from – so you just continued…
“Your fingers, they… slide into me. The leather feels cold – I like it, it’s… nice,” you whine, pushing your own laced fingers into you as you spoke, slowly… “But you take them out again, and you taste them…”
“Merda,” he hissed, squeezing himself. The picture in his mind was so perfect, he could practically hear your moans, hear the way his fingers sounded gliding through your slick…
No, wait…
He really could hear that…
His eye shot open – he hadn’t even realised they were shut this whole time – and he sat bolt upright, the hand in his pants slipping back out. He stilled, listening out for that tell-tale sound again, the quiet, wet squelch of what he prayed to Satanas was your fingers gliding through your slick.
And he heard it again.
His heart weighed so heavy in his chest, shame washing over him. You were part of his congregation. He was someone you looked up to, turned to for guidance and teachings and yet here he was – letting himself paint the filthiest picture of the two of you. You trusted him, and here he was having to force his hand away from his cock as you confessed your sin.
‘Copia, you pathetic old pervert’, he thought to himself.
“C-Cardinal…” you whined, and that was enough for him. Perhaps he was a disgusting, perverted old man who was hopelessly in love with a member of his congregation, and he just had to live with that – because there wasn’t a single circle of hell vile enough to deter him from unlacing the front of his pants to let his thick cock spring free and chase the pleasure he denied himself after hearing his name spill from your lips like that.
On your side, your mind couldn’t string together any form of coherency aside from recounting the details of your dream aloud. The lace of your glove was sodden with slick, fingers delving as deep as possible as you slumped against the back of the booth, legs spread and habit bunched around your hips.
“Y-you get to your knees in front of me, and… and you use your mouth,” you sob, clenching around your own fingers. “Your tongue, it… feels… ohh,” you moaned wantonly, catching yourself in what you were doing and suddenly realising you were no longer being remotely subtle.
Your eyes widened, fear rushing through you as you looked to your left at the figure behind the lattice. What would he think of you? He would be so ashamed of you… how could you ever look him in the eye again? Your mind raced with panic, until movement in your peripheral caught your attention.
A slow, rhythmic shadow… where his lap should be…
Paired with the short, sharp breaths he tried to hush that followed each movement of that shadow, you could surely draw only one conclusion.
And the thought had a fresh wave of heat sweeping through your core…
“S-sometimes this part, it’s… different…” you began again, slowly resuming your self-pleasure.
“Mmf, how… how so, dolce?” he asked, slowly pumping his cock in his hand, his eyes squeezing shut again and leaning his head against the back wall of his booth.
“Sometimes you… you make me cum on your tongue but sometimes… you c-can’t wait…” you stutter, picturing the scene in your head as your free hand comes to circle your clit, adding a layer of pleasure that had fresh slick slipping past your fingers.
“Fanculo… What do you mean, Tesoro?” he asks, his thumb spreading the beads of precum shining at the head of his cock. The leather glove he wore shone wet as he fisted his length.
“You uh… you spin me around a-and, you push me down against the desk…” you avowed, “and you f-fuck me, Cardinal…” If you had learned anything about yourself today, it was that you had a shame kink – because the way your pussy clenched around your gloved fingers as you spoke was too telling…
“In nome di Satanas (in Satan’s name)…” he growled beside you, his fist pumping fast enough that you could hear the sound of his cock gliding through it. “I… fuck you, Sorella?”
“I-I’m sorry for… my language, Cardinal…” you pleaded, unable to stop yourself from fucking your fingers deeper into you, your foot propped up on the wall opposite you.
“Oh, mio cara… don’t you apologise,” he smirked as he sat basking in your sweet attempt at an apology as if he didn’t know you were doing far worse next to him than cursing. Satanas, he fucking loved your innocence – but more so, he loved knowing that it was him who could corrupt it.
Still, he heard those delicious noises from beside him, his mind racing trying to imagine how you would taste given the chance to try… His dolcezza… Just one chance to taste you and he’d never forget how sweet you truly were.
But oh, Satanas, the thought of bending you over that desk in his classroom and sinking his length into your tight, wet cunt… It was almost too much for Copia. He had to squeeze himself at the base to stave off an early orgasm. No way was he finishing before you had confessed all to him.
“Will you tell me how, Tesoro?” he asks, and your willingness to answer him stuns you; how easily you gave in to your Cardinal, wanting nothing more than to please him.
“You’re… gentle with me. You take care of me, make sure you don’t hurt me… At least at first,” your hands slowed to the pace you envisioned his hips meeting yours, the building pressure in your abdomen lessening for the time being. The cardinals fist did the same, simulating the feeling of filling you.
“You always tell me how good I’m doing, that... you know I can handle more.” How you had got him so accurate in your dream is beyond him; as he slowly fisted his cock he knew that he would say those things to you, he would always praise you, tell you how good you were being for him. He’d only ever want to take care of you, to make sure you not only felt every single ridge and vein of his thickness but that you were comfortable while doing so.
“I know you’d be good for me, amore mio…” Copia was too far gone to recognise his own tiny confession as he talked you through your dream.
“C-Cardinal…” you whimper, your fingers curling inside you to reach the spot you just know his cock would hit with every slow thrust.
“It’s okay, Sorella…” he reassured, willing you to continue. If he got to hear you climax, to hear those gasps and sordid moans spill from you as you came, he could die a happy – if somewhat perverted – man.
“You start to get faster… harder… I can feel the edge of the desk digging into my thighs,” your clit pulsed under the circles you drew over it, “y-you p-pull my hair a little… a lot,” you corrected yourself as you stuttered. In your dream, Copia would wrap his fingers in your hair and pull until your chest lifted from the desk. “It hurts a little, but… I like it.”
He couldn’t take much more of this. His cock was leaking profusely as his fist quickened its pace. From beside you, you could hear his grunts, and the moment he spits into his palm to make the glide of his fist easier. It only served to heighten your arousal more.
Imagining his hips pistoning into you from behind, you couldn’t help but rut against your own fingers, little whimpers leaving you with each thrust. In the booth beside you, Copia was doing much the same, hips thrusting up into his fist which had now stilled to allow the next best thing other than your pussy.
“Sorella, I… merda,” he didn’t even know what he was trying to say, his mind simply clouded with thoughts of you and only you.
You were giving in, hands working so fast to race towards an end. You needed release, you needed to cum. For how long you had stopped yourself from touching yourself to these fantasies, you could barely edge yourself any longer. You’d only ever allowed yourself a release to thoughts of Copia once before, when it had become too much and now you were finally allowing yourself again.
And not only you, but the Cardinal was sat beside you, furiously fucking into his fist as if it were you because of your fantasy… You couldn’t hold off if you tried.
You pressed your lips together in a hard line as you hummed, suppressing a moan that would ricochet off the chapel walls for the ministry to hear. The pressure built and built, heat turning into a spark, to a flame until you ignited an inferno…
“C-Copia… Please,” you howled into your shoulder, curling in on yourself as you met your end. You fucked yourself through your orgasm, feet kicking out against the wood of the booth.
At the sound of his name – his real name – being thrown from your lips in desperation was enough to make his cock pulse in his fist, hips stuttering as he shot thick spurts of cum across his hand and down the front of his cassock. But the sounds of your fingers deep inside yourself and the thumps of you thrashing around next to him drove him animalistically wild, continuing to desperately thrust into his fist into overstimulation.
The both of you had to slow to catch your breath, slumping into opposite corners of the booths and both of you removing your hands from the messes you had made of yourselves. Your glove was sopping, to a point it almost repulsed you – you had to slip it off, letting it fall beside you as you recovered from your post-orgasm exhaustion.
The silence between the two of you was leaving too many unanswered questions, neither one of you knowing how to proceed from here. But frankly, you both needed to catch your breath and calm yourselves down before you could even think straight.
“Sorella…” Copia started, tucking himself back into his pants. “You…” he sighed, shame washing over him once again now the orgasm haze had dissipated. He ran his clean hand through his hair, and slotted himself back into Cardinal mode. “You should say your prayer of thanks…”
Disappointment washed over you, followed by a helping of embarrassment. He wanted to wrap up whatever this had been quick, and have you go on your way… Why had you expected anything different?
“Um… yeah, I… I should,” you started. Sitting up, your roll your habit back down to hang around your ankles and began your prayer. “Satanas, I thank you for your guidance and celebrate my sin with you, shrouded in your darkness. Nema.” You kept it short, now desperate to flee the chapel as fast as possible to run and hide in humiliation.
“I celebrate your sin in the name of Lucifer, our Dark Lord,” Copia stayed on script, as if this were any regular confession.
“His wrath endures forever,” you respond, as you knew you should.
“Your sins are celebrated…” he hesitated – he didn’t want you to go like this, he was screaming at himself in his head but his professionalism stopped him from wavering. “Go in peace,” he sighed, leaning forward against his knees, unable to even watch your shadow as you stood and left the booth.
The regret Copia felt stung in his chest – not for the act of sin he had just committed, he could never regret a moment with you. But he regretted the way he let you leave, hearing your heels clacking on the marble floor faster than they had approached earlier that evening. You got out of there fast, and he was so mad at himself for making you feel like you needed to run from him.
Copia looked down in his lap at the mess he had made of himself. He shrugged out of his cassock, the stains localised to just the jacket so he could at least leave with a little dignity in his pants and shirt underneath. He stepped out of the booth, checking that there was nothing to clean up on his side – luckily not, he was already far too ashamed of himself to have to spend any more time here.
He walked to your side to check for the same, praying to Lucifer there was nothing left on the bench either. Cleaning up his own mess was humiliating enough, but cleaning up yours? Satanas, he’d be mortified…
As he opened the door to the other side, he noted no stains on the leather of the bench. However, he noticed a small black heap in the corner. With a gloved hand, he reached for it, picking it up between pinched fingers.
It was lace… not panties like he had first thought, but a glove. Your lace glove.
You wore them often when he saw you around the ministry, enjoying the pretty pattern no doubt. He laid it in his palm, wondering how to give this back to you without combusting on the spot in horror after what he had just done when he noticed it left a dark, shiny mark on his leather clad hand. A wet mark.
Realisation dawned on him and the blood drained from his face.
You hadn’t taken it off… That mark; that was all you.
He quickly scrunched the glove up in his hand as if hiding it from prying eyes, despite being alone. With a quick guilty look over his shoulders and around the empty chapel, he opened his fist a little closer to his face, picking up a sweet, intoxicating scent as he did so.
He twitched in his pants again at the knowledge that was your scent. That was how you smelled.
Satanas… How could he ever look you in the fucking eye again?
His Sorella… his amore…
What a sick, perverted old Cardinal he was.
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 A/N: Hey! Welcome, I'm Bee - I'm new to Ghost tumblr, and well, to Ghost too... but not new to writing fan fiction and so this seemed like the natural progression of my new found love of this band. So hi, welcome. I'm planning more fics as we speak... but feel free to send me some prompts and I'll write little blurbs/one shots out of those too... SEND ME A PROMPT
this is probably my favorite thing ever literally everything i've ever needed condensed into this perfect fic
Was It Worth It? (Cardinal Terzo x Reader)
Summary: Worth (n.) - the value equivalent to that of someone or something under consideration; the level at which someone or something deserves to be valued or rated.
Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI
Cardinal Terzo x AFAB reader / 6.2k words
Warnings: language, graphic description of piv sex, religious trauma, alcohol, poorly translated Italian, angst
aO3 link
Part One: What Goes Up...
Sometimes, when the sun was low in the sky like this, and you could still feel the occasional pitter of droplets dispersing against your skin, you took the risk of abandoning your responsibilities and popping outside for the evening. It was peculiar how the salmon rays of the sun peeked through heavy, sodden clouds. The beams heated the water in the air and made it sticky and heavy. “Hot rain” your Granddad had called it. It reminded you of simplicity. Of home.
You stepped right outside the cloister on the farthest corner of the abbey to soak the weighted air and shafts of light inward as self-anointing. The grass was springy under your feet, verdant, and you lost track of your steps as you meandered out into the less-manicured side of the grounds towards the wooded border of the property’s boundaries.
It had been two years since you decided to join the order. Your family, long gone at the prospect of you choosing a life of sin and vulgarity, and your friends feigning happiness that slowly dripped away as time wore on and contact faded into simple memories. You didn’t mind it. If being a part of the ministry had taught you anything, it was that change was normal - healthy, even - and that embracing and adapting was necessary to find self-fulfillment and true absolution.
The first year as a Sister of Sin proved a heady challenge. With scripture and philosophy to study, on top of a laundry list of new procedures and rituals and ways of living to memorize, you had your hands full. There were some nights where sleep was truly a blessing from below and you started to understand the pull of addiction as you filled your coffee for what seemed like the umpteenth time at breakfast before starting your shift washing the ministry’s linens.
Uncertainty and impulsivity had inspired you to join. Desperation had encouraged you to stay. Like a mid-life crisis happening 20 years too soon, you clung to any open window to find purpose and opportunity. You longed for a defined path outlined in thick black marker on a map with an ‘x marks the spot’.
It wasn’t until a year and a half into your tenure as a Sister of Sin, fresh out of novitiate, that you met a young Cardinal Terzo (as he liked to be called) and your outlook on this new life began to shift. You couldn’t exactly point to why he had chosen you out of all the other sisters. You didn’t feel as though you were the most attractive, or the most seductive, or the most educated or intelligent. You didn’t feel secure in any specific talents and you didn’t feel a drive to accomplish anything specific. If anything, your energy was spent on yearning for direction.
Perhaps he had noticed your propensity to velcro into anything novel or interesting. Or maybe it was your enthrallment and willingness to engage. Whatever the reason, Terzo had chosen you to devote his time to.
You had been assigned to his detail as a temporary member of his small team of siblings. Though your past experience noted a range of clerical skills and literary study, you had instead been chosen to keep his chambers. It had taken all but a few days to learn Cardinal Terzo’s particulars. His sheets, which were a stereotypical black satin, had to be positioned just right (heaven forbid the fitted sheet have a loose corner…one would think that Papa himself had been murdered). Because of their color and Terzo’s…life choices, both the top sheet and the fitted sheet had to be changed nearly daily to save them from resembling Pollock’s “Lavender Mist”. His clothing had to be organized by occasion and style (and as you quickly found out, by random personal preference that seemed to change on a whim). Terzo required his wine fridges (plural) to be stocked twice weekly (including the large collection of reds that rested atop each fridge at room temperature), and it wasn’t uncommon to fulfill last minute requests for antipasto, fruit, candles, or other carnal delicacies to be brought to his room for later that evening.
Completing tasks was a nightmare. You never knew if your assigned shift would lead you into an empty (and disarrayed) room with Terzo having been up and out early in the morning, or an occupied suite that stayed inhabited up into the early afternoon. The latter still caught you off-guard and you made frequent mental notes to work on your stuttered apologies as you awkwardly left his bedroom to wait until it was empty to resume your duties.
However, one day that seemed all but special, you entered his bedroom to change his linens and refresh his wardrobe, only to find Cardinal Terzo hunched over the mantel in front of the fireplace. His head hung low, browbeaten, and a rocks glass of scotch was perched between heavy fingers while his fist was clasped to his right. If you listened closely enough, you swore you could hear his aggravated breathing laced with tears. You froze at the sight.
“I’m sorry, Cardinal. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you eventually peeped out, trying your best to keep your tone even as to not portray any perceived judgment.
Terzo hadn’t turned to face you, but was quick in his reply — his voice gravely and gruff. “It’s best if you go, Sorella,” he responded, gripping even tighter onto the glass. The air felt thick and you could feel your own sweat (whether from the heat of the fire or the anxiety of catching Terzo at an inopportune moment, you weren’t sure) pooling on your forehead.
Despite his request, you stayed stationary.
You couldn’t help but look over the way his hair hung down to frame his painted eyes, tracks of tears threatening to wash away the intricate circular design and painted bow, and how his lips pursed in the firelight. Do you dare overstep your professional boundaries to show a touch of common humanity? To show that despite his role as a prominent Cardinal in the church, he was still a human being that deserved empathy and kindness? It was then that you decided to be bold. You took a deep breath.
“Do you need a hug?”
Your words seemed to catch Terzo off guard, and he suddenly raised his head and craned his neck to look at you, eyebrows furrowed. You gently set down the basket of clean laundry and took a step towards him, wringing your hands in apprehension as you approached him.
Upon seeing you, soft-faced and vulnerable in the dim light, his own expression dampened and he turned his body to face yours. “I think I would like that, Sorella,” he replied.
It was from the moment that your small frame enveloped him, your head tucking in against his chest while your hands moved comfortingly against the smooth fabric of his jacket that hugged against his back, that you felt your heart beam against his. And maybe, you reasoned, you weren’t crazy in thinking that you felt his beam back against your own.
Over the next week or so, your daily visits to his chambers began to change. You could almost bet on him being present for your visits now, and while it had made you nervous before, you had begun to look forward to seeing him lounging about in his chambers, coffee in hand as he greeted you with a warm, “Good Morning, Sorella.” Dinner in the refectory had been previously uneventful, but now was punctuated by stolen glances from (and to) the head table, with Terzo occasionally lifting his ever-present glass of red in your direction — a subtle, yet definite nod to your existence. You couldn’t help but internally swoon.
The second week after your fireside interaction, after replacing the linens, replenishing the firewood, and restocking a few choice wines in Terzo’s chambers, you were met with a personal request from the Cardinal.
Like many nights during weeks prior, Terzo had left his room with a special request for the evening. “A sensuous feast” he had called it, and having fulfilled his wishes before, you knew exactly the way it was to be done.
Ignoring your disappointment (and the pang in your chest when you read the note), you worked with the kitchen ghouls to create a charcuterie board to remember, rife with various fruits, cheeses, nuts, and the homemade rosemary focaccia you knew he enjoyed at dinner. A bottle of prosecco sat on ice in a marble wine chiller on the low mahogany coffee table (and you made sure to stock a couple extra in the nearby wine fridge for good measure), and two glasses were perfectly polished beside it, waiting for eventual effervescence. A low fire was kindled and warmed the plush rug that lay in front of it as it waited for its future occupants.
Swallowing the sharp spasms that assaulted your chest, you gave the room a small, unreturned smile and surveyed your work.
“Beautiful job, Dolcezza.” Terzo’s silken voice frightened you as it broke the quietude in the room. You let out a breath, a chuckle laced between it and your words, and you replied with your same gentle smile.
“Thank you. Will that be all, Your Eminence?”
You had been prepared for the Cardinal to shoo you away, possibly thanking you with another one of his thousand-yard smirks, but to your surprise, he didn’t. Instead, he wrinkled his brows in thought, walking slowly over to the velvet-tufted loveseat across from the mantel. His gloved hand stroked the back, fingertips brushing so lightly that they didn’t even leave a mark.
“Actually, no, Sorella,” he said, eyes fixed on the raspberry-hued fabric. You felt your lungs tighten. Had you forgotten something? You’d be the first to admit that you’d been distracted in your work lately, and it wouldn’t have surprised you to see that you missed something crucial. Terzo interrupted your worried visage, his duochromatic eyes flickering up to you with a sultry gaze. “...would you like to stay?”
His words had hit you square in the jaw, which you were sure was now hanging open just slightly at your surprise. You swallowed and stammered out, “I-I don’t want to intrude on your company, Cardinal.”
“I was hoping you would be my company tonight, Dolcezza.”
It was the first of many evenings spent with Terzo. The debut of your time together, if you will — and it was not at all what you had expected.
Tentatively, you agreed to the invitation, only doing so because you knew that his room was the last on your list to freshen and you were now technically done with your duties. You had watched as Terzo held his hand out to motion towards the seating by the fire, and you hesitantly moved to take a seat on the plump leather couch across from the loveseat.
To say that you had been nervous would be a gross understatement. Your senses drank in the stimulus around you — the pop of the bottle of sweet wine, the fizz of the bubbles blooming in the glass, the spicy, floral musk of Terzo’s cologne drifting through the air as he held out the flute for you to timidly accept — they all became cataloged in your mind as sensory memories of this first excursion.
If Terzo’s smooth, charming attitude hadn’t calmed you down, the prosecco surely had. Not long after you’d taken your first sip, Terzo had sat on the other side of the couch with his own glass in his gloved hand, his cardinal cassock floating down over his crossed legs like sin, and he had struck up a conversation. His body was turned towards yours, eyes always drinking in your form like it was the preferred spirit of the evening, as he asked you more about who you were.
He was easy to talk to (far easier to talk to than you’d expected). You divulged your history with the church and briefly described your one and a half year commitment with a peaceful pride. As a Cardinal, you were sure he spent the majority of the time discussing the intimacies of the ministry and you didn’t want to bore him.
“And what led you to the light bringer, Sorella?” he had asked you, fingertips stroking the stem of the champagne flute delicately, tenderly.
Even though you’d initially fabricated walls to guard you from revealing your past, Terzo’s soothing yet fascinating energy knocked them down almost instantaneously. You explained the falling out with your parents over your decisions for your career and lifestyle, how they’d refused to support you following your passions as it didn’t seem “financially prudent” to do so. With forlorn fondness, you recalled your relationship with your Granddad that had ended abruptly with his unforeseen death and how it had cracked your mother’s inward countenance and plastered it back up with vodka and Valium. The final straw, you explained, was your decision to openly renounce your faith and begin the exploration into different forms of spirituality. Terzo had listened intently, his face bleeding sympathy and compassion as you unraveled your past in a way you hadn’t since joining the order.
But despite the heavy conversation, the night turned to one of true connection as you both polished off the first bottle of prosecco (and eventually, most of the charcuterie). Laughter frequently permeated the air after the second bottle had been opened, and you giggled over shared stories of gossip about the ministry — Terzo even letting a few more secretive and scandalous pieces about the clergy loose after his fourth glass of bubbles.
By the end of the evening, you began to see Terzo in a new light. Before, he’d been the suave, debonair Cardinal with a reputation of philandry. But now, Terzo felt like a true kindred spirit. As you’d gotten up to leave (sea-legged from the alcohol, you might add) the Cardinal had offered you his hand to steady you. After helping you up, he continued holding onto your hand, his body advancing closer to you with a half-step.
You remember the light of the fire reflecting off the yin-yang black and white eye as he took in your features. You remember the notes of apple and pear on his breath. Most of all, you remember the words he purred out in a low, dulcet hum.
“I’m going to kiss you now, Dolcezza.”
And he had. Searingly slow, his lips lingered on yours for countless seconds before he pulled away completely.
It was the beginning of the downfall.
🜏🜏🜏
A mere two days after your memorable night with the Cardinal, you arrived at the workroom connecting the laundry to the housekeeping stores in increased anticipation to start your duties. Yesterday was your day off, and as such, you hadn’t had the opportunity to see Cardinal Terzo.
As soon as you set down your coffee thermos, Sister Teresa, a senior Sister of Sin, approached you with a jollied clap on her hands. She explained that the sister you’d been covering for had healed quite nicely from her surgery and was returning to work early — today, in fact — and your services in housekeeping would no longer be needed. With a chuckle, she reached out to touch your arm, saying, “It’s a blessing of timing from the Dark One. We have been running behind ever since you left!”
Outwardly, you nodded and thanked the sister for letting you know before heading through the connecting door to the laundry. Once out of sight, you sighed, turning to make your way down the walkway towards the oncoming chutes, closed fist lightly pounding against a pile of folded bedsheets as you passed. You weren’t exactly sure when you’d get to speak with Terzo again, which of course disappointed you, but you were arguably more disappointed that you’d spent the time shaving your legs and fussing over the exact flavor of lip balm before leaving for work today — all for naught.
That evening, you took your usual seat in the refectory with a slogged posture. Your hands smelled of bleach and detergent, and your skin felt dry from the dryer sheets you’d spent the afternoon picking from the dryer vent. After pouring yourself a healthy glug of table red from the decanter, you sighed and leaned back, watching as other siblings filled the room. After a few lengthy sips and more disassociation than you’d care to admit, you saw a flash of a black cassock from the corner of your eye. Towards the front of the refectory, seated at the clergy table, was Cardinal Terzo. He was mid conversation with one of the bishops and looked surprisingly pleased as he took a seat and accepted a glass of red similar to yours. His glance turned to your direction by chance and he met your eyes, smirking before raising his glass as he had so many times before. You raised yours back.
And on this went for the remainder of the week — you, successfully seeking out his gaze and him acknowledging you with a raised glass, a smile, or as of the night before, a wink. Each time made your heart patter so high in your chest that you could taste it in your throat (or maybe that was the pinot noir).
This particular night, after placing your napkin on the table and sipping the last drop of wine from the globe of the drink ware, you realized that this week put you into a state of melancholy. You’d felt trapped (an odd feeling in a church based on free will) and you craved a break in your monotonous routine. A walk would do you good, you'd decided. You breezed past a group of siblings and out the refectory doors so quickly that you hadn’t heard the voice calling your name from the other end of the room.
Down the cloister and to the gravel path your feet traveled, and just after you felt the crunch of the rocks beneath your shoes, a hand reached out to cup your shoulder. You’d turned with an inward huff, nearly frightened, but each muscle seemed to relax when you’d seen that it was just him, just Terzo, and a smile crept across your cheeks.
From an outward observer, the walk would have seemed ordinary. It wasn’t out of character for siblings to peruse the gardens in the evening, and members of the clergy indulged too, of course. But as you made your way through the carefully pruned rhododendrons and lilac-lined pathways, Terzo admitted something that made the stroll all but ordinary.
“I miss seeing you in my chambers, Dolcezza. I hope our kiss did not frighten you away.”
And of course you had assured him that it was anything but, explaining the predicament that brought you to the housekeeping staff in the first place, along with the reassignment to the ministry laundry earlier in the week.
As time wore on, you kept to your work in the laundry and he to his in the clergy, but both you and il Cardinale continued your joint traditions — the hushed glances at dinner, the occasional stretch through the church’s gardens. You shared the stories of your respective days, with the conversations always morphing into a mishmosh of memories or past experiences, with the occasional smattering of theological conversation. Sometimes you sealed the evening with a kiss, sometimes you didn’t. However, regardless of how the night ended, you always thought of the taste of his lips on yours (wine-bathed and smoky and soft).
Luckily, on occasion, the senior Sisters of Sin pulled the laundry staff to help out with housekeeping duties in the event of someone falling ill or needing to take time off. Each time this was proffered, you quickly volunteered, buttering the situation with the explanation that you had already filled in before and knew the routines and procedures, including the particulars of the clergy members. It made you appear as if you were flexible, hardworking, and willing to help the ministry in any way needed. Deep down, however, you knew that your real motivation was the off-chance that you’d get to see your raven-haired Cardinal.
One of these days you had all but physically jumped at the opportunity to help out with housekeeping. Your enthusiasm was nearly crushed when you found out that not only were they short staffed, but they had fallen behind due to a fairly extensive disaster left behind in an upper clergymen’s room by what appeared to be an entire pack of ghouls. In spite of your utter exhaustion at the end of the day (and shudders at the recollection of all the oddly sticky surfaces you had to wipe down while tidying up the ghoul pack’s aftermath), you found yourself
making the familiar trek to Terzo’s chambers. Ghoul juices aside, you had a slight jaunt in your step. The day’s unfortunate proclivities wouldn’t put a damper on your excitement of seeing the Cardinal. As soon as you entered his room, however, you noticed something felt strange.
Hoping to finish your more formal duties quickly, you beelined into the bathroom to replace the towels and gather the dirty laundry before passing through to his bedchambers. Removing and replenishing his sheets was like child's play now, and after a couple of minutes you had already balled up the used linens and placed them in the basket with the other laundry before turning to exit his bedroom.
You heard the crackling of the fireplace in his living space before you saw the dim flames, and the occasional scribbling sound of a pen against paper was even more of a telltale hint that you were not alone. Setting the basket down, you padded over to the leathered couch that reminded you of your first visit with the Cardinal and rested your hands against the back of it. Terzo was sitting against the rug, feet outstretched by the fire, with a notepad in hand. It had indeed been him slugging the fountain tip across the page, and from the balled up sheets of paper littering the floor, you gathered that whatever he was getting at was not a success.
“Your Eminence?” you rasped out softly, so quietly that he didn’t hear you. “Cardinal?”
With your slightly louder inquest, Terzo’s head shot up and his pen dropped against the paper pad with an audible clunk. The delighted expression on your face dimmed, though, when you noticed his own.
His usually slicked-back hair hung down in messy strands across his forehead, barely covering the lines that had formed there undoubtedly from a frequently furrowed brow. His eyes looked a little glassy, and although the paint around his eyes and upper lip didn’t seem to be tear-scathed, you could tell that he had rubbed at his face more than once by the blurry edges of the black makeup. In sum, Terzo looked doggedly stressed.
“Dolcezza,” his voice perked up with a hint of surprise, “What a treat it is to see you here.”
You could feel the color creeping into the apples of your cheeks like ripened fruit. “They needed a little extra assistance and I offered to help,” you explained, your voice calm and surprisingly steady at the scene in front of you.
“Ahh, bene.” Terzo threw the notepad down to the floor with a little more oomph than you expected, stretching his feet out in front of him. You noted that they were dangerously close to the fire.
“Is everything alright?” you asked as you came closer, rounding the couch to sit down next to him on the floor, “you seem a little —” you paused, unsure of whether to continue lest you come off insulting, yet decided to risk it, “ —stressed.”
The Cardinal sighed. “SÌ,” he breathed out, slipping his hand through his hair for what had to have been the dozenth time that evening. “I am to give the sermon at black mass tomorrow.”
Your lips curved into a proud smile. “Black mass? That’s…well, an honor, really.”
Terzo nodded. “SÌ… however, I have yet to finish it. I keep coming to a stop, like a eh—” he paused, his hand motioning in circles as if to demonstrate that he was searching for the correct word, “ —barrier, in my mind.”
Folding your legs underneath you (and being careful to adjust the skirt of your habit), you turned to face him. “You have writer’s block?”
“If I am to be completely honest, I have never delivered a sermon at Black Mass before.” He sighed again and you noted that there was a lot of weight in that sigh. He looked down, flipping the pen to and fro between his slender fingers. “A lot is riding on this performance and I fear I will be nothing but a disappointment.”
At this, your body stiffened. Terzo had always seemed so confident, so demure, and you were taken aback by his insecurity. “Cardinal,” you began, inching just a bit closer, “you are anything but a disappointment.”
At this, the painted man beside you laughed. “Ahh, yes, il stronzo, perhaps…”
You rolled your eyes at his self-deprecation. “Based on our conversations during our walks, I think you will do beautifully. You have quite the mind for theology, and you speak eloquently and with conviction.” You licked the curve of your lips, craning a bit to try to see his downtrodden eyes. “Maybe it’s yourself you should have some faith in?”
At your kind words, Terzo raised his head, his hair partially hiding the milky white eye that you had never quite become accustomed to. “I’m afraid I will just disappoint you, cara. As well as the congregation.” At this, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his fist clenching as he softly pounded the ground in frustration. “Figlio di puttana…”
The way he looked right now reminded you of the first moment you approached him: vulnerable, closed in on himself, raw, and before you knew it, you reached out your hand to gently touch his left arm, your own fingertips brazenly trailing up and down the wool-covered limb. Your touch surprised the Cardinal, and his eyes met yours once more — this time, the widened emerald one peering straight through you.
What you didn’t know was how touched Terzo was by your compassion at this moment. Of course, he knew how much you cared and sacrificed for others, but you never ceased to amaze him with your empathy and tenderness. His heart beamed in a way he hadn’t felt since childhood, and as he drank in your alluring stare, he couldn’t resist the urge to study your beauty in the firelight. He noted the way the flames etched against the contours of your cheeks and jaw, shadows drawn across bone.
Putting his gloved hand on your own, he found himself leaning towards you, his fingers squeezing yours as his breath stilled in his throat. Warm lips — one painted and one bare — pressed against your own and you felt at home again. Your kisses with Terzo had always felt this way, and although they were a bit of an unconstant, you relished in the moments you’d get to feel him like this.
Your eyes fluttered closed. Head tilting ever so slightly, your body mirrored his own as you melted into the touch. Faint wine and the bitter tang of paint touched your tongue while you moved your lips against his, the slower series of pecks diverging into something a little more heated, urgent, needy.
As you sat like this, all you could hear was the crackling of the fire in front of you, the light smacking of your lips moving in unison, and the intakes and exhales of shared breath. It felt much more intimate than you were used to with Terzo. But most of all, it felt right.
His hand trailed from yours and danced across the flesh of your neck to your jawline, cupping it gently as he tilted to deepen your connection, tongue tasting your lips (for self-gratification or permission, you weren’t sure). You also weren’t exactly sure how you ended up lateral on the thick rug, or how your hand had found purchase in his slicked back hair, or how his own had pushed the fabric of your skirt up around your bare thigh, or even how your bodies had been pulled so impossibly close. Nevertheless, you found yourself wrapped in air thickened with firewood and his cologne and the humid heat of your kisses and exhales, and Satan below the way his trouser covered leg had parted your own to tangle you both into one being had your mind swimming.
“Let me take you,” he had whispered to you, his breath warm against the corner of your lip and the curve of your cheek, “let me have you here, like I’ve always wanted to.”
That was all it took. The look in his eyes had been flooded with desire and it overcame your ability to do anything but completely submit to his request.
He moved over top of you, his arms lifting up criss-crossed to pull his jacket and button up off his slender, muscular frame. Flamed illumination danced across the ridges of the muscles of his chest, the smooth, lightly tanned skin that still seemed so deliciously pale for an Italian man, and your eyes took in stills to catalog in your memory while he slid his hands up and under your dress uniform.
Terzo mimicked the action with your dress, pulling it over your head quickly before tossing it casually to the side. His hand slipped underneath you and before you realized it, the tension of your bra loosened and the garment was quickly abandoned. As cool air pricked the skin of your breasts, the Cardinal’s eyes wandered down to stare at them in the dim light. He bit at the tips of his gloved fingers to loosen the silken material, pulling them off to reveal slender, strong hands that reached for your soft skin.
He must have noticed he look of insecurity that painted your face, of shyness, because he began to trace your curves with his fingertips, just barely, butterfly wings against the surface, and murmured out “Cosi bella…” as they shimmered across the peak of your nipples.
Far back in the recesses of your mind, you felt dips of worry. Was this something that he said to everyone he was with? Was this how he treated all the women he’d brought back to his quarters — the quarters that you’d cleaned and prepared? But each time your mind wandered there, you pulled it back with a yank of a leash to the present. You were here, this was now, and you were going to enjoy what was happening in this moment.
Your mouths connected again, this time more wantonly, and all you could taste was the uniqueness that was simply Terzo — the wine, the smokiness, the dark face paint. A groan escaped his lips into your own and he moved to box you in with his thighs on either side of your body. One hand found room just by your head against the ground and held him above you, while the other clutched to your left breast, kneading and squeezing at you with a mix of adoration and longing.
When he brought his hips down to press against your own, you let forth your own series of moans into his mouth, and he all but combusted as he ripped your lips apart, hands hurriedly unbuckling his pants to shimmy them down his legs. Your reaches crossed one another’s as you both grasped at each other’s undergarments and tandemly pulled them down over hips and skin, revealing your bare forms in communion.
From there you lie naked on the rug, Terzo on top of you, with sweat-slicked skin osculating as tongues and teeth gnashed passionately. Veil and shoes were long forgotten. You could feel his hard length pressing against the space between your sex and your thigh and it made a chill wash over the expanse of your body. As his hips rutted against your pelvis, he slid between your folds, slick coating him with delicious friction, and your arms wound under his own to curl around the strong muscles of his back and shoulders. You broke the kiss with a whimper and crooked your neck to the side.
“Cardinal,” you hummed out, a little more needy than you had intended to, “don’t make me wait any more.”
He lifted his head to look in your eyes, a chuckle reaching past his lips as his hair nearly dripped across your forehead.
“The virtue of patience isn’t something we celebrate in our faith, Dolcezza,” he purred as he brought his face close to yours, breath pricking across your lips and cheek as he moved his mouth to ghost your earlobe, “ —and I think you’ve waited long enough.”
With that, he pulled his hips back and you whined at the brief loss, your breath stilted as he pushed forward almost immediately, his cock pushing past your folds and into you firmly. You let out a choked groan and your eyes ripped open, watching the darkness of his pupils overtake his unmatched irises as he sank into you to the hilt.
Your leg came up to hook around his hip and thigh as he pistoned in and out of you. Your hand gripped the furry fibers of the rug below, the other still curved around his back to hang onto his shoulder like he’d disintegrate if you let go. With every thrust you found God, and every retreat you went searching for redemption.
Your Cardinal found solace in the arch of your neck, teeth nipping at skin and tendon as he grunted along with each forward movement.
“Così buono con me. Sei così buono con me.”
Tension built up inside of your core, tugging at the muscles of your abdomen, and you felt your grip tighten around Terzo. Despite the stricture, you could feel your core blooming, softening taking everything he had as he worked himself inside of you, hips rolling and grinding.
The smell of the sweat on his skin and the burning wood of the fire lit your own flames deep within you and you could feel your impending release begin to blossom. “More,” you cried, the noise so sweet in taste and sound to Terzo that he couldn’t help but obey.
He pressed his lips to your neck in a series of wet marks. Your hand abandoned the rug and came up to card through his air, fingertips winding around the strands with a needy tug as you felt your pussy begin to contract around his thick cock. He knew you were close because he kept going, never faltering in his pace or touch, moaning little praises into the skin of your clavicle until lightening rushed through your veins.
You came and it felt like everything and nothing all at once. You weren’t sure if you’d made any noise at all, but as your jaw hung open, eyes fluttering back into your skull, you were certain that within the Cardinal’s arms was the only place you were meant to be. Here, now, releasing yourself to him completely, with the firelight plaguing the walls as a reminder of your devotion to him, your Cardinal, and to the flames of hell and the one below.
Terzo was soon to follow with his own orgasm. You could sense him tensing, his length twitching as his hips began to jolt against your own unrhythmically, throaty growls punctuating his movements. And as he filled you, you trembled against him from the fiery char of your release, your own inner muscles twitching as you welcomed his spend as sacrament.
Breath stilted and waned as he lay collapsed against you, skin slick with the proof of your union, and your fingertips found purchase soothingly stroking against his scalp. A beat passed and you relaxed in the aftermath of just the two of you. Terzo was the first to speak.
“Was it worth it?” he hummed out, eyes peering up at you from his head that rested against your soft breasts.
You furrowed your brows with a small smile. “What do you mean?” you asked.
He tittered and brought his hand to trace along the line of your jaw. “The wait,” he clarified, thumb rubbing sweetly over your chin, “Was it worth it?”
You felt warmth course through your chest and leak into your limbs. It was different than before. It was new, yet oddly familiar — like remembrance, uncovering a dusted memory. Your hand came up to clasp over his own on your chin, and you brought it to your lips, pressing them slowly, repeatedly against his skin.
“You’re always worth it.”
🜏🜏🜏
Yet now, as you soak in the humidity that paints your skin while you move across the courtyard and to a lesser occupied area of the Ministry gardens, your mind replays your words from that night. “You’re always worth it.” Always. So finite, so absolute.
You continued to walk, searching for a prayer, a sign from the one below that everything will click into place and the grand plan will be revealed over time. And as you settled down onto an earthen stone bench overlooking an old statue of the Emeritus family, eyes cast towards the statue that partially formed the man you’d fallen from grace for, you realized that there was no hot rain.
Only tears.
Tag list: @copiasghoulfriend @copias-juicebox @the-lisechen @anamelessfool
Image Credit(s): Pinterest
Options based on my opinion + surveyed from ghutuals.
My original plan I had for when Satanized came out, but I ended up giving up because I bit off more than i could chew.
HAPPY SKELETA RELEASE DAY!!!!!
Make sure to kiss your local priest in celebration
Trans masc Terzo for the soul
(Uncensored under the cut)
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Will tumblr smite me for this? Oh well
Despair, Agony
THE EMERITUS SISTERS!!!
Clarissa, and Odette Belmonte; the bastard daughters of Papa Emeritus II. Be careful who you stick your dick in, guys, or else you'll end up with two daughters who want to put your head on a pike.
Guys do I have to keep drawing his facepaint on for you to know this is secondo (joke)
Yasssssss secondo with his catholic girly (Clarissa mom)
Guys do I have to keep drawing his facepaint on for you to know this is secondo (joke)
Yasssssss secondo with his catholic girly (Clarissa mom)
Young Secondo 🖤🖤🖤🖤
This fucker unironically has limp bizkit as his favorite band, his idea of a first date with his very catholic girlfriend is to take her to a korn show and hold her on his shoulders. "Babe, you'd love kittie, it's a all girl band", meanwhile the babe in question only listens to Mariah Carrie
The babe in question is also head over heels for Italian Fred durst though, so it's okay
Hi, I would like to spread my propaganda of Secondo being a nu metal guy in the 90s, here you go
Hi, I would like to spread my propaganda of Secondo being a nu metal guy in the 90s, here you go
A little gift for @xk1llp0px of their OC Clarissa because I love their OC-
Alt version with her face paint:
Hiiiii this is a present for @nocturnal-bishop of their oc Dante!!! bc they're so friend :)))! Follow them immediately or else